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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 7 years

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Will you do your fave book? Or if you already did it, the next fave? And so on...

Short opinion: I am constantly torn between wishing that The Beginning was twice its actual length and being in awe that Applegate manages to cram so much into a sparse 156 pages.

Long opinion:

As I mentioned here, #54 is actually my favorite book in the series. I’m probably the only fandalite on the planet for whom that is true, but I am a complete and utter sucker for tragedy. And this is tragedy in its purest form. Tragedy is frustratingly hard to find in contemporary American stories, because it offers no happiness or culmination at the end. Bad guys don’t always get punished; good guys don’t ever get medals from princesses or happy retirements into the sunset or reunions with lost loved ones; the very notions of “bad” and “good” get irreversibly complicated. A tragedy is the story of well-intentioned and deeply sympathetic protagonist(s) coming to a bad end that is at least partially one’s own fault, at least partially the fault of random Shit Happens, and entirely coherent and fitting with the tiny cascade of random events that led to the fall of a lightning-struck tower.

The purpose of comedy (i.e. stories with happy endings) is easy entertainment. The purpose of tragedy is to inspire fear and horror through making the audience wonder whether it is possible for each of them to meet a similar end. With the arguable exception of Cassie, every one of the Animorphs gets his or her own tragedy in the end. This series is a war epic about the costs of violence. It was never going to have a happy ending.

Rachel’s loss, in the opening moments, is the most obvious character culmination of the series. She has been struggling for months if not years to define herself outside of the war, attacked on all sides (her best friend, her boyfriend, her cousin and field commander, her own mother) for the very role that they all nonetheless demand that she perform in order to keep them all safe, not only from the yeerks but from themselves. Rachel has been the team’s first and last line of defense since the EGS tower battle (#7), and has all-but taken on the title of trash collector since becoming the one to handle David (#22). Killing Tom is her final act of protecting her found family; completing the suicide run is her final ability to use her comfort with violence to do something good. She might have done and even become terrible things, but she ultimately succeeds in turning that terror against an even greater evil in her last moments of life.

Arguably the next domino to fall is Tobias. I’m with Cates: his is the ending I find the least satisfying, because it devalues his friendship-cum-familyhood with Ax. However, I also can’t say that Applegate didn’t set that ending up. As early as #13 Tobias shows worrying signs of codependency with Rachel; as early as #3 he proves willing to retreat into his hawk side when the going gets tough. The scene where “Ken and Barbie” disturb his self-imposed exile through their simple reminder of humanity suggests that Tobias’s retreat isn’t nearly as complete as he’d like it to be, but then he’s never been able to escape being human no matter how hard he tries (see: #3, #33, #43, #49).

Part of what I find so fascinating about Jake’s character arc (fascinating enough that I wrote a goddamn novel or two on the subject) is how much his family story starts complicating this hyper-normative idea of married-parents-two-kids-fenced-backyard-golden-retriever-nice-neighborhood-white-upper-middle-class familyhood starting right in the first book, and how it only makes things worse once the war is over. Jake’s family continues to look “perfect” (i.e. normative) from the moment he first gets home and joins his brother and parents (and resident yeerk) for a home-cooked dinner in #1 all the way up until the alien inside his mom is firing a dracon beam at him from the front seat of her minivan, putting the first scar on the otherwise flawless siding on the facade of their two-story McMansion in #49. So it’s only natural that Jake’s first thought on committing fratricide in the immediate aftermath of mass murder is to wonder “how would [he] explain this to [his] parents,” and it makes a fair amount of sense that he basically tries to retreat back to that safe haven he (unlike all of his friends) has before the war begins (#54). But Jake can’t go home; home isn’t there for him to retreat to anymore. His desire to retreat back to his childhood home borders on pathological, since in many ways he’s older than his parents have ever been, and he’s gone beyond the point where he could ever hope to give his burdens back to them.

And then there are three. And then two.

