Reviews and Recommendations: Entwined by Heather Dixon

Once upon a time.  These are magical words that whisk us away to the land of fairytale.  For centuries, fairytales have enchanted the minds of children and adults, which perhaps helps to explain not only their endurance but also the prevalence of retelling these classic stories in longer and/or more modern settings.  Some, such as Disney’s movie empire, have been embraced, others fade into obscurity.  Most probably deserve such treatment, but some of these lesser knowns deserve to be recognized far more than they are.  Heather Dixon’s novel, Entwined, is one such as these.

Entwined retells the fairytale of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”.  For details on the fairytale, I suggest reading it yourself.  It’s short, magical, and should be easy to find.  As for Dixon’s novel, here’s the description from the back of the book

 Just when Azalea should feel that everything is before her--beautiful gowns, dashing suitors, balls filled with dancing--it’s taken away.  All of it.  And Azalea is trapped.  The Keeper understands.  He’s trapped, too, held for centuries within the walls of the palace.  So he extends an invitation.

Every night, Azalea and her eleven sisters may step through the enchanted passage in their room to dance in his silver forest, but there is a cost.  The Keeper likes to keep things.  Azalea may not realize how tanged she is in his web until it is too late.

The first point which I should probably address is this story as an adaptation.  Personally, I think Dixon did a great job.  While this is a story about the twelve dancing princesses, it’s not a mere copy due to Dixon’s skillful expansions.  She expanded on many points and changed or added motivations, but all the key points of the fairytale remained.  She did not drop any necessary element or try to force anything in.  Furthermore, the methods with which she incorporated the important elements were very well thought out and executed.

Another positive element of the story is Dixon’s writing.  Throughout the story, her story feels like a dance.  It is fluid and I could almost feel a twist, a step, or a swing in the writing. With almost every paragraph, Dixon’s love of dancing shines through, which not only makes the descriptions of dances engaging even for a two-left-feet person like myself but also carries the reader along through this magical story.  The magic she weaves into the tale is also nearly as enchanting as the original fairytales.  The reason I say “nearly” is due to some less skillful execution near the end.  I won’t give details, for fear of spoilers, and I won’t say the concepts were bad, just not done as well, which made those points some of the few parts of the story that felt like a stumble in an otherwise beautiful dance.

Another of these problems is also at the end, so again, I won’t detail it, but it’s an example of missed opportunity.  There was an excellent chance to do a powerful parallel which would have not only tied together some hanging plot threads (lesser ones, I’ll admit) and also tied together some of the themes.

The third major stumble I think was the middle of the story.  It should have been condensed, or maybe some of the lead up shortened.  My copy is almost 500 pages.  For most of the book, it didn’t feel that way.  In fact, I finished it in a day.  However, there were points in the middle where I felt the length of the book.  I’m not sure where or how it should have been edited (I’d have to read the story again with pencil in hand), but it would have benefited from some tightening.

Okay, let’s finish this review sandwich with two more positives.  One other thing I enjoyed in the story were the characters.  Each princess has a distinct personality, as do all the men.  They aren’t necessarily deep, and some of the princesses are definitely more fleshed out than others, but you can generally tell who is talking.  There are even a few surprises in there, which turn previously predictable characters into fun little subplots.

My final positive is really what I think to be the strongest element of Entwined: the themes.  Entwined is about love.  But not just romantic love.  In fact, romantic love is almost non-existent for large portions of the story.  Much more important are the familial love of the royal family and the friendships between the twelve daughters, and they are done so well!  Just a story focussing on those aspects alone, done as Dixon does, would have made a great story.  However, they are further enhanced by their place in the fairytale.  Another love that is touched upon at times is sacrificial love, and it does play a major, in rare, role in the story.  So, C. S. Lewis fans, for those of you looking for a good book containing The Four Loves, here’s one for you.

But positive love is not the only kind present.  As so many great fairytales do, Dixon’s novel incorporates touches of the cautionary tale, warning of attraction to that which is dangerous and of loving something or someone too much and hurting others for it.

One last theme I will mention is forgiveness.  Through her tale, Dixon highlights the dangers of pride founded on self-pity and bitterness and how healing is found in forgiveness.  It’s beautifully executed.  Again, just that theme in the way she wrote it would make a great story on its own, but within its casing of fairytale, Dixon brings it to life in ways only magic can do.

Entwined, Heather Dixon’s retelling of “The Twelve Dancing Princesses”, is a wonderful adaptation of the fairytale.  With fluid writing, fun characters, and fantastic themes, she pulls together a story that dances across the page, gently pulling the reader into the flow of the tale and, like its source material, enchants the reader.  With a book like that, I think we can say, “And they lived happily every after.”

Entwined.  Dixon, Heather.  New York: Greenwillow Books.  2011.  Print.

Personal Musings: Are You a Mary Sue?

I ask that title seriously.  Are you, as a person, a Mary/Gary Sue?

