Writer of fiction, poetry and essays.

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Most of you know I hold P.G. Wodehouse in high regard. He is perhaps the greatest English comic novelist of the 20th century, and I never tire of rereading his classic Jeeves & Wooster novels. He had a gift for humorous prose that defies imitation.

And yet, you will notice I’ve never reviewed a book by him. Mostly, this is because the prospect of doing so is almost intimidating. What can I, a mere blogger, say about such a titan of literature? Better people than your humble reviewer have found themselves in awe of Wodehouse.

But, I’m going to review this short story because (a) despite being a Wodehouse fan since the age of 11, I hadn’t heard of it until last year, which means it’s pretty obscure and (b) because Wodehouse himself considered it one of the funniest things he had ever written. Which is really saying something, coming from the man who wrote Right Ho, Jeeves.

And finally, (c) it’s a bit offbeat by Wodehouse standards. You know me, I love anything that’s weird, different, out-of-the-ordinary, outré… you get the idea. And this book is certainly different than typical Wodehouse. For starters, it’s a ghost story!

Well, kind of. The protagonist is a novelist named James Rodman, who writes hardboiled thrillers. He is living at the home of his late aunt, Leila J. Pinckney, who wrote light romance novels. Rodman regards his aunt’s genre with contempt, considering it full of sappy clichés and cloying sentimentality.

But, in the cozy atmosphere of Honeysuckle Cottage, Rodman slowly begins to feel as if something is casting a spell over him. It starts with him writing a love interest into his latest novel; something which he abhors. And then, a young woman shows up on the doorstep, and he and she experience a “meet cute” right out of a Leila J. Pinckney novel!

As time goes by, Rodman starts saying and doing things that a Pinckney hero would do: picking flowers for the woman, and even reading her poetry. And here, I must quote verbatim:

“James had to read to her—and poetry, at that; and not the jolly, wholesome sort of poetry the boys are turning out nowadays, either—good, honest stuff about sin and gas-works and decaying corpses—but the old-fashioned kind with rhymes in it, dealing almost exclusively with love.”

I’m pretty sure that’s a T.S. Eliot reference. You love to see it.

Speaking of references, Wodehouse apparently intended the story as an homage to Henry James, who is mentioned briefly in the text, and whose brand of psychological mystery is very much in line with the kind of strange experience that Rodman finds himself undergoing.

So, what happens? Does Rodman succumb entirely to the mysterious power of Honeysuckle Cottage? Well, even though it’s almost a hundred years old, I can’t bring myself to spoil this one. The ending is simply too good; you have to read it for yourself. You can find it in the collection “Meet Mr. Mulliner,” which is in the public domain.

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If you don’t know by now that I’m a fan of Adam Bertocci’s fiction… well, I guess you’ll just have to read this review, and then you will.

Crappy Valentine’s Day is about a young woman in New York City who just wants to have a nice day. Not a romance or anything; just a pleasant day at home. But those hopes are dashed when her boss calls and asks her to come into the office to run a focus group session. As fate would have it, it’s for a dating service.

What follows is an interesting discussion of the different expectations men and women have for each other, as well as Bertocci’s hallmark, the emptiness of the careers most millennials find themselves in.

But Becca’s day doesn’t end there; not by a long shot. Valentine’s Day still has some surprises in store for her, and not just because of her cat, Boots, either.

This story is like a companion piece to Bertocci’s wonderful Samantha, 25, on October 31. That one is a more in-depth treatment of a young millennial adrift in the city, (as well as a cat with an attitude) but this book also has plenty of his trademark wit and charm.

If you haven’t read any Bertocci, despite my prior exhortations, then this is a good introduction to his style. And if you are a devoted Bertocci-head like me, this feels like a visit from an old friend. Either way, I recommend it.

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I have fallen into a rut lately. Every book I’ve reviewed in January was sci-fi, and while all of them are worthwhile, the last thing I want to be is predictable. As Natalie Portman says in the great romantic short film True, “There are times when life calls out for a change. A transition. Like the seasons.”

And, what better time than the beastly month of February to turn my attention to romance books? This one caught my eye because of its title, and when I read the sample and found the author defines post-modern using a quote from The Simpsons, (“post-modern is weird for the sake of being weird.”) I knew I must read it.

