#like either write a romance and really commit or write a relationship that remains ambiguous

[micamicster]

Ok here’s my criticism of the english: I think it needed to be either A Romance OR needed to have the romance entirely unspoken

[cake-and-spades]

I really want to write a strong platonic relationship (possibly qpr) but I don't want the reader to interpret it as romantic or sexual. I find that there are a lot of character relationships that I personally interpret as platonic that other people don't (honestly, why do some people always ship best friends that way?) so I wanted advice on how to get the nature of their relationship across without sounding heavy handed or preachy.

Disclaimer: I’m a visual artist, I suck at writing, so I’m just going on what I’ve seen before and my own experiences.  I’m probably not the best person to ask XD

1.  Are either of the characters aro/ace?  If they are, flat out saying it would be good.  Even just offhand remarks and things could set a clear boundary, like:- “oh, I know you’re not into [x activity] because you’re aro, so I thought we could do this instead” - “do you think [character a] would like this?”  “well, they’re ace, so probably not.” - “well, some of us experience romantic attraction, [character name]” “oh, right lmao that sucks”

Or having other characters talk about them when they aren’t there: “they’re together all the time, they’re dating right?” “no, they’re in a qpr.”  You can use side characters to mirror the audience’s confusion about what kind of relationship they have, and then answer those questions.  That way it’s indisputably out in the open, but you didn’t spend a million words on explaining the nuances of their relationship.  If you’re looking for some good examples of this in fiction, I’d recommend these [1], [2], [3] panels from Jughead Jones and this panel from the comic Travelogue.  That way there’s no ambiguity about the relationship from the start.  

2. Showing both of them having discomfort with being seen as a couple, sexual/romantic situations, etc. especially if they’re sex/romance repulsed.  This will help clue the audience in that they should NOT expect these two to end up together.  (sometimes people will ignore this even if it’s blatant though, so not sure how effective it will be unless it’s paired with a blatant “they don’t want this, ever” like in Travelogue)If you don’t have them end up in a qpr, you could have one of them date other people, but remain strong friends.  If they do end up in a qpr, you could have someone at some point mistake them for a romantic relationship, and just give a quick “no, actually this is a committed platonic relationship.”

3. I also think the arocharacteradvice blog will be helpful.  Their entire focus is helping writers write aro characters and plots accurately, and they might be able to give a better answer than I can, since they’re not only writers but have experience in writing this area  :)

Happy writing!!  I’d love to read it when you’re done!  I live for platonic relationships lmao

[buzzdixonwriter]

Chillin’ With Netflix (2018 edition)

LOST IN SPACE

Really well done, family friendly space opera.  Top notch production values, good / smart writing, superlative cast.

And despite all this, it couldn’t keep my attention past episode 4.

I put the blame on me, not this new series by writers Matt Sazama and Burk Sharpless.  

As a preteen, I was in the prime target audience for the original Lost In Space back in the mid-1960s, and that series -- despite its wildly varying tone -- created an iconic show that, try as they might, every subsequent re-make struggles to overcome.

Seriously, it’s like trying to remake I Love Lucy only without Lucille Ball, Desi Arnaz, Vivian Vance, and William Frawley.

Yeah, it can be done, but why bother?  Use that talent and energy to do something in the same vein but different.

That being said, I deny no one their pleasure.  If you haven’t seen / loved the original, try this version; you might very well like it.

. . .

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE

Excellent production / writing / cast / performances.

I started out really liking it.

That enthusiasm faded.

I ended up enjoying this new retelling of The Haunting Of Hill House but came away feeling it fell short of 1963’s The Haunting, the first and still best adaptation of Shirley Jackson’s classic ghost story.

First off, a definition of terms (which will explain my enthusiasm fade):  In order to work, a ghost story must take place in the audience’s head.

That is to say, the reader / viewer must be left with two equally possibly yet mutually exclusive possibilities:  There are such things as ghost, or the haunting is purely psychological in the mind/s of the character/s.

Even in stories such as the original novel or the 1963 film where the possibility is presented that at least one of the characters is mentally unstable and is either imagining / causing the manifestations, the book / movie / series must never come down concretely in either camp.

To make it purely psychological turns it into a drama about mental illness, the make it supernatural moves it from the realm of “ghost story” into “monster movie” where the monster happens to be a ghost.

