In the last decade or so, I’ve had something of a conversion in the way I view science. Perhaps it’s the fact of regularly listening to a number of science and skepticism-based podcasts (seven of them, actually). In any case, I’ve gained a tremendous respect for the scientific process and am now much less likely to believe in scientific conspiracies. Namely, I don’t think there’s a conspiracy to cover up the evidence for vaccines causing autism, or for a young earth and creationism, and I don’t believe there’s a conspiracy to drum up evidence for climate change.
I’m actually not sure if accepting evolution or climate change is more controversial among my more conservative friends, but I know they’re both probably topics I should keep to myself if I don’t want an argument. And yet, here I am blogging about it. On the interwebs.
In much the same way that the Haarsmas’ excellent Origins: Christian Perspectives on Creation, Evolution, and Intelligent Design solidified my understanding and acceptance of evolution (though I was pretty much already onboard), Katharine Hayhoe’s A Climate For Change: Global Warming Facts for Faith-Based Decisions has me fairly convinced about climate change, though again I was already most of the way there.
I know, I’m a dangerous liberal who’s probably headed for Hell. Good thing I don’t really believe in it anymore. Strike three! (Okay, now I’m being deliberately provocative. Really it’s just that I think the traditional eternal fire thing is dead wrong. More on that here.)
What burns me a little is that this book even exists. Don’t get me wrong, because it’s pretty terrific, but why did we need it? I understand many Christians find it hard to accept evolution, so the Origins book is probably necessary, because there’s a faith component to the resistance to what science tells us. But why should we need a book telling Christians that climate change is real and mostly our fault?
And yet here we are. White evangelical Christians, when polled along with other faith communities about the threat of climate change, are the least concerned. We just don’t believe in it. So the book is needed. (Check out her interview with Bill Moyers.)
Not that I know what I’m talking about. I read (and was convinced by) Unstoppable Global Warming and The Politically Incorrect Guide to Global Warming. Like I said, I’ve had a bit of a conversion. (I also gave glowing recommendations for some vegetarian manifestos before reading The Vegetarian Myth.) I’m of about five minds about everything.
I guess I should clarify at the end here that my newfound respect for science hasn’t dampened my faith. I still believe in God, and I even think that the idea that he created the world using natural processes is quite beautiful. I don’t see any trajectory leading me away from my belief in God or Christ. Science doesn’t intersect faith in that way. But I’m no longer convinced that my faith requires me to reject science.
I’m happy to engage a bit in comments if you’re interested. Or you could send me a note with the Suggest a Topic form. Please keep in mind that I’m not an expert. I’m not a scientist. Just like the Republicans in the Senate aren’t scientists (some salty language, but funny as heck):
I’m way behind on reviews. But we put up a new podcast this week! I honestly believe it’s our best one yet. Only took fifteen episodes to get it right!
I’ll eventually get around to reviewing Peter Enns’s The Bible Tells Me So, probably further alienating people. Oh well. And I ought to scrawl something about the two Flash graphic novels I read late last year.
But for now it’s all about what I’m currently reading. Randall (XKCD) Munroe’s What If? It’s seriously awesome.
I’ve decided not to do a big “Everything I Read This Year” list, because frankly it’s just a bit of work to put together and I’m unwilling to do it. But it’s definitely worth the effort to push forward some of my favorite reads this year.
Assuming I finish the book I’m reading (The Blood of Olympus), I’ll total 48 books this year, which exceeds my hoped-for 42 (I like to read my age), so that’s cool. I’m pretty sure reading for Take Me To Your Reader contributed somewhat to my increased production over last year (43).
Another cool thing is that when I finish The Blood of Olympus, I will have finished everything I officially started this year, and by officially started I mean anything I added to my online book database or Goodreads. Normally I have a few danglers, books I decided to read and then didn’t finish. I think maybe my thumb-through process is getting better. I suppose it may be that I’m getting older and don’t want to expend energy reading anything I’m not thrilled to be reading. This is also borne out in the fact that I didn’t read anything bad this year.
However, I read a lot of pretty good stuff, so how about I kick things off with a few picks?
