Fatale, Vol. 5: Curse the Demon

Fatale, Vol. 5: Curse the Demon by Ed Brubaker
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

As many of you know, I'm a huge Wisconsin Badgers fan, no matter the sport. I'm an alumnus, one of my kids attends UW, and I live in Madison, where we've raised our kids in the shadow of Camp Randall, the Kohl Center, and the rest of campus - Okay, a five minute drive away, but you get what I mean. The University is really an integral part of our life.

Madison is routinely rated among the best college sports towns in America. But it wasn't always that way. Before I arrived in '96, the nation was stunned by the sudden emergence of the Badger football program from the shadows (many a veteran mentions "the Morton era" with a wince). And while the basketball team was always good, it's only since I arrived that it's been truly great. Of course, I can attribute that to my arrival . . . no, not really.

In any case, last year was a special year for Bo Ryan's basketball team. Those of us who watch closely knew it was coming. I recall watching Sam Dekker singlehandedly win the Wisconsin state high school basketball championship and thinking: "Hey, wait - this kid is special!" Then, all of a sudden, a few others emerge: Frank Kaminsky, Duje Dukan, Josh Gasser, Nigel Hayes, Bronson Koenig - watching them, you knew this, the 2014-15 squad, was the proverbial "team of destiny". THIS was the team Badger fans had been waiting for. They tore through opponents with a combination of steady discipline, stalwart defense, better-than-average outside shooting, and a bit of luck. Yes, they lost a few, most notably, they suffered their first loss at the hand of perennial powerhouse, Duke. They had a few unexplainable hiccups against inferior opponents, but they entered the NCAA tournament strong, beating Michigan State for the outright Big Ten title.

They had been to the Final Four the previous year, but this year, they went into the tournament even stronger. They were not a young team dazzled by the lights, this was a group of grizzled veterans who trudged through some difficult games, beating one after another, maybe not comfortably, but convincingly. Then, in the Final Four, they faced the always-dangerous Kentucky - and utterly dominated them. They won 71-64, then turned to play in the National Championship game against . . . uh-oh . . . the Duke Blue Devils . . . again! Duke is like herpes. You just can't get rid of them! And though the Badgers fought tooth and nail, they ultimately lost to the very young, very talented Duke.

It was a disappointment to all of us Badger fans. We knew that this was our best shot - we had never assembled such talent that played so well together as a team! When one person was down or injured, two others stepped up their game to compensate, all the while getting stronger and stronger as they pushed toward that ultimate finish.

But it just wasn't enough. No matter how hard they tried, it just wasn't enough. They found, in the end, that they were out of gas.

Still, it was a good ride. Nothing to be ashamed of, by any means. But the thought continues to haunt fans and players alike - what could have beeen? What . . . should have been . . .? How could the story have ended? And what of those dreams of final glory? Where did they disappear to? Yes the 2014-15 season will always be remembered with fondness as something special. But they didn't quite make it over the top.

We were almost there. So close. So incredibly close. But . . . not.

This book, the final in the series, is a lot like that.

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The Teleportation Accident or An Apologia for Lemming

The Teleportation Accident by Ned Beauman
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

An Apologia for Lemming

Life is too short. There are too many books that will be amazing reads. They are physically on my shelf, staring at me.

This is not one of them.

I've been on Goodreads for a few years now. Seven, to be exact. In that time, I have not lemmed a book. Not a single one. Oh, I've crawled my way through some real duds. I've persevered through some that started slow and ended strong. I've appreciated some for their fabulous writing, even when I might not fully understand what's happening. And others I've liked for a rip-roaring plot, though the writing was pedestrian.

I am proud that I haven't yet lemmed a book.

Today, I swallow my pride.

Maybe it's because I've been reading some fantastic fiction and non-fiction lately. Maybe it's because I have more writing projects than ever before. Maybe it's because I know that college football season is coming up and I will watch TV again (no, I have not watched one TV show since last football season - I just don't watch much TV) and not have as much time to read. Maybe it's because I have Joyce and Proust and Nabakov waiting for me . . .

. . . but I just could not get into this book. Yes, the writing is good, even brilliant in places. But the characters - I could not even take enough interest in them to be able to differentiate one from another. Besides, their social brand of hedonism left me feeling, well, bored. Many of my Goodreads friends have written reviews praising this work, friends that I hold in high regard and whose advice I've followed with much success and joy in reading.

