Apologies for not blogging yesterday–I had a horrible, horrible migraine and went home early to sleep for 14 hours. Sleep, best cure for a migraine!

Anyway, this is the last day of JJ-Blog-About-Race Week! Previous posts include:

Race in Fiction Week

• I’m Korean and I’m Okay: A little background information on me.
• Representing Race in Fiction: I’m not very good at titling things.
• Coffee, Chocolate, and Cream: Describing race.
• What’s The Story?: Please no more “problem novels”.

I’ve left covers for last because 1) I’ve already blogged somewhat about it, 2) it’s something the editorial department has less control over, and 3) because it takes the discussion away from words into pictures and that’s something else again.

Covers are a Marketing Tool

The original cover of LIAR

The heart of the matter is that covers are a marketing tool. While covers certainly ought to reflect the contents of a book, a cover’s job is to grab your attention so you pick up the book (or click on a preview online) in the first place.

Composition, color, type treatment. I’ve been a visual artist my entire life, so I know the elements of good design. And there’s a difference between what makes good art and what makes good design. Ideally, a cover ought to be both, but if it has to choose, it ought to be good design.

That’s just the cover FUNCTION. As for what goes on a cover, well…

Should Covers Reflect Content?

Australian cover of LIAR

In YA in particular, the US has a tendency to showcase faces on the covers. I dislike this trend, mostly because the characters on the covers (regardless of ethnicity) don’t match up with how they look in my mind’s eye. I especially dislike it when cover artists use photographs, but I get that it’s easier these days to photograph a model and then digitally add him/her to a cover than to paint one entire. Yet, I miss the days when YA covers were either 1) illustrated or 2) less literal and more figurative. I love the artwork of Mary Grand Pré, for instance, the woman who did the US covers for HARRY POTTER. And while I’m not a fan of the TWILIGHT series, there’s something viscerally powerful about their iconic covers, particularly the one for TWILIGHT, with the loss of innocence/dangerous temptation imagery and stark colors.

Nowhere in TWILIGHT is there a young woman offering an apple to you. (I’m assuming the arms belong to a girl.)

Adult literary fiction covers are more figurative and less literal, so you’ll often see a pair of shoes, or a still life of books, or they’ll rehash a famous painting, etc. etc. Yet, I’m drawn more to YA covers, which are often bolder, fresher, and less cluttered in design, and therefore more attractive. Unfortunately, they also tend to feature their characters on their covers more often than not.

Why? Is there any good reason for this? I posted two different covers for Justine Larbalestier’s LIAR to illustrate my point. The first is the cover for the ARC, the one that drew a lot of fire because it had a white girl representing a biracial one. (The other thing that bothers me about the original cover is that this girl doesn’t look like she’s in high school–she could easily be a 35-year-old woman.) The second is LIAR’s Australian cover, which I like much better. Stark, simplistic, metaphoric and literal at once–it’s a pretty damn good cover, if you ask me.

Reprint of Child of the Owl by Laurence Yep. I hate this cover (although I loved the book).

As far as “whitewashing” covers go–sure it angers me, but I tend to view covers as something a little separate from the content of a book. Whereas the content of a book (and how characters of a different race are portrayed) is the writer’s purview, the cover is not. Still, there are a few things that enrage me when I see them on books with Asian protagonists.

The shorthand.

You know, if there’s a dragon or a fan on the cover, then it’s about an Asian person! Nevermind that while the dragon has huge significance in Chinese culture, it’s less prominent in other East Asian countries. For instance, Koreans revere the tiger, which was the mascot of the 1988 Seoul Olympics and the mascot of its national football/soccer team. The dragon also has Western significance, in case people forgot–it’s on the flag of Wales and is tied with the myth of England’s patron saint St. George.

The cover of my version of CHILD OF THE OWL. I like this one much better.

I hate books that visually cue “this is about an Asian protagonist!” with vaguely Oriental-ish fonts and motifs. Please. Not only do I find that offensive, but in many cases, I will subconsciously view it as a “problem novel” (and you all know my thoughts on that). I would like to compare the two covers for Laurence Yep’s excellent YA novel CHILD OF THE OWL.

Twelve-year-old Casey is waiting for the day that Barney, her father, hits it big — ’cause when that horse comes in, he tells her, it’s the penthouse suite. But then he ends up in the hospital, and Casey is sent to Chinatown to live with her grandmother, Paw-Paw. Now the waiting seems longer than ever.

Casey feels lost in Chinatown. She’s not prepared for the Chinese school, the noisy crowds, missing her father. But Paw-Paw tells her about the mother Casey never knew, and about her family’s owl charm and her true Chinese name. And Casey at last begins to understand that this — Paw-Paw’s Chinatown home, her parents’ home — is her home,too.

I really liked Casey in this book, who saw herself as just a regular ol’ American girl–like many of the Chinese in San Francisco, she is several general removed from China. Don’t get me wrong, this is an “issues book” and one I wouldn’t pick up today, but it’s definitely relevant to the cultural circumstances of many Chinese in San Francisco in the 1970s. Thirty years ago, that is.

Anyway, back to the cover. What I liked about the original cover was that it depicted Casey as she’s described in the book: in hoodies and sweats, not particularly feminine, and very, very American. Sure she’s standing in front of a store in Chinatown, but otherwise, nothing about this had the offensive shorthand found in its reprint. Paw-Paw, her very hilarious grandmother, is fluent in English and just as Americanized as her grandchild, even if she has closer ties to the “homeland”. (I hate that term too.) I hate that the reprint cover of this book exoticizes both Casey and Paw-Paw–I think the inclusion of Oriental typeface and motifs alienates more readers than not. It sure as hell alienates me. And I don’t consider it “PC” at all.

This is a great example of a cover an Asian character that isn't offensive.

I think covers are getting better, although they’re still a long way from perfect. I think the cover for Ben Esch’s SOPHOMORE UNDERCOVER is pretty awesome (I am ashamed to say I haven’t read it yet). One, I love the old-school 1940s private investigator feel to it. Second, the type treatment reinforces that mood. Third, the eyes peering through the blinds at the prospective reader are that of a Vietnamese boy and I highly doubt the average teen would think twice about that. And if I were a teen today, I would pick up this cover because of ping of recognition that occurs.

I’ll admit to being drawn to Asian actors and actresses on TV because there’s that weird thrill of recognition that goes through me. Hey, that could be me. I even find myself drawn to actors and actresses who have little or no Asian blood but sort of look like a hapa (e.g. Summer Glau) because there’s something visceral about seeing someone like me represented in the media. When Grace Park was cast as Sharon Valerii on Battlestar Galactica, I just about died. Incidentally Asian! Her race had nothing to do with her character! Possibly because she’s not human but a Cylon! Still!