Wow. I read mostly science fiction this year. I guess it’s hardly surprising, since I now host a sci-fi podcast, but I seriously only read three fiction titles not in the SFF category? (For the record, The Cay, which is a classic YA title, The Fault in Our Stars, due to my slight man crush on John Green, and Suspicion, which was good but didn’t make my favorites).
The Martian, by Andy Weir
I’m sure this one made a lot of Favorites list this year, and what’s not to like? It’s basically MacGuyver on Mars, and it’s just tremendous fun. And since it’s getting a film adaptation in the near future, this’ll be a podcast re-read. (Strong language warning for the book.)
The Girl With All the Gifts, by M.R. Carey
This one came out of nowhere and might be my favorite read of the year. Just when I thought nothing new could emerge from the post-apocalyptic genre, there’s this. (Again with the language warning, because despite the title, this isn’t a YA book.)
The End is Nigh: The Apocalypse Triptych #1, ed. by John Joseph Adams
I’m seriously enjoying short fiction these days. And when I said I didn’t think anything new could be written, it’s because this anthology says most of it. All the stories are worth reading, and some are simply breathtaking. Highly recommended. (I don’t have solid memories of the language or other questionable content, but if a story is objectionable, turn to the next one. Okay, there’s some alternative lifestyles featured, but since those actually exist, I’m not sure why they’d be offensive in fiction.)
The Day of the Triffids, by John Wyndham
Easily my favorite podcast read of the year, this one has some marvelous meditations on the effects of isolation in a post-apocalyptic world, and the prose is simply beautiful. The “dude wakes up in a hospital as civilization falls” thing has been done to death since this one pioneered it, so it’ll seem pretty familiar, but it’s awesome. And there’s this podcast about it…(get comfy if you’re going to listen, because it’s about two hours long)
Extreme Medicine: How Exploration Transformed Medicine in the Twentieth Century, by Kevin Fong, M.D.
This one is a fascinating tour through the incredible advances in medicine during the twentieth century. It’s extremely accessible and interesting, and inspires an admiration for those who push the boundaries of exploration, whether in the traditional sense or the scientific/medical sense.
The excellence of this book is only matched by how lame (and long) a title/subtitle it has. If you’ve only heard of the “burn in flames forever” view of hell, this book is a must-read. It’s far from the only view out there, and just may not be that well supported by the Bible. Once again Steve Gregg steps into some controversial territory but manages to give fair treatment to all views. Unless you’re in the majority view and you didn’t know about the other views. In which case you’ll feel like you’re being ambushed by a heretic. It’s not the book’s fault you don’t know what you’re talking about.
Bigger Than the Game: Restitching a Major League Life, by Dirk Hayhurst
I’ve now read three of Dirk Hayhurst’s baseball memoirs, and I’m told I skipped the best one, but that doesn’t keep the rest of them from being amazing. This one is perhaps less funny than the others, though it has its moments of hilarity, too, but it’s a very profound book. We tend to look at the lives of professional athletes as charmed and easy. Hayhurst shows us that on the fringes of the big-time, it’s no picnic, and even for those who make it big, there’s a whole lot of crazy that’s just covered up by success.
A quick runner-up here is The Bible’s Cutting Room Floor: The Holy Scriptures Missing From Your Bible, by Joel E. Hoffman. Just tremendously well-written and engaging, providing lots of interesting info on the history of the Bible and some of the well-regarded but excluded books that even sometimes show influence on the text of the Bible itself.
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If I had to name a book that disappointed me this year, I’d probably go with A Game of Thrones. It’s probably unfair, because a.) epic fantasy just isn’t my bag, b.) I read it out of a sense of cultural necessity, and c.) it’s probably the most over-hyped book in the history of history. Apart from that, I just didn’t find it very, well, special. Martin’s prose isn’t anything to write home about, though it has an uncluttered and easy way of world-building that’s to be admired. His over-reliance on dream sequences drove me crazy, as it always does in any book (looking at you, Rick Riordan). But again, it’s not my kind of book, so it’s hardly surprising I didn’t love it.
And that wraps things up for another year. I’m several books behind on book reviews, but with podcasting and stuff, I just haven’t had much time to get them written. I’ll catch up eventually, probably. Maybe I’ll do a combined catch-up review. Hmmm.
