Undead: Review

Undead (omnibus)Undead by John Russo

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

The ‘Undead’ volume gathers together the Night of the Living Dead and Return of the Living Dead into a single volume with an introduction by the author, John Russo. ‘Night’ novelises the movie, with a minor variation here or there, while ‘Return’ provides an original tale that Russo wrote, having retained the rights to the Living Dead franchise, and which gave it’s name, and very little else, to the Dan O’Bannon horror/comedy movie. In many ways ‘Return’ comes across as the better of the two stories. If you’re a fan of Russo and zombies, you will probably enjoy both of these two stories; if not, then you might want to avoid ‘Night’ altogether, or not pick the book up at all.

Fair warning – ‘Night of the Living Dead’ isn’t a good place to start reading this book. Russo’s style and effort to novelise the movie comes across like someone trying to novelise a visit to a hardware store or the supermarket on a particular dreary day. He struggles almost constantly to find alternate ways to say the same thing as zombies launch attacks against people and property. The story struggles, the characterisation falters and the reader, likely, begins to wonder why they parted with their money. The story improves slightly toward the second half, but given you have to get through 50+ pages of poor story before that some readers may never find that out. I admit, at the end, I actually cared a little about what happened – but I certainly didn’t have the sort of emotional response the blurb on the back of the book might suggest.

In ‘Return of the Living Dead’, Russo provides a much more effective and readable tale. The story flows better, the sentences never seem to struggle to find a fresh word for anything, and the characters have just enough individuality for you to care. The story has a little more plot, the zombies have a little more action – better than ‘Night’, but still not thrilling or horrifying. When Russo decides to describe a zombie attack in detail it all sinks worryingly into immature sexualised nonsense about the soft parts of women victims. Despite emphasizing the mindless nature of these animated corpses, a couple attack like wretched adolescents out for a undead grope. It never adds anything to the tale and just comes across like those formulaic horror movies that characterised the 70s and 80s – all scantily clad college kids meeting grisly ends at the hands of psychopaths and monsters.

In the cold light of day, both stories tell a tale that will engage those with an interest in zombies. If you don’t go in with expectations of high-browed literature you probably won’t be disappointed. ‘Return’ definitely reads far easier and provides a more engaging tale – and, to some extent, you could read it first as it makes many references to the original, even quoting whole sections as chapters that recall the civil warning broadcast during the original ‘outbreak’.

At best, a flawed exercise in zombie storytelling. A weak first story very likely to scare off a reader long before the zombies have the chance to really get into gear. The sequel provides more satisfaction, but gives in all too easily to inane acts of adolescent titillation.



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The Quantity Theory of Insanity: Review

The Quantity Theory of InsanityThe Quantity Theory of Insanity by Will Self

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Self knows a lot of big, old, underrated and little-used words and seems intent on using them. This collection of six short stories invites you to sample Self’s rare intellect, but does so like an invitation to the gallery at the back of an auditorium for a lecture you’ve heard a lot about but soon realise have little hope of understanding.

Like the narrator of ‘Waiting’, you start well, rapt even by the wordplay, wit and intelligence, but soon Self has lost you, the rest of the book an “increasingly involved, turgid and difficult” display. Like Stein’s lecture, “the sheer weight of detail eroded my attention… I began to tune out.”

The copy of the book I own has a big fat stain on the back cover, a thick brown ring of coffee-tainted water. I concur that the book probably makes for a better coaster than an insight into anything Self might have to offer. Beyond the first two tales you might consider putting it to stain avoidance duties and consider yourself done with the business of reading.

If I had the option to give this 1-and-a-half stars, I’d do it. I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t exactly like it either. I wouldn’t recommend it, unless I wanted to put someone off reading Self for life. On the other hand, if I ever read any other books by him and find they raise the bar, I might suggest reading this to really put his brilliance into perspective. ‘He can sink this low, yet rise to such incredible heights… Do you see?”



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The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox: Review

The Vanishing Act of Esme LennoxThe Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

World Book Night gifted my wife with a book. ‘The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox‘ sat next to our front door for a couple of nights before I decided to have a look at it. Two women, one at the beginning of the 20th century, the other at the start of the 21st. Both have issues.

I could see where the troubles for the older woman lay. The story tells of the troubled childhood of Esme Lennox, a girl with her own take on life and a need for something more than marriage. Esme witnesses something terrible in her youth that distances her from her intolerant parents, and then falls into the shadow of her sister, Kitty, who represents the family ideal of the perfect young woman.

Iris, an independent woman, with her own business and a troubled affair with a married man, discovers a relative she never knew existed. As an asylum seeks to offload the last patients in its care, Iris meets Esme for the first time and we follow her over the course of weekend. Both women have something to discover for themselves, some sense of their position in the world, some grip of the events that have moulded their existence.

I didn’t know what I would make of it, but in the end I found I couldn’t put it down. I know you read that sort of blurb on the cover of books all the time, but I’m serious. I consumed this book in the space of a week, or less. I don’t normally read at that sort of pace, but whenever I sat near it the book leapt into my hands and I struggled to stop leafing through the pages. I found the writing style light and engaging. At the same time, when it needed to be serious or distracted and disjointed, Maggie O’Farrell does that well, too. I can see why someone might recommend it, why World Book Night chose to include amongst the volumes on offer. I’m aware of how institutions and families treated women at the end of the Victorian period and into the early part of the 20th century. I felt for Esme and her trials, and this could all so easily refer to a true story rather than simply an act of fiction. I’m sure many women suffered the same fate, and that leaves me troubled, touched.

