Sci-Fi Shorts and Ray Bradbury

The first short story I read this week for the science fiction genre was the one about the giant: JG Ballard’s The Drowned Giant. It was quite descriptive for a short story but it didn’t move anywhere fast for me. In fact it was a little difficult to discern the point of it all. It was sad how the washed up giant was treated but the anticipation for something more made the read somewhat of a disappointment. In reflecting upon it though I can see its purpose was to make the reader think about all that could be out there and all that is. It’s also unfortunate to consider how we react to surprises like the giant without much empathy.

The other short story I read was Come to Venus Melancholy by Thomas Disch. The beginning was confusing, but as the talking building, who is our narrator, began to reveal more and more about who she is and how she came to be the story became really intriguing and the unexplained gaps turned wondrous. I think the experimental narration works because it involves the reader in the story. It’s been a long time since I’ve read a work of fiction that talked to me. Probably not since Dr. Seuss. But I liked seeing it here and wouldn’t mind seeing it more in adult fiction. Although it might get annoying if the scenario is always kept as mysterious as it is kept in Come to Venus Melancholy. It’s fun because it’s experimental and you don’t know what the narrator is going to explain to you next, either about herself and her own history, or about who you are and how you got here, locked inside of a talking cyborg/building. By the time it concluded not everything was answered, which kept me living inside of the world Disch had created for a while after having read it, still trying to make up answers for myself.

The personality Disch created for the talking building seemed very realistic and convincingly average, and perhaps for that reason also rather annoying. She had a gift of gab and if it weren’t for her being a human turned into a sentient room capable of locking its own doors I don’t know that she would have been interesting enough a narrator to listen to. I’d imagine it’s hard as an author to get away with literally telling your reader every so often “wait, don’t leave!”

It’s tough to compare either of these sci-fi stories to the Ray Bradbury movie. Bradbury creates a dystopian world where books are outlawed and explains to you how the society functions, so it isn’t experimental in that sense but I can see how Bradbury was using the genre to explore big ideas. Bradbury’s idea od a dystopia being a world without books may come across as a bit corny at first but for some reason the idea of “becoming” a book, like the Book People, would truly give me a greater sense of purpose in their situation. It’s a fascinating way of reminding us how much a well-written story can mean to us, and how, as a form of communication, it’s a way of connecting with people.

Anansi Boys - Being John Malkovich

Neil Gaiman’s humorous writing style made Anansi Boys fun to read. Though I’m not greatly familiar with him, I’ve noticed that Gaiman appears to have a deeply rooted interest in spiders, shape-shifters, and mythology in general. In the sort of way that his friend Alan Moore will write in praise of writing as an art form, I found Anansi Boys to be a sort of ode to storytelling and, of course, song. The whole story celebrates itself and the other many tales it’s based off of.

It’s a bit interesting that Charlie remained uncool even after discovering he was the son of a god. There are a number of books and films that spring to mind where the main character starts off as a social misfit or normal everyman but after learning that they are the son of Poseidon or nephew of Santa Claus they travel to Mount Olympus or the North Paul and find their sense of belonging. I suppose Fat Charlie does find his sense of belonging, but it takes him longer; all the way to the end of the book. Which, by the way, I wasn’t expecting such a happy ending from Gaiman. In a way it was a let down, because the book had a consistent tone of humor and irony and everything that happened to Fat Charlie was chaotic madness. To end on a key of a perfect “happily ever after” betrays the spirit of the Anansi tales.

What I appreciate most about having read this book is learning about the Anansi stories. As a child I was read to about the Br’er Rabbit, so it’s very interesting to find out from Neil Gaiman that it was actually an Anansi Spider fable repackaged.  

It’s easy to see similarities between Anansi Boys and Charlie Kaufman’s Being John Malkovich. If Being John Malkovich is magical realism then Anansi Boys is mythical realism. They’re both whimsical, witty and surreal, but otherwise take place in normal everyday life.

Kaufman’s film drove home the theme of identity and the crisis of identity, not just with a magical portal that lets you escape into someone else’s mind but also with a protagonist who is an ardent puppeteer. I thought that was rather brilliant for two reasons. The most obvious being how he talked about living through the puppets. He ended up treating people the same way as he did his puppets, by trying to manipulate them and, literally in John’s case, trying to live through them. But the second reason making the main character an unlikeable puppeteer seems so genius is because of how obscure puppets have become. Of course he wouldn’t feel comfortable in his own skin, no one appreciates what it is he does, or rather – as it goes when you become so engrossed with what you do – what he is. He’s a puppeteer, and of what relevancy are those these days? It’s the perfect person to portray that existential meltdown that may be looming in the backs of every one of the seven billion minds travelling on this little blue dot. I fell in love with film.