An Abundance of Katherines by John Green

I almost never read works by the same author back-to-back, it just seems to invite unfair comparisons. But I so thoroughly enjoyed The Fault in Our Stars that I decided to start one of his earlier books right away. At 17, Colin Singleton is already kind of washed-up. A child prodigy without much in the way of actual ability, Colin struggles to find a way to make his life matter. Colin's situation becomes unbearable when he is dumped by his girlfriend Katherine just after high school graduation, for the nineteenth time. That's nineteen girls named Katherine, not just the one Katherine nineteen times. It's an admittedly unlikely premise, but it's one that the book managed to wring for everything it's worth without aggravating the reader. It helps that Colin is such an arresting protagonist, obsessive, closed-off, generally good-natured but obviously self-centered. His high aptitude for languages, for anagrams, and for mathematical formulae combine to make him an unusual and interesting character. To get over his break-up Colin and his foul-mouthed best friend Hassan set off on a misguided and calamitous road trip which comes to a sudden stop in Gutshot, Tennessee. There the duo becomes invoved with the daughter of a local factory owner and her meathead boyfriend. The comic misadventures manage to avoid relying on easy stereotypes of rural Southerners for the most part, and also manage to teach Colin some valuable lessons without being too heavy-handed. The chief pleasure in An Abundance of Katherines lies in the inventiveness and playful spirit of John Green. His obvious joy in the use of anagrams, silly puns, and the shenanigans of nerdy teenage boys is infectious.

Mad Men: "Mystery Date"

"Mystery Date" is one of those episodes of television that prove to be divisive because what some people will regard as brilliant and clever others will regard as over-written, on-the-nose and trite. For the most part I found the episode enthralling, but even I thought there where a few moments when the show strained too far to make one more connection between its interwoven themes. But how can you not marvel at the minds which made all those connections between sex, violence and fear, and all through a few ordinary symbols like women's shoes and the area under the bed. Under the bed is where the lone survivor of nurse-killer Richard Speck hid while he brutally murdered eight of her colleagues. The horrors those women experienced are the backbone of "Mystery Date", first as office gossip (do we think Ginsberg's over-reaction will be explained at a later date?) and then chillingly and inappropriately retold to Sally Draper when she can't sleep. (Poor Sally, so headstrong and inquisitive, but without a single stable figure to serve as a guide. I fear she has many more pills to take and meals to reject.) Of course, under the bed is also where Don stuffs Andrea after brutally strangling her in his fever-dream, with one red shoe sticking out, presumably as some sort of sign that Don can never really hide who he truly is. (A touch obvious, but still nicely rendered.) I was fairly sure as Don was strangling Andrea that it was all a dream (a. Don really looked horribly sick b. how would that women have known his address?) but I must admit that in the moment I wasn't totally sure. It's definitely for the best that Don woke up without that woman's shoe sticking out from under his bed, but I would have admired the boldness of such a plot twist. Now I suppose the next question is how much Megan might have either overheard of Don's dream-state. The aura of fear also paid off in the scene where a late-working Peggy becomes concerned by a noise in the halls of the deserted SCDP offices, only to find Dawn sleeping on her boss's couch, afraid to take the subway to Harlem this late at night. Some aspects of this scene bothered me, as I felt they were hitting the idea of Peggy as oblivious to racial tension too hard, but Elisabeth Moss acted the hell out of her conversation with Dawn back the apartment. Her asking Dawn if she thought that Peggy acted like too much of a man at work was a great moment (am I nuts, or was there sexual tension there? The show has sort of teased the idea of Peggy as repressed.), and Moss really acted the hell out of the awkward bit with the purse. I do think it's a little annoying that so far Dawn has been used more as a prop than as a person, but it's still early on in her career, so perhaps with time the show will open her up a little. If there was one area of the episode that went a little too far toward achieving thematic unity, it was Ginsberg's Cinderella speech, which felt over-written as it was happening, and extremely implausible, especially in how quickly the client bought into it. The new man at SCDP is lucky that Don was not in top shape, or that warning would have been a lot worse. The Joan and Dr. Rape plot seemed a little disconnected from the rest of the show (although I'm not as much of a genius for connecting plots as Matthew Weiner) but it still worked for me. Greg really did seem like the kind of man who would flourish in the army and flounder outside it, and it was obvious from the get-go that he had volunteered to return. It was almost cathartic to see Joan kick him out, even bringing up the rape in Season 2 to point out that he's not a good person, even if he is going off to war. All in all a fascinating hour of Mad Men, even if there weren't any dead bodies under the bed.

