Finally! Something New: A Few Short-ish Reviews

For the last month and a half, it has seemed like such a chore to put words to page--so to speak. With the holidays, the end of the fall semester, I've had a general lack of interest in writing anything new. Well, that's not necessarily true. I'm actually in the process of rewriting the first couple of chapters in my book, Guardians and Dreamers. But that's not something I'll be publishing here any time soon.

My apologies.

Instead, I'm going to post this short-ish piece on the last few movies I've seen at the theaters. All were quite good, well, more than good actually.

Skyfall

I'm a James Bond fan. Not so great of a fan that I've seen every single Bond movie, but I've seen enough to recognize the formula and to have a favorite Bond actor. To be honest, I believe the first Bond you see will always hold a special place in your heart, and for me that actor is Roger Moore. I remember the excitement, the fun, I had watching my first Bond film, For Your Eyes Only. From the opening scene that led into Sheena Easton's titular song, I loved it.

However, I think Roger Moore has been replaced by Daniel Craig, especially with the glorious film that is Skyfall. While I do enjoy the Bond movies, I don't go into them expecting "great" filmmaking. Quality filmmaking, yes. A good time, usually, even with the subpar Bond movies. But I definitely don't expect great filmmaking. Skyfall is great filmmaking.

Sam Mendes has made some wonderful films: American Beauty, Road to Perdition (a film I absolutely love), and Revolutionary Road (a devastating look into a failing marriage and failing lives). He has elevated the Bond series; he has raised the possibilities of a Bond film. Like with The Dark Knight, after Skyfall, I'm not sure I'll be able to go into another Bond film without comparing it to Mendes' film.

The script is tense and fun without forgetting to pay homage to the Bond legacy. The performances, especially Judi Dench and Javier Bardem, transcend the usual caricatures. And the cinematography, by Roger Deakins, is truly beautiful. Watching the film in IMAX only served to highlight the qualities of the film.

In a couple of weeks, Skyfall comes out in Blu-ray, and I can't wait.

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

The moment I heard Peter Jackson had committed to filming The Hobbit, I was very excited. After Lord of the Rings, how could I not be. And then came the delays, the drama, and the news that the short novel was going to be, somehow, split in two and then three films. Needless to say, I was getting frustrated and worried.

Thankfully, my worries were groundless. The Hobbit is a wonderful addition to the Lord of the Rings films. It even spends a bit more time on character development than any of its predecessors, especially in regard to Bilbo (played by Martin Freeman) and Thorin (played by Richard Armitage).

The opening of The Hobbit starts slow, but it's the good kind of slow. Jackson takes him time, allowing the audience to enjoy the return to Middle Earth, and allowing for the humor of Tolkien's work to build naturally into the story.

And when the action sequences come, they come in droves. From the moment Bilbo decides to accompany the dwarves on their journey, the action hardly lets up. One of the best action sequences occurs as the company tries to make their way through the Misty Mountains east of Rivendell and are captured by the orcs that have made the mountains their home.

Of course, the best scene of the film doesn't involve much action at all, just Bilbo and Gollum discussing the former's fate. Unlike when Tolkien first wrote the scene, Jackson knows the importance of this particular meeting and so does the audience. That he was able to capture the importance of the scene is a testament to Jackson's uncanny handle of the material.

A personal favorite scene is the meeting between Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and Saruman. As a Lord of the Rings fan, I'm happy to see the parts of the story Tolkien saved for the appendices. Instead of being time-fillers, they work with the narrative Jackson is attempting to build.

For now, I've been satiated, and while I'm still wondering just how Jackson can fill out two more films, there's just a little less worry.

Les Miserables

The first time I remember listening to the soundtrack to the original Broadway cast recording, I was sitting in my junior Chemistry class--having finished my work, of course, and free to spend my time however I saw fit. Les Miserables moved me to tears, and only one other musical had done that before: Rent.

Now, all these years later, I was very excited to finally SEE a version of the musical. Despite my disappointment with the film version of Rent, the trailers and the people behind the film version of Les Miserables raised my hopes. I walked into the film with high expectations.

