Death Before...Whatever

I had high expectations for the new video game Dishonored. Everything I read about it made it seem as cool as hell. Having beaten the game now, I come away a little disappointed. I read on Steam that Dishonored was revitalizing the stealth genre, which is ridiculous...there have been plenty of stealth games lately. And the best comparison to Dishonored is Deux Ex:HR: both stealth games where the protagonist has cool powers and jumps around on rooftops.

Dishonored is better, of course, with more real choices and more open-ended gameplay. Also, swords.

But enough about the gameplay, let's talk about what interests me about the game. I know that some people weren't a fan of the setting, and the various elements it tries to combine. I like it, personally; it could have done with more fleshing out in the game, but I appreciate the effort to make something a little more unique and memorable. I did find it difficult to describe to my friends when I talked about Dishonored, finally settling on phrases like "dark steampunk" or "facist steampunk." Dishonored does a good job of creating an overall feeling of despair as a city dies, but it could have done with more random people trying their best to survive.

But while the setting of Dishonored is, to a certain extent, unique, the rest of the game is not. This is not, you understand, necessarily a bad thing. In marketing and product design, there's an idea called the twenty percent rule. Well, there are a lot of "twenty percent rules" in just about everything, but this particular one concerns change. People, as a general rule, aren't comfortable with big, sweeping changes. So when you design things, it's probably a bad idea to create huge changes, instead settling on changing one thing.

But the plot is what you expect from a game where your Empress (and, presumably, lover) dies in the introduction: a Roaring Rampage of Revenge. It's fairly paint-by-the-numbers, as you eliminate the support network of the bad guy before tracking him down for retribution. There's a plot twist in there, that I'm pretty sure that anyone who has ever played a video game before, ever, would have seen  coming. In just one game, just one, I wish the protagonist would spot the obvious and think of a way to turn it to his advantage, instead of just blundering into it like a moron.

Character-wise, the protagonist is basically a blank killing machine who doesn't even have a real voice...doesn't anyone remember that was one of the real draws of the ME franchise? An RPG protagonist with solid voice-acting? There is one nice touch, though; he always takes off his scary mask before talking to a certain character that he cares about. I would like to add, however, that this scary clockwork mask does essentially NOTHING, and probably weighs way too much...ever heard of a ski mask?

So yeah, Dishonored is pretty fun, although it does amuse me that in stealth games I prefer to play like a bloodthirsty maniac. Even in Thief (the first one). I'll be posting some more of my friend's draft and my thoughts later.

Order of the Skull, Third Time's the Charm

Today I'm going to be writing about my friend's book once again, part three. I'm also in a bit of a hurry, since tonight I'm heading over to Columbia to catch the amazing Lindsey Stirling in concert. This doesn't have anything to do with writing, I'm basically just bragging.

The Chapter opens with the heroes escaping from the crashed airship. The scene is confusing as hell, although I'm not sure if it's supposed to be confusing, or if it's confusing by accident. But evidently the protagonists crashed all of ten feet from their getaway car. Another I'm noticing from this scene is Tabor often describes things his characters seem to have little way to actually perceive.

A chase scene ensues, this time with cars. There's a cute moment when Carson just doesn't seem to realize how good Hawkins is with a gun. More shit goes wrong during the chase, including Calloway leaping up screaming about something. Evidently he's gone crazy. After they're done with that, we get a short scene in a town in Missouri that reveals some more of Hawkin's past, but serves little other purpose. And then the characters go through Saint Louis, which interests me if only because I happen to live there. :)

They somehow manage to find the guy they're looking for in Saint Louis, which seems...difficult. I suspect that Tabor skipped past the information gathering scene because he wasn't quite sure how the protagonists would succeed. Hey, I'm guilty of that as well, but it does amuse me. :)

The interrogation scene reveals the bad guy's name, Eigenstolf. That name is fantastic. Then the scene takes a turn that surprises the hell out of me, which is a good thing. Well done Tabor.

One thing I've noted is that Tabor likes to end his chapters with big splashes, explosions, or what-have-you. At least, this is what he does when he's writing his pulp novel, his conventional style might read differently. But when it comes to reading habits, I rarely stop at chapters, so any kind of cliffhanger is going to ineffective. Instead, I prefer to end my chapters with the close of a scene, to provide some kind of closure, then use the white space and bold text of the next chapter to provide some kind of transition to a different scene. 

Order of the Skull, Part Two

Now I'm going to be writing about the second part of my friend's new book, while I try to get the awful taste of the movie Lost Continent out of my brain.

