Patrick Scalisi's Blog - Posts Tagged "rant"
YA Books and Character Development
Since I am a fan of fantasy and science-fiction literature, I am often accused of reading "kiddy lit." This is a badge I wear with honor. Some of the best books, in my opinion, were written with children in mind as the ideal audience, from The Hobbit and The Chronicles of Narnia, to more modern classics like The Blue Sword or Patricia C. Wrede's Enchanted Forest Chronicles.
Of course, YA is a hot genre right now, so it's more socially acceptable to be caught with a copy of, say, The Hunger Games than it might have been 10 or even five years ago. I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I read a fair amount of YA books.
That having been said, I've noticed a disturbing trend of late regarding character development in YA literature. Authors as famous as Suzanne Collins seem to be guilty of this misstep, and I'm wondering why it exists with such prevalence. Is making a character do or say something that is out of his or her nature meant to accurately represent the indecision and angst of adolescence? Or is it just lazy character development on the part of so many authors?
Let me offer an example from the book that prompted me to write this post. Ann Aguirre's Enclave is about a post-apocalyptic society that lives in small settlements underground (the eponymous "enclaves"). Deuce, the main character, is a Huntress charged with protecting her enclave from the mutated freaks that roam without. Her partner (and, of course, romantic interest) is a young man named Fade.
Deuce and Fade have a relationship born of soldiers who have fought together. This is important, because it underpins most of their actions and, indeed, their romance. Deuce and Fade trust each other, fight back to back (literally), and have survived terrible ordeals together.
When Fade loses someone important midway through the book, he begins to draw away from Deuce in his grief. This is not unexpected. What is unexpected are exchanges like these:
At this point, Deuce is still too emotionally closed off to utter a phrase like "I love you" or even "I like you." Her response of "I don't trust anyone like I do you" is perfectly in character, the epitome of their relationship. And yet Fade is unhappy with this. What? It simply doesn't align with the 220 pages that came before the exchange.
Dozens of similar examples exist in the Hunger Games trilogy, especially in the second and third books in the series. Katniss' actions, especially regarding her two would-be suitors, read like a rollercoaster with switchbacks. Before long it becomes impossible to even guess what she might do next -- and not in a good way that builds narrative suspense.
I'm not saying that characters shouldn't change or grow throughout the course of a book. On the contrary, the characters in these extraordinary circumstances would most certainly change unless they were made of non-sentient wood. But to have a character do something at random that is not in line with his development trajectory is, unfortunately, a hallmark of weak writing. Why is this happening so often in books that are climbing the best-seller lists?
Of course, YA is a hot genre right now, so it's more socially acceptable to be caught with a copy of, say, The Hunger Games than it might have been 10 or even five years ago. I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I read a fair amount of YA books.
That having been said, I've noticed a disturbing trend of late regarding character development in YA literature. Authors as famous as Suzanne Collins seem to be guilty of this misstep, and I'm wondering why it exists with such prevalence. Is making a character do or say something that is out of his or her nature meant to accurately represent the indecision and angst of adolescence? Or is it just lazy character development on the part of so many authors?
Let me offer an example from the book that prompted me to write this post. Ann Aguirre's Enclave is about a post-apocalyptic society that lives in small settlements underground (the eponymous "enclaves"). Deuce, the main character, is a Huntress charged with protecting her enclave from the mutated freaks that roam without. Her partner (and, of course, romantic interest) is a young man named Fade.
Deuce and Fade have a relationship born of soldiers who have fought together. This is important, because it underpins most of their actions and, indeed, their romance. Deuce and Fade trust each other, fight back to back (literally), and have survived terrible ordeals together.
When Fade loses someone important midway through the book, he begins to draw away from Deuce in his grief. This is not unexpected. What is unexpected are exchanges like these:
He (Fade) stared at me (Deuce) for such a long time that I grew uneasy. And then he asked, "Are we still partners? I know Silk put us together, but would you choose me now?"
As before, I had the feeling he meant something different with the word. "I don't trust anyone like I do you."
By the way his face closed, it wasn't the response he wanted.
At this point, Deuce is still too emotionally closed off to utter a phrase like "I love you" or even "I like you." Her response of "I don't trust anyone like I do you" is perfectly in character, the epitome of their relationship. And yet Fade is unhappy with this. What? It simply doesn't align with the 220 pages that came before the exchange.
Dozens of similar examples exist in the Hunger Games trilogy, especially in the second and third books in the series. Katniss' actions, especially regarding her two would-be suitors, read like a rollercoaster with switchbacks. Before long it becomes impossible to even guess what she might do next -- and not in a good way that builds narrative suspense.
I'm not saying that characters shouldn't change or grow throughout the course of a book. On the contrary, the characters in these extraordinary circumstances would most certainly change unless they were made of non-sentient wood. But to have a character do something at random that is not in line with his development trajectory is, unfortunately, a hallmark of weak writing. Why is this happening so often in books that are climbing the best-seller lists?
In Defense of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
I have a confession to make: I love Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Yet more than four years after its release, the film has taken a spot as one of the lowest points of the Indiana Jones franchise.
