→ October 8, 2020
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Grief is the Thing with Feathers.

I recently included a link to a podcast that featured authors David Mitchell and Jasper Fforde where, at the end of the program(me), they each had to recommend one book and make the case for it in some brief period of time – I think it was three minutes – after which the host would choose the winner. Fforde didn’t take it very seriously, naming the owner’s manual for his car, but Mitchell recommended a book by Max Porter called Grief is the Thing with Feathers, reading a passage from it as part of his allotted time. The prose was so unlike anything I’d heard before that I felt like I had to read it immediately – easy enough to do since the book is a scant 114 pages – to see how Porter could stretch that lyrical yet dark language into something the length of a novella.

The novel is certainly about grief, telling the story of a young father of two boys whose wife has just died unexpectedly, and who is understandably consumed by his grief. He is assisted, in a way, in his grieving process by the Crow, a probably-imaginary being who speaks to the Dad and protects the three of them, but isn’t always as helpful as he thinks he is, and brings his own stories of woe and insecurity. The narrative rotates from the Dad to the Crow to the Boys and back again as it traces the path of their grief from shortly after the wife and mother has died to the point where the Crow decides to leave because his work is done.

Porter’s technique here means that the book is all dialogue and internal monologue, yet he infuses so much of it – notably Crow’s, but the Dad’s as well – with imagery and a sort of curious wordplay, where Crow seems to be trying words out for the sounds of them, that it comes off a lot like poetry. Prose doesn’t look or sound or feel like this, at least not in the sorts of literature I inhabit, and it enhanced the sense of magical realism throughout the book in a way that made Crow seem far less ridiculous, even when Dad explicitly refers to him to the Boys as imaginary.

The grief of the father in Grief is the Thing with Feathers comes through intensely on these pages, with no efforts by Porter to soften or deflect the blows. The fact that the wife died without warning – it is explained how later in the book – gives the Dad’s grief an acute edge to it, combining the emotional abyss with the realization that he is now a single father of two boys who will now look to him for the emotional and physical support they had received from their mother. Porter tries to take us inside his suffering, and then gives us Crow as the foil who challenges the father in a way that helps the father towards healing without obviously (or mawkishly) doing so.

The Crow’s passages are the most memorable, and the most poetic. He’s part fabulist, part black humorist, part wordsmith: “He flew a genuflection … Ley lines flung him cross-country with no time for grief, power cables catapulted loose bouquets of tar-black bone and feather and other crows rained down from the sky.” Perhaps my favorite of Crow’s words are a bit of apparent doggerel, starting with “Gormin’ere, worrying horrid. Hello elair, krip krap krip krap who’s that lazurusting beans of my cut-out?” but ending with the revelation that “I do this, perform some unbound crow stuff, for him.”

Mitchell is himself a brilliant writer, and his recommendation was good enough for me to read Grief is the Thing with Feathers, especially when I saw how short it was. It’s one of the most remarkable novellas – not a novel, certainly, not when it’s probably less than 30,000 words – I’ve read in years, like little else I’ve ever seen, for its prose, and for its unflinching look inside the grief of losing one’s partner at the peak of love and life.

Next up: I’m treating myself with something a bit more fun than my other recent reads, Lois McMaster Bujold’s Falling Free, the first book (by chronological order) in her Vorkosigan saga series of novels.

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→ October 6, 2020
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Monos.

Multiple readers recommended Monos, the Colombian submission for last year’s Academy Award for Best International Feature Film (which didn’t make the nine-film shortlist), when I talked about the best films I saw in 2019. Now available on Hulu as part of that service’s deal with Neon, this modern twist on a Lord of the Flies setting is disturbing and grim, casting a dark light on indoctrination and how cults and similar movements take control of malleable young minds.

The”monos” (“monkeys”) of the film are a dozen or so teenage guerrillas fighting the government in an unnamed South American country, although the similarities to the decades-long FARC insurrection in Colombia are obvious. They’re holding an American woman, known only as Doctora (Julianne Nicholson), hostage, and take most of their direction over short-wave radio, visited only twice in the film by The Messenger (Wilson Salazar, himself a former FARC child soldier), who drills them and gives them further orders. When left to their own devices, however, the monos act like teenagers, showing poor judgment, fighting among themselves, pairing off in couples, and doing a rather poor job of monitoring their one prisoner, while it becomes clear most of the kids have no idea why they’re fighting or even taking orders from unseen authorities.

