strange and random happenstance

Mr Selfridge is a series that really came into it's own over time. If it had kept on the self-indulgent and self-destructive trajectory of the first series it wouldn't have lasted beyond it's second series, and I wouldn't have watched another episode. Did anybody really want to watch the hallucinatory post car crash episode? NO! Well, probably Jeremy Piven, but no one else. Instead we were lucky enough to have four series, three of which understood that while Selfridge, the man and the establishment, were the glue that held the series together, it was really the supporting cast, the workers of said establishment, that made the show work. It was the romance of Henri and Agnes, Miss Mardle finding purpose in her life besides being Mr. Grove's mistress, Arthur Crabb just being Arthur Crabb, the unexpected alliance of Frank and Kitty, the machinations of Lord Loxley, the delights of Lady Mae, I could go on and on because there was so much to love in this show. But what really made the show click for me was that in series two, besides the tonal shift, I knew Rose Selfridge was on the way out. Here's the thing. Everyone has an actor or actress they just can't stand. Watching them is like having your eyes being slowly clawed out of their sockets or having really painful dental surgery. Well, for me, Frances O'Connor and that Jack Nicholson Joker-esque smile of hers is at the top of my hate list. The hate started for me with the horrific 1999 "adaptation" of Mansfield Park, of which the less said the better. My feelings were really solidified by the movie A.I., and well, the rest is history, as in, I historically and forevermore will hate her, no matter what, and I thank the stars above every day that the adaptation of the Locke and Key series with her as Nina wasn't picked up and want to hunt down whomever cast her on the second season of Wednesday, because how dare you pollute that gloriously dark show with her presence. Anyway, end rant. After the first series when the show was picked up for a second series I read a bit about Harry Gordon Selfridge to separate fact from fiction and see where this show might be headed and I saw that his beloved wife Rose, played by Frances O'Connor, died in the pandemic of 1918. Not good news for the real Rose, great news for me! All I had to do was get through her scenes in series two, which were minimized because of expanding the plotlines to include the supporting characters, and I'd be home free. Series three starts with a very welcome funeral. Sometimes the tragedies of life can make me happy and sometimes they can make me sad. Like the accusations against Jeremy Piven. While he's been tentatively welcomed back into film and television I will never watch him again. Which makes Mr Selfridge sadly something that will forever be in my past. I don't think I could ever bring myself to watch it again. So this is not only a salute to the show by a farewell. Listen to the victims and believe them. And never, ever, support abusers. Even if it means saying goodbye to something you once loved. 

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: #MeToo, A.I., DEATH, Fifty-Five Years a Masterpiece, France O'Connor, Harry Gordon Selfridge, Hate, Jeremy Piven, Locke and Key, Mansfield Park, Mr Selfridge, Pandemic, Samuel West, Supporting Characters, The Joker, Wednesday, WWI

Hokuloa Road by Elizabeth Hand
Published by: Mulholland Books
Publication Date: July 19th, 2022
Format: Hardcover, 400 Pages
Rating: ★
To Buy

Grady Kendall's life imploded. But then so has so many others. The pandemic came and everything ground to a halt, including the construction on all the wealthy vacation homes in Maine where he worked as a carpenter. The first stimulus check went to back rent and two overdue truck payments. So he moved back in with his mother. Though the memories at home aren't the kind you want to dwell on, his father's suicide, his brother's addictions, and so much loss. Which is why he likes his Pabst. And then an opportunity lands in his lap he can't pass up. An eccentric billionaire is looking for a caretaker for his home in Hawai'i. Grady has always loved the wilderness and has felt that circumstances have limited his chances to see the world so he applies. Within days all the paperwork has been sorted and he is flying to his new home on Hokuloa Road. Another of Wes Minton's employee's, Dalita, picks him up from the airport and drives him out to the house. The compound appears wild but on closer inspection he sees it's just as meticulously designed as the empty beach resorts he saw from the plane, it's just in need of some care, and that's what Grady is here to give. His work isn't too onerous and he has his own cottage. His boss is often at the sight of his proposed hotel on the remote Hokuloa Peninsula, which he now uses for conservation work, particularly with rare birds. In fact the most important of Grady's tasks is tending an aviary of rare birds on the second floor of Wes's house. Some days it feels like these birds are his only companions. Which leads him to feel the loneliness and menace of his isolated surroundings. Sure, it's beautiful, but it's otherworldly too. And then he learns about the disappearances. There's a well-known surfer who's just gone, as well as a girl, Jessie, whom he met on the plane. Because of his personal connection to Jessie, Grady feels like he should ask questions. But Wes hired him because he's a stranger, an outsider, and will not ask questions. The island is filled with the absences left by the vanished. It's only when a tourist like Jessie arrives that anyone cares. But despite being the wrong guy for every possible reason, perhaps he is the tool at hand to break this mystery wide open?

