The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
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