It's been an interesting year in podcasting. In our dozen or so episodes of debating the merits of film adaptations of written sci-fi works, two things have become clear:
1. Colin and Seth don't agree on what makes a good adaptation.
Fine, I lied about two things becoming clear. I was just happy we had the one.
In general, Colin wants to see a 1:1 correlation as much as possible between a written work and its film adaptation, allowing for such change as is necessary to the change in medium. Whereas I place the highest value on first making a good movie, getting the story right even if it means straying from the source material. I'm fine with a faithful adaptation, but I also believe an adaptation can be a better version of a story it springs from. So if the movie is good, I'm okay with the changes.
(Colin is, too, but then he'd just say it's not really an adaptation. And then I'd say that adaptation means change, and we'd go back and forth for another hour or so. Rinse and repeat.)
I've actually really enjoyed the conversation, but I think I may have come to the heart of the issue:
Colin is looking at adaptation as an objective thing, and I'm looking more subjectively.
This became especially clear when Colin suggested that the 1999 TNT version of A Christmas Carol was the best version. (BTW, we're covering that story and a number of its adaptations on our next episode. Tune in further down for how you can help.)
In order to better support his assertion, Colin scoped out an outline of the story, marking down mileposts to check any adaptation against. Of course I disagree fundamentally that this is really the way to determine the "best" adaptation of any work. So I countered with my own film-focused checklist, laying out a map of how each adaptation executed the characters, plot, atmosphere, and any number of other things.
But while my method is totally subjective, I'm not at all convinced that my favorite version, the 1984 George C. Scott one, will take the cake. I know it has faults, and yet it's my favorite. So I'm completely comfortable with the idea that either by Colin's reckoning or mine, another version could emerge as a version I'd accept to be the "best." But I can't imagine any other version displacing the 1984 version as my favorite.
Am I off my rocker here? I'd really love to hear your feedback on this.
- Is your favorite version of A Christmas Carol also the one you consider to be objectively the best? Or even subjectively the best?
- Are you weird enough that you've thought about what an objective measure of "bestness" might be?
- Could you be convinced to admit that a different version was better than your favorite?
I think it's possible that if you really pinned me down, I might cave. Because wouldn't I want to recommend the best version to someone who'd never seen it? Would I recommend my favorite or the version I might consider better by some objective standard?
Maybe I would. I can freely admit that the 1984's favoriteness has a lot to do with its technical and artistic qualities, but at least equally as much the fact that I've seen it probably twenty times with my family. There's a lot of history and memory attached to my affinity for that version. And it's true I might be swayed by sentiment to recommend my version over all others.
I guess we'll see after I've watched a few more adaptations. Who's with me?
For those not in the know, we'll be covering the book and at least four adaptations:
- Scrooge (1951), starring Alastair Sim
- The Muppet Christmas Carol
- A Christmas Carol (1999), starring Patrick Stewart
- Scrooged, starring Bill Murray
Even if you don't want to interact with my questions about objective vs. subjective measures for determining the best adaptation, maybe you'd like to weigh in about your favorites:
- What's your favorite bit from the book?
- What's your favorite adaptation? (Maybe a Top Three?)
- What makes it/them your favorite(s)?
Should be a fun podcast, and we'll try and get it posted by Christmas Day.
For a long time I was a scoffer about all things comics and graphic novels. Comics were something I read as a kid when my older sister would buy them, but then I outgrew childish things and start reading real, actual books. Besides, as an adult I just found them too chaotic, and I had a hard time figuring out where my eyes should go.
Well, obviously I overcame that problem in order to read Crisis on Infinite Earths, but I also got an unexpected assist from Barnes & Noble. Back on Batman Day, the NOOK Store had a number of awesome Batman comics on sale for a couple of bucks each. I quickly grabbed Batman: Year One and The Dark Knight Returns, figuring that even if I had a hard time reading them, it’d be worth it.
Well, NOOK Comics with Zoom View (probably trademarked in some way, but I’m Batman), is super awesome. Instead of having to figure out where to look, I just swipe as if I’m turning to a new page, and it moves and refocuses on what I’m supposed to read next. So cool!