There are two details about Ax’s role in the final book that I find really fascinating. The first is that line (which I quote all the time, because I find it so revelatory) where Cassie describes herself and Marco as “the only two real survivors” of the war (#54). Why isn’t Ax included in the list of “survivors” along with Cassie and Marco, even though he’s alive and (physically) well at the time? My guess would be the hints that he is, in his own way, just as addicted to risk and violence as Rachel ever was. He doesn’t know how to survive without the war, which leaves him “looking for trouble” in his “boredom”—right up until he recklessly stumbles upon enough “trouble” to get his entire crew killed (#54). That chapter also contains the other fascinating detail: it’s labeled “Aximili,” not “Ax” the way his chapters are in all the Megamorphs books. Ax has at least partially given up on the identity he fought so hard to forge throughout the entire book series. He has retreated back into being what his society expects him to be: a leader, a warrior, and an andalite who does not concern himself much with alien cultures. He continues playing that role, apparently indifferent to what is happening with Tobias and the others on Earth, right up to his death.

Quick side note: I find it so cool (by which I mean excruciatingly painful) that each of the Animorphs gets what they wanted in the first books in the series—and that those dreams prove to be so hollow once achieved. Rachel gets eternal glory, and the ultimate thrill ride along the way (#2). Ax surpasses Elfangor in reputation and respect (#8). Jake fulfills his daydreams of being treated as a superhero (#2), and of going home to his family (#1). Marco gets to be not only “an entire episode of Stupid Pet Tricks” but quite possibly the most famous person alive (#2). Tobias escapes his life and manages once and for all to “fly free” (#3). Cassie finds a non-violent way to change the world (#4); she even gets to be a horse for a while along the way (#29). And it’s nothing like any of them thought it would be. None of their childhood dreams have much feasibility or even appeal by the time they are some of the weariest, most mature and worn-out adults of their generation. Only Cassie manages to find satisfaction in getting everything she ever wanted.

Only Cassie… because Marco’s not quite a “survivor” either. He brags about his fame and materialism, sure—but then we’ve never been able to trust Marco’s narration. (See: the amount of time he spends obfuscating and/or lying to the reader in #30, #25, #15, and #35.) If you ask Marco outright, everything’s fine and it always has been. But then Marco describes Jake and Tobias showing up with an offer of a suicide mission as “everything around me turned translucent, like it was all fake… an old reality emerged from beneath the illusion” (#54). Even before that scene, it’s striking just how much time Marco spends obsessing over Jake. Marco freely admits to Cassie that he acquired an eagle morph for the specific purpose of following Jake around to spy on him, spends almost half the alleged description of his own life talking about how poorly Jake is functioning, and actually talks Jake into leading his crazy suicide mission for Jake’s own sake. What Marco doesn’t mention—and what we can assume from Jake’s own narration doesn’t happen—is him actually picking up the phone to call Jake and ask him if he wants to talk. The flash and glam and seven cars and heated pool and personal butler are yet more misdirection; Marco’s not okay. He’s just telling us about all the ways Jake’s not okay because that’s safer than admitting his own vulnerability. Jake says “Marco, you were bored out of your mind” and Marco unhesitatingly agrees (#54). Marco spends so much time trying to convince everyone of how very happy he is with materialism and Hollywood glam that he fools Cassie, he fools Tobias, he all but fools himself… but he never fools Jake. Which is why he has to keep Jake at arm’s length, no matter how much his guilt at doing so might eat him up as he’s sitting around watching Jake watching Rachel’s grave in the middle of the night.

