Triumphant return of the book rant

Here is something I have discovered this week: The Wizard of Oz bites--actually, the book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, bites. Also, the titular wizard. But anyway. Let me tell you a long and boring story.

Back in August when I had mono, and all I could do was lie on the couch and bemoan my fate, I decided to while away the hours by reading, since, try as I might, I couldn't sleep. Which is especially brutal when you have mono, and all your body wants is sweet, sweet sleep. I realized that I was out of books to read, and I didn't feel like rereading any of my old standbys, so I turned to one of my few friends who likes to read and asked her what her favorite books are. Apparently, her favorite book is The Lovely Bones, which made me puke (but she somehow made me agree to give it a chance when I was not ill and depressed--will I keep my word?), but the rest of the list seemed pretty okay, so I made my brother drive me to the library, and I checked out three of them.

One of these books was Wicked by Gregory Maguire, which I picked against my better judgment, because I had told myself if I were to ever read this book I would have to do the background reading first. The background reading being, obviously, L. Frank Baum's Oz books. All of them. But at that point in my life I was in no mood to do such extensive background reading (I was really sick, see), so I just checked out Wicked and plowed through it in four days.

Ultimately, I thought the idea was pretty brilliant, telling the Wizard of Oz stories from the point of view of the witches (wicked and otherwise), but the execution as a whole bummed me out. It seemed really cynical, even for me, and I don't think anyone would ever call my disposition sunny, if you know what I'm sayin', but looking back on it, that could have been because I was pretty bummed out about mono effectively ruining the end of my summer. Also I was trying way too hard to find some kind of, like, meaning in it, instead of just reading the damn story. I don't know why I was so hellbent on that--I never do that shit--but... I don't know. I ruined it. And I finished it, and I was like, "Well. Next bitch."

Then this friend of mine ever so kindly sent me a mix CD with not one but two songs from the Wicked musical on it, and I fell so crazily, madly in love that I immediately demanded the rest of the album with all the ferocity of a rabid animal, and this friend of mine ever so kindly obliged, and since then I have been listening to that album all the damn time. Naturally, it made me want to take another look at the book. Naturally, it made me want to actually do the background reading first. And what I have discovered is that I'm pretty sure Gregory Maguire took some stuff from the film version of The Wizard of Oz as well, and now I have to watch that shit again, because I think I basically knew the story of The Wizard of Oz from all the parodies and updates and blah blah--did anyone see that Muppet version with motherfuckin' Ashanti?--and I have no clear recollection of seeing the original film whatsoever. Except I have a vaguely unsettling memory of flying monkeys and dark mountains. Who knows if that's even a real memory.

Anyway, I guess the point of that story was to tell you how I came about deciding to read The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Now let me tell you why it sucked! First of all, none of Dorothy's trials ever last that long or are the least bit suspenseful. An obstacle is presented; she goes oh crap; five seconds later, they're back on the yellow brick road. I couldn't bring myself to give an ass rat's.

Second, let me make a sweeping generalization! It would seem to me that when male authors write a fantasy story with a young female protagonist, they have no idea what do to with her, and she remains the least interesting character in the story. I mean, I think this judgment is at least a little fair, because male authors have no idea what it's like to be an eight-year-old girl. Some you'd think had never even met an eight-year-old girl. Lewis Carroll, C.S. Lewis, L. Frank Baum: their young female protagonists are so boring: Alice just weeps, gets confused, and wants to go hoooome; Lucy Pevensie never has a naughty thought ever in her head--she's good and true and brave, which, you know, are not bad characteristics, and Lucy Pevensie is certainly the most fleshed-out of these characters, but...a little boring.

Now Dorothy, I just do not understand. She's a little girl, and she is good and pure and true, as evidenced by how she wants to help everyone she meets, blaaaaah. The whole time she's in Oz, which seems to be this rather fascinating land, all she can think about is getting back to Kansas, even though Baum made sure to make Kansas sound as unappealing as possible by only using the word gray (over and over and over again) to describe it. Even her aunt and uncle are gray. Why would you want to get back to that shit? Yes, she's in a strange place, and at least Kansas and Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are familiar, but she makes friends in Oz right quick.

Oh, god. I have to tell you about the preface Baum wrote to this story: he says something about how now (the turn of the 20th century) children don't need their fairy tales to teach them a lesson or moral or whatever, so he has presented a fairy tale which will only enchant them. This is the problem with this story: Dorothy doesn't learn anything. She doesn't leave Oz changed one whit. What is the point of telling a story if the main character doesn't change? (This is also why I hated Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, I just realized.) I'm not saying she needs to learn some kind of moral or life lesson or anything, but her journey through Oz should have affected her somehow. But no. She does all these things, saves the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, helps the Cowardly Lion find his courage, exposes the Wizard for the fraud he is, accidentally kills an evil and powerful woman, and then she just runs on home to Kansas. The end.

And, I mean, maybe the fact that I didn't care about the main character could have been made up with an interesting story, but I already said the story was not interesting. The only halfway interesting part was the story of the golden cap and how it can be used to call the winged monkeys to do the wearer's bidding.

Anyway, despite all this, I want to watch the film and then read Wicked again, because I love the musical soundtrack that much.