So Chapter Two begins with the characters in the car, and Emily Carson is quickly established as being friendly, and far more 'manly' than Dirk Calloway. Carson also manages to quickly develop a rapport with the other characters, rather unrealistically in my mind. Hawk and Calloway have the excuse of having been in a dangerous situation together, which tends to advance relationships faster than more mundane activities. The most dangerous situation the three of them were in was pushing a car out of mud, which seemed kind of pointless in my mind.

In their quest for the vast hordes of cash that Native Americans undoubtedly possess pre-casinos, Hawk and the rest meet the medicine man. I'm sorry, I want to write nice things about this book, but I winced reading this scene. Granted, I'm not sure how much Tabor wants to intentionally use tired pulp cliches, but during this scene we're treated to annoyingly obscure mysticism and some noble savage stereotypes. Then, after some peyote induced hallucinations, the characters are shaken to their core, and compelled to stop the bad guys seen in their little vision. It's not even a real vision quest.

I'm sorry, but this feels weak as hell to me. I can only hope that the three protagonists were somehow hypnotized into it, since it seems that most video games manage to give their characters better motivations than this. :(

Fortunately, after the embarrassing moment where all the characters jump full speed onto the plot train, it gets better. There are a few more moments of characterization, hints that people might be deeper than they appear, and a few nice moments of wit. They indulge in a bit of grave-robbing, always a fun activity, then another furious fight breaks out, this one with more purpose than gratuitous word violence.

Finally, the chapter ends in a daring escape on a hot air balloon, against assailants that are probably the undead. Interesting. And we begin to see more of the signs between the Ivy League soldiers that dug up Geronimo and the Ivy League veteran that's hanging around with the other two protagonists. The book is starting to get a little crazy, and I'm liking it more and more, but the whole "Indian meeting/vision quest/important mission to stop evil guy in mask" felt weak as hell. 

I do question whether or not a shovel to the head would be fatal in genre, though. :) Although the author also has a hydrogen-filled hot air balloon explode for no other reason than it's cool.

And here's an excerpt from the action scene at the end of the chapter.

Hawkins suddenly saw three men converge on their position with uncanny speed. They
were being taken by the wind fairly quickly, and well on their way to clearing the perimeter
fence, but the three men were able to get to the rope with no trouble at all. One of them grabbed
on, and the balloon sank a little. He quickly began to climb up the rope at a rate that Calloway
could in no way compete with. Calloway struggled up the rope, the man quickly gaining on him.
Rung by rung he climbed until Hawkins could almost reach out his hand and touch his
outstretched arm. Before he could make the final step for Hawkins to grab him and pull him into
the basket, however, the bearded man who Calloway had minutes before smashed in the face
with the iron spade of a shovel grabbed at his ankle. Calloway somehow held on with his arms,
freeing his leg to kick the bearded man in the face multiple times.
The man ignored this, and continued to hang on. Emily turned to Hawkins, “hold me
over the edge,” she said urgently. She picked up the shovel they had stuffed in the basket earlier.
“What?” Hawkins asked.
“You’re too heavy for me to hold you. Just do it!” Hawkins complied, grabbing her by
the waist and holding her over the edge of the basket. She held out the shovel, swinging it
awkwardly but forcefully at the bearded soldier hanging onto Calloway below. Hawkins heard
the repeated thud of metal on bone, and the man grunted while suffering the blows. The balloon
basket tilted and teetered in the wind, and both the rope and the people attached oscillated along
with it, causing Hawkins to almost lose hold of Emily. She screamed, grabbing hold of the
basket while dropping the shovel to the ground. Calloway was finally able to break free and grab
a hold of the basket while the man below secured his handle on the rope.
Hawkins yanked Emily back inside the basket and reached out to grab Calloway.
Unfortunately for him, the bearded soldier took hold of his ankle again at the second time,
causing a tug o’ war between the man and Hawkins for Calloway’s torso. Holding onto
Hawkin’s grasp, he flailed his legs about in an attempt to throw the man off. Suddenly the man
bellowed, “Dirk Calloway, Charak-teres, Eko Eko Azerak, Charak-teres.” His skin began to
glow slightly, turning reddish as if a light had been ignited inside his skin. This glow gradually
left his body and seeped into Calloway’s through his exposed ankle. Dirk then went limp,
making it that much more difficult for Hawkins to hold on, but he was able to manage. The
bearded man then dropped his grip and fell to the ground, rolling as he hit.

