A World of Geeks

It might be too late to plan a geek-themed vacation this summer, but it's never to early to start thinking ahead.

Not an atlas in the traditional sense, The Geek Atlas does manage to span the globe with the locations of museums, cemeteries, and assorted locales of interest to the geek-minded traveler. Sort of like a travel guide to tourist sites of interest for the scientific, technological and mathematically inclined. Also works for the generally curious who enjoy leaving the beaten path while abroad.

Now, gathered in one place, you can read up on the Mendel Museum of Genetics in the Czech Republic, learn about the world’s longest suspension bridge in Kobe, Japan, or make plans to visit The Taipei 101 in Taiwan, the tallest building in the world with a 600 tonne pendulum near the top to prevent the building from swaying and vibrating. Each of the entries not only explains the importance of each place but also follows up with a brief explanation of the science or math involved.

For example, the listing for the Tempio Voltiano not only honors the accomplishments of Allesandro Volta along the shores of Lake Como, Italy, but also explains Volta's invention of the first battery and includes the science behind the making of a modern version of what is known as the Voltaic Pile.

I knew none of this before reading the book. Reading this book made me smarter.



Listed alphabetically by country, each entry in The Geek Atlas lists its geo-positioning coordinates, a couple of icons indicating whether it is free of charge, availability of refreshments, suitability for children, and if it's whether-dependant, followed by a description of what the site has to offer. Magnetic North, for example, is listed as being free – suitability for children and weather is the sort of thing best left at the discretion of the geek parents involved. It also contains a nice explanation of the Earth's magnetic field and how magnetic north keeps shifting.

While intended as a guide for travelers, the book has a broader appeal as a geeky almanac, the type that teen boys are often drawn to. It has lots of facts, can be read out of sequence, is full of places both practical and absurd, and is informative without being pedantic. Armchair geek travelers will enjoy the virtual world tour, and for some the book could provide the sort of inspiration to get out of the house and explore the world. Or at least plant the seed.

The book is available in stores, but also directly from the publisher in a variety of down-loadable formats. Normally I wouldn't note such things but I think that for a title like this it could come in handy both as travel reading or as a reference on a mobile device while on the road.

The Geek Atlas
by John Graham-Cumming
O'Reilly 2009
http://oreilly.com/

The Storm in the Barn

If you've learned about the early 20th century in school, you probably learned about the two World Wars, the stock market crash of '29, the Great Depression, and the New Deal. And maybe along the way (in either history or English - Out of the Dust, maybe, or The Grapes of Wrath), you learned a bit about the Dust Bowl. Whether you have or not, today's selection - a brand-new graphic novel coming out in early September - will give you a very clear dusty introduction to that time period. It's not, however, a work of nonfiction - not only is it fiction, it's pretty much a tall tale.

The story is set in Dust Bowl Kansas. Our main character is the aptly named Jack Clark, age 11, a young boy who is worried about his sister Dorothy, who is suffering from dust-related pneumonia, and who is relegated to chasing after his baby sister Mabel, who sometimes goes where she ought not to go.

Why did I say that Jack Clark was aptly named? Well . . . let's just say it has something to do with the nature of this particular story, which is party tall tale/fairy tale (a la "Jack and the Beanstalk" or "Jack the Giant-Killer", or, well, any of the so-called "Jack tales", American tall tales based in the Southern Appalachians). It's so common for boys in those sorts of tales to be named "Jack", in fact, that in Ian Beck's book, The Secret History of Tom Trueheart, the main character (Tom) has six older brothers, all of whom are heroes, and all of whom are named "Jack." But I digress. And "Clark" has its root in the same word as "Clerk", which originally comes from the idea of a religious scholar once known as a cleric. A cleric is generally a good guy; a clerk is generally someone we think of who serves a useful purpose. Jack Clark is all of these things – plain and simple, a hero, a good guy, and a boy who serves an extremely useful purpose, as it turns out. And he does it by employing the sort of bravery and cleverness that his namesake in the Giant-Killer and Beanstalk stories did.

In this story, Jack Clark discovers a mysterious being hiding out in the barn abandoned by neighbors who could no longer stand to live in the dust and the drought. Over time, he manages to figure out exactly who that being is. Jack, used to being bullied and overlooked, makes a decision to act in hopes that he will help not only his sister, but his town, to recover from the effects of the drought.



