Five Mild Predictions for ‘The Walking Dead’

“And to all the people left behind,
You are walking dumb and blind–blind.
Two-thousand years I’ve been awake,
Waiting for the day to shake.”
–The Pretty Reckless, “Zombie”

The Walking Dead comes back today!  The Walking Dead comes back today!

And I’m still obsessed with it.

When we last saw Rick and the gang before Christmas, my heart was breaking.  They finally found poor Sophia–locked in the barn with all the other walkers farmer/veterinarian Herschel believed could be cured someday.  Shane took it upon himself to unleash the barn walkers and then completely wipe them out.  Despite his impassioned rant about how they have to make hard decisions and take action, Shane couldn’t raise his gun against Sophia, so she got a bullet to the brain courtesy of Rick Grimes.

Now I’m just excited that the show is returning to AMC.  I spent a bit of the break obsessing over what could possibly be in store.  I mostly have no idea, but here goes:

1.)  (Oprah voice:)  YOU get a gun!  And YOU get a gun!  And YOU!  EVERYBODY GETS A GUN!
Based on the first frames of this trailer, our survivors don’t seem to be too worried about the whole “walkers might hear the gunshot and come after us” thing.  Andrea must be so happy.

2.)  Carl pops his zombie cherry.
Now that he’s got a sheriff hat–and a gun–Carl will kill his first walker (Attention, producers, I’m totally willing to be that walker!).  He will then start a quest to find and kill the walker that infected Sophia because they were obviously on their way to being ‘Carphia’ and getting married as teenagers.  He must avenge!

3.)  The Zombie Shuffle.
When we see an endless horde of walkers, am I the only one who expects/hopes for a dance break?  I envision a living dead version of the Electric Slide.  Just me?  Oh, okay.

4.)  Human tug-of-war on the farm.
If our people get kicked out after Barnaggedon, Maggie is going to have a choice to make.  Sweet nerd-with-benefits Glen–or dad-who’s-in-denial-about-zombism Herschel?  I just hope the struggle is not as messy as that whole walker-in-the-well business.  Unless she’s been bitten by that point.  Then it might be okay.

5.)  Shane becomes immune to zombie attacks because he has lost his friggin’ mind.
Walkers have no appetite for lost minds.  I assume they prefer nice, healthy brains and Shane just doesn’t qualify at the moment.  I predict that they lose interest.

5 1/2.)  I continue to refuse to forgive Andrea for shooting Daryl.
This one is more of a personal grudge, so I’m not really counting it.  I don’t care that she thought Daryl was a walker at the time.  If she had actually hurt him, I probably would have been so mad that I would have had to tweet angrily about it.  Come on, Andrea!  You’ve got a perfectly good non-zombie brain–use it before you point your gun!  #TeamDaryl

Less than four hours left!  Gentlemen–release those walkers!

An Informal Review of ‘The Book Thief’

“I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right.”
–The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Across the cover of my paperback copy of Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief, The New York Times proclaims it to be “brilliant and hugely ambitious…It’s the kind of book that can be life changing.”

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I think this novel may have changed my life and certainly how I think about writing.  Get ready, because by the end of this I’m going to do some serious gushing.

Set in World War II Germany, The Book Thief is narrated by Death–but not the Grim Reaper.  This version of Death is more gentle, overworked by a devastating war, and slightly ADD, attaching various details and facts set apart from the rest of the story by bold asterisks.  He also has a quiet affection for a young girl named Liesel Meminger, a book thief who is just discovering the power of words.  Death tells us her story because he knows every angle of it by heart.

On her way to live with foster parents, an illiterate Liesel steals her first book by her brother’s graveside.  As her new foster father teaches her to read, her appetite for the written word becomes insatiable and she is soon taking books from Nazi book burnings and the mayor’s wife’s library.  Meanwhile, she makes a new best friend, her family moves a Jewish refugee into the basement, and the echoes of the battlefield reach their home on Himmel Street in Molching, just outside of Munich.

