CRAZED!

Could you live the questionable life of a Chinese scholar?  If so, would you have protested in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square, after years underneath the suppression of Maoism and the Cultural Revolution?  Would you have survived the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre?  Or would you have not bothered to attend, content with not mixing your passion with your country's political system?  Among all the questions that surfaced out of the 323 pages of Ha Jin’s 2002 The Crazed, these were a few that I walked away wondering.

China, 1989.  The Crazed follows the discordant (literary-not-technical) narrative contemplations of a young Chinese graduate student named Jian Wan.  When Jian Wan’s mentor, and esteemed university scholar, Professor Yang, suffers from a sudden stroke, Jian Wan takes up the mantel as his part-time caregiver.  Furthermore, Jian Wan is engaged to Professor Yang’s daughter, Meimei.  However, Meimei's currently studying for her Ph.D. entrance exams away at Beijing University.  As for Professor Yang’s wife, Mrs. Yang, she's in Tibet on a veterinary expectation.  Therefore, Jian Wan is Professor Yang’s proposed immediate family.  So Jian Wan fulfills his duty of treating his ailing future father-in-law, even though he's not too great at it (a visit from the scornful Meimei shows as much).  The task proves to be anything but easy as Jian Wan watches his mentor succumb to his stroke in the form of demented outbursts, and the unconscious liberation of long lost secrets.  Nonetheless, it's through the sparsely coherent moments that Professor Yang attempts to urge Jian Wan to abandon his future in Chinese academia, and to even flee China.  At one point Professor Yang expresses lucidly, outside of the aftermath of his stroke: “’The more you know, the crazier you’ll go, like me.  Intellect makes life insufferable.  It’s better to be an ordinary man working honestly with yours hands.’”

And when you consider the time, country, and culture, there may be a sense of truth to Professor Yang's concerns.  

Nevertheless, much to the disappointment of the ever emotionally vacant ice princess, Meimei, and Jian Wan’s friends and superiors, Jian Wan begins to acknowledge the words of his rambling mentor as a possible embodiment of rational and political truths.  He questions the direction he chose to take his life in.  But can he really walk away from his path and passion?  Or is Professor Yang just schitzy in his paranoia, and shouldn't be taken seriously?

Writing & Background

I have to start with how drawn and captivated I became with The Crazed, and not only through the noted ramblings of Professor Yang.  Though those ramblings were entertainingly strange, poetic at times, and genuinely worthy of attention.  Nonetheless, it was through Ha Jin’s writing and storytelling that hooked me–almost trance-like.  The minute I glided to my bookshelf to find something to read, I picked up The Crazed and did not want to let it go.  I was absorbed in Jian Wan's personal story and narrative flow.  

As always, there is something precise and vigilant about Ha Jin’s writing, and that may be because English is his adopted language; furthermore, he, himself, is an adopted scholar and English professor in America.  Ha Jin is from Liaoning, China.  He joined China’s People’s Liberation Army (which is very present in The Crazed) when he was fourteen.  While Ha Jin earned his Masters in China, he ultimately (in 1986) arrived in the US to further his education at Brandeis University.  Eventually, he studied in Boston University’s Creative Writing Program, which completed his educational pursuits.  I assume that somewhere between his educational journey that he established his citizenship within the US, making America his home.  While knowing this tidbit of background information kind of fueled my personal appreciation of Ha Jin’s prose, it also reveals how his background is demonstrable to the material in his writing.  Or more precise, the inspiration behind The Crazed.  He—probably in more ways than one—is his character, Jian Wan.

Politics & Academia

Now on to some of the political elements within The Crazed.  As mentioned, Professor Yang sometimes leaps out of the dementia given by his stroke to discourage Jian Wan from embracing the life of a Chinese scholar.  Professor Yang’s argument is that it’s a needless career path, as long as China remains a Communist and retrogressive country that is anti-Western.  The further China balks at foreign notoriety; the further Chinese scholars extend their philosophies, credo, tenets, etc. in small circles among one another.  So what use is it to carry their ideologies without others to contend them with?  It is better to put aside those thoughts and instead push China toward a democratic shape by playing an "active" role in China‘s change?  Or is it better to sit still and continue to honor conformed roles?  (Incidentally, with all the novels, poetry, and short stories Ha Jin has written, only one is currently available in China.)

