Happy October, everyone! Today's topic: swearing in books, followed by a quick review of Emma Trevayne's "Coda". Let us begin.
Finally, finally, finally I have a library card! Now I have officially moved into this town. It was soon after receiving this pages passport, though, that I had to come to grips with an inconvenient reality: my library has a painfully small Timothy Zahn section. Oh well. There's always inter-library loans.
But I had to read something and fast before I went into withdrawl. After looking through the Young Adult section (how can they have a whole manga section with no Fullmetal Alchemist, One Piece, or One Punch Man??), I happened across one of the rare YA sci-fi titles - "Coda" by Emma Trevayne. I took it home and read it in less than a week.
What did I think of it? Keep reading 'till the end.
All prospective parents, take caution: the F-bomb is a primary weapon in this book, not to mention some non-explicit sexual scenes. It looks like "Coda" was intended for the upper end of the Young Adult market, if it doesn't cross over into New Adult entirely. No doubt the language reflects the harsh realities the characters much face, but it got me thinking. Thinking, in particular, about how swear words are used in modern literature.
I hope none of you are saying to yourselves, "Oh, that crazy Catholic! Thinking himself the bastion of pure language in a world that's beneath him!" Well, it's a good thing none of you can see me through this laptop, swearing a blue streak at Team Fortress 2 whenever it locks up. Even though I'm not proud of that fact, I have to concede that cussing your tongue black is a legitimate gut reaction. It's raw, it's honest, it's an immediate reaction that opens a window into the character's head.
But do not start sprinkling the verbo-nuclear weapons into your manuscript just yet. In order to get my ****ing Seal of Approval, the book's voice has to earn it.
Per ezzempio, one of my favorite books of all time, hand on heart, is "The Martian" by Andy Weir (and looking at his website, bloody hell, he's got another book coming out that's already earned all those Awesome Book Awards). For the benefit of both of you who haven't read it, Mark Watney is the protagonist of "The Martian"--and he has a famously foul mouth. It is awesome. I think one of the best things about his swear word arsenal is that it is rarely used in anger; heck, when it is an angry F-bomb, it is not often directed at people. He normally swears at himself or his malfunctioning equipment. That's something that draws me in as a reader. It shows me he has humility in addition to a relatable patience level.
When characters in other books swear at somebody, never in humor and never at their own foibles, it repels me and, if I may make a presumption, other readers as well. Granted, a well-directed string of F-bombs and D-bullets is understandable in those moments of extreme duress and tension--and hopelessness. Those instances in general are powerful. However, the fallout of a casual yet hateful F-bomb is more repellent than attractive.
Having mildly defended the F-bomb, though, there is one trend I would like to see in the future. I want to see the return of the Shakespearian Insult. I don't mean you have to call people those Elizabethan turns of phrase that you tend to see in Facebook memes nowadays; I mean that we need more creative insults. Salami brain. Thrice-cursed mudslinger. Half-gut. Weasel teeth. Muffin head (OK, I stole that last one from the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes). Those (most of those) I thought up on the spot, so obviously they're not that good; but I hope they symbolize the trend I'd like to see.
In essence: once the character's creativity and resourcefulness is established in both language and action, then I tolerate the F-bombs. Then those weapons have their intended effect--the intensification of feeling.
On to my quick review of "Coda".
Here's my one-sentence synopsis: A teenager named Anthem finds himself leading a musical revolution against an all-controlling dystopian corporation that keeps its citizens in line with drugged music. It's a rather original concept for a normally overworked setting, and thankfully the good stuff doesn't stop there. "Coda" seems to have a fairly thought-out world that the author had a good time making. The protagonists are a diverse bunch--mostly from the lower class, where the Anthem lives. The romance angle, while sometimes cloying (but I am a rather romance-low writer myself), had more than a few understandable and interesting turns that reflected the plot. Overall, I thought it was a good book.
It doesn't have a completely clean bill of health, I must admit. The interesting concept and world, while interesting, are often barely explained and hard to visualize. The Evil Corporation felt more cartoonishly evil than well-intentioned-but-selfishly-executed. Anthem himself could have used a little extra zing; while I was interested in him as a character, I don't think he'd make a good buddy in real life. Anthem is also a bisexual (HOLD IT--keep reading, and stop that "Crazy Catholic" chant), but that angle still felt off. I hesitate to say it, and I might be digging too deep or shallow in saying it, but it sounded like Emma Trevayne didn't believe in that angle herself. I mean, as Anthem gets progressively weaned off dependence on the drugged music, he swings more and more hetero. It gives a faint impression that homosexuality is synonymous with a lack of impulse control. Whether or not that was intended, it feels like the gay angle was there to check off the box on publishers' wishlists, a popular trend that could come at the expense of a healthy story scrutiny.
I still favor and recommend "Coda". Honestly, the cons don't sink it, and this is a debut novel for Trevayne. It was an interesting read, and I might even read it again so I won't be as confused as I was on my first go-round.
To end this post, I end with the most important point I can make about "Coda"; it is far and away better than Rick Yancey's "5th Wave". Sorry Rick, but odds are I'll be grinding my teeth at that book until my dying day.
Or at least until I get put on musical drugs.
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