I hated this book so much I don't know if I'll be able to coherently express my rage. I mean, just the cavalier attitude to Covid and declaring people "safe" without knowing where they've been or what they've been up to enraged me. And keep in mind this is set at the very beginning of the pandemic, so tests were impossible to find and there was no vaccine! But that was just the first of many many rage inducing incidences and I have many issues stemming from the new subgenre of pandemic literature which I won't go into here. So much of this book is rooted in the lore and people of Hawai'i. Dalita speaks Hawaiian Pidgin, alternately called Hawai'i Creole English. It's a very stilted language. I'm sure Hand did this to add to the authenticity of the book. She says she went to great effort to learn the dialect when she went to Hawai'i. But as much as I believe in her good intentions it comes across as a privileged white woman travelling to a foreign land and setting herself up to be the mouthpiece of these people. It doesn't sit right with me. I kept asking myself, is she the right person to tell this story? Well, given my next complaint, yes, but that then brings me to the fact that if this book wanted to be authentic maybe a native speaker or someone whose life this is should have been telling this story. And I am against censorship, anyone can write any story they want, but that doesn't make it feel right. Because this book exudes white privilege and Hand is nothing but a haole! Grady and his adventures are nothing but the biggest most nauseating example of white savior complex I have read in years. I mean, it's so horrid that if I had to summarize the book in one word it would be cringe. I physically recoiled from this book. At one point a character accosts Grady saying "You think you're the fucking chosen one." And that is the book, he IS the chosen one. A drunk, messed up chosen one, but it's the outsider status of a white man that's the problem. He comes in and Dalita is all, yeah, people disappear all the time, but no one's ever going to take the time to figure it out. Well their new white savior will! Because that's what he's here to do, make everything right for the natives. How could Hand, whose previous works I loved for their understanding and subtleties write this tone-deaf tome!?! That's the real mystery.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Authenticity, Caretaker, Chosen One, Covid, Disappearances, Elizabeth Hand, Grady Kendall, Hawai'i Creole English, Hawaii, Hawaiian Pidgin, Hokuloa Road, Maine, Murder Most Foul, Pandemic, White Savior Complex

Happy-Go-Lucky by David Sedaris
Published by: Little, Brown and Company
Publication Date: May 31st, 2022
Format: Kindle, 272 Pages
Rating: ★
To Buy (different edition than one reviewed)

Like most people during the pandemic David Sedaris lost a family member with whom he had a complicated relationship. Lou was not a good man, a liar who would belitle his son and seuxlaize his daughters, much as David would sexualize an encounter with a young boy in France. And by young I believe the child was naked and twelve and in his bed. Hopefully unlike most people their fathers hadn't been accused of sexual abuse by one of their siblings. But David, Amy, and the rest didn't believe Tiffany and now she's dead by her own hand. They claim the suicide indicates she was mentally ill, but what if it was the only solace someone who was abused by someone who was supposed to love and protect them was left with after the rest of her family denied her truth? What's more, David seems destined to fill the void left by his father, commenting on things best left unsaid. Like most people during the pandemic David Sedaris's day to day life changed. He would wander the empty streets of New York for hours begrudging the loss of his favorite pastime, window shopping, while determined to get his steps in. After all he is a man who spent $5,000 on a fur coat not because he liked it but because if he didn't buy it someone else might or might not and he couldn't stand that. And what's $5,000 anyway? Unlike most people during the pandemic he continued living his life as he pleased, damn what anyone else thought. He'd host lavish dinner parties and bemoan why anyone would need a stimulus check. He'd not see the needed social change that brought about the BLM protests, instead he'd see ways to make his way across town in the swiftest manner possible by "joining" the protests . David Sedaris is the one percent. He doesn't see why he shouldn't live as he chooses. Random strangers on the street who have crooked teeth should be thankful if he's willing to pay to have them straightened so that he doesn't have to look at them. After all he had his own teeth straightened and they make him feel better, even if Amy and Hugh don't agree. It's David's world and everyone else is merely players, fodder for his stories. Because his gaze no longer looks inward so much as a gimlet eye out to eviscerate others.

