13 Reasons Why: Required Viewing

About a year ago, I wrote a piece the culmination of a bout of depression. My hope was that reading it might encourage others to seek help, as I did. In publishing the piece, I was trying to reach out to other people in positions like mine. I wrote for myself, and for the people who struggle like me.

13 Reasons Why writes for the loved ones, friends, and acquaintances around us.

It seems to me that Netflix’s new binge-driven show is incredibly polarizing. There doesn’t seem to be anyone who’s on the fence about their opinion. Either you love it, or you hate it.

I’m certainly one of the former, one of the people who “gets it,” I guess.

I’m not going to get into defending the show against allegations of unnecessarily graphic rape scenes, glorified suicide, or misrepresented depression. Some of these criticisms are founded, some are plain absurd, but they aren’t what I want to talk about.

I want to talk about why I think this show is one of the most poignantly honest portrayals of depression, teenaged angst, and the cruelties we inflict on one another every day. I’m sure I’ll address some criticisms indirectly.

As I said, the show is not written primarily for those going through depression. It is written for the people around those who are struggling. One thing I was consistently struck with while watching the show is how well it conveyed one simple fact about depression: nobody – and I mean nobody – can truly understand what is going on inside of another person’s head.

Of course, the show’s central conceit revolves around Hannah’s posthumous attempts to illustrate this fact to her classmates. Through recorded tapes sent to everyone who bullied her and everyone who stood by while she was bullied, Hannah sets the record straight, explaining in agonizing detail to her classmates and to her audience how their seemingly small actions can have massive consequences.

Of course, as many have pointed out, there’s a severe degree of implausibility in the story. Would the narrative unfold this way in real life? No, probably not. But that’s not the point. 13 Reasons Why is a show about severe angst, the feeling that the entire world is against you. Such angst does not allow for reality to prevail. Such angst, by its very nature, makes our perception of the world unrealistic.

One thing 13 Reasons Why does so effectively is portray this angst for adults. I’m sure many teens who watch the show are familiar with having their struggles dismissed or ignored: “just try to focus on school;” “it doesn’t last forever;” “we all went through it.”

While these voices generally mean well, such attitudes are dangerously dismissive. For adults – specifically parents and teachers – to portray these attitudes to their kids is to devalue the struggles those kids are going through. When you are a teen, when you’re in high school, surrounded by hundreds of other insecure, confused, and struggling individuals in a microcosm of raging hormones, that angst is real for you. Sure, we can all say that we went through it. But if you find that this is your attitude, ask yourself: was there ever a point where it didn’t feel real? Was there ever a point where those struggles weren’t your entire world?

I found myself thinking a lot about my own high school experience while watching the show. When I was seventeen, I was more a Clay than a Hannah, but I empathize with both characters. Off the top of my head, I can list a dozen names, people who probably don’t even remember my name yet invariably left marks on me through their words or their actions. I hope that in watching the show people like that might come to realize that words and actions that might seem inconsequential to them almost always have consequences: if I, as someone who was innocuous and socially awkward but never bullied harshly, felt the sting of individuals’ words, how must the Hannahs of my school felt?

When I was in high school, I didn’t consider myself depressed. It is only in retrospect that I can apply that label, and understand the reasons I felt like I did.

A lot has been written about the show’s failure to qualify Hannah’s mental illness. While I understand this criticism, I feel it is misplaced. Indeed, I think the fact that Hannah is never defined as clinically depressed is part of what makes the show so effective. In the end, the term “depression” is a somewhat arbitrary and incredibly broad label. 13 Reasons Why focusses on the manifestation of that depression, and how those around us can recognize the signs.

As much as I hate to admit it, there remains a stigma around mental illness. It’s a hot phrase that is often easily dismissed. The result of this is that directly explaining Hannah’s mental illness would have been either unnecessary or alienating. As I’ve said, this is not a show primarily written for those who suffer from mental illness, but one written for those around the sufferer. The jocks of Hannah’s school would have easily dismissed her depression, just as the bullies of my high school would have.