But I think the film is a lot smarter than most people realize.
Right about now, you’re asking what this has to do with writing, or even with books. The answer to this question reveals why Crystal Skull is such a smart movie. (Why I was prompted to write this “rant” now -- four years after the fact -- is simply a question for the cosmos.)
One of the major complains about the film is the fact that it ventured into science-fiction territory. Somehow, using religious artifacts from the Judeo-Christian tradition was fine in Raiders of the Lost Ark and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. But add aliens into the mix and suddenly everyone’s got their panties in a ruffle.
Consider this: The film opens in 1957, a very good time for sci-fi as a genre. Following the golden age of pulp fiction and the end of World War II, sci-fi truly began to mature. In his book The History of Science Fiction, Ron Miller writes: “Earlier science fiction usually concerned itself with how problems could be solved by physical or scientific means. There were few moral or psychological ambiguities…. Beginning in the 1950s, science-fiction writers made problems more complex” (46-7).
Is it any wonder, then, that Crystal Skull -- an Indiana Jones movie set in the 1950s -- would take on a sci-fi milieu? After all, this was the decade that saw the release of Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy, Heinlein’s Starship Troopers, Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451, and dozens of others. From the first shot of the “Atomic Café” in the opening sequence of Crystal Skull to the unearthing of a box from Roswell, N.M., we know that this is the world that our archeologist hero now inhabits. A story involving aliens (or “transdimensional beings, in point of fact,” as John Hurt’s character points out) is fine with me for a 50s Indiana Jones adventure.
Still other viewers complained that Harrison Ford was too old to slip on the fedora one more time. However, I feel that there’s a smart explanation for this as well.
Indiana Jones is nothing if not a pulp character, drawn from the imagination of George Lucas, who was practically weaned on stories that would today be considered part of the “pulp” canon. Indy is hard-boiled and has a clearly defined sense of right and wrong. Scratch deeper and you'll find that Indy is a pretty flat character, albeit a great one that we love to root for.
By the 1950s, the pulp sci-fi magazines were dying out, just as gruff Indiana Jones is running out of gas as well. Ford wears the character’s world weariness on his skin, commenting on how getting out of a jam isn’t as easy as it used to be. Indiana Jones -- just like the pulp magazines -- are barely holding on, almost ready for that great archive in the sky.
Considering this symbolism -- whether intentional or not -- makes Crystal Skull for me a rewarding and entertaining experience. Does the film have its weak points? Sure. Could I have gone without actually seeing the aliens? Absolutely. But if you’re not sold, perhaps we can still agree that Crystal Skull was still better than Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
But I think the film is a lot smarter than most people realize.
Right about now, you’re asking what this has to do with writing, or even with books. The answer to this question reveals why Crystal Skull is such a smart movie. (Why I was prompted to write this “rant” now -- four years after the fact -- is simply a question for the cosmos.)
One of the major complains about the film is the fact that it ventured into science-fiction territory. Somehow, using religious artifacts from the Judeo-Christian tradition was fine in Raiders of the Lost Ark and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. But add aliens into the mix and suddenly everyone’s got their panties in a ruffle.
Consider this: The film opens in 1957, a very good time for sci-fi as a genre. Following the golden age of pulp fiction and the end of World War II, sci-fi truly began to mature. In his book The History of Science Fiction, Ron Miller writes: “Earlier science fiction usually concerned itself with how problems could be solved by physical or scientific means. There were few moral or psychological ambiguities…. Beginning in the 1950s, science-fiction writers made problems more complex” (46-7).
Is it any wonder, then, that Crystal Skull -- an Indiana Jones movie set in the 1950s -- would take on a sci-fi milieu? After all, this was the decade that saw the release of Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy, Heinlein’s Starship Troopers, Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles and Fahrenheit 451, and dozens of others. From the first shot of the “Atomic Café” in the opening sequence of Crystal Skull to the unearthing of a box from Roswell, N.M., we know that this is the world that our archeologist hero now inhabits. A story involving aliens (or “transdimensional beings, in point of fact,” as John Hurt’s character points out) is fine with me for a 50s Indiana Jones adventure.
Still other viewers complained that Harrison Ford was too old to slip on the fedora one more time. However, I feel that there’s a smart explanation for this as well.
Indiana Jones is nothing if not a pulp character, drawn from the imagination of George Lucas, who was practically weaned on stories that would today be considered part of the “pulp” canon. Indy is hard-boiled and has a clearly defined sense of right and wrong. Scratch deeper and you'll find that Indy is a pretty flat character, albeit a great one that we love to root for.
By the 1950s, the pulp sci-fi magazines were dying out, just as gruff Indiana Jones is running out of gas as well. Ford wears the character’s world weariness on his skin, commenting on how getting out of a jam isn’t as easy as it used to be. Indiana Jones -- just like the pulp magazines -- are barely holding on, almost ready for that great archive in the sky.
