Sunday, September 27, 2009

The Musketeers Saga

A while ago, I bitched about how the first volume of The Vicomte of Bragelonne didn't live up to its title very well. I didn't have a lot of complaints about the actual book at that point, but simply that the title did not accurately reflect the plot, or even any of the principle characters. Once again, because the information here is important for the content of this current post, I'll quote the Wiki summary:

It appeared first in serial form between 1847 and 1850. In the English translations the 268 chapters of this large volume are usually subdivided into three, but sometimes four or even five individual books. In three-volume English editions, the three volumes are titled "The Vicomte de Bragelonne", "Louise de la Vallière", and "The Man in the Iron Mask."
I've finally read all three volumes. I had such high hopes...

Where to begin? The expectations? The characters? The pacing? These three books were nearly tortuous to get through, and I can be an almost voracious reader. They are all hefty volumes, which makes it quite understandable that the novel itself was split into three parts. Trying to read the whole book in its entirety would be far too daunting. But to set some perspective on the whole thing, here's a run-down of my impression of each book in the Musketeers saga.

The Three Musketeers: The second-best Dumas book I've read, behind The Count of Monte Cristo. It's just plain fun. There's plenty of humor, romance, and bravado for anyone desiring a firmly buckled swash; the mystery of Milady and the intrigues of Anne of Austria provide the book with a thoroughly entertaining plot. I could not help but adore each of the main characters, and I will say now that I enjoyed watching their characters develop over all the books of the series.

Twenty Years After: I can't quite say why, but I enjoyed this one a little less than Musketeers. Perhaps it was because I saw the inevitable sobering of our heroes as they aged. It felt less like an adventure tale and more like a drama. I laughed less, and cried more, and was mystified that all of a sudden Porthos was being described as this giant of a man with the strength of a Hercules, when I did not recall any such description of him in Musketeers. This continues to be strange to me, as his size and strength play such pivotal roles in the following books. Perhaps when I re-read Musketeers I'll catch something that I missed, but it really did seem to come out of the blue.

Twenty Years After also introduced Raoul, the son of Athos and the Vicomte of Bragelonne. I was excited to see this, as it heralded a continuation of the youthful energy of the first novel.

The Vicomte of Bragelonne: This was... okay. It was a fair enough plot, and did a fair enough job of setting up the events that would cause a great deal of the action later on. It is far more about D'Artagnan and King Charles II than Raoul; the Vicomte himself makes only a few appearances in the book until the last few chapters, and is not even spoken of much either. At this point in the series, I noticed that I was most enjoying the passages where D'Artagnan was, for lack of a better phrase, pissed all the fuck off at the young King Louis. He brought a great deal of passion and nobility to the pages, and continues to do so throughout the books. I think it's one of the traits that makes him such a likeable character.

Louise de la Valliere: Uuuuugh! This book is almost all court drama, and complicated but passionate romances that go in every possible way as many times as possible. By the end of the book, it's very difficult to empathize with most of the main characters. Even Raoul, who finally plays a larger role, is so emotionally immature I started imagining him with eyeliner and jet-black hair combed in front of his eyes (this, by the way, is nothing compared to his behavior in The Man in the Iron Mask). What's even worse is that the more I saw of Aramis, the less I liked him. Where before he was a bit of a romancer, now he is a schemer, and while he takes the side of M. Fouquet, who needs all the help he can get, I couldn't help but feel that Aramis was not quite doing this out of the goodness of his heart.

The Man in the Iron Mask: I've not seen any film version of this, but at this point, I think I'd like to. Because I'd be rather interested to see how much time Louis' twin brother actually spends in an iron mask. Would you like to know how much of a role the iron mask plays in this novel? One, perhaps two chapters' worth. He is discovered, Louis says he'll be forced to wear an iron mask, he's transported to an island wearing it, is shut up in a prison, and is never heard from again.

Here be spoilers for the ending. I'd be considerate and tiptoe around it, but the ending was so dissatisfying for me, I have to rant about it.

And, as if that weren't bad enough, Raoul, for whom I had so much hope, considering he was the son of the wonderful and eloquent and noble and awesome Athos, a man beloved of kings... Raoul fucking wastes away, pining for poor little Louise de la Valliere who never even loved him in the first place. He utterly gives up on life and decides to go and get himself killed in a war in Africa. And, because Raoul has become Athos' only reason for living, Athos too wastes away. It's fucking pitiful.

Porthos dies helping Aramis, who has pretty much revealed himself to be a bit of a sleazeball, escape from the army of the King. Porthos is so simple and wonderful through all these books, it just broke my heart that he had to be taken in by Aramis, and couldn't have been at D'Artagnan's side the whole time instead. Aramis, by the way, gets to become the ambassador of Spain to France, and he's pretty smarmy about it.

Finally, what of D'Artagnan? This noble soul, as loyal a servant and soldier as any king could have ever dreamed for, was constantly beaten down by his masters; his triumphs and derring-do forgotten and ignored by the royalty saved by them; denied again and again the titles and ranks he so obviously deserved... Through all this, he served the king with grace and dignity. In the final chapter, he is given the thing he has worked for all his life, and the moment the object of his desire is placed in his hands, he's shot through the heart by a stray musket bullet, and dies.