Unfortunately, Tim and were a little late getting to the theater--at least later than we usually like to arrive--and so we were forced to get a couple of less-than-stellar seats: right next to the entrance to the theater. We watched as people poured into the theater, filling up most the seats. The talking seemed louder than when we normally go to the movies.

I was starting to worry that the audience was going to ruin my own experience. However, this proved unfounded. The moment the film started we were all transported by the opening chords and the opening visuals to a post-revolutionary France.

Tom Hooper, who made the brilliant The King's Speech, directed the film in a style that was, for some reason, surprising. The film looked like how I imagine France of that time period, but it still looked a bit stylized. It was simultaneously real and fake. Right now, I can't describe it in any other way than as a stylized representation of reality. Weird as that sounds.

The opening shots seemed to travel by far faster than I would like, especially during "Lovely Ladies." Here was a song where you'd want to see all those lovely women, but the shots just flew by in a distracting whirlwind.

And then the film settled into Fantine's lamentation, "I Dreamed a Dream," where the camera drew in close to Anne Hathaway's face for an almost unbearable, single-shot, performance. Now, I don't mean Hathaway did a terrible job. No, when I say unbearable, I mean that the performance was so good, I felt guilty watching Fantine's descent into prostitution and loneliness. It was quite nearly unbearably sad. And from that moment on my eyes were filled with tears. Twice, after that, those tears fell from my eyes, unabashed and unashamed, for there were quite a few other people around us sniffling, and not just women either.

One of those moments caught me off guard. The first occurred during what has to be the saddest moment of the musical. The second was a moment I was not aware of; I'm not even sure it happened in the musical. It involved Javert (played by Russell Crowe) and Gavroche (played by Daniel Huttleston), and I'll say no more.

I haven't cried like that since I was surprised, once again, by Bridge to Terabithia--and I blame the misleading trailers for that one.

Anyway, I have focused on my emotional response to the film because that's what I remember most. Yes, the performances were topnotch--although Crowe doesn't exactly fail at singing, he does not do a swell job, but his acting fits the character. The production design was outstanding. My only critique is that the early scenes were editing at a pace that didn't fit the style of the film. It was a pacing more fitting for a Michael Bay film.

Other than that, I absolutely loved it.

Django Unchained

And finally, we've come to Tarantino's latest film. This was a surprise, too. A surprise because it happens to be Tarantino's most straight-forward narrative. The story is told from beginning to end without very many flashbacks or loops in storytelling. Django Unchained is almost like Tarantino wanted to prove he could tell a straight-forward story. It must have been a strain on the poor guy. And I keep hearing about a five hour edit he may or may not release.

Goodness... I'm not sure I want to see a five hour version of Django. The nearly three hours was plenty, just right in fact.

Even now, I'm not sure where I'd place Django against Tarantino's other films. While it does pack an emotional whollop, and the characters are fascinating; Django seems to be missing something although I'm not entirely sure what.

Maybe it has something to do with the uncomfortable subject matter. After all, culturally speaking, slavery is not something many Americans are proud of. I read an article that Americans are having the same reactions to Django that Germans had to Inglourious Basterds. I can now imagine how a revisionist film about WWII could make almost anyone whose cultural history encompasses that period might not embrace the film with overt enthusiasm.

Yes, even today, I'm not sure how I feel about Django. It's a good film, a wonderful example of a heroic journey. Think Odysseus, but instead of Sirens, Cyclopses, pig-soldiers, and many other terrors of the ancient Greek world, you have slaves, slave-holders, abolitionists, and every other unsavory aspect of slavery.

The story follows the format of a traditional heroic journey. The hero is freed, trained, and has to overcome some serious obstacles to achieve his goal, in this instance, the freeing of his wife, Broomhilda (played by Kerry Washington.

Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, and Leonardo DiCaprio give stellar performances, but I think my favorite performance--the one that's the most memorable--has to go to Samuel Jackson. He plays Stephen, the devoted head servant for DiCaprio's Calvin Candie. Jackson has the hardest job of the entire cast: a black man who is terrifying and yet willing to do his master's bidding, no matter what happens to the black people around him. For Jackson, it's a performance rivaling the best of his career. Indeed, I'm disappointed he wasn't nominated for an Academy Award. He certainly deserves it.

Like with most of Tarantino's film, I'm unsure of how to approach the film, from a critical perspective, that is. It will definitely take time to process, again, like his other films. Truthfully, I may never find a way to approach his films other than to just sit back and enjoy the right. And Django Unchained is a swell ride.

A Response from a Part-Time Teacher

The past weekend has been a mixture of joy and depression. Joyful because Tim and I held our first holiday cocktail get-together on Saturday and depressing in large part because of the recent school shooting in Connecticut. But it's not the senseless death that has been depressing me, at least not entirely. What happened in Connecticut is overwhelmingly sad and no amount of words, no matter how eloquently used, will speed up the recovery process. Such acts leave gaping holes in the soul and only time will lessen the pain. 

What has been depressing me over the last few days are the responses from friends and family on Facebook. It seems, over the last few months, that what I once found enjoyable about the possibilities of the social networking giant has now become a burden. I started noticing the disturbing trend during the election process. Misinformation is passed around with absurd ease and is much harder to dispel than the "forward" emails that fill my inbox on a daily basis. Outright hatred, vile and deplorable speech, and insensitivity are all hurled from one end of the political spectrum to the other with indecent abandon. 

There was a distinct and disturbing "us vs. them" mentality that seemed to grow every single day. The point came when I just scanned my Facebook wall for certain key words, most notably: president, presidential candidates, Romney, Obama, politics, right-wing, left-wing, moron, idiot, socialism, communism, wealthy, healthcare, welfare, taxes, economy, and whatever other words associated with the election. I started simply skipping overtly political status updates because I just couldn't handle the rhetoric anymore.

Don't get me wrong, I love and appreciate a well-reasoned argument. But so much of what passes as fact or an attempt at persuasion are nothing more than one or two sentence long "sound bites" used to simplify highly complex issues. And what's worse is that politicians on both sides of the aisle used those very techniques as short-hand to spur their respective constituents into a frenzy. It worked only all too well. So well, in fact, that I saw the very same points made on my Facebook wall on student papers, without the slightest attempt at backing up the claims made. It's like they simply "reblogged" or "shared" what they had seen without giving any thought on the matter. And instead of a well-reasoned, calm discussion we get an increase in volume and ferocity, like changing the manner in which the words are spoken or written gives them more authority.

I've had plenty of phenomenal discussions with people who think and believe differently from me. I try not to descend into a yelling match, but I know, it's sometimes hard, especially if I'm really passionate about the issue. I generally try to walk away from that kind of discussion. The moment my blood starts to boil, or my face burns, I try to take a deep breath and just stop talking. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I do this because engaging in a discussion or debate while angry is not in the best interest of whatever I'm wanting to support. In persuasion, anger is not a valid way of getting your point across to someone who thinks differently; it's only appropriate--kind of--when conversing with those who already with you. 

After five paragraphs, you may be wondering how all of this connects with the tragedy in Connecticut. Well, I'm starting to see the same things happening in the wake of the shooting. Instead of mourning the victims and their families and starting a serious discussion of why shootings like this have become an almost yearly occurrence. 

The discussions that are starting to take place on my Facebook wall can hardly be considered serious. I've seen posts suggesting we arm teachers and administrators. I've seen posts suggesting we "bring God back into the schools" (a curious statement, but I'll get to that later). While I understand the sentiments behind such claims, they seem more like knee-jerk reactions to a horrific event. 

First, let me address the "arming teachers" argument. I am a teacher. I'm also opposed to owning a gun. This is not because I think guns should be outlawed or anything like that. No, I support a person's right to possess a firearm. I just honestly don't think I could take a life. Plain and simple.