I thoroughly recommend this read and will definitely pass it on for others to enjoy.



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A Further Sentence, Timed

A writing exercise. Timed writing: 10 minutes. Take a random sentence and use the words to start the sentences of a short piece on whatever subject.

Based on a partial sentence from ‘Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War”‘, Section 21, entitled ‘First-Mover Advantage’ (Kindle edition). Sentence: ‘Faced, no doubt, with the exciting prospect of crackers and grapefruit she invited a few friends around…’

Faced toward the sun, Eleanor lingered for a moment, eyes closed, and breathed the sweet air deep into her lungs. No matter how many hot days came and went throughout her life, she relished each and every one of them as if it were both her first and her last. Doubt never lingered in her mind when she stepped out on a day like this, no thought or uncertainty of her blessed state, the freedom to come and go as she pleased.

With just a moments pause, Eleanor open her eyes and looked out across the garden, taking in all the flowers, trees and visitors. The mix of people showed clearly from the difference in clothing, the patients all dressed in loose fitting green-grey pyjamas. Exciting as visiting time was, Eleanor noted the quiet indifference clouding the patients’ faces, eyes fixed on the horizon, the ground, or simply at some undefined point straight ahead. Prospect of recovery, so the doctors often said, varied considerably, depending on the original condition at admission and the relative success of the drugs and therapy administered.

Of course success arose occasionally, but just as often the patients declined or achieved a steady of state ill-defined in its potential for a return to normality. Crackers they might be, but at least the institute provided some kind of solace, a place of support and understanding. And, at the end of the day, each patient held their future in their own hands – the prospect of recovery lay in their hearts and minds, the wish to return to the world outside and fend off the demons within.

Grapefruit and dry toast for breakfast, Eleanor had read over some notes and bulleted a ‘To Do’ list for the day. She carried the list with her now, tucked into the top pocket of her loose fitting jacket. Invited to engage with patients as equals in an attempt to connect and better understand their needs, all staff wore the same green-grey outfits. A few sported badges, labels or other affectations that ensured they could be told apart from the inmates at a glance, but Eleanor sought to avoid such a distinction. Few situations arose that made such a precaution necessary in such a tight knitted community as this insitute supported. Friends surrounded her, both patients and fellow staff, so she felt no need to define herself as different.

Around that time the institute’s day-room caught fire.

Know Kung Fu?

I used to do a lot of hand coding of web sites. I would not go so far as to call myself an expert on web design or coding compliance. I have tinkered. I use Notepad to type everything up and then test it in all the browsers I happen to have on hand. I have been known to read a book or two on the subject, and subscribe to a couple of coding (and styling) user groups.

Yesterday, I got my hands on a book about HTML5. Now, while I coded regularly I knew enough. I worked my way through a guide on HTML4 and CSS (cascading style sheets). When I found something I couldn’t do, I looked it up. I made an effort to check on web sites where someone had created a specific effect and nosed around in the source code. I liked to learn. As I found my footing, I experimented a little. I didn’t discover a new hack or an ingenius way to get around some weird problem, but I got by.

When the World Wide Web Consortium decided to start depracating elements and shifting from HTML4 to XHTML1.0, I started reading bits of the specification. I quite enjoyed the experience. I spent time coding getting to know the differences and understanding the changes I needed to make. I had to adopt a greater level of compliance, a more strict approach to the opening and closing of the right tags. I had to get the syntax right. I created a few sites that validated as XHTML1.0 compliant (and CSS2, for that matter). I could whip up something basic from scratch, writing from a blank sheet. In the Valley of the Blind, the one-eyed man is king. To anyone without the knowledge I looked a bit like an expert.

I haven’t coded quite so heavily of late. Like the early age of the home computer I dabbled. I haven’t become a revolutionary and rich computer programmer nor a famous and respected web designer. I tend not to have the staying power to keep learning something that complex to the point where I’m breaking things to push the boundaries.

Yesterday, like I said, I got my hands on a book about HTML5. The world moved on. The W3C dumped the X (and XHTML2.0 with it), moving instead to develop the old HTML standard, shifting from XHTML1.0 back to the deprecated line, the new HTML5. Within the book’s first chapter I have discovered that HTML5 means a lot more forgiveness. In the hands of a modern browser, you can be lazy and inaccurate, incomplete and even random. A modern browser knows what you wanted to do and takes account of it. You may make an old browser cry, but a new one will give you a reassuring wink and get on with it.

Web design becomes more accessible when you can put together something quite simple and not worry too much about the specifics and the structure. On the other hand, if you know what you’re doing, specific and robust will help. Old browser technology remains unforgiving, so if you get too lazy the site that looks OK in Internet Explorer 9 will look like text-based slop in IE6 or 7. All the easy style and grace you might achieve with a little HTML5 and CSS3 will look alright in Chrome, but you better stay clear of any browser more than a couple of years old.

I may have wandered into the Valley again. I may not be king, but I can at least expect a bit of land and a nice sports car. HTML5 may make the Internet more accessible and forgiving, but I know enough Kung Fu to fight my way out of a paperbag and give old browsers a slapping (or a helping, sportsmanlike hand).

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