The book is narrated by one Nick Ryder, who, you will note, is also listed as the author. More about this later. The Nick Ryder we meet in these pages is a lonely divorced father of two, whose only joy in life seems to come from running a film club that screens obscure movies once a week. He is desperate to find a woman–or more precisely, The Woman. You know, The One; the Soulmate. But it never seems to work out with any of the women he knows.

Part of the trouble is that Nick is kind of shallow. I mean, really, he uses a numerical ranking system to evaluate all potential mates. And he finds almost all of them wanting in one area or another. Also, with literally every woman he meets, the first thing he describes is the size of her breasts. (Again, assuming this is a character, he’s not supposed to be admirable, not even by his own lights.)

And yet, at the same time, perhaps Nick’s problem is that he is not shallow enough. That, at least, is the opinion of his neighbor Stephane, a tall, good-looking Frenchman who is a regular Casanova and treats women as light diversions. His view is that Nick needs to quit trying to find an emotional connection and “just have fun.” This does not come easily to Nick.

But when he meets an intriguing woman who calls herself Goldie at the film club, he falls under her spell, and soon they begin dating. Or something like dating. Well, they go places together, and share meals, and talk, and have sex. Whether any of this constitutes dating is something they debate.

Their relationship is not exactly a smooth one. Goldie certainly behaves quite irrationally a lot of the time, as our narrator is quick to point out. Then again, the narrator himself is not exactly well-acquainted with rationality either.

Of course, love is not rational. Human beings are not rational creatures, and if we were, it is entirely possible the whole species would go extinct. Perhaps our irrationality even provides an evolutionary advantage; did you ever think of that?

Still, not in this case, because Nick and Goldie’s relationship is just too insanely volatile to last. Also, there are too many secrets they keep from each other. Indeed, the deception and self-deception are so thick there are times that I couldn’t be sure whether something was a continuity error or just the characters not being honest with each other.

Which is not really a criticism of the book. Affairs of the heart are some of the hardest to explain, and the author accurately captures the whirlwind of confusing emotions that come into a play in a romance. The book conveys this well, maybe even too well, as the emotional whiplash can be almost as exhausting to read as it would be to experience.

This book is listed under “Humorous Fiction” on Amazon, but I have serious questions about that categorization. True, parts are very funny, especially early on; but the second half is almost harrowing in how it depicts a failing relationship, and the laughs are few and far between at that point.

And then there are the extremely explicit sex scenes. Personally, I prefer the good old-fashioned “they headed to the bedroom” and leaving it at that. I don’t really need the full play-by-play and color analysis treatment. Others may feel differently, of course.

So, all in all, I’d say it’s more of an erotic dramedy than humorous romantic fiction. Then again, those categories only showed up once a book has been purchased. They weren’t displaying until I bought a copy.

That’s right: I might actually be the only person who has ever read this book. Seriously, there are no reviews on Amazon. Nor on Goodreads. Nothing about the author, either; and seemingly no attempt whatsoever was made to market this. And, given that the author’s name is also the protagonist’s name, I kind of suspect it’s a pseudonym. (If it’s not a pseudonym, then, well I’m not sure what to think…)

In short, it is about as unknown as it gets; seemingly having lain undiscovered for over eight years, waiting for some lunatic looking for offbeat romance books to come along. I tell you, it’s things like this that make it all worthwhile!

Seriously, though: this book is quite good. Especially now, in a time when I think anyone who is single must be experiencing a sense that all romance is post-modern, by definition. Relationships in the modern world are one of the things that technology has made more difficult, rather than less.

I do recommend the book. Even with all its issues, from the unlikable protagonist to the uncomfortably graphic sex scenes, from the odd quirks of continuity (or are they quirks?) to the strange problems with chapter formatting. No, even with all that, it’s still worth reading for those who like literary fiction.

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Over on Twitter, I asked for recommendations of little-known books that deserve more attention. Richard Pastore answered the call by recommending this one, a post-apocalyptic tale from the 1950s.

