Gor Summary, En Bref

I am only slightly exaggerating. The third book did me in. Chairs.

A more detailed and perhaps less apoplectic analysis shall follow once I adequately recoup my sensibilities.

So I've been reading Gor...

Not long ago, I found myself getting into the work of Robert Howard, namely the Conan stories. After reading some of those and finding myself enjoying them, John Norman's Gorean saga was suggested to me as being similar stuff. As of this post, I've read the first two books-- Tarnsman of Gor and Outlaw of Gor, to be exact.

How do I describe it? I am both surprised, and yet not surprised at all.

I went into Gor knowing that it contained some... less than egalitarian elements. I knew that, and yet, when I came across them, I found myself astonied by them. Never have I seen such a bold and unashamed exposition of a sexually charged patriarchal society-- and I read fetish fiction. It's just so frank, so unabashedly matter of fact, reinforced all the while by the nagging knowledge that this is not merely the spank fantasy of a dirty old man cut of an older world's coarse cloth-- the proceedings are his philosophy, a way of life in action that he esteems most highly in the face of an equality-seeking world. The only thing I can compare it to is F.A.T.A.L.-- an obnoxious, faltering garage band to John Norman's sweeping philharmonic.

I figure for thoroughness's sake I'll do detailed reviews of the first few books at least (I've already got a few thousand words written up on the two I've read), but it's a daunting task-- there's over thirty of the damn things, with more coming later this year if they haven't already, and let's face it, these raunchy tomes have quite probably been dissected more smartly and to deeper depths than I could ever manage.

Still, it'd probably be more entertaining than reviewing the Ultramarines movie. I'll get to that one soon enough.

Ixion Watches First Blood

Let me get one thing straight: I got the wrong impression of this movie, and of the Rambo character. I had the osmotic impression of a heavily-armed hero, a man of righteous action, delivering justice to the forces of evil in the form of automatic gunfire.

Frankly, I don't know where I got that impression anymore. The film supported it only awkwardly at first, then fell through as we see the poignant sympathy with which the victimized small-town cops are portrayed. Rambo's tearful breakdown at the film's climax smashed that impression like a wrecking ball. This man was not a hero, but a tragic victim-- a living, breathing human being transformed into a weapon and unable to turn himself back.

I find it sad that this character, it now seems, has been so myopically Flanderized into nothing but a scowling, M60-brandishing slab of man-meat, forgetting entirely the powerfully delivered message by the film. I don't know who's fault it is, if it's anyone's-- having not yet seen the later films, it may be that the sequels are themselves to blame. Peering through the foggy glass of the accumulated stereotype overlaid upon the facts, we find ourselves cheering and rooting for the very warlike force that the film so pointedly expresses the bitter tragedy of-- egging on the broken soldier for the gratification of the crowd. It's an uncomfortable feeling, I find.

I liked this movie a lot more than I was expecting to, and for entirely different reasons than I'd anticipated. It took all the guns-blazing action, all the gore and violence, and made it mean something-- the only thing it could realistically mean-- and I love it for that. See it if you haven't. If you have, see it again. It's good stuff.