Those political-based thoughts are probably the main argument of the overall book, and not just the keystone to Jian Wan's sway.  Jian Wan weights Professor Yang’s concerns, moved by both the professor’s words and the apparent "consequence" of forging a life of closed academia.  And with that weighting, Jian Wan finds himself heading toward Tiananmen Square to take part in the country’s historic pro-democracy demonstrations that led to The Tiananmen Square Massacre of 1989.  However, even toward the end you'll wonder which direction Jian Wan will choose?  Or is he brave enough to choose one?  Or even if he'll make it out alive to celebrate his choice?  

From its opening to its end, The Crazed is an intimately eye-opening book.  It's one of those stories that really took me through the speculative mind and musings of an individual I would love to sit down and learn something about life and choices from.

Thinking About Kinsey

“Grafton is a leader for changing the genre, then, because she creates an entire world that is credible, thought provoking, and amusing.  We believe her creation of complex Kinsey Millhone and we accept the validity of the world in which Kinsey operates.  We can see ourselves reflected in Kinsey and our fears embodied in her world.  In Grafton’s detective novels of humanity and complexity, we like being puzzled and frightened and then escaping unscathed; we like being teased--not pushed--into thinking; we like being challenged to find our own strengths; and we just love being verbally tickled into laughing out loud.”

“G” is for Grafton: The World of Kinsey Millhone

Ah... Kinsey Millhone...

This post had to be delivered eventually, as I’m obsessed with Grafton’s vulnerable, witty heroine solving murders under an 80s-style California sun.  Grafton was one of the women authors (along with Paretsky) to break the literary female detective away from the likes of Christie’s Miss Marple.  See, Kinsey was young, spunky, a business owner, and American; and somewhat on a different spectrum than Miss Marple and other English female sleuths.  Nevertheless, that wasn't all Grafton did when she created Kinsey, and subsequently saw the release of the first book in her series [A is for Alibi] in 1982.  She also grinded and molded her protagonist into a private investigator that was just as (if not more) self-sufficient and capable than her male counterparts.  

I can't remember what introduced me to the series specifically.  It’s always been a familiarly unexplored type of relationship.  Something about a casual bookstore browse, and an omnibus book containing the first three books in the series, comes to mind.  Nevertheless, it wasn't until I wanted a new female voice– other than the likes of Cornwell’s Scarpetta and Gerritsen’s Isle–did I finally pick up a copy of A is for Alibi.

Should I lay out all the reason why I'm so in love with Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone next?  Or should I keep it quick?  The first and obvious factor is because she’s a woman, doing what is traditionally (while I hate to point this out) a job held by men.  Secondly, I identify with her—almost on a root level.

I found that the above quote kind of says most of what I want to say, or at least put it in better words.  So I'll leave it at that for now, while filled with the temptation to re-read the series as I anticipate the reveal of the 24th book in the series.

Book Issues: Do You Write in Books?

Ah, how wonderful.  Looks like a clean, nicely used copy of Chinua Achebe's No Longer at Ease.  However, it really isn't clean, but it's definitely used.  I bought this book for a class years ago, and have never read it in or outside of the classroom.  For starters, a tornado came spinning through the city the semester I bought it.  Consequently, the semester ended early due to citywide damage.  Damage that almost resembles this ruined copy of No Longer At Ease, in my opinion.  Still, I held on to this book.   I knew eventually I would gather the spirit to read it.  Or swallow enough contempt to get past the extraneous ink populating the margins, potentially clouding my own methodical musings.  So if you haven't figured it out already, someone (previous owner or before) had marked up the book.

The book sat on a shelf high in a hall closet for some time.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Until, recently I wanted something good to read.  Totally ignoring the books I already had available for the pickings (in which Martha Grimes's Hotel Paradise won and is fantastic as of now), I went looking in that closet and pulled No Longer at Ease out for a refreshed glance.  Maybe the markings weren't as bad as I remembered.

