There's nothing to mark this day, nothing to set it apart from the rest. The clouds didn't open up, no voices spoke from the sky. I did not see owls crying in the marketplace at noon, nor did I encounter lions by the Capitol. It's just a day. I have a distressing tendency to search for momentous omens where none exist; a constant effort to emphasize the trivial and make it somehow meaningful and of a piece with the rest of the grand production that is my life. Except that it's not, is it? Ah well, logical consistency was never essential to putting on a good show. Who am I to complain? I've got the best seats in the house.
Everything's got to be grand; grand loves, sweeping passions, unstoppable flows. Life should be the majestic movements of some heavenly orchestra, cadences of grandeur descending through the eye of a needle so that we can tap a foot along. That's all it needs, that window; and we have life! Inside my head, there are drum rolls every time I or someone else lands a well-constructed verbal riposte; there's a soundtrack to the world, a song for every occasion; the good will out and what you think or do actually matters. There are no fences to sit on here, it's all or nothing one way or the other; choose the devil, choose the sea, either way you work with me. Don't ever let up, don't ever take your foot off. Give it all you've got. Better a supernova than a stuttering candle, better a fatal flourish than the death of a thousand bruises. Go at it hard, men; give them hell! Who's to say? We might make a difference; we might be the difference, or we might be the unfortunate example. Who's with me? And in my head, everyone says 'aye!' in a resounding chorus. Why would you live any other way?
Friday, February 03, 2012
Saturday, August 20, 2011
The crownless again shall be king.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are
This place is dead.
It was not always so.
Once, this barren court resounded with laughter. Laughter and dismay, in equal measure; for this was no more than a reflection of the world - its joys and its follies, both. If there are two sides to everything (and that is a conservative estimate) Out There, then there shall be no less In Here. Everything has its place, 'tis true; sadly, that nobody can seem to agree on where that might be, at any given time. Therein lies the folly, therein lies the attraction; and there, in a nutshell, is the reason why the Court of Dreams exists.
Here was reality stirred with fantasy in measures so unequal that hearts would be gladdened by the imbalance. Cries of mock-tragedy filled the air as barbs of wit were flung hither and yon in refined abandon. Oh, the sport was bloodless, 'tis true; but do not for an instant believe that it was always harmless. Moderation in all things except temptation, and the devil take the hindmost! Those were the days.
One day, something changed. Something died in the world. And, as we all know, when a man is not the master of himself, he cannot hope to be the master of anything else. And so, the King abdicated, the jesters slunk away and the court lay empty.
As is the way with most things, its value was only truly recognized once it had gone. The Court made no claims to be lifechanging or momentous, but it was everything to its King. What was it to everyone else? Does it matter? Let us not say that it was important in any way. Say, rather, it was the mirror - held in a decidedly sardonic hand - by which one might discern the world and where one would like to be in it; and how far away that is from where you were. The world may not need this place, but he surely does. And something makes me believe he knows that, now.
But enough about the past, it might as well be another country. Now to the present - the world has changed, and the mirror must - heh - reflect that. The hand guiding the mirror has changed more than anything, but what's life without the odd gamble? Now, the throne is occupied again. Not the most kingly figure, it must be said; one leg draped over the arm of his throne, tongue parked firmly in cheek as he says, ‘Right. Now, where was I?’
Long live the King.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Can't touch this.
Hello.
So many topics for this post have flitted through my mind in the last year and a half, so many witty opening lines, and that's the best I can do? Well, you gotta say hello. How've all of you been? Hope all's been well. I realize a blog that's updated once in a blue moon isn't really much of a blog, but that just makes you who read this even more worthy of my well-wishes, doesn't it?
For some reason, I can't stop grinning as I type this, and this worries me. My merriment is generally cause for worry among most of my friends, but this is a first. There's no obvious reason for me to be cheerful at the moment - work starts in about 6 hours, forced cheeriness shortly afterwards and sleep will once again be ignored in favour of snatches of stimuli. Tomorrow's just another day; that said, maybe I'll take a ride down the coast awhile. I think I've earned that! The right music can make anything sublime; some of the best moments I can remember have songs inevitably associated with them. Waterfall in the train back from Bangalore. Teardrop in the paddy fields. Music of the Night alone up in the hills. Sweetest Thing dancing like I knew how. Bittersweet Symphony riding in the rain. Hopefully, I'll have a few more this time tomorrow. Music + wind in face = silly grin to go with daft hairstyle. I like silly grins; they scare people. I have friends who use cheerfulness as a weapon to bludgeon unwary passerby (ie, me) into pretending that we have something in common and that we really share a bond; all to make the person with a manic grin go away. I'm still trying to get rid of most of them, though, so if any of you have a reliable method I can use, feel free to enlighten me. I don't use the manic grin quite like that; it's a resource to be hoarded, in my opinion. Throw it out there and you'll be pretty drained when someone slings something back. I'd rather be guardedly smirkish throughout a day than insanely happy for an hour and angry/paranoid/miserable/worried for 23. Which is partly to say I like my gender (he shoots, he scores, he gets maced in the face), but mostly to say I like me.