And then there’s Cassie. Cassie who I’ve compared to an anti-Susan Pevensie, Cassie who finds a man who treats her right and uses power for good without resorting to violence. Marco, who was the last to join the war effort, might have eventually been able to find equilibrium if he’d been willing to get a haircut and get a real job (X). Cassie, who is unafraid to work on her own and leave her team when something needs doing and they can’t help her (#19, #29, #43, #44), is already living a new normal. Jake is right when he says that Cassie’s “a one-woman army,” and he’s right that she’s “the soldier who has fought her war and moved on.” The two Animorphs with the least “addiction” to the war emerge from the other side the most intact (#22). Cassie’s never going to be the same person she was, but she understands that. She doesn’t try to hide from the past, she doesn’t try to retreat into it; she picks herself up and figures out a way to live on her own. She shows that there’s hope for life after war, but also that there’s no returning to childhood. She lives, and keeps on living, even after two (maybe three, maybe five) of her fellow Animorphs have been eaten alive by the war. Because right from the start, Cassie has been comfortable with leaving her team behind—and in the end, she leaves her team behind, and she can’t save a single goddamn one of them.

It’s not a happy ending. It’s not a comforting ending. It’s not the kind of ending that suggests people get what they deserve and deserve what they get. It doesn’t offer the comfortable reassurance that the right ends will justify any means. It’s the kind of ending that gets in your head, burrows down deep, reads through your memories, and won’t leave you alone.

Don’t get me wrong: I love these characters. They were my heroes and my idols and my ink-and-paper friends throughout my childhood. They’ve taught me as much as a lot of real people I’ve known in my life, and there’s a part of me that does want them to live happily ever after. But if they did, they would lose a lot of the realness that makes them so precious and so painful to love in the first place.

#asks #answers #animorphs reviews #54 #the beginning #animorphs spoilers #unculturedmamoswine #jake berenson #rachel berenson #tobias fangor #aximili-esgarrouth-isthill #wouldn't it be nice if cassie and marco had last names #i didn't even mention that moment with alloran #or that other moment with menderash #or that other other moment with erek...

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dustedmagazine · 7 years

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Dusted Mid-Year, Part 2

Anthony Pasquarosa’s imaginary Western soundtrack got a lot of love, too.

We continue our mid-year switcheroo with the second half of our favorites (in alphabetical order by artist name) covering DREAMDECAY through Slowdive. If you missed part 1, check it out here.

DREAMDECAY — YÚ (Iron Lung)

YÚ LP (LUNGS-085) by DREAMDECAY

Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No

Ian Mathers’ take:

When this record first comes brawling and blaring out of the gate with the title track, it immediately brought to mind a couple of certified Dusted Approved Acts; namely, it sounds a bit like a hybrid of the rougher ends of Liars’ and Protomartyr’s discography. What ultimately makes YÚ such a strong (and distinctive) record on its own merits, though, is the band’s ability and willingness to work in different registers while still maintaining the same deadpan, noisy pulse, whether that’s the squalling “BASS JAM” or the eerie tones of “WITNESS/ALLOW.” The result is that the really relentless moments (like most of “JOY”) hit even harder, and in a tight 34-minute package the listener gets a precisely balanced and always compelling album that never loses its sense of either menace or triumph, as on the unexpectedly epic post-punk odyssey of “IAN.”

Kleistwahr — Music for Zeitgeist Fighters (Nashazphone)

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Pv8pAKXXkA

Who recommended it: Joseph Burnett

Did we review it? Nope

Eric McDowell’s take:

While it’s tempting — and entirely possible — to read Gary Mundy’s latest Kleistwahr project, Music for Zeitgeist Fighters, in light of its title as a soundtrack for the times, there’s also something otherworldly about these two side-long soundscapes. With its beautifully blinding tones and blistering textures, “Music for Dead Dreams” captures just the potent blend of pain and pleasure, gloom and hope that Dante witnessed on his journey through Purgatorio. Somewhere deep under the redemptive electronic roar a human voice lies buried, as tortured as it is awed. Bursting with cosmic paradox, the music seems on the one hand to speed ahead with the sensation of surfaces stripped away by immersive friction; on the other, it gives the listener that panned-back feeling of unutterable smallness, of being dwarfed by the infinite.