Considering this symbolism -- whether intentional or not -- makes Crystal Skull for me a rewarding and entertaining experience. Does the film have its weak points? Sure. Could I have gone without actually seeing the aliens? Absolutely. But if you’re not sold, perhaps we can still agree that Crystal Skull was still better than Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
Comic Books are No Excuse for Lazy Writing
Although I grew up reading comic books, I wouldn’t today consider myself a comic expert or fanboy. I’ve read a number of the classics -- Watchmen, Batman Year One -- but the dearth of comics on the market, not to mention the complicated mythologies, has always been intimidating to me. I don’t know the current state of the characters in X-Men, and I get most of the biggest comic news, such as a character’s death, from the mainstream media.
That doesn’t mean to say that there aren’t great writers doing exceptional work in the comic and graphic novel mediums. There are some, I would argue, who deserve a place among the greatest modern men and women of letters.
Despite using a simpler written narrative structure, comics (and from this point on I will use the term “comics” to mean comic books and graphic novels) are no excuse for lazy writing. While it’s true that a comic writer isn’t doing all of the heavy narrative lifting -- that burden is also shared by the artists, who are responsible for the depiction of setting -- it is still no excuse for writers to sit back on their haunches. The words of a comic are just as important as the graphic aspect; they are what keep me as a reader coming back for more.
This past summer, I learned that comic company IDW was issuing a new series of comics based on the collectible card game Magic: The Gathering. I had played Magic in my early teens and had fond memories of the comics issued by Armada in the mid-90s. These miniseries covered the backstory of Magic’s fantasy setting, offering up a history of the card game’s internal mythology. Seeing that IDW was publishing a new series awakened something in me -- a desire to both play the game again and to read this latest series of comics.
Looking back now as an adult, it is clear to me that the Armada Magic comics that I had enjoyed in my youth were simply a tie-in product to sell more cards. A lot of comics, it can probably be argued, are an attempt to sell something, be it toys, movies, DVDs or simply a brand. The company IDW makes it trade in this for the most part by publishing movie tie-in comics or comics based around popular television shows. Take, for instance, IDW’s graphic novel Star Trek: Countdown, which expertly bridged the gap between the film Star Trek: Nemesis and the J.J. Abrams reboot. Was this an attempt to get people preemptively excited about a summer blockbuster film? Certainly. But it was also packaged in a well-told story that was enjoyable to read.
The Armada Magic comics were the same way: another method to get people excited about the card game and perhaps sell more products for the game’s parent company. The stories, though, were well-told, and revisiting them 17 years later, the Armada Magic comics are comprised of stories that I think even an adult fantasy-lover would find interesting.
Unfortunately, that is not the case with the IDW Magic titles, and I worry that this is endemic in other comics as well. The current Magic comics use a stream-of-consciousness narrative to advance the story, one that is intertwined with spoken dialog. Often it becomes impossible to tell what’s going on because the reader has to read the internal monologue of the main character, Dack Fayden, and then go back and read the spoken dialog, all while ignoring the artwork. The result is that the reader has to look at each panel three times to follow the story. Not good.
Similarly, I’ve understood from the get-go that the comics exist to sell me something. Here again, the writers could have made the story more palatable. There are entire issues where Dack simply visits different locales in the Magic universe without advancing the plot. Do we really need an entire issue dedicated to sightseeing just so players will understand on which plane of the multiverse some of their cards take place? I think not. Tell a good story and the readers will want more -- regardless of the delivery method. (See: the dearth of Star Wars “expanded universe” products.)
I suppose the IDW Magic comics served their purpose in getting me to play the game again, and ultimately that will make more money for Hasbro and Wizards of the Coast than a monthly comic. I’m sorry to say, however, that I won’t be following the adventures of Dack any more, if for no other reason than the fact that his story is ill-told.
That doesn’t mean to say that there aren’t great writers doing exceptional work in the comic and graphic novel mediums. There are some, I would argue, who deserve a place among the greatest modern men and women of letters.
Despite using a simpler written narrative structure, comics (and from this point on I will use the term “comics” to mean comic books and graphic novels) are no excuse for lazy writing. While it’s true that a comic writer isn’t doing all of the heavy narrative lifting -- that burden is also shared by the artists, who are responsible for the depiction of setting -- it is still no excuse for writers to sit back on their haunches. The words of a comic are just as important as the graphic aspect; they are what keep me as a reader coming back for more.
This past summer, I learned that comic company IDW was issuing a new series of comics based on the collectible card game Magic: The Gathering. I had played Magic in my early teens and had fond memories of the comics issued by Armada in the mid-90s. These miniseries covered the backstory of Magic’s fantasy setting, offering up a history of the card game’s internal mythology. Seeing that IDW was publishing a new series awakened something in me -- a desire to both play the game again and to read this latest series of comics.
Looking back now as an adult, it is clear to me that the Armada Magic comics that I had enjoyed in my youth were simply a tie-in product to sell more cards. A lot of comics, it can probably be argued, are an attempt to sell something, be it toys, movies, DVDs or simply a brand. The company IDW makes it trade in this for the most part by publishing movie tie-in comics or comics based around popular television shows. Take, for instance, IDW’s graphic novel Star Trek: Countdown, which expertly bridged the gap between the film Star Trek: Nemesis and the J.J. Abrams reboot. Was this an attempt to get people preemptively excited about a summer blockbuster film? Certainly. But it was also packaged in a well-told story that was enjoyable to read.