A ghost story doesn’t have to be scary, simply…haunting.  Portrait Of Jenny is a bitter-sweet romance that despite a lack of spookiness remains a bona fide ghost story.

(Ghost comedies such as Topper, Blythe Spirit, Ghost Busters, etc. are a different genre entirely akin to leprechaun / alien comedies where a fantastic being disrupts the lives of the human protagonists.)

This version works well, even though it doesn’t maintain the high level it starts with.  The family dynamics are well done, the performances excellent.

For the first couple of episodes the series tries to walk the line, raising the possibility and eventually confirming that mental illness runs through the family that moved into Hill House, but the moment the ghosts begin manifesting themselves, it paradoxically stops being a ghost story and becomes a booga-booga story).  Virtuosity for the sake of virtuosity also works against the production, occasionally dragging audiences out of the story to admire how clever the film makers are.

It also gets a little too convoluted and overly melodramatic towards the end, however (ghost stories work best at their simplicity.

And it is not an upbeat ending but a really horrific one as the family in question literally consumes itself.  

This version inhabits a godless universe, and the apparent “good” ending is really a terrible one of eternal damnation (albeit not in the Christian sense).

I recognize and appreciate the level of craftsmanship that went into this, and recommend it to people who like scary stories.

But it ain’t what I’d call a ghost story, and it sure ain’t what Jackson would call one, either.

. . .

SHE-RA AND THE PRINCESSES OF POWER

I'm not the target audience for She-Ra in either incarnation.

That being said, I watched episodes 1-3 and 12-13.

It looks good to me.  The story was familiar, but like old B-Westerns it's the kind of genre where familiarity breeds affection, so no complaints there.

Pacing seemed slow, but the design and animation was good, voices top notch. Clearly a heavy anime influence.

Really liked the wide range of physical types and acknowledgement of LGBT characters. Lots of fun with the various interpersonal relationships and characterizations, especially Swift Wind, the smartass flying unicorn.

They did a really good job with this show and the characters seemed more like real teens than the previous incarnation.

. . .

THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS

Well, this one I can recommend whole heartedly and without reservation.  

Joel and Ethan Coen have shown a remarkable penchant for period films and a strong affinity for Westerns in the past, and this anthology film offers a dazzling grab bag of good / off beat stories that range from the ridiculous to the realistic, though a couple of them are Westerns by location only as they don’t really rely on any of the themes that define the Western genre. 

The stories are:

“The Ballad Of Buster Scruggs” -- a hilarious send up of old Hollywood Western clichés starting with the quintessential sing cowboy trope and spiraling into full bore craziness from there.

“Near Algodones” -- a would-be bank robber has a really bad day.  Despite its dazzling editorial style, one of the more conventional stories -- and yet it manages to evoke both classic Buddhism, the crucifixion, and the ultimate sardonic joke all in the last 30 seconds.

“Meal Ticket” -- a Twilight Zone-ish story about a backwoods impresario and his limbless performer, told almost entirely silently except for quotes from poems and dramatic works and the occasional song.  While it makes good use of its Western locale, there’s really nothing in the story to tie it to the West; it could just as easily occur on a Mississippi riverboat, the back alleys of White Chapel, or the slums of Mumbai.

“All Gold Canyon” -- based on a story by Jack London, it’s a look at how hard and demanding a prospector’s life could be (with a virtually unrecognizable Tom Waits as the grizzled old prospector).  The Coen Brothers use their location to the fullest advantage, recreating the feel of what such land must have felt like before the first settlers moved in.

“The Gal Who Got Rattled” -- the longest, most realistic, and most bitter-sweet of the stories, set on a wagon train heading to Oregon, and focusing on a young woman who is definitely not the sort who should be making such a trip.  While we can look back from our safe vantage point in the 21stcentury and recognize the Indian Wars were the direct result of rapacious land grabbing by Western settlers, this story does an excellent job of showing just how terrifying it would be to sit on the receiving end of a tribal attack.  The ending is a morally complex one, well worth pondering, and especially ambiguous given the nature of the story’s framing element.

“The Mortal Remains” -- weakest of the stories, but salvaged by strong performances.  Another Twilight Zone style story, and if you didn’t guess the ending by the one minute mark I’ve got a bridge in Florida made of solid gold bricks I’d like to sell you.