If your answer is “no”, then what’s with the stereotype against self-inserts?  If you are actually inserting yourself into a story, how could the character be a Mary Sue if you, yourself, are not?  I contend that the issue is not so much that self-inserts are Mary Sues, but rather we have a poor use of the term “self-insert”.

I wish to begin by pointing out that self-inserts fall under two categories: the “sideline” types and “author-character” types.  For the first category, the best I can describe at this moment is that the “sideline” self-insert is one where the author is a more an observer rather than an impactful character in the events surrounding him.  Such stories include Dante in his Divine Comedy and C. S. Lewis in The Great Divorce.  (By the way, where are the people accusing Dante and Lewis of Gary Sue-ing?)  The other type of self-insert is what could be perhaps called the “author-character” insert, where there’s a character that’s supposed to be, or obviously represents, the author while acting as a regular member of the cast rather than the observers Dante and Lewis are in their stories.  It is with this second form that most people protest.

Let’s begin by addressing what I’ve heard called the “superhuman” or “flawless” character issue.  If the main character is flawless and breezes through everything, never fails, never seems to struggle, then there isn’t any tension and, consequently, often destroys interest from the reader.  In other words, it’s hard to make flawless/nearly flawless characters interesting.  I don’t say impossible, mind you.  Virtuous, flawless characters can be engaging, but (1) those virtuous characters still struggle, just in a different way than the flawed character, and (2) paraphrasing one kind of Japanese beauty, flaws are a way of adding beauty/interest to a character.  Flaws help prevent a character from being invincible.

Unfortunately, so-called “self-inserts” commonly fall under the category of the invincible protagonist.  The creator thinks of everything he wishes to be able to do or admires, slaps them all together, throws in the list of his own likes and dislikes, and sometimes even gives said conglomeration his own name.  The end result is an  flawless bore fest that matches everything the creator wishes to be.  I know.  I’ve made such characters.

But here’s the thing… this idealization isn’t actually the creator.  It’s an ideal.  It’s how the author wishes to be, not how the author is, and if the creation doesn’t match the reality of the creator, can we legitimately call it a self-insert?  I don’t think so.  If the only similarity is matching likes/dislikes, appearance, and perhaps a few vague similarities in strengths or personality, it’s still an idealization rather than a resemblance of the author.   If there’s someone with similar appearance and interests to me, is that person me?  What about if we have some similar strengths and personality points?  No.  That’s just my mom.  Seriously.  But even with our similarities, we aren’t the same person.  In the same vein, an author can insert an idealized version of himself into a story, but that isn’t really a self-insert.  Anyone of any personality could insert such a character into a story, with the exact same traits.  Whether or not there are similarities to the author is superfluous.

On the other hand, if an author actually did insert himself into his story, if the author is honest with himself, you might have the most real character you could ever have.  For instance, a self-insert of my present self would be someone who is intelligent, serious, creative, dedicated, generally rational, and loves language and cheesy, innocent shoujo manga and romances (among other things), but who also tends towards indecisiveness, insecurity, pessimism, pride, bitterness, social disconnect/awkwardness, flip-flopping between bluntness and evasiveness, and fear.  And, yes, in writing a story I probably have to simplify the character from myself a bit and would likely have to make my self-insert either overcome some of those flaws that, at the time of my writing, I still contain, or make the character succumb further to those flaws in order to bring progress to the plot.  However, those flaws and strengths would still influence the actions my self-insert takes throughout the story, especially if I honestly ask myself “how might I respond to this situation?” rather than “how do I think I should respond?”, which is a question to save for the end.  And only I, among all other humans, can truly know the answers.

I wish I was different.  I wish I could be charismatic, brave, justice-seeking, poetic, kind, caring, empathetic, and a whole bunch of other things.  But if I’m honest with myself, those qualities aren’t me, just my idealization.  The real me is listed in the paragraph above.  And if those qualities make me a Mary Sue, well, what am I supposed to say?  Apparently I could never make a compelling character.  

So, summary time: self-insert characters, real self-inserts that actually mirror the author, are not necessarily bad and would probably be engaging, realistic characters.  The problem is a perfect/idealized character, who doesn’t have to (and often doesn’t) resemble the author at all.  Such figures are not real self-inserts, for they are not the author actually inserting himself into the story.  So let’s stop using inaccurate terms and address the real issues, shall we?

All stories mentioned (c) their respective creators

Reviews and Recommendations: Lord Peter Mysteries by Dorothy Sayers

So, before we begin, I apologize for missing last week’s update.  I dislike giving excuses unless something was legitimately unavoidable, so I’ll just summarize as “I forgot”.  And that’s it.  Now, onward!