This visceral ping of recognition exists when I see an Asian face on book covers. And I would love to see more of them. Just without the shorthand, if you please.

Those are my very long thoughts! What are yours? What do you think about “visual shorthand”? Do you find it as offensive as I do?

And we come to day 3 of JJ-Blogs-About-Race-And-Then-Ducks-The-Rotten-Tomatoes! To recap:

Race in Fiction Week

• I’m Korean and I’m Okay: Some background information on me.
• Representing Race in Fiction: What it says on the tin.
• Coffee, Chocolate, and Cream: How to describe characters of a different race.

Before we continue, I would just like to say that I don’t want to come across as though I am against explorations of racial tension in fiction. I’m not, especially with regards to historical and even some fantasy and science fiction. In fact, my preferred mode of seeing these issues discussed is through the medium of more figurative genres. To bring up HARRY POTTER again, the pureblood vs. Muggleborn prejudice that runs through the series is a wonderful metaphor for racism and class conflict.

I will explain why: because racism, prejudice, and classist issues still exist in today’s society and most likely always will. If it’s not race, then it’s money, or it’s ability, or it’s where your native planet is located, or it’s so on and so forth. I think it’s in human nature to be drawn to those “like you” and mistrust those who are “different”. The feelings are consistent, even if the values in the equation change over time.

As I said, if we lived in a perfect utopian society where everyone was equal and the same, we’d probably have no more stories left to tell.

What’s the Story?

It’s hard to articulate my feelings on this matter without seeming contradictory, but I will try my best. When I read a book, I want to know what the story is, not its plot or what it’s about. This distinction is slight but crucial. If I ask someone What’s the story? and the only answer they’re able to give is Well, it’s about [fill in the blank], then it’s what I call an “issues” or a “problem” novel.

Here are two completely fabricated examples.

Question: What’s the story?
Answer #1: A young woman must save her little sister from sinister forces that would harm her.

Race can certainly be an aspect of the conflict that forms a book like this. Let’s say the sisters are of a different class/race/what-have-you than the majority of the society in which they live. The younger sister happens to look more like an “outsider” and is abducted/abused/sold into slavery/think of your own plot point here. The protagonist must then find a way to save her sister. She gets into the criminal underbelly of society where she’s treated differently because she looks like she’s of “a different class”: the crooks are more likely to fleece her because they think she’s easily tricked like “everyone else who looks like her”, etc. Racial/cultural differences inform a book like this, but that’s not where the story lies.

Question: What’s the story?
Answer #2: Well, it’s about this girl who falls in love with this guy, but her family doesn’t like him because he’s different, so she sticks up for him and everyone comes to an understanding that we’re all human.

In short, a book like basically says, “Oh this is an issues book”. It doesn’t have to deal with race–it came be anything from he’s from a lower class, or perhaps the guy isn’t a guy but a girl and it’s a coming out story–anything. The story is “girl falls in love with wrong person”. A classic story and not one I have inherent problems with (if I’m personally bored by them) except it’s the sort of storyline that turns into an “issues” story. Now, if the story were about a girl trying come to terms with her mother’s murder and happens to fall in love with a “wrong person”, that’s something different again.

I hope I’m making myself clear because it’s hard to illustrate what I’m talking about without specific examples, but I don’t want to single out books and cry This author got it wrong! Because everyone has the right to write the book they want and they certainly don’t need me to love it. But those of us how have felt either marginalized or “on the outside” on the account of our class or ethnicity sometimes develop facial tics when we come across “problem novels”. Because problem novels often reduce the marginalized into simple tropes because they don’t functionally need to be well-rounded (they don’t–I mean, neither Romeo nor Juliet were especially three-dimensional aside from the fact they were really horny teenagers). The “other” in books like these also tend to get exoticized/romanticized/fetishized and it makes me manifestly uncomfortable.

Now, I don’t believe all books with minority characters are “problem novels” and I’m seeing more and more books where characters are incidentally ethnic AND whole persons. But I think (and this is my own personal opinion) that a lot of writers are frightened of being accused of exoticizing/romanticizing/fetishizing the “other” and therefore stick to what they know. I’m not trying to make generalizations, but the majority of the manuscripts that come across my desk are written by white people. I think it’s just because there are more white people than non-white people in the United States. We’re called “minorities” for a reason.

So that’s my take on the “problem” novel. What are your thoughts?

Welcome to day 2 of JJ Will Probably Alienate A Lot of People By Blogging About Race! In case you missed the previous posts:

Race in Fiction Week

• I’m Korean and I’m Okay
• Representing Race in Fiction

Today I want to tackle how to describe race in fiction. There are many schools of thought about this and I don’t think my opinion is the only “right” way to go about it. But my thoughts come a personal place: as someone of a “minority” race in the US who reads a lot of books.

There are (more or less) two schools of thought with regards to describing characters of a different race. The first is DO EVERYTHING BUT MENTION THEIR RACE DIRECTLY. The second is a much more forthright approach.

The Circuitous Manner

Describe me. Go ahead, I won't be offended.

You might guess on which side of the line I fall. Here’s an exercise: describe what I look like in the comments! Flex your writing skills. Also, I would love to see how other writers tackle race when describing what their characters look like. I promise that 1) won’t be offended if you describe me as a wart-ridden hog, and 2) judge you for whichever angle you decide to approach it from.

I’m of two minds about the circuitous version. I like when race is such a non-issue as to not be made a huge deal of, so kudos for keeping the colorblind lines open. There are many ways to indirectly approach the issue of race and a really great YA example is J.K. Rowling.

Yes, HARRY POTTER. I know the books about the Boy Who Lived aren’t shining examples of “multiculturalism” (or whatever), but that’s what I like about them. The way J.K. Rowling approaches race in her books is to give very subtle indicators, the most direct of them being names. Cho Chang and the Patil twins are three characters who are not Anglo-British. Cho Chang is most likely of some East Asian descent (either Chinese or Korean) and the Padma and Parvati are two Indian girls. Not once does Rowling mention this. In both cases, the names are the biggest giveaways. And while they may not be “main characters”, they just a few of the many students who populate Hogwart’s hallowed halls, neither cliché nor a statement. All three girls are described as being “good-looking” or “pretty”–Cho is actually given a talent, which is Quidditch. (That’s before she devolves into a hosepipe, but that’s something else.)

Of course, J.K. Rowling is a master at conveying fully rounded characters in an economy of words. Dean Thomas is a black character. I find it interesting that “black” was inserted into the American editions when they didn’t bother in the UK. I’ve heard that his penchant for soccer–excuse me, football–and his support of West Ham (…?) were large indicators of his ethnicity, but that might be a regional thing that didn’t translate across the pond.