. . .

AMERICAN VANDAL

Yowza!  This is one of the best series I’ve ever seen, and it’s perfect in damn near every way.

On the surface it’s a parody of various true crime documentary series, especially Netflix’ own Making A Murderer.  It’s told from the point of view of two students in their high school’s audio-visual club who make a documentary about an act of vandalism directed at the school’s teachers and the student who is blamed for it.

Of course, as they investigate, they turn up evidence that the accused student did not commit the vandalism, and in their pursuit of the truth uncover several more secrets on their way to the big reveal.

At first blush, the makings of a solid show.

But what co-creators Tony Yacenda and Dan Perrault manage to pull off with this is nothing short of astounding, a fun parody of a genre that raises interesting questions about both the genre they’re parodying and the issue of truth and guilt, while on top of that adding an incredibly complex yet easy to follow overlay of conflicting characters and emotions.

They get every single detail right, and even seemingly throw away lines / scenes / characters get fleshed out in amazing and unexpected ways (for example, one extremely minor character, with no significant dialog, who appears only briefly on camera as comic relief in one or two early episodes is later revealed to be severely alcoholic, and in recalling his earlier appearances, one realizes the character must be suffering through a genuinely hellish existence).

Dylan, the accused student, starts out as a character of fun and amusement, a high school goofball of Spicoli proportions, only to come to a sad and ultimately terrifying end as he realizes just how dumb and dead-end his life is.

I cannot praise thise series enough.  Very rarely will I look at someone else’s work and say “I wish I had done that.” American Vandal is one of the rare exceptions.

The series has two seasons, the first involving Dylan and the vandalism of the teachers’ cars, the second involving a food poisoning incident at a private school the original two students are invited to investigate.  Season two is very strong but lacks “the shock of the new” that season one provided; it’s high quality and entertaining, but not as compelling as the original.

. . .

© Buzz Dixon

[alixofagnia]

TLJ Novelization: Review & Revisiting Episode IX Speculation

I’ll be honest: I skim-read a lot of Jason Fry’s novelization. 

It’s not the worst SW book, not by a long shot. But I wasn’t drawn in by his writing, an unfair critique, perhaps, given that nothing was going to be surprising. It’s very rote, though, and there were times when his prose wandered surprisingly close to boredom, bafflement, or both. Needless to say, what really disappointed me was the lackluster depiction of Rey and Kylo and some of their scenes together. Take, for example, this description of the closing Falcon scene between Rey and Kylo:

He stared at Rey. She stared back at him, her gaze level and unafraid. There was no hatred in her eyes, as there once had been. But there was no compassion, either.

I’m aware that there are some Reylos currently swooning over this even as other Reylos are mortified at what the “no compassion” bit could really portend. But read it again. 

Read it out loud. 

It is the most dispassionate description of how that scene played out onscreen, does not even come close to capturing the emotional weight behind that moment. 

If that doesn’t convince you or you think I’m being too harsh, there’s also this:

Rey fell backward, bumping into Kylo’s back.

You know what scene that is, right? 

Bumping. Into his back. O.M.G.

The misfire in translating Rey and Kylo’s simmering-to-boiling screen chemistry from screen to paper was bound to be inevitable. But I take heart in knowing that this had to be intentional: its absence speaks to the desire to keep their story unknown and suspended. In other words, it’s a way to keep their dynamic relevant for the next two years. It also solidifies the fact that the romance of Reylo will continue to be quite distinct from the sudden war time passion of HanLeia or the childishly baffling obsession of Anidala, just in case that wasn’t already obvious. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that, much like the TFA novelization, this one could be skipped over in lieu of actually watching the movie, which is A) way more exciting and B) way more successful at the nuance, which was one of its strengths. Of course, we should also remember that whatever happens in the film is unquestionably canon, regardless of conflicting details in the expanded content. There’s cute little Easter egg-type details (ships have personalities, for example) and passages not seen in the movie that Reylos created head-canons for anyway (such as why Rey left an unconscious Kylo alive). Overall, this novel is about as good as one could expect from someone other than Rian Johnson himself adapting his own script. But that’s to be expected, and this must have been a great challenge. I do think what this book best has to offer is a reiteration of the theme of perspective ambiguity.