While reading it, I thought to myself that there is an easy way to summarize this book: “Catholic Fallout.” This describes it remarkably well, in my opinion, but since I’m guessing few of my readers have played any of those classic RPGs, more elaboration will be necessary.

The story begins with a young monk, Francis, holding a vigil in the desert. When a mysterious wanderer passes by his outpost, Francis uncovers a fallout shelter from the past nuclear war, which holds artifacts which appear to belong to “the Blessed Leibowitz”–an engineer from the pre-war era who, after surviving the nuclear holocaust, joined the church and strove to preserve knowledge during a Dark Age called “The Simplification.”

Francis’s discovery of the relics paves the way for the beatification of Leibowitz, and ultimately, after many years, the young monk makes his way to New Rome for an audience with the Pope himself.

Time–measured in centuries–passes. Technological progress begins, and with it comes a kind of renaissance, as well as feuding tribes and political machinations and scientific progress. All the while the Order of Saint Leibowitz carries on.

More time passes, until society has developed computers and off-world colonies. And, most significantly, nuclear weapons have returned, and the Order is once again faced with preserving their traditions and teachings in the face of horrific devastation.

The book, in short, is not really a feel-good tale. But it does include two of the hallmarks of 1950s and ’60s zeitgeist: space travel and nuclear war. In that sense, it’s very much a work of its time, and that, of course, is one of the great things about Vintage Sci-Fi Month: the opportunity to look back on what people of the past thought were the burning issues of the day.

Ah… perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of words. But, never mind! The techno-optimists of the era were enthralled by space travel, the techno-pessimists obsessed with nuclear armageddon. It’s clear enough that Miller, in addition to being a Catholic, was definitely in the pessimist category. And this is rather understandable when you learn he fought in World War II, and was present at the destruction of a Benedictine Abbey at Monte Cassino. It haunted him, and that comes through clearly in the text, as the cyclical destruction of all efforts to build civilization is perhaps the central theme of the book.

Usually, I don’t like generational epics. Stories that span huge swaths of time tend to leave me feeling distanced from the characters. Call me simple if you like, but I generally prefer my stories to follow one character, or group of characters.

However, while this book spans centuries, it definitely worked for me. Each set of characters was so carefully-drawn that I could relate to all of them, and get involved in their struggles. Which in turn made it all the more poignant when their time came, as it always does.

All right, I’ve tap-danced around the issue long enough; I can’t put it off any longer. This book involves some very weighty moral and religious ideas, and does not shy away from taking a stance on certain issues. How one feels about this may color one’s perception of the entire story.

I, however, am in no position to pontificate about such matters. I have my opinions, as everyone does, but in the grand scheme of things, I am just a thirty-something blogger who has probably consoomed more Content than is really healthy. It is not for me to sit in judgment of the philosophy of a man who led the life that Miller did, and saw the things he saw, as though I am somehow “above” him. Nothing is more obnoxious than to judge the past without at least being willing to ask how the past would judge the present.

So, yes; the last third especially might be off-putting to some readers. Nevertheless, I encourage approaching it with an open mind and an understanding of the author’s experiences. Seen in that light, it is an especially haunting and gloomy story, but one which I recommend to all sci-fi fans.

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After the rather depressing tale that was Childhood’s End, I needed something lighter to lift my spirits during this über-bleak month of January. I needed a cozy mystery. But, not just any cozy mystery; so I searched Amazon for cozy sci-fi mysteries and this came up.

It’s about a pair of twins, Milly and Tilly, who run a restaurant on a space station. But when the competitor who runs the diner across the way is found dead after having an argument with the twins, it’s up to them to find the real killer, with the help of their cybernetically-modified cat.

Is this deep, like Asimov and Clarke? Not even remotely. Is it goofy and amusing? Absolutely yes. It’s a breezy, funny, quick read with a lot of standard tropes of both sci-fi and cozy mysteries. And this reflects one of the great dichotomies in literature. As Chuck Litka reminded me on last week’s post, not everyone wants their sci-fi drenched in philosophy and intellectualism. Sometimes you just want to sit back and read a fun story.

And is there anything wrong with that? Nope, not a bit! Stories are meant to be primarily used as entertainment, and that is exactly what this is. Sure, it’s kind of unbelievable and the mystery in question is not especially tough to solve. That’s not the point. The point is to have fun. Otherwise, what are we even doing?