The Dark Knight Returns is one of the more famous graphic novels of all time, made up of four individual but connected stories showing an aging Bruce Wayne resuming his cowled duties as Batman to face a new threat to Gotham. AND BATMAN TOTALLY FIGHTS SUPERMAN!!! (I won’t tell you who won.)
The stories are certainly compelling, and while I didn’t find all the art particularly inspiring (probably blasphemy), there was some pretty awesome stuff anyway. But really it’s the story that’s the big ticket item, influencing the film franchises, whether in tone, as with Tim Burton’s darker take on Batman, or in content, as Christopher Nolan definitely drew inspiration for his Dark Knight films from the book. In fact, reading this graphic novel made me wonder how The Dark Knight Rises might have been different had Heath Ledger lived. (The Joker is a major player in the final two installments of The Dark Knight Returns.)
There’s even ample evidence that the upcoming Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice takes some inspiration from this book, with the obvious reference to a fight between the two heroes and the SDCC trailer showing what amounts to a famous scene from the graphic novel.
IGN ranked The Dark Knight Returns #1 on their 25 Greatest Batman Comics list earlier this year:
The Dark Knight Returns is a masterpiece of comic-book storytelling. The pages are packed, sometimes with dozens of panels. Overcrowded, even. And yet, Miller creates a distinct pacing through each page and builds to perhaps the most optimistic ending in any Batman story. Yeah, Frank Miller ends with a touch of optimism.
I’ll definitely read Batman: Year One at some point, and not just because I’m now counting graphic novels as books toward my yearly reading quota. Honestly. Because the stories can be awesome. Also, it totally counts toward my yearly reading quota. (I’m just one book away from my yearly goal, which is to read my age.)
That’s another title off my 2014 ledger, leaving only two left: The Bible (I’ll finish in a couple of weeks) and The Blood of Olympus. Doh, I just noticed there’s another one in there that I added to Goodreads but not my book database thingy: A Climate For Change. So I’ll be reading that one, too.
On the Take Me To Your Reader podcast, I’ll be posting an episode about A Boy and His Dog in the next week or so (BTW, not a kids’ book; we watched it so you don’t have to), and we’ll be doing A Christmas Carol for our December show. If you’ve read it, feel free to weigh in here and let me know what your favorite adaptation is. I’m looking for films, mostly, but I’ll really take anything.
In many ways, I look at the Pathfinder series of books (Pathfinder, Ruins, and Visitors) as sort of a sandbox that Orson Scott Card used to riff on ideas of time travel, culture, genetics, and evolution, and that’s a pretty serious grab-bag of things to riff on.
I can say that the series is enjoyable so long as you’re not looking for anything terribly profound, so it’s kind of the popcorn-movie type of book. In fact, if the books didn’t average 600 pages each, I’d call them light-reading.
The first book started quickly, with some interesting notions of faster-than-light travel, bending space, and time travel, setting up a world colonized by one ship that just happened to have the misfortune of being copied nineteen times. As the artificial intelligence components of the ship (the computers and androids termed “expendables”) set up the world, they elected to divide it into nineteen colonies separated by impassible walls (technology!).
The first book stays largely inside one Wallfold, introducing us to a few characters with advanced abilities, leading them to discover that they are timeshapers, able to revisit and reshape time in limited ways (though increasingly less limited as the series moves on). There’s interesting politics and history, and the playing around with time travel is all good fun.
And then they leave the Wallfold. The second book picks up there, introducing yet more interesting ideas about symbiosis and genetics, but ultimately isn’t quite as fun as the first book. Still enjoyable in its way, but as the third book approached, I considered re-reading the series and ultimately decided not to. Maybe that was a warning sign.
Visitors is the final book in the trilogy, and though it gets a slight bump from completing the series, I’m still not shouting from the hills about it. About halfway through, I wondered if it was indeed the final book or if OSC was once again stretching a trilogy into four books. By the time I finished it, I was sort of wishing he had. By the end, the pace accelerates to the point that interesting stuff is kind of skipped over, and there’s a bizarre excursion in a direction I’m actually shocked was left in. When you’re asking yourself why this chapter is happening, it’s not a good sign.