The artwork in the book is stunning. You can get a sense of some of it from this book trailer, created by Matt Phelan and available on YouTube:



The book's most memorable spread is – for me – found at the bottom right corner of page 128, and is at the center of a particularly gripping (and violent) episode in the book, when Jack observes his father and other men (plus older boys) engaged in a jackrabbit drive. The author's note at the end of the book makes clear that the particular event depicted actually occurred during the Dust Bowl, and is one of the events that most haunted survivors of that time on the plains.

The written portion of this graphic novel is actually quite small, percentage-wise, with words only as needed to convey the story and fill out the context for the pictures. The menacing form in the barn is well-done indeed, conveying secrets and power more than creepiness, although there's decidedly several frissons to be had when in the presence (visual or implied) of the being in question. Dorothy Clark, Jack's sister, is a compelling character; you can tell that she and Jack are quite fond of one another, and Dorothy spends her time reading (when she's not sleeping or coughing, that is) about another Dorothy in a different Kansas, who travels not only to Oz but also to the desert near the Land of Ev.

Another character of whom I'm particularly fond is Ernie, the kindhearted man who runs the general store. Not only does he try to protect Jack from the older boys who bully him, but he also tells Jack tall tales, all of them involving a hero named Jack. And he's not just kind to Jack's face; he also harbors great expectations for Jack, believing that one day Jack will do something truly heroic.



I had the chance to interview Matt Phelan at my own blog, and I can say for certain that his background as a theatre and film major contributes to the way he conveys the story in The Storm in the Barn, which has a cinematic feel to it. His pacing is spot-on as well.

So, to sum up: Interested in graphic novels? Or history? Or tall tales? This is the book for you. On sale on (or before) September 8, 2009.

Suicide Dogs

There’s never been a road trip quite like this. In Crash Into Me by Albert Borris, Frank, Owen, Audrey, and Jin-Ae are visiting the graves of famous people who have committed suicide, and at the end of their cross-country journey, they plan to kill themselves together in Death Valley. Each has their own reason for wanting to die, reasons you’ve probably heard before in teens that you know of who have attempted or committed suicide—a breakup, not living up to family expectations, not being able to come out as gay to a conservative family. Owen, our narrator, has a slightly different reason. He blames himself for his brother’s drowning death. Owen was playing in the pool, pretended to drown, and his brother jumped in after him, hit his head, and died. Owen was only 7 at the time, and for the past 8 years he’s been trying to kill himself in various ways, been in and out of hospitals and seeing multiple counselors.

What Owen, Audrey, Frank, and Jin-Ae have in common is incredible loneliness. They originally met online, and when they realized that they had all attempted suicide at least once, they decide to meet for this final suicide tour, calling their group Suicide Dogs. Meeting in person may provide the desperately needed connections to the world that could ultimately save them, but the group mentality may also spur them each to ultimately do something some of them have begun to reconsider.

With visits to the graves of Anne Sexton, Ernest Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, and Kurt Cobain (as well as other sites that master researcher Owen finds along the way), and activities from the “things to do before I die” lists that they’ve each created, this book keeps a fast pace, with none of the true drudgery that can come with a long road trip. Interspersed with the narrative of the road trip are some of the original online chats from when the teens first met and started to plan the trip. The author, Albert Borris, has worked extensively as a teen counselor and seems to have a good sense of dialogue—these kids aren’t spouting philosophy at every turn, they’re confused and trying to figure things out, trying to find out if they have a place in the world. I wouldn’t like this book if I felt like it glorified suicide. It doesn’t. Each character is aware of the serious consequences of his/her potential actions, but feels that they are out of options.

Albert Borris’s web site has further information on him (including his most embarrassing moments!), as well as suicide prevention information. Crash Into Me has characters that many people will feel a connection with, and is worth reading to find out how they come out on the other side of their journey.

Hit List: Keller, #2 -- Lawrence Block

For the past few months, I've been writing about Hard Case Crime titles here at Guys Lit Wire. But, as is usual for me, I got distracted. Hard Case led me to Lawrence Block, which led me to Keller, and I now I won't be moved from Keller until I've read all of the books about him.

Keller is a hit man. He's good at what he does. He doesn't do it because he's a vigilante (though he has been known to go against the client's wishes if he disapproves), and he doesn't do it because he enjoys it. No, he kills people for a paycheck. At one point, he was actually planning on retiring, but then he re-started his boyhood philately hobby -- so now he has to keep the money coming in so that he can continue adding to his stamp collection.

