A Half-Assed Star Wars Reading Primer

Okay, Sarah asked me to compile a Star Wars reading primer. Since this saves me from doing any actual writing today, I am more than happy to oblige.

Right.

So you want to read a Star Wars novel, but you don't know where to start? Well, my first bit of advice would be to go and read an Elizabeth Moon novel instead.

Moon does great space opera that makes you think, and has tons of great battles and adventure. But if you're still determined to read something set in that galaxy from back then and over there, you have to decide just how you want to read: do you just want to drop in, read a book, and move on? Or do you feel the dorky urge to get the dreaded whole story, the complete soap opera of the Skywalker family?

While you decide, here's a good place to start regardless of your final decision.



The Timothy Zahn trilogy (which includes Heir To The Empire, Dark Force Rising, and The Last Command satisfies both geek needs: it tells a complete story, and it also sets up Things You Need To Know. It's your first introduction to characters who play major roles later in the printed page saga, namely Mara Jade and the Solo twins, Jaina and Jacen.

I wasn't a huge fan of Zahn's work at first, but he does do some very interesting action scenes. The villain in the piece is boring as hell--he was initially meant to be a clone of Obi-Wan Kenobi (which would have been interesting), but that was tished toshed. Also, much of what is stated here about the Clone Wars is simply wrong now, but at this point, Zahn had no clue what the Clone Wars actually were anymore than we did.

Before the next big storyline--The New Jedi Order--probably the only book I would say you should read would be I, Jedi, by Michael Stackpole.



This gives you an update on what is going on in the Star Wars universe at this point. It's also a good read. There are other smaller storylines that include characters That Will Be Important Later, like The Jedi Academy Trilogy, but they are really not that good. They are written by Kevin J. Anderson, and I tend to avoid his books. I find he relies too much on cliche and lines from the films ('I've got a bad feeling about this' ad nauseum, for example) and his stories tend not to work for me. Others may disagree, but this is my primer, so there.

Which brings us to The New Jedi Order.

It's 19 novels. I thought the idea of having a new villain was a good idea, but I'm not sure if the Yuuzhan Vong was the way to go. They seemed like Star Wars trying to be relevant to the current world political situation--having an alien enemy who hated the way of life of the galaxy (being dependent on mechanical tech like droids)and would not discuss their hatred outside of killing or enslaving everyone they met. Granted, a lot happens in these novels in relation to the Skywalker Soap Opera, but it's nineteen novels. You can go and read summaries on Wikipedia to get the main events, if you don't mind being spoiled or not experiencing the events through narrative. Up to you.

At this point, it seems that the publishers didn't want to go another long story route, since many readers did not finish reading the previous series. But they did, anyway, with the nine volume Legacy of the Force storyline.

This is the story of Darth Cadeus. Big impact on the Skywalker Soap Opera. Some half decent writers, namely Aaron Allston and Karen Traviss.

Which brings us to the next big storyline--Fate of The Jedi.

I haven't read this one, but reviews have been good.

So that's the Big Story books. If you just want to drop in and drop out, here's the ones I've enjoyed. They can be read alone with minimal knowledge of events in the sprawling, multi-book storylines.

Darth Bane: Path of Destruction is for hardcore Star Wars fans. It details the Sith waaaaay back the olden times of the galaxy, and of how their belief system changed under the titular Darth Bane. The writer wrote the Knights of The Old Republic video game, so I was happy to read his novel. It won't set your world on fire, but it will make a Star Wars geek feel more knowledgeable about those bastard Sith. And it's also fun to read about bad guys in the Star Wars universe now and again.

As in the previous post, I also recommend any book by James Luceno. Cloak of Deception (which takes place before The Phantom Menace ), Labyrinth of Evil, and of course, that Darth Vader book I mentioned.


The Medstar books were also very enjoyable, covering a medical team tending to soldiers in the Clone Wars. It was just Skywalker free, which I enjoy more often than not.

Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter is also another personal favourite stand alone. It just shows what a fucker Maul was, and how he was wasted by not appearing in more than one film.

It also serves as a somewhat prequel to the Coruscant Night series, which I can also recommend.

So there you have it. A half-assed Star Wars reading primer. I'd say argue with me, but I don't know of anyone else who has wasted more of their life reading this stuff than me. Please make sure that this gets mentioned on my gravestone. Cheers!

Darth Vader Was A Dick

Finished reading the above book last night. If you're not a Star Wars fan, move along, because we're going to be knee deep in nerd very soon.