Nearly all of the actors in Monos were making their screen debuts in the film; only Nicholson and Moisés Arias, who plays Bigfoot, had previous credits. You’d never guess by the performances, however, as the actors are entirely credible, perhaps because the script asks them to act like teenagers and because the shoot was so tough on all of the participants. Each has a distinct character and a nickname that sort of fits them, and despite the film’s brisk pace most of them have enough to do to make it clear who at least the key ones are, especially once their discipline begins to break down early in the film and multiple things go wrong.

The heart of the story is the kids, although Nicholson has more screen time than any individual fighter does because so much of the story revolves around their inability to handle any of the tasks they’ve been assigned, including guarding her. None of the child soldiers has a single line in the film that indicates any allegiance to or understanding of the cause for which they’re fighting – the audience never hears it from anyone, in fact. We just know they’re fighting the government, but not which one, or why, or what any of their goals might be. Their participation in this ragtag troop is the end in itself, and with none of them mentioning parents or other family at any point, you might assume they’re either orphans or kids who ran away from something at home, and have tried to replace that with their affiliation with this terrorist group. That leads to an inevitable conflict when interpersonal relationships interfere with their allegiance to the movement, and when obeying the orders from The Messenger and his superiors might mean betraying one’s friends, possibly even to the point of handing one of them a death sentence.

There’s also a political subtext here that I assume resonates more strongly if you know the history of armed insurrections in South America, especially Colombia (FARC, ELN) or even Peru (Sendero Luminoso, MRTA), which endured long, violent conflicts with guerrilla movements on the right and left. I’m not conversant enough with those histories to think I would understand all references within Monos, but at least know that FARC took many hostages during their 43-year terror campaign and conscripted children into their ranks, so I assumed we were watching a proxy for that group. Regardless of the real-world inspiration, this script shows the pointlessness of these guerrilla movements and the futility of the deaths they caused and lives they ruined by stripping the struggle of its ostensible goals, most of which would mean little or nothing to the children handed automatic weapons and a hostage to protect.

Monos is strongest when it focuses on the interactions between the child soldiers, though, getting into themes of homophobia and alienation as well as the sort of squabbling that readers of William Golding’s novel would recognize. They’re still just kids and they act like it, especially when they’re left to their own devices and handed responsibilities no teenager should have. When one of the soldiers realizes they’re no longer on board with the group’s mission or decisions, they try to leave, and then it’s clear that this hasn’t all been some elaborate game. It is that choice, to show what happens when we hand children and their underdeveloped brains adult responsibilities, that gives Monos meaning.

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→ October 4, 2020
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Stick to baseball, 10/4/20.

I had two pieces for subscribers to the Athletic this week, one on the top 20 players under age 25 in the postseason (before the first round began), and one this morning with my hypothetical ballots for the six player awards. I also held a video Q&A for the Athletic on Friday.

Over at Paste, I ranked the ten best games with polyomino (Tetris) tiles as part of their mechanics, which is a fairly common thing in recent games, with a huge run of them hitting the market in 2019-20.

My guest on this week’s episode of The Keith Law Show was Nick Piecoro, who covers the Diamondbacks for the Arizona Republic and a longtime friend of mine, almost since I first got into the writing side of the business. My own podcast is now available on Amazon podcasts as well as iTunes and Spotify.

I’ll have a new edition of my free email newsletter on Monday, now that I have a few more articles to include.

As the holiday season approaches, I’ll remind you every week that my books The Inside Game and Smart Baseball make excellent gifts for the baseball fan or avid reader in your life.

