Where The Wild Things Are Movie Trailer

I will admit that I was never really into this book when I was younger; however, the movie trailer looks flippin' excellent. Really, really odd, but excellent.

Last Thing I'll Say About It (Until November, Of Course, When the Next One is Released)

So remember my long spiel about how I had to read the Twilight books before I saw the movie?

Well, my sister and I -- by now we have both read at least the first book in the saga -- finally carved out time to go see the movie yesterday, before it completely disappeared from theaters. And...

It was so disappointing.

The screenplay wasn't tight at all; it gave me a feeling similar to one I might have while riding around in stop-and-go traffic -- completely jerky and awkward.

And the acting? I think that Kristen Stewart totally "brought it." She looked the part, she acted the part, and was so comfortable in her role that it was a joy to watch her character on screen. Robert Pattinson, on the other hand, was simply awful. Like, bizarrely awful. Out of the 5,000 guys who auditioned for the lead male role, this is who they chose? Really?

Not to anger tween goth girls everywhere, I will certainly agree that he looks perfect for the role, but that's pretty much where his credentials end, because after he opens his mouth the spell is broken. He just seemed kind of... befuddled... in each scene, almost as if he were really confused as to what the scene's objective was. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even actually read the books, because his interpretation of the character was not at all in tune with the character from the book. Was it the bad screenplay that he couldn't work with? Was it bad directing? Did he fall and hit his head during a stunt sequence? Was he too preoccupied with trying to cover up his British accent? Come on, Rob, we want to like you, just help us out a little.

I understand that sometimes seeing a movie after reading the book is likely to be disappointing, as the characters and plot and background story rarely live up to what has been built up in the novel.

However, having said that, I don't think that's the case here. I'm pretty sure that if I had just gone in and watched the movie cold (Ha! -- cold -- like a vampire -- get it? -- OK, sorry, that was stupid) I would have still been disappointed at a vampire who was less charming and mysterious and more like stoned or something and creepy. And wearing a TON of makeup. All the makeup I wear in a year was still less than the amount of face powder, red lipstick and eyeliner that they had applied to Pattinson's face for this film.

The experience made me desperately wish that I were a 16-year-old girl again, because surely then I could have been able to forget about the poorly constructed plot and ill-developed characters and just swoon at the image of the messy-haired heartthrob, right?

Despite all my whining and complaining, I am still glad I got to see the film, as it did have some entertainment value (even if that translates to making me burst into a fit of giggles during scenes which were clearly written to be absolutely serious). And also, I always (always, always) find book-to-movie adaptations interesting.

Which is why I'll most likely see the movies that follow, as well as continue to read the book series. Just please, someone get Mr. R-Pattz some acting lessons, stat.

The best thing about the movie? For me, it was the discovery of Iron and Wine's song "Flightless Bird American Mouth," which is featured near the end of the film. You can listen to it on Iron and Wine's MySpace page here, or head over to YouTube and subject yourself to any number of angsty Edward and Bella true-love tribute videos that are sure to induce gagging. The choice is yours.

The Twilight Vortex Has a Strong Pull

Damn. I told myself I wasn't going to let this happen, and yet here I sit -- one more individual who has been sucked into the "Twilight Zone." (And even though I have just now typed that cheesy, cliched and overused phrase in order to reference my situation, so help me God, I will never utter it again, nor write it here, nor anywhere. I promise.)

Oh, Stephenie Meyer and Stephenie Meyer's agent and the publishing company and all the marketing departments and all the book stores across the nation... Oh how they have woven a tangled web, and so many of us are falling right into it. Oh, they have been so sneaky.

When I started seeing Meyers' books showing up in every bookstore I visited, it was impossible not to notice. After all, they look so chic, with their glossy black jackets and single-image covers. So sleek, so seductive. Eventually I had to pick one up, read the back, then go "hm" and set it down again. "Sooo..." I thought. "Vampires? Really? Wonder how that's gonna work out for them."

And then, there were even more books -- three more, in fact, and people started calling Meyers the next J.K. Rowling and the Twilight series the next Harry Potter craze.

