As with the earlier post this week about Avengers: Infinity War, I’m gonna buffer in with a metric bootyload of spoiler space in the form of James Joyce, this time in the form of a passage from a significantly less-bullshit book, one of my favorites: Ulysses.

Note that when this passage is over —

THE SPOILERS BEGIN.

Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. I wanted that badly. Felt so off colour. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters’ claws. All the odd things people pick up for food. Out of shells, periwinkles with a pin, off trees, snails out of the ground the French eat, out of the sea with bait on a hook. Silly fish learn nothing in a thousand years. If you didn’t know risky putting anything into your mouth. Poisonous berries. Johnny Magories. Roundness you think good. Gaudy colour warns you off. One fellow told another and so on. Try it on the dog first. Led on by the smell or the look. Tempting fruit. Ice cones. Cream. Instinct. Orangegroves for instance. Need artificial irrigation. Bleibtreustrasse. Yes but what about oysters. Unsightly like a clot of phlegm. Filthy shells. Devil to open them too. Who found them out? Garbage, sewage they feed on. Fizz and Red bank oysters. Effect on the sexual. Aphrodis. He was in the Red Bank this morning. Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June has no ar no oysters. But there are people like things high. Tainted game. Jugged hare. First catch your hare. Chinese eating eggs fifty years old, blue and green again. Dinner of thirty courses. Each dish harmless might mix inside. Idea for a poison mystery. That archduke Leopold was it no yes or was it Otto one of those Habsburgs? Or who was it used to eat the scruff off his own head? Cheapest lunch in town. Of course aristocrats, then the others copy to be in the fashion. Milly too rock oil and flour. Raw pastry I like myself. Half the catch of oysters they throw back in the sea to keep up the price. Cheap no-one would buy. Caviare. Do the grand. Hock in green glasses. Swell blowout. Lady this. Powdered bosom pearls. The élite. Crème de la crème. They want special dishes to pretend they’re. Hermit with a platter of pulse keep down the stings of the flesh. Know me come eat with me. Royal sturgeon high sheriff, Coffey, the butcher, right to venisons of the forest from his ex. Send him back the half of a cow. Spread I saw down in the Master of the Rolls’ kitchen area. Whitehatted chef like a rabbi. Combustible duck. Curly cabbage à la duchesse de Parme. Just as well to write it on the bill of fare so you can know what you’ve eaten. Too many drugs spoil the broth. I know it myself. Dosing it with Edwards’ desiccated soup. Geese stuffed silly for them. Lobsters boiled alive. Do ptake some ptarmigan. Wouldn’t mind being a waiter in a swell hotel. Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies. May I tempt you to a little more filleted lemon sole, miss Dubedat? Yes, do bedad. And she did bedad. Huguenot name I expect that. A miss Dubedat lived in Killiney, I remember. Du, de la French. Still it’s the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon of Moore street ripped the guts out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes’ gills can’t write his name on a cheque think he was painting the landscape with his mouth twisted. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha ignorant as a kish of brogues, worth fifty thousand pounds.

Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck.

There. We good?

Okay.

Is Thanos the protagonist of Avengers: Infinity War?

I DON’T KNOW WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME

oh wait I’m the one who introduced the question

uhhh

um

LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN

Is Thanos the protagonist of Avengers: Infinity War?

The short answer is: nnnyyyynnnmmmaybe?

I mean, okay, first it’s important to know that this shit ain’t math. Like, we don’t have codified STORY MECHANICS where you can rip open the source code and look at the evidence for the thing. It’s all floppy, sloppy theorizing, but I’m down for that kinda floppy, sloppy theorizing, because that’s what makes all this story stuff fun to build, dissect, study, and replicate.

First it requires us to define our terms a little.

What the fuck is a protagonist?

Well, ‘protagonist’ is Greek for ‘professional player of the game of tag,’ which is to say, it’s the person in charge of tagging other characters and since Aristotle invented the game of tag (also hide-and-seek, and also a less-famous game called who-can-drink-the-hemlock-first) —

*receives note*

My Greek may be rusty there.

Let’s more hastily define ‘protagonist’ as the ‘main character.’

Except wait —

*receives note*

That’s not it, either.

As I noted in an earlier discussion of Fury Road, the ‘main character’ is Mad Max because, his name is in the damn title, but he’s also not the protagonist, which is Furiosa. She’s the one with an effect on the plot. She’s the one with the problem to be conquered, and the one with the arc, and the one whose point-of-view we’re largely with — or at least the one we engage with most often. The film is her story, but Mad Max is still the ‘main’ character. (Though in a sense he’s also literally a supporting character, in that he uses his body as a support for her rifle.)