Bonus Post: The Game is Afoot

I love Sherlock Holmes; he's the greatest detective of fiction. Poirot is also good, of course, but Holmes is more universal; Poirot's firmly ensconced in the Whodunnit subgenre. Plus, you know, Holmes always gets actual evidence; Poirot guesses where the police can find the evidence. Death on the Nile, though, is my favorite mystery novel in general, since it was the one Agatha Christie book where I didn't figure out who the killer was.

I've read all the stories, of course; I once listened to a story about an old, married Sherlock Holmes by some other author. It was awful, but that's what happens when you rent audio books from Cracker Barrel. And I've seen a few TV shows. Both Sherlock and the Jeremy Brett series. And now I've watched the pilot episode of the modern Holmes story set in America, Elementary.

Comparisons to BBC's series Sherlock are inevitable, and unfortunate. Sherlock, when it was firing on all cylinders (Season 1, Ep 1 and Ep 3) was fantastic. Other times, it was kind of suck, especially Season 1, Ep 2. Season 2 was uneven in the episodes as well...I mean, Irene Adler as a sex worker? Sherlock threatening to beat up a guy, when his enemy is packing a gun and Sherlock isn't? Good luck with that, Sherlock.

To put it simply, Elementary does not compare with Sherlock when it's really good. Even when Sherlock wasn't good, Elementary doesn't compare that well since it's so...safe. Paint by the numbers. Almost stale, in the first episode. The mystery doesn't require that much unraveling; it's almost a police procedural. Ugh. That was (one of) the problems with Castle; too much procedure, not enough mystery. Why not watch a Law and Order, then? There's ALWAYS an episode of that on some network.

I've heard that there was some criticism of Lucy Liu as Watson. Nonsense. She's fine. Her backstory is a little different, a failed surgeon forced out of the profession to become an addict's babysitter. From what we've seen, no military background, which is kind of disappointing. And it makes her character more of a 'loser,' which has its ups and downs. You'd think that a doctor, especially a young one, would be way too busy doing doctor stuff to tag along with Holmes (the old ones certainly could, if they were willing to give up their golf games).

Watson in this show certainly calls Holmes on more of his crap...which might be the real problem with the show, I think. The versions of Watson and Holmes in Elementary don't have a lot of chemistry. They aren't buddies, they aren't friends. There's some respect there, but it's just not a fun or interesting dynamic between the two. I hate to do this, but when I compare it to Sherlock I immediately enjoyed the two's relationship. And Sherlock NEEDS Watson, to create a real connection with the other human beings in the world.

I also wonder if Elementary is going to try to create some kind of romantic attraction between the two, which would be terrible.

I don't know where the popular conception of Watson as the buffoon comes from, but it's certainly good that all modern versions of Sherlock Holmes avoid it. Not only is that not a very interesting character, it's not true to the books at all. Sure, Watson is an idiot compared to Holmes, but who the hell isn't? Maybe it comes from the old Rathbone version, I'm not sure.

But I'm going to keep watching the show, for now. At least until Community comes back on. The execution failed somewhat, sure, but I do love Sherlock Holmes. Maybe it will take a few episodes for the show to hit its stride. Or maybe they'll continue making boring mystery procedurals, a will-they-won't-they romantic tension between the two investigators, and run for five seasons like so many other average shows.

Whoops

My friend told me this was a finished first draft, not a final one. I had thought it was nearing completion, but evidently this was not the case.

Order of the Skull, Part One

I've now received a copy of my friend's latest (second) novel, Order of the Skull, by J.E. Tabor. It's test name was Skull and Bones, but he changed it after secret societies started sending him threatening letters. :) He started work in January, and this represents a near final draft of the novel, I think, although he has mentioned that there are a few things he wants to change, particularly the ending.

The book was described to me as a pulp novel, although I know my friend and he's cynical as hell, like me. So I figure it's going to be more Indiana Jones and less Man of Bronze. I'm going to be reading through it chapter by chapter, giving my thoughts. Hopefully talking about something a friend wrote will make me less relentlessly negative. We'll see. :) If you want a copy of the book, drop a comment with your address and I'll send you the PDF.

The opening starts in a poker game in Texas. I'll cut and paste the first few paragraphs, so you can see my friend's writing style.