Fucking Dumas.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Fleeting

I remember standing on a chair, reaching waaaay over into an old one-gallon ice cream bucket about 1/2 to 3/4 (call it 2/3?) full with generic oreo cookies. I would plunge the cookie into a glass of milk beside me until it soaked up enough milk that it was nearly mush, and then nom it with delight. My grandfather was there, and probably my cousin, who is a year younger than I am.

I'm probably about 4.

I remember being held by someone; in my memory it feels as though I'm sort of being held on their hip, if that makes sense. We're at a factory, where my grandfather works, and he's using a paint key to open a small can of paint or varnish for me to see. I remember the smell of the place, the strong odor of the paint. A part of me isn't quite sure that this is a real memory. I'm not sure how old I would have been at this point.

This memory is even less concrete - I'm sure I've pieced a lot of it together from having seen photographs of the event; but we're celebrating my fifth birthday, and we're in the hospital, where my grandfather is being treated (lung cancer, I think - I only remember being told that it was because he smoked). I remember sitting on the hospital bed next to him. I know that I got a set of doctor toys (stethescope, syringe, that mallet they use to test reflexes, a black bag for it all) and green scrubs for that birthday.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Ninja maids?

Ninja maids!

They clean the floors when you least expect it, leaving only a polished shine and the aroma of lotus blossoms.

Pirate maids are pretty much the opposite. They leave unusual stains and suspicious odors.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

This n' That 2: Son of This n' That

I keep thinking of things that I'd like to blog about, then promptly forgetting what these things are before I can get to a computer. D'oh. Anyway, here's some this n' that...

I had a couple of dreams last night. In the first dream, I looked in the cupboards beneath our sink and found a tupperware dish full of old stew which had turned a sort of mother-of-pearl color. Shiny and sickeningly glossy... And then a roach crawled out of the cupboard, and I'm fairly certain I ought to have screamed myself awake at that point. I have no idea how I did not do this, but somehow I managed. The second dream had me driving behind another car on a country road, not going very fast. The car ahead of me got trapped on a set of train tracks, with an oncoming train. I got out of my car, screamed, and started running away, and warned the people driving behind me, yelled at them to drop to the ground. Then the train hit the car, which exploded, and I caught a bit of shrapnel in my right leg. I remember it hurting a lot, I could barely walk and was dream-concerned about losing a lot of blood in spite of the smallish piece of metal in my leg. But I limped towards other people who were hurt more than I was and helped them get to the ambulance that was miraculously there.

Then my alarm went off.

Nick and I saw this at our local Taco Bell a few weeks ago, and we've been talking about getting a picture of it ever since. I would have liked to get one of us (probably me) standing in front of the window holding our butt with an expression of agony on our face, but that just didn't work out. Either way: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

I have a rash on/in my cleavage. I have very little else to add, but right now it's a pretty huge deal, because I haven't itched anyplace this badly since... Fuck, I'm so distracted by the itching right now I can't think of anything. I have some antihistamine ointment on it right now, but it's not doing a lot of good...

I've been reading Louise de la Valliere, the second volume of the Vicomte of Bragelonne; lots of court drama which is ok, but it's still sloooow reading. This is one book I'm probably going to have to check out again just to be able to finish it. D'Artagnan is barely in this at all, and I'm starting to see a little bit more of Raoul; the book still appears to be mostly about King Louis XIV, his jealous emo brother and the court, but a little character development is starting to happen, which I'm not going to complain about.

We're getting super excited for this year's Crypticon. Margot Kidder is listed as one of their big guests right now, which should be wicked cool. We've been talking about doing costumes this year; Nick is thinking about Leslie Vernon. With my new haircut, I may drag-king it up as one of my own horror heroes, Dr. Herbert West.






















A part of me is still holding out the hope of seeing Ken Foree at Crypticon, but according to his website, he's scheduled to do a con in Germany the week following, which probably does not make for awesome scheduling. Ken Foree would probably bring out the screaming fangirl in me, and I'd be absolutely giddy with puppy-like joy to get to meet him.

I'd have to practice my disapproving glower for the Herbert West costume. I'm not used to being menacingly stern.


Uhhh... my squishy brain has started to run dry. Not many this n' that's today. I'll probably have to make supper pretty soon anyway; it would probably not be the best thing to have apple crisp for lunch and supper today...
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Thursday, August 6, 2009

I need help...

This is an actual train of thought I had just now.

"Oh, it's getting late. I'd better start supper. Huh... I haven't been too hungry lately. That's weird. Wait... Didn't I just polish off a bottle of Mountain Dew, and before that a bunch of Cheez-Its, and before that a big bowl of leftover goulash? Man, I'm an idiot; I should post it on the internet! ... Why is it that I know this is a bad idea, but will still do it anyway?"

*posts blog*

And I wonder why I'm not losing weight as fast as I'd like...