Now, I know what some of you may say: "What if your loved ones are suffering?" "What if someone broke into your house and was about to kill you?" and many other "what ifs?" The short answer to such questions is, "No, not even then." However, that statement makes it seem like I don't care about my loved ones or my own safety. That's not all the case, and this highlights the problem with simplistic answers. My answer is more complex than that. After all, I have given it some thought. 

So here's the longer answer. In a life or death situation, there can be no hesitation. You either pull the trigger, or you don't. When the heart is pounding, the adrenaline is flowing, no one really knows what they are going to do in such situations. Yes, we fantasize what we think we would do, but there's no way of really knowing, not until we have actually faced that situation, not until we have a gun pointed at our faces. Only then we will know exactly how we're going to react. I, for one, don't want to hesitate. For, in hesitating I give my would-be killer the opportunity to overpower me, thus arming them. That moment of indecision could cost me my life. That moment of indecision could give a robber a reason to kill me and my loved ones. 

But there's more. I also don't believe I'd be capable of taking a life. Once again, plenty of people have told me I could if put in the situation where it's my life or someone else's. Honestly, I can't be so sure. Just like with the scenarios presented above, they are fantasies, fantasies fueled by films and television where the hero rarely hesitates, rarely makes a wrong decision. 

Life is far more complex than that. In tragedy after tragedy, there are heroes and cowards. We glorify the heroes for their selfless acts, as we should. But then we simultaneously abhor those who are seen as cowards. Why didn't they act? Why didn't they do more? Fear. That powerful emotion that propels us in times of stress, fear can paralyze us, cause us to not act. Is it really cowardice when fear overwhelms the senses of a person who may have never truly experienced it? I don't know how I'd react in a similar situation. I have never faced fear like that. Hopefully, I'll never have to. 

The complexities of tragic circumstances deserve more than a call to arm all teachers and administrators.  After all, aren't they human, too? Aren't some of them dealing with the same emotional instabilities as Adam Lanza, if to a lesser degree? An alarming number of teachers and administrators have used their authority to abuse the students in their care. I shutter to think what might have happened if Sandusky had been able to carry a weapon around with him at Penn State.

The next suggestion, "bring God back into our schools," seems to be just as insensitive. As an agnostic, I don't hold to any particular form of religion, yet I firmly believe that people have a right to express their religion. The problem is that a school has to serve a wide variety of students, all with differing religious beliefs and cultures. Putting God back into schools in today's world is fine as a theory. Spirituality and religion give plenty of individuals hope, guidance, and offer opportunities for social connections. However, it can also lead to oppression and fanaticism. I understand the intentions behind allowing God back into schools, but as an individual who feels religion is private affair, I wouldn't want it in my school. Not as a student, not as an educator. The last thing I want to do is be insensitive to my students' individual religious beliefs; the last thing I want is to be involved in a oppressive environment in my classroom. 

Furthermore, I have a problem with the rhetoric itself. The phrasing used is troublesome for me, and I'm amazed people who are more religious than I am haven't noticed. "God isn't allowed in our schools" is a phrase I wouldn't think the devout should be able to say with a straight face, but they do. An all powerful being, whose omnipotence far exceeds the limitations of our collective intelligence, should not be concerned with not being allowed anywhere. Indeed, the faithful should carry God with them in their hearts, regardless of where they are. It's not like the government has posted signs or erected sensors that block an individuals faith or belief from entering a school building. 

Such rhetoric suggests that God is not all-powerful, and it suggests that the government is attempting to take away religion entirely. It's not, despite what is being said on my Facebook wall. The government is merely attempting to address the changing cultural landscape of our country. I've taught Asian, African, European, and Middle Eastern students, yet I've never felt compelled to ask them to pray with me, or consider the Bible's teachings. That's not my job. I'm not qualified to be a religious leader, nor would I want to be one. And even if I did, I'd be pretty intolerant if I assumed that just because my students reside in the US that they'd want to be preached to by a Christian teacher. Again, that's something best left for church, temple, synagogue, or wherever a student wants to worship.  

Freedom of religion is about allowing individuals to make their own choices; it does not mean one religion can make judgment calls for everyone. The government and public school systems around the country have recognized this. I just wish more would, too.