I flipped a few pages; found my left eye twitching with irritation.  Back into the closet the book went.  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I had made all of those marks and notations myself.  Actually, I know it wouldn't be bad because I don't write in books, and am almost horrified at the thought (the one exception is my copy of Rene Descartes's Meditations on First Philosophy for good reason).  Nevertheless, I do understand why people do.  Especially when a book is required reading for a class.


To be clear, as it pertains to this post, I didn't know the state of this book when I bought it.  I just knew it was used (hint, hint) and that it was required reading for the later half of the semester.  So I did a grab and go.  Also, I've bought used books before related to school, and can't recall ever obtaining a copy this marked up.  Dogeared pages?  Maybe.  Nevertheless, the previous owner obviously had—and used—the book for a class also.  Passages highlighted in pink and yellow marker.  Personal annotations scrawled across margins.  Mark ups gone wild.  He or she had to have landed a decent grade, judging by their streaming interpretations of the text.  Still, how was I then and now going to approach this book with myself?  Without peeking at someone else’s ideas?  And why did I hold on to the book as if I’d ever get over someone else’s handwriting and flourishes decorating the text?

I suppose it was all necessary.  Required reading and all.  But still… I wish I’d paid attention instead of trying to hurry and get my books for class.

This is all not to say that I discourage marking up your books.  That’s a personal choice.  It’s just that as someone who usually doesn't do so, I've once again realized why I avoid doing so.

Do you write in your books?  I could image that those who do do so to contain the reading experience, as well as those little scholarly moments churning out of the text.  Or do you find it discouraging to follow someone else’s personal musings and annotations interrupting your reading experience, should you run across a marked up used book?  Or maybe it doesn't bother you at all?

Or does it never occur to you to mark up your books?  I can say that one reason I don't write in my books is because I'm just meticulous about keeping clean the things that I treasure.  When I lend a book out and it comes back in tatters, I do make the borrower buy me another copy.  Ask the cousin who spilled juice over my copy of Eric Jerome Dickey's Thieves Paradise.  And listen, I clean used books with sanitizing wipes and smudge them with Native American smudge sticks.  One is to clean away dust, sticky residue, and to polish the book some.  The other is to detach any lingering spirits, should the pervious owner be as "attached" to his or her books as I am to mine as a currently living person.  You may laugh, but this is all true.  (^_^)

And don't let me get started about booklice!

So...

Do you mark up your books?
	Hell yeah! Gotta keep up!
	No way! Do I look crazy!?
	Sometimes... maybe for school...
pollcode.com free polls

Cover Her Face by P.D. James

“Coincidences happen every day.  An average jury will be able to think up half a dozen instances in their own experience.  The most likely interpretation of the facts so far is that someone known to Sally got in through her window and killed her.  He may or may not have used the ladder.  There are scratches on the walls as if he slid down by the stack pipe and lost his hold when he was nearly at the ground.  The police must have noticed these, but I don't see how they can prove when the scratches were made.  Sally may have been admitting callers that way on previous occasions.”

Cover Her Face starts off at Martingale manor, a home owned by a wealthy English family known as the Maxie family. Within the opening of the book, the family prepares to (once again) host a church-related event on their wide property.  This annual event raises money for charity, complete with re-establishing the influence of the Maxie family. 

Eleanor Maxie, family matriarch and wife of the bedridden Mr. Maxie, sends for family and friends to assist her with the charity event.  This includes her son Dr. Stephen Maxie and, family friend and socialite, Catherine Bowers. Additionally, within Mrs. Maxie’s household comes her daughter Deborah Maxie and, her introspective potential boyfriend, Felix Hearne. With a full staff of volunteers, Mrs. Maxie feels reassured that success will follow her upcoming charity event.