The Book Thief is different from almost any book I’ve ever read, due in large part to Zusack’s style of writing.  I haven’t read any of his other work, so I don’t know if this is his normal style or an experiment, but it suits the story in every way.  He describes everything in a sophisticated way, yet sees everything through the wide eyes of a child.  For example, the moon comes unstitched from the sky, hair is like feathers, and the sun is like a yellow hole at the end of a tightrope cloud.

In addition, we get passages such as:

When Liesel left that day, she said something with great uneasiness.  In translation, two giant words were struggled with, carried on her shoulder, and dropped as a bungling pair at Ilsa Hermann’s feet.  They fell off sideways as the girl veered with them and could no longer sustain their weight.  Together, they sat on the floor, large and loud and clumsy.

* * * TWO GIANT WORDS * * *
I’m Sorry

Again, the mayor’s wife watched the space next to her.  A blank-page face. (p. 146)

Markus Zusak

I am someone with a deep and profound love for words.  Perhaps that’s why I love The Book Thief.  Aside from being a compelling story about a family coping with everyday life during a terrible war, the novel is a story about strength of expression.  Words have power beyond mere representation of a thing.  Words themselves are things–tangible, living, and breathing.  Words present challenges to the characters and shake their world to the core.  Words can indoctrinate the citizens of Molching to a life of hate, or they can set people free.

Beautiful, heartbreaking, profound, overwhelming, special, human, inspirational, honest, funny, perfect–these are all words I would use to describe The Book Thief.

Some stories punch you in the stomach and change the way you breathe for the rest of your life.  They burrow their way to the deepest chambers of your heart and stake territory.  They make your very soul ache.  They stay with you forever, branded into the folds of your brain, adding a new shade of color to your vision.

For me, The Book Thief is one such story.

BFBs Deserve More Than SOGs

“You’re much too pretty, you don’t need your mind.
Just bat them eyelids, get your heart’s desires.”
–Seether, “Fallen”

Last week, I outlined how to make a beautiful fictional boy (the BFB) fall in love with you, but it has been brought to my attention that I made a rather glaring omission. I pointed out ways to attract the BFB, but failed to say anything about the girl who actually ends up with him–the Silly “Ordinary” Girl, or the SOG.

I put “Ordinary” in quotes because, well, she never turns out to be quite as regular as she originally thought. She discovers that she is a fairy, the doppelganger, a vampire-mind-shield, descendant from a long line of dark witches, or the like. She learns that she is absolutely not ordinary and soon becomes the key to saving the world from certain disaster–all at the tender age of seventeen.

My previous neglect of the SOG is probably due to the fact that I typically don’t like her. Sure, there are exceptions to my aversion, but I rarely see what the big deal is about these “heroines.” Often, they just get on my nerves for one reason or another. The SOG starts ordinary so that we can relate to her, but her problems dissolve into messy tangles of love that frequently don’t seem realistic to most of us. She is usually a bit self-pitying, non-blonde, and either too self-aware or not aware enough. Living in a constant state of sexual tension, she nearly always makes stupid decisions which one or more BFB must rectify.

I feel that I should point out that my dislike for the SOG is not about jealousy. I enjoy a good love story as much as anyone, but there are some traits I’d rather not see perpetuated in books, movies, and television.

1.) Pheromones that may well cause the apocalypse.
Any character who counts “there are too many people in love with me” as one of her problems gets absolutely no sympathy from me. She can’t decide which BFB she loves the most? She’s worried that being with her first-choice-BFB will hurt the feelings of her second- or third-choice-BFB? The villain’s fascination with her is making her confused? Gosh, that must be really terrible for the SOG. Meanwhile, her suitors’ attempts to protect the SOG are resulting in large-scale destruction. Also, she gets a little too accustomed to having these boys who insist on being in love with her do whatever she asks.