And now, the links…

  • By now you’ve probably seen the New York Times exposé on Donald Trump’s near-zero payment of income taxes and extensive use of questionable deductions to avoid paying. I paid more in federal income taxes in the last half of September than Trump did in all of 2017.
  • The USL, the country’s Division II professional men’s soccer league, had a serious issue in a game last week between Phoenix and San Diego, where a player on the former used a homophobic slur against a player on the latter. Two of my colleagues at the Athletic have the story on the incident and the fallout, where San Diego coach Landon Donovan pulled his team from the field and forfeited the match.
  • Also at the New Yorker, Jane Mayer, author of Dark Money, exposes the real reasons Fox News fired Kimberly Guilfoyle, including harassment and creation of a hostile work environment. Guilfoyle is now one of Trump’s main surrogates on the campaign trail and a big part of his attempts to reach women voters.
  • Editors and staffers at the NYU student newspaper The Washington Square News resigned en masse to protest a hostile work environment created by their faculty adviser, Keena Griffin. Their claims include racial insensitivity and transphobic comments. Dr. Griffin is the president of the College Media Association, and the CMA has announced its own investigation.
  • There’s a longstanding cultural movement in the two Congolese capitals of Kinshasa (the D.R.C.) and Brazzaville (The Republic of Congo), where people of all ages dress extremely snazzily, regardless of their circumstances or where they live. This BBC photo-essay shows these sapeurs in their stylish clothes, including people who break gender norms and children who found their love of fancy outfits early in life.
  • It took Youtube a few days but they finally removed a video by right-wing nutjob Josh Bernstein where he said that Ilhan Omar “should be executed,” referring to her as a female dog.
  • I watched the Spanish-language film Monos, which was Colombia’s submission for last year’s Academy Award for Best International Feature Film last year, this past week, and will write about it in the next few days. The Guardian had an interesting article from last October on how brutal the shoot was in the high-altitude jungles of southern Colombia.
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→ October 3, 2020
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Music update, September 2020.

Whew, that was the most loaded month of the year for new music, perhaps as bands and labels have accepted that we’re not getting back to anything like “normal” until 2021, at the least. There’s over 90 minutes of new music here, including four metal tracks at the end (more than I usually have, but it was a better month on that front as well). If you can’t see the Spotify widget below you can access the playlist here.

SAULT – Free. Do we still not know who SAULT are? The just-released Untitled (Rise) is the band’s fourth album in thirteen months, and once again is full of funk and soul tracks laced with strongly political lyrics. They’ve put out so much music I have a hard time keeping up with specific tracks, but this track might be my favorite so far, and the album is their best yet.

Public Enemy featuring Nas, Rapsody, Black Thought, ?uestlove, YG, and Jahi – Fight the Power: Remix 2020. This should be terrible, but it’s not, probably because Chuck D wisely gives up the mic to several other MCs, most of them younger and better rappers than he is right now. The message is what you’d expect, but it hits harder because of the voices delivering it.

Prince – I Need a Man. Prince’s estate released this previously unheard song, which he wrote for the Hookers and later wanted to use for Vanity 6, as part of their mammoth remaster/reissue of Sign O’ The Times. Prince released very few tracks this good after his name change and the end of his contract with Warner Bros. I hope there’s more, since we all know Prince recorded about a billion songs he never released during his lifetime.

Ghost of Vroom 2 – Rona Pollona. That’s Mike Doughty, and this is the closest thing to a Soul Coughing song he’s made since that seminal quartet broke up after El Oso.

Arab Strap – The Turning of Our Bones. I thought Arab Strap was more of a quiet, indie-folk sort of band, but this new track, their first since their last album dropped in 2005, is dark, electronic, and, more in keeping with their prior output, about sex.

Zeal & Ardor – Vigil. Z&A put out two songs in early September, this and “I Can’t Breathe,” both directly aimed at the scourge of police killing unarmed Black Americans with stripped-down backing music with fewer metal elements to it.

Everything Everything – Big Climb. RE-ANIMATOR dropped on September 11th, although by that point I’d already heard half the album from various singles and early releases. This is the best of the remaining tracks, with their normal frenetic combination of fast-sung lyrics and heavy synth work.

Black Honey – Run For Cover. This is Black Honey’s second new single this year, after “Beaches,” so I assume there’s a new album coming soon. I loved their self-titled debut, which was full of great power-pop hooks.

Porridge Radio – 7 Seconds. This new-new-wave track has an intense feeling of desperation to it that elevates it to something more than just another very catchy rock song with a good synth line.

Sunflower Bean – Moment in the Sun. I’ve been on Sunflower Bean’s wavelength pretty much from the start and loved their 2019 EP King of the Dudes, so this one-off single, which has a summery vibe that feels like the soundtrack to a walk on the beach, is right in my wheelhouse.