“Music for Fucked Films” sends us back down to earth, if not quite to reality. Where side one’s propulsive energy comes in part from its unwavering trajectory, side two is a more uncertain (and more distressing) affair. While like its counterpart the piece begins by building slowly, with a dull mass of vocals cut with electric guitar, abrupt shifts and directionless fragments — pooling organ, tinkling piano, oscillating sirens — breed tension and doubt. But we’re talking about “Fucked Films,” not Hollywood. Nor is Hollywood what we need right now.

Tift Merritt — Stitch of the World (Yep Roc)

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Who recommended it: Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? No

Ben Donnelly’s take:

Fifteen years in doesn't tend to be an auspicious time in songwriting careers. It often falls in the sour spot between the charms of breaking through and coming around again to provide veteran respect. With this batch of songs, Merritt, who emerged in the turn of the century No Depression country peak, does a lot more than plug away. For one thing, her singing voice on Stitch of the World has more of a warble than before, breathy yet more controlled, and it seems like she's expanded into register that's slightly higher than before. Her singing takes on a Dolly-like focus, clear and emotionally controlled. Something similar develops with her writer's voice as well. The ballads "Heartache Is an Uphill Climb" and “Something Came Over Me" feel like they've been around forever, with refrains that get to the heart of the matter and verses that leave enough imaginative space that one can sense them being covered in the future. The honky-tonk rockers are just as natural. "Proclamation Bones" shuffles along with whining slide guitar and chunky telecaster rhythms, capturing the rough melancholy of Exile-era Stones. And opener "Dusty Old Man" is the rare country song where the drumming is the lead. Stitch of the World captures a lifer presenting her best work yet, making the endurance look effortless.

Anthony Pasquarosa — Abbandonato Da Dio Nazione (VDSQ)

Who recommended it: Bill Meyer

Did we review it? Yes, Bill, who slipped it into the last Dust, called out “acoustic guitar figures that sound like they flew away from his 12 strings and up the walls of a canyon before they banked back and into your ears.”

Justin Cober-Lake’s take:

Guitarist Anthony Pasquarosa goes for a period piece with Abbandonato Da Dio Nazione. His godforsaken country lies partly in history and partly in myth, coming as much from Spaghetti Westerns as from the actual late19th century western lore (as if we can tell those apart anyway). Pasquarosa primarily focused on his solo guitar work here, so the disc is far more in line with his primitive work than his punk influences, but is primarily driven by world-shaping. If the early recognition of his experiment (aided by gunshots and hoofbeats) yields a smile, the growing structures and intricate picking lead to deeper reflection. The questing “What Makes a Man” moves out of showdown territory, but it's the lakeside picnic before the black hats come back with reinforcements. As a film genre exercise, the album holds up on its own; I'd watch this movie today. But it's exceptional in its musical qualities, both in structure and performance, and something far more than the novelty that its concept might suggest. Maybe most important, it's just plain fun.

Pharmakon — Contact (Sacred Bones)

Who recommended it: Olivia Bradley-Skill

Did we review it? Yes, Joseph Burnett called Ms. Chardiet “one of the most exciting noise artists currently pouring molten lead into the world’s blackened ears” in his review.

Mason Jones’ take:

At six songs and just 32 minutes, Contact is wisely kept at a manageable length, as Margaret Chardiet's latest missive is too intense for it to go any longer. The cover photo, showing hands grasping at a sweaty face and head as if they can't get enough, is the perfect representation of the album title and leads directly to "Nakedness of Need,” the first track. Slow, heavy tones and ominous thuds evolve into distorted, buzzing fields of anxiety as shrieks and ululations can't help but bring to mind early Diamanda Galas. Quieter, uneasy listening dwells in other songs, particularly the aptly-titled "Somatic,” a queasy interplay of tones that won't put you to sleep but may give you waking nightmares. Chanted vocals and pulsing electronics throughout the album make it feel like a blend of Master/Slave Relationship and SPK, among other early experimental forebears, but this is no retread of any sort. The fuzzy, pulsating sonics are like a modernized SPK, but it's Chardiet's tense vocals that are the core of Pharmakon's emotional power. That said, putting this album on requires a commitment, as that emotional output is aimed at the listener and you'll need to be ready to absorb it. While Pharmakon's previous album Bestial Burden had its share of powerful moments, Contact goes for the jugular more forcefully. At this rate listening to the next album will simply cause spontaneous combustion of the listener. Looking forward to it.

