DMZ Vol. 1: On the Ground by Brian Wood


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The story: America's Second Civil War, between the "official" USA government and an uprising of militia groups and other insurgents organized into an army of Free States. The island of Manhattan has become a demilitarized zone, a war-torn area neither side can hold and that has been turned into an American Afghanistan, Somalia, or Gaza Strip -- those that live there fend for themselves against each other and against the two sides that treat it roughly as a no-man's land. A journalism student, interning with a world-famous reporter, finds himself trapped on the island and begins his own reporting, showing the realities of life in wartime that the media glosses over.

Like a lot of Brian Wood's work that I've read, DMZ is highly political, although the sympathies of this work are harder to place than, say, Channel Zero -- it seems to be a more generalized statement against corporate government and media. The focus is the human drama and the moral complexities of life in wartime, aiming to give us a picture of the tragedies and failings all people face rather than an easily identifiable hero or villain. Also like the little bit of Wood's work that I have read, the narrative can feel a bit discontinuous, seeming to jump large swaths of time and gloss over details that may help the reader understand the connections between events and characters. The visual storytelling -- art by Wood and Riccardo Burchielli -- can be similarly choppy and sometimes over-stylized, making action difficult to discern at times. Still, an intriguing premise and worth checking out. I find myself interested in larger narrative issues and the history of the conflict, which I fear may be only hinted at and never addressed in any major way in the remainder of the series. While Wood's work thus doesn't quite match up to the level of some of his Vertigo compatriots like Brian Azzarello, Mike Carey, or Brian Vaughan, it is still an involving story and especially suited for those wanting something different and probably more advanced/mature than mainstream superhero fare.

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Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
A small country that is ruled by a single sentence and 26 letters. The people of Nollop revere the sentence "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" and its creator, Nevin Nollop. Letters begin to fall off a commemorative statue. The logical explanation? The quasi-divine Nollop is speaking from beyond the grave, telling his people to omit the use of those letters from all discourse, spoken or written. The fundamentalist-minded happily take to the new edicts, ratting out those who slip up or intentionally break the law; the well-paid police force happily enforce the rules of the dictatorial High Council; most people grumble but follow the rules, too afraid to challenge the powers-that-be; and, while others flee or are banished en masse, a few brave souls attempt to compose a new sentence, to prove that neither Nollop nor his sentence have any special power.

Dunn's humorous but pointed satire is what he calls a "Novel in Letters" -- it is both epistolary and concerned with the literal letters of the alphabet. The pun on "letters" as both missive and the building blocks of communication making the point of how crucial even the tiniest components are to how we express ourselves and understand the world around us: without a letter, we suddenly lose a whole world of communication. As the letters disappear from Nollop, so too do they disappear from the letters that make up the novel (except for a few moments that are explained as slip-ups and subsequently "punished" by the authorities). As the 26 letters become 25, then 24, then 23, discourse becomes both more crude and more unstable: without agreed upon words to express certain concepts (how do you say what day it is when the letter "D" is banned?) vocabulary becomes increasingly unstable, and communication becomes more difficult. Ironically, the greater control exercised over discourse the more it becomes uncontrollable -- both by the authorities and those who try to connect with others. Ultimately, though, it is the very instability of language -- and the fact that no one person owns it -- that exceeds tyrannical authority and returns the ability to discourse fully back to the people.

I wouldn't call this book a linguistic tour de force or anything, but it is very clever and fun. Mark Dunn is no James Joyce, but he has a lot of fun with words and is clearly a versatile and impressive wordsmith. How he planned the narrative I don't know -- how to decide which letters disappear and in which order, yet still be able to tell the story you want to tell? It is quite impressive, and for those who enjoy the playfulness of language and neologistic humor, the book is perfect. It's satire on fundamentalism, overreaching authority, and the complacency of the public is quite apt as well, and very pointed. The book itself is a quick read -- I finished it in 2 hours while doing a few other tasks -- but worth seeking out.

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Annotated Bibliographies

I wish I had done this before. It would have made my whole time as a grad student much, much easier, most especially in prepping for exams, revising for publication, and writing the dissertation.

MAKE ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHIES OF EVERYTHING YOU READ.