Cut Copy – Like Breaking Glass. This track is very obviously Cut Copy, but also reminds me quite a bit of St. Lucia’s first album or his song “Dancing on Glass,” which I assume is some sort of subliminal connection in my brain because of their similar titles. Anyway, this is a perfectly adequate Cut Copy song, not “Need You Know” or “Black Rainbows” but good enough for my purposes.

Django Django – Spirals. The Djangos’ first new track since they released an album and an EP back in 2018 is more of the same, as “Spirals” could easily have fit on Marble Skies or Born Under Saturn as one of either album’s singles.

Of Monsters and Men – Visitor. Unlike most good OM&M songs, this one is driven more by its music than by Nana’s vocals, which are understated here.

Sprints – The Cheek. The driving bass line at the start of this track reminds me of Romeo Void’s “Never Say Never,” of early Killing Joke, even a bit of Joy Division, but with the strident vocals of Karla Chubb. The Dublin quartet have said contemporary Irish punk band Fontaines DC are an inspiration, and you can hear that influence here as well.

Bartees Strange – Mustang. A reader recommendation from last month, Bartees Strange is a Next Big Thing, a huge fan of the National who sounds quite a bit like the Hold Steady on this track from his debut album, Live Forever, which just came out on October 2.

The Aubreys – Smoke Bomb. That’s Finn Wolfhard’s new band, since Calpurnia broke up last November.

Courting – David Byrne’s Badside. This new Liverpudlian post-punk quartet look like they’re barely out of middle school, let alone old enough to know who David Byrne is, although the lyrics have nothing to do with him and are instead an indictment of what the band call “pub culture.”

Mourn – Men. As much press as the Spanish band Hinds gets, Mourn is just better. Both bands comprise only women, but Mourn’s three members are superior musicians and have shown musical and lyrical growth over their three albums. This is their second single of 2020, so I presume there’s another LP in the works.

LA WITCH – True Believers. This is a holdover from last month that I somehow forgot to put on the August playlist, but LA WITCH’s sophomore album Play With Fire would be in my top ten for the year so far.

Pallbearer – The Quicksand of Existing. Is this Pallbearer’s most uptempo song? The American doom stalwarts will release their newest album Forgotten Days on October 23rd, and this muscular track is dark and gothic but it’s got more in common with Kyuss/QotSA than true doom metal – and now it’s my favorite Pallbearer track.

Carcass – The Long and Winding Bier Road. Carcass’ new album has been pushed back, probably to 2021, so instead they’re releasing an EP, Despicable, of tracks that didn’t make the latest album.

Dark Tranquility – Phantom Days. One of the pioneers of the Gothenburg melodic death metal sound, Dark Tranquility will release their eleventh LP, Moment, in November. The guitar work and melody here are both superb if you can deal with the death growls.

Vio-Lence – California Über Alles. Yes, it’s a cover of the Dead Kennedys song, but also interesting that it’s the first new material Vio-Lence, one of the more significant Bay Area thrash acts of the late ’80s, have released since 1993.

Napalm Death – Amoral. I have talked about Napalm Death more than I’ve ever listened to their music, really, as their early stuff, which practically defined the genre of grindcore, was way too extreme for me. Their sound has evolved over the last thirty-plus years, and their sixteenth album, Throes of Joy in the Jaws of Defeatism, sees them working across a range of metal genres and even going into no-wave/post-punk territory, although you’ll always have to deal with Barney Greenway’s vocals.

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→ October 2, 2020
→ By

Enola Holmes.

Enola Holmes is utter dreck, a mediocre mystery wrapped in the cloak of a superior writer’s creation and some quality set design, wasting two solid actresses on a script desperate to tell you how clever it is. There have been worthwhile adaptations and continuations of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work and iconic character, but this is just plain boring.

Enola Holmes, you see, is Sherlock and Mycroft’s younger sister, a fabrication by the author Nancy Springer for a series of books that posit that this 14-year-old girl, unmentioned by Doyle, was as quick-witted as her older brothers, with a special talent for cryptography. When her brothers try to send her off to finishing school, she absconds to London and starts a detective agency of her own, specializing in missing persons cases (as, I presume, murder was a bit much for the young adult literature market).

