A Game of Thrones – Not Just For Fantasy Geeks?

Lucy Porter reluctantly gives in to pressure to read A Game of Thrones, only to discover that it might not just be the preserve of fantasy geeks after all…

“After you’ve finished that book, you’ve got to read A Game of Thrones!”

My boyfriend was insistent but I waved him away with a lazy hand.

“Sure, I will.” I promised, knowing full well that there were at least five far more appealing books begging to be read on my shelves before I got around to that sensationalist drivel. Most of my time spent reading was on the commute to work anyway, I reasoned, he’d never find out. However a couple of weeks later, when he noticed that the book I was “still reading” had magically changed cover, he put his foot down.

My lovely, charming (unfinished) book with the American actress, Italian fishermen and lyrical prose was prised from my reluctant hands which soon found themselves carefully turning over an ominously heavy brown tome with some kind of dragon on the front. I weighed it in dismay.

I don’t quite know why I was so sure that it was going to be crap when so many people are utterly enthralled by the entire Game of Thrones universe, although I suspect that a certain Stephenie Meyer and E.L James may have had something to do with my lowered expectations. Plus, even though I end up loving every bandwagon I do eventually jump on, I am incredibly reluctant to do so in the first place. I am nowhere near cool enough to catch these things whilst they’re still hot and seem instead to prefer to wait until it’s all blown over until all that’s left to follow is the receding dust cloud of fading hype.

This series, however, is still enjoying its heyday and whilst the first TV season may have already revealed everything that happens in the first book, writing a review without delivering major spoilers for those losers like me who haven’t quite gotten round to it yet is going to be a little difficult.

But if you are still a Thrones virgin, take my advice: read the book first.

I found the first couple of chapters confusing. Like many fantasy tales, the book contains an intricate world whose workings are absolutely fundamental to the driving of the plot. Although it comes with a handy map and details of the families and houses involved, I still couldn’t quite get my head around it.

However, Martin has a talent for creating not just characters but life on the page. Each one of them becomes a real person and the chaos of names soon melts away. The length of the novel comes from quality as well as quantity with well-designed characters not giving way to an action-packed plot (well, depending on how you look at it).

Don’t give in to temptation – read the book first!

In fact, the depth of the writing gives the reading experience a quality that I feel the series could never quite capture. We pass backwards and forwards through time to fully illustrate each event with the richness it deserves, delving into the thoughts, dreams and plans of a range of characters whose voices are only truly heard in the gap between the page and the mind. Sometimes Martin uses this to build up to a certain event, dropping hints, creating a foreboding atmosphere so that by the time it has slowly, painfully arrived, you can feel the weight of the unstoppable train that brought you here.

At other times, (many, many, many other times) the turn of events is so astounding that you will have to read the lines again and again to make sure you understood correctly. Because this is the trick with Martin; he will never give you what you expect.

If you’re after the blood and boobies of the TV series, you’ll have to use your imagination a little more (although that might leave you feeling a little disturbed – Daenerys is actually meant to be 13, yikes) whereas those looking for an easy ride might find the sheer length of the book off-putting. However I would never want to give away my first understanding of the story to the televised version and am so glad that I was coerced into reading this before I watched the show. Admittedly, I have only seen one episode yet that already gave away so many subtle layers of plot that took me much longer than an hour of reading to absorb – for example, I had absolutely no idea that Sansa was such a snooty bitch until much later than is portrayed in the show which gave me a delicious sense of plot development.

In short, Martin is a genius who has written something that could and should be enjoyed by all. It exists for the gaming nerds, for the book geeks, for the pleasure readers, for the fantasy enthusiasts… as for me, I’ve found my own social psychology twist on it, extracting my old favourite themes of sexism, racism and social ostracism. Can’t just relax and enjoy anything, me.

I put A Game of Thrones down in a very different sentiment to that which I picked it up with. And then I went straight to my boyfriend’s bookcase and picked up the sequel.

Lucy Porter, Senior Reviewer

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Did Luhrmann's Great Gatsby Live Up To Expectations?

It was one of the most hotly anticipated cinematic releases of the year, taking on the mammoth task of adapting one of most well-loved classics of the twentieth century. But was it successful? This month we continue looking at adaptations of books with Tim Halliday’s opinion on The Great Gatsby…

Was the film adaptation successful?