Alright, that’s done. Now, I’m going to revisit an Episode IX speculation post I did (X) in December, because I read quite a few quotes in the novelization that were particularly relevant to what I speculated on for Hux, Kylo, and the foreshadowing of a power play between them. 

Take Hux Seriously

What I said:

Hux was played up for comedic effect in TLJ, but it’s somewhat undermined by examples of real leadership, engagement with fellow, high-ranking FO officers, and the distinct feeling that this man is more cunning than you think. That’s not to say that Hux will hit epic levels of villainy; but he will most assuredly continue to be an antagonist to Kylo and, with Snoke’s murder, he will now have a justified reason for being so.

What the novelization said:

Commander of the Supremacy would be an excellent title…surpassed only by that of Supreme Leader Hux. Hux almost whispered those three words to himself, but caught himself in time. Snoke had spies everywhere in the First Order—including, quite possibly, electronic ones in the turbolift leading to his private domain at the Supremacy’s heart.

Comments

First of all, here is written proof of Hux’s lofty, ultimate ambitions. (Again, in case that wasn’t obvious in the film.) Second, we also now have the knowledge that Snoke takes advantage of stealth security. The reason that it’s “possible” he has cameras installed in his private elevator is because he makes use of “electronic spies” elsewhere. This begs the question: if something as innocuous as an elevator is bugged, then surely his throne room, his private room, is similarly outfitted, right? 

There’s no way Kylo will be able to keep the truth of his ascension a secret. No way.

Dirt for a Smear Campaign

What I said:

Aside from the fact that he’s basically in charge of the FO military, Hux could go after Kylo with a smear campaign by revealing his true identity. Of course, this hinges on whether the galaxy at large knows that Kylo Ren of the First Order is Ben Solo, son of rebel Generals Leia Organa and Han Solo. Evidence points to the negative:

-Poe seems unaware of Kylo’s relation to his revered general, both in TFA and TLJ -Han and Leia speak about Ben in a hushed, private conversation in TFA; they never speak his name aloud (though mostly, of course, to withhold information for dramatic effect) -barely anyone in the FO is shown wanting to make eye contact with Kylo Ren; I doubt they know anything personal about him -Finn clearly has no idea

What the novelization said:

Poe studied the two figures standing in front of the command shuttle for a long moment. “This isn’t just a family reunion,” he told the remaining Resistance fighters. “Skywalker’s doing this for a reason. He’s stalling so we can escape.”

“Escape?” Finn asked, incredulous. “He’s one man against an army. We have to go help him! We have to fight!”

Leia joined them, trailed as always by C-3PO. She and Poe exchanged glances.

“No,” Poe said. “We are the spark that will light the fire that will burn down the First Order.”

Had some member of the Resistance opted to commit suicide in dramatic fashion? Amused, he glanced over at Ren—and whatever he had been going to say died on his lips. Because the new Supreme Leader looked like he was staring down at a ghost.

Comments

Because there is no written shock or surprise from the Resistance fighters after Poe’s statement, this means that Kylo’s relationship to Leia is actually common knowledge, at least among her ranks. The subsequent lines with Leia and Finn further demonstrate how inconsequential this information is: Leia isn’t currently trying to hide it, nor has she in the past evidently. After the events in Bloodline, maybe she decided not to hide her truths from her colleagues and close allies again. 

Hux, on the other hand, can’t even identify Luke Skywalker let alone understand why Kylo is so shaken by his appearance. That Finn is more “incredulous” at Poe’s deduction about Luke than he is about Poe’s reference to Luke’s family connections means the latter is not a surprise to him either. So, how could a Stormtrooper know that Kylo is a Skywalker yet the high-ranking FO officer who reinvigorated the Stormtrooper program doesn’t? A reasonable answer is that Finn learned about it at some point in TFA before Starkiller Base.

However, Leia’s close comrades knowing about her son doesn’t necessarily mean that the galaxy at large knows. Otherwise, how could Hux not know? To be fair, I don’t know how she contained that information from ruthless politicians and prevented it from becoming a weapon against her for a second time. But I guess Leia figured it out.