This Netflix adaptation of the series’ first book, The Case of the Missing Marquess, starts with Enola (Millie Bobby Brown, so critical as El on Stranger Things) at home with her mother (Helena Bonham Carter), but when the latter vanishes, Enola’s brothers show up to decide her fate. Mycroft is especially disdainful of her most unladylike ways and thus the stronger advocate of sending her off to a finishing school run by a Miss Harrison (Fiona Shaw, also wasted in a minor role), while Sherlock (Henry Cavill, decidedly un-super here) equivocates and shows a soft spot for his younger sister. Enola takes off and encounters another fugitive, Lord Tewksbury, and the two pair up while on the run, separating in London before circumstances throw them together again – while both are pursued by a mysterious, creepy man named Linthorn who looks too much like a young Willem Dafoe. Enola tries to secure her freedom while figuring out the mystery around Tewksbury’s flight and avoiding her brothers and the interference of Inspector Lestrade.

The story is a convoluted mess, overly reliant on coincidence and failing to give Enola enough of a reason to solve the Tewksbury tangle. Enola’s character is just Sherlock as a teenaged girl, transmuting his disregard for rules and cold manner into a mischievous pixie who breaks the fourth wall with irritating frequency. (And of course she has to say “the game is afoot,” a hackneyedphrase Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes said exactly one time in all of the stories.) She takes off for London with a pile of money her mother presciently left hidden for her in a location she’s disguised with a cipher that Enola cracks, and has little trouble tracking her mother’s movements through the London underground – that’s another preposterous subplot that I won’t spoil because it’s just so stupid. While there, she just bumps into Tewksbury again, because the story needs them to run into each other.

The Sherlock character is a softer and kinder version of the one present in most of the stories and in film versions, which has made the film the subject of a peculiar lawsuit by the Doyle estate. (The character of Sherlock is in the public domain because most of the works that include him have lost their copyright protection; the estate claims that this film uses a later version of Sherlock where he shows emotion, and thus isn’t in the public domain.) This poses two problems: It’s not the Sherlock most of us know from canon or from depictions like Benedict Cumberbatch’s, and it also makes Sherlock really, really boring. There are no pithy observations, no witty ripostes, and none of the charm of watching his brain at work, which is a huge part of the appeal of Doyle’s writing – the same as it is for Agatha Christie’s Poirot or Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Wimsey.

This feels more than anything like an attempt to profit from someone else’s creation, because it’s devoid of anything original or interesting. Brown might play the single most important character in Stranger Things‘ ever-growing ensemble, although I think there are times the script pushes her to overact. She never inhabits this character, however, and the reason is probably that the character itself is two-dimensional and cartoonish. For a movie that’s been heavily hyped and received positive reviews, Enola Holmes is a shocking dud. If you’re a fan of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, you’d do well to stay away.

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→ October 1, 2020
→ By

Atlantis Rising.

The second edition of the cooperative game Atlantis Rising came out last September from Elf Creek Games, bringing updated graphics and much-improved components while simplifying some of the mechanics. It’s flown a bit under the radar but is one of the better cooperative titles I’ve played, a step up in complexity from Pandemic but not as difficult to learn as Spirit Island.

In Atlantis Rising, one to seven players try to save Atlantis before the island floods by gathering resources to build eleven ‘components,’ each of which helps the players continue to advance towards the ultimate goal with one-time or ongoing benefits. Each player gets a specific role with a special ability and a set of meeples they can place around the island’s many spaces. The island board has six peninsulas on it, each containing six tiles on which players can place their meeples. Three of those allow you to gain resources – gold, crystals, and ore – by rolling a die, while the other three allow you to convert ore to steel, to pick up Library cards that give you extra benefits, or to recruit more meeples. You can also place up to two or three meeples (based on player count) on the components board to allow you to build them on that turn.

The order of operations here is a bit different than that in Pandemic and the many games that have borrowed its mechanics. In Atlantis Rising, players all place their meeples at the same time, coordinating their efforts, and then players draw one card apiece from the Misfortune Deck, which mostly comprises cards showing the name of one of the six peninsulas. When you draw one of those, you flip over the tile closest to the end of the peninsula that isn’t already on its flooded side. Those tiles furthest from the center either have the best rewards or require the lowest value on your die roll to gain a resource, so the island gets harder to use as it shrinks. If any peninsula has all six tiles flooded and you draw another card for it, you have to flip the middle tile and you lose the game. Some cards in the Misfortune deck are even worse, while others are Calm cards where nothing flips, so it’s possible your card draw won’t be entirely disastrous.