All of this seemingly random prose leads me to the following conclusion, something many may have said before, but it deserves to be repeated: The social and cultural issues behind the increase in mass shootings are far more complex and deserve more thoughtful responses than simply arming school officials or putting God back into our schools. I suggest a stronger focus on mental health and research into recognizing the potential triggers of such behavior. We desperately need to recognize the pressures that can lead to this kind of destructive and horrific action. I suggest the media, and those who watch the endless cycles of speculation and simplistic problem-solving, to stop focusing on the sensational aspects of such tragedies.

And I suggest we, as a society, stop looking for quick-fix solutions to our problems. Despite the action adventures we love, not all problems can be solved with the firing of gun. Good and evil are not so readily recognizable in real-life. If they were so easily distinguishable, then we could solve our problems with the firing a weapon. How can we really tell if someone is "evil" or not? What if we're wrong in that judgment? The Connecticut shooter, in his own mind, may have made that very same judgment call, completely convinced his actions were justifiable. This is not a justification for actions that are deplorable, but a recognition that our judgments, as individuals and as a society, are sometimes not so clearly thought out as we hope.

The Connecticut victims and their families deserve better. Humanity deserves better.

Cloud Atlas: A Symphony of Sight and Sound

The last few weeks have seemed like I've been focusing on nothing but Cloud Atlas, which is partly right. There have been other things going on in my life other than David Mitchell's novel and the Wachowski siblings/Tom Tykwer's adaptation. And even though I will ease up on the gushing a bit after this review, these two wonderful works of art will continue to occupy some head space.

I've already written a very long sentence describing the plot in my book review a few days ago, so I'm not sure I'm up to writing it all over again. Will it seem crass to ask my readers to scroll down a bit to another post to read that long plot description? Well, I don't know about crass, but it's certainly lazy, so I guess I should at least quote myself below:

Just to give a brief rundown of what the book contains, the novel starts with the diary of Adam Ewing, a man who has gained passage on a schooner called Prophetess; then the story moves to a series of letters written by Robert Frobisher to a lover, Rufus Sixsmith; from there the story jumps to a journalist in the American seventies, who uncovers corporate greed and a murderous plot; and then the reader is blasted to the near present for the funniest section of the novel, where a poor elderly editor goes through a most ghastly ordeal; over a hundred years later, a fabricant named Somni-451 starts describes ascension into consciousness; and finally, we are propelled even further into a post-apocalyptic future as the remnants of humanity fight for survival and try to connect to their own distant past.

Hopefully, dear reader, you'll forgive my laziness. The film doesn't alter much of the basic plot of the novel, but it does change many of the details, which I found refreshing since I just finished the novel and didn't want an exact replica of the novel. What I did find with the film is a symphonic adaptation of the novel, almost like they took Robert Frobisher's symphony and set images to the melody.

From the first few minutes, the Wachowski siblings and Tom Tykwer set the overall tone and pace of the film. They provide a kind of prologue that gives the audience a chance to get used to the style of the film and as a way to introduce all the main characters and the times in which they live.

This is a brilliant move on the filmmakers part. It's like they realize that an audience will have trouble keeping up with all the individual stories unless they've all read the book, so the filmmakers try to give the audience all the stories at once, cutting rapidly from one story to the another and back again. While this sounds like it could be a disaster, and it very well could have been, the film succeeds beyond expectations.

It's success centers on the editing together of all six stories. Rather than making the same choice as Mitchell, who focused on one story at a time, giving the reader the first half of each story and then giving them the second, the directors decide to cut the stories together to provide the greatest emotional effect, so that when a character succeeds or fails in their endeavors, all of them fail or succeed.

I'm not sure if that last sentence makes sense. As I mentioned in the title, the film is a symphony. The individual parts may not sound like much separately, but when they are put together, they create an experience that is quite powerful. This is especially evident in the directors' choice in casting many of the same actors for all six stories. Take for instance, Doona Bae (whose main character is Sonmi-451). She's pretty recognizable in all of her parts, and so it's easy to pick her out. There's a moment in the film when two of Hugo Weaving's characters threaten and intimidate Doona Bae's. The director's focus on the Bae characters' reactions heightens the emotions of both characters. And they do this with all of the characters, creating a symphony of human emotion that echoes and reverberates in the mind long after the film is finished, much like how I feel whenever I watch a good Shakespearean play, where the language lingers on afterwards in a spectacular kind of afterglow.