No Fit Leader

What I said:

Only consider how badly a secret identity, one with close ties to the enemy, would threaten Kylo’s position within the FO:

“Kylo Ren is a New Republic and Resistance sympathizer, a double agent and traitor! He is the son of rebel scum, but not just any dirty rebel: he’s the son of Leia Organa, the most dogged enemy of the Empire and First Order! At her behest, he aided and abetted a Jedi in the assassination of Supreme Leader Snoke, and then allowed her to escape! He has seized power in order to restore the Republic!”

Kylo’s visible instability on Crait could only have made a poor impression on the FO military, hitherto shown to be highly ordered and rigidly structured, if nothing else. And I’m not just talking about his gross waste of FO resources for, what, 40 rebels in a crumbling base, but also on a single man who turned out to be, well, a freaking wizard! Imagine following someone like that, putting your trust and loyalty into someone so obviously unhinged and undone?

What the novelization said:

Hux looked at Ren’s face and saw terror—naked and undisguised. That fear meant weakness—and opportunity.

The First Order had thrived despite Snoke’s weakness for mystical nonsense, but that was because Snoke had kept himself largely shrouded from view, letting his directives speak for him. Ren had never been so wise. He was incapable of it—a slave to his emotions. That wouldn’t do in a Supreme Leader. It would endanger all Hux and his technologists had created. Well, Hux wouldn’t allow that. And the more delusions Ren suffered, the easier it would be to arrange for him to be sidelined and eliminated.

Comments

Hux is providing commentary on the fact that the First Order will not accept Kylo; a fearful, uncertain leader is no fit leader. Futhermore, Kylo is trained in Jedi and Sith ways—“sorcerery” as Hux (and undoubted others) constantly calls Force powers. After the forthcoming, highly visible display of “sorcerers’” ways, no wonder Hux feels confident in his position; in contrast to Kylo’s horrid display, Snoke had maintained his “man behind the curtain” persona and in that way was able to gather and consolidate power. In a one-on-one situation, Hux could never overpower Kylo. That’s never been questioned. So, this is where Hux’s strategic cunning comes into play, along with the implied camera recordings, which could include recordings that reveal Kylo’s true identity as the last Skywalker, especially now that Snoke is not alive to prevent someone from snooping through his (likely) throne room security footage.

One thing to note is that the novelization does not mention the ^Look^ Hux gives Kylo in the abandoned Crait base. In the book, Hux is not even apparently part of the landing party. One could argue, then, that all of this time spent on Hux and his ambition are for the express purpose of explaining the meaning behind that Look. It is evidence that is not so much foreshadowing as it is confirming.

Fugitive Life

What I said:

Hux may initiate an arrest or even an assassination, which Kylo escapes. After his escape, Hux puts out the smear campaign as well as a bounty, making Kylo a wanted fugitive of the FO. As a fugitive, I think the second half of the movie will find Kylo on his journey to self-discovery and self-reconciliation. It would also be an opportunity to visit different worlds within the Star Wars galaxy, some so far removed from the political feuding that Kylo will be able to find that inner peace and resolve he needs. 

What the novelization said:

Finn had dreamed of convincing her to join him somewhere in the wilds of the Outer Rim, where the First Order could never find them. The First Order would never stop hunting the Resistance until it was destroyed, but two fugitives might have a chance to escape its notice and create a life for themselves on some quiet backwater world.

Comments

OK, yes, I’m using Finn’s wishful thinking to support my own fugitive Kylo theory. It applies very well to Finn’s story arc and his habit of dealing with the FO by running away from it. But I think it could be taken as foreshadowing for Kylo as well, because one of the main concerns about Kylo’s redemption revolves around atonement. People have suggested exile (one I personally find regressive) and death, of course. Kylo’s been running from his past, like Finn, But he actually needs to run from the ideologies that have smothered him his whole life and come into his own, as Finn did.

Final Comments

Going back to what I said at the top of this post—about the novelization doing a decent job of underscoring perspective ambiguity—here’s what I mean:

Yago would endure Hux just as Peavey had—because both men knew the general wouldn’t last. He would undoubtedly succeed at destroying the remnants of the Resistance, and bask in the glory of that accomplishment for a time. But then the real challenges would begin. […] And sooner or later, Hux would be undone, revealed as an incompetent officer and an intemperate leader. […] Hux was a revolutionary, full of fire and fervor, but revolutionaries’ seasons were fleeting.