Here’s the thing: I latched onto Cho, I really did. If I lived in Harry’s world, I would totally be sorted into Ravenclaw. Until the delayed release of THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, I was even “Cho’s age”–that is, a year older than Harry (in the books, not based on the actual year he was “born”). Here was a girl on whom Harry had a crush–all he noticed about her was that she was very pretty and was good at Quidditch. And she was ASIAN! And it didn’t define her! She was incidentally of another race! I could practically be her! And Harry sort-of-kind-of-maybe-not-really has a crush on not-me! Huzzah! (In my defense, I was 14 at the time, okay?)

That’s an example where the circuitous manner works. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always.

There are many occasions when it doesn’t. It doesn’t work when an “ethnic” character is a protagonist–I mean, I could go for several blog posts without mentioning my own racial heritage, but every once in a while, it’s bound to come up. It also doesn’t work when you rely only on physical descriptors. “Dark skin” is so broad as to describe a rainbow of complexions from practically every ethnicity and race. To some of my Korean relatives, I have very “dark” (i.e. brown) skin. I’m more pink-brown than pale yellow. What exactly are “almond-shaped” eyes? Not all Asian people have them. Some have very round eyes, others do not. I don’t have straight, sleek, shining black hair; my hair is dark brown and wavy-ish. Within a race or an ethnic group, there are so many variations of physical appearance, it’s going to be pretty impossible to glean any race aside from “white” (the default) unless you are more direct.

The Direct Approach

Which brings me to my preferred way of seeing characters described. Look, I get it. One of the first adjectives people will use to describe me is “that Asian girl”. I’m fine with that because it’s true. I’m Asian. And I’m a girl. If I were in Korea, you’d probably describe me differently: “that big girl with a huge butt”. (I have indeed been described this way. I’ve also been described as the “fat American with big boobs and lion hair”.)

But these are only descriptors of what I look like, not who I am. And I’m more interested in who a character is. Race is secondary, but dammit if it isn’t nice to go into a novel knowing that the character is incidentally a “different color”. I’m not asking that it be mentioned all the time, but a little nod close to the beginning would be nice, as long as it’s not the first thing that comes to mind.

In my opinion, Justine Larbalestier manages this quite elegantly in her book LIAR. You’re not aware of Micah’s race (…or anything else about her, really), but little hints filter through. I believe Micah mentions she got “the nap gene” with regards to her hair (I read the ARC, and I think it might have changed in final production) and there are other subtle hints that build up to your impression of her race before she mentions fairly soon that her father is black.

That was all I needed. I, uh, won’t discuss anything else about this book because it IS about a compulsive liar, but this is my take on it.

I know a lot of writers shy away from loaded terms like “black” and “Asian” and “Hispanic”, afraid of alienating readers or I don’t know what. But the thing is, a good writer will work with it. A good writer will work with all the implications that accompany racially/ethnically-charged words and still convince me that a character is a whole person.

Embrace the connotations and the negative associations, but work them to your advantage and to the story’s advantage.

That’s my take on describing characters of color. What are your thoughts? Also, I’m interested to see in how people describe me!

Last week I swore that this week I would blog about race in fiction. I absolutely intend to adhere to my resolutions, but I will need help in the coming days. Today I am going to blog about representing race in fiction, what I’d like to see, what I think (and hope) works, etc. However, after that, I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to blog about. So please, suggest things to me! Ask questions!

Anyway, before I get into the “heavy” stuff, two things of note! The first is Psychic Roommate and I completed our first 5K race this past Sunday! She ran hers in 30 minutes flat, I clocked in at 31:05. Needless to say, we’re quite proud of ourselves.

The second is I saw Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland dressed like this:

Yes, I'm dressed as Alice. And I'm seriously considering going platinum blonde. Yes? No? Bad idea?

Of the movie? Eh. But I’ve always been a huge Alice fan and to date I’ve never come across an adaptation I’ve liked. (Excepting the Disney version, which I apparently watched so often it destroyed the VHS tape. YES, VHS. I’M THAT OLD, OH MY GOD.) As per usual with Tim Burton films, I enjoyed the visuals, Johnny Depp, and Helena Bonham Carter. As per usual (of his recent films), I wasn’t impressed with the rest. It hurts to be a fangirl, sometimes.

Anyway, back to the point: representing race in fiction. I will be upfront in saying that a lot of my impressions come from a YA-bias as that’s mostly what I read outside work, and I was in the age group to grow up with the genre.

We Are All Human

Here’s a question I’d like to pose for everyone: can you identify with a protagonist who is not in any significant way “like you”? I’m fairly certain the answer is “yes” for most people. I mean, I’m not a redheaded orphan from Nova Scotia living on Prince Edward Island. And Anne Shirley? Boy, did I get you. I even had imaginary friends with improbably romantic names. You and I, Anne, were “kindred spirits”. And if you didn’t marry Gilbert Blythe, I would have thrown your books across the room. But you pulled through in the end, Anne. Thank goodness.

Here is the reason why I think the answer is “yes” for most people: in all of human experience, there are only a few stories that appear over and over again. Fish out of water, unrequited love, a murder gets solved, etc. I think that by nature, human beings gravitate towards and actively seek out situations and characteristics they can relate to. I’d like to stress situations and characteristics rather than racial/ethnic “issues”. Because I would like to offer myself as an example here.

I can find a lot in common with Lyra Belaqua: her passionate loyalty, her lying, her “queen bee of Jordan College” status. I can find a lot in common with Anne Shirley: her distracted romanticism, her flights of fancy, her wide-eyed idealism. In the end, what I can relate to in these girls transcends notions of race or even gender.

Is it too hard to ask “white readers” to do the same with characters of different ethnicity? I do it all the time–I’m not “white” (interestingly, “non-white” always seems to trump “white” in biracial people, e.g. myself and Barack Obama) and I see a lot of myself in so many different “white” protagonists. And you know what? I could probably see myself in a lot of black protagonists, Hispanic protagonists, or Asian protagonists; that is, if there were more out there who were represented as people first, tropes second.

We All Have An Ethnicity

When portraying a “character of color” (to be completely honest, I hate the phrase “[thing] of color”), I believe that the first thing to do is disregard his/her ethnicity/race. (My opinions, remember? So go easy on the flames!) When asked to come up with three adjectives describing myself, I don’t include “Asian” as one of them. And I highly doubt your characters do either. I mean, you wouldn’t think to include “white” as one of the three adjectives when describing someone like Elizabeth Bennet, would you?

Being of Korean descent informs who I am, absolutely, just as I’m sure being English was something Elizabeth Bennet took pride in. (Especially when compared to the French!) There is a difference between having race inform your character and having it define them. My Korean heritage informs the following about me: I am a poor drinker, I have a subconsciously expressed view of “seniority” and authority based on Confucian ideals, and I gesture a lot when I talk. Mum says that Koreans are like the Italians of Asia–it’s true we are a passionate people: passionate in love and hate and passionate about food. Except I’m not passionate about food. Must be the English/Welsh in me.

