The Magician King


magician-king-tree2-2It took me more than a year to get to the sequel of Lev Grossman’s The Magicians, in spite of the fact that I found the first book very thought provoking. Maybe it was precisely because it was so intellectually demanding that I took my time to pick up the next. Whatever the reason, I’m glad I waited till now to do it, because I don’t think I would have connected to The Magician King as deeply as I did if I had read it a year ago.

The Magician King picks up soon after The Magicians leaves off. Quentin, Eliot, Janet and Julia and the kings and queens of the magical land of Fillory, Quentin’s childhood fantasy. The royal life is starting to get a bit boring, though, so Quentin decides it is high time for an adventure. Accompanied by a band of misfits (including the mysteriously changed Julia), Quentin sets out for Outer Island, the easternmost post of his empire, where he finds a mysterious key that sends him back, dramatically enough, to the cold streets of Chesterton, Massachusetts, and back to the real world. Quentin and Julia quickly realise that the adventure they find is not always as grand as the one they might imagine, and even when things do turn out as dramatic as Quentin might wish, the price he has to pay is not one he might have chosen at all.

The Magician King is a great follow up to its predecessor. If The Magicians was about a bunch of directionless college kids with access to seemingly unlimited power, its sequel captures the aimlessness and quarter life crisis that assails many over educated, under employed and entitled twenty somethings. As great as Quentin is (and I totally sympathise with his needing-to-be-a-hero angst), the character who really spoke to me in this book was Julia.

Like Quentin, Julia’s life changed the day she sat that examination in Brakebills. Unlike Quentin, Julia didn’t get into university, and it destroyed her. The Magician King narrates, in flashback mode, her struggle to learn magic on her own, one that involves long bouts of depression, loneliness, and ultimately, a terrible sacrifice. Julia is the smart kid who was dealt a raw hand by fate, or destiny, or whatever magical being holds the playing cards in a human life. The girl who’s always followed the rules and worked hard and is used to overachieving, and then suddenly things spiral out of control and life lands her hard on her back. Funnily enough, she reacts to this loss in a manner that might sound familiar to a lot of crisis-ridden twenty somethings:

She was dipping a toe in the pool of bad behaviour and finding the temperature was just right. It was fun being a problem. Julia had been very very good for a very long time, and the funny thing about that was, if you’re too good too much of the time, people start to forget about you. You’re not a problem, so people can strike you off their list of things to worry about. Nobody makes a fuss over you. They make a fuss over the bad girls. In her quiet way..Julia was causing a bit of a fuss, for once in her life, and it felt good.

Julia watches Quentin from afar, sees him get brighter, happier, ahead in a field she had never once considered for herself, but when denied access to it, hungers for all the more. Grossman describes the differences between their attitudes to magic thus:

When he walked into that room he’d buckled right down and killed that exam, because magic school? That was just the kind of thing he’d been waiting to happen to him his whole life. He practically expected that shit…

Whereas Julia had been blindsided. She had never expected anything special to just happen to her. Her play for life was to get out there and make special things happen, which was much more sensible…from a probability point of view..

While Quentin is the classic fantasy fan boy who yearns for the kind of adventures he’s read about all his life, and then ends up in one, Julia stumbles into one by accident, and then realizes it’s something she wants. Magic ends up messing with both of them, of course, but while Quentin almost seems to deserve it (almost…), Julia has a much rougher experience. As a result, while Quentin is blithely ironic and stylishly detached from his new magical universe (or pretends to be), Julia is openly dedicated to her art, and will go any distance to get something down right.

James Potter versus Hermione Granger, if you will.

What I loved about The Magician King was the characters’ idealistic and rather naive desire to ‘do something’, to make big things happen now that they were adults living the dream. I think it’s exactly what assails a lot of liberal arts grads (I’m speaking from personal experience here) when they leave their schools—what happens now? What do you do with all the lessons on history and literature and human endeavour in the real world, a world that doesn’t seem to care what you think about Prufrock’s meanderings? Surely there is more to life than work and sleep and making money? Quentin and his fellows find that meaning sometimes, in snatches, but they still experience an almost overwhelming sense of muted surprise. Being the king of Fillory is wonderful, Quentin reflects, but is that all there is for him after four years of breaking his back, learning spells? After such knowledge, what purpose?

Harry has graduated from Hogwarts, but there are no more bad wizards to chase down. Frodo destroyed the Ring and didn’t manage to catch that ship to the West. Rand mastered the secrets of channeling only to be told that the Dark One was a myth and his services wouldn’t be needed anymore.

