So the author’s use of space… is awkward. Each and every scene seems to occur in a vacuum, only the briefest attention given to the details of the location. Settings become rough layouts of rooms with noticeable obstacles. The fine details that we would expect our narrator to present to us through the magnificently observant eyes of young Ender Wiggan don’t occur.

It is possible the author intentionally left the settings sparse for mood and out of logical reason; space is cold and empty, extra clutter is dangerous and Ender lives in a cold and empty world. But that’s cheating.

Ender is not cold and empty, thus even though the world he lives in might be immaculate or sparse, Ender’s perceptions should have colored it a multitude of hues, from a tiny spittle of rust on a seldom used access hatch, to a flicker or twitch in the eyes of his arch-nemesis, Bonzo.

Further, Ender’s insight came from nowhere. The more I ponder this the more troubling it becomes. The character saved the world – but how? His magical intellect grew from what seem to be two very average parents. In the beginning of the book, some pretense is made towards the monitoring and selection of special children. This is fine in the beginning, but as the world’s hopes come to rest squarely on Ender, his abilities outstrip even the most senior of military commanders. As readers we need more. We need some assurance of plausibility; some reason that this is all possible. The author fails to deliver.

One of the Fiction Department’s more fun methods is “story within a story.” It’s essentially a boiled down explanation of flashbacks and clever methods of exposition. They have their own library of self written (student and faculty) examples. Must save them money.

For a perfect example of “story within a story,” read Good OMens, by Terry Prachett and Neil Gaiman. Understand that this technique allows you to not only reach your word count, but further define the cosmology of your world and your narrator’s voice, easily and without much fuss.

The last time I was urged to read the book, I was given a little biography of Orson Scott Card. Having, as most artists, writers and creative-types do, mostly liberal friends, Card’s political and social views were brought up immediately.

“Great book,” they all said “but he hates homosexuals.”

Intrigued, I went right to the bookstore and picked up a copy of Ender’s Game. It was good. I took issue with some of the pacing, but just when I was frustrated enough, the scene shifted and we the readers were propelled forward in time to a more interesting and active moment in the hero’s tale.

As I read, however, I noticed distinct moment of strangely potent homo-eroticism. The hero, a boy named Ender, is sent to live in a co-ed battle school, where he will be transformed into the ultimate soldier. He is barely eight, but has an intellect and maturity level rivaling most adults. By the time he is twelve, he has killed two other boys (though he doesn’t know it) and defeated every enemy he’s ever encountered.  While at the Battle School, Ender is constantly removing his clothes, wrestling and fighting in the nude and ignoring the nudity of any present (of which there was only one) females.

The Author goes so far as to make sure we all know that some of the other students (boys) are sleeping in the nude. In one touching and strangely disturbing scene, Ender offers to share his bed with a young student who is too young to find his way “back to the barracks.”

Orson Scott Card is perhaps one of the armchair military philosophers who believe in the Ancient Greek Military Discipline, where young boys were “tutored” by older soldiers. This was not, of course homosexuality. It was in fact, the most masculine way to be a pederast.

After discussing the book and this bevy of very Ancient Greek fraternity described in it, one of my compatriots suggested of Card, “Perhaps he doth protest too much?”

Regardless the book was a good story. It was well written by an author with a good understanding of developmental psychology and… fear. All that said, I feel guilty for purchasing the book and however indirectly, giving financial support to such a radical and fundamentalist worldview. Looking at Orson Scott Card’s bibliography, it seems there is a bevy of great stories that I’ll never read.

Campbell worked as a story consultant for George Lucas. He died in the mid/late 80’s, just about the time “Return of the Jedi” was being written. Prior to that, of course, Star Wars: A New Hope is a textbook example of the Heroic Cycle (no thanks to George Lucas, who might be a brilliant film-MAKER, isn’t a top notch writer*).

Looking at the original trilogy in a larger sense, A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and ever Return of the Jedi mark out a perfect three act structure, with the end of “Empire” being the “all is lost moment.” Vogler’s work by implication suggests that writers lack the natural and fundamental ability to tell a story, something inherent in all humans (it is memory and language, the combination of the two that make STORY – that make us human).

I was recently introduced to Christopher Vogler’s interpretation of Campbell’s work. I’m sure Vogler had the best of intentions when he set out on his quest to simplify something that’s not really simple, but I have to question his results.

I’ve seen hundreds of “whatever book for writers” and their simplicity and lack of originality shock me in nearly every instance. Vogler suggests that he “takes the [heroic cycle concept] out of the academic language” and makes it more accessible. ??Simplifying story-telling results in books and movies like “The DaVinci Code” and “Avatar;” Wildly popular, dreadfully predictable and ultimately poor examples of the writer’s craft. (Come on! You were thinking it in Avatar when you heard the word “Unobtanium” – you know you were!)