Now, I've done things sort of like this before, but never in as effective a manner. Whenever I'd be researching for a paper, I would often gather my sources, and, in a Word document or on sheets of paper, copy out the most salient quotes or bits of info that I thought would be useful for my paper/article. This would produce a lot of material, but ultimately was tedious and not very useful. It was, in truth, a very undergrad way of research: I've got an argument I want to make, and I need discrete bits of evidence to back up my claims. And, it showed that I was doing my research: look Prof, I've got 20 sources quoted in my paper! But, I'd end up with tons of disconnected quotes, which I could use to throw in to my article for support for distinct points, but no sense of the critical dialogue. I could show that I knew what critics X, Y, and Z said about particular lines of poetry, particular historical events, particular scenes in a play or novel, but not what I was adding to the history of interpretation of a text. Yes, I was perhaps nuancing past readings, but I wasn't adding to anything.

Well, that shizzle don't cut it when it comes to publishing articles, writing a dissertation, or, god forbid, writing a book. You've got to say not just, "Dr. So-and-So reads this line as being about such-and-such," but "Drs. So-and-so-and-so-and-so have made these sorts of arguments about the text, and so-and-so-and-so-and-so have responded with this, and here I come advancing the argument by correcting them and saying shazam."

So, what am I doing now? Annotated bibliographies/lit reviews of everything I read. I'm still trying to figure out exactly the most efficient method of organization, but I've got some ideas. Let's say one of my chapters is about Hamlet; well, I get all my sources, read them, and in a word .doc, write a paragraph or two about the main arguments of each as well as what it adds to my argument, what I think it lacks, where I think I can correct it, etc. Then as I read more, I can say, "This author expands on/corrects/refutes the argument made by that author," and develop a real sense of the nature of the discussion(s) about a text. I cite page ranges for particular parts of the argument ("on pages 300-304, she argues that Hamlet's motivation is blah blah"), and I can also include particularly salient quotes that I may want to use in my own work. Now, rather than a bunch of quotes I have to figure about how to insert into my argument, I've got large chunks of prose that I can edit and insert into my research. Plus, the very process of writing the entry on each text, I am able to further develop my own thoughts on the subject. These bibliographies can be organized a number of ways: by text (Bibliography on Hamlet), by theme (Bibliography on Queer Theory, on anti-Semitism in English Literature, etc), or even separate bibliographies for major critical texts (a 2-page bibliography on Renaissance Self-Fashioning).

Perhaps most useful is what this does for future reference and writing. A lot of the work on my dissertation was based on work I'd done earlier in my career as a grad student. But, when I went back to my research notes for a seminar paper, I had no idea what I was reading. I had a series of quotes, but no real understanding of what a particular critic was trying to say. So, I had to go back and reread the whole piece in order to figure out how useful it would be for me and how I would incorporate/respond to it. With the annotated bibliography approach, I can read in 2 minutes all I need to know about the source, and if I need to look up specifics (such as, how does the scholar read this particular metaphor) I know exactly where to go. If I don't, I have a quick sentence or two I can insert into my work to provide my reader with a solid background in the discussion and how I add to it.

Is it time consuming? Yes, but no more so than reading and pulling out quotes here and there and trying to compose an organic whole out of it. It may be, in the short term, slightly more work, but the product I end up with is 100x better, so it is certainly far more efficient and productive. And, in the long run, I think it will be remarkably helpful to my scholarship.

Number 9 Dream by David Mitchell


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
David Mitchell's second novel, number9dream, is one of those books you dream of being able to write. He seems to have read every major novelist of the last 100 years and absorbed them all completely into his own aesthetic; while you can see traces of the influence of Borges or Joyce or Murakami, he never seems to be aping them but is instead writing in his own style. He playfully switches between genres -- borrowing from sci-fi, true crime, children's lit, fantasy, and more -- but never comes off as playing literary games, as everything fits together perfectly and of necessity. The story is as exciting as a potboiler without pandering, and Mitchell can write profundities without seeming pretentious. While my personal favorite is his 3rd novel, Cloud Atlas, this one is, really, just as good.