I first read David Sedaris back in 2002. I got Me Talk Pretty One Day for a Christmas present and I was left deeply underwhelmed. But I think the reason the book was so successful is that people could relate to it. I know I read it and thought, I could write this. I'm not sure everyone had that reaction, but, what it boils down to is that they could see themselves in David. But now? He is so cocooned in his entitlement that he is completely detached from reality. I was either appalled or revolted, there was no inbetween. There is such a cringe factor I can't even. And it's not just the revelations about his father or the young boy in France, there was multiple levels of cringe from the sexual to just the plain out of touch. I came away from this book picturing David as Marie Antoinette with me baying for his blood. Not just because of his flaunting of Covid safety protocols, but the actual incomprehension that a check for half the price of his fur coat could actually matter to someone. You know what David? Those stimulus checks saved me. Repeatedly. I don't know what I would have done without them. And you, you look down your nose at them? I just can't with you. I literally just can't. Universal basic income is the way forward to a society with parity. But I guess now that you're part of the one percent with one apartment on top of another just "because" you wouldn't like parity. Not with your homes in France and England and North Carolina... All told Google is telling me you have eight homes. EIGHT!?! Which is also how many million he is worth. To play devil's advocate against my prosecution, some people in my book club pointed out that perhaps this book didn't "work" because it was written in lockdown. David Sedaris is known to travel constantly giving talks where he hones his material. OK, fine, perhaps that made this less "refined" of a book, but editing couldn't have made this less offensive. The only explanation is he's reached J.K. Rowling levels of fame and they just publish whatever he spews forth, and yes, at points he could easily be compared to that other hateful author. For myself I like to think of some intern gleefully sending this to press knowing that David's head would role because that intern was someone who needed their stimulus check.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Covid, David Sedaris, Entitled, Father, For the Love of Book Clubs, France, Happy-Go-Lucky, J.K. Rowling, Marie Antoinette, Me Talk Pretty One Day, New York, One Percent, Pandemic, Stimulus Checks, Teeth

You literally CAN NOT think or talk about Masterpiece Theatre without thinking or talking about Upstairs, Downstairs. They are inseparable. One can not mention Jean Marsh without thinking of Rose Buck. Or Gordon Jackson without actually believing that he might be Hudson, foibles, xenophobia, and all. Each season focused on the trials and tribulations of the Bellamy household and how they handled different crisis, from Elizabeth's imprudent marriage, to Lady Marjorie dying on the Titanic, to James's imprudent marriage, to World War I, to the roaring twenties and the bright young things, to that tragic ending! Oh James, how could you? The family had often faced financial ruin, but somehow there always was a way. There could have been a way if you had but tried! But I can see that the showrunners wanted to end on a dramatic note. What's interesting about the forth series is that we have perhaps the most sustained theme over any of the other series, that being World War I. Of course Upstairs, Downstairs handles even this most used of historical periods in their own unique way. This uniqueness is that we see how the war effects everyone at 165 Eaton Place. So yes, we get the tropes of the son being almost mortally wounded and nursed back to health by the woman he truly loves, who happens to not be his wife. As for the wife, she falls for someone else yet somehow they keep up the pretense of their marriage despite neither being happy. Yet what I'm drawn to is how the staff took part in the war. You rarely get to see how the everyday folk pitched in, other than knitting socks and balaclavas! Hudson becomes a Special Constable and helps police the streets because he is unable to serve, Rose works on an omnibus, Edward joins the Army, Ruby works in a munitions factory, everyone finds a way to help the war effort while also carrying out their regular duties, well, aside from Mrs. Bridges who just seems to be angry about the lack of produce and wants to hoard everything she can. Which seems very relevant today, as did the handling of the tricky topic of disinformation in the press with regards to the war. Upstairs, Downstairs was praised at the time for making history timely and relevant. And with season four ending with Hazel dying from the 1918 influenza pandemic, it's even more relevant today.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: 165 Eaton Place, Bellamy, Bright Young Things, Fifty Years a Masterpiece, Hazel, Hudson, Knitting, Lady Marjorie, Marriage, Matserpiece Theatre, Mrs. Bridges, Pandemic, Rose Buck, Titanic, Upstairs Downstairs, WWI