I’m not completely down on the book; it’s far from the worst thing I’ve read, and OSC has a way of writing unvarnished prose that at least makes the actual reading pleasurable. So if you read the first or second books, I’d recommend picking this one up. But I would much rather have been reading the third book in the Gate Thief series.
As we approach the end of the year, I’ve noticed that the list of books I’ve started but not finished is actually quite small, so I’m going to go back and finish all of them. I’m not sure I’ve ever balanced the ledger before. First up, it’s my second graphic novel read of the year, the famous The Dark Knight Returns.
A while back I was regaling a coworker with the sordid tale of the creation of synthetic billiard balls, and how an early candidate tended to explode occasionally, and I had the thought that Mark Miodownik’s excellent Stuff Matters had turned me into a fount of useless knowledge.
But then it occurred to me that if such a thing as worthless knowledge is possible, knowledge about the awesomeness of many of the materials of modern life surely isn’t an example of it. It’s marvelous, which totally agrees with the book’s subtitle, Exploring the Marvelous Materials that Shape Our Man-Made World. (The U.K. cover has a different subtitle, which of course sounds classier.)
From foundational stuff like metallurgy and what makes steel able to hold an edge to the living-in-the-future stuff like self-healing concrete, this book is absolutely tremendous and entertaining, taking in the range of materials in view in a photo of the author enjoying tea on the roof of his building. Each seems at first mundane and and even boring, which is of course the point, because we rarely give “stuff” a second thought, but in the hands of Mark Miodownik, you see them from a different angle in a way that makes them all seem, well, marvelous. I challenge anyone to read the chapter on chocolate and not salivate profusely. Yes, chocolate is one of the materials in view, in the aptly named chapter, “Delicious.”
BTW, the book was just awarded the prestigious 2014 Royal Society Winton Prize for Science Books. Congratulations, Mark, and well deserved. I initially learned of the book when Mark was featured on Science Weekly from the Guardian and went looking for a copy. Imagine how disappointed I was to only find it available in the U.K. Social media being what it is, I asked the author on Twitter when the U.S. version would be released. Alas, I had to wait the better part of a year to get it.
And then I forgot about it. Boo! But then it was featured on Science Friday for the U.S. release! Woo! I ended up picking it up from the library, but it’s one of those books I wish I had bought (and may still do so) in order to go back and review it again, or even just to have it around for my son to read when he finally realizes non-fiction is awesome.
You’ll see me referring back to this one when I do my Favorites of 2014 post later this year. This one’s a treasure, and I can’t recommend it highly enough.
I’m pretty sure I picked up The Girl With All the Gifts (from the library) after seeing it recommended by io9. And I’ve now made a mental note to do more reading based on their recommendations, because this one was just amazing.
It could be that I’m overreacting somewhat to a book for which I had no expectations being really good, but this one had one of the best two chapter hooks I’ve ever seen. The central mystery of the book gets off the ground running very quickly, and since I’m totally not gonna spoil it for anybody, I’ll need to keep this short.
I should clarify something: I don’t finish every book I start. It was probably The Historian that taught me one shouldn’t finish bad books, but I’ve since given myself permission to give every book a thumb-through test. For a nonfiction title, this means reading the introduction and perusing the contents a bit, assessing the readability and general level of interest I have in the topic. (Casual interest will get me to pick it up, but it has to be more than casual interest to keep me reading.) With a fiction book, I’ll generally go about 25-50 pages or a couple of chapters, whichever comes first. If I’m not hooked, I return the book. If I am, I’ll either tear through it right away or file it away as a read-later title.
This one was a right-away kind of book. How to sum it up without giving away the good stuff? Hmm.
First, I should point out that the cover and title led me to believe this was a YA title. It’s not. Certainly teens and up due to language (heavy), violence (heavy), and adult situations (light but present).
The book revolves around Melanie, a special little girl in a special school. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. But this is different, because Melanie is tied down to a wheelchair for classes and then taken back to a secure cell after classes. She adores one of her teachers, who runs afoul of one of the security guards for getting too close to the kids. Why should it be an issue to get attached to the kids? Why do some kids get taken away and never come back?