Thinking about it, though : I'm typing these words at the computer I dreamt of owning for years, sitting a few stories above the piece of land I spent my childhood on. Everyday I travel down a street full of windows that I've broken (with powerful yet elegant strokeplay, if you ask me; sadly, nobody ever did), and none of the watchmen give me dirty looks anymore! That's mostly because of the beard, but who cares! I've got a job, I do! Business cards, even! Wa hey, right? I'm alive, check; in possession of all my faculties, check; and by the most basic form of comparison, I'm better off than I was a year or two ago. See? That's evolution for you, boys and girls. Ol' Charlie was right! There's so much around me that just couldn't have been there earlier, or at the least, couldn't have been appreciated like I do now. I still have my appendix, and my tonsils! Sure, I hear what you say, but what if the appendix contains the only zombie-virus-antidote that actually works? Boy, are you gonna be pissed...well, probably not pissed. Slavering, more like. And me? Well, quick or dead, I suppose; and no need to start the betting, we all know how that's going to work. But still!
Even in the blackest moments of the last couple of years, there were brilliant little nuggets of comedy. Phili yelling 'It's all in your head! It's all in your head!' through the phone while I tried to convince him that the floor rising up to meet me was definitely not part of my imagination. My doctor, with the air of a man grasping at straws for some nugget of good news he could give me that would cheer me up, blurts out that I could still have 'sexual relations' if I wanted. Poor chap, he meant well; but given my rather debilitated condition at the moment, I think being able to walk would've been top of my priority list, never mind horizontal dancing. I did appreciate the vote of confidence though! (Now I know half of you are imagining me chasing some poor girl out of Zara's yelling 'But the doc said I could!', and I want you to stop right thi-...oh. Well. Let's just move on, shall we?)
I still shudder every time I see a strip of tablets, though. And I don't think I'll ever be able to drink Slice or Frooti again without feeling nauseous. Sigh, pity. I'll live.
I think I've reached that age, you know? That age where you become a Mr. and clothes suddenly qualify as presents. Don't mistake me, there's nothing wrong with them; they just personify the un-Kansasness of the times. A tie! I think I've only ever worn a tie once. I've a rare gift there, you could send me down Saville Row and I will still wander in for dinner looking like I've barely left my bed. I quite like this quality of mine...I don't think my mother does, though. Differences of opinion are what make the world go round, I say; and she generally insults me quite handily in Malayalam by way of response. But I've never been sheveled in my life, and I don't intend to start now, no matter how strange the world gets.
Maybe friendship is a lie most of the time? Maybe you just pretend and someday you find that the pretense has a structure, and foundations, and it's actually holding true. I don't know. All I know is, I wish the people who weren't here were here, because you've been around the block with me (in some cases, literally) and you've seen it all, or at least those portions held back from the regular clientele. I don't know what I'd do with you were you here, but that's another story. Plans never work out; I'm a compulsive planner, but even I can admit that easily enough. The only use of making plans is so that when everything goes belly-up, you have some sort of means by which you can calculate how far off course you've travelled. Travelling off-course is a good thing though...I quite like it, as evidenced by this lengthy diatribe with no apparent purpose, meaning, or indeed, conclusion. Fear not, hardy readers! I would hardly be so cruel as to strand you on an extended metaphor without an end in sight! This is that end - shit happens. Deal with it :)
On that topic, a fair amount of it seems to have happened since I last frequented this, my little corner of cyberspace. I suppose a partial explanation or two is necessary. Due to matters medical, I was, shall we say, under the weather for...bloody hell, it's only been a year and a half? I would've pegged it for an eon or two. I love that phrase, 'under the weather', incidentally; it can cover any multitude of ailments, from a hangover to bubonic plague. So yes, that did incapacitate me to such an extent that writing would have been more expenditure than I would've been capable of. I don't know how it is for other people, but I tend to put a lot of myself into my writing. That can occasionally leave me rather drained, which is usually okay. When the levels are low and the reserves are dry, though...I really couldn't afford it back then. There you go, honour has been satisfied with that, I think.