"Success was in the cards for Hawkins; he felt it. As an Indian, it was easy for him to
hustle white men by ordering a few drinks, slurring his speech, and acting a little boisterous.
They all had read accounts of how Indians could not handle their firewater, and never questioned
it when their preconceptions were confirmed. That would mean another month of rent and food
for Hawkins tonight. He had considered dressing up in his old costume from his showbiz days a
few times just to complete the façade, but he retained some sense of pride yet. He had settled for
his button-down shirt, denim slacks, and boots, and used his chestnut Stetson hat to hide his eyes
as he pulled his cards.
It was just as well, as the joker across the table from him, Calloway, bought his ruse
hook, line, and sinker, even without the whole savage get-up. The baby faced, clean cut red
headed man smiled at him and ordered another round for the two of them. “Whiskey?” He
asked.
Hawkins Nodded. “Thanks… Friend…” he slurred. Calloway put up two fingers, and
the waiter quickly emerged from the far end of the smoky saloon and brought two small glasses
filled with some of the most awful moonshine whiskey known to man, setting them gingerly on
the round poker table. Hawkins picked up the glass, eyeing it momentarily for effect before
downing the awful stuff. He was met with a vigorous protest from his burning esophagus. He
supposed the abuse of the rock bottom quality liquor was worth paying his many expenses. He
was careful to hide any sign of satisfaction from watching Calloway tear up matching him drink
for drink."

As it turns out, a bar fight erupts rather quickly, Calloway and Hawkins find themselves defending each other, sort of, and then end up getting thrown out of the bar. A nice touch occurs when Hawkins demonstrates his prowess by shooting the knives out of three people's hands. Obviously incredibly unrealistic, but it's a very good demonstration as to what kind of story Order of the Skull is going to be.

 A very expository scene unfolds where each of them explains their life story, then a scheme is concocted that sends them up to Oklahoma to get some money. Then another fight ensues, and both Calloway and Hawkins get 'rescued' by a woman acquaintance of Calloway's.

“It was nice meeting you boys,” the woman said. “Maybe we will see you around
sometime.” She gunned the engine of the car, speeding off after spraying a good amount of mud
onto the two bat-wielding thugs. As their attackers receded into the distance, the woman pulled
out a cigarette and matches. “It looked like you were in a bit of a bind back there.” She put the
8
cigarette in her mouth and gave the matches to Calloway. He lit the match and ignited her
cigarette.
“We would have been fine. We have been in fights before. You think maybe you should
watch the road?” He asked.
She laughed. “Oh please. You were going to get your heads knocked off, and there is no
one driving around here for miles, which makes it all the luckier for you that I happened to pass
by.”
“Do you know each other?” Hawkins asked. He was still fidgeting from being pressed
between Calloway and the car door.
“Met this one on the train down to pick up my baby in Dallas,” she said, patting the dash
of the automobile. “He tried to make a pass at me and ended up with a fat lip. It seems like he
gets the same reaction from men. He was lucky I didn’t have a baseball bat.” Hawkins
snickered at that.
“Ha, very funny. I can’t help it that no one around here seems to have a sense of humor
about anything.” The woman stuck the cigarette in her mouth and reached over to offer Hawkins
her hand. “Emily Carson,” she introduced herself. He took her hand, amused. “Hawkins.”
“Well Hawkins,” she asked. “Where are you headed?”

And that's where Chapter One ends. Personally, I think that the ending to that chapter is rather bad, actually, finishing with a conversational question. Overall, there might a little too much gratuitous action for a book, and not enough description of the environment. To be honest, I don't really know what a small Texan town would look like in 1919; I keep imagining something from the Wild West. :)

Still, I'm curious as to what the duo (now probably trio) will find in Oklahoma, so that's a good sign. Hawkins is likeable enough, and clearly has some kind of interesting past that he didn't want to talk about. As far as Calloway goes, I hate anyone who cheats in poker, and I'm fairly certain that he's not as rich as everyone thinks. I also asked my friend if he was named after the golf clubs, but he insisted it was a Third Man reference.

Classism in Fantasy

Let me preface this blog post  by saying that I'm not a socialist. Unlike one of my friends, I should add, who claims that watching Downton Abbey turned him into one. I don't lay awake at night worrying that some people have more than others. But I have come to realize that genre stories, especially fantasy ones, are incredibly classist, dominated by the economic and social elite. To a ridiculous degree. Quite frankly, I don't think readers would put up with it in any other genre.

In general, novels are a little classist; there are a lot more novels about lawyers than construction workers. And more novels about doctors than nurses or EMTs. I think this has something to do with the popular impression that higher paying jobs are more interesting, and have more potential to create better stories. Also, more money does not mean more problems (seriously, if you think that, I'd be happy to take over some of these potential problems for you), but it does mean more leisure time. And more leisure time means more opportunity for ...whatever.