And that’s pretty much all I can tell you, because otherwise I’ll be giving too much away. It’s definitely in the post-apocalyptic genre, but it’s a very different take on some rather familiar material, told beautifully and with wonderful character development. I really can’t recommend it highly enough. If you read it, you can prove it to me by acknowledging the part that’s redolent of I Am Legend. (Probably means you’ll have to have read that one, too.)
io9 actually does a better job of setting it up than I do, and the article I just linked is pretty light on spoilers. But if you’re a fan of the genre, you’ll definitely enjoy this one. Trust me. And now I’ve probably oversold it. Sorry about that.
Next up is Mark Miodownik’s thumb-through-passing-with-flying-colors Stuff Matters.
I’ve decided I’m going to start doing combined book/movie reviews for topics we cover on Take Me To Your Reader. I still, of course, encourage you to listen to the show, because there’s two other perspectives there, and you shouldn’t just take my word for things.
Okay, yes you should, but you should at least pretend to listen to someone else, too.
For our Halloween episode, we decided to go with a written work that led to a scary movie, so we went with John W. Campbell’s 1939 novella “Who Goes There?” It was selected for a Retro Hugo this year, and it’s been adapted three times, depending on your definition of adapted.
The story is set at an Antarctic Expedition base, where a team is studying magnetic fields and cosmic rays and such. When they detect an anomaly far from the pole, the team investigates and finds a crashed alien spacecraft. With a passenger who’s evidently left the ship and been frozen in the ice for 20 million years. After some debate as to whether they should thaw the alien, it’s decided that it needs to be studied, so one of their number is selected to watch over the slow process.
And then the alien escapes. The problem is that it turns out the alien is both a shape-shifter an mind-reader. It’s pretty good at hiding in plain sight. It’s able to copy a person exactly, right down to the personality. Paranoia ensues. How will they tell who’s real and who’s not? Clearly such a creature must be stopped lest the entire planet be assimilated.
If there’s a fault with the novella, and there is, it’s that there are so many characters as to be hard to follow. It may be that this was deliberate, but it seriously hampers the readability of the story, at least for me. There’s also some pretty stilted dialogue, brought into sharper relief by the standout dialogue in the original adaptation.
As I said, the novella was adapted three times, first in 1951’s The Thing, subsequently re-branded The Thing (From Another World) to avoid confusion with the 1982 adaptation. The first go-round adapted the 10,000 foot view, with a polar expedition (at the wrong pole) and alien spacecraft and alien on ice, but very little else. It’s still a terrific movie, with brilliant dialogue and good performances, particularly highlighted by Margaret Sheridan, who despite being the attractive love interest in a 1950s horror film, never once screams. She’s not the lead, so it’s not exactly a feminist dream, but at least she had more to do than look pretty and scream dramatically.
The movie also has a couple of standout action set-pieces, with the first example of stunt-immolation and a couple of awesome jump scares. The creature isn’t a shape-shifter, but rather a vegetable-based life form that feeds on blood. So it’s essentially a vampire film that plays out a bit like Jaws. The paranoia of the book is completely lost, but it’s still highly worth watching. It’s also notable that James Arness of Gunsmoke fame played the titular Thing.
My view on remakes is that if an earlier film stuck closely to the source, a remake should take things in a different direction. Otherwise, what’s the point? The converse of this is that if an earlier adaptation left a lot on the table, it’s done you a favor. Go back and adapt more of the story. And that’s exactly what John Carpenter did in his 1982 film, The Thing. It’s truly a frightening film, with some intense gore and breathtaking practical effects.
The paranoia missing from the original film is back with a vengeance here, played brilliantly by Kurl Russell, Keith David, and Wilford Brimley, among others. As I said, the alien effects are just spectacular, gross and disturbing in an entirely awesome way.
Interestingly, the 1982 film leaves a bit of story on the table, never showing the alien being cut out of the ice and brought back to camp. Instead, the characters in this film find out about the alien secondhand, the initial encounter having occurred at a Norwegian outpost. The ending is also different from that in the novella, but I found it more satisfying in its ambiguity.
