In 2021, I read a total of 20 books. Not my strongest year, not by far. I would argue that having a baby, buying a house, receiving a promotion to a new post, and writing a book of my own got in the way of my reading schedule. But also I just plain made less time for myself reading than before.
It’s funny in a way, how the pandemic has actually seen my reading habits drop. Missing are those 20 minute bus rides twice a day that helped me slay a book a week.
Anyways, here is the list: Olsen – A Conspiracy of Faith Olsen – Purity of Vengeance Kepler – Lazarus Druon – King without a Kingdom Anthropy – ZZT Ito – Uzomaki Morgan – The Steel Remains Morgan – The Cold Commands Morgan – The Dark Defiles Higginbotham – Midnight in Chernobyl Brown – Red Rising Brown – Golden Sun Brown – Morning Star Baker – Gospel According to the Klan Harris – Red Dragon Haruki Murakami – After Dark Ryo Murakami – In the Miso Soup Reed – Resident Evil Higashino – Salvation of a Saint Duncan – Before the Storm
Some thoughts on these: Morgan’s dark fantasy trilogy made for an enjoyable if forgetable read (along the lines of me needing to make this list to even recall reading them). That’s not to say they were poor, but compared to his Takeshi Kovacs trilogy, the world felt – lighter? More hollow? Evn then he does a lot of worldbuilding, a lot of it felt less coherent or consistent than his sci-fi work for whatever reason. Maybe it had to do with his decision to make everyone speak in contemporary and vulgar English that caused it to feel almost like fantasy cosplay at times.
While reading Red Dragon, I was amazed at times both by how close the two movie versions hewed to the novel, as well as that it could become such a bestseller at all. Now, I don’t mean it was a poor book or anything like that (certainly not perplexing in the way something like 50 Shades might become a billion dollar franchise), but I suppose I was waiting for something in it to really astound me or rattle me to the core the way one might. I suppose on the one hand its because I had already seen these characters acted out on a screen a few times before, and on the other that I am already an avid reader of crime thrillers that this book influenced (and unfortunately, while it was an originator of what would become tropes, reading in this order stop it from feeling like the tropes it created).
The one true disappointment from this list would be Druon’s King without a Kingdom – the seventh and final book in the Cursed Kings series about the slow fall of the Capetan Dynasty of France. The first six books were brilliant, if sometimes uneven, giving us characters to love and hate (and sometimes both) as it plotted out almost nonstop intrigues and treachery like a 13th century Godfather story. Book seven, however, was something else – written in a completely different style (pompous letters or monologues from a pompous character on the sidelines) about different characters, in a different era, The end result read more like a boring appendi or a failed experiment than a true final book to the series.
Despite working overtime, setting up a new home in a new city, and raising a delightful ball of unlimited energy of a daughter, I’ve found the time to keep writing.
A couple of new stories of mine are already out or upcoming with a couple of publishers.
My story “The Weak Man” about a man with an overbearing father-in-law and a trouble marriage looking for a way out has recently appeared in the delightful crime anthology Autumn Noir. Written under a pseudonym, it’s one of the more literary pieces I’ve published – and honestly a lot of fun to write something different from my usual pulp fare.
Next up, my story “Rosey Ruby” about a demented, demonic reindeer terrorizing a couple in rural New Brunswick will be appearing in Eerie Christmas 2 from the always wonderful Black Hare Press. It’s chaotic good fun and couldn’t be more different than the story I have in Autumn Noir.
Thirdly, another literary story titled “Split” will be appearing soon in the Scarlett Leaf Review’s still to be released November edition (to be released). It’s also written under a pseudonym to keep my more literary works separate from the violent sci-fi I’m more used to publishing. This story is about a young man who unexpectedly re-encounters a recent flame who unfortunately happens to be dating one of his friends.
Dennis Villeneuve’s 2021 rendition of Frank Herbert’s classic science fiction novel came to town riding on more than its fair share of hype and baggage.
The source material, focusing on a distant future saga of intergalactic feuding nobility and prophecy, is known for being large, unwieldy and remarkable dense. The property has previously been translated to the visual medium by David Lynch (1984) and John Harrison (2000) to mixed and sometimes polarizing reviews. Avant-garde filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky also attempted to bring the property to life in the 1970s, and the failure of that project spawned a documentary of its own.
Villeneuve’s Dune thus marks the fourth attempt at bringing this story to our screens and arguably has the most stakes riding on it. After all, with 165 million reportedly gone into the production and Villeneuve’s star director status attached to the project, this was meant to be anything but a throaway film the studios occasionally squeak out to appease the typically mature, male audience who is known to consume science fiction projects like this.
The end result? Dune is a visual remarkable film that leaves much of its story unspoken, and told more through the spectacle than the dialogue. It’s strangely minimalist – from the music, to the script to the set pieces. It’s ultimately a beautiful piece of cinema, that makes it all but impossible to look away as we move from one gorgeous piece to the next.
However, it’s also a failure.
First up: don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed almost every minute of Villeneuve’s big, glorious and oddly muted film. As a longtime fan of the novel (I’ve read it no fewer than 6-7 times of the year, and even managed to make it through the other five books of Herbert’s canon), I’m definitely within the target demographic meant for this movie – and that’s also perhaps the problem.