Usually, I like to define a protagonist as the ‘agent-of-change,’ and the antagonist as the one who opposes that change — either with change of her own, or in an effort to uphold the status quo. Villain ends up being something different altogether, as is hero, because then you’re dealing with the standard (and occasionally boring) duality of good guys and bad guys. Can the villain be the protagonist? Sure. (See: Maleficent or Reservoir Dogs or The Grinch or, or, or.) Can the good guy be the antagonist? Sure. (The Fugitive!) But where does that leave us with Thanos?

Is Thanos the POV character in Infinity War? Not necessarily — we are not proxy to all the beats of his story. The film doesn’t follow him, mostly — it assumes he’s Off Doing Thanos Shit, and we’re not with him. Is he the character with the problem to be conquered? Nnnyes? Mostly? Probably? He has a mission, though a spectacularly dull-headed one — one that is either a plot-hole if you believe him to be noble or one that instead confirms that he’s actually just a giant genocidal dildo (and a purple one to boot). Is he the one with the arc? Probably. Most of the heroes are either nudging forward their arcs from the past several movies or have no notable arcs to speak of — his is the most complete one, in that we get the full scope of it from the start of the film to its conclusion.

Is he the agent-of-change?

Definitely.

But if he’s the protagonist…

If he’s the agent of change…

That means the heroes, who oppose his change…

Are the antagonists.

Which, if you interpret again as a value-free narrative term — meaning, they oppose his change but are not necessarily ‘villainous,’ then that actually works. Are they also the bad guys? Well, no, obviously not. You can interpret Thanos’ mission as loosely as you like, but there’s few moral codes that assert his dipshit plan is actually the noblest one — he wants to kill a lot of people, randomly, in pursuit of some autocratic magnanimity. He’s a dick. A giant, bloated jerk. He’s the bad guy, and there’s really no way of wiggling out of that, unless you’re also a horrible monster.

It does however reveal the slightly problematic part of the movie which is, for me, the characters are playing defense for nearly 90% of it. Even when Tony, Spidey and Strange opt to “take the fight to Thanos,” they’re just doing what would have happened anyway — going where he’s going. It’s still not active, but reactive, which is the hero mode in this film. They become slightly more active with the intro of Cap, who — using the help of his Secret Avengers — opts to work on Vision’s bling and Shuri it out of his head in order to destroy the stone. They become more active in that, though they ultimately fail, and are forced to a fallback position of reactive. (And it goes toward my argument that, despite filmmaker assertions, this damn sure isn’t a “complete movie” unless you really, really want the movie to positively identify with Thanos as protagonist, main character, and Actual Good Guy. Given that the midpoint of a story like this is usually the All Is Lost turning point, and that point in this film happens moments before the credits, it’s pretty clear this is just one half of a larger story.)

So, again, is Thanos the protagonist?

Maybe? It’s an argument, and one you can support. Is he the villain? Also, probably yeah, unless you’re a dictator and a murderer, in which case, hey, he’s aspirational. It’s a fun way to think of the movie, and maybe intentional on the parts of the writers — the question now becomes: was that effective? Was that the best choice? That is left to you, and to the passage of time, to decide.

(Casual reminder now: if you like this sort of narrative dissection, you can find a whooooole lot more of it in Damn Fine Story, which also unpacks stories like Die Hard, Star Wars and… wait, Gilmore Girls? *checks notes* Yep, Gilmore Girls. Grab in print or e-book.)

Goddamnit.

Fran was like, “Hey, can I have the keys to the blog?” and I was like, “Sure, obviously,” because I’m no ding-dong — I know that Fran knows how to bring the Quality Content, but then I show up for work in the morning and what’s happened? THE WHOLE BLOG IS COVERED IN CRITTERS. Well, somebody is going to have to deal with this. And that’s you, dear reader. It’s you.

* * *

The Museum of Errant Critters

Or (as my friend C.L. Polk dubbed them): Adorable Creatures of Doom

Chuck has been tweeting and blogging a lot lately on matters of Authorial Mental Health and Happiness and that synced up with a side project of mine — drawing some of the brain weasels and head dragons that sometimes set up shop northwards of my heart while I’m writing, working, not working, going to conventions, not going to conventions, etc. Sure there are happier critters around these parts, but Errant Critters are currently easier to trap and sketch for posterity.

