The book is always better...

...than the movie. It's pretty much a proven fact. I haven't read every book for every big-screen adaptation I have ever seen, but the ones I have are universally better in nearly every way in print.

This is actually rather cliche. This has been the mantra of the well-read now for years, but we don't stop all that often to examine the implications. What does it mean for a culture to spend and spend for instant big-screen gratification, while all the while admitting that is pales in comparison with the written word? Imagination is the first place to start. There is this preconception in this world we now inhabit that imagination is actually an unproductive thing. When somebody says, "He has quite the imagination" it usually isn't a compliment. They mean that the person in question (especially if he or she isn't a child) needs to get with the real world. The real world, as Hollywood sells it, is full of explosions and beautiful people full of super powers in beautiful, or at least impressive, settings. Sometimes the real world is actually like that; and sometimes it's not.

Books inhabit a place that is at once more relate-able and more imaginative for their audience, but (and here's the key) it takes effort to get there. Imagination is something that requires not just absorption but relationship with the words on the page. It's a rare movie that creates a relationship between the audience and the characters or the scenery--it is not impossible for any art to get there but movies have a particularly difficult task. The biggest barrier, in fact, may be time. A relationship takes time. Love at first sight may be real, but it is certainly rare and impossibly more complicated than it ever appears from the outside. Books--like relationships--are experienced over time; movies are limited, limiting.

Movies move like a rushing river, which has both awe-inspiring power and constant fluidity. They are fun but you can never really get beneath the surface--unless you are sucked under and spit out before you realize what happened. Books are a lazy stream, inviting to the swimmer--more like visual art or a symphony. To jump in the water and float is infinitely more pleasurable and conducive to the imagination than being swept away. I enjoy both rapids and lazy rivers, but they feed very different needs. Rapids can be exhilarating, a challenge to raft or intimidating to walk along. Lazy water allows my mind to wander, to experience the entirety of nature and then move beyond  to imagine what might lie just beneath, beyond, or under what I see, breathe, touch and smell.

The book is always better, but--here's the unexpected twist--you don't need a book to read. I'm not talking about newspapers, the internet or magazines; Reader's Digest (does it still exist?) or blogs. I'm talking about reading nature, experiencing relationship as the ongoing experience of reading everything life has to offer. Recently, a lady at my mom's book club, upon learning that Kate and I were heading out camping, offered several reading suggestions--particularly for Kate--to pass the time. We nodded and smiled, then left and looked at each other, shaking our heads. We can read every leaf or tree, drop of water in a lake or fish beneath its surface. I can read everything before my eyes and beyond. The book is always better than the movie, not because it is confined to the pages but because it is bigger than we could ever have imagined. So, we're heading camping and we'll be reading all the while. Kate might crack open Bryson's A Walk in the Woods (my suggestion), but I plan on reading the water and hopefully finding a walleye at the end of the line.

It might not make for an explosive ending, but all in all it will still be quite good.

On bikers

I had a bad morning. My car was in for repairs, so I was biking to work--which isn't really unusual--and besides it was beautiful outside so I wasn't complaining. At least I wasn't until 5 miles in to the 17 mile ride when I flatted my rear tire near Cedar Lake. Flatting is no fun, but it isn't that unusual. I flat on average once every 100-200 miles. I got off and put a patch on. No problem.

A mile later, flat again. This time I try to adjust the patch, but it keeps flatting. I put another tube on, also flat. I realize, finally, that the tire has been ruptured and no number of new tubes will fix the problem. I end up getting picked up by my mom and missing work since I didn't have a vehicle to even show up late.

All in all, a pretty sad start to the day, but there was one thing that did make me cheery. I couldn't even count the number of bikers and pedestrians who asked if I needed help. At first I didn't, then I needed another tube and a rider gave me one (and wouldn't accept any money in return). Then, when it became apparent that I had a bigger problem, a man asked if I needed a cell phone or even a ride. I had a cell phone and was getting a ride, but it was a great gesture. I was prepared for a flat, but even if I wouldn't have been people were there to help. Random people. Maybe 20, maybe 30 people.

As it turns out it was the tire. $60 later all is well. I missed a half-day of work, but there are worse things in the world. Thanks to all the cyclists and peds who offered to help.

Can you imagine 20-30 cars stopping to help a flat tire?

On Cycling (and soccer): The charm of niche sports.