Of course Hannah’s mental illness influenced her reaction to these things, but we already know that. Obviously Hannah was depressed, but directly labelling her as such would have made it far too easy to dismiss the actions of those around her: the bullies who objectified her, the parents who didn’t pay enough attention, or the man who raped her because he thought she “wanted it.” The show is written for the real life people like this.

13 Reasons Why is not a show primarily about the experience of mental illness, but about how we all need to be better at recognizing and understanding the effects our actions have on one another. We simply don’t know what another person is going through. In real life, nobody wears a badge or goes around proclaiming “I’m depressed.” Indeed, many teens probably don’t realize that they are depressed. 13 Reasons Why does not shirk away from the fact that there is often a thin line between clinical depression and general angst, and that drawing a sharp line between these two things should not be our purpose.

There is nothing this show shirks away from. It addresses a wide array of issues with brutal honesty, harnessing its young adult milieu to speak to teens and adults alike. 13 Reasons Why is not a show for the Hannahs of the world, but a show for the Clays and the parents of the world; it is a show for all the guidance counsellors who might dismiss their students and for all the kids who think it’s just a joke, or who think that silence means consent. For this reason, it should be required viewing.

If you think you or someone around you might be consider hurting themselves, there are resources you can reach out to. I know it isn’t easy sometimes. Trust me, I know. But please do it, if not for yourself then for those who love you. Reach out to a friend or family member, a teacher or a co-worker, or call one of these numbers.

KidsHelpPhone Ages 20 Years and Under in Canada 1-800-668-6868
First Nations and Inuit Hope for Wellness 24/7 Help Line 1-855-242-3310
Trans LifeLine – All Ages 1-877-330-6366

24 Crisis Line – 1-403-266-4357

Finally, here are a few resources for further reading:

http://www.distresscentre.com/join-our-team/volunteer-opportunities/

http://www.supportisp.org/?gclid=CjwKEAjwz9HHBRDbopLGh-afzB4SJABY52oF6hpn5qdjjpFPiKECFgdSTAtlIurxuktxigwury10ZRoCO2Xw_wcB

http://www.cmha.ca/mental-health/understanding-mental-illness/suicide/

https://www.kidshelpphone.ca/Teens/InfoBooth/Emotional-Health/Suicide/What-Happens.aspx

https://www.kidshelpphone.ca/Teens/InfoBooth/Emotional-Health/Suicide/I-Want-Out.aspx

http://suicideprevention.ca/need-help/

https://beautifulmindsmagazine.org/

Logan: A Milestone Superhero Film

On-screen adaptations of comic book superhero stories have been around for decades, but the 2008 release of Iron Man and the growth of the Marvel Cinematic Universe kick-started a generation of blockbusters with superheroes at its core. It’s impossible to go more than a month or two without the release of a new entry into the canon. And while most of these films are hollow reiterations of the same action tropes – relying on beautiful stars and overbearing special effects – Hollywood occasionally produces a masterpiece within the framework of the genre.

Logan is one such masterpiece. Arguably one of the best superhero films of all time and certainly the best X-Men film since X2, the film is reminiscent of last year’s Deadpool, flipping the worn out superhero genre on its head.

After a decade of confusing timelines and alternate continuities, Logan brings the X-Men franchise back to its base. The film deals with concepts that much of the genre seems to forgotten, tackling complex themes you’d never find in an Avengers movie.

The film explores ideas of mortality and pain that Hugh Jackman’s previous solo outing, The Wolverine, introduced. In the year 2029, a visibly aged Logan (who has long given up the mantle of Wolverine) struggles with the slow and steady degradation of his powers. Meanwhile, Patrick Stewart’s equally decrepit Charles Xavier struggles with dementia and seizures.

Embedded in a brutally realistic and vaguely dystopic future, Logan asks uses the framework of the superhero film to ask relevant and timeless questions: what are the psychological and physical effects of aging? What happens when the most powerful mind in the world begins to break down? What happens when the immortal becomes mortal?

Much like Deadpool the film understands where it’s come from. It understands the tangled mess that the X-Men franchise has become, and does not try to resolve it. Where Deadpool addressed this issue with humour, Logan does so with cold, hard reality. Logan exposes the man behind the curtain, highlights the writer’s hand that is so often the curse of the superhero genre. Logan is grounded in reality more than any genre film to be released in the last few years.