Mr Selfridge is a series that really came into it's own in the second series. If it had kept on the self-indulgent and self-destructive trajectory of the first series it wouldn't have lasted beyond it's second series, and I wouldn't have watched another episode. Did anybody really want to watch the hallucinatory post car crash episode? NO! Well, probably Jeremy Piven, but no one else. Instead we were lucky enough to have four series, three of which understood that while Selfridge, the man and the establishment, were the glue that held the series together, it was really the supporting cast that made the show work. It was the romance of Henri and Agnes, Miss Mardle finding purpose in her life besides being Mr. Grove's mistress, Arthur Crabb just being Arthur Crabb, the unexpected alliance of Frank and Kitty, the machinations of Lord Loxley, the delights of Lady Mae, I could go on and on because there was so much to love in this show. But what really made the show click for me in series two, besides the tonal shift, was that I knew Rose Selfridge was on the way out. Here's the thing. Everyone has an actor or actress they just can't stand. Watching them is like having your eyes being slowly clawed out of their sockets or having really painful dental surgery. Well, for me, Frances O'Connor and that Jack Nicholson Joker-esque smile of hers is at the top of my hate list. The hate started for me with the horrific 1999 adaptation of Mansfield Park, of which the less said the better. My feelings were really solidified by the movie A.I., and well, the rest is history, as in, I historically and forevermore will hate her, not matter what, and I thank the stars above every day that the adaptation of the Locke and Key series wasn't picked up with her as Nina. Anyway, after the first series when the show was picked up for a second series I read a bit about Harry Gordon Selfridge and saw that his beloved wife Rose, played by Frances O'Connor, died in the pandemic of 1918. Not good news for the real Rose, great news for me! All I had to do was get through her scenes in series two, which were minimized because of expanding the plotlines to include the supporting characters, and I'd be home free. Series three starts with a very welcome funeral. Sometimes the tragedies of life can make me happy.   

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: A.I., DEATH, Fifty Years a Masterpiece, France O'Connor, Harry Gordon Selfridge, Hate, Jeremy Piven, Locke and Key, Mansfield Park, Mr Selfridge, Pandemic, Samuel West, Supporting Characters, The Joker, WWI

You know the one good thing about this pandemic is that people are reading more than ever. They are also watching television shows more than ever in an attempt to binge the virus away. Personally getting an excuse to stay inside and do what I love to do best is like a gift. If it wasn't for lots of personal chaos and the sheer panic about what the pandemic could do, well, 2020 would be a good year instead of the worst year. Ever. Seriously people, we think things are bad? Things could get so much worse so use those new empathy skills you've acquired while reading and help to change this situation by wearing a mask and voting. End rant. Though if you're not wearing a mask know I'm SO judging you as well as avoiding you so the rant is ever ongoing in my head. So while I'm sure all these books people are currently reading will soon be heading into production as our next binges there were so many great books turned into series in the last year that one month wasn't enough to cover them all. Because I really couldn't do it in one and hey, we've all been watching more shows, so no judgment from me on your viewing habits and I hope the reverse is true. So here's to books in whatever form, paper, celluloid, digital, streaming, what have you. Here's to shows that I've enjoyed even if I have a bit of a genre itch from the supernatural to the superhero and the Emmys seem incapable of believing in genre TV. Though that might change this year with the inclusion of What We Do in the Shadows and The Mandalorian! We'll just have to wait and see!    