At this party, though, I am simply sitting in the corner, falling asleep.

It's been a long night, all 40 pages of it.

In the past, I've scoffed at reviews where someone has said in essence, "I didn't finish the book, but I'm giving it a rating anyway". I thought "How can you justify that as a 'review'? You have to have read the book to have reviewed it!" Truth is, I'll probably go on feeling that same way, most of the time.

But not this time.

I'm done with this book. I didn't finish it. And I'm rating it. 40 pages was enough. That's 40 pages I could have been reading, or writing, something much better.

Yes, for this moment, I am swallowing my pride and lemming this book.

I'm feeling pretty good about that. On to better things. Life is too short. There are too many great books out there to tolerate mediocrity. Viva excellence!

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Vietnamerica: A Family's Journey

Vietnamerica: A Family's Journey by G.B. Tran
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I connected with Vietnamerica on a couple of levels, emotionally.

First, my earliest recall-able memories are from my time spent as a child in the Philippines, at Clark Air Force Base, 1973-75. Take a careful look at those years - yep, I was there when South Vietnam fell to the Vietminh. I clearly remember driving past the flight-line to go with my mother to the commissary for groceries and seeing a pair of Chinooks landing. One sported a big white square with a red cross emblazoned on it. I saw the troops getting off of the helicopter - some of their faces were covered with bandages, others were being carried on stretchers, several used crutches. I asked Mom what was wrong with these men. All I remember of her reply was something like "they're hurt, honey. They're going home." It wasn't long before we watched on TV as overloaded helicopters dropped civilians off onto U.S. ships before ditching in the ocean because there was no room to land on the ships anymore. Of course, it was all very exciting - I was five years old at the time and didn't really have a clue what was going on.

Second, as a graduate student, I had the good fortune of being a teaching assistant for Dr. Al McCoy, Professor of Southeast Asian History at the University of Wisconsin-Madison (Go Badgers!). I taught about 120 students in breakout sessions that were, students told me, the funnest part of the class. We had a great time with discussions that would probably be illegal post-911, like the exercise where I "armed" the students with 5; 500 lb HE bombs and a Piper Cub and had them plan how they would bring the city of Madison to its knees with only those five bombs. Yeah, I'd probably get arrested for teaching that now.

I'll be honest - my background in Southeast Asian history was extremely limited and my background in U.S. history was close to nil. But I did have a very good grasp on guerrilla warfare, insurgency, and counter-insurgency, especially in Africa (my MA was in African History), and a good grasp on the rise of nascent nationalism in the colonial state, so I got the gig with Al. I remember late nights furiously reading ahead of the students, brushing up on my own country's history, which I probably should have already known. Hey, it worked out okay.

But that lack of knowledge on US history was a bit of a shame to me. It still is, really. I had to work diligently to catch up and pass my students enough to be prepared for their inevitable questions. Thankfully Doctor McCoy was an excellent lecturer, possibly one of the best I've ever heard, and he did an outstanding job of covering those sections. He was always very understanding when I would come to him with dumb questions about U.S. history. In exchange, I supplied him with plenty of banter about our sometimes conflicting theories on insurgency and counter-insurgency, as well as a few shared anecdotes about the FBI, CIA (his realms of expertise) and the OSI (mine - but that's a story I can't tell you). All-in-all, it was wonderful.

That lack of knowledge of one's own history provides the driving force behind Vietnamerica, which is really a sort of confessional on the part of G.B. Tran. His parents - father and stepmother, actually, but that is an entire story within the story - fled Vietnam when Saigon fell, and he was born after they arrived in the U.S. When his grandfather and grandmother pass away, he reluctantly goes back to Vietnam with his parents, who haven't been there for 30 years.

This, I can relate to, in some smaller degree. As a military brat, I only saw my grandparents every couple of years or so. I never really knew my maternal grandfather as I would have liked, and only got to know my maternal grandmother when we lived with her for a year in 1979, when my dad was in cross-training and we couldn't live where he was at the time (though I suspect that Mom and Dad needed some time away from each other and were frankly in more debt than they cared to admit, so Mom and my brother and I stayed with Grandma - then again, I could just be inadvertently spreading false rumors). My paternal grandparents I got to know only when I moved out of my parents' place, while we were in England, and moved to Wyoming to live with them for a few months (an even longer story - you might read about it before I die, or not . . .).