In this way, the film tackles issues we’ve all had with the superhero genre. Of course it’s rewarding to see Iron Man fight off a hundred robots and then meet up with Thor, but is that really plausible? Is it really plausible that after 14 films, there hasn’t been a single major character death in the Marvel Cinematic Universe?

Logan calls bullshit. At one point, it is revealed that the young Laura is a fan of the in-universe X-Men comics. Logan’s reaction to the fictionalization of his stories is suitably cynical: “Maybe a quarter of it happened, and not like this.”

Indeed, if we lived in a world with super humans, it would not be a polished and clean one. It would be dirty and scarred, imperfect as our own. Logan knows this.

Logan takes our expectations of the genre – and our disillusionment with it – and crushes them beneath a clawed heel. There are no city-levelling battles, no clash of titans. Stadiums don’t fly and there are no robots. The Wolverine does not fight ninjas. Yes, the film uses its R-rating to the fullest potential, letting Wolverine show us what he is capable of; there is plenty of brutalization and dismemberment, in shocking yet somehow beautiful detail. But these scenes are window dressing. They are not where Logan’s weight lies.

No. Logan’s conflicts are far deeper, far more poignant.

In real life, people die. Mistakes are made. Conflicts are not resolved by the time the credits role. Sometimes, the heroes are not good people. Stories rarely have neat resolutions, and even rarer are those solutions happy ones.

Logan does not have a happy ending. And that’s okay. Because life doesn’t have a happy ending.

Ultimately a beautifully poignant character piece, the movie’s strength lies in the interplay between the two leading actors. In their swan song, both Jackman and Stewart offer their best performances yet, giving new dimensions to their characters as Logan struggles to continue taking care of himself and his mentor. Logan shows how apparently inhuman characters deal with intensely human problems. 

By giving us relatable themes of aging and loss, Logan shows us the true potential of the superhero genre. The struggle of Logan and Charles is our struggle. We all have ghosts, and we all have secrets.

One day, we all lose our powers.

Logan is a story about one man’s attempts to come to terms with the things he has witnessed, what he’s done. An attempt to find purpose in an existence that has become meaningless.

Isn’t that something we can all relate to?

Logan represents the way forward for a genre that has become stymied. It joins the canon of great genre films and, hopefully, marks what we will see in the years to come.

I’m sad to see Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart go. I’ll miss their iterations of their characters. But their time was up, and this movie was the perfect way to say goodbye.

Beautiful, powerful, a masterpiece of cinema: for realizing the limits – and therefore the potential – of its genre, Logan is one of the best films I’ve seen in years.

We cannot buy into myths about Canadian exceptionalism

At the beginning of last month, the New York Times ran an opinion piece by Nicholas Kristof lauding the Canadian attitude towards refugees, referring to Canada as “the one great exception” to an international community that is steadily turning its back to refugees and immigrants. Given events in Europe and America, it’s easy to imagine Canada as a last bastion against intolerance. Examples like the government’s promise to spend $28 million on Yazidi refugees and Justin Trudeau’s charming publicity pieces make it easy to give a face to Canadian exceptionalism.

It is important that Canadians look past that face.

It is certainly true that Canadian attitudes towards refugees have been generally more favourable than much of the world in recent months, particularly when one makes a direct comparison to our southern neighbour. Just look at Ben Carson’s recent comments that conflate slaves and immigrants. No wonder the months that Donald Trump has been president have seen a dramatic increase in the number of immigrants crossing the U.S. – Canadian border.

There is a danger, however, that this continued presentation of Canada as a quasi-utopian space may lead to Canadians being desensitized to the problems inherent in our own country.

Canada, as a nation, is often misunderstood by much of the world. Simply google Canada, and one will find a wealth of entertaining and rarely accurate stereotypes. The great white north is often seen as a singular mass of friendly semi-Americans who live in igloos and apologize for everything.

While this image, like most stereotypes, is probably based on a degree of truth, it contributes to a dangerous single narrative in which Canadians consist of a single one-dimensional characteristic: their acceptance. The fact that many Canadians seem to buy into this narrative about themselves only increases its danger.