The Armada Magic comics were the same way: another method to get people excited about the card game and perhaps sell more products for the game’s parent company. The stories, though, were well-told, and revisiting them 17 years later, the Armada Magic comics are comprised of stories that I think even an adult fantasy-lover would find interesting.
Unfortunately, that is not the case with the IDW Magic titles, and I worry that this is endemic in other comics as well. The current Magic comics use a stream-of-consciousness narrative to advance the story, one that is intertwined with spoken dialog. Often it becomes impossible to tell what’s going on because the reader has to read the internal monologue of the main character, Dack Fayden, and then go back and read the spoken dialog, all while ignoring the artwork. The result is that the reader has to look at each panel three times to follow the story. Not good.
Similarly, I’ve understood from the get-go that the comics exist to sell me something. Here again, the writers could have made the story more palatable. There are entire issues where Dack simply visits different locales in the Magic universe without advancing the plot. Do we really need an entire issue dedicated to sightseeing just so players will understand on which plane of the multiverse some of their cards take place? I think not. Tell a good story and the readers will want more -- regardless of the delivery method. (See: the dearth of Star Wars “expanded universe” products.)
I suppose the IDW Magic comics served their purpose in getting me to play the game again, and ultimately that will make more money for Hasbro and Wizards of the Coast than a monthly comic. I’m sorry to say, however, that I won’t be following the adventures of Dack any more, if for no other reason than the fact that his story is ill-told.
Vikings and the [Insert Popular Trope Here] Imitiation Effect
This past week, I watched the premiere episode of the History Channel's new show Vikings. For History's first scripted series, it's clear that the network is trying to capture at least some of the Game of Thrones audience with a show that's at least partially "inspired" by historical figures. I put the word in quotes, though, because History has taken what should be a dynamic, exciting, and complex people and boiled them down to mere stereotype. The show is bad, not just because of its historical inaccuracies, but because it does wrong everything that Game of Thrones does right.
Vikings is simply the latest in the ever-ongoing trend of imitation book / film / television properties that piggyback off of a successful story. This trend has occurred throughout history, but has been especially prevalent in the pop-culture tropes of the 20th and 21st centuries. When Star Wars was released in 1977, studios scrambled to get sci-fi film properties into place; when Harry Potter became a publishing phenomenon, editors sought out the next great "boy wizard" tale; and when the Twilight books hit screens, film and television producers snatched up the rights to any YA property that might make for a prominent film or television series.
No doubt many authors and Hollywood executives have seen their careers remain stagnant in the wake of trying to imitate these blockbusters.
As a writer, it's important to consume books by other authors at all skill levels and, less so, to at least keep an eye on what's happening in the publishing world. But authors should never write to existing trends or try to predict what the next big trend is going to be. Publishing with a traditional printer means that your book won't be on the shelf for 12-18 months after it has accepted -- enough time for the current trend to wane, die and be replaced by two others. And predicting that werewolves will be the "next big thing" after vampires will almost certainly lead to failure if you write the story simply to capitalize on readers' current love of the supernatural.
Instead of writing to fickle publishing trends, authors should concentrate on the stories they want to tell. Maybe you do have a great "boy wizard" story to write, as Jonathan Stroud did during the whole Harry Potter craze, but make sure that you're telling the story for the right reasons, and that you have a good story to tell, before investing yourself in what will no doubt be a protracted process of writing and editing. (For the record, Stroud's Bartimeaus trilogy is far and away better than Harry Potter.)
As for trends, who can tell what the next big thing will be? Who would have guessed two years ago that bondage mommy porn a la Fifty Shades of Gray would ever have been a burgeoning genre? Don't try to predict the next phenomenon; instead, focus on telling the strongest story you have to tell with the most skill that you have as a writer. Do that, and you may just start the next craze on your own.
It's safe to say that I won't be tuning in for another episode of Vikings. But I eagerly await being able to watch the second season of Game of Thrones on DVD because I care about complex characters and stories that simply haven't been reheated by a storyteller with mediocre ambition to tell an original and spellbinding tale.
Vikings is simply the latest in the ever-ongoing trend of imitation book / film / television properties that piggyback off of a successful story. This trend has occurred throughout history, but has been especially prevalent in the pop-culture tropes of the 20th and 21st centuries. When Star Wars was released in 1977, studios scrambled to get sci-fi film properties into place; when Harry Potter became a publishing phenomenon, editors sought out the next great "boy wizard" tale; and when the Twilight books hit screens, film and television producers snatched up the rights to any YA property that might make for a prominent film or television series.
No doubt many authors and Hollywood executives have seen their careers remain stagnant in the wake of trying to imitate these blockbusters.
As a writer, it's important to consume books by other authors at all skill levels and, less so, to at least keep an eye on what's happening in the publishing world. But authors should never write to existing trends or try to predict what the next big trend is going to be. Publishing with a traditional printer means that your book won't be on the shelf for 12-18 months after it has accepted -- enough time for the current trend to wane, die and be replaced by two others. And predicting that werewolves will be the "next big thing" after vampires will almost certainly lead to failure if you write the story simply to capitalize on readers' current love of the supernatural.