Where I did not connect with Tran was with his resistance to wanting to go to Vietnam to connect with relatives he had never met. I've always been fiercely loyal about family, quirks, problems, dark closets, and all. I am very proud of my family name and my ancestry. People ask where "Aguirre" comes from and I have to respond "It's Basque". Some people have asked "You mean Spanish?". "No, I mean Basque. You never called Grandpa Spanish. He'd blow up your post office and police station if you did!" Then there's the inevitable "Do you speak Spanish?" No. I speak English, some German, and some Swahili. No Spanish. "Well you don't look Spanish." "That's because my dad was adopted." "That's sweet." "No, not really. Dad and my aunt, his twin, were both beaten black and blue and left for dead on the side of a highway in Wyoming by my biological Grandmother and her then boyfriend. Her husband was in prison at the time. My grandparents - MY Grandparents - picked my Dad and aunt up from the side of the road and took them into the police. Two weeks later, the state called them and explained that no one had claimed them and asked if they would like to adopt the twins. Grandma and Grandpa had been trying, unsuccessfully, to have children since their only child had died as an infant. So they adopted my father and my aunt. So, no it didn't start out sweet, but I guess it ended up that way."

These experiences of mine are what was evoked as I read Vietnamerica. It hit me on a deeply personal level. It will likely not have the same effect on you, though it might. If it does, I empathize, and I'm a touch sorry.

From a purely critical viewpoint, the book is a little emotionally distant, mainly because Tran himself is trying to put his parents' and his family's story at the forefront, rather than his own. It's a little difficult to connect with the author, to be honest, though he portrays his family history with honesty and sympathy. I just couldn't get into Tran's own head.

The artwork is merely good, but the cinematic structuring of the narrative is nearly perfect. Tran is a wonderful composer of the comic medium. The man should be writing storyboards for movies, then turning them into animated films. I bet he'd be fantastic at it.

The story of the structure itself is a little choppy and it's difficult to follow, at times. Be sure to refer to the illustrated family tree that Tran provides - it's a lifesaver when you're feeling a bit lost.

And we all need a lifesaver, from time to time. Or several live's savers. So many stories. So many lives. So many saviors. It's really a wonder that any of us are alive to tell our tales at all. It really is.

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World Fantasy, How Do I Love You? Let Me Count the Ways

1. Finishing the draft of Solistalgia the day before I left for DC.
2. I don't live in Illinois, Indiana, or Ohio, I only have to drive through them to get to you.
3. I used to live in Pennsylvania. It is still beautiful, especially this time of year. Hail, Pitt!
4. NPR had a bit on a magicians' library that I listened to on part of my drive. It was fascinating and gave me grist for the next novel.
5. The Educated Goldfish.
6. I don't have to live with DC traffic.
7. There was a biker-veteran convention (Rolling Thunder) at the same time. How cool is that?
8. Lots of books in the book bag. One of which I actually wanted!
9. The World Fantasy Convention passport, which shrunk down what is usually an excessively-oversized program booklet into something literally the size of a passport. Well-played, WFC committee, well-played. 
10. Ghost Stories Without Ghosts panel with Patty Templeton, et al.
11. Patty signed my copy of her book with a ghost!
12. Scribe Agency authors going to dinner after flashing devil signs, a-like so: 
    
