When I was a teenager in Cambridge, I wanted to buy a British book. What I ended up with was 253, written by an American called Geoff Ryman.
253 contains 253 vignettes about 252 passengers on the London tube train, most of whom are connected in some way (the 253rd person is the train’s driver). The book describes the moments before a train crash. (more…)
I was 10 years old when I first visited Menzoberranzan, the fabled city of the dark elves. I sat on my couch and read R.A. Salvatore’s words for 12 hours straight, basking in the blazing summer sun while my mind wandered the subterranean corridors of a fictional city. Before then, my world was filled with words like “required reading” and “syllabus.” Boring words. Those words did not make me want to go and explore. Menzoberranzan, though? Menzoberranzan was different. (more…)
About a week after moving into my town in Animal Crossing: City Folk, Nintendo sent me a headstone. (more…)
No big city feels complete without instantly recognizable cliches. Gay people and steep streets. Hot dogs and wind. Grunge and coffee.
They’re the cheeky, knee-jerk reactions that fill out conversations with family back home–”you must eat a lot of cheesesteaks, huh?” For crying out loud, Uncle Dan. Of course, the real heartbeat of a city comes from its internal cliches. Dallas has a $20,000 millionaire problem. San Francisco hates the band Train. These are the low-hanging topics that tourists don’t pose next to for photos by the bay. (more…)
It is true. To really know a city you must experience it on foot. You must walk its streets, smell its smells and rub shoulders with its denizens. Los Angeles, the biggest city that everybody agrees to hate, earned its bad rap because the sprawling metropolis cannot be grasped by a mere pedestrian. To know and love L.A. you have to drive. Unlike most major cities the place isn’t a man-made honeycomb, a stack of human dwellings in a teeming, orderly grid. Rather, it is a collection of interconnected neighborhoods, communities and enclaves woven together with strip malls and pockets of industry. To navigate this odd cluster of villages you need wheels. (more…)
The Air Tokyo jet banked softly, beginning its descent. I was headed to the tiny fishing village of Nishikawa, on the Boso Peninsula on the border of Tokyo Bay. It is literally the last point of the mainland of Japan. From there it was a few small islands and then a very long swim across the Pacific to Hawaii.
My guide and translator, a young college graduate named Taki, led the way as we drove from the airport through the city and towards the village.
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For a long time, Stephen King has been, in one way or another, a very important part of my life.
I was 13 years old when I discovered the writer for the first time. My cousins were pretty psyched about a mini-series debuting on ABC called The Stand. From the opening moments, where Charlie Campion ran to his wife Sally, hoping to escape before the virus spread, I was entranced. Blue Öyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” played out over the opening credits and I stared in horror as Captain Tripps spread across the nation. (more…)
