Tag: storytelling

And Then I Tried to Convince You to Read Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman”

Remember that time we ran into each other at that coffee shop, and you ordered that drink you like and I ordered that drink I like, and we sat at that table near the window, and then I started blabbing about Sandman? Remember that?

“Here we go,” you sighed.

“I know,” I said.  “Another book recommendation. But I really think you’ll like this one. It’s a series of comic books by Neil Gaiman.”

“You always talk about that guy.”

“I know. It’s because he’s the GOAT. Did I tell you about the time I met him at a signing?”

“At least four times.”

“Sorry. But you’d talk about him all the time too if you read Sandman. Now I know what you’re going to say, and I said the same thing. You don’t read comic books. But these are more like graphic novels.”

“That’s what people call comics when they want people who don’t read comics to read them.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But this time I mean it. Each story appears individually in comics, but the story arcs are collected into trade paperback volumes. You can click this link to learn more.”

“Are you breaking the fourth wall?” you asked.

“Kinda. Anyhoo, Sandman. First thing: It’s an amazing feat of storytelling. The greater story arc is divided into 10 smaller story arcs, which are in turn divided into something like five or six smaller ones. They range from horror to fantasy to historical fiction to humor, and they’re really well-written. Plus the art is sweet.”

You shrugged and sipped your drink. “Yeah, but it’s a comic book series featuring another Whatever-Man. I’m so sick of superhero stuff.”

“That’s the thing. Sandman isn’t a superhero. They barely even call him Sandman—he’s usually referred to as Dream, or Morpheus, or the Prince of Stories. He’s the guy who creates and regulates the Dreaming, a.k.a. the world we visit when we sleep. And he’s actually more of an antihero.”

“So no tights? No masks? No crime fighting?”

“Well it is a DC property, so there are some Batman-ish crossovers early on.” I fluttered my hand as if to wipe that all away. “But those dissipate later in the series. I promise, it’s not a superhero story. It’s contemporary magical realism combined with ancient mythology, told in both long-form and contained short story modes.”

At that point, I noticed how often you were glancing at the exit. Fortunately, you were very kind and decided to stay a while longer. You asked, “What would I like about it?”

“Well,” I said, easing back in my chair and inwardly smiling, because I was about to experience the joy of soliloquizing on a favorite subject. “The second volume is kinda perfect for Halloween. It’s about a serial killer convention and it’s super creepy. There’s also an issue where—minor spoiler—Satan quits being Satan and offers the key of Hell to Dream, then all these gods from ancient religions show up to bid on Hell itself. And in one of the most famous issues, William Shakespeare and his acting troupe perform A Midsummer Night’s Dream for the real Titania and Oberon. Puck shows up too. It’s great.”

“Whoa,” you said. “Sounds like quite the story. By the way, why didn’t you write all this as a generic blog post with a title like, ‘Why You Should Read Neil Gaiman‘s Sandman?'”

I shrugged. “I thought about it, but I figured this form would be more fun. And also way more pretentious.”

“True,” you agreed. “But anyway, the thing I find annoying about comic books is the entry point. The continuity shifts all the time and the villains never die and there’s no end to any story. If I wanted to read Spiderman, for instance, I’d have to sift through decades of character history, plus endless reboots and crossovers. There’s no way to read it all!”

At this point, I was feeling like a talking head on a postgame sports show. “That’s what’s so great about Sandman. You start with Volume one, Preludes and Nocturnes, and then finish with Volume 10, The Wake. Have I mentioned they have great titles? Granted, there are some spinoffs I heard were bad, plus another spinoff featuring Dream’s sister. Neil wrote it, it’s good. And there’s a prequel that’s also an epilogue, which is another sweet feat of storytelling. But basically, as long as you read one through 10, you get the complete story.”

“What if I’m not ready to commit?” you asked. “Because this sounds like a major commitment.”

“I prefer to view it as a lovely adventure. But I get it. You could start with the Audible audio adaptation, which features James McAvoy, Martin Sheen, Andy Serkis, and Kat Dennings. It’s fantastic. There’s also a Netflix series in the works, so we have that to look forward to. But if you read the comics now, you could be one of those snooty people like me who always reminds fans of the show that the books were better.”

“I’d rather not,” you said. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“So do you think you’ll read it?” I asked.

You finished the rest of that drink you like so much. “I’ll consider it. Now who’s picking up the check?”


Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh.

Why There Should Be More Movies That Don’t Make Sense

Birdman

After I finished watching Alejandro G. Innaritu’s Birdman for the first time, my initial reaction was this: “I would need to watch that ten more times to really get it.”

I mean, let’s run through this for a second. The film is about Riggan Thomson, a guy who may or may not be schizophrenic and who (spoiler alert) seems to literally fly away from his problems at the end of the film. If you’ve seen the film, you’ll remember the scene where Riggan runs through Time Square in his tighty whities. And then there’s the fistfight with Ed Norton, fresh out of a tanning booth.

I mean, really…what the hell does any of this mean?

I don’t know. But that’s what I like about it.

I’ve seen enough transparent movies, and I bet you have, too–that is to say, movies that viewers can fully grasp in one sitting. To be fair, I love movies like that. I saw Jurassic World this summer and loved it. It’s not especially deep and you won’t gain much from watching it a second time (except maybe enjoying the dinosaur showdown at the end a little more), but it’s a fun movie.

And I think that’s fine. A movie shouldn’t set out to confuse its audience. However, I think more movies should challenge the audience. And that’s exactly what Birdman does.

Birdman is a story that you can’t consume in just one sitting. It’s a film that rewards careful viewers. It’s a story that offers something new every time you consume it. Still, Birdman is probably not to sort of movie you’re going to go see with your buddies on a Saturday night in July. Weird stories are not easy to get on the first go around.

Hollywood knows this, and I think that’s why you don’t see weird films nearly often enough. They know what kind of story sells, and it more or less goes like this: Main Character begins in a world of order. Disorder causes a problem that only Main Character can fix. For the next sixty minutes or so, Main Character tries and fails to fix her/his problem. Finally, Main Character faces the problem in the climax and either succeeds or fails in the attempt (usually succeeds).

It’s a simplified version, sure, but it’s a story humans have loved ever since stories have been told. Just ask Joseph Campbell.

It’s a good formula, and one that’s been proven to work. But formulas are for math and science. They’re dangerous when used in art.

Art shouldn’t be formulaic. Art should be spontaneous, unpredictable, and, it shouldn’t always make immediate senseBecause isn’t the whole point of art to make you think, to make you look at the world a different way? Nothing makes us think quite like something totally strange and totally unlike what we’ve seen before.

Or a guy who caws like a bird.

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