Then one evening (after the success of the charity) her son approaches the crowded dinner table to announce that he is engaged to Mrs. Maxie’s newest parlor maid, Sally Jupp.  Sally has a deep and strong history of rebellion and willfulness.  However, that has never deterred Mrs. Maxie from recognizing how knowledgeable and helpful Sally is as a maid.  Heck, Mrs. Maxie even allowed Sally to keep her toddler in the manor.  Nonetheless, the endlessly patient Mrs. Maxie cannot bless Sally and her son's engagement.  Her reservations of Sally can only lie aside for so long.  And while that may be one grievance Mrs. Maxie may have over Sally, it doesn't help that the majority of Mrs. Maxie’s family and friends do not like the girl almost by default. So when Sally Jupp turns up dead behind the bolted door of her room inside of the Martingale manor, the list of suspects appears close and boundless.

What Happened to Billy?

How in the world can I put the experience of reading this book into words? Maybe I should step back and do what I always do in the process of finding the right words, which is talk about how I've come across a particular book. For starters, I'm never one to turn away from contemporary African-American literature that pre-dates the Civil Rights era (though I always go beyond).  And although I spotted the book online, that didn't deter that near cosmic whiff I've gathered for sometimes nailing a darn good book via the Internet—as opposed to settling with the first couple of chapters within the bookstore.

I've never heard of the author of Billy, Albert French.  Post-Billy, I did a little research and realized that his catalog of available titles are sadly sparse.  This may attribute to me not knowing who he was, and why I haven't heard of him.  Or heard of his debut, Billy.  That’s discouraging, really.  I found French is an amazing writer, and one who really took me there with the rawness of Billy.  So with that being said, to read more of his biography, click the link HERE .  You'll find that French's personal story is inspiring, and that’s besides him penning Billy in six weeks.  

Those six weeks read more like six months of work.

Except for a slight adjustment in the omniscient narrative taking place in the beginning of the book (French‘s use of old, rural Mississippi parlance to illustrate the setting and characters eventually dials down), Billy was truly an outstanding (as well as a literarily upsetting) journey into the extreme justices that took place over blacks pre-Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s (I should actually mention that the NAACP begin the anti-lynching campaign in the 1930s, which has a slight correlation to the choice of events that took place in Billy). It’s an example the likes I've never really seen in literature, considering it involves a ten-year-old boy with anything but murder as his intent when he accidentally stabs a fifteen-year-old white girl named Lori. With that said, I kind of want to get away from French’s coherent forms and language/word choice and focus more on the social discussion surrounding Billy.

The tragedy of the story happens during an unsettling altercation between Lori and Billy. Billy and his best friend, Gumpy, crossed a bridge of railroad tracks out of segregation and into the white community of their town. Hopping along, they come across a pond (enthused to collect redbacks from within it) on a patch of private property farmland.  Instead of catching redbacks (a type of salamander) they find themselves in an inhospitable and violent confrontation with two girls, Lori, and her cousin, Jenny. The two girls attack; Jenny jumps Gumpy while Lori takes on Billy as he emerges from the pond.  The prideful Billy, having his face snubbed, beaten, and spat upon in the mud by Lori, eventually ends up escaping his assailant. Nonetheless, the event becomes increasingly deadly when Billy chooses to follow a fleeing Gumpy with Lori's aggressive taunts following his backside.  And because he doesn't react any further, it’s then that Lori (just as prideful and fiery as Billy) decides she hasn't had enough of him.  With Lori closing in for another attack, Billy stands prepared in his misguided self-defense and ends up puncturing Lori’s heart with a switchblade.

While she is a by-product of segregated views and societal entitlement, Lori was older than Billy, bigger than him, stronger than him, and very much in control than Billy.  Whereas Billy is from a community who couldn't fight back without the onslaught of further terror and deepened segregation, something that took place to the harm of Billy's community after the events.  In many ways, Billy and Lori seemed a touch alike, both seemed injudicious in their own way as children during that time.  However, the obvious difference lie in the fact that if the events have been reversed, Lori would hardly find herself tried as an adult facing first-degree murder. She would not find herself before a jury, slapping her with a death sentence in a guilty verdict that took less than twenty-four hours to "sinuate"—so to speak.  And most assuredly, it wouldn’t have been Lori strapped to an electric chair screaming for Jesus and her mother as those chilling last pages illustrated Billy’s death without a single syntactic wince. Well, frankly, nothing in this book was winced. It was all there. Front and center. Vivid and clear. Nothing fading to black. Only prevailing details that shaped the characters and setting, as well as the social focus, racism, and the ugliness of capital punishment for juveniles during a time (maybe some questionable cases in today’s age) where there were no civil rights for blacks to challenge those in authority.