Again, this is a Rated-R film for language and considerable gore. Not for kids, but it’s intense and frightening in all the right ways, and this is coming from someone who isn’t a fan of horror movies in general. I’ll stretch in the Sci-Fi/Horror direction, but not much beyond that.
So what happened at that Norwegian camp? The 2011 film functions as something of a prequel, with shades of a remake in it. Since the 1982 film doesn’t show the initial discovery of the crashed craft and alien, this one picks those things up and runs with them, making nods to the original while going its own direction in a few key places. It’s a bit more on the action side, but still with a goodly amount of gore and language in it, certainly enough to earn its R-rating.
The lead this time is Mary Elizabeth Winstead, and she turns in a strong performance (incidentally, the film passes the Bechdel Test, with there being no love interest or musings about men even occurring). The paranoia is still front and center, and the film nicely sets up the 1982 version. In fact, it could be argued (and is, on the podcast) that the two films really together comprise one adaptation of the novella.
And here we get to the downside. The effects, while decent, don’t rise to the level of awesomeness of the previous film. There are some standout practical effects, but they’re lost in a sea of not quite stellar computer effects, which is a real shame. It actually surprised me how much I enjoyed this film, despite a few quibbles. I’ve been used to remakes of classic films being rather lackluster (looking at you, Tim Burton’s Planet of the Apes).
If you want my full ranking of the four expressions of this story, you’ll have to head over to the podcast page and listen for it (actually, the rankings are in the Show Notes, but you should still listen). But I’m recommending all of them. It’s nice when there’s no an obvious stinker in the bunch.
What do you think? Is this worth doing? I could go back and hit everything we’ve done if it’s well received.
If you’re a Christian reader of my blog, I know what you’re thinking: “Great, another hit-piece about how Constantine or the Illuminati suppressed certain writings in order to forward their agenda.” No. No, that’s not what we have here. Instead, The Bible’s Cutting Room Floor: The Holy Scriptures Missing From Your Bible is a thoughtful and just tremendous primer on the people, places, and writings that form an underappreciated background to the Bible as we have it today.
Hoffman isn’t out to de-convert anyone from Christianity, though I’m pretty sure he’s not a Christian (apologies if I’m wrong here). His writing and opinions are extremely evenhanded and, I think, provide his reader with a greater appreciation for the Bible, even while pointing out that it’s not entirely clear or coherent in places.
Some writings were left out for political or theological reasons, others simply because of the physical restrictions of ancient bookmaking technology. At times, the compilers of the Bible skipped information that they assumed everyone knew. Some passages were even omitted by accident. For these reasons and more, your Bible doesn’t give you a complete picture.
To elaborate on what I mentioned above, the book surveys the following:
- The history of Jerusalem, crucially important to understanding how the Bible was written and what was going on there at the various times when the writing was being done. (You can’t really understand the difference between 1-2 Samuel and 1-2 Chronicles without that history.)
- The Dead Sea Scrolls. The history of their discovery, the sometimes scandalous way they came to be obtained and translated, and what they mean to biblical scholarship and the understanding of different Christian and Jewish groups in the first century.
- The Septuagint. Why it’s both an important translation and also deeply flawed, and why it’s okay to still hold it as sacred.
- The writings of Josephus. Full of errors and self-aggrandizement, but also very helpful for discovering what life and religion was like in the first century.
At this point you’re probably wondering why, at this point, the author seems not to have discussed much of those “missing” scriptures. And it’s true. Hoffman takes his time setting up the environment in which those other works were composed while also pointing out that there’s not some hard and fast rule about how the Bible was written and how some of the other stuff was written.
Of course, he eventually moves into the actual works themselves, including the following:
- The Life of Adam and Eve (sometimes called the Apocalypse of Moses, referenced by yours truly here). What happened to Adam and Eve after being expelled from the Garden? What was Satan’s problem with them, anyway?
- The Apocalypse of Abraham. How did Abraham become the first monotheist? How was his new view received by his family, and what consequences did his conversion have?
- The Book of Enoch. Beloved by early Christians, this one was considered Scripture by some of them. Jude even quoted from it. What’s the deal with that?
