Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-Thon: The Invention of Hugo Cabret

 
From the very outset, it was clear that Brian Selznick's award-winning novel, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, is a particularly fascinating volume. While always aware of the caveat against judging books by their covers, this novel's colorful and ornate dust jacket was like a beacon the first time I saw it, gleaming with promises of a worthwhile story. The volume itself is no less wondrous, filled with fantastically rendered pictures and oddly lain text, printed on surprisingly thick pages, bound in a simple yet distinguished cover...it truly is a singularly impressive book, and all this without mention of the story itself.

Hugo Cabret is a story about hope and dreams, set in a world that seems sorely at a loss for both. The titular character, Hugo Cabret, has in his 12 short years suffered no small amount of hardship. An orphan, he lives hidden in the secret recesses of a train station, keeping watch over the station's three dozen clocks. He resorts to thievery in order to stay fed, and to continue work on his main focus in life: the repair of an automaton, the completion of which was once the goal of his late father. Hugo's pursuit of this end eventually gets him into trouble on several occasions, but also introduces him to Isabelle, the ward of the toymaker from whom Hugo has been stealing parts for his mechanical man. This new friendship opens the door to a number of other introductions, troubles, and triumphs. In the end, Selznick's novel is every bit as heartwarming as it is gloomy, and the promises of its resplendent cover are all fulfilled.

I'm tremendously glad I chose to read this book as my first today. Lately I've felt the need for something lighter than the usual non-fiction on my reading list, and though Hugo Cabret was far from fluff, it still left me feeling uplifted, for which I'm thankful. Between its well-crafted story and the quality of its equally well-crafted binding, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone, regardless of age. I have yet to meet an adult who has completely lost contact with their inner child, and this story will not only appeal to that aspect, but bring it out. We all still dream, after all...

Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-Thon: The Best Laid Plans...

Given last year's lapse in Read-a-thon activity, I should have expected a similar hiccup the second time around. After struggling to sleep, due to my excitement over the coming event, I managed a small nap just as the sun was beginning to rise. I fully intended to waken a few hours later and tackle whichever book happened to be my first choice; instead, I awoke roughly 8 hours later, feeling thoroughly groggy, and more than a little guilty. It's now over 10 hours into the Read-a-thon, but I'm finally on task. First up: The Invention of Hugo Cabret.

Admittedly, this borders on the verge of cheating, as the book is comprised largely of illustrations, rather than text. But there's a quality to the illustrations and their purpose which requires the reader to pause and consider each scene. Much of the story is told through these expert drawings, the depth and detail of which is matched perfectly to the imaginative text they accompany. While it's true that I chose this book first for the likelihood it would be a quick read, it's also one I've long wanted to read and, as it's turning out, one which I've long needed to read. I'll need to finish before I can offer a proper analysis or final judgment, but for the time being it's a captivating and thoroughly delightful story. 

Reading and stumblings aside, I must say that, despite my middling progress, the day has still been remarkably its own. There's a celebratory tinge to the air, as if even the mundane tasks of the day are made better by the fact of this being a holiday of sorts. Much as many voice a wish that the holiday spirit could last year round, so too do I find myself wishing this enthusiasm for books—and the gleeful sharing of that enthusiasm—could be a regular theme of life. And perhaps it is, to a degree, but never more so than during a Read-a-thon. It really is a shame to have missed so much of it, but that's in the past now. The day's a-wastin', best get back to it!!!

Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-Thon: Redux

Let's get this out of the way--it's been ages since my last post. The time away's been rather well spent, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit to hearing the blog beckon in the quieter moments of the last few weeks. Much as I felt myself gradually gravitating toward a return to regular activities here at the Fane, it's taken an occasion such as this to light the necessary fires under the appropriate keister: It's time once again for Dewey's 24 Hour Read-a-thon. 

The Read-a-thon, which has taken place biannually since October of 2007, is a fascinating social media spectacle to behold. Last October's Read-a-thon was my first, and it was an experience which forever altered my opinion of social media. Participants pledge to spend an entire 24 hour period reading as many books as possible (or in my case that first outing, embarrassingly, only some of one book I'd already started), blog about said books, engage in witty banter with fellow participants on Twitter and Facebook, and throw themselves headlong into the periodic onslaught of hourly book-related mini-challenges. I'd been part of of book-loving communities before, but never anything so delightfully frenzied as this. I came away from the experience ridiculously more familiar with--and appreciative of--Twitter, felt I'd finally come of age as a member of the blogosphere, and whet my appetite for literature in ways that surely contributed to the rousing success of the following month's NaNoWriMo effort. With so many wonderful attributes to its credit, I'd be remiss were I to ever allow myself to miss a single Read-a-thon again.