It seems like we have this discussion with a couple of sports every year. Why don't they grip America? Why is it that none of them can crack the big 3-4 major sports that ESPN and newspapers cover. It's a silly discussion, really, but I'll get to that later. For now, I want to talk about one of my favorite annual events--the Tour de France--and explain what I see in it that the majority of America does not.

In order to understand where I'm coming from I'd like to address the stumbling blocks that an American audience encounters when it comes to tuning in to the TdF.

1. Who's winning?
This is the first and biggest problem with cycling races, because it is a rather difficult question to answer. I had someone ask me this very question today upon seeing that I had live coverage of the TdF up on the computer. Well, do you mean who is winning the overall, this stage, or who is setting themselves up best for the real climbs when we get to the high Alps? Already, you're lost. Here's why:

The TdF is not just one race but a series of 21 stages that determine five different champions: the overall General Classification (GC) winner (this is the guy in the yellow jersey), the best sprinter (the guy in the Green Jersey), the best climber (the guy in the polka dot jersey), the best young rider (the guy in the white jersey), and the best team (the team with the green numbers on their backs). Some riders are going for yellow, some for green, some for polka dots, or white; some riders are part of a strong team, and other riders are going for a stage win. Personally, I find it fascinating that so much is going on at the same time, but it can also be quite confusing... which leads us to question #2...

2. Who are these guys?
Name recognition is key to any sport, especially one that is individual-oriented. Cycling is both a team and individual sport (more on that later), but if you don't know any of the guys it's hard to get the least bit involved in the action. Luckily, unlike baseball, football, soccer or even golf there are far fewer contenders. In fact, if you want to follow the yellow jersey race all you need to know is that Alberto Contador is the two-time reigning champ, Andy Schleck is his biggest challenger, and Cadel Evans is the only other rider up at their level. There's a few other contenders: Frank Schleck, Damiano Cunego, Samuel Sanchez and Ivan Basso. Thomas Voeckler currently leads the race and so he has the yellow jersey, but he isn't considered a main favorite, though when in yellow there's always a chance! Then there are a few Americans of interest: Chris Horner (crashed out earlier in the race), Levi Leipheimer (not in his best form right now) and Tom Danielson. Those are the only yellow riders to be concerned about.

As far as the green jersey goes, Mark Cavendish is the big favorite; then there are a few guys who can beat him on a given stage: Tyler Farrar (American), Andre Greipel, Thor Hushovd, Tom Boonen (crashed out earlier), Alesandro Petachhi, and then there's Philippe Gilbert, who isn't really a sprinter but he goes on crazy attacks to try to win some sprint stages; i.e., Gilbert is a guy to know even though he doesn't fit into conventional categories.

As far as every other race is concerned, you don't need to know anybody. Seriously. Don't worry about learning about guys like Sandy Casar, Edouard Boassen Hagan, Ryder Hejesdal, or Jelle Vanendert. These are the kinds of guys who can win stages, but most likely won't contend for anything else. If you get behind one of two of them it makes the race more interesting, but it is by no means necessary. Also, you don't need to fret about the King of the Mountains or Young Riders--at least not at first. Those are sort of the sabermetrics competitions of the TdF--i.e., for advanced viewers only.

3. Is this a team or individual competition?
This is where cycling is at its most interesting. There is no way to win any cycling race--least of all the TdF--without the help of other cyclists. So, racers ride in teams of 9. Some teams have sprinters (HTC-High Road rides almost exclusively for Mark Cavendish), some have the GC, yellow jersey contenders (Saxo Bank rides for Alberto Contador and nothing else), and others have a mix of riders looking for stage wins. Then there's the team competition, which consists of adding up each team's top three riders to cross any traditional stage.

Riders generally ride in the peloton (a French word for the large group of riders) which helps protect them from the wind, and most stages consist of a breakaway group that tries to outlast the peloton. These riders have to work together to stay away, and since generally they are all from different teams this often becomes something of a struggle. The peloton, too, must remain organized. Generally, the peloton catches the riders, but sometimes it doesn't. Often the riders in the breakaway are more interested in showing off their form than winning the stage. The teams that believe they can win the stage or protect their leaders--especially the yellow jersey--will most often pace the peloton to make certain they catch the breakaway.