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I first read this book more than 20 years ago, when I was only a 12-year-old lad.  I remember enjoying it immensely, especially a certain plot twist about 1/3 of the way in. For years after that, I felt no hesitation about listing it as one of my favorite science-fiction books.

But, a curious thing happened as the years went by. When I would hear Clarke’s name or the book mentioned, I would think back and remember it fondly, but I realized I had only the vaguest memory of what actually happened in it. There were aliens, of course; and I remembered the revelation regarding their physical appearance very well, but what happened after that? I found I couldn’t recall.

I started to wonder what the book was actually about. After all, my 12-year-old self’s judgment is not always to be trusted, and the fact that I had forgotten huge swaths of the book made me wonder if it peaked at the Big Reveal scene, and perhaps the rest was mere twaddle.

So, what better excuse to go back and reread it than Vintage Science Fiction Month, during which we all revisit and review the classics of the genre? Vintage Sci-Fi Month was made for things like this, and you should be sure and check out all the posts related to it.

Now then, Childhood’s End. Again, as a boy, I thought it was a pretty cool story. But now, upon re-reading it with a mature eye…

…I think it is perhaps the greatest science-fiction novel of the 20th century, and it’s holding its own well into the 21st, as well.

The plot twist that blew my mind as a kid still works, sort of like a Twilight Zone punchline. The difference is, that’s only the beginning of the story, not the end. It’s only the end of Part I, after all. From there, it gets much more interesting.

In broad outlines, the story of Childhood’s End is that aliens come to Earth, demonstrate that they have vastly superior technology, and quickly begin to reign as benevolent overlords, so much so that they are actually called “the Overlords.” Under their firm but peaceful rule, humanity is shepherded into a new Golden Age of Peace and Plenty.

And yet… there is a strange sense of something not quite right about it all. The Overlords seem to have some greater purpose, yet no one can tell what it might be. Early on in Part II, we learn that the old customs have been shattered:

“…by two inventions, which were, ironically enough, of purely human origin and owed nothing to the Overlords. The first was a completely reliable oral contraceptive: the second was an equally infallible method—as certain as fingerprinting, and based on a very detailed analysis of the blood—of identifying the father of any child. The effect of these two inventions upon human society could only be described as devastating, and they had swept away the last remnants of the Puritan aberration.”

Clarke wrote this in 1953. The birth control pill was introduced in 1960. DNA testing came along in the 1980s. How’s that for some prescience?

Still, here we are in 2024. This is 40 -to-60 year old tech at this point. So what if a dude in the 1950s predicted the next 30 years? That’s like reading somebody in the 1800s predicted the existence of the airplane; a mere minor curiosity.

This middle part of the story dragged a little; although there is a scene with a Ouija board. Personally, I’ve always been suspicious of Ouija boards, largely because Art Bell, a man known for his openness and willingness to be exposed to the strange and surreal, unequivocally cautioned his listeners against using them, for reasons he refused to explain. When a man like that tells me not to do something, I listen.

In any case, the Ouija board in this story reveals key information to several characters, although exactly what it is does not immediately become clear. Instead, Part II ends on this haunting note:

“They would never know how lucky they had been. For a lifetime, mankind had achieved as much happiness as any race can ever know. It had been the Golden Age. But gold was also the color of sunset, of autumn…”

And then we come to Part III, which begins innocuously enough on an island colony of artists, called New Athens, created by a man who wanted to give humanity a chance to excel at something on their own merits, apart from the watchful eye of the Overlords.

As one of the residents of the island explains:

“There’s nothing left to struggle for, and there are too many distractions and entertainments. Do you realize that every day something like five hundred hours of radio and TV pour out over the various channels? If you went without sleep and did nothing else, you could follow less than a twentieth of the entertainment that’s available at the turn of a switch! No wonder that people are becoming passive sponges—absorbing but never creating. Did you know that the average viewing time per person is now three hours a day? Soon people won’t be living their own lives any more. It will be a full-time job keeping up with the various family serials on TV!”

Again, this was written in 1953, people. Nineteen Fifty-Three.