And yet, for all the festivities surrounding our shared love for the written word, I couldn't help having come away from the experience disappointed in myself. I didn't manage my sleep schedule properly, and napped more than a few hours of the day; I'd given myself what seemed such a short reading list, and yet failed to complete even a single volume. I could have blogged more frequently, between chapters perhaps, and what's more I should have parlayed that frequency into a long-standing habit (which is clearly not the case, as evidenced by my recent lapse). And so, in the spirit of my new approach to the concept of resolution, I have decided to tackle this year's Read-a-thon not with set goals but with an eye on doing my best to simply do more. I haven't even decided on the first (if not only) book I'll be reading--that can wait until morning--but I do know, with absolute certainty, that I will have an unbelievably good time of it. And I know the other fantastic people joining in on the fun will have blasts of their own. The time's almost upon us and, no matter what, buried in books is definitely the place to be.

On Milestones and Moments—The Perks of Being a Twitterer

It may not always seem to be so, but it wasn't all that long ago that the Internet—for me, at any rate—was more or less a static collection of web pages, abbreviated in only a few places by the interaction afforded by message boards, IRC chat rooms, and instant messaging programs like AIM and ICQ. My immersion into net culture began with a WebTV purchased in 1998, and while the service did offer each user a personal webpage, the notion of "web presence" was, by and large, still unknown to me. Though I did eventually graduate to a proper desktop computer, my interactions with others on the Internet were still limited to a few personal contacts via IM programs, and perhaps three chat rooms that I frequented with varying degrees of enthusiasm. 

It wasn't until around 2007 that I encountered my first message board, and I didn't join Facebook until 2010—and that, I was more or less forced into, thanks to a friend who set up the account and then handed me the "keys". My reluctance to participate in the burgeoning scene that is now referred to as Web 2.0 persisted for quite some time. In fact, even now, I find myself often begrudging the fact that I have what amounts to a web presence, which must be regularly updated and maintained. I will admit, however, that this hesitancy of mine has waned significantly, from screaming refusal to resignation to, recently, a tentative embracing of what has become, for all intents and purposes, the new normal. It isn't a product of having accepted that I'm actually somewhat proud of my well-cultivated Facebook profile, or that I now have a blog; no, it's because of Twitter. And though I initially felt coerced (by myself) into signing up for Twitter for the sake of promoting this blog, the incredulity with which I viewed having an account has given way to a surprising degree of pleasure at realizing that I have finally reached the milestone of my 1,000th tweet. I thought it an excellent occasion to opine on the virtues, uses, and benefits of Twitter.

All the News That's Fit to Tweet

Though Twitter had been launched in July of 2006, The first I'd heard of it was in late April of 2008, via a CNN article. An American graduate student, James Buck, had been arrested while covering anti-government protests in Egypt. En route to the police station, he sent out a tweet—"Arrested."—and it was this message to his Twitter followers that led to his eventual release. At the time, my interests lay more in international affairs than technology, and so the story was more intriguing for detailing the treatment of journalists during a time of unrest. Looking back, however, it was not only my introduction to the existence of Twitter, but the first sign of just how powerful it—and social media in general—could be. 

By now, of course, news is broken and spread on Twitter sooner and faster than anywhere else on the Internet, if not all media. It's a stream of information—sometimes serious, sometimes trivial—that never seems to stop, and when important information enters the stream, retweets and commentary send it rushing across the globe in seconds. Follow enough people, and you've got your ear to the ground worldwide. It's an excellent way to to keep abreast of news from anywhere in the world; it's also an excellent way to see the lighter side of the way the world turns.

London Calling

I'm sure its already made its way into the Twitter streams and Facebook news feeds of just about anyone who has a mind to care, but I think it bears repeating: The exchange below was—without reservation—a truly hilarious thing.

It may be hard to tell from these screenshots, but I happened to spot Patrick Stewart's reply only minutes after he posted it. I captured the image, intent on using it in a post on my recently-developed love for Twitter, only to see scores of major news sources had picked up on the story by the end of the day. I'd been scooped, and for a moment that stung, if only for the fact that I was slow on the draw. But that feeling eventually gave way to the realization that I'd witnessed the story being reported as it unfolded. Silly as it may sound—particularly for what amounts to little more than a Twitter-enabled joke—I felt as if I'd been witness to history.

Now, I suffer absolutely no delusions that this exchange will mean anything in the long run—it's obviously just a brief moment in which we all happened to chuckle that one time Rob Delaney and Patrick Stewart made a funny—but I'd SEEN it happen. And this sort of thing actually does happen quite often. Celebrities and various Important People interact on Twitter all the time, in ways you just can't observe elsewhere. It's not always a send-up of the supposedly-serious, a blending of real news and parody within the span of a few minutes; sometimes its as simple as two people conversing the way any two people might, but extraordinary for the fact that it's people of note. 

