BOOK & BLOG |
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August 30, 2010
Carl Hiaasen was one of the original (if not THE original) environmental mystery writers. That is, he writes wonderfully original books framed as mysteries that deal with what we’ve done and are doing to the earth. Hiaasen, of course, is based in Florida, which gives him plenty to say. In Hiaasen’s world, there are plenty of monstrously selfish people and plenty of people who are capable of good in an incredibly surprising way. In Star Island, utterly shallow and untalented singing star Cherry Pye, managed by her parents who could not love her less, bounces from rehab back to the streets and from one untenable situation to another. She’s a little monster, and so are the people around her. Her stand-in, Ann DeLusia, is a better human being, and she pays the price for Cherry’s carelessness. Luckily for Ann, she’s caught the heart of crazy ex-governor Tyree, who lives in the swamps. He’s commited many acts of eco-terrorism. You get the idea? Hiaasen is a wild ride. I opened Walter Greatshell’s Xombies not expecting much different from the usual run of zombie books . . . not that I’m averse to that, or I wouldn’t have been interested in reading Greatshell. However, that’s not what the book is about. Xombies is about one of the few females left on earth after a specifically tailored virus has wiped out most of the others. In a harrowing series of events, Lulu and the man who may or may not be her father make it onto a submarine that’s on its way to an unknown destination while most of the world is busy destroying itself. Lulu is surprisingly likeable and human, because she has plenty of failings, though her courage shines through. There are other books in this series, and I plan on reading them, because it would be a shame to leave Lulu in the situation at the end of Apocalypse Blues. True Blood and Philosophy and A Taste of True Blood are both collections of essays about the show – and to a lesser extent about my books. Someone sent me both of them and I had a good time reading them. They both make me feel very profound! Naturally, they’re more about Alan Ball’s genius than about me, but I felt excellent about being included. I’ve known Maria Lima forever, and I had other acquaintances among the contributors. If you enjoy the show, you’ll find food for thought in the books and some entertainment, too. Blog I watched the Emmys last night, like thousands and thousands (or millions and millions) of other people. Even though I was fairly sure that “True Blood” wouldn’t win for best drama, the fact that a vampire show broke into the top five was significant. Wonderful, wonderful “Buffy,” never made it, and I think that’s just a sad comment on the prejudice against shows with a supernatural backdrop. I clung to hope that “True Blood” would somehow pull it out of the hat, but that didn’t happen. There’s a lot of silliness surrounding award shows of any kind. This isn’t big news, right? It’s an evening of totally conspicuous consumption: gowns that cost as much as a house, jewelry that costs even more, women and men groomed to within an inch of their lives trying to coordinate their arrival times on the red carpet so they can get their moment of attention. Why should we care? But we do, and we watch, pronouncing judgment on their dresses and tuxes as though we were guest judges on “Project Runway.” (By the way, YAY for “Project Runway’s win!) Right, because we know so much about couture. But in a way, that’s a appropriate. It’s like the old adage, “I don’t know art, but I know what I like.” That’s supposed to indicate a hick point of view; but there’s tremendous truth in it. We DO know a dress that becomes the wearer, that pleases the eye, that doesn’t make you want to turn away to hide a snicker. While I applaud women who decide to try something radically different, that’s a high risk. Though you get your picture made over and over, the commentary may run something like, “She looks like a schizophrenic flamenco dancer.” After the flap over clothes, there’s the breathless wait for one of the stars to say something amazingly weird or inappropriate. This year, it was John Lithgow, who in the pre-Emmy awards thanked HBO for giving him the chance to be on “Dexter,” when of course “Dexter” is a Showtime production. Ouch, Showtime. Yes, all this is completely shallow. Yes, I don’t give a hoot who wears a dress that would make my grandmother laugh. No one will remember Lithgow’s gaffe in a year. (Well, that’s not exactly true.) But it’ll fade, to be replaced by someone else’s misstatement. I think award shows are the escape of television. We watch people we admire when they are dressed up from stem to stern, we root for our home team (whatever that may be) and we hope the host is decent (and a pat on the back here for Jimmy Fallon, who was the greatest). And next year, we’ll watch again. Because it’s pretty. Because we feel we know and love the people who walk the red carpet, since they’re in our living room every week. Because we all need a little glamour. Charlaine Harris |
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