pop culture, reviewed

So, in the last nine days, I’ve read the first five Harry Potter books and 2/3 of the sixth one, but since Saturday, I’ve found myself… stalled.  It’s possible that I am dreading the end so much that I have developed a psychological block that will only allow me to read The Half-Blood Prince in twenty page increments.  I’m dying to know what happens, of course — I can’t wait to read the last one — but I also don’t want it to be over so I guess I’m prolonging it.  I’ll finish The Half-Blood Prince tonight, though, so by tomorrow or Wednesday I should be ready to discuss the ending.  As part of my total immersion plan, I saw The Order of the Phoenix on Sunday and I was pretty impressed that they managed to squeeze almost all of the significant events into a movie of reasonable length.  I was dreadfully disappointed with Helena Bonham Carter as Bellatrix Lestrange, though.  Bellatrix should be as scary as Voldemort — truly evil incarnate — but she was played like such an over-the-top ridiculous nutjob that it was hard to be very threatened  by her. 

In other news, I’m still obsessed with the movie Once, its soundtrack, and the album Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova did together prior to that, The Swell Season.   I told Jake I sure will miss him when I run off with Glen Hansard after the Swell Season show at the 9:30 Club on Thursday night.  (Thursday! Night! Omg!) 

What have I been doing besides crying over the pages of J.K. Rowling while listening to the Once soundtrack?  Well, aside from working on the novel (no, it’s not finished, but it’s still on track to be close-to-ready in October, which is my self-imposed deadline), I’ve finished the first season of Felicity and put a dent in the ol’ credit card buying tickets for upcoming shows.  On tap: Band of Horses, The Format, Ryan, Rilo Kiley, Brandi Carlile, Josh Ritter, and The New Pornographers. 

Now, I have to get back to Hogwarts, if you will excuse me.  Deep breaths. 

Sorry — I am officially too geeked out about the last Harry Potter to concentrate on anything else this week.  I’m re-reading the books this week in preparation, and I’m getting pretty excited/scared.  You guys, lots of people are going to die, and it could be anyone.  Ron?  Definite possibility.  Harry?  Oh, he’s not safe.  Neville?  Probably (heroically).  Another Weasley?  There are a lot of them.  Hagrid?  Goner.  Hermione?  For some reason, I think she’ll survive, but I can’t pinpoint why.

I’ve started to feel very strongly that neither Weasley parent nor Professor McGonagall should die, because poor Harry just can’t stand to lose another adult, you know?   It will be hard enough when Hagrid goes (you know he’s not going to make it to the end — too sweet and loyal and lovable to make it all the way through).

It’s just too much.  I’m very glad that I gave myself time to read all of them in a row, one last time, without knowing what was going to happen.  

(Incidentally, I’m in the middle of the fourth one now, and I will place Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban up against just about anything else in an exciting pageturner contest.  The first two read like very good children’s books but then, all of a sudden, in the third one J.K. Rowling just lets you have it.  It’s amazing.) 

I am certain that I have mentioned before, in person and on this blog, how my very favorite book of all time is probably Tales of the City, by Armistead Maupin.  It’s not like I think it’s better than, say, The Sound and the Fury or anything (that’s another favorite), but it’s probably the book that I enjoy re-reading the most.  There are six in the series and every year I read at least one of them.  (The fourth and fifth ones are not as great, but the first three and the sixth are so magnificent, I can’t even begin to tell you.)  They follow a crazy assortment of people who live in an apartment building in San Francisco, starting in the late 70’s and ending about 1989.

Well.

Check this out.  It’s a new one!  I didn’t know about this until ten minutes ago, when Jake emailed it to me and I began to cry.  Michael Tolliver Lives!  Best title ever?  Maybe, because I feel like an old friend, a favorite friend, just called me out of the blue to say hello.  Michael Tolliver was/is by far my favorite character in Tales of the City.  I cannot wait to see what he’s been doing.

I am not sure why the Tales of the City books have such a special place in my heart, aside from the fact that they are just awesome — ridiculous and hilarious and silly and sweet and fun.  I think it has to do with the fact that I discovered them completely on my own, when I was about fifteen.  I had never heard anything about them, had never known anyone who read them, but was taken with the bright attractive cover.  Then, when I fell in love with the first one, it was a mission to find the rest of them.  Our local bookstores didn’t just have plenty of them in stock — I had to search for them, and I found and cherished each, one by one.  I loved them.  I especially loved Michael “Mouse” Tolliver.  In my mind, Mouse was the first  gay person I knew, my first gay friend. 

For years, every time I went to the bookstore, I checked Maupin’s section of the shelves just in case there were new ones.  I guess I had given up hope.  Now, to find out that I get to find out what happened to Mouse and Brian?  A GAZILLION times more exciting than the new Ryan Adams album and the new Harry Potter combined.  At last. 

Sidney Sheldon has died.

I have a major soft spot for Sidney Sheldon because he might have been the first adult author that I  loved.  I started reading his books at about nine or ten, against my mother’s wishes — they were “totally inappropriate,”  you know — but finally she relented as long as I didn’t tell anyone that I was allowed to read them.  I had read them all and moved past the trash stage by about thirteen, but I have maintained an affection for them all my life, because it was his books that made me realize that you learn from everything that you read, even the trash, even the guilty pleasures.  I still remember learning that the Prado is the museum in Madrid because of If Tomorrow Comes, and I learned about diamond mining in South Africa from Master of the Game. Tiny little things, but they’re something.  (Those are my two favorites, by the way — I can also recommend Rage of Angels and The Other Side of Midnight.)

Good stuff.  Nothing wrong with some fluff occasionally, nothing at all.  

So, I read my hundredth book of ‘06 this weekend and it was probably the worst one I read all year.   I do not think I can adequately express how much I hated The Book of Fate, by Brad Meltzer.  (I’m sorry to say that to my book club peeps, because it’s our book club pick for November.) 

Basically, The Book of Fate is a sloppier and less plausible rip-off of The Da Vinci Code.  (That’s right — I said LESS PLAUSIBLE than The Da Vinci Code.)  The characters are poorly developed, the plot is ridiculous and poorly explained, and the writing style is choppy and boring.  The reader is teased with a mildly intriguing Freemason conspiracy angle only to find out that it’s barely a footnote on the plot as a whole.  I was expecting a light, entertaining thriller and was sorely disappointed.  It wasn’t just bad — it was really bad.  I never sell books back, but I might have to get rid of this one.