Back to my apparently-baseless grinning! I'm spinning around on my swivel chair while listening to Semi-Charmed Life. Wouldn't you be grinning? If not, you probably haven't heard that song; or indeed, sat on my chair. I assure you, the combination is quite hilarious. Consider this an invitation, peoples of the Internet, to come sit on my chair and listen to rather quirky music and make awkward conversation. What else is there to life?
You find happiness where you can make it. And people can make it in the strangest places. People are supposed to find that inspiring, that fact. I'm not people. But I'm all right. What's not to be happy about? I'm still writing, still wise-cracking, still giving dialogues-that-sound-deep-but-aren't-really and basically still here.
But, best of all, I'm still me.
You have no idea how good it feels to be able to say that.
Monday, September 08, 2008
That's me in the corner.
I've spent my life in a state of extreme bewilderment; mostly directed at other people. When I was a kid and I had to attend any gatherings or parties, I'd stand as out of the way as possible (while remaining as close to the food as possible, of course) and look around me in as perplexed an expression as you will ever find on that many square inches of expression-capable chubbiness. It strikes me now that not very much changed with the years. The anti-social tendencies remained the same, the proximity to the food increased if anything, and the expression became more and more befuddled as time went by. It felt very much like walking into a play or a dance recital (or any one of those darned cultural events) very late and watching everybody else consult their programmes and nod knowingly at each other and generally watch them sail smoothly by your floundering I-wish-I-were-a-corpse. Or it could be likened to watching the movements of an intricate dance, whose steps everybody knew but I. And not just knew, mind you; they danced like they were born to it. And I? I gamely pretended that I had the faintest idea what I was doing, and as has happened so often in my life, it appears to have worked. Still, even now, give me a moment of solitude at one of those things, and you will see my expression begin to slip back into that habitual worried puzzlement; the eternal suspicion of the one who doesn't laugh because he doesn't get the joke, and has a sneaking suspicion he never will. To this day, you will see me professing great interest in the contents of my glass (most often Sprite that I claim is vodka, so as to blunt the inevitable offensive mounted by drunk and intolerably cheery people) or in the display of my phone; which in reality is telling me nothing I don't already know, which is : this is not my world. I would walk with my own people if I could find them. Until then...you play the hand you're dealt, and no second chances. Them's the breaks.
Standing in a corner, removed from it all, can I honestly claim that I am different? Well, different, yes; better, no. On this, the occasion of another toe of mine entering the grave, I plan to celebrate those differences. For all they cost, they make me the person I am. It might not be enough for some, but I always get up again and you're never gonna keep me down. So, on this somewhat less-than-momentous day, I raise a decidedly non-alcoholic glass to fishes that live on the sole belief that there is water for them somewhere. And may I never feel any other way.
Standing in a corner, removed from it all, can I honestly claim that I am different? Well, different, yes; better, no. On this, the occasion of another toe of mine entering the grave, I plan to celebrate those differences. For all they cost, they make me the person I am. It might not be enough for some, but I always get up again and you're never gonna keep me down. So, on this somewhat less-than-momentous day, I raise a decidedly non-alcoholic glass to fishes that live on the sole belief that there is water for them somewhere. And may I never feel any other way.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The Return...or a return, at any rate.
Greetings and salutations, you lot. This is a bit like posing for a picture that's going to be on the cover of a magazine; I'm not sure who's going to be reading this, I'm not even sure if anyone'll be there. Still, make a fist of it eh?
Yes, I've been away for quite awhile now. Got out of the habit of writing, I suppose; and then I just lost the inclination. Sometimes, I think that writing might drain a little too much of yourself; I know, I know, very similar to the whole your-soul-in-a-photograph thing. But seriously, when you're holding on to some semblance of you (normality's too strong a word), writing might let a little too much slip through. Interesting digression that; and now, the news!