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

"The Fault in Our Stars" is the kind of book that makes you want to buy a bunch of copies and press them into the hands of everyone you know. Of course, since I read this on my Kindle, I can't even lend my copy to anyone. But still, the feeling is there.

Now, "The Fault in Our Stars" is technically a Cancer Book, but as the narrator Hazel Grace Lannister points out, "Cancer Books suck." Hazel's point-of-view is refreshing in its lack of sentimentality or cliched emotion. She's anything but a normal teenage girl, but that doesn't mean she can't have teenage-girl thoughts.

Hazel has thyroid cancer that has migrated to her lungs, making them "suck at being lungs" in her parlance. She's too sick for high school so she spends most of her time reading or watching Bravo marathons. After her mother insists that she spend more time out of the house, Hazel starts attending a support group for cancer-stricken teenagers. Of course, Hazel hates the group, with its sickening reliance on cliched ideas of battling cancer and its overuse of inspirational maxims.

But it is there that Hazel meets Augustus Waters, a former basketball star who has lost a leg to osteosarcoma. Despite her need to not become a "grenade" who will blow up the lives of all who love her when she dies, Hazel can't deny her attraction to Augustus, and his persistence eventually wears her down.

Augustus is an amazing fictional creation. He's a teenager who is obsessed with metaphors and metaphysics. Even when playing his favorite video game he insists on acting nobly and dying for a cause greater than himself. But he's also a kid in love, and his awkward attempts to get Hazel to like him are endearing.

The Fault in Our Stars follows Hazel and Augustus's budding relationship as they deal with the awkwardness of their both being sick, and how they handle allowing new people into their life. There is also the more concrete plot of trying to track down Hazel's favorite author, a reclusive Dutchman who has written the only Cancer Book that Hazel ever found to be honest about her disease. This aspect of the book almost feels unnecessary. It would have been enough just to spend time with Hazel and Augustus.

Eventually, of course, there is an upsetting revelation and a tragic end, but the story handles the process of death and grief with compassion and surprising realism. The author, John Green, seems to have a limitless supply of ways to think about life and death.

The Fault in Our Stars is a daring, fascinating look at a subject that is too often made maudlin and cheap by excess sentiment. I can't afford to buy you a copy, but I really do think you should read it.

The Sisters Brothers by Patrick DeWitt

"The Sisters Brothers" has a such a unique premise that it seems destined to be a great novel, but alas, Mr. DeWitt's imagination and creativity are not up to the task. The novel is hurt by its lack of memorable episodes or incidents, and is something of a bore.

Charlie and Eli Sisters are Old West hitmen under the employ of a mysterious figure known only as The Commodore. Older brother Charlie is a ruthless killer whose path was set when as a young man he was forced to kill his father in order to save his mother. Eli is a more reluctant gunman who is just accustomed to following his brother's lead.

The plot of the novel is set in motion by The Commodore's latest assignment for the brothers. They are to travel to Sacramento and kill a man with the improbable name of Herman Kermit Warm. After some diversions of only middling amusement, the Sisters Brothers discover the true reasons for The Commodore wanting Warm killed, and they are plunged into an ethical and personal dilemma.

Unfortunately, the resolution of this dilemma is almost grossly unsatisfying. As a novel, "The Sisters Brothers" suffers from a lack of insight and a startling reluctance to fully portray the world of its characters. There are only occasional hints that the author has any idea what life in the Old West during the Gold Rush was actually like.

It's always a shame when a dynamite premise falls into the wrong hands. "The Sisters Brothers" had all the makings of a great novel. It's too bad that novel wasn't the one that was written.