13. Many good foods. Indian, Thai, Fillipino, Japanese. Thanks for the weight-gain, WFC.
14. Jeffrey Ford's reading. Wow.
15. Watching the Badgers beat Purdue with Jim Minz. Go Bucky!
16. Having some stranger at the Thai restaurant see my Badgers sweatshirt and say (with a smile) "Your team just got lucky". My response: "Oh, you're a Purdon't fan?" It's all in good fun, but seriously, they let these people into our nation's capital?
17. Author signing, where I sold a few copies of Heraclix and Pomp and learned (directly from the reviewer) about this very, very positive review.
18. Reconnecting with old friends whom I haven't seen for years, such as: Jeffrey Ford, Jeff and Ann VanderMeer, John Picacio, Jim Minz, Paula Guran, John Lawson, and a bevy of others. So many that I'm sure I've missed a dozen of you (for which I profusely apologize).
19. Reconnecting with those I've seen not so long ago: John Klima, John O'Neill, Patty Templeton, Mark Teppo, Darin Bradley, Agent Kris, Jenn Brissett, Becky Johnson, etc.
20. Meeting those with whom I've had virtual relationships, but only now met in person; mostly editors who have published my work but whom I hadn't had the pleasure to meet in person until now: Mike Allen, Matthew Kressel, Sheila Williams, and others.
21. Meeting new-to-me and very talented people like Matt Wuertz, Russ Linton, Jeremy Zerfoss, and so on. Special props to dinner with Matt and regaling each other with old D&D stories, laughing our fool heads off the whole time. The waitresses didn't quite know what to do with us, I don't think.
22. Selling some books.
23. Drooling over more rare books than I will ever be able to afford in my lifetime, viz., everything Arkham House ever published and every hardcover put out by Tartarus Press.
24. Very, very late nights where I was the only sober person within a three mile radius (I don't drink, but people I hang out with drink quite a bit).
25. My sister-in-law and her husband, who let me crash at their place and come in at very odd hours of the morning.
26. Everyone in attendance at WFC, except for that douchebag who thought it was okay to conduct a live interview in the freaking writer's retreat room that was reserved as a quiet space specifically to allow writers to WRITE. Some of us were actually in there to write, not to here your condescending drivel about how badly-behaved con-goers have become. Puke.
27. Notre Dame, for losing their game. Jim and I high-fived each other more for that than for the Badgers' winning. I love WFC: I hate the golden domers. No, seriously, I do.
    
28. Seeing Vincent Villafranca's amazing sculptures in person, along with the other amazing art on display at the art show. Lust, lust, lust.
29. Hearing that Sofia Samatar's outstanding novel, A Stranger in Olondria won the World Fantasy Award.
30. Heard another great story on NPR which will also feed into my next novel, at least thematically. Maybe I should just entitle this one "Thanks, NPR"!
31. Seeing a billboard as I entered Indiana that said "Remember: Always Wear Your Life Vest" and thinking "Right now? While I'm driving?"
32. Speeding, a lot, and not getting caught, which shaved about an hour off my travel time home.
33. Listening to the radio as the Packers dismantled Da Bears.
34. Avoiding Illinois drivers, who were on the other side of the road, coming back from pillaging my beloved Wisconsin one last time before winter sets in.
35. Seeing home all safe and sound.
36. Only one regret: Having missed the Demystifying Crowd Funding panel, because I had overslept that morning.
37. Slowly remembering all the great things that I've forgotten that didn't make this list. Best World Fantasy Convention so far. Well done, WFC committee!

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It's in the Air

While others hail the oncoming season of NFL football, watching preseason games and studying for their Fantasy Football draft, I'm giddy over the NFL farm league: The NCAA.

I'm a huge college football junkie. Since my undergraduate days at BYU watching Steve Sarkisian hurl the pigskin to my graduate school days at University of Wisconsin-Madison, where I saw some kid named Ron Dayne obliterate Stanford's defense, I've been hooked (incidentally, Dayne cuts and imposing figure when you and he are trying to pass through the same doorway, as  found several times while he was leaving his Hausa class and I was entering my Swahili class. Super nice guy, though, even when you meet him in the doorway day after day.). I watch the NFL for one reason: to see how the college kids are doing. I keep track of high school football for one reason: so I can see potential recruits and where they end up in college.

College football is where dreams are realized and hopes are dashed, where the real athletes show that they are real athletes. There's a certain precociousness to the whole thing. These kids have a lot to prove. Millions are riding on their performance. Millions that might lift mom and dad out of poverty. And for the majority who don't make millions, the educational opportunities, if taken advantage of, will change some young man's life. It's so contrary to the NFL - contract negotiations, strikes, and so forth. I half expect NFL players to line up with a lawyer, briefcase in hand, standing next to them.

Yes, the NFL has the elite of the elite, no doubt. And their precision playing, gargantuan size, and strength are wonderful to behold. But there's nothing quite like watching Boise State beat Oklahoma with a pair of trick plays from someone's neighborhood pickup football game, or seeing an under-rated Utah throttle the monster, Alabama, in a game that everyone expected to be a snoozer.

So here's to the undersized walk-on who explodes in his sophomore year and becomes the talk of the town, whose need to win overshadows any hype, and who proves to himself, to his family, to his school, and to the nation that he CAN!

On Wisconsin!
Go Bucky!
Jump Around!