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Arts
Thursday, November 15, 2018 — 5

TV NOTEBOOK

“‘Hannah Versus the Tree’ is

unlike anything I have ever read
— James Wood,” reads the sole
endorsement quote on the front
cover of Leland de la Durantaye’s
debut novel.

“Hannah Versus the Tree”

is indeed unique. The main
character is Hannah Syrls, a young
woman who opposes the brutality
that has made her family rich. The
unnamed male narrator speaks in
the second person, addressing an
also unnamed matriarch.

The world of the novel is

immediately presented as different
than our own, though it’s never
clear if that difference is a result of
the narrator’s skewed perspective
or if “Hannah Versus the Tree” is
meant to be science fiction. The
language
seems
intentionally

vague, but this authorial choice is
confusing rather than poetic.

“Before the Divide, our world

heated up. It was like a return to
the beginning, to the first circle
of warmth,” the narrator said
as he describes the first time he
met Hannah, his friend and later
lover. What is “the first circle of
warmth?” This is a question the
novel poses but does not answer
in any comprehensible way. Even
in the book’s first chapter, the
layers of distance between the
narrator and the events he is
describing (which take place in
some unknown years prior to the
telling and which he is describing
to some unknown person) create a
chasm between the reader and the
created world of the text.

The narrator and Hannah are

schooled in myths and theology
by “the Old One” and “the Wise
One,” and the beginning of the
novel is flooded with references
to literature and culture that

attempt to situate Hannah’s story
in the history of epic poetry.
Instead, the citations read as
awkward
and
forced.
These

scenes remind me of Donna Tartt’s
“The Secret History,” in which a
group of college students commit
themselves to the study of ancient
Greece. However, de la Durantaye
never manages to create the same
sense of mythic intensity that
Tartt develops. This issue of failed
profundity plagues the rest of the
“Hannah Versus the Tree” as well.

“‘Hannah Versus the Tree’

presents a new literary genre, the
mythopoetic thriller,” announces
the inside flap of the book
jacket. What an odd, bold claim,
considering that mythopoeia is
nothing new at all and that many
works in the genre are certainly
thrillers. Here lies the essential
problem with “Hannah Versus
the Tree”: de la Durantaye has
disassembled and obscured plot,
characterization
and
language

to create a work he believes is
original.

If the book had any semblance

of subversion or intrigue, this
could be a successful trade-off.
Unfortunately, the trite and tired
character archetypes — manic
pixie dream girl, wise grandparent,
feisty protagonist — do not infuse
the dull, impenetrable plot with
any sense of humanity. The
language is labyrinthine, and the
reliance on cliché detracts from
any moments of clarity.

In a final, desperate plea to attach

universal importance to the novel,
de la Durantaye inadvertently
hammers the last nail into the
book’s coffin. At the midpoint of
the text, Hannah is raped by her
uncle after she opposes his plan
for the environmental devastation
of the Amazon. The scene is
described in uncomfortable detail
that masquerades as insight. “As he
came closer his eyes changed and
he grew enchanted by the pain,
causing more so as to see more
power to cause it,” the narrator
said. This sentence — like many in
“Hannah Versus the Tree” — is so
tortured as to be incoherent, and
the effect is a bizarre, ill-defined
fetishizing of pain and power.

After the rape, Hannah is

immediately overcome with the
desire for revenge: “As he walked
out, replacing the key, he said,
‘If you even whisper of this I’ll

do worse.’ And she whispered
back that he was wrong.” By
eliminating any nuance from this
scene, de la Durantaye indulges
in the unimaginative trope of a
woman whose motivations can all
be traced back to a man and the
act of violence he has committed
against her.

Why do men love writing

about sexual assault? Hannah’s

rape is the catalyst for every one
of her subsequent actions, the
single defining event of her life
that drives her ravenous desire
for revenge against her family.
I could have overlooked all the
other problems with this book if
it were not for de la Durantaye’s
callous use of assault as a means of
articulating his misguided notions
about victimhood and violence.
Rape is not a plot device, and its
use as such in “Hannah Versus
the Tree” is the most egregious
example of de la Durantaye’s
lacking imagination.

The whole book feels like a weak

gesture at some undefined avant-
garde ideal. It seeks to interrogate
power, beauty, knowledge and
capitalism, but it is missing the
gravitas and compassion that could
have elevated the novel beyond
its structural weaknesses. By
exchanging complexity of emotion
for the complexity of construction,
the
novel
deteriorates
into

formulaic banalities about the very
subjects de la Durantaye set out to
complicate. Simply put, “Hannah
Versus the Tree” takes itself far
too seriously.

‘Hannah Versus the Tree’
a poor attempt at depth

MIRIAM FRANCISCO

Daily Arts Writer

To attain a firm grasp on

what in the actual fuck the
digital programming platform
Brat is, we need to discuss
the
nuance
between
the

young people that comprise
Generation Z. Generation Z
encompasses
anyone
born

between 1997 and 2009, but as
anyone born between 1997 and
2009 will tell you, this is not
the full truth. As a result of the
dawn of the smartphone and
easier internet accessibility,
our generation is in many ways
fragmented by way of extreme
differences
in
childhoods.