Instead of writing to fickle publishing trends, authors should concentrate on the stories they want to tell. Maybe you do have a great "boy wizard" story to write, as Jonathan Stroud did during the whole Harry Potter craze, but make sure that you're telling the story for the right reasons, and that you have a good story to tell, before investing yourself in what will no doubt be a protracted process of writing and editing. (For the record, Stroud's Bartimeaus trilogy is far and away better than Harry Potter.)
As for trends, who can tell what the next big thing will be? Who would have guessed two years ago that bondage mommy porn a la Fifty Shades of Gray would ever have been a burgeoning genre? Don't try to predict the next phenomenon; instead, focus on telling the strongest story you have to tell with the most skill that you have as a writer. Do that, and you may just start the next craze on your own.
It's safe to say that I won't be tuning in for another episode of Vikings. But I eagerly await being able to watch the second season of Game of Thrones on DVD because I care about complex characters and stories that simply haven't been reheated by a storyteller with mediocre ambition to tell an original and spellbinding tale.
Why is it so Difficult to Write a Good Tie-In Novel?
As readers of my fiction, blog, website and Facebook page know, I am an unequivocal geek. And as a geek, I like geeky things. Like Star Wars. Like Star Trek. Like Magic: The Gathering and the Lord of the Rings. Like superheroes and everything in between.
So what are geeks like me to do when we have exhausted our “primary sources”? When we have watched all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and still want more? When playing Dungeons & Dragons once or twice a week isn’t enough to sate our enthusiasm for the property?
We turn to the “expanded universe.”
We geeks are lucky. Fans of, say, literary fiction can rarely — if ever — boast that they can read tie-in novels or play tie-in games once they’ve finished reading their primary source. Compare that with Firefly, whose 14 episodes are bolstered by comics, games, official companions (not those kind of “companions”!) and even books of scholarly essays.
Yet for all of this expanded universe material, very little of it is any good.
Why is that? Why is it so difficult to write a good — if not excellent — tie-in or expanded universe book?
This strikes me as very strange. After all, most primary source owners (by which I mean the companies that own properties like Star Trek and Magic) are big organizations that should have the clout and financial backing of any New York City publisher. These same companies, though, don’t seem to be using their resources to (a.) hire good storytellers and (b.) ensure that they’re putting out a quality product.
Let’s look at two examples.
In his book, Sometimes the Magic Works , acclaimed fantasy author Terry Brooks talks about his nightmare experience writing the tie-in novel for the movie Hook . Brooks recounts that he was receiving script revisions on a daily basis and that people involved with the film weren’t accessible when he had questions or concerns. Brooks swore he would never do another tie-in book again.
Fast forward to 1999. Brooks is offered the chance to write the novelization of Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace . Brooks only agrees to undertake the project if he has what some might consider unrivaled access to the film: the ability to get in touch with George Lucas and his staff, concept art, ship drawings, scripts, etc. All of these things were provided, and Brooks’ novelization of Episode One, I would argue, is one of the better tie-in or expanded universe books that I’ve read, regardless of how you feel about the film itself.
This may be one reason why tie-in and expanded universe books are rarely up to snuff: bureaucracy. When writers are tasked with getting into the head of another creative person, the writer needs access to that person’s vision of the property. Since Brooks had access to all of LucasFilm for his novelization, the book turned out successful. This wasn’t the case with Hook, where the writer’s access was severely limited.
I want to turn now to my second example. I recently finished reading Ari Marmell’s book Agents of Artifice , a tie-in novel for Magic: The Gathering. For those unaware, Magic is a collectible card game owned by Hasbro, and the Magic novels are put out by Hasbro’s subsidiary Wizards of the Coast (which also owns Dungeons & Dragons). Most people also don’t know that Magic is Hasbro’s most valuable game brand.
Think about that for a second.
Magic is the most popular game brand of a company that owns Monopoly, Angry Birds, Battleship, Clue and so on. In 2012, the game reportedly generated $200 million in revenue for Hasbro.
I feel that it’s necessary to put Magic into this kind of context. Agents of Artifice wasn’t a self-published book. It wasn’t fan fiction. It was a professionally released hardcover put out by a multi-million dollar company. If that’s the case, why does Agents of Artifice have sentences with missing words? With words repeated? With sentences so unclear that they have to be read multiple times to understand the writer’s meaning? The book reads like a second draft that wasn’t edited before being sent to press. Point of view changes from limited omniscient to true omniscient point of view occur mid paragraph, to say nothing of the storytelling structure as a whole. How did Hasbro let this embarrassment reach the market?
Regrettably, no tie-in novelists would comment on the record for this blog post, though I did try to contact a few. Instead, I turned to my friend Nick, who is both an economist and a voracious reader. Not surprisingly, Nick thinks the answer comes down to money.