Magic isn’t always the answer, evidently. And even if it is, you’re not sure you should have ever asked the question in the first place—just ask Julia.

The Magician King is, finally, a great read and Grossman is a genius. Call yourself a Potter fan or a Narnia nut? This book is definitely for you.

How to be a Millenial, Ryan Howard style

‘I was the youngest VP in company history.’

‘More recently, he worked in a bowling alley.’

I watch a lot of TV. To be precise, I watch a lot of American TV, as do many people of my socio economic background and ‘Westernised’ upbringing in this part of the world. American TV is our go-to, our comfort food, something we keep up to date with as religiously as we update our Facebook statuses and do Buzzfeed quizzes. In some cases, more religiously. American TV isn’t even considered ‘foreign’ for us any more, in the same way American pop music and cinema has become ours more than its more ‘desi’ counterparts, at least in my case.

So it’s not surprising that I find, as I tend to find in literature, characters and situations from these TV shows that correspond almost uncomfortably well with my life. Recently, I’ve been ploughing through the US version of ‘The Office’. It took me at least half of the first season, but now I’m hooked and find myself turning almost unconsciously to Michael Scott and his band of not-so-merry men and women when I have a half hour to kill.

There’s one character I love watching more than the rest, not because I find him particularly entertaining (if there is one singularly always-entertaining character it’s definitely Kelly Kapoor) but because he is so freakishly close to home. In fact, if me or many people I know were to be slotted into a type and then ridiculed using a character, that character would be, sadly enough, Ryan Howard. ryan 2

Ryan Howard seems to me the classic ‘millenial’, the wunderkid who soared high on expectations, his own and that of others, and then came crashing spectacularly to earth when it turned out he had no idea how to function in the real world. He went to a fancy business school and then got hired on a ‘temp’ basis at the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin, a job he quite obviously thinks beneath him. ‘I could have gone anywhere,’ he says once, with a rather awestruck look. He could have been placed as a temp ‘anywhere’ in Scranton, and he ended up here, in this office.

Let’s consider Ryan’s professional track record: from ‘temp’, to no longer a temp (but never a true salesmen, having never made a sale), to obnoxious corporate hotshot who pushes for digitalisation in the name of progress (everyone gets a Blackberry when Ryan gets on the job), to fallen star. In Season 5 we find out he’s working in a bowling alley and has bleached his hair blonde. Apparently the sun in Fort Lauderdale is very strong.

What I find most disturbingly close to home about Ryan is his sense of total entitlement. There’s no doubt he’s smart, and at the beginning at least, he has dreams of starting his own business. His number one fan, Michael, disses those dreams straight off by telling him ‘That’s a terrible idea’. Ryan goes from quiet and ambitious to messed up power-hungry and back to temp in the course of five seasons. Ryan takes no one seriously unless they have a job at the corporate headquarters in New York or are validated by a fancy business degree. Ryan ignores the efforts of his boss to befriend him and then takes an obvious pleasure in pushing that boss, and everyone else, down when he gets to a superior position. Ryan then tumbles down and is exposed for the overreacher he is, the fire guy second time temp who can’t even make one measly sale and now lives, once again, with his mother.

I'm doing you a favour, yo.

I’m doing you a favour, yo.

I know The Office is a comedy and we’re supposed to laugh at all this. The thing about comedy is, if the same stories were captured in drama or a slightly more ambiguous genre, like the one Girls occupies, we’d feel more than a little sad, or disturbed. Ryan’s inability to stick with anything is similar to the dilemmas and self-created problems that trouble the characters of Girls. The latter is considered a pretty searing portrait of today’s twenty somethings, adrift in the world and armed only with seemingly unnecessary and unusable degrees and loads of self worth. Does Ryan have lots of self worth? Oh yeah. enough that he can tell Kelly ‘I need to break up with you so I can go on this trip to Thailand. It’s just something I have to do.’ In his own eyes, his personal net worth is huge, and this filters through in all he says and does.

Do I think Ryan is a bad person? No way. I think he’s super realistic. I can sympathise with his desire to have it all now, to not have to wait around for ‘good things’ to happen, and work his way to the top. I can also totally get on board with his need to be on the phone all the time. I think he’s a college kid who didn’t entirely grow up, or not yet at least. I think he’s an entitled twenty something, and a character that I find eerily and perhaps disturbingly sympathetic. After all, it’s taken more than a few of us a long time to forget that we’re not in college anymore.

More’s the pity.