I'm a working man now. Granted, for a given definition of 'work' but still. This is scary. I wanted this job, or something like it, more than anybody knew for most of my life. And now that I've got it, I'm shit scared. You see, this is past the point of no return. No more 'Get Out Of Jail Free' cards, no more safety nets, no more 'Would you like to continue from your last save point?'. Okay, so the last was wishful thinking;but if wishes were fishes, we'd all be Bengali. Anyway, work; the very word is anathema to me! I mean, I'm me! If dictionaries had an entry for the word loafer, mine would be the picture right next to it! Probably one of those dreadful pictures Modi keeps taking of me, come to think of it; the man's got a talent I really wish he didn't. But yes, I'm a loafer. I go out of my way to avoid going out of my way about anything! I probably nicked somebody else's way to begin with! I've managed to not properly do a spot of homework since 5th standard! And I'm working a 9 to 5! Well, a bit worse actually, mine's a 9 hour shift. You see my point?!
Ah well, we are well and truly in the twilight zone now. 'Serious' and 'responsible' are the flavours of the day. To be perfectly honest, I'd rather have cough medicine; but time's a-tickin' away and there are no easy ways out now. Here's to fish out of water and lost Dorothys; I know how you felt.
Things move on, as they tend to do; people, not so much. Some people's thoughts are so dominated by the past, they're fulfilling their own prophecies. I can't stand it. I've been made aware of certain ways of thinking that are still very much in vogue in certain communities/situations. I tell you this, boyos; I was, in equal measures, appalled, disgusted, pitying and angry. Medieval does not begin to describe it. Upon my oath, I am not a violent man but some people need to be dragged kicking and screaming into 'modern times'; with extreme prejudice, if necessary. The world's more about respect now, or at least, it should bloody well be. Respect a person's right to make their own choices; you're not the one who has to live with the fallout. You simply cannot wield sovereign authority over another person's life; not if you want them to be happy, or if you want them to grow a backbone. I honestly believed that times, they were a'changin'; well, there's a hell of a long way to go yet. I'm sad more than anything, now that the anger's burnt down. I'm one of the lucky ones; I've always been given full authority to screw my own life up as I see fit. But, now, I'm aware of those who weren't so lucky. There, but for the grace of God, go I. What can I say? 'I'm sorry' just doesn't cut it, does it? All I can say is, everything passes and...you never know. Fare you all well.
Incidentally, college is over. I'm done with Loyola now, and I don't think there's ever been a relationship in my life that I've been so happy to sever. Barring a couple final twists of the knife, I'm done with you and your moralistic, preachy, 'high-ground','for your betterment as a person' bullshit. Eat shit and die.
I'm not normally quite so vitriolic. I believe that it's justified here, though. Ah, who cares? I'm glad to be out, with some modicum of respectable English left; and to have met a few good men along the way. It was hell, but they made it survivable. Here's to silver linings and helping hands unlooked for.
2008's been a roller-coaster year, really. Helter skelter in the summer swelter, and we're not even halfway through yet. Started quite brilliantly and then nosedived faster than a P-47 with no engine. Reached an uneasy kind of plateau now, but it's that kind of equilibrium that you only find when you don't have many options. So it goes. Truthfully, the most pissing off thing about this year is that it's proved the truth of far too many old adages and sayings. It's always so depressing when the collected wisdom of the human race turns out to be right on anything; makes you wonder if there's a point to it all.
My comp crashed, and I lost everything on my hard drive. Everything I've written in the past 4 or 5 years. That contributed a fair bit to my unwillingness to write, as you can imagine. There are some things I've lost now that I can truthfully say I will never match again. I lost a fair bit, yeah. To be fair, I've learned quite a bit, as if in compensation. Knowledge is an iffy thing sometimes, but I think I'll follow Tennyson's Ulysses where it's concerned. Well, not quite as far as he did, obviously. He was willing to go beyond the utmost bound of human thought; I'll give you a raised eyebrow or two. But it's worth the occasional snicker sometimes, knowledge. It can't be a substitute for all the things you wanted, but it can get you by. That's all we're after.
Or I might be speaking for myself there. After all, that's all I ever do; and I wait with lips sardonically curled for the reactions of the world. I twist and turn and play out this merry little farce I've concocted for myself, a tune that nobody else knows; and if I'm honest, I'm not sure how many would care to. I laugh at the piper, the players, the piece and the public, all unheeding; and I trust that there are some who are not taken in by it, who can see through it all. For someone who's spent his life constructing elaborate, grandiose and dramatic faces, it's far more important than you would expect that there are at least a few people who aren't deceived. Deception is the game we play when transparency has absconded with our savings. But, as always, we're more faithful to what we'd rather have over what we do; the bird in the bush, the grapes overhead.