I was pretty naïve about how his comrades in arms feel about him. For all the confidence Hux has in himself, apparently his fellow officers lack faith in him. Like Yago and Peavey (the officer shown to be at Hux’s right hand in the film), the veteran Captain Canady of the Dreadnought Fulminatrix is similarly disdainful of Hux and the other young people around him. None of these officers seem to have faith in the younger generation, which represents the future, and that implies that the veterans might not have much hope for the future of their cause. Will this result in in-fighting?

It seems more than likely that Episode IX will highlight the ideological war because, as things stand, it lacks a clear cut Big Bad; we thought Snoke would be this trilogy’s Big Bad to the Emperor’s OT Big Bad. Keep in mind that the New Republic (the good side) is virtually gone, blown out of the galaxy. If there is in-fighting or mutinies within the fledgling FO (the evil side), whose leadership was so recently destroyed and quickly usurped by an unstable “sorcerer”, then might the FO simply destroy itself? Will the galaxy then be free to re-start, in a way? Or is that too simple? Sometimes, the answers to complicated questions are simple.

And speaking of that “sorcerer”, the perspective ambiguity rears its head again:

And then there was his most glaring failure of all: his inability or unwillingness to use his power to redirect the course of his own destiny.

Rey had learned that the Force was not her instrument—that, in fact, it was the other way around. Just as Kylo was its instrument, despite his determination to bend it to his will. He would learn that one day, she sensed—the Force wasn’t finished with him.

I mean, what is up, what is down?

In the beginning of the novel, Snoke knows that Kylo has an “inability” or “unwillingness” to use his power to control his destiny. At the end, Rey believes Kylo is “determined” to use his power to control the Force. There’s an arc here—Rian Johnson’s comment about Kylo “the villain, standing on his own two feet at the end” comes to mind (X). You might think this sounds ominous for the hope that Ben Solo will be redeemed. But, in the movie, we left him downcast on the floor of an abandoned base and now, in the novel, Rey’s addendum, her sense that Kylo will someday recognize himself as an instrument of the Force, almost blatantly foreshadows Ben Solo’s redemption.

Which is the big roundabout way of me saying that this novelization isn’t a complete waste of trees.

[how2to18]

THE SLIPPERY NATURE of Araminta Hall’s American debut, Our Kind of Cruelty, is established from the very first page with an epigraph chipped from Iris Murdoch’s The Sea, The Sea: “One can be too ingenious in trying to search out the truth. Sometimes one must simply respect its veiled face. Of course this is a love story.”

The implication that what follows will also be a love story is both true and misleading, which sets the novel’s tone and identifies its central paradox: “[H]ow do you show someone that what they believe to be true is really not the truth?” This is, essentially, a love story; a story about love. It’s no starry-eyed romance, but a love story in the tradition of Wuthering Heights or Caroline Kepnes’s You, in which love manifests as darker, more obsessive, with lovers prepared to burn down the world that would keep them apart, even if they self-destruct in the process. Or, as the narrator of this book declares: “[S]ometimes two people need each other so much it is worth sacrificing others to make sure they end up together.”

These two people are Mike and V(erity), a young West London couple who spent eight years in a psychologically complex, all-consuming relationship before Mike’s work took him abroad to New York, where the strain of distance and one drunken mistake caused V to end their relationship, soon afterward becoming engaged to another man. This decisively removes any chance Mike has of winning her back. Or does it?

This is dark and thought-provoking psychological suspense, eschewing the typical “he said, she said” structure to instead present an intense single-perspective dive deep into the core of a relationship whose truths have always been veiled. Here, there is only the “he said”: the book opens with Mike sitting in prison after he’s killed a man, reluctantly writing a detailed history of his relationship with V at the request of his barrister. What emerges from this account is a portrait of a relationship with an intricate power dynamic characterized by role playing, sexual exhibitionism, and a deeply rooted choreography of cues, codes, and signals developed between two lovers for communicating undetected by outsiders.

These signals were carefully orchestrated behavioral props for use in the Crave — a bit of performance engineered by V as a lark, mingling danger and violence in a sexually charged ritual in which the couple frequently indulged over the course of their relationship. The Crave always took place in a crowded public space, a nightclub or bar where V would allow a man to buy her a drink and encouraged flirtation while Mike watched from a distance, waiting for V’s signal. As soon as she tugged her silver eagle necklace, he would push through the crowd and angrily confront the man hitting on her, using his extraordinarily muscular body to threaten him until he left, emasculated, and Mike and V would celebrate their triumphant rush by having sex in the nightclub bathroom, V turned on by Mike’s violent potential: “I love seeing how scared they are of you.”