When I told Chuck what I was up to, he offered to let me park the Museum on his blog for a little while… and luckily he didn’t ask about care and feeding so I’m just going to leave them here to eat all the food in Chuck’s murdershed.

Welcome to The Museum of Errant Critters – Established somewhere between 1812 and 2018 to catalog and archive mind-creatures that often behave in creatively destructive ways.

Visit our exhibits to learn tips and tricks for Critter Management… (results not guaranteed). In particular, we’ve found that identification and discussion helps with management of many of these critters. At least, it helps with identifying the gnawing sounds in the dark of night.

Despair Narwhal

Migratory and nocturnal, the Despair Narwhal’s sharp horn and plaintive song wake creatives up in the middle of the night with intense feelings of doom. Despair Narwhals, being composed mostly of mist and doubt, often evaporate with a good dose of morning light, application of food, or starting a new project.

 

The Youcant (extinct)

The megasaurus Youcant once lurked artists studios and creatives’ desks worldwide. Currently extinct, the creature was put out of business by a rapid, global outbreak of Why The Hell Not in 2016.

BrainWeasels

The sharp-toothed brain weasel is a rapid breeder that thrives on grey matter. Usually seen following an infestation of doubt devils or worry worms, these critters’ lifespan lasts as long as you feed them.

Catastrophizing Cormorant

Often found hovering, wings flapping, around the worst possible outcomes. No, worse than that. Even worse. Yep, that one. This bird is sure the worst will happen and demands that you make plans for this outcome, often instead of doing other things. Care and feeding involves a nap, some lunch, and a long look at other possibilities.

Guilt Gorilla

The gravity well near most Guilt Gorillas is extensive and can drag down even a stalwart creative. Feeds on: pre-existing feelings of not doing enough, overwork, and lateness. Distraction devices include planning calendars, reminding yourself to stand up and stretch once in a while, and that yes even you should take a @!%$#@ vacation now and then.

Worry Worms

Numerous, but small, these critters can chew through anything, if left festering long enough. Writing down their names sometimes helps, as does telling them you’ve got better things to do than watch them eat. In some cases, they signify something left unaddressed, but not always the thing they’re chewing on.

 

Garbage Moths

Attracted to dumpster fires, train wrecks, and twitter, these moths’ bright colors and spectacular tendency to spontaneously combust can devour hours, days, even weeks. When you look back at the missing time, you might not even remember what attracted their interest. Solution: accountability software, net nannies, a trip to a wifi-free zone.

Doubt Devils

Known to frequent conventions, speaking engagements, and presentations, doubt devils, much like their cousin the cartoon tasmanian devil (hired long term by Warner Brothers) like to arrive in a whirlwind about midway through any multi-day event and helpfully repeat back to you a distorted version of things that you said, did, or didn’t do. Cause is unknown, but having a strong desire to be part of a community can be an attractor. Cures include checking in with a friend, stepping away from convention overload for a few minutes, and reminding yourself that almost everyone feels this way sometimes.

Procrastination Platypus

Found lazing in deep task lists, this platypus doesn’t really care what you need to do, it wants you to play minesweeper or maybe just watch some YouTube for as long as possible. Set a timer and do a few minutes of downtime if you’re feeling distracted. The platypus is useful for giving yourself a break, just don’t let it eat your clock.

The Carousel

A master of camouflage, the Carousel is a slowly turning critter that can make you forget your own successes in order to ask you, repeatedly, what have you done lately. Best way to overcome: celebrate your wins, no matter how small.

***

Fran Wilde’s novels and short stories have been nominated for three Nebula awards and two Hugos, and include her Andre Norton- and Compton-Crook-winning debut novel, Updraft (Tor 2015), its sequels, Cloudbound (2016) and Horizon (2017), and the novelette “The Jewel and Her Lapidary” (Tor.com Publishing 2016). Her short stories appear in Asimov’s, Tor.com, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Shimmer, Nature, and the 2017 Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror. She writes for publications including The Washington Post, Tor.com, Clarkesworld, iO9.com, and GeekMom.com. You can find her on Twitter (@fran_wilde), Facebook (@franwildewrites), and at franwilde.net.

When portal-mage Harkon Bright and his apprentice are asked to help select a new captain for the immense skyship Iseult, they quickly find themselves embroiled in its Machiavellian officer’s court. Meanwhile, their new recruit, Elias, struggles to adapt to his unexpected gift of life while suffering dark dreams of an ancient terror.