2.) Complete, un-adorable cluelessness.
Not only does she attract the greater male population, but the SOG doesn’t seem to realize it until, for example, her best friend (a guy who also happens to be in love with her) storms off after witnessing her immediate and intense connection to a handsome stranger. She attributes her friend’s exit to missing his curfew and proceeds to follow the handsome stranger as he vanquishes the monsters of the night. Again, that must be really terrible.

3.) Self-deprecating in a way boys find charming, but that is actually nauseating.
In addition to being clueless about others’ amorous intentions, she’s so overly humble/insecure that she doesn’t believe BFBs could love her. She convinces herself that all of them, in fact, hate her. She sees any burning looks as poisonous, not passionate. When she brushes one of the BFBs’ arms, she thinks he tenses because he can’t stand to touch someone as low as her. Then, upon his formal declaration of love, she is truly shocked that he loves her, and he’s confused at her shock. So much miscommunication is exhausting.

4.) Innocent, but a little bit of a lustful slut.
The SOG lacks romantic experience, but when a BFB gets his hands on her–watch out. Suddenly, his touch leaves a trail of fire across her skin, the look in his eye sucks the air from her lungs, his hair turns to silk in her fingers, and the two dissolve into passionate making out (and are interrupted before it turns too Harlequin-ish). Of course, the SOG often finds herself in these precarious situations with more than one BFB at different times. I can’t imagine that writers do this to continue the whole “insecure girls will be with anyone who says he loves them” sort of thing, but I still find it a little weird.

5.) The stench of burning martyr (also known as “The Bella Syndrome” or “The Elena Gilbert Complex”).
This is possibly the most frustrating trait of all. Because of some hidden magical trait that she didn’t know about until she fell in love, the SOG becomes instrumental in stopping an evil maniac from taking over the world. Somehow, in her mind, this means that she needs to die in order to protect the people she loves. She welcomes this fate and practically seeks it out. She is eager to prove her love by dying, and the BFB must save her from herself as well as the villain. Does true love really always need to involve mortal sacrifice? I surely hope not.

Ladies–I beg of you–please don’t become this girl. Pining for fictional boys is one thing, but becoming an oblivious siren with a penchant for suicide is quite another. That’s not the way to fall in love, so just cut it out.

How to Make a Beautiful (Fictional) Boy Fall in Love With You

“Now that you know I’m trapped, sense of elation,
You’d never dream of breaking this fixation.”
–Muse, “Time Is Running Out”

From True Blood to Cassandra Clare’s Shadowhunters, the growing trend in fantasy fiction seems to be the Beautiful Fictional Boy–or, as I call him, the BFB.

Misunderstood, wry, sarcastic, strong, a bit self-destructive, and very nice to look at, the BFB is becoming a new type of popular hero.  He usually has some sort of supernatural component and a dark past or secret he either doesn’t talk about or doesn’t know the truth of.  His eyes are particularly expressive, and his beauty is often described as “heartbreaking” by a great many authors.  He pushes people away, but that just makes you love him more.  You know you love him when you’re mad at him but still get lost in the angles of his face and his stormy eyes send a spear through your heart.

Sigh…

As I watch these shows and read these books, I’ve started to notice certain rules and procedures to how you win over these types of boys.

1.)  There can be multiple BFBs.  Recognize and attract them all.
Much like Newton’s third law of motion, most characters have their equal and opposite–or foils.  Basically, a foil is a character who contrasts with another character in order to highlight some particular trait.  Especially recognizable by their differing physical characteristics, foils exist everywhere and not just BFB-land.  For example, we have Bill/Eric/Alcide, Stefan/Damon, Holmes/Watson, House/Wilson, Jim/Dwight, Eragon/Murtagh, Harry/Draco, Will Herondale/Jem Carstairs, Edward/Jacob (yeah, I went there), etc., etc.  If you’re a classicist, you’ve also got Hamlet/Laertes.  (I think I just made my high school English teacher very happy.  That one’s for you, Mrs. Duprez!)