We can’t write this off like we did the stuff about the pill and the DNA testing; this is getting into the realm of eerie prophecy. Which is particularly disturbing considering where we’re about to go from here.

Gradually, it becomes apparent that human children are mutating into… something else. Some kind of inhuman psychic hive-mind consciousness that no longer recognizes their own parents. The Overlords ship them off to a sequestered colony, and people just… stop having children. That’s right, the human race ends.

Well, except for one guy who stowed away aboard an Overlord ship to visit their homeworld. They send him back, and thanks to relativity, he has only aged a little while everyone else is dead. Lucky him, he wins the special prize of getting to witness the psychic collective consciousness gang annihilate the Earth and ascend to the heavens.

The Overlords, who explain that they have witnessed this same phenomenon occur many times with many species, simply move on to their next assignment.

Here’s the weird thing about this book: the Overlords are practically as irrelevant to the plot as Indiana Jones is to Raiders of the Lost Ark. They really are neutral observers.

Which leads us to another realization: so many of Clarke’s other predictions came true, without the intervention of the Overlords. Should we feel a bit unsettled about what this means for the future?

Words fail me, reader; they really do. When I finished reading this book I was left with a haunting disquietude that was frankly rather hard to shake. The Overlords, and the implication that due to the non-linear nature of time, their appearance heralds the end of humanity, wasn’t even the most disturbing thing in the tale.

If you enjoy science-fiction at all, and given that you are reading this I presume that you do, then this book is a must-read.

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This is a collection of Christmas-themed science-fiction/fantasy short stories. You may be asking, “Why are you reviewing a Christmas book in early January?” Well, I could try to be clever and point out that Eastern Orthodox Christmas is on January 7. But, the actual truth of the matter is that I started reading it December 25, so I couldn’t very well review it before then, now could I?

The book includes five stories by five different authors. I’ll give very brief reviews of each, though the nature of short stories is such that I can’t say too much without spoiling them.

“Workshop Rebellion” by T.J. Marquis, which is a sort of dark fantasy re-imagining of Santa Claus as some one who does battle with ancient demons after they cast a spell over his elves. Very Robert E. Howard-esque.

“Grandpa Got Run Over by a Bane Deer” by Kaylena Radcliff. Also a dark fantasy with some unsettling monsters and hints of parallel universes, all uncovered by a very tired man on Christmas Eve. The image of the Bane Deer really stuck with me.

“Julinesse Pays A Visit: A Reversed Black Maria Story” by Jeff Stoner. This is a sci-fi tale, about Christmas on another planet where the controlled climate suddenly goes haywire and brings snow for the first time. Cozier and more light-hearted than the first two.

“The Fairy Tree” by William Jeffrey Rankin. This is a dream-like magical realism story about (what else?) Christmas fairies. Very ethereal, a bit like one of Lovecraft’s more mystical Randolph Carter stories in a way.

“Christmas Spirits” by Alexander Hellene. A fun adventure about a roguish Han Solo-type on a quest to get a bottle of wine for his grandmother as a Christmas gift. Sci-Fi action and banter; probably my personal favorite story in this collection.

The foreword by Katie Roome, who edited the collection, explains that it is intended to “provide you with a little holiday escape,” and indeed that’s exactly what it did for me. Obviously, it’s too late for you to read it at Christmas (unless you are Eastern Orthodox) but I’d say if you’re into speculative seasonal fiction at all, it’s a good one to bookmark for next year.

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As usual, I am using the last Friday of the year to do a recap of all the book reviews I wrote in the past twelve months.

In January I reviewed Henry Vogel’s pulp sci-fi adventure Trouble in Twi-Town. Then, for Vintage Science-Fiction Month, I enjoyed the oldest sci-fi book on record, A True Story by Lucian of Samosata, followed by Phillip McCollum’s A Nuclear Family. Then I reviewed a rare genre for me: biography, namely David C. Smith’s book on Robert E. Howard. I also celebrated Second Halloween with a review of C.S. Boyack’s The Midnight Rambler.