Only after you’ve drawn and resolved your Misfortune cards do you execute the actions for the meeples you’ve placed, assuming that they weren’t booted from the board when their tiles flooded. (You don’t lose the meeples forever, just for the round.) You roll dice to see if you get any of the three resources, convert ore to steel, roll for recruits (which requires two meeples to activate, as in the “love shack” of Stone Age), and draw Library cards. You can also build components if you have a meeple there and have acquired the two to four resources required. Once you’ve built the ten components, you can build the final piece, requiring eight resources, to win the game. At the end of each round, you flip a number of tiles equal to the value on the Wrath of the Gods round tracker, starting at 0 and going up to 3, where it remains for the rest of the game. The players choose which tiles to flip this time, so you have some discretion here, but you’ll probably get seven rounds in before you run out of tiles.

The Library card deck includes mostly single-use cards, but has about a dozen Artifact cards that you keep for the rest of the game, gaining benefits on every turn. There’s also a sort of internal currency in the game called mystic energy, which you can always gain for free by placing meeples on the center tile, and which you can use to increase the result of a die roll by one, or collect to spend four to place a barrier tile on a peninsula that you discard rather than flooding a tile, or to spend five to un-flood a tile. You need two mystic energy in addition to six other resources to build the final piece on the components board to win the game, but one of the components lets you get two mystic energy per meeple placed there, so if you get to that point acquiring more mystic energy is less of an obstacle.

The game is highly customizable by difficulty, with multiple suggested configurations of components to use in each game and the ability to make the Misfortune deck more punitive. With two or three players, you draw four Misfortune cards as a group; with just two players, you also get a Hologram meeple that takes on an additional role and may take one action like any other meeple. There’s also a solo mode that really works, letting you play one main role, one secondary role with the Hologram, and use a robot meeple to boost one or two of your own meeples by adding 2 to their die rolls. In solo mode, you get a free mystic energy token at the start of every round, and then draw four Misfortune cards in that phase.

What really works about Atlantis Rising, which I’ve read is a change from the first edition, is that the mechanics of the challenge are simple to understand and implement. The complexity is all on the players’ side – how best to deploy your meeples, which components to build, even which tiles to use on each round because of the risk that they’ll be flooded before you get to take your actions, which amounts to a lost turn for those meeples. It’s also quite solid as a solo game.

The game is out of stock in most places right now – it’s on amazon but for a gouging price – and Elf Creek has indicated there will be a new print run available in Q1 of next year. If you enjoy cooperative games, and want something a bit more difficult than Pandemic, I’d check it out.

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→ September 30, 2020
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Fight Club (novel).

The first rule of Fight Club is … oh, enough already, you know the joke.

I saw David Fincher’s acclaimed film adaptation of Fight Club back in 2011, and nine years on it hasn’t left me, even though I have yet to rewatch it. The three leads are all so good, and as disturbing as the film is, I think I needed some time to process what Fincher and the book’s author, Chuck Palahniuk, were trying to say.

Since I hosted a livestreamed event with Palahniuk earlier in September, I decided to read Fight Club, Palahniuk’s first novel and I think still his most popular. The film’s script adheres reasonably closely to the story in the book, but the novel has fewer clues to its ultimate twist, and the ending differs substantially, with the written one far creepier and paranoid.

The novel is narrated by the main character, never named, who has already met Tyler Durden, the primary antagonist who exerts a Svengali-like influence over the protagonist. We jump back in time to where the narrator spends most of his time attending self-help groups for people suffering from or dying of rare diseases that he doesn’t actually have. He meets Marla, who’s doing the same thing, and ends up in a battle of wills with her that ends with them splitting the groups they attend and, somehow, also leads to her meeting Tyler and sleeping with him. The narrator and Tyler go on, of course, to create a fight club that attracts other disaffected young men and eventually becomes a social movement focused on self-reliance and the overthrow of the modern state.

The violence inherent to the story plays out less shockingly on the page than on film; Palahniuk is very comfortable delving into the darker side of humanity, and doesn’t shy away from the physical damage of the fights, but it’s less lurid here than in Fincher’s version – without being less visceral. You are drawn into the page by that violence but kept there primarily by the narration itself. The protagonist isn’t quite right, obviously, and Palahniuk’s best trick in the novel, even aside from the ultimate twist, is how he voices the narrator’s inner monologue so that we get the sense of his mental descent without him making it explicit.