But fantasy takes it to an extreme. Characters are almost always part of the hereditary aristocracy. Take a look at one of the classics, Lord of the Rings. Even among the humble, simple hobbits, three out of four of them are members of the aristocracy; only one of them actually seems to, you know, work for a living. And Samwise's place is as the servant, the lackey, the loyal follower who never abandons his master. At one point, IIRC, he's described as dog-like, and it's intended as a compliment. Seriously?

Granted, the Jackson movies do a much better job of recognizing Sam; by the time of RotK, it's clear to the audience that Sam is the Big Damn Hero. And the fact that Sam happens to work for Frodo is just glossed over; their relationship is defined by their friendship, not master/servant. And still, the name of the movie is called Return of the King; Aragorn is still the one who merits mention in the title. Why not Samwise Versus Mordor? :)

Now, it's true that Lord of the Rings was written years and years ago. I would point out, however, that when it was written the British aristocracy had already passed into uselessness. What about more modern stories? Bujold, Brust, Jordan, Martin, Sanderson, Keyes, Feist, and Butcher, just to name a few: all dominated by the aristocracy. Even when a character seems to come from humble origins, chances are pretty good they have some hereditary link to the powers that be (like Rothfuss). Even if not, the nobility of the world will probably find some way co-opt these people into joining their ranks.* And even then, their defining characteristic will be their humble origins.

The few, the elite, the rich, the powerful. Why are these guys so vastly overrepresented in fantasy?  I say guys, but if anything, women characters in fantasy are much more likely to be nobility or royalty than anything else (except a victim). Part of it, I think might be that the knights, kings, and queens are exotic; it's not like we have any of that stuff in modern society. Part of it is baggage from history. I can't figure out the rest.

Books, written today, are typically judged with modern morality, even if they take place far in the past, far in the future, or in some alternate fantasy world. I'm not decrying this practice, of course; we need to like the protagonists. But fantasy characters are judged by our standards Except when it comes to the nobility. The hereditary aristocracy controls the lives of countless people, gets rich off their sweat because they inherited the land, and will typically send soldiers and conscripts off to die in wars for the most pointless of reasons.

I probably don't need to make this argument, but think of the various minor wars in Wheel of Time, or the big war in Song of Ice and Fire. I don't think any of the common people's lives are going to be  different if Duke X wins, instead of Prince Y. It's all about concepts like 'honor.' And for whatever reason, readers are basically fine with the conceits of main characters who think that because of who their fathers were, they're better and more important than everyone else. Crazy.

To me, the default assumption would be that any kind of hereditary aristocracy that enjoys special treatment, rights, etc.would be the bad guys, people the protagonists would struggle against. In my fantasy novel, No More Kings, the argument is made that it's not there are tyrant kings, but that kings are, by definition, tyrants. That the behavior and assumptions necessary to enforce your will and stay in power are evil. Hell, look at the behavior of historical monarchs: Henry VIII wasn't willing to live by the rules of his own religion, so he created his own church, put himself at the top, and made whatever rules he wanted. Oh, and killed a friend of his who tried to stop him. That's not just villainous, it edges into over-the-top super-villainy. (I hope that by criticizing the behavior of political figures hundreds of years ago, I can avoid the annoyance and division of contemporary politics).

 And it's not that you need to have the characters be nobility, either. Even in historical societies, the hereditary aristocracy weren't the only ones calling the shots or doing interesting things. Yet the fantasy genre continues to have its characters pigeonholed by this trope. That was actually my principal motivation (other than just wanting to finally write a fantasy novel) for creating No More Kings: to have a fantasy novel where none of the main characters were nobility; they didn't act like it, and they didn't want to be nobility. And then, they led a revolution against the monarchy, since the magic of the world acted as a sort of gunpowder that could equalize armed forces.

Damn, I think I've written books shorter than this. Well, I'm done. Maybe next time, I'll be breaking down my friend's book, which he's promised to email me by the end of today.

*At first, in Way of Kings, I had to give Kaladin heaps of credit for not joining with the nobility when he had the chance. It was kind of dumb, but true to his character.  Then he agrees to work for one of them...is that really any better? Especially since good noble was more than willing to use the bad noble's tactics for his guys, as long as his hands weren't dirty? But hey, some of my ideological/philosophical problems with Sanderson should be another post. :)