For February I reviewed Hank Bruce’s magical realism environmental novel A Prayer for My Mountain. Next up was another unusual one for me: a Wonder Woman comic. I followed that up with Sorcerers Lost by Zachary Shatzer (remember that name) and the epic alternate future-history unreliable narrator work of utter genius, Fitzpatrick’s War by Theodore Judson.

March began with the raunchy adventure story Romance Raiders of the Lost Continent, followed by a St. Patrick’s Day tale with Adam Bertocci’s Kiss Me, I’m Iris. Then I reviewed the classic mystery novel Dead Cert by Dick Francis. Finally, I completed Peter Martuneac’s Ethan Chase trilogy with Gold of the Jaguar.

April started off with The Last Adventure of Dr. Yngve Hogalum, then moved on to The Beach Wizard’s Big Mistake, another Shatzer tale. Up next was Fractured Oak, by Dannie Boyd, and I wrapped up the month with another Bertocci story, Wordsworth, Wilde and Wizards.

I began May with Queen’s Shadow for Star Wars day, and then Three for a Girl by Kevin Brennan. After that, Andrew Crowther’s sci-fi novel Down to Earth and yet another Bertocci tale, I’ll Never Forget You.

June started with my review of the little-known ghost story Grayling, or, Murder Will Out and Richard Harding Davis’ Soldiers of Fortune. Then, being in a Napoleonic mood, I reviewed Courage, Marshal Ney. Then–what else?–Shatzer’s Grab Bag followed by Kingsley Amis’s entertaining bit of literary criticism on the James Bond books.

July began with an entry from a genre near and dear to me: B.R. Keid’s military sci-fi Intrusion Protocol, After that, I reviewed the thriller Agent Zero and a Kevin Brennan classic, Yesterday Road. Then I polished off the month with another Shatzer tale, Molly McKeever and the Case of the Missing Clown.

For August, I reviewed the weird western The Widow’s Son by Ryan Williamson and The Fifth Student by Geoffrey Cooper. Next up was Christopher St. John’s delightful fantasy War Bunny and the sci-fi adventure The Matrioshka Divide by Isaac Young.

September began with The Stench of Honolulu by Jack Handey. Then it became technothriller month, beginning with Sheldon Pacotti’s disturbing and prophetic Demiurge. Then a more traditional technothriller followed, with Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six. I capped off this techno-trilogy with Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty. And then, to finish the month, another Shatzer book: The Cowboy Sorcerer.

October was of course Halloween month, and therefore I reviewed the cozy mystery Halloween Hayride Murder, the football history (but secretly Halloween-related) Paul Brown’s Ghost, the collection of cryptid tales Phantom Menagerie by Megan Engelhardt, and finally Roger Zelazny’s A Night in the Lonesome October, which came recommended by Richard Pastore, and did not disappoint.

November began with a review of Bill Watterson’s long-awaited return, The Mysteries, followed by Kristin McTiernan’s time-travel Fissure of Worlds. Yeah, I only reviewed two books that month. November is rough for me; I’m always a little down after Halloween.

For December, I reviewed a romance novella by Napoleon Bonaparte (!), Brina Williamson’s Merona Grant and the Lost Tomb of Golgotha, and of course, to finish things out, another book by the prolific Shatzer, The Hero and the Tyrant.

I wish you all a very Happy New Year, and I look forward to discovering what wonderful books 2024 has in store for us!

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I’ve written about this film before, but I fear my review of three years ago fell short of its intended purpose. A friend of mine, a fellow writer whose opinion I greatly respect, watched it on my recommendation, and she hated it.

It could be due to an age difference, I suppose. Christmas Crush has what I think of as a millennial sensibility. Joke-y, banter-y, with lots of cultural references in the dialogue. It’s a bit like Adam Bertocci’s writing, and as I’ve mentioned before, Bertocci’s fiction is what I consider quintessentially millennial.

And let’s face it: we millennials are a polarizing bunch. Our culture is one people either love or hate. So it is with Christmas Crush. It is not by any means a complicated story. The plot is simple: a woman named Addie has a crush on her next-door neighbor, Sam. She makes a wish that her next-door neighbor will fall in love with her.