As the skies darken and storm-clouds gather on the Dragon Road, the crew of the Elysium come face to face with deadly intrigues, plots from beyond death, and a terrible darkness that lurks in the heart of a thousand-year storm.

THE FIRST STEP ISN’T THE HARDEST. IT’S THE SECOND.

So you’ve finished your debut, and it’s launched. It has a slew of 5 star reviews on the Amazons and the Barnes and the Nobles. It’s racking up great responses, and you have your own pile of encouragement words that you can turn to the second you start to feel yourself flag on the next book you’re contracted for, right? This should totally be a breeze, because it’s the same characters and the same setting and you know them and what you’re doing and this is all fine, right?

RIGHT?

God, that third pot of the coffee you’ve been mainlining looks appealing. So what if the world is vibrating? It’s smooth sailing. IT’S ALL FINE.

(It is in no way fine my face is melting please help)

This is the thing about writing a series. The first time you write a book it’s this herculean effort of pole-vaulting, bare-knuckle bear-boxing, and naked oil wrestling with giant naked mole rats. Finishing it is an epic act of catharsis that feels like cresting the final ridge of the highest mountain. Oh wait, no, that’s a foothill and there’s a much bigger mountain. And it’s covered in ice. And skulls. And ice-skulls. Fuck. Picking up your legs and doing it all over again is exhausting.

THE SECOND ACTS MEANS EXPANDING THE SCOPE

SKYFARER had a very focused arc. It’s a combination quest/war story that follows two PoV’s chasing one goal as their stories weave closer and closer together until they both collide. Then the rest of the book is the explosive consequences of what they do when what they were looking for turns out not to be what they expected. The benefit of a story like this is that it forces brevity and focus. Ideally no book wastes words at all, but different story structures have different word-allowances. It’s like a triangle: the narrower the base, the less space there is to work in as you hurtle towards the apex.

DRAGON ROAD is a broader story. You get a lot more of Aimee and Elias as they work and fight together to seek truth and bring justice to the Eternal Sky, but you can also expect to get to know the rest of the cast better, too. More Hark, more Vant with his brilliance, Vlana’s devotion to her chosen family, Bjorn’s wisdom, Clutch’s wit and raw badass talent. Basically, my sequel meant that I had to spend more words on getting to know the core cast better. The plot structure of the book is also bigger, it covers more ground, and the build is slower. On the one hand this was SUPER COOL, but on the other hand I’d gotten used to working on a comparatively tiny word budget. All of a sudden I had a thousand extra crates of nails and nuts and bolts available to me and oh god what do I do with this shit.

EXPANDING THE SCOPE MEANS RAISING THE STAKES

Readers are lovely. They will stick with you through thick and thin, if you’ve made them feel something real. The magic of this job is reaching into people’s hearts and giving them something to give a shit about in a world that—lets face it—is pretty rough lately. But even your most devoted fans have limits to their patience. People are showing up for something specific, and if you jerk their chain around with pointless bullshit, they wont have the stamina to finish. So next to “Always make sure your subversion is cooler than the original implied trope,” my best piece of advice on this is to remember that more words builds a broader base. So don’t waste it. Crank up that fog machine, Fuqua. Summon the bigger racks of fireworks.

SKYFARER had the backdrop of a small, third-world country, and dealt primarily in personal stakes. A small crew, a single, dauntless mercenary leader and his tormented backstory. DRAGON ROAD deals with the lives of millions in the balance, and then more, as the story goes on and it becomes apparent the scale of atrocities that the Elysium crew must work and fight to prevent. It needed NEW characters and MORE THINGS. And DEEPER FEELINGS.

And that means…

HIGHER STAKES REQUIRE GREATER INVESTMENT

You know how much those readers cared about those characters? You have to make them care more. The more you present, the greater the pull to get them through it. Every bite of the apple must taste better. The fever must spike, and the colors grow more vivid. The second act is where the readers caring about the first book needs to pay dividends, so they’ll feel rewarded for placing their faith and hope into these people whose journey they’ve shared. Every fleshing out of a character or bright, vivid set piece needs to enhance, rather than distract. You learn to recognize these things as time goes on, and to detect the merit of something you add based on how much it enhances the experience. The question, through all of this bigger scale, meatier, gear-shiftier work is does this contribute to the payoff?