Like now.

I've always enjoyed James Luceno's Star Wars novels, mainly because he takes some very thin material (re: the entire last trilogy) and tends to build something far more substantial. In Labyrinth of Evil--



--he clearly showed how Sidious fucked with Anakin's mind, manipulating Anakin's innate stupidity and Jedi Temple enforced naivety to push him down the path to the Dark Side. There was some genuine moments of quiet horror there. He also built up the older brother/younger brother relationship between Obi-Wan and Anakin in a far more believable way, something that has not escaped the notice of the writers of the current Clone Wars. Whereas the films had very wooden characters being hammered into situations required to lead to the next fight and/or space battle, Luceno does his best to make them actual people, and as a result, tells a far more involving story.

He works the same magic here, to a somewhat different degree. The title of the book is really more about marketing than the actual story content. While we do have Vader's early days, we also are shown the after effects of Order 66 on surviving Jedi, most notably Roan Shryne and Olee Starstone. We see how not all Clone Troopers bought into killing the Jedi, and how that affected them. There is more focus on Bail Organa, who comes across as a Jedi in all but biology, and is surprised by how much he has fallen in love with his new daughter, and how he feels he must protect her now at all costs--especially when he puts two and two together regarding just who this new Vader douchebag is. And perhaps the most powerful part of the story is the depiction of the Fall of Kashyyyk, and just why Darth Vader ordered it. And yes, Chewbacca is here--and we see the first pirate ship he signed on with.

As for Vader, Luceno shows just how shitty the suit is--it pinches and hurts Vader most of the time, and things become so bad it seems Vader contemplates suicide. His constant whining and bitching becomes so bad that the Emperor actually considers kicking him to the curb,drumming his gnarled fingers and wondering if anyone better is out there. The 'Rise' of Darth Vader is a little vague--in a sense, Vader sees Anakin as someone else, and is unrelated to who he is now. I think that's what Luceno was saying. All I know is that Vader stops bitching about not being able to sleep and starts killing people left and right.

As for the combat, Luceno never takes the easy route. There is the inevitable final lightsaber battle at the end of the book that actually wasn't half bad. And as the book ends, one of those eternal fan questions-- Why would Obi-Wan hide Vader's son on Tatooine with his stepbrother?--is finally addressed.

So, yes, a nerdy time was had by all.

Rollergeddon!

I really had no idea what to expect at this, my very first experience with women's roller derby. At the very least, it would be a chance to people watch. Maybe I could snag a story idea. But perhaps most importantly, it would be a chance to break the ever increasing comfort of my Same Old Routine, that soul strangling yet so much sought after life habit that I fall into with increasing frequency.

Vulcan Ninja and I took a cab out to the Canada Building at the Western Fairgrounds, both of us wondering just how in hell a roller derby would work. We waited outside for friends to join us, seeing a derby girl come out in a pink skirt and kneepads and fire up a smoke. Finally, companions arrived, and we walked into the building. And both of us went, "Oooh, that's how."

The Canada Building is essentially just a giant space. Metal bleachers had been set up against the west wall, with a fenced off bar area to the right. (Which is where Vulcan Ninja headed first.) Red tape had been laid down in three extremely large circles, demarcating where the players would roll. On the floor in the front of the last circle line were dire warnings of direness should anyone not a derby player step over it. The metal posts supporting the roof had gym mats duct taped to them. The players were already skating around, the London team (The Thames Fatales) in green and black, the Toronto team (the Derby Debutantes)in pink and black.

We were handed a well made out program, complete with rules, photographs of the signals referees would make, and pictures of all the players. We enjoyed their derby names: Anya Face, Suffer Jet, Dawn Keshane, Leather Locklear, Splat Benatar, to name a few. Vulcan Ninja quickly digested the rules, and explained them to me as the match began. After I asked my usual questions of 'What was that again? Who does what? So what does that mean?" it all began to make sense. And suddenly, much fun was being had.

Part of me was expecting the fake theatricality of wrestling, but that isn't what was on show. The game was fast paced, with enough shuddering checks and wipeouts to make me cringe in pain. A few flare ups of anger, especially when a Toronto player (those bitches!)grabbed London's Elle Boes' T-shirt, and whipped her to the ground. The four refs missed it, and I could have sworn I saw a pitchfork raised. Another incident occurred when one of the London player's roller skates (the old school kind) broke. And when a Toronto player fell and banged her head on the cement, it was a bit frightening--all the players dropped to one knee as the EMTs raced out, and after a few minutes, a cheer broke out as she slowly got to her feet and raised her hand in thanks to the crowd.