Undoubtedly one of the biggest adaptations of 2013, Baz Luhrmann’s The Great Gatsby was awaited with both great anticipation and anxiety from lovers of the book. Fitzgerald’s crowning novel is an ode to the Jazz Age in America, and ultimately exposed the hollow, empty nature of the substanceless ‘American Dream’ based largely on greed. Perhaps the progressive writer could be compared to the eccentric director Luhrmann, who cites Italian opera as a key influence on his work, and whose film Moulin Rouge had can-can dancers bouncing along to Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit. Whilst Luhrmann’s flamboyant style successfully captures the excitement of the Jazz Age, he fails to portray the death of the American Dream as Fitzgerald did so masterfully.

In some ways, Luhrmann’s adaptation was well executed. Leonardo DiCaprio pulls off Gatsby’s enigmatic smile with ease, and was an excellent choice for the part, whilst Tobey Maguire’s Nick Carraway was appropriately awkward. The soundtrack was a stroke of genius, and the inclusion of modern artists such as Jay-Z, The XX and Lana del Rey translates the buzz of the Jazz Age for a modern viewer in the way that contemporary music would not have. Critics who scorned the use of rap and hip-hop in such an iconic work of American literature seemed to forget that Jazz is founded on precisely this kind of musical innovation.

Or will nothing ever live up to the genius of the book?

However, in other ways Luhrmann falls short. Nick Carraway is the novel’s narrator and serves to provide an outsider’s look into the extravagant world of what Fitzgerald might term ‘Flappers and Philosophers’. Through his eyes, the reader gains a sense of the unnecessary excess, shallowness and unhappiness of the age. Luhrmann is less successful in this respect, focusing instead on the visuals of the parties, although admittedly this provided entertaining viewing, it failed to convey a key part of the novel. What’s more, in typical Hollywood fashion, Luhrmann overplays the love story of this film. Daisy Buchanan, whom Jay Gatsby describes as having ‘a voice full of money’, is the both the ultimate symbol of wealth and power in the novel and a shallow, callous character. The relationship between Gatsby and Daisy was poorly represented in the film, where Daisy was far too sympathetic and viewers were left sighing about their tragic lost love, whilst in the book Gatsby arguably never loved Daisy, only what she represented.

It might be a cliché, but it truly is impossible to state whether a film adaptation is better than a novel, because they are two entirely different things. Luhrmann’s adaptation of The Great Gatsby brings the Jazz Age to life in an entertaining way that perhaps the novel might not for a modern audience. However, ultimately he fails to accurately represent the underlying message of the novel and it is for this reason that his adaptation is unlikely to endure as long as Fitzgerald’s novel.

Tim Halliday

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Film Adaptations: Are Books Under Threat?

With many of the recent blockbusters originating as books, regular writer Emma Pidsley asks if films are becoming substitutes for reading. Does film adaptation help the reception of novels or pale them into insignificance?

With Meg Rosoff’s novel How We Live Now recently made into a film, and the fantastic novel The Book Thief due for release later this month, books are constantly being turned into films, and hence perhaps threatened by the ever-increasing amount of blockbusters. While I was watching the trailer of The Book Thief, I was a bit sceptical about how it will translate into film. Anyone who has read this (and if not then I would really recommend it!) will know that it is narrated by death, who plays a very symbolic and important role in the story. Understandably, it was decided not to include this narrative device in the film, probably because it wouldn’t work in quite the same way and would be in danger of becoming distasteful. Touches like this that work so well on paper can never be fully transferred to the screen.

When a book is transferred to film the characters and places are immediately frozen in a specific idea of how they should be. For me, Keira Knightley will always be Elizabeth Bennet. When I later saw the BBC version it just felt strangely wrong. As much as I adore the film, the problem is that I won’t be able to read the book now without thinking of the film, and this is probably a similar case for everyone else who’s seen it. Books work so well precisely because people can read the same thing and each imagine a completely different world. In a way, when reading a book you make it your own story. People may watch Pride and Prejudice, or The Great Gatsby, and decide that they need not read the novels.