The twist, if you don’t know it, is the same here as it is in the film, but the two diverge after that point when the narrator tries to stop what he’s set in motion with the cult he and Tyler have created. The movie ends on a more hopeful note, if you can believe it, while the book emphasizes how the narrator has been trapped by his own creations, without the way out he gets in the film. The book also spends less time on Tyler’s character, and he’s more three-dimensional in the film, not least because of how Pitt portrays him.

There’s a whole body of literature on the meaning and themes of Fight Club the book and the film, which I won’t even try to rehash here, not least because they aren’t my own thoughts. Reading the novel now, in 2020, well after seeing the film, I couldn’t avoid seeing it as a prescient depiction of incel culture before that word even existed. Young men, feeling emasculated by society, oppressed by late-stage capitalism, and rejected by women, turn to violence and a movement that purports to restore them to power. These same young men would be wearing MAGA hats fifteen years later, or carrying tiki torches in Charlottesville. Palahniuk doesn’t so much blame society for their existence as observe them as a consequence and follow one of them in particular to the bottom of his slippery slope. There’s an anti-consumerist message here but it was much weaker than it is in the film, replaced in part by mockery of upwardly mobile consumers who will pay more for a product that they see as “natural” or that carries other socially desirable traits.

Marla isn’t much of a character in the novel Fight Club, which is disappointing given how much more real she is in Helena Bonham-Carter’s portrayal. Palahniuk has faced criticism for his views on gender, and Marla is enough of a stock character here, despite a very promising introduction, that it becomes a weakness in the novel – never mind the Bechdel Test, which this novel fails immediately, but this is a novel about dudes who just want to be dudes. It’s a Real Men™ thing, and you ladies wouldn’t get it. Palahniuk is a satirist on some level, but there isn’t a strong sense of condemnation of Tyler Durden’s acolytes here, and Marla was his best chance to provide that within the novel if she’d been a stronger character.

When I’ve read a book and seen the movie adaptation, nine times out of ten I come down in favor of the book. Fight Club is in the latter category. Jim Uhls’ screenplay smooths out some of the rough edges in Palahniuk’s novel, while Pitt and Bonham-Carter bring their respective characters to life with far greater detail and texture. The tradeoffs are an ending that might be too positive, and more overt clues as to the coming twist. There are huge tells in the movie that aren’t there in the book, and it’s at least a fair debate whether that’s to the film’s detriment. I figured it out while watching the film, but I don’t think I would have figured it out if I’d read the book first. In some ways, that’s a recommendation for the book, but on balance, I think the film is just better.

Next up: I’m reading Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle, probably 35 years after I first heard about the book in social studies class.

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→ September 26, 2020
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Stick to baseball, 9/26/20.

Nothing new this week at the Athletic, but I’m hoping to write two pieces this upcoming week to make up for it.

I reviewed the light resource-management and tile-placement game Cosmic Colonies for Paste this week; it’s a fine enough game, but I was left a little underwhelmed because it didn’t offer anything I hadn’t seen before in other games.

My guest on The Keith Law Show this week was my colleague at the Athletic Kaitlyn McGrath, talking about what it’s been like covering a team (the Blue Jays) she can’t see in person because they’re playing in the U.S. You can also subscribe to my podcast on Amazon,  iTunes, and Spotify.

I’ve been keeping up with my free email newsletter better recently; my thanks to those of you who’ve signed up and who’ve sent kind notes in response to some recent editions. That said, I didn’t send one this week since … well, I haven’t had the muse much at all lately.

The holidays approach! My books The Inside Game and Smart Baseball make excellent gifts, or so I’m told by my editor and publicists.

And now, the links…

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→ September 19, 2020
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Stick to baseball, 9/19/20.

I had one post of my own this week for subscribers to The Athletic, on my disdain for MLB’s proposal to keep expanded playoffs beyond 2020. I also did a Q&A with our Royals writer Alec Lewis and answered some questions for our Nats writer Britt Ghiroli on each of those teams’ farm systems.

My guest on The Keith Law Show this week was my friend and former colleague Adnan Virk, talking about the season to date and some upcoming movies of interest to him (he hosts his own movie podcast called Cinephile). My own podcast is now available on Amazon podcasts as well as iTunes and Spotify.

