PotW—Black Mirror

Christmas is upon us, so how better to get your festive cheer than dispiriting, dystopian television? 

Black Mirror is one of the best things on TV in recent history. A 'Twilight Zone for the modern technology era’, it taps into our fears of technology and interpersonal relationships, our ‘technomores’, twisting them into something ugly, scary, and utterly compelling. Each episode takes us on its own journey of discovery and horror with the absurd extension of some very real aspect of now.

The best introduction to the series is ‘The Entire History of You’, the final episode of the first season. A surprisingly clean vision of the future where everyone has adopted implants which record everything they see and hear, the obvious narrative line here is overbearing observation—scrutiny and surveillance, but that’s handwaved away in the first five minutes as we get to the core of the matter—how this fucks with people and their relationships. It turns out that being able to instantly recall and replay any conversation or interaction you’ve ever had leads to unhealthy results when combined with some less-than-perfect personalities.

One caveat—the very first episode, ‘The National Anthem’, is a little left field, even for Black Mirror. There’s no real watching order, so you can start somewhere else. It’s still a deeply smart and horrifying episode, but be willing to stick with it. 

Black Mirror’s first Christmas ‘special’, 'White Christmas’, aired in the UK yesterday, and I’m still trying to recoup my emotional losses. If you, like me, favour the cathartic embrace of the emotional scouring-pad, gaze into the Black Mirror some day soon. You won’t regret it. Well, maybe you will, but you’ll be a better person for it. Well— Just watch it.

PotW—Consider the Fork

I may have found my favourite book this year.  

At Halloween, we found ourselves contemplating forks—just how old are they? Who came up with the idea of eating with these things, and why? We obviously got answers from Wikipedia instantly, but it left me wondering about the culinary tools that we take for granted (except when we are presented with seven wicked-looking objects at the side of our plate. Then we care to the point of panic.). I wanted to learn more. 

Whatever I was expecting, ‘Consider the Fork’ is packed with surprising, and grin-inducing insights. Crucially, the style never lets the subject become dry—it’s a fun journey. I don’t want to ‘spoil’ these revelations for those who might read it, but here are some of my favourites: 

Cooking is one of the things that turned us from jumped-up primates into…well, jumped-up primates with slightly bigger brains. Digesting raw food is hard, and the extra calories freed up by cooking gave us more energy to develop our big ‘ol brains. Introducing meat to fire isn’t too much of a leap. But who thought of boiling food? Fire was a hard-won thing, water its enemy—why bring the two together, especially without the tools to combine heat and water? Someone took a hollowed-out gourd, stone bath, or something and soaked food while heating it. It must have seemed insane, but it rendered inedible forage a feast. More food, more calories, more higher brain function. 

Another example: I love sporks, so I was delighted to read this take: ‘the spork is entirely devoid of culture. It bends itself to the owner, rather than the other way round.’  

Aside from the delightful Harry Potterish aspect to this ('the spork chooses the office worker, Harry’), it’s a generally wonderful notion.  

Our manner of conveying food into our mouths is heavily culturally loaded. Chopsticks, knife and fork, fingers—there’s little functional difference, when you get down to it, but each carries its own cultural history. The spork is a thing born of function, not culture (though they have historical antecedents in terrapin forks and ice-cream spoons (‘runcible spoons’!).  

Fundamentally, it's a book about technology, which is probably why I find it so interesting. The reaction when you tell people you’re reading a book on the history of cooking utensils is worth the price of admission alone. 

PotW—The Wicked + The Divine

It’s rare that read comics when they still being released. I prefer to wait for the trade paperbacks, or read self-contained stories, but The Wicked + The Divine had too many high recommendations to resist.

Every ninety years, twelve gods incarnate as humans. They are loved. They are hated. In two years, they are dead.

The characters, core conceit, and visual style all shine and delivered visceral thrill and gut-punches in a way only comics can. In an odd way, it reminded me of Sandman, but that might only be because there was something goodly Gaimaneque about it. Kieron Gillen and Jamie McElvie have created something to watch. Or read. Keep an eye on.

TW+TD’s first TPB, The Faust Act is out now. Amazon will be releasing it next week, or, support your friendly local comic shop.

PotW—Some Kind of Fairy Tale

I heard about Graham Joyce in the worst way there is to discover an amazing author—through the sad news of their death. Having heard some personal stories from people who had known or met Graham, I made a note to make a effort to read something of his in the near future. He sounded like a wonderful person. One of the great thing about art is that, even if you hear things which make you wish you had known them only after it’s too late, they have been decent enough to leave a part of themselves behind. 

Last week, I finished Some Kind of Fairy Tale on Audible. A woman returns home after a long, unexplained absence, and her family has to come to terms with this strange reappearance. As much as ‘modern fairytale’ is an overused tag, this truly is that. It enchants, sings; it touches and affects. It sparkles with a glinting light that will not let you be. Read it.