“Let me opine baselessly and say that I think the reason the quality is so often lacking is due to economics. In a case where the rights-holder is commissioning the work, presumably their reason for doing so is to advance the brand. Hasbro probably doesn't care about telling the story behind G.I. Joe, but they see an opportunity to make money, both directly by selling the book, and indirectly by promoting sales of the toys. It's a purely commercial decision; accordingly, they hire the cheapest author they can find who meets a certain level of quality, which is probably in turn determined by the venerability of the brand (Star Wars will probably have better tie-ins that Andromeda). Essentially, the lowest bidder is the one likely to get the commission, and so the quality of the product is low. In part they can get away with this because they have a built-in market in the form of consumers of the brand; the novel doesn't have to stand on its own merits; it just needs to be good enough that fans will shell out for it.
“There may be some genuine labors of love out there — some of the Star Wars expanded universe novels were pretty decent, if I remember correctly — and sometimes big properties will attract big talent, but this will probably only happen where the rights-holder expects a big profit to justify the big investment.”
I think there’s a lot of truth here. Still, some of the reviews for Agents of Artifice on Goodreads come from people who admittedly don’t or haven’t tried the Magic card game. In the name of advancing the brand and promoting sales, wouldn’t a company like Hasbro want to put its best foot forward for those who have never been exposed to the property before, or perhaps in only a limited way? Wouldn’t a truly kick-ass book be more likely to get someone to go out and buy a stack of Magic cards than a mediocre one?
Sadly, the answer seems as elusive as the Rebel Alliance. I suppose I could lament the fact that money rules the publishing world, but that would be about as useful as spitting in the wind. Instead, I invite readers to share the best tie-in and expanded universe novels that they’ve read, as well as the worst. In publishing, public opinion still does matter, and discerning geeks like me should demand the best of their favorite geeky properties.
So what are geeks like me to do when we have exhausted our “primary sources”? When we have watched all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and still want more? When playing Dungeons & Dragons once or twice a week isn’t enough to sate our enthusiasm for the property?
We turn to the “expanded universe.”
We geeks are lucky. Fans of, say, literary fiction can rarely — if ever — boast that they can read tie-in novels or play tie-in games once they’ve finished reading their primary source. Compare that with Firefly, whose 14 episodes are bolstered by comics, games, official companions (not those kind of “companions”!) and even books of scholarly essays.
Yet for all of this expanded universe material, very little of it is any good.
Why is that? Why is it so difficult to write a good — if not excellent — tie-in or expanded universe book?
This strikes me as very strange. After all, most primary source owners (by which I mean the companies that own properties like Star Trek and Magic) are big organizations that should have the clout and financial backing of any New York City publisher. These same companies, though, don’t seem to be using their resources to (a.) hire good storytellers and (b.) ensure that they’re putting out a quality product.
Let’s look at two examples.
In his book, Sometimes the Magic Works , acclaimed fantasy author Terry Brooks talks about his nightmare experience writing the tie-in novel for the movie Hook . Brooks recounts that he was receiving script revisions on a daily basis and that people involved with the film weren’t accessible when he had questions or concerns. Brooks swore he would never do another tie-in book again.
Fast forward to 1999. Brooks is offered the chance to write the novelization of Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace . Brooks only agrees to undertake the project if he has what some might consider unrivaled access to the film: the ability to get in touch with George Lucas and his staff, concept art, ship drawings, scripts, etc. All of these things were provided, and Brooks’ novelization of Episode One, I would argue, is one of the better tie-in or expanded universe books that I’ve read, regardless of how you feel about the film itself.
This may be one reason why tie-in and expanded universe books are rarely up to snuff: bureaucracy. When writers are tasked with getting into the head of another creative person, the writer needs access to that person’s vision of the property. Since Brooks had access to all of LucasFilm for his novelization, the book turned out successful. This wasn’t the case with Hook, where the writer’s access was severely limited.
I want to turn now to my second example. I recently finished reading Ari Marmell’s book Agents of Artifice , a tie-in novel for Magic: The Gathering. For those unaware, Magic is a collectible card game owned by Hasbro, and the Magic novels are put out by Hasbro’s subsidiary Wizards of the Coast (which also owns Dungeons & Dragons). Most people also don’t know that Magic is Hasbro’s most valuable game brand.
Think about that for a second.
Magic is the most popular game brand of a company that owns Monopoly, Angry Birds, Battleship, Clue and so on. In 2012, the game reportedly generated $200 million in revenue for Hasbro.
I feel that it’s necessary to put Magic into this kind of context. Agents of Artifice wasn’t a self-published book. It wasn’t fan fiction. It was a professionally released hardcover put out by a multi-million dollar company. If that’s the case, why does Agents of Artifice have sentences with missing words? With words repeated? With sentences so unclear that they have to be read multiple times to understand the writer’s meaning? The book reads like a second draft that wasn’t edited before being sent to press. Point of view changes from limited omniscient to true omniscient point of view occur mid paragraph, to say nothing of the storytelling structure as a whole. How did Hasbro let this embarrassment reach the market?
Regrettably, no tie-in novelists would comment on the record for this blog post, though I did try to contact a few. Instead, I turned to my friend Nick, who is both an economist and a voracious reader. Not surprisingly, Nick thinks the answer comes down to money.