Unfortunately, her careless wording results in the wish being misapplied, and her other next-door neighbor, a man named Pete who is engaged to be married shortly after Christmas, falls in love with her. What follows is a series of humorous episodes as Addie tries to undo her wish and make the lovestruck Pete go back to his fiancée, Gina. All the while, trying not to give Sam the impression she’s two-timing him.

Such is the basic synopsis. Nothing earth-shattering, I’m sure you’ll agree. But as Chuck Litka reminds us, why does every story need to have high-stakes? Isn’t the future happiness of the characters reason enough to care about them?

So why do I like the film so much? Well, let us count the reasons:

#1: I’m Sick Of The Grimdark

“Grimdark!” Isn’t that a wonderful word? It comes to us from the world of Warhammer 40K, a science-fiction universe where life is nasty, brutish, and short. But there are countless films, books, TV series, etc. that feature the grimdark aesthetic. It’s got to where it’s seeping into everything. They made a horror spin-off of Winnie the Pooh, for crying out loud.

Now, I don’t mind a bit of darkness in my stories. I regularly re-read H.P. Lovecraft, you know. But recall the Duke of Dunstable’s speech from Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience:

Duke. Tell me, Major, are you fond of toffee?

Major. Very!

Duke. Yes, and toffee in moderation is a capital thing. But to live on toffee – toffee for breakfast, toffee for dinner, toffee for tea – to have it supposed that you care for nothing but toffee, and that you would consider yourself insulted if anything but toffee were offered to you – how would you like that?

For “toffee,” read “grimdark.” At some point, the consensus in the entertainment industry became that nothing wholly pleasant can be allowed to exist. Or if it does exist, it should be mocked. And that is why everything became saturated with gloom and serial killers.

Christmas Crush, like any good Christmas movie, is not grim. Even when Addie’s spirits are at their lowest, the mood is still one of holiday cheer. Also, Hollywood, if you’re reading this: it’s in color!

#2: Sincerity 

Now, I have to be careful with this one, because even Christmas Crush has its share of ironic humor. That banter I referred to above can’t exist without a certain style of comedy that relies on a developed sense of irony. To a degree, this goes hand-in-hand with that millennial sensibility I alluded to earlier, and is again something Christmas Crush shares with the works of Bertocci. (I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Zachary Shatzer is the millennial P.G. Wodehouse, and Bertocci is the millennial Oscar Wilde.)

But the conclusion of Christmas Crush is sincere, as all Christmas movies are.

I’ve got a theory that most people who watch these Christmas movies with a mocking eye secretly hope to be charmed. We actually want to see a nice, sweet story that is pleasant and predictable. But, our culture does not exactly reward wholesome content, so we mask our desire with a veneer of irony. And of course, a lot of the movies are quite silly, so it’s not like it’s hard to find things of which to make fun.

But, as Nietzsche said, “He who scoffs at Christmas movie cheesiness should take care that he does not become a cheesy Christmas movie antagonist. And when you hate-watch the Hallmark channel, know that the Hallmark channel also hate-watches you.”

Or something like that. The point is, once you get used to sneering at sincerity, you become immune to it. You can’t appreciate it, even when it is earned.

#3: …But Also Comedy

If you’ve made it this far into this post, you probably can at least tolerate comedy. But some people just aren’t into it. They will see no humor, for instance, in the scene where Pete’s jilted fianceé, working at a Christmas pop-up store to pay for her canceled wedding, tearfully greets customers with a somber, “Welcome to Santa’s Ho-ho-holiday emporium, the happiest place south of the North Pole.” They will not delight in the numerous references to the holiday event that Addie and her friend Drea are planning for a client named Donner as “the Donner party,” before hastily correcting themselves.

Obviously, there are many different kinds of comedy. For Christmas Crush, you’ve got to like wordplay and maybe a dash of light slapstick. If these don’t do it for you, then probably Christmas Crush will fall flat. Actually, probably all of my top favorite Christmas movies (Fitzwilly, Jingle All The Way, and The Lion in Winter) will not work for you. And that’s okay.

#4: No Villain

So many movies feel obliged to give us a villain: the cheating fiancé, the wicked step-mother, etc. There’s nothing wrong with that in most stories, but in the spirit of the Christmas season, isn’t it nice to have a story where no one is motivated by evil intentions? Pete, even at his most obnoxious, is only doing what he is doing because a spell has twisted his inherently good nature. Gina, even when she is rude to Addie, only does so in reaction to understandable hurt feelings.