Team composition is key, because you can't have nine guys trying to win the race. Some days are suited for climbers, some for sprinters, some for break-aways. A strong team like Leopard-Trek will have two GC contenders--Frank and Andy Schleck--as well as several "strong men" who can pace them up difficult climbs before falling off the pace, then there will be a few other "domestiques" who bring water bottles, food, and rain gear to the top riders, as well as keep them out of the wind. Other teams, like Garmin-Cervelo, have rather diversified interests. They have a couple of outside contenders for the GC--Tom Danielson and Ryder Hejesdal--then they have a sprint specialist--Tyler Farrar--another sprinter who is more suited for climbing as well--Thor Hushovd (who happens also to be the world road racing champion)--and several domestiques to help those four out--one of these is the American, Christian Vandevelde, who has finished top 10 in the TdF before. If you're looking for an American team to get behind, Garmin-Cervelo is a good option; they wear the blue helmets with the stylized "c" on their shoulders.

4. Isn't it long and boring?
One of the great things about the TdF is that you can watch the last 30 minutes and understand everything that's happened. Sure, there might have been a crash early on, but how is this any different than picking up a basketball game in the 4th quarter or a golf tournament late on Sunday? In fact, Versus has compacted coverage into 2-hour segments most days.

5. Cycling will never be a popular sport in America, so why should I even bother?
This is the most important question and one of the most misunderstood ones in my opinion. People ask the same thing about soccer all the time. Americans don't like watching soccer en masse as much as baseball, football and basketball, so every time a big soccer event comes up we debate whether soccer will ever reach those levels. Frankly, it's a stupid question because soccer in America simply shouldn't strive for that and neither should cycling. They both fit into the category of niche sports. (Here I feel like I should say that more people are likely to play soccer or ride a bike than play football or baseball past the age of 20, but that's a different issue)

In the United States, there are three big sports: Football, baseball and basketball. Then, there are three second-tier sports: hockey, NASCAR and golf (soccer could fit into this category, but as I will explain below it probably shouldn't try). And finally, there are a host of niche sports that are best served outside of the limelight. Niche sports are great because they don't need the kind of coverage the top tier sports do. In fact, they are better off having a big event every few years than repeated coverage every couple of weeks. This is why the World Cup and Olympics are such a big deal. In fact, I think cycling would do well to have a World Cup every four years that is bigger than the TdF, but such a thing is probably too much to hope for.

Most importantly, niche sports are usually more entertaining than second-tier sports! It's strange but their inaccessibility in general makes them much more interesting in those few times where they come into the spotlight. This is why I believe soccer should stop trying to be a mainline sport and embrace it's niche-iness.

This brings me to the final question:

6. What is the A#1 reason to watch the Tour?
To see human beings pushing themselves to a level of endurance far exceeding anything you have seen before outside of maybe an Ironman Triathlon. These guys are absolute machines. I read recently that a normal human being can pull 400 watts on a bicycle for a couple of seconds, while the average TdF rider can pull 400 watts for an hour or more. Have you ever gone 50 mph on a bike? These guys do on mountain descents with sharp curves. They push the limits of human endurance.

It's not a perfect sport; in fact, it's rather rough around the edges; but there is something about the TdF that fascinates me every year. If you've never seen it before take a look. Seriously, it's worth checking out, and this time of year it's basically on Versus all hours of the day, or online for free every morning on Eurosport or countless other services.

A Reflection on HP and my favorite moment: Always.

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I was introduced to Harry Potter a little over ten years ago when my mom was reading Prisoner of Azkaban to my brother. At first I wasn't interested. The backdrop of a magical world made me suspect; in truth, it all seemed a bit cheesy. I'm sad to admit (for the purists out there) but it was the movie version of Sorcerer's Stone that sold me on the idea. Only then did I see the appeal of a captivating world with characters and situations so extraordinarily unique.

What I saw was a world crafted with many of the same ideologies I valued. Magic wasn't an escape from the laws of this world but an extension of how this world might work bound by subtly different laws. More importantly, characters were forced to make difficult decisions with truth rarely black-and-white. I loved Snape--hated him but loved him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione weren't so much models as they were character studies for all the relationships I experienced in my adolescence. Through them I had a lens to some of the difficult positions in which I found myself.

The one time I had to put the book down and go on a run was when Harry and Ginny first kissed, because ever since Chamber of Secrets I had hoped that it would turn out that way--and it did. That's the thing about this series: Rowling had a massive task to make it all fulfilling, to bring about an ending not just satisfactory but worthy of the preceding six years of build-up. She did it without selling us a picture of the world drizzled in surreality. This was an earthy, beautiful--and yet painful--end to years of growing up with Harry alongside. Death is not avoided; that's Voldemort's job. In fact, pain and mortality were embraced in a way that is at once exceedingly healthy and, unfortunately, counter-cultural. She tapped into a need and we flocked to it. Perhaps in part we saw that the questions being raised were ones we were too scared to ask on our own. Perhaps we saw in Harry or Ron or Hermione a little of ourselves and hoped that in the end they'd live happily-ever-after.