And that brings us to the most important thing you learn writing a Book 2:

GREATER INVESTMENT NECESSITATES BIGGER PAYOFF

A broader base takes a longer time to cross, and that means more time invested, so if you’re going to make people cover more ground and invest more time in the book, your payoff absolutely must be proportionately better. What does this mean? Well, basically if your stick is bigger, so must be the BOOM. Books are collections of sticks and booms, and the doctrine of explodicism teaches us that bigger, heavier sticks must deliver better booms, or the people who lugged them around will feel let down. This isn’t just about set pieces and blowing up the train and finally taking that Howitzer off the mantle-piece, it’s also about the feelings. Emotions are your stock and trade as an author, and goddammit people are showing up for these people you’ve made real enough that they feel as if they know them, and love them.

There’s a goddamn reason why people will read through six hundred pages for a promised kiss, a validation long sought after by a loved one, a mentors benediction, or the sweet release of a death well-deserved. The point is, as you draw people deeper and further, you need to always keep in mind the fact that you’re pulling them towards something exponentially more impactful than last time. Even as that triangle gets narrower towards the point, the point must be sharper, the edge keener. Reading a good book should be the act of getting intensely drunk on something, and my favorite writing is the stuff that creates a humming, dizzying buzz in the senses.

But the good news is, you can do it.

The thing about hard work is it builds on itself, so the most important takeaway from this is that I learned I can do it again. The thing about finishing the first book is that you’re assailed by the sense that you’ve spontaneously generated something you wont be able to make again, and you wont, because what you made then is a product of who you were then, and humans change… but the good news is that you’ve made yourself something BETTER in the course of making it, and what you make going forward will be better too.

So go fucking forward. Charge. Slay. Consume. Rise like a storytelling phoenix and set it all on fire. Because you can, because your trials have made you stronger, and because this is a Kung Fu movie and it’s time to summon the Glow.

And when you arrive at your final battle, and the beast seems like it can’t be overcome?

Tell em Joe sent you to kick its ass.

* * *

Joseph Brassey has lived on both sides of the continental US, and has worked as a craft-store employee, paper-boy, factory worker, hospital kitchen gopher, martial arts instructor, singer, and is currently an author and stay-at-home Dad (the last is his favorite job, by far). His novel Skyfarer–first in the Drifting Lands series–is published by Angry Robot Books. Joseph was enlisted as a robotic word-machine in 47North’s Mongoliad series, and still trains in – and teaches – Liechtenauer’s Kunst des Fechtens in his native Tacoma.

Joseph Brassey: Website | Twitter | Instagram

Dragon Road: Indiebound | Amazon

When I say we need to talk about it, I mean I need to talk about it.

See, sometimes I like to take big-ass pop culture event movies and then dissect them at least a little on the autopsy table — from a storyteller’s perspective, I like to root through the narrative guts and splash around in the blood that pumps a particular story’s heart. I’ve done it with The Last Jedi, and Mad Max: Fury Road and Prometheus and so forth.

What choices did they make? Why did they make them? How am I feeling? How did the story make me feel that way? Where are my pants? WHY DID THE MOVIE TAKE MY PANTS

I don’t think I’ve done that yet with a Marvel movie.

And maybe it’s time.

I don’t want to get too deep with Infinity War, but I do want to talk about a few things, and that means — well, it means SPOILERS ARE COMING.

And I hate spoilers.

It’s because I’d hate to spoil you if you don’t want to be spoiled. Spoilers foisted upon you rob you of your agency as a reader, as a viewer, as audience for a story. And spoilers too obviate the storyteller’s construction — we put a lot of work into a lot of things, one of those things being the orchestration of revelation in narrative, and spoilers undercut our articulation of the things we want known, and when we want them to be known.

So, with that said, I’m going to put a WHOLE LOT OF SPOILER SPACE here.

In fact, I’m going to just cut and paste a passage from James Joyce’s nonsense book, Finnegan’s Wake, just so you have an absurd buffer between this part of the post and the part of the post where, basically, I tell you the ending of the movie.

Here, have some James Joyce:

Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passen-

core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy

isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor

had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse

to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper

all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to

tauftauf thuartpeatrick: not yet, though venissoon after, had a

kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in

vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a

peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory

end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface.

The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner-

ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthur-

nuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later

on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the

offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan,

erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends

an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes:

and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park

where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since dev-

linsfirst loved livvy. 