In Hit List, Keller meets a girl. She introduces him to an astrologist, who tells him that he has a murderer's thumb. That doesn't sit right with Keller, because, despite his day job, he doesn't think of himself as a murderer. And the idea that his profession could have been preordained bothers him. And after meeting with the astrologist, things feel off. Jobs don't go right, and eventually, Keller realizes that his life is in danger -- someone, for reason or reasons unknown -- wants him out of the picture.

What I love about the Keller books is that they aren't action-packed go-go-go thrill-rides about an assassin. They're books about a smart, slightly odd guy who has likes and dislikes and a job and who goes to jury duty because it's the right thing to do. And I love his conversations with Dot, the lady who sets up his jobs. This excerpt will give you a brief taste of the awesome that is Keller:

"The cop's black," he told Dot, "and the defendant's white. I don't think I mentioned that before."

"You and Justice," she said. "Both color-blind."

"At first," he said, "we didn't know. I mean, we knew about the defendant, because there he was sitting with his lawyers, and middle-aged white guy with an OTB face and a bad rug named Huberman."

"His rug's got a name?"

"What is this, English class? You know what I meant. His name is Huberman."

"I know what a rug is," she said, "whether it's got a name or not, and I never saw a good one. But what's an OTB face? Off the books? On the button?"

"Off-track betting," he said. "There's a look horseplayers get."

"A kind of woulda-coulda-shoulda look."

"That's the one."

While this one wasn't a collection of short stories like the first one, it still reads like a series of connected vignettes -- due to the pacing, I think that not everyone will take to it, but those of you who do will adore it.

__________________________________________________________________

Previously:

Keller:

1. Hit Man

Other Lawrence Block:

Grifter's Game (Hard Case #1)
Girl with the Long Green Heart (Hard Case #14)

___________________________________________________________________

(cross-posted at Bookshelves of Doom)

Book source: My local library.

David Inside Out by Lee Bantle

David Inside Out by Lee Bantle
"David Dahlgren, a high-school senior, finds solace in running with the track team; he’s a fast runner, and he enjoys the camaraderie. But team events become a source of tension when he develops a crush on one of his teammates, Sean. Scared to admit his feelings, David does everything he can to suppress them: he dates a girl, keeps his distance from his best friend who has become openly gay, and snaps a rubber band on his wrist every time he has “inappropriate” urges. Before long, Sean expresses the thoughts David has been trying to hide, and everything changes for the better. Or so it seems."- Summary from Amazon.com

I really enjoyed this novel. Bantle's debut YA is a refreshing look at a coming-out story and is realistic as well as honest in its portrayals of the struggles teens face with sexuality, coming out, and being themselves. The book is a quick read, and the characters are well-written and three-dimensional even in the short length of this novel. The prose is compelling and will leave readers thinking about friendship, sexuality, and acceptance. David's experiences about dealing with his sexuality differ vastly from my own, but I know his thoughts and concerns will resonate with those struggling to accept themselves and come out. It's not just a book for people struggling with their sexuality though; it can be for people whose friends are gay, or even for people struggling with being themselves in other ways aside from sexuality. Definitely a recommended book.

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean an ice cream truck isn't trying to run you down

The cover of Sean Beaudoin’s Fade to Blue suggests it’s a book for Goth girls who are maybe into comics. This is misleading. Fade to Blue is a book partly about a Goth girl who is maybe into comics, but that's not the same thing at all. (See last months' mrchompchomp entry.)

So don't go browsing about the bookstore looking at the cover and thinking "this book is simply not intended for me where is the zombie section anyway?" Because you'll be missing out. First of all the Goth girl, Sophie Blue, is pretty cool. Funny, resourceful, a talented artist, wears fishnets and combat boots to gym class, tough, bitter and sarcastic but in a charming way. She's really not bad for a guy to hang out with for a good chunk of the story. Besides, this book is about much more than Sophie and her issues.

One of Sophie's major issues is that she keeps getting run over by an ice cream truck. Somehow it doesn't kill her. She'd think it was a dream, but it leaves some pretty nasty ice-cream-truck-grill shaped bruises. No one else can see the ice cream truck. But they can all see the bruises. It's a problem. Her father has vanished, possibly abducted, and that has something to do with the ice cream truck. There's a sexy nurse, too, who regularly shows up, also ice-cream-truck-related. And there are streams of ones and zeros that enter Sophie’s head. You can guess what they might be related to.

Ben Fade, super successful basketball star and school hero, is seeing ones and zeros as well. It's not making him feel too well.