These are the moving parts of their relationship; V setting the stage, calling the shots, Mike watching intently, waiting for his cue to act, intimacy triggered by theatrical heroism and the threat of violence. And as for the men from whom Mike had to “rescue” V, well, both love and war have their share of collateral damage. “We had played enough times to know that the end moments often seem cruel; that for us to get what we want others have to get hurt. If we could have done it another way then no doubt we would have, but there was no other way; cruelty was a necessary part of our game.”

Four months after their split, during which time V rebuffed all of Mike’s attempts to communicate, he emails to tell her he is moving back to London, and she responds warmly, apologizing for her behavior during their breakup, hoping they can renew their friendship when he comes home, and telling him of her engagement to a man called Angus. Although initially stunned, Mike quickly understands that her blithe announcement is both a punishment and a challenge — an opportunity for him to make amends:

Her breezy tone was so far removed from the V whom I knew, that I wondered for a moment if she had been kidnapped and someone else was writing her e-mails, although the much more plausible explanations were that V was not herself, or that she was using her tone to send me a covert message. There were two options at play: Either she had lost her mind with the distress I had caused her at Christmas and jumped into the arms of the nearest fool, or she needed me to pay for what I’d done. This seemed by far the most likely; this was V after all and she would need me to witness my own remorse. It was as if the lines of her e-mail dissolved and behind them were her true words. This was a game, our favorite game. It was obvious that we were beginning a new, more intricate Crave.

V broke up with Mike in response to “the American incident,” an offense Mike committed while overseas, and as he parses out the subtext of what would appear to others to be a casual email, he sees she is offering him reconciliation. Only he knows her well enough to see the coded offer she is making — the chance to redeem himself in their most elaborate Crave yet; an apology in the form of a grand romantic gesture, to rescue V from Angus — just another unworthy man, the latest dupe in a series of dupes.

Is this too difficult a request to make of Mike, a man she has cold-shouldered for months after breaking his heart? (“‘If it’s easy it’s probably not worth having,’ V said to me once, and that made me smile.”) And is she, in fact, asking, or is Mike just seeing what he wants to see, believing that this whole separation has been a test of his resolve, that “V and I were never meant to be apart.” Is he responding to the rules of a game V’s stopped playing? (“‘Everything is a game,’ V used to tell me; ‘only stupid people forget that.’”)

The ambiguity is thick. On the one hand, this is a couple with a long history of using mind games as foreplay. On the other hand, the reader is limited to Mike’s point of view, which is demonstrably unreliable, through his own admissions. But just because we don’t see the messages he sees in V’s words and behaviors doesn’t mean they aren’t there, not in a couple as opaque to outsiders as they were, and as comfortable with manipulation. Hall bats the question back and forth in front of the reader the whole way through: Do we have one unreliable narrator or two? Is this the work of two sociopaths in love or the misinterpretations of one delusional man? Is this Crave or Cray?

Mike is certain of his truth: “I knew what she was doing, it was all fine.”

It’s an intensifying thriller, building momentum as it progresses, bringing Mike’s narrative closer to his crime, keeping the reader guessing as to V’s intentions and the level of her culpability. She may not have a direct voice here, but her power over Mike is clear in his account of their romantic history and his devotion to her, even now.

V is a woman with the kind of entitled confidence found in the young and beautiful who are well aware of their beauty and the power it grants, accustomed to having people bend to their whims. In her personal life, she is impulsive, sexually adventurous, and fond of provocation, using Mike to shock her conservative parents. Professionally, she’s a successful and well-respected figure in the field of artificial intelligence, conditioning machines to be more human, and the persuasive influence she wields at work bleeds into her her relationship with Mike. “It is true to say that the Crave always belonged to V,” and in fact, she controlled every aspect of their relationship. Their compatibility wasn’t a case of two people perfectly matched; it was the result of V shaping Mike into what she desired at the time, even referring to him as “Frankenstein’s monster.” And Mike, who grew up in a foster family after his alcoholic mother was deemed unfit, basked in her attention and gladly adapted to please her (“I like the sense of dedication that has gone into creating me”). Grateful to V for everything, he changed his routines (“V likes me to lift weights and start all my days with a run”), his body (“V sculpted me into what she jokingly called the perfect man and she wasn’t happy until every part of me was as defined as a road map”), as well as his habits, tastes, and manners. One could construct quite a profligate drinking game from the number of times the phrase “V taught me how to…” appears.