“Let me opine baselessly and say that I think the reason the quality is so often lacking is due to economics. In a case where the rights-holder is commissioning the work, presumably their reason for doing so is to advance the brand. Hasbro probably doesn't care about telling the story behind G.I. Joe, but they see an opportunity to make money, both directly by selling the book, and indirectly by promoting sales of the toys. It's a purely commercial decision; accordingly, they hire the cheapest author they can find who meets a certain level of quality, which is probably in turn determined by the venerability of the brand (Star Wars will probably have better tie-ins that Andromeda). Essentially, the lowest bidder is the one likely to get the commission, and so the quality of the product is low. In part they can get away with this because they have a built-in market in the form of consumers of the brand; the novel doesn't have to stand on its own merits; it just needs to be good enough that fans will shell out for it.
“There may be some genuine labors of love out there — some of the Star Wars expanded universe novels were pretty decent, if I remember correctly — and sometimes big properties will attract big talent, but this will probably only happen where the rights-holder expects a big profit to justify the big investment.”
I think there’s a lot of truth here. Still, some of the reviews for Agents of Artifice on Goodreads come from people who admittedly don’t or haven’t tried the Magic card game. In the name of advancing the brand and promoting sales, wouldn’t a company like Hasbro want to put its best foot forward for those who have never been exposed to the property before, or perhaps in only a limited way? Wouldn’t a truly kick-ass book be more likely to get someone to go out and buy a stack of Magic cards than a mediocre one?
Sadly, the answer seems as elusive as the Rebel Alliance. I suppose I could lament the fact that money rules the publishing world, but that would be about as useful as spitting in the wind. Instead, I invite readers to share the best tie-in and expanded universe novels that they’ve read, as well as the worst. In publishing, public opinion still does matter, and discerning geeks like me should demand the best of their favorite geeky properties.
Why I’m Tired of YA Genre Fiction -- And Why You Should Be Too
I just went through and removed every YA novel from my Goodreads “To-Read” list.
Why?
Because YA genre fiction is so stuck in a mire of stagnation that the entire genre has become a parody of itself. With so many books demanding my attention, I don’t have time to waste on the same story over and over again.
When did this happen? Why aren’t YA authors taking more risks? And why do we have a market flooded with books whose plots are seemingly chosen by throwing darts at a wall chart?
Choose setting: fantasy, dystopian or sci-fi. Insert female protagonist. Determine obstacle that she has to overcome (bonus points added for some kind of hidden past). And select love interest. If the author can somehow convoke a love triangle (a la The Hunger Games), that’s all the better for “narrative tension.”
Without coming off like a boy who hates lovey-dovey plots because of cooties, I can’t help but wonder: Where are the gay and lesbian protagonists? Where are the transgender protagonists? Where are the neuter protagonists who don’t care about finding sudden and meaningful love in the ruins of civilization? Hell, where are the male protagonists?
A good writer should create characters that the reader cares about — regardless of gender or sexual orientation. As a young reader, I loved Patricia C. Wrede’s Enchanted Forest Chronicles, even though the protagonist was a female princess, albeit an unconventional one. The fact that the main character of the book was a young woman didn’t matter; it was the character and plot that made the difference. (Wrede’s princess, Cimorene, doesn’t find love until book two of the tetralogy, and even then doesn’t spend the entire volume swooning over Mendanbar’s warm lips and magical kisses.)
What happened to books like Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card), The Amulet of Samarkand (Jonathan Stroud) and The City of Ember (Jeanne DuPrau)? What happened to plots and romances — or lack thereof — that weren’t molded by the cookie cutter of today’s YA genre market?
Part of the blame undoubtedly rests with publishers, all of whom are looking for the next Harry Potter, Katniss Everdeen, Bella Swan or Tris Prior (and the lucrative film rights that go with them). This has, unfortunately, resulted in a trough of creativity as authors write toward current trends and publishers pump out copycat after copycat.
The only way for readers to respond is to demand with their wallets that YA genre fiction undergo a renaissance. We’ve already seen the start of this trend with YA genre films (see: Beautiful Creatures, The Host, Mortal Instruments) and the time has come for their source material to follow suit. Until then, I fear that I will find very little to inspire me in a genre that is in desperate need of reinvention.
Why?
Because YA genre fiction is so stuck in a mire of stagnation that the entire genre has become a parody of itself. With so many books demanding my attention, I don’t have time to waste on the same story over and over again.
When did this happen? Why aren’t YA authors taking more risks? And why do we have a market flooded with books whose plots are seemingly chosen by throwing darts at a wall chart?
Choose setting: fantasy, dystopian or sci-fi. Insert female protagonist. Determine obstacle that she has to overcome (bonus points added for some kind of hidden past). And select love interest. If the author can somehow convoke a love triangle (a la The Hunger Games), that’s all the better for “narrative tension.”
Without coming off like a boy who hates lovey-dovey plots because of cooties, I can’t help but wonder: Where are the gay and lesbian protagonists? Where are the transgender protagonists? Where are the neuter protagonists who don’t care about finding sudden and meaningful love in the ruins of civilization? Hell, where are the male protagonists?
