Monster High

So thanks to a banner ad on YouTube today, I have been introduced to “Monster High.”

They have “Fearleaders” and “Scary Aptitude Tests.” It seems to be a book . . .

They have a series of revolting (not in the good way) web shorts . . .

My first reaction to this is that it is a disgusting shallow commercialization of the weird and freaky. Which now seem like trite words after hearing them used by primping pimple paranoid pop princesses.

My second reaction is, “That’s just the way it goes, everything gets run through the mill of pop culture sooner or later.”

And then I remember, “No, this is disgusting. My friends are going to vomit book glue.”

I think it’s sort of sweet that they’re trying to promote “Everyone is different and it’s wonderful!” But it’s so half-hearted, and it really annoys me when people try to be different, but they only end up being different in a way that’s acceptable.

Unimpressed,
Nathan Hathaway

Carrie, By Stephen King

One of my favorite posters.

WARNING: This post contains spoilers concerning the plot of “Carrie,” but unless you live under a rock, it’s nothing you don’t already know.

I have always had a special affinity for the story of Carrie White, a tortured teenager who eventually rains terror upon her mocking classmates, pious mother, and apathetic town. Perhaps this affinity comes from knowing how similar my story would be if only my menstrual cycle had activated my telekinetic abilities. Sigh.

Having recently finished the novel, I can say it was everything I had hoped for and more. This was my first time reading Stephen King, and I anticipate that it will not be the last. The book moved me in a way few others have. I found myself having to put the book away because it upset me too much to continue. The picture he paints of pain, rage, and panic is horrible and vivid. I think it should be required reading upon entrance of Middle School. “Here’s what you can expect, try not to burn down the village.”

Here’s a video of Stephen King talking about “Carrie.”

My first proper encounter with the story of “Carrie” came in the form of (surprise, surprise) the musical version from the 1980′s. This musical is perhaps of one of the most decried plays in recent theatrical history. Poor directorial and design choices sunk what was at least a decent show, with moments of sheer brilliance. To give you a taste of what I mean, check out the song “And Eve Was Weak, ” sung by Carrie’s mother after Carrie gets her first period.

It saddens me to see such dramatic, moving music tucked away from the rest of the world where only theatre rats like me can find it. It also saddens me when I hear people react to the the mere idea of “Carrie The Musical.”

Musicals are not just about lovers singing about clams and flowers. Thankfully, movies like “Chicago” and “Sweeney Todd” have begun to alter this opinion. Unfortunately, misconceptions about what art forms can do are everywhere.

Some think books boring, comics lowbrow, theatre boring, television dumb, painting pointless, etc. What can we do to break down these barriers and help us to see the limitless potential art in every form? Perhaps it’s just a simple matter of stepping outside of our comfort zones, and giving something a second chance.

What don’t you see the potential in? Why not give a shot?

Introspective,
Nathan Hathaway

Reading

Why do you read? What do you read? Why do you read what you read?

Do you even read? (If you don’t, please don’t tell me, I don’t think my constitution can handle that.)

When you read, what are you aiming for? Pleasure? Self-improvement? Information? Distraction?

Have you read the classics? Are you well read? What does that even mean?

I’ve been having a lot of conversations with my friend Stephen about this lately, so I thought I would do some writing on it. He has often said that if one read the classics that would be all they ever read. Which is very true. Every time I approach the classics table at Barnes & Noble I think, “I need to read that, and that, and that, oh geez.”

I consider myself a reader, even though there are several things I still need to read (“To Kill A Mockingbird” and “The Two Towers” being just two examples). I plan to read these and other classics, I know they’re still here for a reason, and I know I have things to learn from them.  And the list slowly get smaller and smaller (I’ve almost conquered the Iliad.)

Sometimes I read things on coercion. The reason I finally got around to reading “Othello” and “King Lear” was because someone I was in a show with refused to acknowledge I existed until I had read them. “Huckleberry Finn,” “Pride and Prejudice,” “1984,”  and the Odyssey were all things I read as the result of English classes.

But I don’t sit around the house always reading from some imaginary checklist of books, and I think if I did I would be absolutely miserable. I read things that interest me, whether or not it’s a candidate for the most important work in the English language.

So what does being well read mean? Does it mean that you’re smart? That you’re literate? I don’t think the title is what matters, but it brings up an interesting question about what drives our book selection. I usually select reading material that reflects desires and interests in my life and art. (Such examples include Neil Gaiman and obscure Elizabethan drama.)When I decide to read a classic there is sometimes a sense of obligation involved, but reading a book is one of the more harmless actions in the universe, and I have yet to regret picking up a classic.

I don’t think anyone should ever feel guilty about not reading the “right” books, just as long as they read (preferably good) books. The beautiful thing about the diversity of human experience is that it is reflected in its produced literature. No one book or set of books can be the ultimate or the only one(s) of importance. You can try to boil it down but you’ll always end up leaving something out, or including something that someone will find to be absolute dreck. It’s all subjective. Reading something like “Watchmen” can be just as valid as reading “Hamlet.” They are both well-crafted expressions and valuable to different audiences.

Of course, twist my arm and quote “Twilight” at me and I’ll say Hamlet is better, but that’s quite beside the point.

But what do you think?

Reading,
Nathan Hathaway