Generation Z is comprised of
two distinct sectors: those
who
watched
their
chaste

crushes on Nick Jonas evolve
into sexually charged feelings
towards
Harry
Styles
and

those
who
(unironically)

crush on Noah Centineo and
Jacob Sartorius. Some of us
remember big drama unfolding
on G-chat, while others can
only recall Snapchat. Most
importantly, while some of us
were raised on a television diet
consisting of Cartoon Network,
Nickelodeon
and
Disney

Channel
with
occasional

sprinkles of YouTube for clips
or music, the younger sector’s
entertainment
is
almost

completely based on YouTube.
Nowhere else is this difference
between us as apparent than
on the Brat network.

For those not cool enough

to be in the know about
the
hottest
children’s

programming, Brat is a new
digital network created by
app developer Rob Fishman,
with content that is targeted
at the eight- to 13-year-old
demographic.
Armed
with

$40 million from investors,
Fishman’s goal with Brat was
to steer YouTube away from
the monotony of vlog content
and
short-form
Vine
style

comedy and transform it into
a
legitimate
platform
that

not only offers the former,
but also can serve as a real
competitor to television. In
his pursuit of the ubiquity of
networks like Disney Channel
and
Nickelodeon,
Fishman

has decided to tamper with
the formula in some ways to
great success. Banking on the
community of the Internet
that
largely
defines
the

younger sector of Generation
Z,
Fishman
has
shrewdly

taken a shortcut; rather than
awaiting a team of executives
to
discover
and
mold
an

unknown, Brat is hiring viral
teen sensations.

By bringing aboard and

crafting
vehicles
around

tweens
who
have
already

amassed
a
huge
following

on apps like Tik Tok (R.I.P.
Musical.ly), the only thing
needed to promote the shows
are the names of the mini-
celebrities. Shows on Brat
are billed as “Annie” and
“Hayden” in “Chicken Girls”
or “Kehlani” and “Taylor”
in “Dirt.” To put their fame
in perspective, all of them
are apparently big enough to
their respective fanbases to
be recognized as mononyms.
Whereas in the past, the
project
(a
“High
School

Musical,” for example) would

do the job of promoting then-
unknown actors, on Brat the
reverse is true. If a show needs
to land, they will shove in
someone that they know their
preteen masses will love. It
almost sounds too easy, yet the
system is clearly working — a
little over a year after its initial
launch, Brat is surpassing its
creator’s expectations, with
at least 10 individual shows
being cranked out so fast that
some are already in their third
season, and are averaging at
least three million views per
episode.

Fishman and company also

take advantage of the lack
of
sophistication
of
Brat’s

primary audience. For someone

who is reportedly backed by
investors with $40 million
to craft an online network
from scratch, the quality of
the product should not look
as pathetic as it does. The
sets look laughably fake. Not
one person on Brat’s payroll
can act. The central stars, the
tertiary characters and even
the adults act as though they
have
never
processed
the

English language before. Even
more hilariously, there is little
consideration given to casting
characters who look their age
that it took me an entire season
of “Chicken Girls” to decipher
which grade the characters
were in. However, the joke is
not on Fishman for producing
lackluster content. At the end
of the day, he is still profiting
immensely. Brat is not trying
to boast the newest crop of
teenage
acting
phenomena,

and they’re not apologizing
for not doing so. Brat is all
gimmicks, no talent.

The gimmicks have only

become more evident in Brat’s
quest to outdo Disney — to do
what Disney has never been
able to do. Even in its inaugural
year,
Brat
has
undergone

rapid image reconstruction to
shed its innocent children’s
television persona and tackle
melodrama. Nowhere is this
shift as clear as on its flagship
show,
“Chicken
Girls.”
In

season one of the show (aired

in Sept. 2017), the central
drama was wholesome, clean
fun — drama between two
middle school dance teams,
characters being too afraid
to kiss boys and hanging out
in the neighborhood arcade.
Season
three
(currently

airing) has taken a drastically
different
approach.
Nine

episodes into season three
and I have already witnessed
plotlines related to underage
tattoos,
school
vandalism,

open mouth kisses with boys
at parties, peer pressure from
older girls, frank discussions
of sexuality, infidelity and
using boys as pawns to gain
popularity. Someone get me
my church fan.

In addition to these drastic

changes within one series,
Brat has also seen its cleaner
content
like
“BroBot”
and

“Overnights” canceled in favor
of “Dirt,” a new series that is
so dangerous that, without
a doubt, millions of pre-teen
girls across America will be
sneaking to watch it after
their parents have gone to
sleep. Kids are poppin’ pills
(granted, it’s Ibuprofen) on
“Dirt.”
If
anything,
Brat’s

rapid rebranding indicates a
mastery of PR, but on a more
haunting level, a knowledge
of how to straddle the line
between innocence and adult
content all for the sake of
views and profit.