Here’s another thing: within the “Caucasian race”, there are a multitude of ethnic groups. Within my group of friends, we all have a “culture” with which we can identify. Psychic Roommate is half Irish, half Italian and she’s pretty much as Italian as you find ‘em. Wicked Cool Riley is also half Irish, half Italian and has the hair (and drinking prowess!) of the Irish. Our very good friend Alex is 100% German (from Bavaria by way of Long Island). The Inimitable Bex is descended from the Pennsylvania Dutch.

Not all Irish are drunks and poets. Not all Italians come from mob families. Unless it was a historical novel, these days most people wouldn’t think to write about the Italian-American experience as only about trying to balance life between business and “family”. Or the “Irish need not apply” policy. That might inform the novel and the character, but wouldn’t you ultimately find a book like to be a little shallow and/or narrow? Can you imagine the way us “non-white” people feel when we see our lives reduced to the “ethnic-American experience” of thirty years ago?

Culture, Not Race

There is a difference between “culture” and “race”. As far as “culture” goes, I’m fairly solid upper middle class American from southern California. I went to prep school, was forced to play tennis and golf at the country club (for the record, I hate both sports), played soccer, body surfed and boogie-boarded during summer breaks, wore flip-flops 8 months out the year, and I maintained a perpetual slight tan. (Alas, no more!) I also apparently talk like a Californian. I’m not sure what that sounds like. Can you hear the sunshine and palm trees in my voice?

During my stint at university, I lived abroad in London. The experience of living in a different country (same language–barely, totally different culture!) affected me in many ways, not the least of which was finding firm footing in my identity as an American. I drifted toward other American kids, who understood me implicitly when I complained about British table service and their washing machines (DEAR GOD, THEIR WASHING MACHINES). British people heard my accent and identified me first as an American, not as an “Asian-American”. (I had a lot of romantic hopefuls hit on me by asking if I were Canadian. No, so sorry.) This had nothing to do with my race–which is Asian–and everything to do with my culture.

Culture is not a bad thing. Exploring different types of cultures is what I believe makes excellent fiction. Don’t be afraid to go there. As long as portrayals are nuanced, I am willing to believe a lot of things. If we eliminated what makes us different from each other, then we’d have no more stories. It would be a dystopian society like you’d find in Aldous Huxley’s BRAVE NEW WORLD or Lois Lowry’s THE GIVER. It’d be boring.

Once again, I’ve written a short paper instead of a blog post. But race and its representation is a weighty topic to discuss. Tomorrow I think I will tackle how to describe a character of a different race. But until then, what are your thoughts? Am I crazy? Wrong? Let me know in the comments!

Pretending to be Edie Sedgwick.

So I have a confession to make.

For most of my life, I refused to identify myself as Asian-American.

I know, right? In hindsight it seems silly, because, well, look at me. Or rather, look at who I wished I looked like. I’ve always wanted to be a gamine pixie sprite, with big eyes and short hair. Essentially, I wanted to be Edie Sedgwick. Or Audrey Hepburn. Or Natalie Portman. (I also wanted to be green-eyed and blonde, but that’s another story.)

I was never one to deny my ethnicity–in fact, I’m quite proud of it–but for a very long time, I struggled with how to describe myself. Because the word “Asian” comes with a lot of baggage and the term “Asian-American” even more so.

Why? Oh so many reasons. I’ve written before on the need for a cultural conscious shift because the way “people like me” (a loaded phrase in itself) are represented in fiction and media contributed a lot to my existential angst.

I’ll say this first about myself: I’m not by nature someone who’s particularly active in any causes. I’m a politician’s worst nightmare; I can’t be bothered to care because I’m generally so self-absorbed much of it goes over my head. This self-absorption is the reason why I’m not really part of a “community” and why I shy away from terms like “our people” and “us” as a concept. I can only speak for myself, although I will admit to being guilty of gross generalizations and throwing around the term “them” as a notion.

April and the Dragon Lady by Lensey Namioka

So I get it when the media does it. I do. It’s easier to process people as groups, rather than individuals. But for years and years and years, I refused to have anything to do with “Asian-American” culture because of how we were portrayed. I think I was scarred by this book when I was a child. No, really.

APRIL AND THE DRAGON LADY is a YA novel published some years ago about a young Chinese-American girl in an interracial relationship and the cultural/generational clashes that occur within her family (particularly between her and her grandmother, the eponymous “Dragon Lady”). It’s an old story, and a good one, but I hated this book with a passion.

A well-meaning librarian gave this book to me, thinking I would find something in common with April, the title character. The thing is, I didn’t. In many ways, I had a very typical all-American childhood: throwing baseballs in the backyard with my dad, riding bikes through suburban Pasadena streets with the neighborhood kids, barbeques and pool parties in the summer, pizza and girly sleepovers, etc. Sure I had a non-English speaking grandmother who lived with us, but I also had a white father. I’m as Asian as I am white, which meant we had both chopsticks and forks and knives in our cutlery drawer. (A cliché but apt description.)

THE WOMAN WARRIOR by Maxine Hong Kingston

Malinda Lo wrote a really interesting and thoughtful post about reading Maxine Hong Kingston’s THE WOMAN WARRIOR that resonated with me. I already adore Malinda Lo for many, many reasons, but what stuck out for me was her admission that she never felt as though she fit in with the Asian-American community.

Her reasons are different from mine, but the feelings are similar. I never fit in with many Asian-Americans back home. I dutifully attended Korean school from first through third grade, but failed miserably at making friends. I had plenty of friends in school, but amongst “my own”, I was pretty much a loner. Why? I’m not sure. The things that interested them never interested me: Korean boybands (anyone remember H.O.T.? Anyone?), math clubs, Asian fashion, etc. They never quite said it, but I think their assumption was I was “too white”.

I quit Korean school after that and never went back. To this day, I sort of regret it because I have the reading comprehension of an 8 year old, despite being able to speak and understand the language. In fact, the day I quit Korean school was also the day I inadvertently began refusing to see myself as Asian-American. I mean, if I wasn’t Asian, at least I was American, right? I sucked at math, I played soccer (badly), did Girl Scouts–all part and parcel of the “normal” (middle-class) American experience, right?

UNRAVELING THE MODEL MINORITY STEREOTYPE by Stacey J. Lee

It wasn’t as though I abjured all things Korean. I watch Korean dramas. I need my fill of kimchi and doenjang chigae every so often. It’s just that most of the Asian-Americans I came across fulfilled all stereotypes discussed in UNRAVELING THE MODEL MINORITY STEREOTYPE book, which apparently didn’t include me. This book was another one that enraged me; a well-intentioned (they’re always well-intentioned, aren’t they?) teacher in high school gave it to me and it made me feel even more alienated than before.