To paint all Canadians with a single brushstroke – in the case of refugees and immigrants, “accepting” seems to be the buzzword being applied – is a mistake consistently made by much of the world exemplified by the Kristof article. Canada is a vast country with a population of some 35 million and a landmass smaller than only Russia. The diversity of Canada’s population is reflected in the diversity of opinion held by Canadians.

Consider the issue of refugees. As I’ve said already, Canadians are ostensibly, and probably on average of late, more accepting of outsiders than the United States; our official policies of multiculturalism and history of liberal leadership speak to a national disposition that is generally accepting of minorities.

Yet it is a stretch to say that Canada is “leading the free world.” To claim that Canada is the sole exception to a pattern of intolerance is perilously simplistic and irresponsible.

Such claims are incongruent with Canada’s history of racialized immigration policy and the ongoing mistreatment of First Nations communities. Sure, we now have Justin Trudeau, a prime minister whose views on immigration and multiculturalism seem to be generally geared towards acceptance. But let’s not forget that two years ago the man in the PM’s seat was advocating policies that were culturally isolationist if not downright racist. Also consider the fact that the idealism that swept Trudeau in the office has very much dissipated.

Canada has yet to elect a Trump-like figure, yet many Canadians are expressing the desire for to have our own swamp drained of both political corruption and ethnic diversity. The rise of Kevin O’Leary as a possible standard bearer for a Canadian populist movement presents a terrifying potential for the next election. The press received by the Canadian business mogul has very much mirrored the press received by Donald Trump back in 2015, with a steady increase in political engagement preceding a run for office.

A recent study conducted by McGill University determined that Canadian attitudes towards immigration are not as exceptional as many imagine. The study argues that perceived Canadian exceptionalism is largely due to the fact that the country’s political system has not suffered any large degree of stress from immigration issues. What happens when the steadily brewing resentment towards outsiders becomes the central issue of national politics? The results of this study seem to suggest that a serious anti-immigration movement is not unlikely over the next few years.

This brings me back to the Kristof article. Certainly it is nice for the world to have a place like Canada to imagine as a pillar of acceptance, yet it is important for Canadians themselves not to buy into this sentiment. Canada is not immune to the wave of prejudice and isolationism that has swept the western world. Increasingly, Canadians (particularly those in rural areas) are turning towards a misplaced sense of isolationism and nationalism.

Canadians need to be aware of the prejudices of their country, and the prejudices they themselves may hold. We need to avoid complacency, and we need to avoid accepting assumptions about our nation’s own moral infallibility.

If we do not do so, we will end up with a Trump of our own. And that’s just the beginning.

It Can Happen Again

On February 27^th, 1933, the seat of the German government, the Reichstag Building, was set alight by a young Dutch communist. For the previous few years, tension between the German government and communist groups had steadily been rising. Many feared the country was on the verge of an uprising similar to the one that had happened in Russia two decades earlier. Indeed, much of the world feared communism in this time, just as it feared an international Jewish conspiracy. These two groups were the spectres that haunted the nightmares of the average European and North American.

The arson of the Reichstag Building gave the newly inaugurated German Chancellor, Adolph Hitler, the rhetorical space to purge the government of dissenting elements. Just over a month later, in response to the arson, the Enabling Act of 1933 was passed. This Act gave Hitler the power to suspend German civil liberties and act without oversight from the government’s legislative arm; the resulting creation and legitimization of the SS and SA paramilitary forces turned Germany into a police state with one man at its head. The funneling of powers into the executive branch gave the Nazis the ability to remilitarize the country and begin implementing the final solution. All this was, ostensibly, done in the name of combatting terrorism.

In Hitler, the German people had seen someone who didn’t play by the book, someone who would bring a breath of fresh air to broken system. The world was in the midst of the Great Depression. Germany’s economy was suffering and its people suffered with it. The country had been forced to pay humiliating reparations for an old war. Germany had become a shadow of what it once was. Hitler knew this, and used it to his advantage.