The story is of Eiji Miyake, a young man from rural Japan come to Tokyo to find his father; Eiji's mother had been his mistress, and was discarded after she gave birth to Eiji and his twin sister Anju. Eiji's straightforward quest becomes infinitely complicated by the strange machinations of Tokyo itself, a confusing and sometimes malevolent character with its own inaccessible logic. Eiji finds himself stymied at every attempt to contact his father, discovers the hidden stories of the seemingly inane and boring people around him, and, most fantastically, gets caught up in a violent conflict between the rival Yakuza leaders who pull the strings of Japanese society. The story itself constantly flirts with the unbelievable, seeming to run by a sort of dream-logic where minor coincidences carry great significance and transform the world around Eiji. Eiji is the perfect avatar for the reader; he's a smart but simple human being, haunted by guilt over his sister's death, feeling helpless in the face of the things going on around him but still trying to complete his quest. Like him, we constantly wonder, "Can this really be happening? Is this even possible?" But just as Eiji is inexorably drawn into the strange world behind the scenes of Tokyo, we too are drawn into the fantastic plot and carried along.

As with Mitchell's other books, number9dream is marked by its stylistic and structural innovations. Each chapter follows Eiji's journey, but his story is interwoven with other texts, including his fantasies and dreams, memories, a series of children's tales, video games, a WWII-era journal, etc. Mitchell's virtuoso writing abilities come out but never overpower the narrative itself, as each generic excursion both advances and comments on Eiji's story. And, also like Mitchell's other books, number9dream bears re-reading. Besides the sheer pleasure of Mitchell's storytelling, small details that you skim over become important later; as Eiji himself finds out at some point, a book isn't the same book after you've read it.

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Kick-Ass by Mark Millar


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
After seeing the movie, I decided to pick up the original source material and see how it holds up in comparison. Now, I'm normally not a Mark Millar fan. I found Ultimates to be tedious; too much over-the-top, look-how-clever-I-am dialogue, a real smug sense of its own coolness. I read the first issue of Wanted and thought the same. The only thing I've ever really liked of his was Superman: Red Son, which was entertaining, restrained, and thoughtful in a way his work almost never is. But, I really enjoyed the movie version of Kick-Ass, so I thought, maybe the book will be good too?

Well, it's pretty good. Compared to the movie, it is far more cynical, in particular about the whole wish-fulfillment aspect of being a super-hero. The ending for our "hero" Dave is not nearly as cheery in the print version, and Big Daddy & Hit Girl (the former especially) are way more disturbed and psychotic. In part, I liked this, but then again, Nic Cage's performance as Big Daddy was so great that any major deviations in his personality seem like negatives. While the bleaker tone of the book (which is still an ultra-violent comedy, mind you) detracts from some of the fun, it is more... realistic, maybe?

One thing that the movie has way ahead of the book is its overall crafting. The film was tightly written with a strong story -- everything fit into place. The book meanders quite a bit, with a lot of wasted material. This is partially just the nature of the media: in a book, even a comic book, you can go off on tangents, while in a movie everything has to fit together nicely. Even so, the characters and their relationships were a lot stronger in the film. What the film also had over the movie -- and again, this is one of the strengths of the medium -- was the repeated trope of watching through different lenses. The book stays on one level, which flattens out the experience a bit, while the film smartly moves among different levels of reality (from the story into the comic book, from the footage of a security camera out into the viewers' space, etc). The movie, then, was far more effective in playing up the experience of consuming media, which, after all, is what the story is all about.

I'd definitely recommend it for comics fans and fans of the movie, but it isn't earth-shattering. 3.5 stars

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The Cartoon Introduction to Economics: Volume One: Microeconomics by Yoram Bauman


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Happened to pick this up at the airport in Pittsburgh waiting for my flight back to Arizona. Picked it up, read it on the plane. A very straightforward, easy-to-follow guide to some of the basic principles of microeconomics, presented through cute comic strips and some eye-rolling humor. I'm not an economist, but what I read seemed to jive with what I remember from Econ 101 back in college.

Anyway, the book is most illuminating in terms of the limits of microeconomic theory. In focusing on the idea of the "optimizing individual" and the benefits of trade, microeconomics ignores all sorts of political and psychological issues that govern how people behave in real life. The authors don't try to hide this -- they note at the end that there are many other fields in economics, including behavioral econ which looks at why and how people behave "irrationally" -- but, as with any study of a particular topic, it has a certain perspective that limits its outlook.