What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-

gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu

Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh! Where the Baddelaries partisans are still

out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons cata-

pelting the camibalistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie 

Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod’s brood, be me fear!

Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms, appalling. Killykill-

killy: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired 

and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetab-

solvers! What true feeling for their’s hayair with what strawng 

voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the

duskt the father of fornicationists but, (O my shining stars and

body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of

soft advertisement! But was iz? Iseut? Ere were sewers? The oaks

of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if

you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the

pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish.

Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen’s mau-

rer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofar-

back for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers

or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely 

struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere

he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of moses, the very wat-

er was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so

that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!)

and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edi-

fices in Toper’s Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the

banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phifie Annie

ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your part

inher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in

grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like

Haroun Childeric Eggeberth he would caligulate by multiplicab-

les the alltitude and malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the

liquor wheretwin ’twas born, his roundhead staple of other days

to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!), a waalworth 

of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, 

We’re good now, right?

GOOD BECAUSE HERE THERE BE SPOILERS

Also, boy, Finnegan’s Wake is fucking nonsense, isn’t it?

Moving on.

I, like the rest of the civilized world, saw Avengers: Infinity War this past weekend.

And I have thoughts.

It’s worth first describing the overall theater experience — I don’t mean this to be emblematic of every theater experience, but it was at the one I went to, 10:30AM on Friday. For most of the movie, the crowd was fucking excited. Lots of applause. Gasps in the right places. Lots of cheers. (So many cheers and laughs actually that it ended up stepping on subsequent jokes or dialogue.) There was this shared energy going on, a pop culture electricity buzzing like bees between us.

And then —

*Thanos fingersnap*

— the movie ended.

Credits rolled.

Post-credits scene played.

And walking out of that theater…

Shit, I’ve been to noisier funerals.

People just… wandered out, like from a disaster, a plane crash or a collapsed building. Shell-shocked. Jaws dragging behind them like carry-on luggage. A look of bewilderment and worry passed between us all. There were some breaks to this: a few guys behind me were like, “Yo, what the fuck just happened.” Next to me, a woman explained to her boyfriend who Captain Marvel was, and what the post-credits scene probably meant. On the way to the parking lot, two late-20s dudes were explaining to a pair of young boys (maybe 10?) that everything would be all right, it’s a comic book movie, they’ll all be okay.

I went to my car.

I sat in the driver’s seat.

I kinda just stared at it for a while?

And then I went home.

And I kinda felt really shitty? Like, inside. Inside my body. Inside my heart. I felt shitty. (Real-talk, I felt a fraction of what I felt during the 2016 election, which is actually apropos when you think about it: big pastel-colored asshole walks away with an unexpected victory, sits and regards his ruination with weary glee, credits roll, good luck, motherfuckers.)

That’s worth picking apart. That movie made me feel something hard. Whether or not that’s a good thing or a bad thing, it’s damn sure a powerful thing, to affect emotions like that, to kick you around like an empty soup can. I went through an array of emotions in the wake of feeling shell-shocked: I felt mad at the movie. Then I felt sad. Then I felt disappointed? Then I was reassuring myself the same way you reassure yourself after any loss, after any failure — “Well, it’ll be fine, Captain Marvel is probably kicking it in outer space, and of course in the comics Adam Warlock just undoes the whole fucking thing anyway, right?” — and then you go through a new wave of disappointment when you realize it is a comic book movie, like that dude said, and everything will probably just be okay. Certainly half the people that turned to void-ash have movies planned anyway — it’s not like Black Panther 2 or Doctor Strange 2 are going to be about piles of dirt blowing around the cosmos for two-and-a-half hours.

Here people will say, and have said, this is the Empire Strikes Back of the Avengers. Or, if you prefer more recent, The Last Jedi. And yet, neither of those movies kicked me in the teeth as hard. My kid loves those movies and doesn’t view them as a one way trip to Bummertown — we think of movies like ESB and TLJ as having down endings, but they really don’t. They take us to the bottom, to the nadir, but then we get sight of the ramp. We see the lift, the upward-angle right at the end. In Empire, we’re granted the scene with the rebel fleet — Luke gets a new hand, Lando goes off with Chewie to find Han, Leia and Luke regard the galaxy as the music swells. In Last Jedi, we not only get a Pyrrhic Victory moment with Luke versus Kylo, but we see Rey take the mantle of the last Jedi truly as she moves some rocks, reunites with friends, and they zip off in the Falcon — not to mention we’re granted the coda with Broomboy and the Stable Gang (my favorite Genesis cover band, by the way).