Hitler himself was a political maverick, a former soldier who rose to power on a wave of public discontent. His entry into public life came in the form of the now famous beer hall speeches. In them, he would provide improvised and impassioned tirades on the failures of the Weimar government. This passive but vocal commentary eventually moved into his running for office. Despite the vague nature of his policies, Hitler’s charisma combined with an engagement in popular frustrations to carry him to the chancellorship.  

When implementing his authoritarian policies, Hitler did not begin by sending Jews, homosexuals, and other minorities to the gas chambers. He consolidated power slowly and methodically, tapping into existing prejudices and fears. He worked methodically, using his charisma and half-facts to desensitize people. He promised, at every step, that his measures would only be temporary, in order to protect Germans and make their country great again.

The circumstance we face today is not the same as the 1930s. Our world is not that of 1930s Europe. The idea that history repeats itself is misplaced. History does not repeat itself, yet there are patterns, circumstances that mirror those that came before. In this manner, history can teach us.

The burning of the Reichstag Building was crucial to the rise of Nazi Germany and the establishment of Hitler as a dictator. Without the arson, or another such public event, Hitler would not have been able to transform a relatively functional democracy into an autocracy. Germany would not have been remilitarized and many atrocities of the Second World War would have been somewhat mitigated, if not entirely avoided.

Someone told me recently that nothing like the Holocaust or the other atrocities of the Second World War could happen in the modern world. People are too well informed. Safeguards are in place to stop such totalitarianism. Any actions being taken that might seem similar to those of the 1930s are limited in scope and necessary for our safety and security. We are wiser than our predecessors.

I’m sure that Germans in the 1930s believed the same thing about themselves. By telling ourselves it cannot happen, we breed the atmosphere in which oppression thrives.

Ask yourself: how would the western world react if an event like the Reichstag Fire were to happen today? How would we react if a bomb were to go off on Capitol Hill tomorrow?

It can happen again.

If we are not vigilant, it will happen. 

A few thoughts on the Presidency of Barack Obama

2008 was the first presidential election I remember, if only vaguely. I remember the smear campaign, attacks from both sides and I understood the significance of the moment: America’s first black president. But my observation was made through a lens of juvenile disinterested. I was twelve. Politics meant little to me.

In 2012, at sixteen, I was far more aware of the world around me. I read the news, attempted to engage with it on a meaningful level. Morally, emotionally, and intellectually, I was a rough approximation of the person I am now. The election race between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney was, as all presidential elections inevitably are, an international spectacle, and I observed with interest. I watched the debates, researched the candidates. I cringed as this sleazy middle-aged man talked about having folders full of women, a stark contrast to the eloquent, fatherly figure who’d been leading the free world for the past several years.

I’d known Obama’s election was a precedent setting moment, even from a young age. And, I think, on some level, a part of my burgeoning intellectual brain simply felt that Obama’s relatively successful first term, combined with the historical precedent it set and the obvious appeal he had over Romney, was enough of a reason to think America should elect him again in 2012. I viewed politics, American, Canadian, and all others, through a black and white lens. I bought into general ideas, rhetoric promoted by the media, rather than hard facts.

Fast forward another four years, and I’ve come to view Obama through yet another lens, brought about by brutal personal experiences, wide reading and critical thinking, and a few years of university.

In general, my feelings towards the outgoing president are pretty similar to what they were in 2012. I admire the man. I think he is a genuinely good human being, and I respect the trials he faced to reach the Oval Office. I have a greater understanding of the historical context in which he operates, the cause and effect events that resulted in many of today’s problems. I believe he acts in a genuine and measured attempt to make life better for his country and for humanity. I think, in particular, over the second half of this term he has displayed great skill and dexterity when dealing with both domestic and international issues, from issues with health-care reform and racial tension, to the rise of populist nationalism the world over.

I don’t agree with everything Obama has done. I think, sometimes, he’s played the middle-ground a bit too much, attempting to appease both sides of the political spectrum. Sometimes, he’s done otherwise, acted with too little tact and played into the hands of the opposition. He’s failed to form a coherent approach to dealing with the Middle-East. He made empty threats towards the Assad regime in Syria. This, combined with many other factors, most notably his escalation of American drone strikes in the region, has allowed for a rise in anti-American and anti-western sentiment in the region, directly influencing the conditions that gave rise to the Islamic State.