Nearly everyone at Sophie and Ben's high school, from the hot girls mostly named Kirsty to the basketball playing thugs to the evil gym teacher to the evil janitor, keeps drinking a hip beverage called Sour White. So does everyone in town. Anyone not at the high school works at the town’s bio-pharmaceutical lab. Eventually, all of this comes together to help explain the disappearance of Sophie’s father. And the appearance of the evil ice cream truck.

I'm not sure how you would, but if you think you can see where all of this is headed, you're wrong. Fade to Blue starts throwing surprises at the first turn of the page, and doesn't let up until the end. Past the end, really, as the book laughs, literally, at the idea of closure (you can check it's appendix). And for all of its quirkiness, all of its satire, all of its over-the-top twists and turns, it doesn't shy away from real pain, and from the fact that people can do truly evil things, and how much it would suck if those people were related to you.

In short, Fade to Blue is a complete trip. It does cartwheels with reality and then back-flips. (Did I mention the cheerleaders?) It will make you question life and death and the difference between the two. (Did I mention the zombies?) It's written in fast-paced prose so packed with cultural references that Kant and boner–humor have no choice but to hang out in the same paragraph together. (Did I mention the inspirational posters?)

If you already know you like trippy books, dive in and enjoy the ride. If you want more stuff to mess with your mind, you can try one of these: Ubik, Philip K. Dick; V, Thomas Pynchon; Vurt, Jeff Noon; Girl in Landscape, Jonathan Lethem; Geek Love, Katherine Dunn; The Trial, Franz Kafka.

Reality bids you farewell.

Cross-posted at Critique de Mr Chompchomp

According to Crow, according to me

In earlier Guys Lit Wire reviews I praised Ekaterina Sedia's novels The Secret History of Moscow and The Alchemy of Stone. I've just tracked down her first novel, written as "E. Sedia," According to Crow. It's every bit as good as the other two, and completely different at the same time. It also makes it easier to see the recurring themes that make her novels so unique and powerful.

Josiah is seventeen and sticks out like a sore thumb. His mother is a village celebrity for her courageous act eighteen years earlier when she beheaded a conquering general; Josiah's appearance nine months later explained exactly how she got close enough to do it. Always an outcast due to his physical resemblance to their dark-skinned enemies, Josiah jumps at the chance to visit his late father's family on peaceful terms, under the protection of his monastic uncle Caleb. His fellow travelers are Mireille, Thuraya and young archivist Crow, a pre-industrial Johnny Mnemonic who memorizes vast stretches of history.

Josiah experiences every young man's fantasy on the journey: he falls in love with Mireille, the beautiful older woman who protects Crow, and has a wild fling with Thuraya, the young, free-loving priestess. Caleb becomes the father figure he never had, and Crow the little brother. But big events are on the horizon, forcing Josiah to make choices about duty, love, loss, family and his own place in the world.

The things Sedia does well in her other two books are especially evident here, where the story and societal background are more genre-traditional. Her dialogue is sharp and contemporary, but never to a distracting degree. Her characters are vivid and behave like real people. The book is told in first person, and she makes Josiah a strong narrator whose emotions easily become the reader's own.

What's different here is the degree of drama Josiah goes through on his journeys. Both Secret History and Alchemy built gradually and smoothly to powerful conclusions, but there are several climaxes in Josiah's story, which stick with the reader the same way they do Josiah. One passage especially will haunt me, I suspect, for quite some time. In a way it's a more "typical" fantasy book, at least in structure, and might be a more comfortable read for those who like their fantasy traditional.

Amazingly, this 2005 book is already out of print; I got mine from the local library. But I can't recommend it highly enough. If you enjoyed The Alchemy of Stone and The Secret History of Moscow, this is a remarkably different, but no less fascinating, aspect of her considerable talent.

According to me.

SPECIAL OFFER: Ms. Sedia has a few copies of According to Crow she's making available to Guys Lit Wire readers. E-mail her at katsedia@hotmail.com, mention this offer and get the hardcover (signed and personalized) for $20 including shipping.

Life in the gym

At Gleason's Gym by Ted Lewin is a picture book about the many different people, old and young, male and female, all different colors and ethnicities, who train at Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn. It was written for elementary aged children but after reading it I thought it would make an excellent choice for teens who are reluctant readers - especially boys who may be learning English as a second language or have struggled with illiteracy. It might be a picture book but Lewin has written At Gleason's Gym with a very sophisticated and mature style. And the artwork, ranging from big brawny oils to simpler pencil drawings is stunning. There is nothing insulting about being seen with this book - if anything others will be envious that you found something so excellent to read.

