A thing about the new Harry Potter movie…
…which I liked, and may talk more about later. SPOILERS after the jump.
…which I liked, and may talk more about later. SPOILERS after the jump.
This was my Singles Jukebox review for Cults’s single “Abducted.” It’s the kind of review I generally try to avoid writing because it makes me feel old (worse: prematurely old, or affectedly old) and because I think it’s unfair to younger listeners, who may actually see something novel in Cults’s sound, who may find it thrilling — or, alternately, may think it completely without worth, even if they weren’t there for the Funeral buzz.
Ironically, I was the only person to mention Arcade Fire. Everyone else reached deeper back to ’60s girl group. I still think my reference point is more correct; this does not remind me of the Shangri-Las the way “We Are the Generation That Bought More Shoes and We Get What We Deserve” did, but aaaaaanyway. What this made me think of was Ian Cohen’s review of The Airborne Toxic Event’s debut album:
It’s no surprise that many are betting the house on the Airborne Toxic Event — their debut album is lyrically moody, musically sumptuous, and dramatic. Their name is even a transparent DeLillo reference, and every one of the 10 tracks sounds like it can be preceded with radio chatter. The Airborne Toxic Event have done their homework. But unless you’re a certain French duo, homework rarely results in good pop music, and The Airborne Toxic Event is an album that’s almost insulting in its unoriginality; while the sound most outsiders attribute to Los Angeles has been marginalized to Metal Skool and the average customer at the Sunset Boulevard Guitar Center, TATE embodies the Hollywood ideal of paying lip service to the innovations of mavericks while trying to figure out how to reduce it to formula.
Only, in the case of the Cults song, the result was good! I would have liked to reconcile the contradictions, but I hadn’t (and haven’t), so I used my review to make public my contradictory feelings about the song.
In the comments, Katherine responded to my question about The Phantom Tollbooth with “You better have!” And, lord, I hope so, right? What sort of 27 year old would read Norton Juster’s novel and not be struck by it? But there’s still that nagging feeling that maybe I would just merely like it, a feeling related to that I have about Harry Potter, where I wonder just what I would have thought if the books had existed when I was eight years old. So, yes, I loved The Phantom Tollbooth when I was eight because it’s an amazing novel, but I also loved it because I had previously had no idea that one could use language in the way it does, that signs and signifiers could be ripped apart and reattached to new concepts, or that abstract ideas could be personified in grand and dramatic ways. It’s a novel that contextualizes rather advanced postmodern ideas so that they seem the natural province of primary school age children; if I already had the tools to understand precisely why it was clever, would I have found it so incredible?
And that’s why I wrote the review I did: I couldn’t summarize my reaction to the tune without placing my fallibility as a critic at the forefront. My evaluation, I had to say, might be wrong.
Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth (1961)
I’d forgotten how moody and restless this book was, right from the first sentence. I remembered the Doldrums, and I still think its a genius idea to make them a real place, but I’d forgotten that it started on such a dark tone.
This is an awesome, must-read post that analyzes Harry Potter from an international relations perspective, positing that the Death Eaters lost because they ran a failed counter-insurgency campaign and the Order of the Phoenix had a superior organizational structure. I have no commentary on it except to say that I love it.
Samples:
As is so often the case in politically unstable environments, Fudge worries most not about the possible threat posed by Voldemort, but that Dumbledore seeks to replace him as head of the Ministry. Given Dumbledore’s own political views, particularly with respect to the treatment of sentient magical creatures, Fudge’s attitude made a certain amount of pervese sense. Rowling’s account of the politics of the wizarding world suggest that the Death Eaters’ ideology—essentially one of wizard racial supremacy over muggles and muggle-born wizards and witches—is, in some ways, less revolutionary than that of Dumbledore’s embrace of radical inter-species equality. And, of course, Dumbledore does lead a clandestine paramilitary organization: the Order of the Phoenix.
The Order operates as a secret counter-terror squad determined to stop the Death Eaters even without help from the Ministry. Its structure is, in fact, rather similar to that of the Death Eaters. Through both Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince, the two groups fight a shadow war that extends into the ranks of the ministry itself. The Order’s main advantage in this struggle involves superior intelligence: that provided by Severus Snape and by Dumbledore’s investigations. Indeed, the film version of the Half-Blood Prince’s (2009) main contributions to advancing the series’ arc center on Harry’s and Dumbledore’s efforts to gain intelligence necessary to defeat Voldemort—the nature, existence, and number of his horcruxes.
Apart from an unnecessary focus on the films, it’s pretty much perfect. Read in full.
This was originally posted at the USSC/American Review
Earlier this month, I put up a post explaining how hip-hop can function as an important and insightful voice for marginalised communities, using the DC rap scene as an example. A few days after posting, I came across a section in Jay-Z’s book Decoded in which the rapper argues the same thing:
But even when we could shake off the full weight of those imposing buildings and try to just live, the truth of our lives and struggle was still invisible to the larger country. The rest of the country was freed of any obligation to claim us … Hip-hop, of course, was hugely influential in finally making our slice of America visible through our own lens — not through the lens of outsiders.