Life's shit sometimes, yeah? Hope can be the Philosopher's Stone, but equally it can be fool's gold. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here? Sure, sometimes that's the way you think you gotta go. Life's too bland without it, though; it's like endless courses of stick without so much as a sniff of a carrot, or what happens when all the good cops go on strike. It's when you can't look forward to...anything, right? Because you tell yourself you've no reason to.
No eagles will come tonight. Maybe rain, if we're lucky. Onen i-Estel Edain, รบ-chebin estel anim; I gave hope to the Dunedain, I have kept no hope for myself. That was her path, but it sure as hell won't be mine.
Here's to estel and good old fashioned stubbornness; 'cos you're never gonna keep me down.
Yes, I've been away for quite awhile now. Got out of the habit of writing, I suppose; and then I just lost the inclination. Sometimes, I think that writing might drain a little too much of yourself; I know, I know, very similar to the whole your-soul-in-a-photograph thing. But seriously, when you're holding on to some semblance of you (normality's too strong a word), writing might let a little too much slip through. Interesting digression that; and now, the news!
I'm a working man now. Granted, for a given definition of 'work' but still. This is scary. I wanted this job, or something like it, more than anybody knew for most of my life. And now that I've got it, I'm shit scared. You see, this is past the point of no return. No more 'Get Out Of Jail Free' cards, no more safety nets, no more 'Would you like to continue from your last save point?'. Okay, so the last was wishful thinking;but if wishes were fishes, we'd all be Bengali. Anyway, work; the very word is anathema to me! I mean, I'm me! If dictionaries had an entry for the word loafer, mine would be the picture right next to it! Probably one of those dreadful pictures Modi keeps taking of me, come to think of it; the man's got a talent I really wish he didn't. But yes, I'm a loafer. I go out of my way to avoid going out of my way about anything! I probably nicked somebody else's way to begin with! I've managed to not properly do a spot of homework since 5th standard! And I'm working a 9 to 5! Well, a bit worse actually, mine's a 9 hour shift. You see my point?!
Ah well, we are well and truly in the twilight zone now. 'Serious' and 'responsible' are the flavours of the day. To be perfectly honest, I'd rather have cough medicine; but time's a-tickin' away and there are no easy ways out now. Here's to fish out of water and lost Dorothys; I know how you felt.
Things move on, as they tend to do; people, not so much. Some people's thoughts are so dominated by the past, they're fulfilling their own prophecies. I can't stand it. I've been made aware of certain ways of thinking that are still very much in vogue in certain communities/situations. I tell you this, boyos; I was, in equal measures, appalled, disgusted, pitying and angry. Medieval does not begin to describe it. Upon my oath, I am not a violent man but some people need to be dragged kicking and screaming into 'modern times'; with extreme prejudice, if necessary. The world's more about respect now, or at least, it should bloody well be. Respect a person's right to make their own choices; you're not the one who has to live with the fallout. You simply cannot wield sovereign authority over another person's life; not if you want them to be happy, or if you want them to grow a backbone. I honestly believed that times, they were a'changin'; well, there's a hell of a long way to go yet. I'm sad more than anything, now that the anger's burnt down. I'm one of the lucky ones; I've always been given full authority to screw my own life up as I see fit. But, now, I'm aware of those who weren't so lucky. There, but for the grace of God, go I. What can I say? 'I'm sorry' just doesn't cut it, does it? All I can say is, everything passes and...you never know. Fare you all well.
Incidentally, college is over. I'm done with Loyola now, and I don't think there's ever been a relationship in my life that I've been so happy to sever. Barring a couple final twists of the knife, I'm done with you and your moralistic, preachy, 'high-ground','for your betterment as a person' bullshit. Eat shit and die.
I'm not normally quite so vitriolic. I believe that it's justified here, though. Ah, who cares? I'm glad to be out, with some modicum of respectable English left; and to have met a few good men along the way. It was hell, but they made it survivable. Here's to silver linings and helping hands unlooked for.