The story is based around Sugar Boy Younan who has been visiting Gleason's with his father since he was two and now, at the age of nine, is training for the Silver Gloves Nationals, Bantamweight division. As Lewin leads readers around the gym, following Sugar Boy and the people he encounters, he writes about the tip tap of jump roping, the buzz of the ring bell, the bam bam bam of the heavy bag slamming. There are "kickboxers from Thailand, girl boxers, big, burly wrestlers..." The gym is alive with activity and everybody - everybody - is welcome.

Hands get wrapped, shadow boxers line the wall, eyes turn towards the ring, everyone watches the sparring, everyone cheers. There are so many good things about how Lewin tells this story, the choice of language, the unconscious rhythm of the words, the overwhelming inclusiveness of the characters, that it's hard for me to point out one simple thing. I thought it was strong and beautiful, that it conveyed all the power of boxing and how that power can belong to anyone. Mostly though, it shows that Gleason's Gym is a place where anyone's dreams can be pursued. I can't think of a better ideal for someone to learn or a better book for a reader to learn on.

It's awesome.

Oishinbo: Japanese Cuisine by Tetsu Kariya and Akira Hanasaki

Manga, like most western graphic storytelling forms, must overcome a preponderance of prejudices and stereotypes among American readers. In spite of (some might say because of) manga's success in American bookstores, the form is viewed as the exclusive territory of titles such as Naruto, Dragonball and OnePiece - male power fantasies with quirky (sometimes outright hallucinogenic) storytelling, frequent battles, and more speed lines than could ever be counted.

What a delight it is, then, when a manga publishing house as prominent as Viz Media decides to print something more than a little outside the norm, a title that seeks to educate more than titillate. That title is Oishinbo, and while it is new to America as of 2009, it has been published in Japan for over 25 years. There are literally hundreds of volumes and thousands upon thousands of pages in the Japanese Oishinbo catalogue, which no doubt created troubles for any company seeking to publish this work in America. Rather than meticulously translating, editing and reprinting each page from the very start of the Japanese series, Viz has opted for what they term the "A la Carte" approach - volumes compiled and heavily edited around a particular theme. Sometimes this approach works well, and other times it leaves a reader scratching his head. That is the price, I suppose, for attempting something ambitious and unique in the American manga market.

So, what is Oishinbo about? It's about food - specifically, Japanese cuisine - and the obsessions and aesthetics that drive Japan's culinary masters. But before you start thinking of this as nothing more than a heavily illustrated cookbook, you should also know that Oishinbo is about a young man and his relationship with his father, about the anger of youth and the cynicism of the aged, and about the quest for perfection. Don't expect any "Good Guys vs. Bad Guys" simplistic motifs. As is the case in real life, none of the characters in Oishinbo fits a neatly-designed cubicle.

The protagonist of the story, Yamaoka Shiro, is grumpy, pretentious, off-putting and occasionally brilliant. His background in the culinary arts, and his refined palate, have earned him the quest for the "Ultimate Menu," a lengthy newspaper assignment to assemble and create the most magnificent Japanese meal ever imagined. Shiro's antagonist is his father, Kaibara Yuzan. Yuzan is explosive, verbally abusive, passionate, and, like his son, utterly brilliant. There is much to like and to dislike about each of these men, and while the culinary lessons are intriguing, the human story of a rift between father and son is what lifts this work above its genre.

If it sounds as though I am gushing about Oishinbo, it's because I am. It's original, it's challenging, it's sublime - but it is not without its flaws. The main problem with this first volume lies primarily with Viz's decision to heavily edit this large work into discreet, bite-sized (no pun intended) chunks. While this first volume does a relatively good job of introducing some of the basics of Japanese cuisine (necessary knife skills, expected etiquette, and the tea ceremony, among others), it does so at the expense of character and conflict development. In culinary terms, Oishinbo: Japanese Cuisine is a pleasant and a somewhat unexpected appetizer, but if subsequent volumes follow the same pattern we will all be starving for a main course rather quickly.

Cross-posted at PastePotPete.

The Actor and the Text - and the Reader

Have you ever played a part on stage or on film that was completely unlike you? I have. I love it. In my opinion, playing against type is one of the most challenging aspects of acting - and one of the best. It's fun to do a full 180, to play a shy character when you're loud and outgoing in real life, or pretend you're from another place, another era, another walk of life.