I'd recommend the book for someone who wants a simple overview of some basic concepts. It's not going to make you an expert, but it will help you understand the perspective that microeconomists bring to the world, with all its benefits and limitations. I'll definitely be looking for Vol. 2 on Macroeconomics, whenever that comes out. Overall, I'd give it a 3.5 stars.

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Kids these days!

The Question: Are college freshmen today dumber than college freshman of the past?

I try not to get too bent out of shape about my students and what I perceive as their lack of academic intelligence (notice that I wrote academic intelligence, not intelligence in general). I try to remember what a dumbass I was at 18 (and boy, I was a dumbass), my lax work ethic, my know-it-all attitude, etc. And, of course, I remember that I am getting my PhD, I've devoted my life to education & academia, and very few of my students, at 18, will have anywhere near the same passion for the material that I have. So, I can, should, and do cut them some slack. But still... sometimes I wonder, "What's wrong with these kids today, and why won't they get off my lawn?"

Just for fun, I decided to take a look at papers that I wrote my first semester of college (I'm a narcissistic pack-rat, so I keep everything). My idea: Did I, 18 yrs old and the product of a private school education, have the same failings as my students today? Or was I already demonstrating the brilliance that would make me such a super star today? (note the sarcasm, please) Just how smart was I?

A little context: I went to the University of Texas at Austin. The first year gen-ed English sequence was English 306k (Writing & Rhetoric) and English 316k (Intro to Literature). Since I had scored 5's both AP English tests (Language and Literature, I believe they were called) I was allowed to place out of both classes. So, my first semester I took English 314L, an honors section of an "Intro to Lit" type course. The equivalent at the University of Arizona would be something like a cross between English 109h (Honors Writing) and English 280 (Sophomore level, gen-ed intro to lit)-- that is, a focus on reading and writing. I don't have the syllabus, but I remember that we read Stephen King's The Dead Zone, Morrison's Beloved (which I hated at the time, and then 2 years later when I read it again I realized how dumb the 18 yr old me had been), Hamlet, and a number of short stories and poems.

I found 3 papers that I wrote for this class. Let's take a look at them.

OK, paper #1: "Literary Allusion in The Dead Zone." Not a catchy title, but accurate.

First line: "In The Dead Zone, Stephen King frequently refers to other works of literature." Wow, that's bad. I mean, again, accurate, but DULL (which the instructor, an English grad student by the name of S. Prosser, noted; she writes, "This intro gets the point across, but try to really grab your audience's attention. Add some transition.")

Skipping down to the final sentence of paragraph 1, I see that I do have a workable, if mundane, thesis statement: "The end result is that John Smith's alienation from the world is heavily emphasized by the allusions to the similarly alienated and freakish characters in the three stories previously mentioned." She notes that the last clause is awkward, which it is. (The 3 works, by the way, were "Rip Van Winkle," Frankenstein, and Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.) Ugly use of passive voice; somewhat dull, but at least there's a sense that I'm going to talk about something substantial.

Second paragraph: Follows the PIE format pretty well. First line: "One aspect of John Smith's isolation that King emphasizes is his placement in time." OK. Some pronoun confusion, awkward phrasing at the end, and lame to organize the paper like a list. One thing I notice, though, is that I didn't organize it along the lines of the 3 works. Instead, I organized the paper along thematic lines, with each paragraph discussing some aspect of the protagonist's alienation. That's not bad, and stronger, I think, than organizing it by allusions to each work. In fact, now that I think about it, I remember getting feedback from an older grad student at my apt. complex, and he suggested this organization.

I followed that with some summary & a quotation from the novel, then explanation of the relevance of the quotation to the point I'm trying to make. Mistake on the parenthetical citation: put the period in the quotes, before the parentheses, instead of after both.

Ugly line in this paragraph: "What is interesting is the preoccupation of the two characters [Rip Van Winkle, John Smith] with political events that they have missed." Not a bad observation, but badly written, and just what is so interesting about it? I never say. Paragraph ends with "The existing power structure had been overthrown and those who ran the country before his accident were now disgraced." True, I guess, but so what? How does that relate to the notion of alienation introduced in the thesis?