Further, I take issue with the idea that story can be reduced to a series of dots on a line. While I understand that structure is actually a side effect of the need for language to describe pieces of story (we do the same with art), I feel that structure as it’s being taught tends to become a crutch for the less inspired writer’s of the world.

As writers, if we can’t be bothered to study our classic literature, to analyze Homer and Sophocles (the world’s first depressed and moody artist) and to dig deep into the origins of myth and story telling, then perhaps we’re in the wrong line of work.

*Sorry George. You were the reason I went to film school. But those last three Star Wars films were pretty rough. People don’t always say what they feel. Is there such a thing as travel time in your universe? Anakin was a failure as a literary character because we didn’t care about his fall from grace. He was always tainted. That was un-epic.

The occasional birdsong was replaced by a symphony; the teasing of insects became a chainsaw buzzing. By midsummer, the world was once again alive. The heat, a charming novelty at first, soon became oppressive, the thick humid winds were a sweltering lash.

Thunder brought the devil and rain that was hard, like nails. The earth itself would shake as the massive cotton-bruises lit and pulsed with electricity. Slowly they cruised across the landscape, driving us before them with their lashing winds and steely rain.

In space, summer doesn’t matter. August, June? We can’t tell. The ship is trying to keep us at a cool seventy degrees. The air is stale and dry, hot from the ever-present energy bleed of the reactors. The ship, our new world, the reactor, a sun and geothermal heat-source in one hard, slick shell.

I stay away from the windows.

Anyhow, here it is…Space Whales via Aviator interactive magazine!

Tell them how much you loved my story here!

While I, and perhaps other members of the audience were expecting something more akin to a mystery, I found myself delighting in the pacing. The lightning quick scene-to-scene action slowly but surely redefined Holmes and the indefatigable Watson. There were moments in the film where I felt they were more like Dr. Hunter S. Thompson and His Attorney, than the legendary sleuth.

The dismissal of layered mystery and sub-plot worked for this action adventure film. Sherlock, it seems, has been re-invented.

Reader’s will notice I always gloss over the acting. Well, I’m not changing my pattern. Downey Jr. was excellent, as well as Jude Law, both tried and true performers. I expected no less. In fact, considering their past roles, this might have been a screw-off project for them. Supporting cast was adequate. (Sidenote: I’ve heard rumors that Brad Pitt is cast as Moriarty – dashing my own aspirations – while Pitt has performed some excellent roles, it is my belief that he needs heavy interaction with the director – how else could you explain his “blah” portrayal of Achilles, perhaps the most archetypical character in the history of man?)

A mystery/thriller necessarily must play upon the audiences limited perspective, elsewise we would figure out the mystery well ahead of the main character. Thus, during the big reveal, we see Holmes’ perception of details the audience simply wasn’t shown. That’s cheating.

All said, I loved the film, it will definitely go into my Blu-Ray collection, right next to Iron Man.

The moon watched as I devoured a Nutroll, the nuts cracking and shattering as I chomped, crumbs piling around me, landing on the slick surface of my grim obsidian desk.

I hunkered down and she crept up higher in the sky to keep eyes on what I was doing. I devoured the candy.  The salt from the Nutroll was making me lick my lips. The goo in the center of the candy bar was sticking in my teeth and I was moving my mouth and cheeks in an effort to dislodge the tooth decayer. But I couldn’t give up the salt, so both efforts, the salt removal and the sticky candy-goo removal took twice as long.

The moon watched while I feasted like a dog.

This story picks up with a Commissar-Colonel Gaunt wondering just how soft he’s gotten. One is reminded of the opening scenes of Apocalypse Now, where Martin Sheen stares out of his window wondering he’ll get orders to leave Saigon.

Gaunt’s Ghosts are no different than any other combat veteran, an entire regiment of soldiery so tuned up and keyed to self=preservation through violence, it’s no wonder that the Ghost’s run astray.

The novel opens with a gruesome scene wherein the infiltration of the Sabbat Crusade’s HQ world is cleverly explained. I won’t give too much more detail for fear of spoiling a fun read.

I did note, however, that it was page 67 before I felt the old interest, that Abnett page-turning, pulse-pounding sci-fi pulp action returning. Aside from the Blood Pact infiltration, I honestly can’t remember what happened in those first 67 pages.

As a long time Gaunt’s Ghosts fan, I think my patience for their antics is higher than would be for a new reader. I also found myself reflecting on the characters, it feels as if most of the original Ghosts are gone now. The replacement characters have yet to become fully endeared to me and I wonder, how will this regiment end up?

Gaunt’s capture and torture in the last book were cleanly glossed over, and any residual trauma he may have had has yet to make itself known…