But, ultimately, I think judging the presidency of Barack Obama as anything other than a relative success is somewhat short-sighted and simplistic. The world is changing. American dominance and Western influence is waning. People are shifting to their roots: fundamentalism, populism, and various other “isms.” No president, Republican or Democrat, black or white, has the capacity to stop this change. They can only weather it.

I think Obama has weathered the past eight years well. The President of the United States faces a unique set of challenges that none of us can truly understand. To my mind, Obama has always attempted to tackle these challenges with morality and compassion. Sometimes he has not succeeded. He has made mistakes, as humans do, but he has also enjoyed great successes given the challenges he’s come up against.

I think that Barack Obama is a genuinely good human being. When one compares him to the man who came before him, and the man who will succeed him, it is hard to argue that he is not both intellectually and – at least in one case – morally superior. The contrast has shone through in his presidency.

There is a storm ahead. Frankly, I’m scared shitless for what is to come in the next few years. The world is becoming more hostile, more closed off. In some ways, this is humanity reverting to its default settings after an unprecedented level of prosperity and cooperation. I hope that we, as a species, can find a way past the coming storm, though I am not entirely confident.

I hope Obama remains politically engaged over the coming years, perhaps following a path similar to that Jimmy Carter took after his time in the White House ended. Obama is a politically astute, compassionate, and confident.

We’re going to need people like that going forward.

My Top Reads of the Year

So, I think most of us can agree that 2016 has been a pretty awful year for the world. On the bright side, I’ve read some good books over the past twelve months. Here are a few of them, in no particular order.

Best of 2016

Age of Myth by Michael J. Sullivan

I knew from the moment I read it that Michael J. Sullivan’s Age of Myth would be right up there on this list. Though technically a prequel to his other works, Sullivan ensures that the book is understandable and entertaining for all. Case in point, I’ve never read any of the author’s work before, and I absolutely loved it. The book is perfect for fans of fantasy and adventure, Tolkien, or anyone who enjoyed Game of Thrones but was confused by all the characters.

Not Alone by Craig A. Falconer

This is one of the best “first contact” stories I’ve encountered. The book starts off a little cartoonish, but quickly becomes a very realistic depiction of how the world might react to such a scenario. With an endearing cast of characters and a realistic and unpredictable plot, this sci-fi is definitely worth checking out. If you’re a fan of audiobooks, I’d strongly recommend the audiobook narrated by James Patrick Cronin.

The View From the Cheap Seats by Neil Gaiman

In The View From the Cheap Seats, fantasy’s most perceptive author regales us with his opinions on everything from books and comics to current events. At times, part memoir, at times part journalism, and at others somewhere in between, this collection of essays is a must read for any fans of the genre, and indeed anyone looking for a perceptive lens through which to view the world. Gaiman’s greatest strength as a writer has always been his empathy, and that shines through here. This collection of essays illustrates why his fiction is so effective, and how exactly he articulates ideas we all sense even if we don’t understand them. If you’re interested, check out my full review here.

The Bands of Mourning by Brandon Sanderson

There isn’t much I can say about Brandon Sanderson that hasn’t been said already. This book is the third in the Wax and Wayne segment of the Mistborn saga, itself only a portion of the larger Cosmere sequence. If these words confuse you, don’t worry. I’ve read most of Sanderson’s books and still don’t entirely understand what’s going on. If you want to read Bands of Mourning, I’d recommend catching up with the rest of the Mistborn books first. If you’ve already done so and you’ve read Bands of Mourning… HOLY SH!T ENDING??!?!?! Something Sanderson does incredibly well is addressing the macro (the grand happenings of the universe he has created) without forgetting the micro (character interactions and the realistic problems faced by individuals). For anyone who’s a fan original and innovative fantasy, I’d really recommend giving Brandon Sanderson a read.

Other books I read in 2016 (not published this year)

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

Another fantasy entry on this list, Katherine Addison’s The Goblin Emperor is detail-heavy. The amount of world-building the author managed to place into a relatively short volume is quite impressive. The plot isn’t always the most exciting, but it’s a slow and meticulous study of a fantasy society that questions the nature of power, race, and the class system. Think Game of Thrones with a few less heads being crushed.