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

I don't normally bitch about books...

I love books like I love pie. A slice o' pie + a book = joy. When it comes right down to it, I like most of the books that I read - or at least, I don't dislike them so much that I feel the need to bitch about it. There's really only one book that even comes to mind right now that plucks my last nerve whenever I think of it: Victor Hugo's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. But that's another post, which I may or may not write.

Today I'm going to bitch about a different book, which I just finished reading. It's a book that, again, I don't necessarily dislike, but it just bothers me to a point where I really need to unleash the irritation it caused me.

The Vicomte of Bragellone, by Alexandre Dumas, is not a terrible novel. It is, in point of fact, the first volume (of three) of the third book in the Three Musketeers series; the Wiki sums it up much better than I can:

It appeared first in serial form between 1847 and 1850. In the English translations the 268 chapters of this large volume are usually subdivided into three, but sometimes four or even five individual books. In three-volume English editions, the three volumes are titled "The Vicomte de Bragelonne", "Louise de la Vallière", and "The Man in the Iron Mask."

The Vicomte of Bragelonne, in the context of the novel, is Raoul, the son of Athos. He's present in a chapter or two at the beginning of the novel, is referred to a handful of times again in succeeding chapters, and finally begins to fully appear as a character in the last quarter or so of the book. The rest of the book is about the adventures of D'Artagnan, whom I'll admit I do love to read about.

I know it's silly, but it irritates me that it's called The Vicomte of Bragelonne, as though the novel is about this young man, and the reader will see interesting character development, when in reality D'Artagnan monopolizes the story. I felt a little betrayed. Why Bragelonne, after all? Why not something referring to the restoration of Charles II, which takes up a good half the narrative or more, and sets in motion the events which actually do bring Raoul into the spotlight?

Obviously, my ire is directed more towards those translators and/or editors who ages ago decided it would be a good idea to dupe the reader a bit. Or perhaps I need a bit more of a history lesson with respect to this particular issue... I don't know. I just know that when I start reading Louise de la Valliere, I'd better see plenty of that timid girl that Raoul seems to love so desperately, or I'll be cranky. And I'll probably make another ranty post about it.

On a slightly different, but greatly less crochety note, after having read The Three Musketeers, Twenty Years After, and Vicomte of Bragelonne, I have to say that I'm a little amazed at how much of a big deal was made of Porthos' size in the second two books as opposed to the first. I don't recall descriptions of Porthos in The Three Musketeers giving me the impression that he was superhumanly strong... Perhaps a bit of a bigger man, I suppose, but not the Hercules he was made out to be in the following books. Perhaps it was the translation, but it threw me for a loop. This is why I think I'll always prefer The Count of Monte Cristo.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Find a fucking way to afford it!!

So, I returned from the doctor's appointment today and checked the tweets I missed while I was making the D_O face (I may have mentioned my Twitter addiction...) And linked in two different tweets was this article from EW.com: Futurama getting new voices for Fry, Leela, Bender, and Others.

Did I say article? I meant obscenity.

To sum up:

Fox released a statement saying "We love the Futurama voice performers and absolutely wanted to use them, but unfortunately, we could not meet their salary demands. While replacing these talented actors will be difficult, the show must go on. We are confident that we will find terrific new performers to give voice to Matt and David's brilliantly subversive characters."
Seriously. Obscenity. That whole quote needs a black bar over it.

I know I probably come across as a pretty rabid fan right now, but I do think something like this is a big deal. As terrible as it is to inflate an actor's ego, the choices they make for the characters are as important as those made by the writers, directors, and everyone else involved in any type of performance. Everything matters, and I've been given to understand that quality voice acting is actually pretty hard to come by. Ever seen a bad anime dub? God-damn right you have!

Like Family Guy before it, there was enough fan/public interest in Futurama that it was granted a resurrection, first in the form of direct-to-DVD films, and now the promise of new seasons. Firefly was able to get its Serenity almost certainly for the same reasons. But would anyone have gone to see Serenity without Nathan Fillion, Summer Glau, and all the others? Would Family Guy have eight seasons if there were no Seth MacFarlaine or Alex Borstein behind their characters? Hell, I'm not even much of a Family Guy fan, but I'll admit that I like what Mila Kunis does with Meg a lot more than what Lacey Chabert did in the first season. There's a difference, and it matters.

The long and the short of it is simply that FOX can look at these talented people who voiced some of our favorite characters two ways: an expense, or an investment. And I won't lie, I don't think internet petitions ever really work, but I do think this is something the nerdlinger fans ought to get up in arms about. Because for something like this, the original voice actors are sure to prove worth every penny.

Here's another good article from Forces of Geek.com.
According to no less than cast members John DiMaggio, Phil LaMarr, and Maurice LaMarche on their Facebook pages, a casting notice has gone out to replace actors DiMaggio, LaMarche, Billy West and Katy Sagal.

...

Nevertheless, any attempt to recast these talented folks should be the first indicator that the new season is poorly executed and just a cheap attempt to push out product.