The only negative I found in the film was the varying skill of the makeup effects. Some the work was phenomenal. I dare each of you not to be surprised in missing at least a few of famous actors who make appearances. However, some of the work was not at all great, most notably for one of Hugh Grant's characters and one of Doona Bae's. Thankfully, neither is on screen for long enough for the errors to become too glaring. After all, another minute later, the story will move on and the horrible makeup will be soon forgotten.

But this is nitpicking. After all, with the exceptional work throughout the rest of the film, I'm surprised there aren't more horrible makeup jobs. It took awhile for me to recognize Jim Broadbent in the Adam Ewing section.

The book is phenomenal in its style and its propelling narrative. The film works as an accompaniment to the novel, expanding on the themes, translating the novel for a visual and auditory experience. One focuses on language, while the other focuses on sight and sound. This film shouldn't be seen with a mind trapped in trying to figure out the plots and how everything connects. Instead, like with a good symphonic recording, you should just sit back and allow the sights and sounds overwhelm you, allow the film to take you on a journey through time. Cloud Atlas is an experience, and even though it seems like the film doesn't take enough time for me to develop connections to individual characters, I found myself caring for all of them. And that's quite a trick to pull off.

Favorites: The Halloween Edition

I've been trying to get back to reviewing movies for a while now, but for some reason this just hasn't been happening. With my teaching and tutoring schedule, there hasn't been much time for thinking, much less writing. However, at this moment I have stolen a few moments to write up at least something pertaining to movies.

Below is a short list of my favorite horror films, the movies I love watching at this time of year. Granted, horror is a genre, like comedy, where individual tastes play a huge role in defining what's good and what's not. And again, like comedy, it's hard to get it right all the time; but when it is, the result is a magical experience.

1. The Shining

The Shining is my favorite horror film. It's the type of film that's unsettling from the opening shot all the way to the last. And even though Stephen King was not too happy with the adaptation, I find the film is one of those rare exceptions when the film outperforms the book. The film is not gruesome, gory, or really all that violent (at least compared to today's horror standards). Nevertheless, the film always satisfies by providing the kind of haunting creepiness I hope to experience this time of year.

2. The Exorcist

This film is frequently at the top of "best of" lists, and it's for a very good reason. The only reason this film isn't at the top of my list is because there are times when I find the movie unintentionally humorous. On the other hand, there are times when I feel a overwhelming desire to listen to Christmas music after watching the movie. After all these years, it's still the model by which other horror films are judged. Sadly, not many come close.

3. The Blair Witch Project

This is not a film I can watch all the time, not because it's too scary though, because the camera shakes too much. When I saw the movie at the theater, I spent most of the movie covering my eyes because I felt like throwing up. But this doesn't take away from the fact that The Blair Witch Project is still one scary ass movie, especially for anyone who has spent any amount of time camping. Even with the ever increasing dread, those final moments in the house still haunt me.

4. The Cabin in the Woods

The Cabin in the Woods has just recently shot up this list because of its brilliant story and its genius blend of laugh-out-loud humor and some pretty good scares. Roger Ebert, in his review of the film, wrote that the audience won't see the end coming. He was right. I didn't. Nothing prepared me for the final twenty minutes of the film. I will say this: I don't recall the "ding" of an elevator ever being quite so funny, or satisfying.

5. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Leave it to me to put a musical on my "favorite scary movies" list. Stephen Sondheim's macabre masterpiece proves that musicals can produce quite a few good scares and whole helluva-lot of creeping dread. Add to the mix, Tim Burton and a brilliant performance by Johnny Depp, and you've got a beautiful and terrifying film on your hands. And what's even better is that by the end of the film, you realize that Sweeney Todd isn't the worst guy on Fleet Street. 