Infinity War has no such scene.

And that’s why it hurts so hard.

This comes down to a discussion about story structure. I know. Yawn. Snore. Boo. But for us storytellers it’s an important thing to talk about — we know how stories are structured, and that structure is (usually) deliberate. Changing a piece of it, or removing a piece, can have dramatic impacts — impacts you may intend, or impacts that you may not.

Infinity War has no denouement.

(Pronounced with a haughty French accent: DAY-NOOO-MOOHHHH)

Most stories give us an ejaculatory story climax — OH MY GOD SHIT IS HAPPENING, IT’S ALL HAPPENING, NNNGH BOOM — and then we are given narrative time to deal with that. The action ‘falls’ and moves past the climactic resolution and into a glimpse of the fallout of that resolution.

Usually, the more exciting and intense the movie, the shorter the falling action / denouement. The more epic it is, the longer that becomes.

Jurassic Park goes from their climactic escape to a moment of peace onboard the helicopter out — and then the credits roll. We don’t have much there, maybe just two minutes max of that, but it’s not really essential. The kids glom onto Alan Grant, completing the circuit for Sam Neill’s character, and hey, Holdo smiles, birds are dinosaurs, it’s a new day.

Empire Strikes Back has about… five, six minutes of falling action and denouement. The escape from Cloud City, Luke has one last chat with New Dad, and then it’s time for a new hand and talk of a rendezvous on Tatooine to go save Han.

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King has 37 hours of denouement.

Infinity War has mostly none. Okay, you get a denouement of Thanos sitting in like, a fucking meadow and being all proud of himself — and that works if you assume he’s the protagonist of the movie. (Spoiler: he might be, though whether that’s intentional or not, I dunno.) We don’t need much denouement if we’re to believe the Avengers are actually the Bad Guys. In that case, Thanos gazing out on his glorious success is not that different from Alan Grant looking out of the helicopter as they flee Jurassic Park. Job done. High-five. Music swells.

(One could also argue that the post-credits scene is a denouement, but I’d rather avoid that as a declaration. Given that it’s set in the middle of people turning to void-ash, and given that it lends us no time to decompress or understand what just happened, I’d argue it’s just an additional moment stapled to the climax of the film.)

If you assume the Avengers are the protagonists, then… the denouement isn’t much of one, is it? We aren’t given any moments with the heroes to deal with what just happened. We don’t have a scene of them dealing with it. No funerals. No conversation. No Cap and Tony entering a room and giving each other a hug. There’s no resolution. Further, we’re given literally no optimism — we’ve spent two-and-a-half hours with our plane in freefall, and you kind of half-expect that right at the end we’d be given a hint that the engine’s gonna start, that we’re about to pull out of this dive before we hit.

But nope.

We just crash.

Snap.

Thanos wins.

It’s kind of brilliant.

It’s also kind of awful?

Because here’s the thing — denouement is, as noted, French. And it’s French for “unknotting.” Meaning, you’ve just spent all this time tying some knots, and now it’s time to loosen them, if even a little. And those knots aren’t just plotty-knots. They’re the knots of our emotions. Infinity War spends a great deal of time tightening those knots, and then no time undoing them.

Brilliant? Maybe. Difficult to deal with? Nnnyeah, kinda, for me, anyway. Maybe not for you! I’m not telling you how you should feel. But I felt like I was kicked in the gut after leaving it — and it’s maybe why I can’t take my kid to this, at least until the next chapter is out — *winces* — a whole year from now.

At the end, Infinity War ends up being a truly astonishing comic book movie through-and-through. It is the realization of Marvel’s dreams, and of my dreams as a comic book reader. It is the perfect example of a brawny, bang-up comic-book crossover translated to the screen.

But perfect example also means that it carries with it the best and the worst of those comic book crossovers. The action is high! The heroes meet! They quip at each other! It’s funny and intense and unrelenting. It also doesn’t give them a lot of time to talk or be their characters beyond their most trope-iest of traits. It also requires you to have seen… most of the MCU movies, which in terms of the movies means you’ve spent a buttload of time and money to get here. It also means that, like with comic books, we’re treated to a real cliffhanger ending. But the problem there is, a cliffhanger in comics means you have to wait 2-4 weeks to pick up the next one. Here it means we have two more movies over the next year to help us pick up the teeth that this one knocked out of our open mouths.