14 by Peter Clines

I stumbled upon Peter Clines a year or so ago while browsing through Audible, and I’m very happy I did. The second of his books I’ve read, 14 introduces an interesting shared universe that mirrors our own. The books each contain their own cast of characters and are loosely connected by interspersed cameos and a growing threat in the background (remember how Marvel slowly introduced us to its Cinematic Universe?). By combining likeable characters with an interesting mystery, 14 is an easy read with something more for those who care to look.

                                      Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

An incredibly timely book given the problems plaguing the United States right now (as though there was a time when race wasn’t an issue in the US). National correspondent for The Atlantic Ta-Nehisi Coates examines the question of a black man’s place in the world in light of recent high profile events. Framing the work as a letter to his son, Coates’ prose has a poetic imperfection that lends to the work’s aching poignancy. Coates’ love for his son lives on the page. The pain he feels at the deaths of so many others, and the fear for his own son’s life, is like a punch to the gut. Between the World and Me is not a fun book to read, but it is an important one.

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Set in Nigeria during the 1960s, Half of a Yellow Sun follows three major characters as they attempt to deal with the onset of the Biafran War. Steeped in historical details and based on the firsthand accounts of the author’s relatives, the book is a heartbreaking portrayal of the costs of war and the legacies of colonialism. The book provides an intriguing examination of how intellectual ideals and harsh realities often clash. This is a great book for fans of the works of Khaled Hossieni.

The Sculptor by Scott McCloud

This graphic novel is quite unlike anything I’ve ever read. Scott McCloud manages to tap into something all creators, writers, and artists inevitably feel but cannot always articulate. Over a few hundred pages of beautiful and slightly impressionistic artwork, McCloud tells a beautiful story of love, life, and the struggles faced by all those who create. The last hundred pages is quite possibly one of the most powerful things I have ever read. At two in the morning, this story’s conclusion left me in tears yet ultimately hopeful.

A Life With Words by Richard B. Wright

Similar to The Sculptor, Richard B. Wright’s memoir provides us some beautiful insight into the life of a writer. Chronicling his young life and the struggles he faced – both internal and external – while breaking into the Canadian literary scene, A Life With Words speaks to the insecurities felt by all those who think deeply about the world around them. This is a unique memoir in that the author refers to himself in the third person. Some might call this pretentious, but I found this detail spoke to the distance we often feel from the world, something most writers struggle with at some time or another.

For a full list of books I’ve read over the past few years, many of which I’ve reviewed and commented on, check out my Goodreads profile.

Rogue One: A unique Star Wars film

Last year’s The Force Awakens provided us with a nostalgia-driven reincarnation of traditional Star Wars themes and motifs. In an obvious attempt to mirror the tone and structure of the Original Trilogy (sometimes too obviously), the film gave us a new cast of heroes to root for, a new set of destinies to unfold over the next few years. Once again, we saw the fate of the galaxy placed in the hands of a few swashbuckling heroes.

Rogue One is a very different sort of film. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a better film than last year’s addition to Star Wars canon, but it certainly succeeds in one aspect that The Force Awakens never could: for the first time, we have a truly unique Star Wars story.

When he began the Original Trilogy back in 1977, George Lucas created something incredible. Not only did he spawn a multimedia franchise that has come to infuse itself into the minds of people the world over. Lucas created a self-contained world in the manner of the greatest fantasy stories, a universe in which there is a constant battle between the forces of good and evil. Star Wars isn’t just science fiction: it’s Tolkien in space.

One of the things I’ve always loved about Star Wars is the depth of the world building. Lucas’ original films created a lived-in universe that science fiction had not seen before. In just a few hours of screen times, the films gave the universe depth and history. The audience knew that there were stories behind the stories they witnessed. This is what has allowed for an expanse of comic books and novels spanning thousands of years.