But Rowling was clear: happily-ever-after does not mean survival. Death is not to be avoided. James and Lily Potter, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Sirius Black, Dumbledore, Regulus Black, Igor Karkaroff, Bertha Jorkins, Charity Burbage, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevey, Severus Snape... the list goes on. Each lived fully; each gave themselves not just for Harry but for the sake of a world that matters.

We are called to fight for what is valuable in our own lives. Love translates across the Wizarding World into our own. My favorite moment of the series was Snape's vindication. He was never a good character; he was duplicitous, sometimes callous, and often unfair. But he was such a true character. The impact of Lily's death changed him, just as in our lives we are changed by myriad moments that come to define us. Some of these we can name; others have passed beyond recognition.

The legacy that Snape leaves is all any of us can hope for. He gives everything for a single love. He never received anything back. Life, as he said, is not fair--but in the end good wins. It wins triumphantly not because of its mighty power over evil but because of the deeper magic that makes a person wonder if Rowling wasn't a little C.S. Lewis in disguise. What is love finally but grace extended on behalf of one for the other? To be accepted in spite of one's faults is at the core of what these books are about. A generation of young people are better off having Harry as an example. We may never be able to levitate a single feather, but surely we can see that love is not cheap. In fact, for us it may yet cost a lot more than it ever has before, and that is a moral well worth hearing.

HP moment #2: A Very Weasley Withdrawal

The following is #2 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2 this Friday.
 
I can't get enough of students sticking it to Umbridge. Somebody could psycho-analyze my displeasure with her, I'm sure. There are just those cathartic moments in life that anybody can relate to regardless of whether they are intimately involved or not. For me, the most cathartic moment in the series is absolutely, undoubtedly the Weasley twins exit from Hogwarts.

It's one thing to leave; it's quite another to put on a show on your way out. It's the difference between the retirements of Brett Favre and Shaq. One was awkward (especially by the third time); the other was just plain fun. The Weasleys are always fun--even when George loses his ear. They stand in contrast to a world that is sometimes too serious. The way they leave Hogwarts stands in such stark contrast to the rest of Order of the Phoenix. It was such a breath of relief for those of us stuck with a frustrating, teenage Harry, and a Hogwarts whose magic was being restrained--quite literally--by Umbridge and the Ministry.

When Hogwarts is at its worst the twins are at their best. Always mischievous yet always faithful, Fred and George might not be the deepest characters Rowling crafts but they may be the most entertaining. The swamp they leave behind is the most appropriate bit of magic, the teachers' non-reaction priceless. Umbridge tries desperately to keep order, but when the dam breaks it comes in force. It makes sense finally that it is the Weasleys--who else?

Levity is one of Rowling's strongest gifts. During Dumbledore's funeral Harry can't help but remember some of the sillier times in his life. He wonders what's wrong with him. The answer, according to Rowling, is nothing. If you can laugh at fear--like a boggart--it has no power over you. When Fred dies it is symbolic in part because laughter is not immune to evil, but it does triumph over it.

HP moment #3: Fawkes' lament

The following is #3 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2 this Friday.

Dumbledore's passing is a momentous event in the HP series. As I talked about in moment #9, it was a watershed moment in Harry's life as the last of his great protectors passed on. Such a moment required a touching literary aside. What we got only added to the melancholy mood in such a way that the reader was drawn in by something impossible to understand. None of us know what a phoenix song sounds like, but we can be assured that it is something magical.

The movie creation of Half-Blood Prince tried its best, having the Hogwarts teachers and student body raise their wands in unison and dissolve the Dark Mark, but in truth no scene would cut it. Unfortunately for the producers, Rowling crafted a scene incapable of being re-created. More than any other time in HBP, this was assuredly a religious moment.

We can infer that phoenixes are rare birds, seeing as Fawkes is the only one we ever met. The only other phoenix mentioned is the one that gives feathers for the twin wands that chose Harry and Voldemort (apparently this, too, was Fawkes--thanks to Andrew Scherber for that). Fawkes is tied to Dumbledore unlike any other magical creature that we know of. So, when Dumbledore passes it is hardly a surprise that Fawkes' time too has come.