I don’t mind a good villain. But I also find it refreshing to have a story without one.

#5: Avoiding Clichés and Boring Romance Tropes

We all know how holiday movies rely on clichés. It’s a running joke on Twitter: how many movies are there where the overworked big-city something-or-other is forced to go to a small town for Christmas, where, despite her best efforts, she falls in love with the man of her dreams, who as often as not turns out to be the Prince of Monte Carlo traveling incognito?

Instead of Addie being a workaholic who finds love when she is whisked away to a bucolic setting, she actually likes her job, and finds love with the guy next door. And instead of bonding over something superficial, like, I don’t know, chocolate or something, Addie and Sam discover they actually have mutual interests in philanthropy. That’s something that can be a foundation for a relationship.

#6: Addie Takes Action

Instead of waiting around for the plot to resolve itself in her favor, Addie steps up and takes responsibility. At the end, she says something that is, by the standards of made-for-TV Christmas movies, rather profound:

To everyone in this room, I wish you all the courage to tell the people close to you how you really feel about them. Whether it’s your best friend, your fiancé, or even your next-door neighbor. Even if you’re scared. Even if you’re not sure if they feel the same. Because making a wish, even making a wish for Christmas, it’s not enough. You have to tell them. Because you don’t know what you might be losing if you don’t.

Now, I can’t live this past week over again. But I hope that next time–No. No, I have faith that I won’t make the same mistake again. 

Unlike so many stories of this type–or maybe of many types–Addie grows and learns over the course of the story. She realizes her mistakes, she admits them, and she vows to grow. Maybe you laugh and say that’s a low bar to clear for a story. Maybe it is. But ask yourself this: how many modern Hollywood blockbusters give us this level of character development?

#7: A Beginning, not an Ending

And what I like best of all is that at the end, it’s suggested that Addie and Sam will start dating. Not get engaged, not have a royal wedding, but maybe go out for coffee. I’m not saying whirlwind romances can’t happen, but in general, it makes far more sense for people to fall in love over a period of months or years, not a few days as so often happens in these things.

A real romance is a whole life-time long, and a wedding is just one stop along the way. So many stories treat it as the Final Boss, the last quest before the story ends. Real relationships seldom work in such a cut-and-dried manner, and that is what makes them magical.

Conclusion

Here, my case rests. It may be you are unmoved by all this. Like my friend, you might find Christmas Crush the most awful dreck. And, well, after all, you may be right. I may be crazy. But it just may be etc.

If this blog has an agenda–which I am not prepared to admit, but I say only if it does–that agenda is to convey to people that the media that is easy and accessible may not be the greatest art there is. To find great work takes great work.

The flip side of this is that you can find it anywhere, and sometimes in places where the critical consensus least expects it to be. Thus, we find that when our curators of High Culture are debating whether video games are art, some of the greatest stories being told in that form. And when we hear the voices of the taste-makers putting down made-for-TV Christmas movies, we wonder: are the lavish, big-budget productions of the major studios any better?

And of course, there is the humble indie book. We all know, beyond any doubt, that great stories are being told in the pages of little volumes sent out into the world by lone authors, supported by nothing more than their desire to tell them.

My technique when reviewing something is to try and forget, insofar as possible, how and where I found it, and evaluate it on its own terms, independent of who wrote it or whether or not fashionable people sing its praises, and simply ask myself if I like it.

(There is of course a final irony here in that, by publishing my opinion, I am in some measure trying to be one of those people who influences other peoples’ thoughts on the matter. And indeed, there have been times when I have had to ignore myself in order to evaluate something clearly.)

I don’t mind if anyone else’s opinion varies wildly from mine on these things. I am, indisputably, a highly idiosyncratic critic. There is only one key to reviewing anything, be it a Christmas rom-com or a war epic, a Renaissance painting or a video game, a big-name publishing house novel or an indie ebook; and that is to make sure that your opinion is authentically yours, not one that somebody else told you to have. It’s not as easy as it seems, but it’s more rewarding that way.