There are other problems with the movie, maybe — the powers are inconsistent and sometimes the movie seems to be willfully plotty even when it betrays characters or logic. The Infinity Stones seem to do specific things until they don’t? Thanos’ master plan is somehow both genuinely sympathetic and really dumb — there are better ways to achieve what he wants to achieve, unless you assume he is just a narcissistic genocidal maniac who is lying to himself about that (and by the way that works for me, I buy that). But those problems are small in the face of what is a movie that gets so much right about the big, bursting bad-assery of a comic-book cross-over event.

But I miss that denouement. That’s where it gets me. That’s where the movie hurt me. For 95% of it, I was in love. For that last 5%, I felt sad and upset and mostly still feel that way now. I don’t know if that was intentional or not. If it was — then, hey, here’s my applause. I don’t like feeling that way but I also appreciate a film that wants me to feel that way and achieves it. But a part of me worries that it’s really just down to marketing — they didn’t want to tell us it was Part One of Two, meaning, the reason we get no denouement is less a willful narrative choice and more because it’s really one half of a movie and they just didn’t wanna tell us. Which means maybe this bit, from this article, wasn’t entirely true:

Two months ago, the Russo brothers told the Uproxx site that the third and fourth Avengers were being retitled in part to clarify that the films would be two separate films rather than one large film split in half.

I loved the movie. I hated the movie. Which is the sign of something interesting, I think. It is a remarkable achievement, if a troubled one, and needless to say I am gnashing my teeth for the next one to find out how our Heroic Resistance undoes the horrors of Purple Space Trump.

NOW GIVE ME BACK MY PANTS, THANOS

Gonna be honest with you: I really love that photo.

I don’t know why.

Just do.

I don’t consider myself a visual artist. I don’t know what goes into making a striking image; the architecture of it, the creation of it, is beyond me. I know how to work my camera, but more as a lucky acolyte and not a capable master. So mostly I point the camera and I shoot my pics, and once in a while I get one or some that I really like, and that one there? I really like it.

PRETTY PRETTY FLOWER.

It’s a “rue anemone.”

And given that it is spring, it’s a great time to take snaps of flowers — flowers like bloodroot, or swamp lilies, or rue — because they don’t have much competition for the camera’s eye. So, at the bottom of this post, you’ll find more photos of pretty pretty flowers, so go look at them when we’re done here.

GO LOOK AT THEM, I SAID.

*clears throat*

If you missed it, I apparently went viral in… New Zealand? For eating a candy called Pineapple Lumps, sent to me by my Kiwi cohort, Adam Christopher? The internet is weird, y’all. Maybe I’ll make it a point to review RANDOM CANDY on Twitter from time to time sent to me by trusted globetrotting pals.

Also, there’s a new Star Wars TV show coming out — a cartoon called Star Wars: Resistance. A lot of folks have asked if it’ll touch on the events of Aftermath, or carry those forward, given that the show seems set between the two trilogy eras and… you know, I have no idea? It would be great if it did. I mean, we still have the lingering question of Rae Sloane, not to mention the future adventures of the Aftermath crew. (You can find some nice callbacks and cameos in Daniel Older’s fantastic Last Shot, by the way.)

Finally, a reminder that the MEGA ULTRA BOOK BUNDLE is only on sale until tomorrow — 50% off, which nets you ten books for ten bucks using coupon code BOOKBIRTHDAY.

Other things are in the works, and I’ve other stuff to announce, but as is the author life, I’m unable to announce them as yet.

So, onward we go!

Hope to see folks at the BCFL Comic Con this weekend here in Bucks County, or at Phoenix ComicFest at the end of May.

NOW HERE LOOK AT THE PRETTY PRETTY FLOWERS

(p.s. I know that Flickr has been bought by SmugMug, a change I welcome — SmugMug looks nice and also! looks like it’ll give me an opportunity to sell these photos in various ways, so look for that transition to happen over the next month or two)

Did a big-ass storytelling thread today about people’s complicated reactions to THE LAST JEDI (don’t worry, next week it’ll be Marvel) — and I’m fascinated by the ideas of how we see heroism, and how hero characters are complicated or changed or tarnished — and the costs of sacrifice that have to go into being a hero.

So, that’s your angle this week —

Explore the complications of heroism.

Length: ~1000 words

Due by: May (the) 4th, Friday, noon EST

Post at your online space.

Give us a link to it.

Go write.