Despite my admiration for Rowling and my enthusiasm for all things Harry Potter-related, I doubted (and still do) that this vampire series could ever reach the same level of success. However, as time goes by, I have slowly been able to admit that this whole Twilight mania is at least a thing.

So much a thing, that they made the story into a full-blown feature film. (Boy, can I call 'em or what? My bad.)

Let me tell you something about myself. Somewhere, someone decides to take a book and turn it into a movie, so they make the call to the production company, and simultaneously, at that very moment, a little bell goes off in my head, meaning that 1.) I have to see the film. And 2.) I have to read the book before I can allow myself to see said film.

Which brings me to my point.

Yes, I now have the compulsion to see the Twilight movie. And yes, I have to read the damn books first. (Or maybe at least just the first one.)

And yes, I ordered all four of them from Amazon.com a few weeks ago. And yes, they have arrived -- just in time for Christmas break, during which I will be knitting various odds and ends for family and friends, as well as reading like a fiend.

Sigh. I have a problem.

But at least I can admit it, right?

The Incredible Library

If you are a history buff, Jay Walker's amazing library will have you giddy happy.

And even if you're not a history enthusiast, this is still probably the most impressive library you'll ever see.

I Already Know What One of My New Year's Resolutions Will Be

Ask me how many books I've read this year.

The answer is two.

Two?!?!

Two.

That's like one every six months!

Hard for me to admit, but it's true. I've always been a self-proclaimed bibliophile, and I believe I still am, but now it appears to be more in spirit than in practice.

In 2007, I didn't do any better -- that year I finished two as well. The year 2006 was at least somewhat better for me, because I made it to seven.

I know I can't be too hard on myself, because there are reasonable factors that have contributed to the drop-off in numbers, including the fact that my current and most recent job have required so much reading that it's sometimes hard to make my eyes focus in my free time.

I have a notebook in which I keep track of what I've read and when (usually just the title, author and the date I begin and finish). I'll probably never give up that habit, but I'm considering trying out Goodreads.com. You can sign up there for free and create virtual "bookshelves," where you can "shelf" books you're reading, books you've already read and books you want to read. Even better, you can view the bookshelves of other users, so you can read their reviews and discover which users have your same tastes in literature.

The site could be a handy tool for deciding what you want to read next -- or, if you're like me -- a handy way to keep the hundreds of books you want to read in queue.

I remember reading a few years ago on Nicholas Sparks' website that he finishes one book approximately every three days. That's over one hundred books per year!

I don't think I'll ever want to reach that level of reading intensity, but still -- two? I can do better than two books a year. And I can do better than seven.

There are still three months left in 2008, so let's see what I can do.

Snow by Orhan Pamuk

Most recently I finished reading Snow by Orhan Pamuk. It is the story of Ka, a rather melancholy Turkish poet who returns to his native land after living in exile in Germany for over a decade. He travels to the town of Kars to investigate a story, and also, to see a woman he may still be in love with. But the country Ka returns to is very different from the one he left, and he quickly becomes entangled with the government and its politics.

I liked a lot of things about this novel -- the snapshots of Turkish culture, the mysterious main character and the poetic word combinations that made me want to read line after line aloud.

But -- and maybe surprisingly -- what I really loved about this book were the stirring descriptions of what it feels like to be totally alone. The main character, Ka, is a poet, and I think that for that reason he has an intriguing intuition regarding human character and his surroundings, and he finds his own way of connecting with the other characters in the book, including Necip, the wonderfully optimistic young boy, and Ipek, the woman Ka fell in love with in his youth.

I think every individual has felt completely alone at one point or another in his life -- a time when he has felt so much of nothing that he seemed almost to feel everything all at once. Pamuk was able to sum up such complicated emotions in ways that were hauntingly simple, and just loved that he was able to pen a scene that made me think: I've felt that way, too.

Below are some of my favorite lines from the novel:

For a time they stood there dumbstruck, as if witnessing a miracle, watching the endless stream of snowflakes sailing silently through the night.
"How beautiful the universe is!" Necip whispered.
"What would you say is the most beautiful part of life?" Ka asked.
There was a silence. "All of it!" said Necip, as if he were betraying a secret.
"But doesn't life make us unhappy?"
"We do that to ourselves. It has nothing to do with the universe or its creator."


