Category: technical dissection

A Re-Read of the first 10 pages of Piers Anthony’s A Spell of Chameleon

After a December hiatus (tangential note: I blame Christmas for that; turns out it’s not a practical idea to make a handcrafted stocking for your baby while on maternity leave), I decided to mosey into the next decade with a re-read some of my favourite Fantasy books that I haven’t touched in years.

I’m now contemplating how many of these books I’m going to absolutely HATE now that I’m reading them as an adult; by which I mean, *not* as a person who disparages children’s fiction, but as a person who can think critically and is more socially aware. In most of my research to date I have focused on 1990-2010 literature, with a brief study dipping into the ’60s. When I started my postgraduate work, though I couldn’t put a finger on why, I knew that ’70s and ’80s Fantasy didn’t appeal to me. I’m desperately hoping as I continue my re-read that the horribly misogynist pattern that I discovered in Anthony doesn’t hold up for any other books I re-examine.

After re-reading the first 10 pages of Anthony’s A Spell for Chameleon (all I can stomach really), it shocked me how blatant the misogyny was. Keep in mind that I’ve been studying ’90s and ’00s Fantasy for the last decade, where authors like Robert Jordan and George R. R. Martin are accused of misogyny because of flat, stereotypical depiction of women (Jordan), or because of their mistreatment of the gender (Martin). And then we have Anthony, who doesn’t believe that women are people in any sense of the word. They are objects, or creatures, designed specifically to fulfill men’s “needs.” That idea doesn’t get more blatant than the chapter where the main character plants and grows a nymph in order to have her as a sex slave. (I didn’t read that far, but it all came screaming back to me as I started the book.)

As early as page 2, we have the main character introduce the supposed love of his life (the woman he wants to marry, or, at least, the women he has to marry in order to have sex with her). The passage reads:

All plants had their enchantments, but no spell could eliminate the need for light, water, and healthy soil. Instead, magic was used to make these necessities of the vegetable kingdom more available, [….].

Bink looked at the girl beside him as she stepped through a slanting sunbeam. He was no plant, but he too had needs, and even the most casual inspection of her made him aware of this.

Piers Anthony, A Spell for Chameleon, p. 1-2

So here we have a man who has brought his beloved out to a romantic lookout point in order to ask for her hand in marriage, and the first thought on his mind when he sees her is how he has “needs”. Are you swooning with the romance of it all? And what a segue-way; contemplating the needs of a plant to a needs of a man. It’s an awkward transition because there ISN’T an nice, normal, respectable way of blatantly stating that women are there to be sexual partners for men.

There’s not much more I can add to this criticism that reviewers Jason Heller and Oren Ashkenzi haven’t already said in their detailed breakdowns on why the book/series/author is horrible. They’re both worth checking out, as they each bring a unique take on the misogyny. Heller dwells into some of Anthony’s other books to flag the pedophilia that keeps cropping up. And Ashkenzi uses the text to give practical lessons on writing; his paragraph-by-paragraph analysis gives a good idea of how Anthony’s novel could have been so much better.

The one thought that does occur to me in re-reading these pages is it’ll be interesting to see whether other ’70s and ’80s Fantasy books have aged well. While reading a handful of reviews posted on other blogs, the theme that kept popping up for me is people who read the work as a teenager and loved it, but re-reading it as an adult realized what a disgusting misogynist mess it is. I wonder if this has to do with maturation (although the main character is nearly 25, he comes across more as a teenager and may appeal more to an adolescent crowd), or whether we, as readers, have become more critically aware. I’d like to think it’s the latter; the young adults of today seem to be a much more socially-conscious group than earlier generations and I can imagine a number of young adults picking up the book and immediately objecting to the obvious male gaze and objectification of women. But I can’t help but contemplate the effect this hugely popular author has had readers in the ’70s. Among all the negative reviews, there are also a number that praise the book for it’s “refreshing” take on sexuality. The very idea leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I hope I’ll be able to stomach other re-reads as my great adventure continues.