Decoded is a fascinating read, and I highly recommend it, but it needs to be understood in context. Jay-Z is an entertainer, not a politician, and the book functions, in part, as his attempt to make a case for his own legacy. Even so, when read in that light, he has much to say worth heeding. I found the following passage says a lot about America as well about hip-hop:
Poor people in general have a twisted relationship with the government. We’re aware of the government from the time we’re born. We live in government-funded housing and work government jobs. We have family and friends spending time in the ultimate public housing, prison. We grow up knowing people who pay for everything with little plastic cards — Medicare cards for checkups, EBT cards for food. We know what AFDC and WIC stand for and we stand for hours waiting for bricks of government cheese. The first and fifteenth of each month are times of peak economic activity. We get to know all kinds of government agencies not because of civics class, but because they actually visit our houses and sit up on our couches asking questions. From the time we’re small children we got to crumbling public schools that tell us all we need to know about what the government thinks of us.
Then there are the cops.
In places like Marcy there are people who know the ins and outs of government bureaucracies, police procedures, and sentencing guidelines, who spend half of their lives in dirty waiting rooms on plastic chairs waiting for someone to call their name. But for all of this involvement, the government might as well be the weather because a lot of us don’t think we have anything to do with it — we don’t believe we have any control over this thing that controls us. A lot of our heroes, almost by default, were people who tried to dismantle or overthrow the government — Malcolm X or the Black Panthers — or people who tried to make it completely irrelevant, like Marcus Garvey, who wanted black people to sail back to Africa. The government was everywhere we looked, and we hated it.
You don’t need to agree with Jay-Z’s framing of the relationship between government and poor urban America to recognize that parts of the American population subscribe to it. This is a description of people with a decidedly anti-government viewpoint, but one that manifests itself in a different way to the anti-government viewpoint of conservatives, Tea Partiers, and libertarians.
A brand of lazy cultural analysis claims political salience by conflating conservative “small government” rhetoric with a long American history of individualism and suspicion toward concentrated power. By claiming a certain set of pro-business economic and political policies as being congruent with minimal government, American conservatives have reduced a shared and varied cultural history to a partisan agenda. Such has been their success in this regard that some liberals believe, as Matt Yglesias puts it, that “for progressive politics to succeed [they] need to raise the social status of ‘big government.’”
The kind of anti-government views expressed by the predominantly white, middle to upper class Tea Party is as selective and nuanced as the anti-government views explicated by Jay-Z in his assumed role of avatar for predominantly black, lower class America. The people Jay-Z describes value the welfare they receive and the medical services the government provides them, though they do not appreciate the overbearing bureaucracy that comes with it. Much of their irritation with government springs from its failed presence: poorly-performing schools, for instance. The poor relationship they have with government power exercised by means of the police force derives from its intrusiveness, but also, as Public Enemy alluded to in “911 is a Joke,” its inattentiveness. This is a view of government that demands its involvement but is hostile to its encroachments.
The “small government” stance is concerned with different functions of government, but it is not that different — and certainly does not result in a reduced government presence. “Small government” conservatives tend to value government involvement in broad-based universal programs like Medicare or Social Security, infrastructure projects and regulation that facilitate suburban lifestyles, regulations that shift externalities deriving from polluting industries on to the population at large rather than the polluters, rigorous defence of borders, a strong capacity to extend military power, and strong enforcement of property rights. (Not every conservative endorses all these types of government power, but they tend to support most.) By contrast, conservatives tend to bristle at what they notice as failures of government bureaucracy, such as business regulation, income tax, or services provided to people they consider not worthy of receiving them.
Certainly it’s correct to acknowledge certain widespread cultural beliefs common amongst Americans pertaining to government and individual liberty. It is a mistake, however, to suppose these accord with a specific political ideology — that Americans are therefore conservative. (Although some are!)
And as far as specific demands from Americans for their government to do more or less: they fluctuate. At the moment, however, it seems Americans would prefer their government did more. That’s what this chart suggests, anyway:
John Heilemann & Mark Halperin, Game Change (2010)
This is great.
John Marsden, The Dead of the Night (1994)
I started out with classics like Nancy Drew and “The Boxcar Children,” but at some point in my fledgling reading career I became less interested in fictional young detectives than in solving some mysteries for myself — namely about sex and romance. Raunchy young adult novels were just the thing to satisfy my curiosity, cement my passion for books and, of course, titillate with descriptions of, oh my God, open-mouthed tongue kissing.
Andrew Sullivan characterizes Clark-Flory’s post as the author “having trouble finding” sex in the YA section, though it seems more like she’s defending the genre from prudes: “I doubt that unease over the sexiness of the genre has to do with the way sex is presented, as opposed to the fact that it is presented at all.”
But then, I don’t know. Like Clark-Flory, when I was of an age to be reading YA books, I thought the genre was loaded with sex and I considered that to be a big point in its favor. But maybe that’s because I equated YA novels with John Marsden to a great degree, and, while Australia’s prudish side is less developed than America’s even Marsden was “controversial” in the ’90s — which added to the appeal. (I remember Dear Miffy caused particular consternation in the media on publication; that link contains an extract for the curious.)
So I don’t know? Did the timing and location of my early adolescence increase my memory of the raciness of YA, or is the genre really about much more than tongue kissing? Incidentally, that literary initiation has rather inured me to controversies surrounding teen-oriented TV or movies since. In contrast to Marsden, American Pie’s teenagers seem quaintly chaste, and “Gossip Girl,” in all its luridness, rather demure when it gets down to the actual teenage sex aspect of things.
EDIT: Re-reading the Dead of the Night extract, it seems rather allusive. I should clarify this portion comes after a few pages of foreplay. Marsden was not interested in preserving his readers’ innocence.