Quiz time!  How many classic masters of mystery do you know?  I’m guessing most know only two: Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie.  When compared to the list of classic novelists, this list seems rather… sparse.  Personally, I can understand.  First of all, the birth of mystery as a distinct genre is relatively recent, most often credited to Edgar Allen Poe (that’s mid 1800s, by the way).  Furthermore, the very genre is most often built around the question “who did it”, and once that question is answered, the story often loses some of its appeal.  My prime example is The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux, but I’m sure you readers of mystery can think of a few yourselves.  For the most part, mystery seems like an expendable genre.  And that’s coming from someone who loves mysteries.

Fortunately, however, there are exceptions.  One such exception is Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which is so well written in such elements as atmosphere and foreshadowing that the story pulls the reader in even after the mystery is solved.  Another exceptional example, and the topic of this weeks post, is Dorothy Sayer’s Lord Peter Mystery Series.

Dorothy Sayers lived in the early to mid 1900s and was a friend of C. S. Lewis, who admired her work, and his fellow Inklings.  Her most mentioned works, to my knowledge, are her article “The Lost Tools of Learning” and her book The Mind of the Maker, both excellent reads.  However, of what I’ve read, the works of hers I like best are her mysteries starring debonair amateur detective, Lord Peter Wimsey.

My first praise for this series is the beauty of the writing.  Sayers knows how to write good prose.  The sentences flow together, hiccups are few if any, and there are so many clever, quotable lines.  Sayers, in her book The Mind of the Maker and in more than one of her fictions, emphasizes the importance of vocation.  She holds that if someone is called to a work, then that person should strive for excellence in his or her craft.  Sayers lives that out with her writing.

More of her skill can be seen in how Sayers constructs her mysteries.  Sayers knows how to pace a mystery, how to instill a good frustration in the reader to mirror the characters’, when to include red herrings, when to slip in clues, and how to bring about the resolution.  And when I say “slip in clues”, I mean it.  In every Lord Peter mystery I’ve read, Sayers has always made her cases solvable, sometimes even outright stating the key clue.  Sometimes this key is near the end, sometimes at the beginning, sometimes the full implication of that clue might need some more obscure knowledge, sometimes it stares in the face of the audience right till the end, but it’s always been there in every novel I’ve read, hidden in plain sight.  Another nice aspect of her mysteries is how they are chronological and pass in real time.  The full benefit of this I will describe in a bit.  In addition to Sayer’s skillful insertion of clues, she also manages to make her mysteries believable.  I’ve read some mysteries where the solution is logical on paper but sounds ridiculous when you think about it (really, final death in And Then There Were None?  Really?).  Sayers mysteries are grounded.  Every solution makes sense.  That simple logic in her mysteries is very much appreciated.

And now, onto my favorite ingredient in Sayer’s mystery recipe: the characters.

First, a dash of Wimsey.  Lord Peter Wimsey is an aristocrat, the second son to a noble family, with too much time on his hands and a talent for sniffing out trouble.  In fact, he runs towards it.  Though his proud and rather vain at times, the witty optimist Wimsey is just fun to follow.  Furthermore, his impulsive actions do not go without consequence.  Reading his reactions when they happen and then in future books is… not a delight, as often the consequences are terrible, but the closest to delight as can be reached under the circumstances.  The manner in which he changes is also quite refreshing.  If you compare the Wimsey of Whose Body? with that of Gaudy Night, you can feel the difference.

The reason for this change, I think, is mainly due to his relationships.  Surrounding Wimsey is a great supporting cast, of which I will mention three: the police officer and designated “dasher of Wimsey’s theories”, Charles Parker, the faithful friend and butler, Bunter, and the intelligent and blunt, Harriet Vane.  I love these characters.  And I adore the interactions between these characters and Wimsey.  Parker helps keep Peter grounded with his no-nonsense attitude, Harriet is a fellow intellectual who is not afraid to critique Wimsey and encourage him to change and grown, and Bunter… oh, Bunter!  He’s my favorite!  Without Bunter, Wimsey would get nowhere.  It is Bunter who gathers much of the information, who does the forensic work, and is really the detective’s rock.  If Peter is the forerunner to Batman (yes, the first Batman comic was published after the first Lord Peter Wimsey mystery), then Bunter would be Alfred.  Except he’s, I can’t believe I’m saying this, better than Alfred!  At from what I’ve seen, as not only does Bunter keep Peter standing, but he also acts as an indispensable aid to Peter’s detective work.  His first name is also Mervyn, so he gets extra points.  I love Bunter.

And there you have it.  A spoiler-free gushing about Dorothy Sayer’s mystery series.  A few words of caution in closing, though: although there’s nothing explicit, there are occasional instances of sexual immorality.  There’s also some cursing, though, again, nothing beyond a PG to PG-13 type rating.  Just don’t read it to the tykes.

So, yeah, if you like mystery, check this series out.  If you like novels, check this series out, for it holds much more appeal than mere mystery.  These are fictions in which Sayers lived out the theology she held and the demands she made of other artists.  To put it shortly: they are written with excellence.

All works mentioned here (c) their respective owners... which in this case is all Dorothy Sayers