"This must be what they mean by happiness," said Necip. "We could be the poets of our own lives if only we could first write about what shall be and later enjoy the marvels we have written..."


"It may not happen in the first instant, but within ten minutes of meeting a man, a woman has a clear idea of who he is, or at least who he might be for her, and her heart of hearts has already told her whether or not she's going to fall in love with him. But her head needs time to understand what her heart has decided. If you ask me, there's very little a man can do at this point except wait for time to take its course. If you really love her, all you have to do is tell her all the beautiful things you feel about her: why you love her, why you want to marry her." -- Ipek's sister, Kadife, to Ka


Here, perhaps, we have arrived at the heart of our story. How much can we ever know about the love and pain in another's heart? How much can we hope to understand those who have suffered deeper anguish, greater deprivation, and more crushing disappointments than we ourselves have known?


Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world.


She felt herself age suddenly. To reconcile and grow old in peace, and have the wit to want nothing from the world -- this was her wish now.

Harry Potter and A Series of Unfortunate Events

­I find it interesting that these children’s books have evolved into some sort of cultural phenomenon, despite the fact that they place such great emphasis on death and other dark subject matters.

I find it interesting, but not necessarily surprising.

These two series have something in common that can’t help but be fascinating to young readers the whole world over: the books open discussion to those matters which have been, by tradition, considered best to avoid in children’s literature.

What impresses me most about the Harry Potter series and the Unfortunate Events series is that their concepts were so radically original. I mean, how many people would have guessed that a book about three children who, after their parents die in a tragic house fire, have no choice but to make their way through tragedy after tragedy while losing relatives right and left, would have become such a huge success? The first book alone (of the thirteen total books) has sold somewhere around 20 million copies worldwide.

And Harry Potter? Sure, I can see a pitch for a story about a boy wizard going well. (I don’t know that I could have predicted 325-million-copies-worldwide well…) But no one who has read the books could possibly say that they don’t contain some incredibly dark undertones.

I think these series have done well because young readers are intrigued by subjects that they hadn’t seen much of until these books arrived. Lemony Snicket and J.K. Rowling have handed over content that’s maybe been considered somewhat forbidden in the recent years of children’s literature, but both authors have handled it in clever ways. They can bring the reader close to danger and death -- a lot closer than most other children’s authors who have made the bestsellers list -- but not too close, so that the magic and whimsy of the books remains intact. Snicket and Rowling also don’t “talk down” to their readers or spoonfeed them the details.

It’s refreshing to me to see children’s authors writing a larger vocabulary and allowing the readers to make inferences on their own. I hope this is a style that "sticks" and that other authors continue to improve upon it.

I Love Them, I Just Don't Love Carrying Them Around In Boxes

So, as I've mentioned, I'm moving this weekend. And if you're a fellow writer/literary freak such as myself, or if you happen to know one personally, then you know that we hate moving because it forces us to go through the thousands and thousands of books and papers and magazines and notebooks and clippings we've hoarded since the last time we moved. Trend shows I normally put off this part of packing until it's much too late. Last year my friends and family had to start up a search party in order to find me a few days later, on the floor of my bedroom, buried under every piece of fiction and non-fiction I'd written between the years 2000 and 2006.

Of course it's understandable that I would hang on to most of the odds and ends I've written myself. But on top of that, I probably have hundreds of articles and short stories, poems, etc. that I did not write. And maybe I haven't even gone back and read them in years and years, but I still keep them. And what's more is, every time I'm forced pare the stack down to a file folder or two, I just can't seem to bring myself to throw them out.

Not sure what I'm saving them for. To share with friends, perhaps. Or maybe it's both inspiring and comforting to me to be surrounded by such great writing. Same situation with my shelves and shelves of books. I seldom re-read books, I just like having them there, at my fingertips. As the true bibliophiles will swear, the right books really can become like friends to you.

And yet, having said that, I can guarantee you I won't be talking so lovey-dovey about my journals and books come Saturday, after I've transported my umpteenth box of them halfway across town and up two flights of stairs.

The first words out of my mouth on Sunday will most likely be "back surgery."