Each of these works sheds light on some question raised in the Bible, and though none of them may have the same authority as Scripture, it’s still interesting to see how people in the past wrestled with theology. Sometimes I think we imagine that our generation or at least our (Western) civilization pioneered theology, but that’s just obviously wrong. People have been wrestling with questions since, well, always. Why do good people suffer? Why do bad things happen? What happens when we die? Yes, there are answers to these questions in the Bible, but those answers were written in particular times and places, and understanding those times and places can help us understand the answers.
I’m reasonably well-read about extra-Biblical writings. I’d previously read bits of each of the works summarized in this book, but Hoffman’s analysis was illuminating and inspiring. And again, he doesn’t seem to intend to scandalize anyone or two inspire doubt about the Bible. Reading his previous book, And God Said, and this one show that he clearly loves the Scriptures.
Instead, he’s trying to broaden the horizons of his reader, to let them know there’s more out there, and some of it is really cool.
What started as an entranceway to the complete collection ended up as the collection itself. The Bible of modernity is that abridged collection, newly perceived to be the whole thing. But we now know that there was once a whole museum’s worth of documents.
If you haven’t guessed, I’m giving this one a big recommendation. In fact, I wish I’d bought it instead of getting it from the library. The cover is gorgeous and yet simple, and the content is terrific.
Next up is the surprisingly awesome The Girl With All The Gifts.
I was so pumped when I found out there was a new Jumper book coming out! I hadn’t been paying close attention, and by the time I knew it was coming, it was only a couple of months away. And yes, I pre-ordered it and paid full price. Totally worth it.
It’s really going to be impossible to review this book without major spoilers for the series as a whole, and Impulse in particular. Suffice it to say that while it’s not my favorite of the series, Exo still packs the geeky-fun punch I was looking for. If you haven’t read the series, I highly recommend it. (Late teens and up, I think, at least for the first two books.) From here on, beware the spoilers.
Still with me? Okay, you may recall that Jumper read almost like a superhero origin story, and as such the plot was almost secondary to the character exploring his abilities. This isn’t to say it was a bad plot, but at least for me, it was more about Davy figuring out what he could do. Great stuff. Reflex had, to me, a more interesting sci-fi premise: how would you control a teleporter? That’s why on the whole, I prefer Reflex.
Impulse was, in some ways, a step backward, with Cent discovering her abilities, but I also consider it better than Jumper because of the novelty of her approach to her powers, figuring out how to add velocity to her jumps, allowing her to essentially fly and enhance her own strength (though not without a few atomic wedgies and sprained wrists along the way). I also liked that it was a female superhero we were dealing with.
Exo continues the story of Cent’s exploration, taking things in the direction I hadn’t necessarily considered but that’s completely logical. Why not teleport into space? With the right equipment, she could easily get into orbit. With her ability to add velocity, she could even travel to different worlds.
So that’s part of the awesome of this book. Nicely geeky. But then Gould goes full nerd and gets into the tech she’d need to support her in near vacuum, talking about advances in materials science and the future of spacesuits. (Here’s a link to an MIT News article about a similar technology to that presented in the book.)
Of course, showing up in orbit tends to get you observed by the government, and the Jumper family doesn’t like being on anyone’s, er, radar. So there’s a bit of drama there, some of it quite hilarious. Imagine how you could mess with people if you were able to get yourself into orbit? Really, though, teleporting itself is prank-fodder enough.
It’s possible that some readers might get bogged down in some of the technical details of spaceflight, but I credit Gould for doing the legwork to make it all at least seem plausible. (I figure he didn’t take much creative license.)
Another sort of weak point, for me, is the love story angle, and I’m not even going to describe it. I think the book could’ve been just as good without it, but it’s a minor gripe. Overall, if you enjoyed the rest of the series, this one will be no exception. I’ll be curious to see if we’ll get another one.
Next up, it’s Joel M. Hoffman’s absolutely tremendous The Bible’s Cutting Room Floor.
By the way, on the next episode of Take Me To Your Reader, we’ll be discussing “Who Goes There?” by John W. Campbell and the three films titled (at least partially) The Thing based on it. Feel free to send us your thoughts about it.