While Dune veterans such as myself, who owns the previous versions on DVD and regularly rewatches them, this movie was intimately familiar. I knew who the Sardaukar were and why everyone feared them. I appreciate the constant pans or close ups of the bull mounted on the wall overtop of Leto’s head and the significance for doing so. I understood how the spice melange made intergalactic travel possible, and why there were no computers. I understood the markings on the characters that identified them as mentats and what role they played in society. Ultimately, I knew all these things because I knew Dune.
I can’t say the same for everyone else.
As a demonstration of the fundamental problems with this movie, let me run through how the viewing experience went with my wife and myself. Scene plays out. My wife has questions. I pause and explain. She asks more questions until satisfied. We resume. Scene plays out. More questions. Repeat.
In all, it took us close to five hours to get through the movie when we added in our running Q&A session and commentary. Not that it was unenjoyable – I found myself digging deeper into knowledge of the Dune universe than I realized I had. However, it also means that for who I suspect would be most of the casual viewers, Dune comes off as unapproachable, esoteric and puzzling.
For instance, my wife asked me what were the point of shields if everyone can still get killed by swords? Why did it spend all this time introducing the Shadout Mapes only to drop her in the next scene? Did they just forget about Gurney Hallack? What happened to Paul’s hand in the box? Why did it matter that Yueh betrayed them?
In this regard, I would have to agree with her concerns – several of Villeneuve’s choices in adapting this story are downright puzzling not just for the novices but even relatively hardcore Dune fans such as myself.
It was, after all, odd to set up Mapes in such a way that she should be given more screen time only to give her importance in less worldbuilding about Fremen culture than in either other version as well as the book. Normally one might expect the decision to add minor characters or little details would in some manner contribute to the story or atmosphere, but it did little here.
As for Yueh, we get to see him in maybe two scenes before the betrayal, and never get to know him. In this regard, both the Lynch and Harrison version strike me as superior – as they gave Yueh more screen time, pointed to his pain at losing his wife, and gave more meaning to his twist. He seemed more “real” of a character than the trope betrayer Villeneuve chose to implement.
And let’s be honest, the choice to pull away from the horrors of the Gom Jabbar scene only to focus on Paul’s face rather than his experiences felt like an amateur misake. After all, in cinema it’s about showing, not telling, and we were shown very little and told very much about what was actually going on in that scene.
I would also agree with questions about Gurney’s fate. Of course, those familiar with the story all know that he survives by escaping with pirates (the very same ones Leto tried to ingratiate himself with in the book, but not in the film). But one wonders, would it have been so hard to tease his possible demise to the audiences? Maybe have a broken baliset lying in the courtyard?
After all, the basic visual language of cinema often works with the rule of threes – introduce something, remind the audience it’s there, and then payoff. Dune largely does us with ones or twos – one shot of Gurney with a baliset, one scene talking about the symbolic power of trees, and so on.
Ultimately, it’s little things like this that leave me feeling torn about the film. So many details added, so many removed, and so many just not, well, used to their full extent. It’s the sensation that it was a rough draft, that not all the kinks were worked out in the writting process.
Couple this with the additions and liberties Villeneuve took with some characters. Duncan’s extended rescue and death scene mirrors the television version more than the Lynch or book versions of the story, and ultimately serves to give viewers more of Momoa who still felt tragically underused, but served little purpose. True, we got some more worldbuilding, showing how Fremen are clever fighters, but the scene caused more problems than it resolved.
Let’s break it down. When the sardaukar attack the outpose, the Fremen (who seem to be about equal in number) disappear and ambush them in the sand. However, the Fremen ultimately loose, Duncan is killed and Paul and Jessica are back on the run.
Ostensibly, this scene was here to have them gain access to stillsuts, but in every other version the stillsuits were simply left in the thopter for them to find, making the transition here unneccessary (and indeed, it ends with them right back in the thopter in the desert where they began).
I can’t help but feel it also undermines one of the main plot points of the book and where the story goes – that the Fremen are utter badasses.
Leto’s whole plan of reaching out to the Fremen and securing his much fetishized “desert power” was because he rightly believed any Fremen could kick the ass of any dozen sardaukar. The book and previous versions emphasize this – growing up on a harsh ass planet, makes harsh ass people.
e’re then given examples that prove this: of sardaukar patrols being annihilated by less than half their number in Fremen, and a joint sardaukar / Harkonnen raid on a sitch populated almost entirely by elders and children nearly fails.
Yet, here in Villeneuve’s movie, the Fremen mostly get chopped to pieces and it’s Duncan who holds his ground the best. This effectively raises the question – why would Leto seek to harbour them if the Fremen were only about 2/3 as effective as the sardaukar (based on what we see on screen)?
rue, there would still be value in allies, but again, a major plot point of not only Dune but its immediate sequels, is that the Fremen when cut loose would become an unstoppable, murderous horde.
With Fremen presented as not any better than Atreides house guards (though, to be fair, the book does mention that their discipline and martial prowess concerned the emperor himself), it deflates some of the awe of these people – after all, and again a major point, is that the Harkonnens underestimated them, seeing them as a few thirsty weaklings scrounging around in the sand.
In the end, and as I alluded to earlier, Villeneuve’s film comes across as a strange, yet dazzling hybrid. We have remarkable attention to some odd details from the book, deviance from others, curious motifs represented in the visual medium, but also the lack of others.
If someone had told me this was a work in progress, waiting for the final edits and scenes to be added, I feel that it would have sat better. But seeing as this is his vision, it sits as both grandiose and minute, full and incomplete.