On the other hand, the popularity of some films definitely improves the popularity of the book they are based on. For example I had never heard of The Hunger Games series before the first film came out, and now all my friends are imploring me to read the books, there is a strong desire to find out what happens next before the films come out. One of the interesting things about watching an adaptation is being able to compare it to the novel.

The key thing that makes the book sometimes more rewarding than its film version is the subtlety found between the pages. Luhrmann’s Great Gatsby is an amazing artistic spectacle but some viewers I know would prefer a more sophisticated, less brash adaptation of Fitzgerald’s novel. I think that books will more often than not trump their adaptations, which are after all just a reader’s interpretation.

Emma Pidsley, Books Team

A good book has no ending …

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Emma Holifield, Books Editor, examines the ongoing adaption of literary works to stage musicals

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BEING Books Editor it’s safe to say that I’m a little bit fond of literature. But dare I say it, there may be one thing I like even more; musicals. I’m not an all-singing, all-dancing lunatic waiting to burst into song as if I’m in Glee (although I would be in full support of other people who could actually sing doing this). But there’s something about the intensity of musicals that makes the emotions expressed a whole lot more epic, not to mention providing a catchy tune or two to get you through those boring essays.

Image Credit: Flickr user Melork

Musicals inspired by books are everywhere in the theatre world, combining my two loves in one wonderful package. There are hugely successful musicals such as Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera, a reinterpretation of Gaston Leroux’s classic French novel. The musical is now celebrating an astonishing 27 years on the West End.  In contrast there are the not so successful musicals. For instance, the musical version of The Lord of the Rings, famously plagued by cast injuries, ran for only a year, with the epic trilogy crammed into a three hour musical romp failing to appeal to critics and audiences alike.

Other smash-hit adaptations are rife, with Wicked, Oliver and Les Misérables being personal favourites (the latter of which I LOVED way before the film … #hipster). Poetry has also been used as musical theatre inspiration, with T.S. Eliot’s whimsical poem Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats inspiring Andrew Lloyd Webber’s famous production Cats. Even The Bible and now, The Book of Mormon have inspired hugely successful musical releases.

As with all adaptations one can question which is better? Do musicals add welcome razzmatazz to tomes or do they bastardise the literary canon? Always liking to experience the literary inspirations for adaptations, I rushed to get my hands on a copy of Wicked and Les Misérables after becoming obsessed with their musical counterparts.

In some cases I enjoyed the original more, with the book of Phantom of the Opera inciting a sense of trepidation that I hadn’t felt during the musical. However, with others I was hugely disappointed. Although irrefutably good stories (I’m not about to criticise Hugo’s monumental work), I found that the literary originals lacked the hype and excitement of their musical offspring. Somewhat naively, I was hugely disappointed that my favourite tunes didn’t spark up during important moments and eventually, I must concede, I got so bored I gave up; apparently there’s only so much I can hear about a very pious, but none-the-less very boring, French bishop without needing a song to perk things up.

Image Credit: Andy Roberts

I’m not saying all books can be improved by being turned into musicals; Lord of the Rings is testament to that. In fact, not all books should be adapted in this way. For instance, I doubt even Andrew Lloyd Webber could make a coherent musical out of The Odyssey (although, I’m horrified to announce that someone has tried). But with plenty more book to musical adaptations set to grace our theatres in the future, I will continue to watch in awe at the sets, costumes and of course songs that revitalise many books, bringing some into the spotlight that I hadn’t previously considered.

 

Emma Holfield, Books Editor

Awards Season: Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell

Fourth in our Awards Season series, the cinematic adaptation of David Mitchell’s ‘Cloud Atlas’ has polarised critics. Although nominated for various awards, including a Golden Globe for Best Original Score, the film has also appeared on Worst Film lists despite being one of the most expensive independent films of all time. Exeposé Screen Editor, Olivia Luder, takes a look at the book behind the film which required such a bulging budget…

There is a kind of book that can be reassuringly classed as ‘literary enough’. Think David Nicholl’s One Day, or Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, or any not-too-up-itself Ian McEwan. As I stood in Gatwick airport’s WHSmith this December, that is exactly what I was looking for. Thankfully, I plucked David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas off the shelf and it was perfect.