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: 2020, Adaptation, And the Emmy Goes To, Books, Cable, Genre, Masks, Netflix, Pandemic, Star Wars, Streaming, Television, The Mandalorian, TV Show, Vote, What We Do in the Shadows

So here we go! The blog is fully back. Or I'm hoping it is. We'll see won't we? I took a year off in an attempt to quell the chaos that my life had become. Well, I don't know how things are going for you but that didn't work out so well. I was so excited for the start of this decade, the twenties are back people! But I didn't want it to start with a pandemic like it did a hundred years ago. Just goes to show that everything has a price apparently. The pandemic had me thinking I'd scrap my return, just continue to hide out in my house grumbling about people not wearing masks or social distancing, but then I realized that now IS the time to come back. Everyone needs an escape right now and everyone needs a community to belong to, and books set in another time are a perfect panacea, and my friends, my online community, YOU are what is keeping me sane. So it's time to get Roaring Back to Reading! To delve into the decade of decadence. The Roaring Twenties, where authors became stars and were fodder for gossip columnists! I'll be talking about several celebrity authors, some, like Scott and Zelda, who embodied the zeitgeist far more than say Virginia Woolf or Agatha Christie, who were still very influential. I'll be looking at the books, the adaptations, the stories of their lives, and I hope you'll join me. What else do you have on the books?

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:01 AM 0 comments  

Labels: 1920s, Agatha Christie, Blog, Blogging, Community, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Online, Pandemic, Reading, Roaring Back to Reading, Roaring Twenties, Twenties, Virgina Woolf, Zeitgeist, Zelda Fitzgerald

The Last Emperox by John Scalzi
Published by: Tor Books
Publication Date: April 14th, 2020
Format: Hardcover, 320 Pages
Rating: ★★
To Buy

Emperox Grayland II has gotten most of the rebellions under control. Sure Nadashe Nohamapetan is still out there somewhere, but Nadashe's mother and all their conspirators are under lock and key and most of their assets frozen. That is until Nadashe gets herself some new conspirators. It really shows her single-minded ambition that despite all that she has been through, from future Emperox consort to prisoner, that she still has her eyes on the prize; she will be Emperox no matter what. Though why she would want to rule a collapsing empire that is on the verge of complete disintegration is beyond the current Emperox, Grayland II. The current Emperox can think of one thing and one thing only, how to save all her people with only a handful of real allies. Marce has got the science side locked down. He even has some interesting ideas that could in the long run prove to be hugely helpful in saving civilization, but he needs time, something they don't have. While Kiva has got the conspiracy side of things handled, closely watching Nadashe's plots and wondering how she could possibly infiltrate the inner circle in order to help the Emperox more. But one thing is certain, when you have an enemy as tenacious as Nadashe, you can't plan for every single eventuality and someone will pay the ultimate price. Of course does the endgame really lead to the end or to a new beginning?

The Last Emperox suffers from being released when it was, and I'm not talking about the uncanny coincidence of having the same denouement as the Westworld episode "Genre" that aired two days before it was published. I'm talking about being released in the midst of this Covid-19 pandemic. What was a fun series that merged the tropes of space operas with a scattering of prescient politics just cut a little too close to the bone for me at the moment. Instead of light reading it felt like a chore to pick it up every night and some nights I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I know there are those out there who probably loved this installment for the exact reasons I object to it, and I'm sure in time I will appreciate this book for what it is, just not at the moment. There was one passage that brought me to tears because it encapsulated my current frustrations when Grayland was discussing how people will survive the end of life as they know it: "That's going to be up to the people in the individual systems to do. I can give them all the information I have and they need, but once the Interdependency is gone it will be up to them to decide what to do with that information. I don't think everyone is going to make it to End. But a lot of them will." We have SO MUCH information on Covid-19 and yet our individual system of the United States is run by idiots who aren't going to let us get to the end! In reading that passage you see how Scalzi works, completely. He's vehemently anti-Trump and his despondence at the current political climate informs this trilogy, but that's the genius of Scalzi, that in a far flung future you see the now. Only it was a little too painful seeing the now now.

Posted by Miss Eliza at 12:00 AM 0 comments  

Labels: Covid-19, Emperox, John Scalzi, Kiva Lagos, Marce Claremont, Nadashe Nohamapetan, Pandemic, Politics, Space Opera, The Collapsing Empire, The Interdependency, The Last Emperox, Westworld