So what does the boom

in YouTube celebrity mean
for the fate of old standards
like
Disney
Channel
and

Nickelodeon? While the two
still retain the upper hand
in terms of recognizability,
this recognizability can act
as a double-edged sword —
because
the
powerhouses

have been operating under
the
same
system,
wherein

being risqué has always been
a hard “no,” if they were to
abruptly shift their image it
would come across as solely
opportunistic
and
soulless.

With Dan Schneider’s ousting
at Nickelodeon (among murky
accusations)
and
Disney’s

failure to produce stars of the
magnitude of the golden era
of Miley, Selena and Demi,
it seems that Brat is the only
network that is daring to do
something — granted, icky
— different from the typical
formula of television targeted
pre-teens.

Brat seems to be one step

ahead of Disney and Nick in all
respects. Brat also has actor/
singers akin to the storied
traditions of Disney and Nick,
but
they
are
strategically

advertising their own station
on Spotify during their shows.
Disney and Nick may have
episodes posted on YouTube,
but while they cost money to
view, every episode of every
series on Brat is free. Brat also
has an acute understanding of
playing up the popular “ships”
of characters on their series,
in order for the subsequent
frenzy to lead to more views
and more interaction with
their content. Brat and its
shows may appear to be a joke
to you and me — a 20-year-old
woman who chooses to spend
free time ridiculing children’s
television — but it would be
foolish to underestimate the
seismic shift in television we
are bearing witness to.

New Brat pack forms as
Disney’s tween reign ends

ALLY OWENS
Daily Arts Writer

BRAT

BOOK REVIEW

“Hannah Versus

the Tree”

Leland de la
Durantaye

McSweeney’s

Nov. 20, 2018

SINGLE REVIEW: ‘NOWHERE2GO’

FLICKR

Almost exactly a month after

Earl
Sweatshirt
released
his

second studio album I Don’t Like
Shit, I Don’t Go Outside, “solace,”
a 10-minute extended single,
emerged
from
Sweatshirt’s

unofficial
YouTube
channel.

Captioned with a vague, “Music
for when I hit the bottom and
found
something,”
it’s
about

as introspective as one can
imagine. In between dissonant
instrumental
interludes
and

softly gliding synths, Sweatshirt
raps
about
past
addictions,

loneliness and his grandma. It’s
subject material that has been
used in most of his past projects,
from Doris to I Don’t Like Shit,
yet, differing from both of these,
“solace”
presents
something

softer, a little more hopeful. “And
I buy nothin’ by myself, my second
thoughts, my sec,” he mumbles
in the fourth section, stumbling
into silence, before picking back
up with, “My hands, I start to
cry when I see them / Cause they
remind me of seein’ her / These
the times when I need her the

most cause I feel defeated.” On
their own, the verses drag with
a melancholic weight, yet the
piano in background is open and

gentle; in complete emptiness,
there is always solace to be found,
he seems to be saying. When
rock bottom has been hit, there is
nowhere to go but up.

This
past
week,
Earl

Sweatshirt, after three years of
nearly complete silence, dropped
“Nowhere2Go.” When I listened
to it for the first time — and nearly
every other time after that — I was
inexplicably reminded of “solace.”
Lyrically,
“Nowhere2Go”
isn’t

as darkly intimate: “I found a
new way to cope / It ain’t no
slave to my soul / But I keep the
memories close by,” he raps in
a steady march. Yet, both songs
share a similar vulnerability,

the looping drum melody of
“Nowhere2Go” inducing the same
effect as “solace”’s wandering lo-fi
ambiance — a subtle optimism
that was rarely seen amid the
bleakness of I Don’t Like Shit or
Doris’s chaotic whorl.

“Nowhere2Go” isn’t a single

in the traditional sense. Rather, it
seems to serve as an introduction
of what’s to come, a snippet of a
new sound that Sweatshirt has
been toying with since “solace.”
After all, you can barely hear
Sweatshirt
deliver
his
bars

underneath
“Nowhere2Go”’s

heavy production, and this seems
to
be
intentional.
Languidly,

he
throws
out
monorhymes

alongside more complex rhythms,
and both are allowed to surface
organically, free-flowing from the
clutter. The result is something
drowsily thoughtful: ideas that
Earl Sweatshirt’s been mulling
over in his head for a while but has
only just now found out how to put
into words.

– Shima Sadaghiyani,

Daily Music Editor

Fishman has

shrewdly taken

a shortcut;

rather than

awaiting a team

of executives

to discover

and mold an

unknown, Brat

is hiring viral

teen sensations

“Nowhere2Go”

Earl Sweatshirt

Tan Cressida

The novel

deteriorates

into formulaic

banalities about

the very subjects

de la Durantaye

set out to

complicate