First things first – Cloud Atlas is an epic. Constructed of six separate tales, each distinct in style and genre, you’re unwittingly lead into a rabbit warren of mystery.

We begin with the 1850 diary of Adam Ewing, an American notary. Intrigue builds around his relationship with the ship’s doctor but just as things start to get interesting, we’re dragged into the letters of Robert Frobisher. Frobisher is a penniless English musician seeking to wrangle a job from a famous but aging composer. Intrigue builds up around his relationship with the composer’s wife, but just as things start to get interesting the story of Luisa Rey is thrust upon us. She’s an ‘80s tabloid journalist who begins investigating a new nuclear plant development. Intrigue builds around the depth of the corruption but just as things start to get interesting… you get the idea.

We then rattle through the stories of Timothy Cavendish, an elderly man comically trapped in a nursing home, Sonmi~451, an enslaved clone in the future, and Zachry, a man living in a primitive post-apocalyptic society. And that’s all before we hit the second half!

Being torn away from each story just as it’s about to hit its climax is incredibly frustrating but trust me, stick with it. I don’t want to spoil it but for every infuriating cliff-hanger in the first half, there’s a reasonable moment of pay-off in the second.

Though handling remarkably different stories, Mitchell maintains an uncanny sense of continuity. While the time-periods, circumstances and literary genres diverge wildly, themes, actions and even events reappear time and time again. The subject of power is particularly pervasive, often being at the root of a character’s motivations or the cause of their difficulties. This sense of overall reoccurrence gives the reader a kind of foresight that becomes quite unsettling; you know a character will probably suffer a certain fate, but don’t yet know how, where or why. There’s also this mysterious birthmark that appears on characters throughout, the symbolism of which toying successfully with my English Literature student brain.

Which brings me back to my opening remark about Cloud Atlas being ‘literary enough’. This isn’t excessively beautiful literature – there were no similes that moved me to tears – and the stories are all fairly straightforward and easily digested. Rather, it’s the way Mitchell threads the vastly divergent stories together that makes it so brilliant. I came away feeling as if I had learnt something about humanity… which is a lot to be said about a book I bought for holiday reading!

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By Olivia Luder – Exeposé Online Screen Editor
Ed. by Georgina Holland – Exeposé Online Books Editor

Mansfield Park at Exeter Northcott

Contrary to my housemate’s opinion, Mansfield Park is a novel. But writer Tim Luscombe has made it into a rather amusing play.

As soon as the first characters appear, Mrs Norris (Karen Ascoe) and Sir Thomas Bertram (Richard Heap), the furious rate of the play is established. This swiftness can result in some slightly garbled speeches and to be quite honest, some faintly alarming barking. However, overall the cast manage to speak clearly to enable the audience to understand what is happening.

Photo Credits to Northcott Theatre

The comic timing of some of the cast was superb. Mr Rushworth (Geoff Arnold) in particular was always a welcome sight. Although Mansfield Park may not be Jane Austen’s most famous novel, her acerbic wit is definitely at work and has been well adapted by Luscombe.

However, even though the almost continuous laughter makes for an enjoyable evening it meant that whenever there was meant to be a serious scene, for instance when Fanny tells her uncle of her refusal of Mr Crawford, there would almost certainly be an hysterical giggle escaping from somewhere in the audience. This was again linked to the the speed of the performance, which came at the cost of some of the more nuanced parts of the play. So Edmund’s rather abrupt disavowal of Mary Crawford, after having spent most of the play declaring his love for her, does not inspire the audience with confidence that it really is love that he feels for Fanny.

However, these are slight qualms. The changes of character by the cast were all well done; at one point my friend and I didn’t even realise Mr Rushworth and Tom Bertram were played by the same person… Putting aside my lack of observational skills, I enjoyed this genuinely funny play immensely. Despite my twinge of (healthy) doubt at Edmund’s true feelings for Fanny – the  passionate kiss in the middle of the drawing room was somewhat unexpected- there was something incredibly comforting about having the world of Jane Austen performed in the cynical, modern world.

The happy endings and just desserts were all in place and if you want an evening where you laugh hard and enjoy the warmth of a love story that ends well for a change then this is the play for you.

 

Cressy Travis