Essentially, there are two types of BFB.  The nice/sophisticated BFB and the rough/volatile BFB, and then come their miscellaneous variations.  Your job as the future object of their affections is to send out your pheromones to each and every one of them, but favor the most emotionally damaged of them all.  Love triangles, quadrangles, hexagons–all relationship polygons–are vital for your fictional romance.

2.)  The more incendiary your wit, the better.
Verbal repartee is a must.  A BFB likes a girl who can put him in his place with words.  Match sarcasm with sarcasm.  He’s used to (and has grown bored with) people fawning over him, so you need to get under his skin by not letting him have free reign over verbal communication.

3.)  Know stuff.
Whether they admit it openly or not, BFBs can be a little bit nerdy, but in a super-hot way.  They appreciate music, literature, poetry, cinema, and the like.  You should be able to identify his references and make some of your own.  Quotes are ideal.

4.)  Catch him looking at you, and let him catch you looking at him.  Make sure others see you surreptitiously ogling each other, then look away quickly.
Sidelong glances are the best way to alert each other to feelings of interest.  In fact, try to react anytime the BFB enters a room.  Suck in a breath.  Tense.  Drop whatever you are holding.  Just act like a twitching fool whenever you are in close proximity to him.

5.)  Be a damsel in distress, but be a feminist about it–a femsel, as it were.
This is quite possibly the most important rule.  Because the BFB is sort of a variation on the hero, he obviously needs something to save.  You.  Villains must come from all directions to lure you into their nefarious plans–plans that you are also the key to thwarting.  However, you are still a strong, capable girl.  Forcefully let your BFB know that you don’t appreciate being the helpless female, take an active role in said thwarting-of-the-villain so that he respects your bravery, but still let him save you.  The best way to do so is to accidentally send the plan awry and get into mortal danger so that your BFB can come to the rescue.

Those are the rules as I see them.  Now, feel free to pine uncontrollably for the boy that will never exist and to compare all of your future relationships to the romantic entanglement that can never be.  The BFB may not be a real person, but you can always see him on your favorite television show, in your favorite movie, on the pages of your favorite book, or in that super-fan tattoo on your thigh or shoulder blade.

Transportational Psychosis

“They should never give a license,
To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves.”
–Elmo & Patsy, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”

In my years of driving, I’ve noticed three main occasions during which drivers completely lose their spark plugs:  precipitation of any intensity, nocturnal precipitation of any intensity, and the holidays.

This year, holiday drivers are especially crazy.

Perhaps the diminished time between Thanksgiving and Christmas has given them a stronger sense of urgency.  Maybe they are increasingly desperate to find the best deals.  The most likely possibility, though, is that they are entirely nutso–a little condition I call “transportational psychosis.”

While weather-induced transportational psychosis is usually caused by intense fear, seasonal transportational psychosis is typically characterized by severe road rage.  Symptoms include flipping off other drivers, blocking intersections, complete disregard for traffic lights, sudden and unsignalled turns, and close proximity tailing.  The level of frustration is directly proportionate to the length of time the driver presses his or her car horn.  Staccato horn blasts are the equivalent of a ticking time bomb.  If you start to hear Morse code, turn into the nearest parking lot and wait for that guy to move down the block a bit.

For the transporationally psychotic, I have a message:  You terrify me.  Snap the heck out of it.  Cutting in front of someone at best only shaves a few minutes off your trip and trying to squeeze your way across an already busy intersection certainly doesn’t help, either.

Relax.  A lot of people are out and about doing the exact same thing you are.  Find your happy place in your car, put on your favorite music, and chill out.  Don’t seek serenity through drugs or alcohol, though.  I’m pretty sure that would make the whole situation worse.  Just stop treating the road like some deranged labyrinth in which you can haphazardly plow through other cars to get to a store that’s probably going to be closed by the time you get there.

Seriously, if I die in a terrible wreck because you are racing to buy a $20 television for someone you don’t even like, I will not hesitate to haunt you and your descendants.  Marley’s ghost is going to seem like a ray of sunshine compared to the chains I’m gonna rattle all up in your house.

On that note–Merry Christmakwanzukkah, y’all!