The thing is, the experiences catalogued in books like APRIL THE DRAGON LADY, THE WOMAN WARRIOR, Amy Tan’s THE JOY LUCK CLUB aren’t really relevant to a lot of young Asian-Americans today. While there are still a lot immigrants coming in from Asia, the biggest “boom” occurred in the 1960s and 1970s, and we’re about a generation and a half removed from that now. There are a good number of people my age who are mixed race and even more whose parents are pretty Westernized themselves. Not to mention Asia today is a vastly different place from Asia of 35 years ago and the cultural gap isn’t so huge anymore.

The older I get, the more I realise that I’m not alone and there are a gazillion other kids out there like me who are Asian-American but not “Asian-American”. The older I get, the more okay I am with identifying myself this way because blogs like Disgrasian exist: other people my age who no longer identify myself as “Asian-American” but Americans who are of Asian descent. Or simply, themselves. Asian people have a lot in common with other, sure, but insofar as a Mediterranean-Americans do and no one thinks to discuss that experience. We’re no longer just piano prodigies or future doctors with “traditional” parents–and if we are, we can kvetch with sarcastic love.

Unfortunately, fiction and media are having a slightly harder time catching up to this notion. Some strides have been made, but not nearly enough. I’ve mentioned I want to read about protagonists who are “incidentally ethnic”–in short, someone like me. Someone whose “foreignness” informs a part of who s/he is, but not the whole. I speak Korean, but I also speak English (and sadly I speak English better than I speak Korean). And Spanish. And can get by in French, Italian, and Japanese. And am learning German. (By the way, I FREAKING LOVE THE LANGUAGE. Ich liebe Deutsch.)

Next week I suppose I will undertake the loaded topic of representing race in fiction: from story to covers to why there’s a need. I won’t lie; I’m a wee bit wary because THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS I COULD GO WRONG. Nevertheless, this is a bit of a background post on where I’m coming from, so I don’t sound like some complete hack. Go easy on the flames, guys. I’m just one person, after all.

Ich lerne Deustch jetzt. Warum? Because I’m a geek, that why. And if you think this is at all related to Der Glöckner von Notre Dame, then you would be absolutely correct. Also, because I want to be able to end conversations with tchüß! and auf wiedersehn! without sounding pretentious or like I’m putting on airs.

Just do it.

But my desire for polyglotism aside, an interesting topic came up in today’s editorial meeting that sort of sparked a blog post. And, knowing me, it will run on for 1000 words or more, but I think it’s pretty important: branding.

In publishing, the craft and artistry of a “novel” as a concept often overshadows the notion of a “book” as a product. We are in the business of selling books, which includes specific “brands”, i.e. the author. In particular, we were discussing a really talented author who had some decent sales but was hard to “pin down”, so to speak.

Said author wrote a few novels in one genre, then another, was published in trade paperback original, then single title hardcover, etc. Author’s previous publishing house didn’t effectively “brand” the writer and our challenge (should we take this person on) was to figure out a way to, well, “sell the brand”.

There are lot of interesting psychological studies on “branding”, but I want to discuss this tricky idea of an author brand.

I think debut authors have less difficulty with this than most because brands do develop over time. Most bestselling authors have honed their brand to the point where you instantly understand what you’d get with a “Nora Roberts” book (or a “J.D. Robb” book), a “Neil Gaiman” book, a “Michael Chabon” book, a “Robin McKinley” book, a “Haruki Murakami” book, or a “Tracy Chevalier” book.

But what goes into a brand? Voice certainly does comprise a large part of it, but voices can evolve or even change a little from title to title. It’s not necessarily plot or story or even genre. But those of you who have favourite writers can probably find some sort of commonality between everything he or she has produced, be it character trope, recurring themes, or something else entirely.

For instance, I can probably expect a willful, resourceful and most-likely dark-eyed and blonde young woman in Philip Pullman’s novels. I can probably also expect a slightly old-fashioned voice and contemplation (subtle or not) of religion. Robin McKinley writes lush fantastic settings, Neil Gaiman has a wonderfully gothic atmosphere in many of his works, and Murakami is delightfully surreal.

Of course, what brands these authors for me may not be what brands these authors for other people. That is what is difficult about it.

Nevertheless, it is extremely important in selling books. When buyers at chain bookstores look to purchase stock, a well-branded author will definitely stand out more effectively than an author who is all over the place and willy-nilly–that is, forgettable.

However, authors brands can evolve and change. Michael Chabon’s most recent novel is vastly different from his debut, yet there is a certain cohesiveness to his writing. His debut was a sort of roman à clef-cum-bildungsroman while his more recent works have grown more fantastic and genre-like. Yet, he pretty much always explores themes about being Jewish, about family, about bisexuality and homosexuality–these are the elements that brand him as an author for me.

What do you guys think? Do you think brand is as important as I say it is? What do you think comprises an author brand?

Der Glöckner von Notre Dame

So last week I blogged about how much I really love Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame (before delving into a too long; didn’t read post about gothic fiction) and mentioned somewhat facetiously that I would love to see the musical Der Glöckner von Notre Dames brought to Broadway.

After having done some research into it, I would now like to change the sentiment from “facetious” to “absofuckinglutely in earnest”. A few weeks ago, while watching Newsies for the umpteenth time with some friends, we mentioned how much we wanted to see Newsies on Broadway. I would like to see this on Broadway even more than that, that’s how much I want it.

I listened to the original Berlin cast recording so many times this past weekend that I now know the words for “sanctuary” and “monster” off the top of my head (zuflucht and scheusal respectively). Thoughts beneath the cut.

Quasimodo tortured at the Feast of Fools

The stage play is much darker than the Disney film, with some characterizations and events from Hugo’s original text still intact. SPOILER: Esmeralda dies at the end. Quasimodo, unlike the movie, is depicted as somewhat retarded, unable to speak clearly and coherently except in song, in which he voices his innermost thoughts and desires. The gargoyles are firmly established as figments of Quasimodo’s imagination, representing his id, ego, and superego (and their “comic relief” is greatly toned down, thank god). Phoebus has some of his womanizing tendencies back while Frollo is made more tortured and three-dimensional.

The music is by the incomparable Alan Menken (Beauty and the Beast), lyrics by Stephen Schwartz (Godspell), and is directed by James Lapine (Into the Woods).

Several numbers were added to the stage adaptation, while one song (“The Court of Miracles”) is replaced by a dance number (“Tanz der Zigeuner”).

Act I: Paris 1482

Frollo adopts Quasimodo.