2nd Paragraph topic sentence: "There is another phenomenon of being out of time that John undergoes." Ugh. Weak transition. But, at least a topic sentence of a sort. The rest of the paragraph describes the second childhood Dead Zone's protagonist undergoes upon waking from his coma, comparing him to Frankenstein's monster. Last line: "This feeling of being out of sync with time is one manifestation of John's uniqueness and separation from society." Eh.

3rd paragraph: "Another important apsect of John's alienation..." God, that is lame. So, as many of my students do today, I structured my paper as a list. But, unlike a lot of my students, I at least had a specific point to make in each paragraph, which I supported with evidence from the text. Sure, the explanations and the overall argument are pretty bland, but there's something there.

This paragraph talks about 'returning from the dead.' Middle of the paragraph: "Other comparisons are made with Frankenstein." They are? Who makes them? Why? My instructor's marginal comments: "What are the moral implications of bringing something back from the dead ... ? Is Johnny guilty of overstepping his human [unreadable], like Dr. Frankenstein?" I assume she wrote something like "morals" or "limits" there, but I can't tell.

4th paragraph: "It is rather ironic" -- LAME -- "that 'Frankenstein' has gone from an affectionate nickname to a term used to describe physical repulsiveness." Meh. Next line: "The ironic reversal of meaning traces Johnny's alienation from society." OK, that's not bad. The paragraph goes on to attempt to answer the questions my instructor posed in her marginal comments, but only on a superficial level.

Next paragraph: "The final aspect of John's alienation that is emphasized..." Stupid. Why did I keep using the word "emphasize"? That's a pretty mundane verb. Do writers "emphasize" things in their fiction? I notice that this paragraph is rather long and contains a number of different examples of the protagonist's "dual nature." My analysis here is fairly simple, as I appear to have been simply listing all the examples in order to make the point that the John is "alienated" and "different" and that the allusions to other works help to convey this. What it all means, though, is missing from my reading.

The conclusion, 2 paragraphs later, begins, "King attempts to portray John Smith's isolation from the rest of humanity." That's pretty weak, but serviceable, I guess. The rest of the conclusion summarizes the major points made in the paper. Final sentence: "The allusions that King makes allow him to provide the reader with an image with which to compare Johnny, and King successfully uses them to expand the meaning and depth of John's ability and isolation." OK, but nowhere in the paper did I actually make a claim about what the "meaning and depth" of John's alienation is. This should have been something I considered as part of the thesis.

Instructor's comments: "This paper is well-organized and your writing is nice & clear. You locate several fine literary allusions in the novel & relate them to Johnny capably. ... My main suggestion ... would be to answer or at least acknowledge the difficult question: is John Smith a monster? ... This is strong work. Next time really push yourself to address tough, underlying issues beneath your observations." Sing it, Sister. I agree with her assessment -- the paper was a series of observations (although pretty decent observations) without much consideration of their significance. Final grade: B.

For an honors course, I think a B is about right. For English 101, maybe an A. This could definitely fit in with the work I get from most of my students, in terms of intellectual content. Where it succeeds where many (50-70%?) of my 101 students' don't: it has an identifiable, if boring, thesis; it has an explicit and thought out structure; few (if any) spelling or grammatical errors; some complex sentences (but, admittedly, mostly pedestrian writing); and it demonstrates some familiarity with literary conventions & terms.

Briefly, some instructor comments from my 2nd paper, "Indivividualism vs. Collectivism in 'The Lottery' and 'The Man Who Was Almost a Man.'"
--"This is very well organized, & your style & presentation are fulid, precise, & attractive. This is a good paper with some fine insights, but I'd like you to dig a little deeper into these stories & heighten the complexity of your own arguments. ... There's a lot going on in these stories, & it's tempting to boil them down to black & white themes, but if you examine their contradictions -- shades of gray -- you & your readers will get more out of them."
Again, I think that's a pretty accurate assessment. Grade: B.

Final paper: "Struggles and Acceptance in 'In Memory of W.B. Yeats.'"

