Thoughts on "The Inheritance"

This is an anthology published under the names of Megan Lindholm and Robin Hobb. The latter is probably by the most well known of the two, being the author of the four of my favourite fantasy trilogies and the touchstone of all that is wonderful and harrowing about fantasy fiction.

Some of the stories will be less memorable than others. Now that I have closed the book, I can say that most of them involved animals, especially cats. The last story, Cat's Meat was a pleasant surprise - a return to the Wit, which I had not expected.

Megan Lindholm's stories were perhaps a bit more emotionally charged in that it was less about exploring the Six Duchies and more about the characters. And Lindholm has added small introductions to each of the stories in the collection, placing it in context. In Silver Lady and the Fortyish Man is possibly more revealing about Lindholm's own life than any interview could ever offer. She touches on about how a writer must often dredge up everyday experiences in writing something - I completely agree - before disguising it in words and plotlines. Finis took a vampire story and gave it an interesting twist. A Touch of Lavender is possibly my favourite out of the first half of the anthology. The comical image of a toad-like skoag burping out The Beatles' anthems is completely overwhelmed by the grim scene of old government estates, junkies moaning in their beds and fumbling for syringes etc, the horrible, claustrophobic scene of poverty. It's an odd mash The Wire with District 9.

After putting this book down, one is left wondering what Lindholm's life was like before she was married at the young age of 18 and what it was like when her husband was out at sea for months at a time, what it was like to live in a rundown house, to not have grown up in a sprawling, cosmopolitan city buzzing with people and cars. I feel worlds away from small-town America. I've never hitch-hiked in my life (apart from a once-off in southern France). My experiences of cheap diners are the ones run by a Pakistani family who reheat frozen corn fries and battered chicken wings with limp lettuce.

Female main characters are prominent in this collection - which is different from the Farseer trilogy or the Soldier Son trilogy. Still, Hobb treats men and women and everything in between with a fair hand. The Inheritance is about a young woman who goes to Bingtown after her grandmother dies and she is left with nothing. She inherits nothing but a silver ring and a carved wooden pendant. But it is what you do which is really what you "inherit" - at the end of the story, the girl owns nothing but is left with the feeling that she can fight for her destiny. She is no longer the submissive girl who feels mildly indignant at the injustices she receives or the fact that she does not put up any defense. This is also the case in Cat's Meat.

This will possibly be the last fictional book I pick up which is not university-related.

Thoughts on "Control"

My aunts and uncle enjoy music and possibly spent most of their pocket money on records and later CDs. Every now and then, I get the urge to rifle through their collection and I was slightly surprised that they didn't have anything by Joy Division or even New Order. So I'm listening to U2 instead, wishing that I a cable to play "Shadowplay" off my ipod.

Control is a biographical film about Ian Curtis and the title hints at a lot of the themes in his life. For those looking for a more quirky (less depressing, less personal) account of how Joy Division shot to fame and about Factory Records' successes, see this.

Everyone knows about Joy Division and Ian Curtis' suicide so watching this was in a way like holding your breath and waiting for the end. But in the 116 minutes, this film did quite a bit to flesh out a portrait of a young Curtis, forced to come to terms with his marriage, his epilepsy and his new-found fame, all in the space of 4 years, between the age of 19 and 23. The film makes use of Curtis' poetry (which I didn't even know about!). Here's one I found off the web, written as a Valentine's poem for his wife Deborah :

I wish I were a Warhol silk screen
Hanging on a wall
Or little Joe or maybe Lou
I'd love to be them all
All New York city's broken hearts
And secrets would be mine
I'd put you on a movie reel
And that would be just fine

He looked (and was) the pained artist, smoking, sitting in empty rooms staring into space, his performance vocals rarely rising above a dispassionate monologue. One thing I was perhaps expecting to come through a little more was how controlling Curtis was towards his wife. And for some reason, the epileptic fits seemed a bit toned down but remain just about poignant enough to add to the tension which builds towards the end. Aside from that, I came away feeling like I knew what compelled him to unravel like that at the end and hang himself. I don't think we'll ever know how much of it was dramatized but certainly the kitchen-sink drama going on with Deborah seemed realistic enough.

I would say I enjoyed this - it's a treat for any Ian Curtis fan and for most general viewers looking to find out more about him.