Before I even read Billy, I remember telling myself that I hope this book didn't make me mad—didn't upset me. It did, but it didn't, until the final chapters when you watch Billy suffer up toward his death. That part was the painful part. And while I did feel for Lori, it can be said that Billy's story drew out a range of emotions unexplored from a book addressing this period.  As I mentioned, probably because it involved children.

So with so much of that said, should you ever find yourself looking for an author outside of Morrison, Wright, Ellison, or Gaines, please pick up Billy.

The following passage is taken from the book.  It's a reflection of one of the older members of Billy's community, Patch.  Here, she monologues how her age has caused her to see many tragedies within the community, and how Billy's approaching troubles are partly one on a long list.

"Old Patch folks just kept sitting.  Reverend Sims told them everything would be all right.  Them real old ones that done seen some time, knew them days Mister Pete talked about, had sad eyes.  Netty Lou Moore remembered things Mister Pete forgot.  She could remember before them Yankee soldiers come; she could remember belonging to them Hatchers too.  She told Reverend Sims, 'Ah done seens some bad times.  Wasn't nothin be back here.  Ya has ta wades in the Catfish ta gits back in here.  Ah remembers.  Its was right ups there.  Ya sees where the roads be now.  Its was right theres they comes.  Never forgits.  Theys come and gits that boy.  Ah remembers.  They comes and gits him.  His name was Elijah, that's what his name was.  Theys come down on thems horses and gits that boy.  Says he was stealin and doin too much lookin at thats white man's woman he was doin for.  Theys comes down here on thems horses and drags thats boy.  He sayin he ain'ts dids it, but theys drags him away and theys hang him rights down theres where the roads goes over the Catfish.  Thems were bad times.  Ya all can'ts remember.  Wern'ts born yets.  Thems were bad times.  They's comin agins.'"

~ Billy by Albert French

Silence... of the Lambs

I am still working on the right words to express how I felt after recently reading Thomas Harris’s The Silence of the Lambs. I am quick to say that I enjoyed it, no doubt. It kind of threw me back to those early days of dark Kay Scarpetta thrillers surrounding subjects of disturbed killers, forensic-filled tête-à-tête, and visits to Quantico for some good old-fashioned F.B.I. training. That’s my immediate thought anyway, knowing that this book pre-dates Patricia Cornwell’s series by a few good years within the late 80s rolling into the 90s. Nevertheless, that was the tone that kind of waved over my reading experience, while won by Harris’s own lure into twisted psychological darkness, guided by his bright protagonist, Clarice Starling.  

If you don't know what The Silence of the Lambs is about, I'll quickly attempt to summarize it just for flavor. A serial killer with the nickname Buffalo Bill spends his days and nights tramping around the country for a particular type of woman to metamorphosize his inner desire.  With at least six kills underneath his belt, he remains unsuccessful in his ruinous venture.  So Buffalo Bill keeps going.  The F.B.I. has yet to determine his precise motive, even as they uncover the filet and scared remnants of his victims scattered patternlessly (or so it seems) across the country.  Establishing his motive could lead to the F.B.I. anticipating Buffalo Bill's next move; therefore, it's a delicate form of investigation, that seems to require a simmered approach to this particular killer's apprehension. 

So who does the Chief of the Bureau’s Behavioral Science, Jack Crawford, call upon to help find an edge in this investigation? A young trainee (second in her class) named Clarice Starling.  Crawford’s assignment for Clarice boils down to an interview with a gifted psychiatrist—and macabre, cannibalistic killer—named Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Tucked deep within the bowels of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane resides Lecter, locked away for eight years preceding his crimes featured in another one of Harris's books.  In a pair of intimate interview sessions, Clarice sits to gather the criminally intelligent insight and enigmatic clues behind Buffalo Bill‘s motivation--via Lecter's stealthy conversational webs. In turn, through the examination of Lecter’s razor-sharp psychiatry, Clarice (but mostly the reader) learns the meaning behind the silencing of the lambs.