I guess my model for paper titles was "[Themes] in [Names of Works]"

I'll quote the entire intro:
"Auden's 'In Memory of W.B. Yeats' was written, on the most literal level, as a tribute to the English poet Yeats. The poem, however, exists on many more levels."
HA! duh.
"It exists not only as a tribute to Yeats, but a commentary on his life, a description of his death and its effect on the world, the nature of the relationship between art, specifically poetry, and everyday life, and finally, as Auden's own struggle with these issues. It is this last level that unifies all of the themes within the poem, and it is at this level that the reader gains a comprehensive understanding of the poem."

S. Prosser's comment: "Nice intro." I guess. I mean, it does demonstrate that I had a somewhat complex understanding of the poem and that I planned to examine it from a few different angles. I would be willing to bet that many of my 101 students (and even some of my students from upper-division courses) would have a lot of difficulty with this poem and wouldn't have some of the insights I had. But, my thesis here is still fairly weak.

The first body paragraph discusses the poem as both a tribute to Yeats and a commentary on his life. Reading it now, I see that I was able to explain some of poem's metaphors fairly well and that I did have a complex understanding of the poem. However, there are lame lines like, "Another interesting point is the use of the word 'parish.'" Ultimately, this paragraph is mostly explication, and it is not grounded in any particular argument.

From the next paragraph: "The word 'disappeared' in line 1 implies a sudden, [un]expected death, which only serves to sharpen the loss." Hey, I was kinda close reading! I'm a bit proud of my young self, because I've had seniors who can't explain the significance of words/phrases in poetry on that level.

A little ways down: "The tone here implies some disdain on the part of Auden for the interpretations of others, as he portrays the readers not as interpreting Yeats' work, but as controlling Yeats' existence." Hmm. OK, I see what I was trying to do, but this is not very elegantly phrased/explained.

Further down: "[Auden] sees to be struggling with the idea that poetry is useless, and he is superimposing his struggle on Yeats." Hey, so I sort of recognized the psychological complexity of the text and the multiple voices within. OK, not too terrible!

2nd to last paragraph: metrical analysis! Wow, now that's not bad, and I think probably a majority of the BAs we graduate in my current department would have trouble identifying iambic hexameter or trochaic hexameter, much less offer up some explanation of its significance. To be fair, though, I recall spending about 6 hours just taking notes about this poem, not even counting the time I spent writing the paper.

From the conclusion: "The struggle between freedom and human limitations and the struggle between art and life are superimposed over Yeats' life, and thus they are resolved by using his life and works as examples and building blocks." Poorly written, yes, but not a totally dumb idea.

Instructor's comments: "This is an excellent analysis." Yay! "My only suggestion would be to focus a little more in the future & edit for length. ... [Y]ou need to select the main ideas & highlight them for a paper this length. I'd also like to see you incorporate your observations about form with your careful analysis of content." Grade: A. Final grade for the course: B :(

So, after that rather painful trip down memory lane...

I'd say that intellectually, I wasn't too different then from the way my freshmen students are today. The main difference, I think, is in the preparation I had. I went to a private school that focused on a traditional liberal arts, college prep education: so, I had some understanding of literature and the terminology used to discuss it; my high school writing had been focused on investigative essays rather than timed writing (meaning, no 5 paragraph theme BS, no teaching to the test); and I had a greater facility with the written word than do many of my students today -- which is not to say that I was a great stylist, but I could express myself.

Now as the clock ticks on into the wee hours of the morning, I am somewhat at a loss as to what my original intentions in all of this were, but here's what I think I can take away from my experiment:

1) I was an honors student 15 years ago, and I think I was probably about as smart then as is the average honors student today.
2) I was a better ENGLISH student than most kids I teach now in 101 (who are usually not English majors), but not necessarily a better student than other English majors today, and not necessarily a better student in general than this year's incoming class.
3) I had better preparation in high school to write analytical papers than many of my students have had.
4) The fact that I actually enjoyed reading and was willing to read long works played a huge role in my ability to do even the B-level work that I was doing then. Without my personal investment in reading, my work would have suffered greatly.
5) I don't think standards for this level of work -- short, analytical essays by academically solid freshmen -- have changed radically, as I now think the grades I received were justified. (I'm sure that in 1994 I thought these papers deserved A's.)

Perhaps some other night I'll take some of my upper-division work and give it the same treatment.