2008's been a roller-coaster year, really. Helter skelter in the summer swelter, and we're not even halfway through yet. Started quite brilliantly and then nosedived faster than a P-47 with no engine. Reached an uneasy kind of plateau now, but it's that kind of equilibrium that you only find when you don't have many options. So it goes. Truthfully, the most pissing off thing about this year is that it's proved the truth of far too many old adages and sayings. It's always so depressing when the collected wisdom of the human race turns out to be right on anything; makes you wonder if there's a point to it all.
My comp crashed, and I lost everything on my hard drive. Everything I've written in the past 4 or 5 years. That contributed a fair bit to my unwillingness to write, as you can imagine. There are some things I've lost now that I can truthfully say I will never match again. I lost a fair bit, yeah. To be fair, I've learned quite a bit, as if in compensation. Knowledge is an iffy thing sometimes, but I think I'll follow Tennyson's Ulysses where it's concerned. Well, not quite as far as he did, obviously. He was willing to go beyond the utmost bound of human thought; I'll give you a raised eyebrow or two. But it's worth the occasional snicker sometimes, knowledge. It can't be a substitute for all the things you wanted, but it can get you by. That's all we're after.
Or I might be speaking for myself there. After all, that's all I ever do; and I wait with lips sardonically curled for the reactions of the world. I twist and turn and play out this merry little farce I've concocted for myself, a tune that nobody else knows; and if I'm honest, I'm not sure how many would care to. I laugh at the piper, the players, the piece and the public, all unheeding; and I trust that there are some who are not taken in by it, who can see through it all. For someone who's spent his life constructing elaborate, grandiose and dramatic faces, it's far more important than you would expect that there are at least a few people who aren't deceived. Deception is the game we play when transparency has absconded with our savings. But, as always, we're more faithful to what we'd rather have over what we do; the bird in the bush, the grapes overhead.
Life's shit sometimes, yeah? Hope can be the Philosopher's Stone, but equally it can be fool's gold. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here? Sure, sometimes that's the way you think you gotta go. Life's too bland without it, though; it's like endless courses of stick without so much as a sniff of a carrot, or what happens when all the good cops go on strike. It's when you can't look forward to...anything, right? Because you tell yourself you've no reason to.
No eagles will come tonight. Maybe rain, if we're lucky. Onen i-Estel Edain, รบ-chebin estel anim; I gave hope to the Dunedain, I have kept no hope for myself. That was her path, but it sure as hell won't be mine.
Here's to estel and good old fashioned stubbornness; 'cos you're never gonna keep me down.
Monday, July 16, 2007
More fair than thoughts of mortal men...
The final Harry Potter book is releasing in a matter of days. And I really don't give a damn.
*obligatory pause for shocked gasps, and purchase of hexes*
My feelings regarding HP are known to many. I was indifferent to the books; indeed, I even liked a couple. That all changed when the first movie came out, not long after the release of Fellowship of the Ring; and I happened to see a review that began "A Class Above Tolkien : J.K. Rowling is in a league of her own." Blood pressure significantly rising, I searched around and found quite a few other reviews with the same gist.
Ever seen a bullfight? That moment where the bull realizes that there's an annoying little gnat waving something in front of it? That, for reasons unknown, eradication of said gnat might prove beneficial to all ...bovinity? Okay, metaphor stretched enough.
Basically, I saw red.
Long story short, I immediately launched into a vicious, no-holds-barred campaign to wilfully malign and deride Rowling and Harry Potter, not necessarily in that order. Battle lines were drawn, and all acquaintances were immediately divided into 'us' and 'them'. Though outnumbered, I like to think that we gave more than we got.
Age has made me wiser, and more mellow. Can't even type that with a straight face. Eventually, I grudgingly admitted that it wasn't exactly Rowling's fault that some reviewers were idiots...apart from that terrible label of 'better than Tolkien', I really had nothing against her or her bespectacled creation. Truth be told, I quite admire the woman, what she's achieved. And if you take away the knee-jerk enmity I've felt towards the books for the past few years, they're actually not bad.
But they cannot, under any circumstances, be compared to Tolkien.
It's sad, you know. It's downright terrible to see the contempt and disregard so many have for the man and his works. How they sneer and scoff at the very mention. 'Boring', 'Couldn't bring myself to finish it', 'Childish'...all these I've heard and more. So many times, I haven't dignified such comments with retorts. I still don't believe it's worth it, but he deserves respect; even disregarding the fact that, without his imagination, fantasy would probably be a stunted shadow of what it is today.