1. Die Glocken Notre Dame – “The Bells of Notre Dame”

Equivalent to “The Bells of Notre Dame” number from the movie and as far as I can tell, it’s not much different from the original except Clopin narrates as a crippled old beggar (instead of using puppets) and Frollo claims he will “ennoble” Quasimodo and raise him as a son (as opposed for pure “use” as he was portrayed in the film).

2. Zuflucht – “Sanctuary”

The beginning of the “Out There” number from the movie is expanded it give Frollo a bit of backstory (he was once a priest–I suppose this is a throwback to his position in the novel as Archdeacon rather than Minister) and rather clearly establishes the gargoyles (here named Charles, Antoine, and Loni) as imaginary friends of Quasimodo’s.

3. Draußen – “Out There”

As far as I can tell, there is absolutely no difference between this version and the movie’s. (Although to note, Quasimodo is played by an American–Drew Sarich–and I couldn’t tell! Not that I’d have known anyhow, considering how nonexistent my German is.)

A hunchback and his master.

4. Ein bißchen Freude – “Rest and Recreation” (although I think it’s literally translated as “A Little Joy”*)

Phoebus gets his own little leitmotif in the film, but it’s expanded into an actual song for the play. This is actually my favourite new song, possibly because I love how it introduces a swaggering, womanizing braggart. I have no quibbles with Kevin Kline’s portrayal in the movie (because he’s Kevin Kline and ridiculously charming), but I sort of love what an asshole Phoebus is in the novel.

5. Tanz auf dem Seil – “Balancing Act” (I think literally it’s “Dance on the Wire”*, which I sort of like better)

A new number which introduces the gypsies to us, as well as the “Esmeralda” theme which will form the last number in this act. I have no real opinion about this song one way or another–it functions as good “ensemble” piece that moves the story along, although I will say that I love the word drecksgesindel, which is translated as “wretched refugee” but I think is “worthless trash + farmhand” = “worthless peasant”?*

*Note: I don’t speak a lick of German, although I wish I did. All of my linguistic conjectures are just that–conjectures. I like playing with words and I’m fairly good at picking up new languages (English isn’t my first language, after all).

6. Drunter Drüber – “Topsy Turvy”

This isn’t too different from the movie version, although Quasimodo has a few lines of song and Esmeralda’s dance theme is different: slower, more mysterious, and a bit more sexy.

Esmeralda in the Cathedral

7. Hilf den Verstoß’nen – “God Help the Outcasts”

Again, not too different from the film version, although Quasimodo gets a few lines of song. Interestingly, God isn’t really mentioned until the very end of the song.

8. Hoch über der Welt – “Top of the World”

My least favourite addition in the stage play. It seems oddly too “pop” and “happy”, although it does establish (even more firmly) that the gargoyles are different aspects of Quasimodo’s personality. It also makes it clear that Quasimodo is speech impaired in some way. Sarich plays him with a thick-tongue. (Quasimodo was deaf and mostly dumb in the novel, but the play seems to make him mostly dumb but not deaf.)

9. Das Licht des Himmels – “Heaven’s Light”

My absolute favourite song in both the play and the movie. I’m not sure what about this song gets to me, but it’s so poignant and lovely it sends shivers up my spine. It’s short, but the lyrics kill me.

So many times out here
I’ve watched a happy pair
Of lovers walking in the night
They had a kind of glow around them
It almost looked like heaven’s light

I knew I’d never know
That warm and loving glow
Though I might wish with all my might
No face as hideous as my face
Was ever meant for heaven’s light

But suddenly an angel has smiled at me
And kissed my cheek without a trace of fright
I dare to dream that she
Might even care for me
And as I ring these bells tonight
My cold dark tower seems so bright
I swear it must be heaven’s light

10. Das Feuer der Hölle – “Hellfire”

Ursula of The Little Mermaid may have the best villain song EVER, but this is pretty awesome too. The stage play has one important key change in the middle that the film version lacks, not to mention the interrupting dialogue is cut. Also, the lustful suffering of Frollo is made much more obvious than it was in the movie (and it wasn’t subtle in the movie either!).

11. Esmeralda

The closing number of Act I and is a mob song in the best tradition of mob songs. It also has a really stunning finale with Phoebus plunging from the bridge. The show was staged with several moving platforms that could be adjusted to different heights, as well as projections, which worked together to give you the sense that Phoebus was really falling.

Phoebus plunging from the bridge.

Act II: Paris, Six Months Later

Paris burns.

1. Trommeln in der Stadt – “City Under Siege”

The track is instrumental in the movie, titled “Paris Burning”.

2. Ein Mann wie du – “A Guy Like You”

Ugh, why couldn’t they have cut this number altogether? I hated it in the film and I don’t like it much better here. It’s less cheesy here (thank goodness), but still.

3. Weil du Liebst – “Out of Love”

My favourite song additions seem to involve Phoebus somehow. Here he’s trying to convince Quasimodo to help him warn Esmeralda and the gypsies, while still maintaining that womanizing braggart edge. Also, this has a gorgeous melody, but I think the dialogue exchange is what clinches it.

PHOEBUS
You like Esmeralda, don’t you? After all, she’s very beautiful.

QUASIMODO
Kind.

PHOEBUS
She’s kind. And brave.

QUASIMODO
Smart.

PHOEBUS
And smart.

QUASIMODO
Loyal.

PHOEBUS
And beautiful.

QUASIMODO
…beautiful.

PHOEBUS
I like her too. And I believe she likes me.

QUASIMODO
You’re handsome.

PHOEBUS
And kind, and brave?

QUASIMODO
Handsome.

4. Tanz der Zieguener – “Dance of the Gypsies

A dance number where “The Court of Miracles” used to be.

5. Weil du Liebst (Reprise) – “Out of Love”

In which Esmeralda and Phoebus declare their love, Quasimodo reprises “Das Licht des Himmels”, and JJ’s heart breaks for a retarded hunchback.

Quasimodo and the gargoyles.

6. Wie aus Stein – “Made of Stone”

Another one of my favourite songs, in which Quasimodo rails at his gargoyle “friends”, telling them they led him astray. Maintains the best line from the film. “After all, we’re only made of stone. We just thought you were made of something stronger.”

7. Einmal – “Someday”

A really godawful pop version was sung over the end credits in the movie. This song was actually written for the musical, in place of “God Help the Outcasts”, but was scrapped because it didn’t fit, sort of like what happened to “Human Again” in Beauty and the Beast. I like it here, where Esmeralda and Phoebus sing about a world being better “someday” while waiting to die.

8. Finale Ultimo – “Grand Finale”

Again, not too different from the movie, except Esmeralda dies and Quasimodo murders his master (as he does in the book) by throwing him off the cathedral.