A good writer should create characters that the reader cares about — regardless of gender or sexual orientation. As a young reader, I loved Patricia C. Wrede’s Enchanted Forest Chronicles, even though the protagonist was a female princess, albeit an unconventional one. The fact that the main character of the book was a young woman didn’t matter; it was the character and plot that made the difference. (Wrede’s princess, Cimorene, doesn’t find love until book two of the tetralogy, and even then doesn’t spend the entire volume swooning over Mendanbar’s warm lips and magical kisses.)
What happened to books like Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card), The Amulet of Samarkand (Jonathan Stroud) and The City of Ember (Jeanne DuPrau)? What happened to plots and romances — or lack thereof — that weren’t molded by the cookie cutter of today’s YA genre market?
Part of the blame undoubtedly rests with publishers, all of whom are looking for the next Harry Potter, Katniss Everdeen, Bella Swan or Tris Prior (and the lucrative film rights that go with them). This has, unfortunately, resulted in a trough of creativity as authors write toward current trends and publishers pump out copycat after copycat.
The only way for readers to respond is to demand with their wallets that YA genre fiction undergo a renaissance. We’ve already seen the start of this trend with YA genre films (see: Beautiful Creatures, The Host, Mortal Instruments) and the time has come for their source material to follow suit. Until then, I fear that I will find very little to inspire me in a genre that is in desperate need of reinvention.
Connecticut Libraries Need Your Help
Have you borrowed a book, movie or audiobook from your local library in the past year? Have you requested a book from another library or used your card at a library outside of your hometown?
If so — or if you simply believe that a healthy library system is essential to the wellbeing of Connecticut residents — then now is the time to act.
Gov. Dannel P. Malloy’s next biennial budget, which takes effect July 1 and is currently being reviewed by Connecticut’s General Assembly, cuts $3.5 million dollars from the State Library System.
Specifically, the governor’s budget proposes to eliminate funding for the ConnectiCard system, which allows Connecticut residents to use their library cards at any library in the state, and cripple the ConnectiCar system, which facilitates interlibrary loans. Legislation has also been introduced that would repeal the statutes that authorize these programs.
To put things into perspective, the Wallingford Public Library has produced a great video explaining how this will affect ALL libraries across the state and ALL Connecticut residents.
The last time cuts like this were proposed was in 2009 under Gov. M. Jodi Rell. At the time, library staff members from across the state stood arm in arm with concerned citizens to have the funding restored.
This needs to happen again.
The Connecticut Library Association has made it easy (click HERE) to find and contact your elected representatives. The organization’s advocacy page also has downloadable resources, FAQs and talking points. Among the most important are:
* CT residents will no longer be able to borrow from any public library in the state
* Libraries will have to shut their doors to their neighbors
* Taxpayers lose due to ConnectiCard cuts. They saved $68 million in 2014 by borrowing and not buying 4.5 million items
* Cutting these funds hurts the people who need their libraries the most — CT residents who live in urban areas
* This funding helps libraries, already under financial strain, to continue to provide important literacy services (reading, financial and digital), access to government services and much more
* It will be near impossible to re-establish critical public library statutes once they are eliminated
It is urgent that you contact your elected representatives today and ask that funding for Connecticut libraries be restored and maintained. Let’s not lose one of Connecticut’s most precious and important literacy and educational resources.
If so — or if you simply believe that a healthy library system is essential to the wellbeing of Connecticut residents — then now is the time to act.
Gov. Dannel P. Malloy’s next biennial budget, which takes effect July 1 and is currently being reviewed by Connecticut’s General Assembly, cuts $3.5 million dollars from the State Library System.
Specifically, the governor’s budget proposes to eliminate funding for the ConnectiCard system, which allows Connecticut residents to use their library cards at any library in the state, and cripple the ConnectiCar system, which facilitates interlibrary loans. Legislation has also been introduced that would repeal the statutes that authorize these programs.
To put things into perspective, the Wallingford Public Library has produced a great video explaining how this will affect ALL libraries across the state and ALL Connecticut residents.
The last time cuts like this were proposed was in 2009 under Gov. M. Jodi Rell. At the time, library staff members from across the state stood arm in arm with concerned citizens to have the funding restored.
This needs to happen again.
The Connecticut Library Association has made it easy (click HERE) to find and contact your elected representatives. The organization’s advocacy page also has downloadable resources, FAQs and talking points. Among the most important are:
* CT residents will no longer be able to borrow from any public library in the state
* Libraries will have to shut their doors to their neighbors
* Taxpayers lose due to ConnectiCard cuts. They saved $68 million in 2014 by borrowing and not buying 4.5 million items
* Cutting these funds hurts the people who need their libraries the most — CT residents who live in urban areas
* This funding helps libraries, already under financial strain, to continue to provide important literacy services (reading, financial and digital), access to government services and much more
* It will be near impossible to re-establish critical public library statutes once they are eliminated
It is urgent that you contact your elected representatives today and ask that funding for Connecticut libraries be restored and maintained. Let’s not lose one of Connecticut’s most precious and important literacy and educational resources.
