Kelly's Reviews > Soulless

So, I’ve got something else to blame on Glee. In addition to all the terrible eighties music that I’ve been listening to, and image of that terrible Mozart spaceman outfit gone wrong that they put Kurt in for the Gaga episode, I feel certain that the same people who decide on the structure and performance of that show are the same people who decided that it was okay to release Soulless in the form that I read it.

At it’s heart, Glee is simply a weak, changeable framework for presenting touchstones of cultural nostalgia and niche enthusiasms, with interspersed attempts at taking advantage of whatever cultural phenomena have been raking in money over the past few years. The plot, characters and setting all radically and inconsistently change as necessary to allow the producers to put on a show about songs and stories that people feel are an integral enough part of their past or current identity to get them to watch the show each week. The problem with all this is that if you present a musical revue as an ongoing story, then people (at least people like me), will attach certain expectations to the story they’re reading. This is especially true of any genre storytelling- that is, storytelling that will trigger something in the audience’s brain that tells them how to process the joke that’s just been told, how to view the characters, and therefore how to judge the story’s conclusion or lack thereof. Glee is written by three different people who do not seem to communicate well to each other, and following any sort of story gets difficult: one minute we’re watching a mean-but-you-gotta-laugh-cause-he’s-right commentary on culture and the media, the next minute it’s a Very Special Episode that asks us all to sing kumbaya and feel bad for those less fortunate than ourselves. It’s gotten especially jarring over the back half of the first season (I maintain that there were several episodes in the first half that were genuinely good!). These genres do not sit well next to each other, each exposing the weaknesses and downright awful or mean aspects of the other- ie, Are these characters supposed to be simply cardboard cutouts that offer conscious criticism and zippy one liners? Or are they supposed to be real people for me to engage with and treat as I would a real person in that situation? You’ve gotta pick one and tell me what’s up, ‘cause otherwise it’s an uncomfortable and unrewarding viewing experience, and that feeling is gonna outweigh even my undying love for Journey.

I had a very similar experience with Soulless. There’s a lot of genres elbowing for room in here-Regency comedy of manners, Victorian gothic, steampunk, urban fantasy, PG Wodehouse comedy, a bit of SATC, and a prissy bodice ripper (if that seems contradictory, well, just look at the rest of the list!). The author herself talks about this in the little mini interview in the back of my edition of the book, how “suddenly, I was juggling more subgenres than Ivy has ugly hats!” (Oh, don’t worry, we’ll get there in a minute.) Now, I like a lot of these genres separately- and I am aware that there are lots of other people out there who read some sort of combination of these genres, and I saw the hand of the Glee producers at work. Separately, I like all these things. Together?: It’s a Queen medley on top of a Spice Girls cameo with some Green Day background noise, a Broadway power ballad’s notes soaring over it all and whatever the hell that Sugar Ray song was that I now can’t get out of my head- goddamn this idea for a review!- providing the remix beats. Why, Carriger, why must you try to ruin innocent genres who committed no other crime but being so awesome??

Our heroine, Alexia Tarabotti, is a pretty straight up Cinderella/Jane Eyre type, who just happens to have special magical powers (she’s soulless- but there are no downsides I can see to this except that there may be no heaven for you if it exists, but she seems cool with this). She is an Indomitable Fantasy Heroine Who Can Take Care of Herself, and a Wounded Duckling who thinks nobody likes her, even though she is prettier, smarter, wittier and has better boobs than anyone in the room. Now, that trope is pretty tiresome- even Tina Fey doing it ironically on 30 Rock as a commentary on Hollywood standards has started to grate on me. But fine, it’s a genre stereotype and whatever. The problem comes when Carriger applies different standards to the things that come out of her mouth- for example, her treatment of Ivy Hisselpenny, which pissed me off to no end. Now mind you, this is a woman Alexia calls her “dearest friend,” who she visits regularly and spends a good deal of her time with. It slowly emerges that Alexia finds her shallow, stupid and desperate for a man, as well as having terrible taste with all those “ugly hats”.

Now aside from all the “how would she know if she’s soulless?” comments people have already made, I thought that, more importantly, Alexia was not a nice person. I’m sorry I can’t state it in a more nuanced way than that, but it really made me angry. Ivy seemed to be yet another foil to make sure we knew just how Special a Special Snowflake Alexia was, and for Alexia to use for emotional comfort... while being completely comfortable with viciously making fun of her a few pages later. The genre mixing problem shows here because I think Alexia’s opinion of Ivy, the possessor of ugly hats, is exactly how PG Wodehouse might characterize a person in one of his short stories, as so-“And as for Miss Hisselpenny- she wore an ugly hat- we need say no more!” Fine, but as the book goes on, Alexia’s story gets more and more melodramatic and Tearjerking, with involved Gothic plots and character development past the opening farce, and I’m supposed to feel bad for how badly she’s been treated, ie, see her as a real person. And you know what? I don’t like any person if the nicest thing you appear to be able to say about your best friend is that she’s a shallow bimbo who wears bad hats. I’m left to assume the only reason she hangs out with her is because she’s one of the only characters with less social standing than Alexia, so she can feel secure that she’s better than her. Actually, Alexia doesn’t have a good opinion about any other woman she encounters in the book. If all other women are torn down as unworthy in a book that’s, in the end, about women ending up with men, I'm pretty sure I know what the reason is. And it makes it pretty clear to me who really puts the most importance on getting a man. Speaking of which, another example: we hear over and over that Alexia aspires to Lofty Intellectual Ideals and scorns gossipy, shallow women. But then she indulges in gossip later with Lord Akeldama’s (her Sassy Gay Friend) sassy gay chorus (which includes at least one incredibly offensive gay stereotype-the one named Biffy who magically knows how to do her hair in the most current French fashion!), and we’re supposed to see the gossip as naughty, titillating fun that all sophisticates take part in. So now she’s in Sex and the City and Pamela at once? Again, PICK ONE. Because honestly, presented that way, it seems like just another excuse for the author to give her more male attention. In short, she takes funny and good things about various genres and makes them mean and self-serving.

I could go on with the many other similar travesties this book commits, never mind the misunderstanding of Jane Austen, the completely unthinking racism and classism committed while imitating authors from earlier eras, not to even MENTION the insult to the Greek philosophers (which Elizabeth has covered nicely) or science of all kinds. But I think I have made my displeasure clear enough to anyone dedicated enough to reach the end of this review.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go perform an exorcism on Sugar Ray.