I can’t seem to write short blog posts these days, can I? But I had to write my piece about this musical. Seriously, I haven’t felt this emotionally involved in a play since I was obsessed with The Phantom of the Opera. (Sometimes, when I hear that awfulsome–awful/awesome–pipe organ 80s beginning to the title song, my 12-year-old heart goes a-flutter.)

You know, back in the days before I started working in publishing, you really couldn’t get me to shut up online; I blogged with such frequency it was ridiculous. Now that I have actual substantive things to say, I can’t corral my undergrad expository paper-writing tendencies enough to distill my thoughts into short, byte-sized informative posts, so I often don’t bother. Not to mention I lack the time. So kudos to all the industry professionals like Rachelle Gardner, Nathan Bransford, and Kristin Nelson for blogging every day! (Although I haven’t yet read an editor who blogs everyday…maybe that in itself is quite telling…)

Anyway, I was going to review MAGIC UNDER GLASS, discuss storytelling and craft, dissect the idea of literary fiction with a commercial bent, and write about half a dozen other topics, but didn’t have time. So you know what? I’m going to blog about the first thing that comes to mind today.

Which is The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

And specifically the Disney version. Because I rewatched it last night. And I kind of love the movie and have developed a newfound appreciation for it.

It’s no secret that I love gothic fiction. From Ann Radcliffe (who shares my birthday–awesome!) to Gaston Leroux to Charlotte and Emily Brontë to William Faulkner et al. I love the creeping revulsion the twisted love stories inspire, the brooding atmosphere, the ambiguously fantastic elements, the triangle between the ingenue, the monster, and the man, everything. I would like to stress that I love gothic fiction but was never on-board with the paranormal genre, even though its roots may lie with my beloved category.

Why? It’s hard for me to articulate because so many of the tropes that bother me in paranormal romance (and specifically paranormal romance) are precisely what I adore about gothic fiction. A dangerous but strangely seductive monster. A virginal ingenue. A noble hero. I’ve written before that I loathe and detest love triangles, but the glaring exception happens to be romances in this genre. I think it’s because it’s one of the few romances in which the “good” guy wins over the “bad boy” because the “bad boy” is allowed to be scary and ACTUALLY dangerous, as opposed to “dangerous”.

The Phantom of the Opera

Let us take one of my favourite gothic romances of all time: Le fantôme de l’opera by Gaston Leroux. Here you have a young, virginal heroine: the young Swedish ingenue Christine Daaé. Here you have her childhood friend and sweetheart Raoul, Le Vicomte de Chagny: something of a milquetoast perhaps, but innocent and noble-intentioned. And here you have the eponymous hero-villain Erik: the mysterious, brilliant, almost child-like and slightly deranged Opera Ghost. Their romance plays out against a backdrop of murder, seduction, and twisty, labyrinthine passageways that ends with purity triumphing over vice and a redemption of the beast.

This is an old, old story. Unlike Joseph Campbell’s Hero Myth, which is male-centric, linear, and quest/conquest driven, I would argue the gothic romance is a female story. (Note, I am not placing inherent value judgments on either type. I love both stories in their own ways, of course.) Why? Because the story is contained within itself and solipsistic (one can argue gothic settings are physical manifestations of a symbolic womb–closed in and enclosed) and centered around the female. Women drive gothic narratives. What was Jonathan Harker but an ineffectual clerk in DRACULA? What was Mina Murray but the person who led the group of vampire killers to Dracula? Christine Daaé is the axle around which the story turns, loved and desired by two men, who eventually saves countless and redeems a monster through her pity. What does Raoul do? He follows a Persian man down into the cellars and almost dies. Christine most certainly saves herself in this story, even though she is a physically passive character.

Phantom by Susan Kay

Women are either Madonnas or Whores in gothic fiction, which harkens back to the period on which gothic fiction was based: the medieval ages. It’s this old notion of morality that drives much of my fascination with this category: purity, virtue, vice, and sin are all concepts that are missing from modern paranormal romances and are in fact passé in contemporary society. In some ways, I miss this rigid sense of morality because not only are there physical stakes, but immortal ones as well. This is a world where Good and Evil can exist, yet still be shaded in grey. In Le fantôme de l’opera, the young virginal heroine is caught between “good” Raoul and “evil” Erik, who are neither Good nor Evil, but interestingly human. (I also use the word “virginal” in the context that Christine is a pure canvas who is intended to be neutral.) In the end, Christine affirms her “purity” by loving the “good” and pitying the “bad”.

This is the way I like my love triangles to go. Perhaps I have a medieval sense of morality, but I always want the girl to reject the “bad boy”. (This is also why I hate the ending of Susan Kay’s PHANTOM, even though I read this over and over as a girl. Because of this, something tells me that I will also hate The Phantom of the Opera musical sequel. It’s called Love Never Dies. Andrew Lloyd Webber, how could you do this to me? And my tender, budding adolescence? Don’t you realise my inner 12-year-old just died? In a bad way?) I would argue that a female still has agency within this old fashioned worldview and that finding strength in “traditional” female traits is something that is inherently more interesting (to me) than a female character aping “traditionally” masculine traits. Women are “traditionally” less direct and more subtle, and while this can translate to passivity, a good writer can make this an “active” trait.

Now back to Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame then. I don’t mind that this version departs rather significantly from Victor Hugo’s original text. I’m not a purist that way–the Disney version hits all the right emotional spots with me while still managing to tackle themes like the shunning of The Other, lust, desire, damnation, morality, vice, and sin. (Hey…) All the characters are slanted more firmly to the spectrum of Good or Evil, whereas the book characters were more ambiguous and/or sympathetic. For instance, I’m the most sympathetic towards Claude Frollo in the book, whom I see as a victim rather than a villain.

La Esmeralda

Also, Esmeralda. I love her in Disney’s version because she’s scrappy without being pugilistic, has a keen sense of justice without being sanctimonious, and a feminist heroine in a medieval story without seeming anachronistic. In the novel the poor girl is a victimized left, right, and centre–a Madonna treated like a Whore. What I love about Disney’s version is that she is a real character, a real person to whom we–as a modern audience–can relate while still being very much a product and a victim of the times. Is she punished for being sexy and being sexualized? Absolutely. But it makes sense within the context. And does it make her less three-dimensional or valid as a character? No, or at least I don’t think so.

Like all good gothic narratives, the men are somewhat peripheral to a central female catalyst in Hunchback. Esmeralda may not be the protagonist, but she’s the engine that drives the story. She’s also the person who ushers Quasimodo into the wider world at the end. While the movie certainly falls into the gothic genre, I think it also gently manages to subvert it while still maintaining its integrity in the form. Also, it is gorgeous. That and Pocahontas are two of Disney’s most beautiful films (and the most “adult”–sort of a “New Adult” to their earlier “Young Adult” but that may be a post for another day).