However, the main film series has always been forced (no pun intended) to focus on central themes of good and evil, fate and destiny. The rest of the universe has necessarily been left to the avid fans, those who purposely seek out the world beyond what we see onscreen. In order to make the main canon accessible to casual and serious fans of all ages, the series has been constricted to broad and romantic themes. To focus on anything else within the main story would have changed the nature of Star Wars.

The Original Trilogy revolved around the fate of the entire galaxy, a battle between the forces of good and evil, and an attempt to bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy. It seems that the Sequel Trilogy will be doing the same, dealing with the revival the lost guardians of peace and hope in order to fight an oppressive and cruel regime.

The oft-maligned Prequel Trilogy also dealt with such themes, though it also attempted to expand the world behind the Original Trilogy. One of the reasons these films are so disliked is because they failed to find a balance between capturing the grandiose themes of the Original Trilogy and providing ultimately implausible outer-space society with an element of reality. In its efforts to explain how the Empire came to be, the Prequel Trilogy lost some of the magical spark necessary that tied it into the main canon.

This is where Rogue One comes in. Free from the constraints of the main storyline, Rogue One has a degree of independence – and thus, originality – that no Star Wars film has had. By following characters who are secondary to the grander storyline, the film gives us a chance to see what life under the Empire is like. We see the realities of fighting a rebellion. Rogue One reminds us that the revolution of the Original Trilogy did not happen without sacrifice. Though Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Princess Leia might always walk away unscathed, most members of the Rebellion simply don’t have that luxury. Many are forced to do unspeakable acts, watch their friends and families die in horrific manners. Rogue One gives a previously unseen degree of reality to the Star Wars universe, taking some of the romanticism out of the events of the original films.

The characters of Rogue One are not heroes, not in the same sense that Luke and Leia or Finn and Rey are heroes. These characters are criminals and murderers. They’re the people in the background, the fodder for battles that leading heroes always survive.

Occasionally, Rogue One invokes the grandiosity of the main franchise. The Force, and the morality surrounding it, are intrinsic aspects of the Star Wars universe. The difference in this film is that these elements are secondary to the gritty realities of the universe. Rogue One is, perhaps, the most relatable Star Wars film for this very reason. The characters it involves are not perfect. They aren’t black and white, far from it. These people are conflicted and complex, and they are not always good people. The battles they fight are not fun. War is hell, wherever it is fought. Sometimes, Star Wars might forget this. Rogue One does not.

Rogue One manages to maintain a degree of the levity found in the franchise’s other films. The humour is generally grim but often laugh-out-loud. There are enough throwbacks to let us know that this film exists in the same universe, ending just moments before A New Hope. Secondary characters from the Original Trilogy such as Mon Mothma and Grand Moff Tarkin play central roles. R2-D2 and C-3P0 even make a cameo.

Vader's pun game was on point in this film

Another thing Rogue One does well is its treatment of its antagonists. While Orson Krennic might have been a pretty lame flop of a villain (he basically spends the entire movie whining and getting shot down by his superiors), classics such as Wilhuff Tarkin and Darth Vader are given excellent treatment. Though Peter Cushing (the actor who played Tarkin in 1977) is long dead, his character was brought back to life in beautifully rendered (not to mention controversial) CGI that allowed us a new opportunity to examine one of Star Wars’ most interesting villains.

The real villainous spotlight, however, is Darth Vader. Though the infamous Sith Lord only plays a minor role in the film, his two scenes are among the best we’ve ever seen. In keeping with Rogue One’s themes of realism and shades of grey, Vader’s treatment in this film reminds us exactly why his first appearance in A New Hope had the rebel soldiers shaking in their boots. The new film’s final sequence brutally illustrates that, though he might achieve some degree of redemption a few years onwards, Darth Vader is not, at heart, a tragic anti-hero: he is a cold, cruel, and powerful murderer who will cut down anything in his way.

Rogue One is a film that would not have worked if it had been a part of the main series. The deftness with which it handles the complex realities behind this fantasy universe gives me a new hope for this anthology series (pun very much intended). Rogue One is not perfect. At times, one can see the studio’s invisible hand; there are sections of dialogue that I wish had been rewritten. But in its goal of creating a unique atmosphere and realistic tone, Rogue One is most certainly a success.