Fat Vampire

Am I just a grouch lately, or are the books I'm reading really that bad? I think it's the latter; you decide.

I read not one but two novels by Mary Alice Monroe, mostly because she was recommended to me as a local Charleston, SC author. The first one, Time Is a River, wasn't set in South Carolina, so I set my negative reaction to it aside and read another one, Last Light Over Carolina. I hated it less is about all I can say. Both novels take a facile approach to complicated issues like infidelity and reputation. At one point in Last Light Over Carolina, the wife tries to head off a situation that could lead to infidelity by talking to her husband:

"You know what? Tonight there were a lot of guys at that school who took time off the boat to be there for their kids. So don't give me that old line about being a shrimper."
"It is what it is."
"Maybe that's the problem."
"What's that?"
"Just that things aren't the same now as they were when we got married. We have a child now. That makes things different."
She saw his big shoulders bow up in defense, and she felt suddenly weary of this old, pointless argument. They'd both thrown the same hurtful lines back and forth so often that they no longer heard the words. It was just annoying, like his mess strewn across the room."

And no, whatever "mess" she blames him for is never specified; it's just a generality thrown out there in a lazy kind of way.

Then I read the new Yann Martel novel, Beatrice and Virgil, and a more self-indulgent piece of fiction is hard to imagine. For the first 190 pages it follows a thinly disguised Martel figure through an odd relationship with a playwriting taxidermist, and then suddenly the relationship, the taxidermist's shop, and what the autobiographical character thought he was doing are all blown up in his face, leaving him with a manuscript that has (surprise!) the same title as the novel you're holding in your hands, which ends with another "manuscript" posing questions familiar to anyone who has known a moderately morose sixth-grader. For instance:
"Your daughter is clearly dead. If you step on her head, you can reach higher, where the air is better. Do you step on your daughter's head?"
All I can say is, thank goodness I got this out of the library, rather than buying it because I liked Life of Pi, which is what Martel must be counting on to sell any copies of this sorry sucker.

So finally I picked up a new YA novel--Fat Vampire, by Adam Rex--because you know my daughter and I still have a passing interest in vampire parodies. Also I loved Rex's first YA novel, The True Meaning of Smekday. What I found is that Fat Vampire is the best of a bad lot. It has some funny bits--like that a kid who gets addicted to the internet has a disease called "the google," and that a vampire who doesn't want to be evil not only has to refrain from drinking human blood, but should use his superhuman powers to foil convenience-store robberies and such.

It has some funny lines, like when the vampires have a meeting and tell the newly-made ones that "discretion is paramount. You tell no one what you are. You speak to no one of our concerns" and the fat vampire, 15-year-old Doug, thinks "First rule of bite club: you do not talk about bite club."

It has some moderately funny descriptions, like this one: "If there had been a fourth Little Pig who'd elected to build his house out of cigarette butts it might have looked and smelled something like this place."

It also has some good dialogue:
"I guess--I guess the real question," said Doug, "is why would any vampire make another?"
"Why?" Stephin repeated. "Loneliness, of course."
"But I mean. . . why would a vampire create a younger vampire if there was a possibility the young one might end up destroying the old one?"
Stephin stared. "If you can explain to me how this is different from parenting in general I might know how to answer that."

The ending of the novel gets too heavy-handed, though. The metaphor of the "fat vampire" becomes explicit, as though Rex doesn't trust his intended audience to be able to make the connection themselves:
"People like him--the unbeautiful, the less popular--were almost inhuman in some people's eyes. They were a kind of pitiful monster, an aberration, a hunchback. You made eye contact only by accident and then you turned quickly away. The word 'geek' had once only referred to a circus freak, hadn't it? A carny who performed revolting acts for a paying audience. Was it so different now? See! him bit the head off a live chicken. Behold! as he plays Dungeons & Dragons at a sleepover."

Fat Vampire's seven alternate endings, while clever, don't work in an interesting narrative way. They're merely another sideshow, amusing but ultimately without meaning.

And that kind of sums up my recent reading experiences--amusing but fairly meaningless. I'm looking for a little more intellectual nutrition in the next few things I pick up.

The True Meaning of Smekday

I enjoyed every part of this book by Adam Rex, including the illustrations and comics, which is highly unusual, as those who know me will attest. I also enjoyed the way it is told. The book begins with a middle school student writing an assigned essay about "the true meaning of Smekday" which has to be at least five pages long and, if it wins, might be included in a national time capsule. That essay comprises pages 3-29, and ends with the explanation, from a member of the alien race (called the "Boov") who calls himself "J.Lo," that the name of earth is now

"Smekland. As to tribute to our glorious leader, Captain Smek.'
'Wait.' I shook my head. 'Whoa. You can't just rename the planet.'
'Peoples who discover places gets to name it.'
'But it's called Earth. It's always been called Earth.'
J.Lo smiled condescendingly. I wanted to hit him.
'You humans live too much in the pasttime. We did land onto Smekland a long time ago.'
'You landed last Christmas!'
'Ah-ah. Not 'Christmas.' 'Smekday."

The essay gets a C+ because "when the judges from the National Time Capsule Committee read our stories, they'll be looking for what Smekday means to us, not to the aliens." (Don't you love it when a teacher gives a grade based on what she/he thinks another's expectations will be further on down the road?)

The second section is much longer, and that's part of why it wins the prize and is included in the time capsule. It comprises pp. 33-150 and tells the story of how the human, named Gratuity, and the Boov, J.Lo, become friends and allies. It's a truism about SF that it's always hard to imagine aliens without human characteristics, so I found this one pretty original. Here's one description of how J.Lo reacts when he's upset: "J.Lo composed himself for a moment, but I noticed his eyes were starting to look wet. Which might have meant he was about to cry, but it bears mentioning that his face was also slowly turning yellow, so I don't know."

The last section is the longest, and Gratuity says she's writing it only for her journal, which no one will read until after she's dead and the time capsule is uncovered. It tells the story of how she and the Boov have to work together to save Earth, or Smekland, from a second alien menace, the Gorg. This section has most of the comics, and my favorite tells about the development of the Boov on their planet. Here's a section of the text from the comic:

400 years ago--Art is replaced by entertainment.
350 years ago--Entertainment is replaced by Talking About Entertainment.
325 years ago--Talking now almost always occurs over vast distances--on phones or by computer. Face-to-face communicatioon is carried out mostly by t-shirt. (One of the t-shirts pictured says "I suggest you talk to my hand.")

At the end, Gratuity explains why, even though she saved the world, she won't talk about it: "For the rest of my life, even if I live to be a hundred and ten (an appended newspaper article reveals that she lived to be a hundred and thirteen), I will never again do anything as fantastic and important as what I did when I was eleven. I could win an Oscar and fix the ozone layer. I could cure all known diseases and I'll still feel like my Uncle Roy, who used to be a star quarterback but now just sells hot tubs."

There's all the interesting machinery you could wish for in a SF novel, including a car modified to hover, lots of alien weaponry, and cloning machines. And I also like it because cats help save the planet.