The Muppets

I finally got around to seeing The Muppets the other night. Here are some quick thoughts:

Jason Segel and his collaborators managed to strike just the right note between silly humor and sly, knowing reference style humor. I loved the way The Muppets played with the style of previous Muppet output without ever being cynical about it. I loved the gags about "traveling by map", the "time-saving montage" and such. Also, basically every appearance by '80s Robot cracked me up. I also appreciated the constant references to the fact that all the characters knew they were in a movie, which felt very reminiscent of the original Muppet Movie.

I was a bit disappointed with the movie's music, though. They did an excellent job integrating the music within the plot, especially for the Oscar winning Best Song, "Man or Muppet?" but most of the original songs were unmemorable, with the possible exception of "Life's a Happy Song" which, though saccharine, was very catchy. I also would have appreciated if they had made space for the full version of "Rainbow Connection."

The celebrity cameos were a little underwhelming also. Maybe they will grow in retrospect, but it feels like the older Muppet movies attracted a higher class of celebrity. The cameos in The Muppets were mostly TV stars and friends of Segel. Much better were the stars who actually had roles to play, like Emily Blunt as Miss Piggy's icy receptionist and Rashida Jones playing against type as a ruthless TV executive.

I also had some problems with Amy Adams' role. I feel like it's too facile and common a trope to introduce conflict through the wet-blanket girlfriend. Segel seems to have learned this first-hand at the Apatow academy. Plus, Adams is such a likeable screen presence that it's hard not to concede that she has a really good point about Segel's Gary.

Still, these are nitpicks. The Muppets features Muppets, so it really couldn't go too far off-track. Kermit, Fozzie, Gonzo and the gang are so enjoyable that it was almost enough just to see them on screen again. The fact that they were given so many nice gags and punchlines was the cherry on top of the sundae.

Community: "Pillows and Blankets"

I'm called a snob so often that it barely even rankles me anymore, even though I do resist the classification. One place where I've never considered myself elitist is in the area of television, especially sitcoms. While I don't like every sitcom on air (sorry, 2 Broke Girls, I really tried) I am far less judgmental of them than I am with other artforms. While I can distinguish between the innovative and the lazy, and appreciate the former for its daring, even moderately well-done conventional sitcoms can make me laugh and get me to keep watching.

Still, I don't approach those middle-of-the-road shows with the same fervor as I do Community. Case in point, even though I didn't get home until very late last night I knew I had to watch "Pillows and Blankets" before I went to bed, other wise I would be antsy about not having watched it, especially since I'm going home for the weekend and wouldn't be able to see it until Monday.

What I saw was a severe disappointment to me. I can appreciate the cleverness of the Ken Burns parody, and can call out exactly what tropes they are re-appropriating and mocking, but these touches did not fill me with mirth, and I think I know why. Community episodes like "Pillows and Blankets" depict a facet of the show I've never really cared for. Dan Harmon and the staff at Community occasionally allow themselves to fall into the trap of only pleasing the true believers, the people who love Community no matter what. The microscopic ratings have lead to an insular mentality, which can make it easy to say screw it and write just for the narrow audience of uncritical acolytes.

To me, comedy is about bringing people together and having a good time. Studies have shown that people are far more likely to laugh at something when they are in a group than alone. The best episodes of Community are funny enough that I laugh watching at home by myself, and feel like I'm sharing a common experience with others. "Pillows and Blankets" on the other hand seemed to expect me to feel good about being one of the few people who watches Community. Instead that just made me feel even lonelier.

Maybe this show has passed me by. I certainly didn't care for very many of the jokes last night. (Notable exception: everything involving Leonard.) I hated the whole pillow fight, it seemed so childishly stupid in an unclever way. I hated Chang's Army because it seemed entirely implausible, even for Greendale. I hated how quickly Troy and Abed's feud went away, because it seemed like something from a lesser sitcom.

Just as with "Critical Film Studies", I seem to be on something of an island on this episode, judging by the critical reaction. Todd Van Der Werff of the AV Club gave this episode an A, but he seems to be so in the tank for Team Harmon that it's hard to take him seriously. If Community only wants to preach to the choir, they can probably count on a lot of empty seats.