For his part, Mike is unusually malleable, a care home kid with anger issues and a history of poor impulse control and acting out in rage, whose own written account exposes periods of blackouts, struggles with social cues and interactions, and disproportionately aggressive responses to small frustrations. V choosing to love him was an unexpected honor; she gave him purpose, a home, and a sense of belonging he’d never had before. He stresses frequently that he and V stand apart from the rabble: “V and I are not like others.” Their love elevates them beyond ordinary expectations, and Mike relishes his role as V’s protector; the “them-against-us” aspect to their games. “‘We make a funny pair,’ she said to me once, ‘you with no parents, me with no siblings. There’s so little of us to go around. We have to keep a tight hold of each other to stop the other from floating away.’” And Mike is determined to hold on tight.

Even after their split, he remains in her thrall. Like a dog trained to fight, he responds to one master and he’s in the ring for her whether she’s still commanding him or not. Conditioned by the Crave to observe her down to her most unconscious gestures, even the phrasings he uses are suggestive of a canine presence: “I would wait, my eyes never leaving her, my body ready to pounce at all times.” He’s eager to please, dead loyal, and trained to obey V’s subtext and cues even when they don’t line up with the facade she’s presenting to the rest of the world, which sustains the uncertainty throughout, Mike “knowing” what V would want, even when he suspects she may have gotten lost in her own game.

Getting Gillian Flynn to blurb this is a perfect choice. In many ways, Hall’s is a similar take on Gone Girl’s toxic relationship theme; a lack of honest communication and an uneven power dynamic are contributing factors to the relationship’s struggles, with a special emphasis upon a man’s frustration with the inscrutability of a woman. There’s even a deliberate echo to Gone Girl in a scene where Mike reveals he loves to watch V sleep and fantasizes about uncoiling her brain, both to understand her and to direct her thoughts toward him. The attractive vulnerability of a sleeping woman, the impulse toward violence as a tool for understanding; it’s the refuge of an emasculated man in thrall to a woman who outmatches him.

Despite the nod, this is no Gone Girl rip-off, and it actually becomes a thoughtful response to Gone Girl and all of the subsequent authors of psychological suspense homesteading on Gillian Flynn’s land. There has been a glut of post-G.G. novels in which manipulative women mastermind intricate webs of deception, so much so that it has almost become a cliché of the genre. Hall upends the reader’s expectations by removing direct access to the female character, and whenever V appears to be innocent, doubt is automatically triggered in the reader by these ingrained genre presumptions about gender and power.

This all gets thrown for a loop in the third-act courtroom scene, where Gone Girl gives way to a modern-day The Scarlet Letter, and the truth, previously twisted through Mike’s flawed perspective, is now professionally twisted through a legal wringer and the scope of the story becomes larger than a domestic dispute, much more insidious and timely.

Of course this is a love story, but it is a love story built upon emotional extremes:

They say that hate is the closest emotion to love. And passion certainly exists in two forms. The passion of sex and the passion of arguments. For V and I one would merge into the other all the time. One second shouting, the next fucking. We needed each other in a way that sometimes made me feel like it wouldn’t be enough until we’d consumed each other. I read a story once about a Russian man who ate his lovers and I sort of understand why he did it. Imagine your lover actually traveling through your blood, feeding your muscles, informing your brain. Some would see that as the basest level of cruelty, others as an act of love. Ultimately, that is what it means to Crave.

Love, cruelty, passion, and lies, manipulated to serve the theatrics of court and Crave alike, where the truth looks different depending on what you have to protect, what you have to lose, and whether you’re getting paid. To reenlist Murdoch’s epigraph, “Sometimes one must simply respect its veiled face.”

¤

Karen Brissette is a voracious reader and the most popular reviewer on Goodreads.

The post Love, Cruelty, Passion, and Lies appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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