This series is a collection of short animated films set in the Star Wars universe, without any concern for continuity. I wasn’t too hot on the first season, in which every episode was made by a different Japanese anime studio. Consequently, I found it monotonous, because many of the films had the same samurai feel. No offense to samurai.
Season 2, on the other hand, is much more diverse. I’m glad they expanded the palette to include animation studios from around the world. A highlight was “Screecher’s Reach”, with its painterly animation style, and horror-like journey into a dark cave.
The me of today would like to believe that the me of 10 years ago, i.e. the perpetually single me, would have felt kinship with Keiko Furukara, the protagonist of this book. She’s happily unattached, and bristles against all of the people around her who disapprove of her menial job and lack of relationship status.
On the other hand, if the me of 10 years ago had taken a different path, had not found a partner, who would the me of today be? I fear I might have ended up like the angry and deeply unpleasant Shiraha, Keiko’s foil. He is basically what we would call an incel, although I’m not sure if that label is meaningful in Japanese culture.
It’s a fine line between accepting yourself despite not fitting in, and blaming the world for not accepting you. I commend this book for putting me on both sides of that line.
I’ve always preferred the more “mainstream” parts of the MCU over the offbeat energy of the Guardians series. This third one is my favourite of the trilogy. Rocket’s backstory is effectively dark and tragic, and especially hard to watch if you’re an animal lover, like me.
A collection filled with the type of true crime article that I regularly save to Pocket. I probably wouldn’t recommend reading the book cover-to-cover, but I had to because it was a library loan. In my opinion, it would be better enjoyed by cherry-picking an article from time to time, when you’re in the mood for some moral indignation.
But beyond the morbid point-and-judge tone that’s typical of true crime, I do appreciate that Keefe offers empathy and compassion towards his so-called “rogues.” This is especially evident in my favourite article.
“Loaded Gun” explores the past of a mass shooter. Twenty years before the crime, she shot and killed her brother, in what may or may not have been an accident. I especially liked this article because Keefe inserts his first-person ruminations on the ambiguity of what happened, and what the ambiguity means.
The Star Trek vision of time travel usually involved restoring the “correct” timeline after some mishap, and preserving the way that things are “supposed” to be. In the time travel story of Paper Girls, the forces that support timeline preservation are painted as villains, and the act of changing history is seen as a charitable act, a sort of temporal wealth redistribution where the advances of the future are shared with the past. I don’t think I agree with the ethics of this position, but it was an interesting inversion of what I’ve seen before.
My favourite parts of the story involved the teenage girls meeting adult versions of themselves. Because of my age, I identified more with the “guest stars” than the main cast, and found myself wondering what I would say to my younger self. I kind of wish that Paper Girls had offered more answers to this question, beyond “Keep in touch with your friends.”
I was a fan of the TV show The Good Place, and this book dives deeper into the philosophical concepts behind that show’s exploration of morality. The subject matter is pretty dry and basic (I was familiar with much of it from taking a 100-level philosophy course in university), but the author, who also created and ran the TV show, imbues his sitcom-honed sense of humour into it. A bonus if you’re listening to the audiobook: the Good Place cast comes along for the ride; a highlight is Ted Danson’s dramatic reading of chapter titles.