Often, his characters are condemned as being too unrealistic, too noble and good. To those with that complaint, I'd advise reading his books; that should prove sufficient to counter that argument. You see, that's the thing...most modern fantasy authors embrace 'realism' as their mantra, blindly mouthing it to the point where it becomes a dogma. Realism has come to mean everything that is low and base in people and the world. Granted, there are exceptions, but the troughs always seem to outnumber the waves. Sure, no world can be in black and white...but that doesn't mean we have to exalt gray to the exclusion of all else. Gritty truths, grimy lives and tarnished beliefs. Of such materials are the epics of today forged. Now if you accuse Tolkien of failing to abide by this 'code', I will whole-heartedly and gladly agree. Good authors and characters can inspire a person in many ways; it takes a great author to make people aspire, to make them believe to such an extent that they want to better themselves.
Tolkien doesn't merely touch the reader. He evokes. Whether it's through his sublime poetry(if you haven't, read some of his poems...my favourite poet, however much of a recommendation that is) or his prose, he evokes emotion on a level impossible to most. If you'd asked me in 2004, I would've said impossible to all...but Mr. Erikson has since enraptured me enough to win himself a place up there with one foot up on the dais, but still one step below Tolkien. More fair than thoughts of mortal men? Absolutely. Or women, for that matter; sorry, Rowling.
*obligatory pause for shocked gasps, and purchase of hexes*
My feelings regarding HP are known to many. I was indifferent to the books; indeed, I even liked a couple. That all changed when the first movie came out, not long after the release of Fellowship of the Ring; and I happened to see a review that began "A Class Above Tolkien : J.K. Rowling is in a league of her own." Blood pressure significantly rising, I searched around and found quite a few other reviews with the same gist.
Ever seen a bullfight? That moment where the bull realizes that there's an annoying little gnat waving something in front of it? That, for reasons unknown, eradication of said gnat might prove beneficial to all ...bovinity? Okay, metaphor stretched enough.
Basically, I saw red.
Long story short, I immediately launched into a vicious, no-holds-barred campaign to wilfully malign and deride Rowling and Harry Potter, not necessarily in that order. Battle lines were drawn, and all acquaintances were immediately divided into 'us' and 'them'. Though outnumbered, I like to think that we gave more than we got.
Age has made me wiser, and more mellow. Can't even type that with a straight face. Eventually, I grudgingly admitted that it wasn't exactly Rowling's fault that some reviewers were idiots...apart from that terrible label of 'better than Tolkien', I really had nothing against her or her bespectacled creation. Truth be told, I quite admire the woman, what she's achieved. And if you take away the knee-jerk enmity I've felt towards the books for the past few years, they're actually not bad.
But they cannot, under any circumstances, be compared to Tolkien.
It's sad, you know. It's downright terrible to see the contempt and disregard so many have for the man and his works. How they sneer and scoff at the very mention. 'Boring', 'Couldn't bring myself to finish it', 'Childish'...all these I've heard and more. So many times, I haven't dignified such comments with retorts. I still don't believe it's worth it, but he deserves respect; even disregarding the fact that, without his imagination, fantasy would probably be a stunted shadow of what it is today.
Often, his characters are condemned as being too unrealistic, too noble and good. To those with that complaint, I'd advise reading his books; that should prove sufficient to counter that argument. You see, that's the thing...most modern fantasy authors embrace 'realism' as their mantra, blindly mouthing it to the point where it becomes a dogma. Realism has come to mean everything that is low and base in people and the world. Granted, there are exceptions, but the troughs always seem to outnumber the waves. Sure, no world can be in black and white...but that doesn't mean we have to exalt gray to the exclusion of all else. Gritty truths, grimy lives and tarnished beliefs. Of such materials are the epics of today forged. Now if you accuse Tolkien of failing to abide by this 'code', I will whole-heartedly and gladly agree. Good authors and characters can inspire a person in many ways; it takes a great author to make people aspire, to make them believe to such an extent that they want to better themselves.
Tolkien doesn't merely touch the reader. He evokes. Whether it's through his sublime poetry(if you haven't, read some of his poems...my favourite poet, however much of a recommendation that is) or his prose, he evokes emotion on a level impossible to most. If you'd asked me in 2004, I would've said impossible to all...but Mr. Erikson has since enraptured me enough to win himself a place up there with one foot up on the dais, but still one step below Tolkien. More fair than thoughts of mortal men? Absolutely. Or women, for that matter; sorry, Rowling.
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