Stephen Riley & Peter Zak — Deuce (Steeplechase)

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Who recommended it? Derek Taylor

Did we review it? Yes, Derek did, observing that “(T)heir partnership is every bit as deserving of close consideration alongside the classic tandem associations in jazz.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

Given that its title openly celebrates duality, it’s worth considering where this record fits on the spectrum bounded at one end by Matthew Shipp’s dictum that jazz is a verb and the other by the proclamation that jazz is dead. Saxophonist Stephen Riley and pianist Peter Zak aren’t pushing the boundaries that Shipp has, but there’s certainly nothing dead about their relaxed but entirely engaged explorations of material rooted in the aesthetics of the middle of the 20th century. Lightly blue-shaded but steeped more in love than melancholy, this music isn’t changing anyone’s life but it’s easy to enjoy.

Shadow Band — Wilderness of Love (Mexican Summer)

Wilderness Of Love by Shadow Band

Who recommended it? Ben Donnelly

Did we review it? No

Ian Mathers’ take:

From the gentle opening to “Green Riverside” on, it seems pretty clear what Shadow Band are up to, a type of folk-adjacent music that’s equal parts lysergic and medieval. Sure enough, much of Wilderness of Love succeeds on precisely those terms, with the likes of “Shadowland” and “Morning Star” presenting fine examples of the kind of work that’s akin to everyone from Espers to the Blue Rodeo/Sadies/Eric’s Trip side project The Unintended. Much of this record is successful in conjuring up a potent mood, which is maybe the most important concern. And between all the interesting instrumentation and stylistic choices scattered around the edges, that’s enough to make Wilderness of Love stand out, whether that’s giving a bit of Velvet Underground bite to the otherwise trad seeming “Mad John,” constructing “In the Shade” seemingly mostly out of room tone and drums that seem mic’d to capture mostly echo, or just doubling down on the sleek menace of the atypically long “Darksiders’ Blues.”

Slowdive — Slowdive (Dead Oceans)

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Who recommended it? Ian Mathers

Did we review it? Ian's take went up earlier today, saying that "maybe more than ever before the band is concerned with manufacturing the purest, highest grade rush they can".

Tobias Carroll’s take:

There’s a part about two-thirds of the way into Slowdive’s “Catch the Breeze,” on their debut Just For a Day, where a booming guitar part enters the mix over the flow of washed-out melodies and the voices of Rachel Goswell and Neil Halstead. I heard it for the first time in the early 1990s, and Slowdive could have coasted on the accumulated goodwill that the utter bliss of that moment sparked in me, had they wanted to. Thankfully, they didn’t. Instead, the band’s kept up a remarkably solid record of making good music that’s explored interesting sonic dimensions. This eight-song album marks their first full-length since getting back together a couple of years ago. Not unlike fellow high-profile reunited bands like My Bloody Valentine and Sleater-Kinney, they’ve made an album that seems like a proper progression from their sound. It doesn’t hurt that you can also hear echoes of their work after they initially called it a day: “Falling Ashes” has plenty of echoes of Goswell and Halstead’s post-Slowdive work in Mojave 3, and there are traces of Halstead’s recent stint in Black Hearted Brother here as well. It’s a welcome return from this band, a subtle and compelling album that doesn’t settle for easy nostalgia.

#dusted magazine #midyear 2017 #dreamdecay #ian mathers #kleistwahr #eric mcdowell #tift merritt #ben donnelly #anthony pasquarosa #justin cober-lake #pharmakon #mason jones #stephen riley #peter zak #bill meyer #slowdive #tobias carroll #midyear

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