The phoenix is simply the coolest creature that Rowling crafts. Able to carry heavy objects, with tears that cure wounds, and re-birthing itself from the ashes when it is time to die, it exists at the junction of Harry and Dumbledore's relationship. Not surprisingly, it was the phoenix that carried the Sorting Hat to Harry in Chamber of Secrets when Dumbledore himself was absent. Yet, we never know about its song until the day Dumbledore dies. We learn that it is a "stricken lament of terrible beauty” that feels to Harry like his “grief magically to song."

When people say that the books are better than the movies it is because of scenes like this; scenes incapable of being captured on a screen divorced from the touch. It is a fitting end; Dumbledore's true memorial service packed into a few moments song. It's also a reminder of that which Voldemort does not value: grief cannot be without love. Fawkes was a symbol of love; a fiery, fierce, undying love. His departure sets the stage for a Hogwarts battling for its very existence.

HP moment #4: Severus... please

The following is #4 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July.

There had to be a reason Dumbledore trusted Severus. There just had to be. That's what we were all saying after Half-Blood Prince. It was at this time that I was writing my thesis on Christian love and Harry Potter and beginning to think about what was to come.

My guesses centered on a single phrase--Dumbledore's last words--on top of the astronomy tower.

"Severus... please."

There were no adjectives or other markers of tone assigned to the phrase. It was oddly, simply there. And it could mean... well, basically anything.  Clearly, we were meant to believe that Dumbledore was pleading with an evil Snape bent on showing his true colors. That's what Harry thought; that's what all the characters thought. In fact, that's about the only logical conclusion you could come to if HBP was the only book in the series.

But there were those nagging questions borne out of six years of character development. Dumbledore trusted him, and he was always right (as far as we knew) concerning peoples' true character. I found myself asking time and again: What is really going on?

Then, I had a guess. What if Dumbledore was pleading for Snape to kill him... what if this was somehow part of the plan? It didn't make sense, but then again perhaps it did. What if something bigger was going on behind the scenes?


Here's an excerpt from my 2007 undergraduate thesis, preserved now for posterity: "[Dumbledore's] final words, 'Severus... please...' are easily taken as a plea for life, but those who know Dumbledore’s life should realize that something much deeper is going on here.  Although the seventh and final book is yet to be published, it seems most likely that Dumbledore was not pleading for his life to be spared but for Severus Snape to finish what he needed to do (kill Dumbledore in order to save himself)."

Pretty close. And a cliff-hanger of epic proportions.

HP moment #5: Time-turner

The following is #5 in a series of blog posts counting down my ten favorite Harry Potter moments leading up to the release of Deathly Hallows, pt. 2. Look for a post every couple of days as we near mid-July. 

Many fantasy and science fiction novels and movies have dealt with the concept of bending time through the years. Some have been good, some downright awful, but the theme has continued on into the twenty-first century in abundance. The remaking of Star Trek is one recent example where the plot hinges on time's fluidity.

Harry Potter is not without its time-turning magic. In fact, the plot of Prisoner of Azkaban would be pretty weak without it. The book flies by to a fateful day when Harry discovers the truth about Sirius Black and an unknown person emerges on the far end of the lake to cast a Patronus and save the day. For nearly 250 pages in POA we are given subtle clues that not all is what it seems, but Rowling has done that before. In the first two books, the character who seemed most likely to be causing the trouble (Snape, Malfoy) was not in fact behind it. So, perhaps we had good reasons to suspect not all was as it seemed with Sirius, and yet that is only the first in a series of curveballs that makes the last hundred pages of POA perhaps Rowling's best in the series.

When all is lost, Harry, Ron, and Hermione find themselves in the hospital wing, pleading with Dumbledore that they've got the wrong man. Nothing could be done--there was not enough time. Except Hermione has a secret. The time turner she possesses explains a good deal of the strange clues we got up to this point, but more than that it creates a secondary reality that makes us wonder: Wait, who is where? How are they both there? How did that happen after the fact--and yet before?

In short, Rowling blows our collective minds. This isn't time travel as some silly plot twist, as much as it is a puzzle of enormous complexity that unravels before our eyes into a reality that means we can no longer accept as straight-forward what the prose so simply describes. Life in the Wizarding World is complicated and beautiful.

And boy does Rowling use that to her advantage!