And this is something I love about Twitter most—it enables us to observe the daily interactions of people whom we admire, who inspire us, who make us think or smile or laugh. Whether its shenanigans or touching exchanges, it's an opportunity to see that they, too, are just as human as we. This doesn't just go for famous people, either. As I've remarked before, participating in a community of like-minded individuals has been invaluable to me, as far as my writing is concerned, and though I've done so on other platforms Twitter has always been the single greatest facilitator of that communal existence. For some reason, there more than anywhere else on the Internet, it's plain as day that we're all in this together.

...And They Said You Should Never Meet Your Heroes

Watching celebrities interact with each other is great entertainment, offers tremendous insight, and can even inspire at times; interacting with regular folks is integral to my daily well-being, and encourages me to continue my efforts as a developing writer. But on those rare occasions in which these two worlds merge? The feeling is indescribable. 

Last October, I had the good fortune of borrowing a friend's copy of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman. It was a compelling and quick read, extremely enjoyable, and I took to Twitter to say so. That's how this happened:

I have long been a fan of Gaiman's works, and of the man in general. The "Quote of the Moment" that adorns my blog at present—taken from Gaiman's now-famous "Make Good Art" commencement address—has been in place for months, as I can't find anything better with which to replace it. But this exchange—my thanks and his response—sent my appreciation soaring. I know the man has millions of fans, and I doubt he too often finds himself feeling under-appreciated, but it still felt good to contribute in some tiny, infinitesimally small way to his day. And it meant worlds to me that he should respond as he did, contributing to my day/month/year so significantly. It means he's listening—many of them are—and the fact that they interact with fans is admirable, as it has been since the first celebrity responded to the first piece of fan mail. But I'd like to think it happens quite a bit more, more often, thanks to Twitter. 

And while I'm sure it all happens elsewhere as well—on message boards, Facebook posts, and the like—but it's all right there, included in the daily Twitter stream, all at once, ad infinitum. Writers reaching out to writers, news breaking minutes after the event, millions sharing in the joke, or the sadness, or the moment. Twitter is the digital mikveh, the communal bath in which we're all soaking and stewing, sharing, laughing, and dreaming. It's a surprisingly wonderful place, one in which I don't always participate as often as I should. But, whenever I happen to be there, I'm glad to be; touching base, staying "in the know", continually being inspired and influenced by the stream of information as it passes. 

Maybe someday, I'll be in the position to crack a joke that'll make it into the papers, or tweet at a grateful reader, making their day. Maybe I'll say something brief but inspiring, and others will be inspired to continue pursuing their dreams, and sharing those dreams on social media and in blogs, tweeting links to those posts just like me, continuing the cycle. You can never step into the same river twice, and the Twitter stream is ever churning, ever changing. Your mileage may vary, as they say, but this has been my experience. And I hope it continues to be my experience, as I begin my next thousand tweets, and the thousands that will undoubtedly follow.

Post Script - A Darkling Sea

It feels like it's been ages since I last reviewed anything, and even longer since I last reviewed something new. I've a sizable personal library, but I rarely add to it these days, and so little of what I've acquired could be considered contemporary fiction. Only a few weeks ago, I noticed how much I'd come to miss the influx of newer works that reviewing afforded me. I'd said as much in conversation and, as if my desire to return to reviewing had been broadcast, I found a package had arrived in the mail, courtesy of Tor Books. The timing was surprisingly perfect (and on the verge of suspicious—is one of the earlier review copies bugged?) and, as mentioned in my previous post, I immediately set my reading list aside for this latest addition—James L. Cambias's A Darkling Sea. 

I've been fortunate to have encountered some of the best modern science fiction through my time as a reviewer. John Scalzi's Redshirts, the first book I reviewed for Tor, was both hilarious and heartfelt. Not only did it go on to win the 2013 Hugo Award for Best Novel, there are now plans to bring the story to television in the form of a miniseries on FX. David Brin's Existence, my second Tor review, was an amazingly rich and rewarding reading experience. Rapture of the Nerds, by Cory Doctorow and Charles Stross, read like a delightful exercise in absolute madness. In general, it's been an exciting time to be a scifi fan and, more often than not, Tor has had a hand in releasing some of the best works in the genre. A Darkling Sea is a perfect example of their knack for churning out quality science fiction. 

It was a quick read, in that it was compelling enough to keep the pages turning and turning. I haven't often had that experience, in which putting the book down seemed less and less likely as the story went on. I think it took me all of two days, one reading session each, to finish. It's highly recommendable, especially for the fact that while it touts itself as "hard science fiction", it's not too technical as to ward off those less experienced with that particular subgenre. It'd make for an excellent introduction to hard scifi, in fact, which makes it all the more apt for recommendation. 

Getting the chance to review this book is something for which I'm perhaps inordinately grateful. It gave me an opportunity to get back into reviewing, to blog more, and to add to my still-small list of completed reads for the year. More than that, it was simply a darn good book. Take a look at my complete review over at A Reader's Respite, and see if you might not want to add it to your list of completed reads as well.

Click here to read my review of A Darkling Sea @ A Reader's Respite