I would love to see a good gothic narrative fall onto my desk. And I don’t think a book can really be gothic without this medieval morality. The real challenge, of course, is making this palatable and relatable to a 21st century audience. I think The Hunchback of Notre Dame as a film did an excellent job with this. So writers, snap to it! Write me something like this. Thanks.

P.S. Why hasn’t Disney brought this musical to the States yet? Can’t you imagine how amazingly Andrew Lloyd Webber this musical could be? My inner 12-year-old is dying for it. Dying.

P.P.S. Also, why hasn’t this musical come here yet either?

P.P.P.S. I really love Tom Hulce. Except it’s sort of like that Family Guy episode. “Ooooh, Kathleen Turner, eh? Haven’t seen her in a while, let’s just take a peek here and-oh, that’s a shame.” Nevertheless, I adore you, Tom! (Now I’m in the mood to watch Amadeus again, dammit!)

Once more med school prom has come and gone I have the photographic evidence in my nail-polish stained fingers. There needs to be more (semi)formal events in my life so I can indulge my inner princess by wearing pretty, pretty dresses and makeup.

From a mask and makeup test a few weeks ago.

My mother once accused me of living in a made-up world of stories and fairytales. Of course, I found this vastly complimentary, but Mum actually intended it as a criticism of how I dress. I stand convicted. As you might recall, last year Bear and I went as a gangster and moll from the 1930s. This year the med school itself gave me a theme: masquerade ball.

Photos from the night (and the process of getting ready) below the cut.

The night before prom I stayed up late watching the men’s free skate competition (yay for Evan Lysacek! boo for Johnny Weir getting robbed) while cleaning my makeup brushes and painting my nails.

I haven't worn glittery nail polish since I was 12 years old.

(The late night would come and bite me in the ass again later.) I’m not someone who wears a lot of nail polish as I’m a chronic nail biter, not to mention I have the hands of a 9 year old boy. Even as I type up this entry I keep thinking my hands belong to someone else.

I begged leave off work a little early (and because Cap’n Sweet Valley is the bestest boss in the world, I did) and got to New Brunswick around 3:30. I set up camp in a little unused attic room in Bear and Oz’s apartment to serve as my boudoir.

My dress waiting to be worn.

Because I had to do The Inimitable Bex’s hair and makeup as well, I began my preparations extraordinarily early (and we were still a little late, oh dear).

I wore no makeup at all that day.

I wore no makeup whatsoever (not even concealer) before I began getting ready. Why couldn’t I have gotten the good Asian genes, like clear, glowing skin and awesome, straight hair? Speaking of hair, I had a last minute change in plans as I wasn’t too happy with the curls from my test run.

My hair is like the lotto. Some days I win with it sleek and straight, but most days I lose terribly with a wavy mess.

I worked on Bex’s “updo” first, which took quite a bit of improvisation and a judicious amount of hairspray and bobby pins as she has the thickest, straightest, most gorgeous-yet-stubborn hair in the world. In the end Jack and I managed to wrestle it into a slightly punked-out French braid with a low side-ponytail. Then I set to my own hair, which is also thick, but unlike Bex’s, it’s easily styled. (My hair is sometimes too easily suggestible. If I braid my hair for two seconds, it’s crimped for the rest of the day.)

Jack calls this 1960s bed hair.

I decided against the tight, ringlet curls and decided looser waves were more flattering on my face. I bought a curling iron with a bigger barrel (1.5 inch diameter). Jack calls it 1960s bedroom hair. It is indeed very voluminous. I had to work it without a decent mirror or lighting, but I think it turned out all right.

I have no features on my face, but that's because I haven't painted them on yet. I do, however, seem to have great cleavage going on.

And then the dress, which took some wrestling, wriggling, and two other friends to help zip me up. Also, here’s a tip to people searching for methods of portion control: SPANX. Oh my god. I’d never worn them before and I probably will never wear them again.

Makeup achieved! Soon this shall all be covered by a mask.

After we were gussied up, we made our way to the Grand Hyatt for prom. I made us fashionably late, but in my defense, I had to ready two other people in addition to myself.

Bex and Oz! One year ago we set them up on a blind date for this very event. Aw, happy anniversary, kids.

We made our way to the open bar and ordered beer and wine as we learned last year they watered the liquor down considerably. I opted for a glass of merlot to drink with dinner, but this may have been a mistake on my part. I got drunk within seconds and then practically slept for the rest of the evening. Going to bed late and waking up early for a 3 mile run tends to do that to a girl. Add a glass of red wine and I was finished.

I am drunk, but not naked in this picture. Even though I look it. Naked, that is. And probably drunk too.

I received a lot of compliments on the dress (just as last year I received a lot of compliments on the flower in my hair) and felt curiously over-exposed the entire night (the fact that I look naked in most of the pictures probably doesn’t help). The dress is fairly conservative with a full knee-length skirt, sleeves, and a bodice, but the off-the-shoulder and revealing neckline combination made it feel almost indecent. I’m bringing sexy back, Victorian style.

Me and Bex in our masks! I still look naked, but she's rocking my high school prom dress.

Somehow Bex and I missed the memo that purple would be the vogue colour this year. I couldn’t count on all twenty fingers and toes how many girls I saw wearing very similar dresses: jewel-toned purple, strapless, short, Empire-waisted, with interesting structural elements in the form of architectural ruffles.

Me and my handsome Bear on the dancefloor. At last, a picture in which I'm clothed!

After the night was over, we headed to another club for the after party but didn’t stay too long as the house music was crap and I actually fell asleep in the corner. Yep. I was that girl you saw passed out in the corner of a guido club in New Jersey wearing a vintage 80s floofy dress and a mask. Aren’t you all jealous?

We might have ended the night earlier than last year, but it was still fun, and the best part of the evening was coming home, taking off that goddamned Spanx, and snuggling up with my Teddy Bear and a White-Harp. Mrrrr.

New post at Running Roommates!

Don't be fooled; this is not snow. It's ice.

Things I Learned This Past Weekend

• Running on ice works all the small muscle groups in your legs.
• Running on ice when you have one flat foot also causes blisters.
• You should always live with a tall roommate so she can do things like change your lightbulbs for you.

I’ve read MAGIC UNDER GLASS and I’m itching to discuss it, but I shall postpone that blog post for another day when I have more time. Things are picking up around here–good for business, bad for my sanity. Also, this Friday is Masquerade Prom and I have to figure out how I’m going to get ready for it when I have a full work day. Can I curl my hair on the New Jersey Transit, do you think?

Mum is in town and I’ve subjected her to a healthy dose of icky snow. Too bad she couldn’t bring southern Californian sunshine with her. I am so over February. Hell, I’m so over winter it’s not even funny.