The Gold Fleur

Hi, everyone.  Blogger has been acting a straight fool lately and I've been impatient with it.  I don't know what the issue is, but nothing’s loading properly--including this new blog post on my latest drawing.  Nonetheless, I think I'm there.  I think it’s doing its job, and now it’s time to share my process again through a series of images.

I've named this image Fleur.  The character’s name is still unavailable to me.

I sketched the actual drawing probably three months ago and just left it, for some reason. Therefore, I don’t have the penciled version. Nonetheless, as of recently, I went through the process of inking the drawing and adding all the particular areas that would require shading/shadows regarding the flesh (I use Copic markers for this). Besides using the usual colored pencils to add tones to the eyes, I also used a screen/pattern early within the process as the backdrop. Because the process only gets messier, I try to have this construction part out of the way as early as possible. Anyway, at first I meant to apply the screen/pattern as the shirt, and then realized there wasn’t enough paper. I like it better as a backdrop, though. So having carefully carved out the negative space, I added it on as needed.

Now on to the colors. Water coloring is always my base of choice because it’s light and covers space quick and easily. Because I decided his shirt would be yellow—in semi-accordance with the gold fleur de lis within the backdrop—I painted it a light yellow. Just as his hair would be brown, I gave it a light-brown color. However, as seen, I covered the hair with a dust of brown-toned chalk pastels before I applied the yellow chalk to his shirt. I’m all about layers. Get the base color, and then add more and more colors!

Because I like layers, I try to add the darkest color first when it comes to chalk pastels. Why? Because it can get messy. Adding the dark color first allows me to clean up the edges before applying lighter colors. As seen in this image, I added a yellow chalk pastel to his shirt as well as a flesh color to his skin tone. As for the hair, it was time for a layer of colored pencils toned and streaked through his hair to give it vibrancy (I eventually use a tissue to blend the three mediums that layers the hair). Furthermore, I used wooden beads and brown string to craft the drawstring area of his shirt. As for his undershirt, I applied a ragged piece of actual denim to give it form.

Almost finished. I streaked his hair with a gum eraser as a form of highlights, and then gave sparks (an actual whiteout pen) and further flourishes to his eyes and the glisten of his lips. On the crafting aspect, I used more string to construct him gently gripping a necklace consisting of bejeweling stickers, and a gold cross sticker. I went through several designs of the cross from what I had available before I decided to stick with a gold one. This cross, in particular, matches his earrings, which are also stickers taken from the same batch.

The final part. Immediately, after I scan a drawing, I revive its color in PhotoFiltre. Hey, it’s all I got. The reason I do so is because digital images come out differently than the original. So I found it best to give some digital brilliance to the colors. Nevertheless, because the image is further decreased to portrait size, I also made corrections and adjustments. One of those corrects were to brush a matching brown color over the wooden beads that makes up the drawstring of his shirt. This was to cover the dry crafts glue peeking out. Other adjustments called because certain aspects tugged at me. Like his lips. I brushed over the glisten I originally intended, deciding it looked best without. I also touched up the glisten in his eyes by applying a softer gray over them to bring down the brilliance. Sometimes you have to make little adjustments as the digital image always looks differently than the actual one. A little clean up in an otherwise never-perfect drawing.

I have about four other images I’ll be sending off before turning them into journals and other items on my Zazzle shop, this one included. Until then, let’s come up with a name for him.

I sometimes get message from people asking me what inspires me to draw in this style.  Then there are some who pinpoint it right away.  In any regard, I idolize Naoko Takeuchi (Sailor Moon) and Miwa Ueda (Peach Girl) and their shojo manga drawings.  I love the youthfulness, softness, and simplicity of shojo-themed drawings.