So, there you have it. My favorite movies to watch in October. They may not be the most terrifying ones out there, but they do provide quite a few good thrills, enough to keep me coming back every year.

Cloud Atlas: Our Past, Present, and Future.... All in One Fantastic Narrative

Quite frequently, as I've written before, movies affect my reading habits. And it has happened again. A couple of months ago, I heard of a new movie coming out by the Wachowski siblings, whose imaginative filmmaking talents brought us The Matrix trilogy.  Needless to say, I was excited. Then, of course, I saw the trailer for the film, which is an astounding piece of work all by itself. The trailer is thrilling and mysterious, an exciting combination of sight, sound and powerful emotions. Yes, some of the lines seem a bit pretentious and preachy, but that didn't bother me. I trust the Wachowski siblings; they can handle a visually imaginative epic just fine.

However, I was then faced with a dilemma: I had yet to read the book. Back in 2004, when I was coming ever closer to the end of my undergraduate degree, David Mitchell released Cloud Atlas, a book that would eventually go on to be nominated for the Man Booker Prize. For another seven years, the novel's existence remained a mystery to me. That is, until I found out about the film adaptation.

So, I downloaded a sample of the book from the iTunes bookstore and started reading. Once I blazed through those forty pages, I decided to go ahead and download the rest of the novel, just like I was prompted to do at the end of my sample. I can't say I was disappointed. In fact, having just finished the book last night, I can say that Cloud Atlas is one of the best reading experiences I've ever enjoyed. Just like another favorite book of mine, Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, I found myself emotionally drained and exhausted by the book's end; even more, I didn't want the book to end. Those final hundred pages were torturous because I knew the end was coming, yet I loathed the point when I'd have to step out of Mitchell's world and put the book down.

Describing the plot is an exercise in futility. However, I'll try my best. The book does contain six "novellas," all interlocked, weaving back and forth on each other, connected by coincidence, a birth mark, and the art of story-telling in all its wonderful forms. The novel's focus seems to be on the power and effect of narrative on people, history, and time itself. Nothing quite connects the human race like narratives.

Just to give a brief rundown of what the book contains, the novel starts with the diary of Adam Ewing, a man who has gained passage on a schooner called Prophetess; then the story moves to a series of letters written by Robert Frobisher to a lover, Rufus Sixsmith; from there the story jumps to a journalist in the American seventies, who uncovers corporate greed and a murderous plot; and then the reader is blasted to the near present for the funniest section of the novel, where a poor elderly editor goes through a most ghastly ordeal; over a hundred years later, a fabricant named Somni-451 starts describes ascension into consciousness; and finally, we are propelled even further into a post-apocalyptic future as the remnants of humanity fight for survival and try to connect to their own distant past.

Whew! Now that was a long sentence. Forgive me. The wonderful part is, I just covered only half of the novel. After the post-apocalyptic section, the novel goes back and wraps up the narratives the first half had begun. I use the word "wonderful" because while I wanted the various narratives to wrap up, I didn't want them to end. Each section could have been expanded into six separate novels.

If the narratives weren't compelling enough, the writing is quite beautiful and impressive. Through each section, as Mitchell moves forward and backward through time, the style and format changes. So drastic are the changes that it truly feels as though different people wrote different parts of the novel. Mitchell combines a stunning array of genres in the book, a feat that feels overwhelming at times, but at no point does the book fail to entertain, even in the nineteenth-century section--a style of writing that is far from my favorite.

Throughout my reading experience, I have not felt like crying very often. The final Harry Potter book, and Wicked both moved me close to tears. Now, I can add Cloud Atlas to that list. By the novel's end I felt emotionally exhausted, drained in the effort to finish the book, and drained in the journey across time. The moment I reached the end I had to resist the urge to start the book all over again. After all, sleep sometimes trumps reading... but only sometimes.

For now, I'll settle for watching the movie. I've already made Tim promise that we'd see the movie this weekend. I can only hope--fingers crossed--that it extends the wonderful experience I had in reading the novel.