At half time, hula hoops were placed on the makeshift rink so kids could come out and play with them. When the buzzer rang for the second half, players' families quickly collected all the hoops and toys, the kids handing them back without any drama. I found this touch to be genius, and emphasized what a strange family event the whole evening was.

The crowd wasn't what I expected, either. There were older people there, many of them mothers and fathers of the players themselves, but the majority of the audience were alt types, writers and artists from around the city, many of them I turned out to know. The music blasting from the sound system was old punk rock, and despite my misgivings, both Ninja and I really felt at home.

By the night's end, London's Fatales had won, with some amazing work by the aforementioned Suffer Jet. As the buzzer sounded, both teams hugged and posed for group photos together, and the after party began to kick in.

Vulcan Ninja and I said our goodbyes to our friends, and went back out into the cool spring night. Ninja, being Ninja, was already bemoaning the fact that she was too old and too wrapped up in martial arts to join the team, but the light in her eye made me think that she may just be trying to convince herself of that.

So yes, a good night. The whole DIY aspect of it--that everyone involved was doing it out of love, with a punk aesthetic that did not preclude high standards (the program itself was very well put together, and the entire night ran smoothly)--was heartening. It's nice to see something like this happen in London created by the sort of people the conservative consensus of this city likes to disown as quickly as possible. Or maybe this was the true London--creative people creating rather magical things through dedication and sweat. This time it wasn't a play, or a band--it was a sport that turns out to be more entertaining than many (myself included) would have thought.


Anyway, the next hometown match is in October. Shouldn't be missed, really.

Star Warsy Trek!

I just saw the new Star Wars movie. It was loads better than the last three. It had everything I love in Star Wars, from a young, blond farmboy going out in space and becoming a hero, huge space battles, and we even get to see a planet get destroyed. And we even had a snow planet, which we haven't seen since The Empire Strikes Back. Although I'm not sure that was the correct way to portray the Wampa. But it would be nerdy of me to point that out, lol.

Still, it was a pretty good movie, and the best Star Wars we've had in like, forever. It's just too bad the movie poster spelled Wars wrong. Someone screwed up and put the word Trek there. The mistake even made it into the film itself. I guess standards are slipping in ol' editorial or something.

(To end, I add this image. Readers of this blog will undoubtedly spend about ten seconds going over it, despite themselves. It is who we are.)

Finally! I Found The New Thermals Album!

This really shouldn't have been so hard, but the Universe was conspiring again. The only explanation.

Now We Can See is filled with great power pop. This is something I like a lot. The writing team of Kathy Foster and Hutch Harris just exudes aural caffeine. And when they take a breather to slow it down, they deliver gems like How We Fade, which I think would be a great song to dance to with the nerd girl of your dreams. In fact, I may have to find out if that is true.

1965 Was The Best Year To Be Born A Geek

A very interesting and dork-centric thread was here at Boing Boing. Cory insists that 1971 was the best year to be born a geek, but I disagreed, stating the year I was born--1965--was loads better. Of course, being 12 when I saw Star Wars forms my reasoning. Carrie Fisher imprinted on me hard, and explains many things about me today.

As I read through the comments, luxuriating in the reminiscences of our people --the original blue dice from the first D&D set, seeing 2001, playing in arcades with real man games like Defender and Fucking TRON--the one thing I couldn't relate to was all the early computer programming. And I felt such a deep well of sorrow at that.



I was in the very first computer class at dear old Westminster High. If you are of a certain age, you will remember the atmosphere of such a class: the teacher acting like a High Priest opening the door to a New Age, those black and white boxy Commodores, and the ever constant threat of overheating and evil dust getting into the system. Dust, this being the early Eighties, probably sent by Commies.

I lasted one week. The teacher had the students in mind that he wanted there--the brainiacs and math nerds, ones he probably hoped to use to hack NORAD and take over the world--and made my introduction to COBOL as difficult as possible. I remember when he asked us to create a password, I went with 'Saltheart Foamfollower', since I was reading Thomas Covenant at the time, and thought, fuck, no one will ever guess that.

Of course, this being me and technology, there was a problem. So I had to tell him my password. He just looked at me.

"What is it?"

"Saltheart Foamfollower."