Over at Paste, I ranked the five best board game reboots I’ve played, as a companion to last week’s review of Nova Luna, itself a reboot of an earlier game called Habitats.

I’ve been keeping up with my free email newsletter better recently; my thanks to those of you who’ve signed up and who’ve sent kind notes in response to some recent editions.

The holidays approach! My books The Inside Game and Smart Baseball make excellent gifts, or so I’m told by my editor and publicists.

And now, the links…

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→ September 18, 2020
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The Invention of Sound.

I was the host for Chuck Palahniuk’s live-streamed Q&A event through Midtown Scholar, an independent bookstore in Harrisburg, PA, last Friday night, discussing Chuck’s new book The Invention of Sound. I’ve just gotten into Chuck’s oeuvre, having read that and Adjustment Day and just starting Fight Club, so I was simultaneously shocked and entertained by his newest novel, which is violent, dark, often funny, and extremely thought-provoking.

The Invention of Sound pairs two narratives that we learn early in the novel are going to intersect. One is that of Gates Foster, a father whose daughter, Lucinda, vanished from his office building about ten years earlier, leading to the demise of his marriage and his own downward spiral into obsessively hunting for her image in online pedophilia and child-porn communities. The other is that of Mitzi, a sound engineer who crafts and sells blood-curdling, realistic screams to movie and television producers, a business she inherited from her father and that she has built further with the help of Schlo, a successful producer who buys some of her best screams. We’ll also meet the wonderfully-named Blush Gentry, an actress on the downside of her character who sees a chance to boost her profile with Gates’ help – and who was the actor on screen when one of Mitzki’s most potent screams was used in a B-movie many years earlier.

Palahniuk was a great interview, and one of the best answers he gave me, which I think is instructive for all readers of fiction and for would-be writers as well, was that he uses violence as a way to bring the reader into the text and make the events on the page more visceral. (He said that drugs and sex also work in the same way.) The violence here is mostly implied, at least, rather than described graphically, as it was in Adjustment Day, but it’s there, and the specter of this violence lurks on every page – it raises the tension, but I read this with a good amount of fear that I was going to turn the page and find something that would turn my stomach.

Under the veneer of violence and depravity, however, are deeper explorations of questions like grief, especially when you’re grieving without closure; and of the power of fiction to move us, for better or for worse. Gates’ methods of dealing with his grief are not exactly evidence-based, but they do tell us something about the kind of open-ended horror of losing a child without knowing what happened to them – a rare occurrence, but among the most horrifying things any parent can conceive – and serve as an explanation for some of Gates’ more irrational or just plain dangerous choices.

Mitzi’s story is less successful than Gates’, although it’s just as compelling to read; it’s just hard to understand why she carries on with this business, knowing its personal toll on her, even when Palahniuk offers us a trauma in her past that might explain some of her risk-seeking behavior. She’s on her own death spiral, almost literally, but the more we learn about her character the harder it is to fathom why, more so because she goes so far out of her way to try to save her friend Schlo from almost certain death closer to the end of the book. She’s a villain, but also a victim, which makes her complex but ultimately inscrutable.

This might be too much of my own interpretation, but if I didn’t know Palahniuk’s work or reputation, I might have thought The Invention of Sound offered a sort of condemnation of horror films and other works of art that aim to please an audience by distilling and serving up the pain of others. There’s a whole genre of horror film that I won’t watch, where the violence is itself the point and the audience is supposed to root for the killer(s); Mitzi’s screams, and the industry she serves, feel like a satirical rendering of that kind of exploitative, misanthropic cinema. Why exactly do so many people enjoy watching the suffering of others, fictional or real? Would there really be a market for screams as realistic as those Mitzi sells, where no one asks how she manages to produce them? And is there tragedy at the end of this pursuit of greater horrors?

I’ll spoil one thing that probably should be obvious from the start of The Invention of Sound – Gates isn’t getting a happy resolution to his story, although he gets … something, certainly. The pleasure of reading his narrative is the multiple surprises that Palahniuk springs on us in the last few pages, twists for which he laid clues but that I at least missed while reading. It’s brilliant in several ways, and incredibly disturbing, but I can’t quite put my finger on what Palahniuk might be trying to say.

Next up: I’m reading his Fight Club, although of course I’ve seen the movie already.

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