But what about playing the opposite gender? How comfortable (or uncomfortable) would that be? How does the gender bending inform your voice, your speech pattern, your posture, your walk? What if you were portraying a historical figure attending the trials of Oscar Wilde? In 1895, Wilde, author of The Picture of Dorian Gray and many other well-regarded works, was brought to court, where his art and life were unfairly tried due to his sexual orientation.

As some of you know, I'm an actress. I've just been cast in a stage production of Gross Indecency: The Three Trials of Oscar Wilde. Written by Moisés Kaufman, the play is based on real events and uses actual court transcripts from Wilde's (in)famous trials. Kaufman is famous in his own right, known for his original plays and projects as well as his work as one of the members of The Tectonic Theater Project, the group behind The Laramie Project. Thus, the writing has a unique structure, almost reading/sounding like a documentary, with quick interjections of thoughts and quotes, clarified and underscored by various narrators.

I've played boys (or roles that are typically given boys) before. When I was a kid, I was Tiny Tim in Scrooge, a musical based on A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Every night, after curtain call, I'd take off my newsboy cap and let my hair fall down. That was fun, especially when I heard the gasp of someone who had been in the audience moments before.

The year before that, I fought for the right to audition for the role of Charlie in Charlie in the Chocolate Factory. They told me I couldn't, because I was a girl. I told them I could, because Charlie could be short for Charlotte, because girls could do anything boys could do, because I should at least be able to at least try. (Does it surprise you at all to learn I was this headstrong since I was, well, born?) Not only did I win the right to audition, but I won the role.

Back to Gross Indecency. I initially wanted to talk about the legal and social injustice that Wilde endured and compare that to similar persecutions and assumptions made today - but then I got an idea and thought I'd change it up a bit by discussing the actual storytelling of the piece.

Our interests in and reactions to stories might vary based on the genders of the characters - and also, in the case of written work then reinterpreted for the stage or screen, the casting.

Every time a play is performed, it is different. Each production is different, even when the dialogue is the same. The actors, directors, and others involved in the show collaborate on an interpretation and presentation of words which were previously strung together by a playwright.

When Gross Indecency first ran off-Broadway in 1997, the cast was made up of nine male actors playing multiple roles. My cast has the same number of people, but while men are playing Oscar Wilde, Lord Alfred Douglas, and the lawyers, women have been cast as the four narrators - one of whom also plays the judge. (Note that, as of this writing, we've only just had the first read-through. Blocking will begin later this week.) Will the presence of females change the story? The interpretation of the words? The audience's perception? Do you think an audience would react differently to an all-male cast, or an all-female cast?

Now think about this on a broader scale, and consider your own subconscious assumptions: When you read a play - or any printed story - in which a character's gender is not specified, do you picture a man or a woman? If that character speaks, do you hear a man's voice, or a woman's voice? Why do you picture the person - the gender - that you do? Does it depend on the reason the character entered the scene? The occupation or other nouns surrounding it? If it's a friendly neighbor, knocking on the door and sharing freshly-baked cookies, do you picture a man or a woman? If a one-line character is simply described as "a lawyer" or "a cop" or "a teacher" or "a doctor," do you picture a woman or a man?

Do you trust a female narrator more or less than a male? If a man writes a story from the first-person viewpoint of a woman, is that character and that story less valid than it would have been if a woman had written the story, or vice-versa? Along these lines, I could write another post entirely dedicated to the narrator of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. If you haven't read that amazing novel, I won't spoil it for you here. I'll simply encourage you to pick up that book when you get up Gross Indecency, and read, read, read.

This discussion can go even further, asking what other character traits you envision, such as race or body type. When characters in books, scripts, and plays are "undescribed" or "under-described" (because those are two different things, mind you), do you mentally picture characters that resemble you or someone you know, or do you see John Does and Jane Does, purposely nondescript? It's much different than watching a film or television series, isn't it, if you can see and/or hear that character, when the pictures, sounds, and ideas are provided for you.

How much of what we take away from a story, any story, is based on our own experiences, perceptions, and interpretations? Don't we take away more than just the words of the writer? Don't we put a little piece of ourselves into that story, page by page?

Please feel free to discuss all of this in the comments below.

Oh - I failed to mention our director's gender. Did you notice this accidental omission, or are you only noticing now that I'm drawing your attention to it?