The look of disgust on his face was the prelude to the end of my computing career. Why he hated it so much I never knew. But everything after that just became a trial, with the rest of the class keening along with his from on-high instructions of pre-industrial computer programming, with me raising my hand every two minutes to please ask him to repeat what he said because my computer was doing something weird again. He would then stomp stomp stomp, glare at my screen. Repeat this scenario several times.

Soon, that feeling all of us hate--of being left behind, of not being smart began to grow and grow. Even my girlfriend of the time--who was among the Chosen--began to be ashamed of my seeming incompetence at learning the language of our new gods.

So when I considered dropping the class, the teacher didn't argue with me. And that was the end of my computing days.

So I missed out on a lot. I don't blame the teacher for this--he must have been in his mid-twenties, and being a good teacher was perhaps something he became later . I could have taken the class again, but my personality was such at the time that being made to feel stupid when doing something new meant I'd never do it again. So I missed much of the computing stuff the fellow Boing Boingers--and Crazylegs, if my guess isn't completely wrong--enjoyed. Like BBSes, learning to do neat stuff, and seeing this field begin to grow and change into the other dimensional portal to awesome that is now.

It makes me sad. It truly does. Because a geek hates nothing more than losing a chance to obsess over something cool.

Nectar of The Gods

Vulcan Ninja brought me this boon yesterday. There is nothing better in this world than a bottle of Faygo, whatever the flavour. And if it can be Faygo Red Pop, then so much the better.

I was going to take over the world today, but decided to enjoy this instead.

I Can Now Speak Anime Fluently

As I was watching Gurren Legann today, it became clear that my enjoyment of this anime was akin to someone finally being able to speak a foreign language with complete ease and understanding. It has taken me over twenty years to master the intricacies of this visual form of communication called anime.

When I first saw Akira at the New Yorker lo those many years ago, I had no clear idea of just what I had seen, but I knew there was something there that I liked. I mean, I could follow the plot, but the delivery of story was unlike anything I had seen before. When I went out and bought the Epic Comics translation of the original manga, I again hit that cultural wall. Why did everything take so long to tell? It would be years before I would come across the term decompression, but before that formalized understanding arrived, I just kept staring at the pages, wondering if was supposed to feel this odd.

And so it was with anime. The more I watched, the more I would come across things that jarred me out of the necessary suspension of disbelief: the conversion of characters into crude drawings when upset (eyes turning into triangles of rage, mouths becoming jagged lines); the embarrassing fascination with female body parts, the bounciness quotient directly related into how helpless or immobilized male characters would become when seeing them, and most of all, the screaming.

People would scream at anything. Tears would flow like rivers at the slightest irritation. There seemed to be two emotions in anime: swooning, or heavens shaking rage. I mean, what the fuck?

So I'm not sure if either modern anime has toned down the elements I found so jarring, or the years of reading manga and watching anime have rewired my brain to the point where all of this now seems normal.

Gurren Leggan is undoubtedly rife with all the things that used to send me over the edge: the male characters spend half an episode trying to see a compatriot's breasts, eyes all a-goggy and anime nutso: the illustrations veer from their established norm to ca-RAZY at whiplash inducing speeds, and there is screaming a-plenty, be it calls for revenge or wails of self pity at not getting to see the aforementioned mammary glands. Yet none of this fazed me. In fact, I admired the utter insanity of it all, from the you're kidding me, right? plotline to the pedal to the metal speed of narrative. (Gurren Leggan at least doesn't suffer from decompression--if anything, it seems to be trying to set records for narrative download while maintaining just enough comprehension so that the viewer's brain doesn't explode.)

So, I feel I've arrived, like a stumbling pilgrim reaching a mountainous cultural shrine. And all around me are kids in their teens and twenties going 'What, old man? You don't get this? What's not to get? Didn't you watch Pokemon as a kid? Or did they have TV back then?"

So I'm a slow learner.

So is Naruto. And he's fuckawesome.

Doc Savage To Return?

DC Comics has released this image, and little else.

I may soon love them again. Stay tuned, chums!

The Ring of Death

So I finally got my Red Eye of Death on my XBox 360.

I was actually upset. I mean, I didn't cry or run into the street, falling to my knees and shouting WHY? WHY? It just felt...like I was losing something vital. Which is why I am a gamer, why I am a nerd, and why it's good I never bred.

So, hello PS2! And hello Metal Gear Solid 3!