On Master Craftsmen Jeff Smith (A Dissection of Bone Vol 1)

Jeff Smith’s Bone has all the ingredients for a good adventure: humour, romance, mystery; and a dragon, of course. Given all of these delightful qualities, I can’t believe I waited nearly 25 years to read it!!

Cover of Writing With Quiet Hands: How to Shape Your Writing to Resonate with Readers - by Paula Munier

But, in a way, I’m glad I waited until now to read Bone Vol 1 (published in 1995!). It accidentally gave me the opportunity to read Writing with Quiet Hands (2015) by Paula Munier first. Accidentally, because I did not think I’d be using her advice to examine and dissect someone’s else’s work. Munier, as a writer, editor, and literary agent, certainly approaches the art of writing – and selling your writing – from every angle possible. In one section she details the 3 levels of “story questions”:

  • the macro question – the *big question* that drives the plot
  • the meso questions – questions that drive every scene
  • the micro questions – questions that are scattered throughout sentences and paragraphs at every opportunity.

Reading Bone for the first time with Munier’s ideas on my mind, it becomes quickly obvious that Smith is a master of the micro questions. Every page has you asking questions, drawing you in to keep reading until you’ve found the answers. As a graphic novel, this is done on both the visual and verbal level.

Let’s take a look at the cover, for example:

Cover of Bone Volume 1: Out From Boneville by Jeff Smith

Although the adage “don’t judge a book by the cover” is often true, I don’t think this idea applies to graphic novels. Smith’s illustration does an admirable job of capturing the qualities of his protagonist. We immediately get the idea that the main character looks affable; the rounded features, the side smile, the hint of a blush, all give an overall impression of a “nice-guy” type. An innocent type. Not naive; But the type that looks like he’ll be taken advantage of because of his good-naturedness. And then you have these ominous eyes peering at the character from the shadows, barely visible except for the white of his eyes. So before you’ve even picked up the book to read, Smith has you asking “who is this guy, and is he going to be okay??”

At this point in the narrative (i.e. the cover), we know nothing about the character. We assume he’s the central protagonist. But we don’t know what he’s doing with a dusty old map or where he’s going. We don’t know what his name is, or any other identifiers about him (career, etc). We’re not even sure it’s a he; this is an (obviously biased) assumption made on our part, because we’re also not sure what he is. Is he meant to be human? Some alien or fantasy creature?

Think about that for a second. Despite knowing nothing about this character, Smith still has the audience wondering if the protagonist is going to be okay simply by looking at the cover. Is that not master craftsmanship?

Smith’s microquestions continue on every page. We jump in in media res, the first panel depicts three characters sweating in a desert. The first line reads: “still no sign of the townspeople,” followed by a second character’s response: “Hey! Ya hear that, Phoney? Th’ coast is clear!” From this brief exchange, the audience immediately wonders “who are these guys, and why are they running from the townspeople?” These questions lead to more questions as we learn that the three Bones (Phoney, Smiley, and Fone) are lost in the desert without water. They are ‘off the map’ in uncharted territories. (Literally, as they are caring around a map that no longer shows their location.) This information leads to questions about the world they’re in. Where are they? Why are parts of this world uncharted?

But before we can properly even ask these questions, the Bones are chased by a swarm of locusts (where did the locusts come from??), and get separated from one another. As we follow the journey of Fone Bone as he gets progressively more lost, more questions arise. Chiefly, where the heck is he?? And, as ominous eyes peer at him from the shadow, we continue to ask “is he going to be okay?”

These questions drive the story forward. As you’re never really sure what exactly is going on, or even the rules of the world that Fone Bone finds himself in, the reader is made to ask on every page “is Fone Bone safe?”. But while this macroquestion should have resulted in a tense, suspensful narrative, Bone volume 1 remains firmly in the realms of a fun adventure. With the rounded lines and almost cartoonish artwork, combined with dialogue that is punctuated by humour and emotion, Smith creates a story that is engaging and fun to read, but one that maintains a forward momentum on each page, drawing the reader to keep reading. I can’t wait to read the later volumes (already on my Christmas list) along with the recently announced televised adaptation.

I would love to hear your thoughts on the volume, but, a Special Request: Please don’t post spoilers of later volumes in the comments. I still need to read them myself!