The Wand That Rocks the Cradle is Available

The Wand That Rocks the Cradle is available on Amazon. The eight-story anthology features tales of the fantastical — and families, two things that can bring you strength, or make you nuts, or both.

Our editor picked a variety of tales, set in different times and worlds (although many of them take place in worlds that look, at first glance, like ours). Mine tries for humor and I hope it succeeds.

As with any anthology, I have some favorites. The story that follows mine, “Legacy,” is based on actual historical events. The power of the main character’s belief in the face of cruelty and injustice won me over, as did the writing. “The Lake Cabin” takes a tried-and-true horror trope (the clue is in the title) and goes in a very different direction. I liked it very much. And while I’m not a fan of grimdark, Frank Saverio’s “To Find a Peach” won me over with the world-weary POV character and the deep bond between him and his young squire. Cail is a character trying to do the right thing in the face of an unstoppable catastrophe; there is something deeply appealing about his dogged commitment.

It’s only available on Amazon. With Kindle Unlimited it’s free; otherwise, $3.99, or $11.99 for the paperback.

If you read it and like, please do take a few moments to leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I’ve been told that helps sales. Thank you.




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A Bestseller List

It’s a real “Top 10 Books Sold” List, just not a national one

I’m on one. It’s from the Petaluma (population, 60,000) Argus-Courier, for Thursday, September 26. Here’s a link to the actual article.

I think this may say more about the book-buying habits of people in the month of September than it does about the popularity of my book, but it still gave me a thrill. And, I mean, I’m on a list with Margaret Atwood and Madeline Miller! Whoo-hoo!

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Raven Black by Ann Cleeves

I recently posted a review of a book by Quentin Bates in which I lamented the fact that the writer did not choose to immerse us in his setting (Iceland). At the other end of the immersion continuum is Ann Cleeves, who has two ongoing mystery series, the Shetland mysteries and the Vera Stanhope series.

Both rely on distant parts of Great Britain. The Shetland mysteries, as you might have concluded, are set on the remote Shetland Islands, a northern point of Scotland. I recently read a later entry in the Shetland series and then sought out the first one, Raven Black. Cleeve’s writing serves as an instruction in how to create atmosphere.

In this passage from Raven Black, one of the viewpoint characters discovers the body of a murdered woman. I chose this passage less for how it reveals landscape than for what it tells us about this viewpoint character.


“She stopped there to look down at the water again, hoping to recreate the image she’d seen on the way to school. It was the colors which had caught her attention. Often the colors of the island were subtle, olive green, mud brown, sea grey and all softened by the mist. In the full sunlight of early morning, this picture was stark and vibrant. The harsh white of the snow. Three shapes, silhouetted. Ravens. In her painting they would be angular shapes, cubist almost. Birds roughly carved from hard black wood. And then that splash of color. Red, reflecting the scarlet ball of the sun.

“She left the sledge at the edge of the track and crossed the field to see the scene more closely.”



This character, Fran, is a painter. As the scene progresses, she goes closer, still seeing everything in terms of shapes, relationships and colors, and it’s a few minutes before she processes what that “splash of color” is, and what the ravens are doing.

In this scene, Cleeves tells us about the usual colors of the islands, and the mist. We get a little sense of the life; Fran has walked her daughter to school on a narrow track on a sledge, because she lives in a village where everything is walking distance and there are no school buses. As the story continues, Cleeves uses bits of Shetlander language and culture to deepen the sense of a remote community, one that has evolved from a mix of other cultures; Norman, Scottish, Norwegian. She does it mostly through showing, letting people speak bits of Shetland colloquialisms while using context to let us intuit the meaning, by describing the food, the ferry system, and, importantly, the weather. I believed I was in the Shetland islands while I read this book.

This is one way to do setting and Cleeves is a master.

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Television Tuesday: Country Music

Ken Burns turned his detail-oriented documentarian’s eye to American music for his latest PBS documentary, Country Music. The show runs four sixteen hours, in eight two-hour segments airing on KQED Sunday nights. Burns start before the turn of the 20th century and by the third episode, he is discussing the music of the 1950s.

The show headlines male performers like Hank Williams and Johnny Cash, but women are not erased from the genre here. Singer-songwriters like Roseanne Cash, Dolly Parton, Rhiannon Giddens and Brenda Lee all contribute to the commentary; and the show does not skimp on the contributions of performers like the Carter Sisters and their mother, Maybelle Carter, who wrote hit after hit and whose guitar style influenced and inspired generations of performers.

I also learned from the documentary that it was the Carters who discovered Chet Atkins, that they went to the wall to bring him to Nashville when their studio thought his style wasn’t “country,” so that basically they started his country career.

I also learned a lot more about radio stations in the first half of the 20th century, and what a huge, direct influence they had on music.

In addition to being a brilliant instrumentalist and vocalist, Rhiannon Giddens of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, is a historian with a concentration on American music. Giddens, who played blues and bluegrass, can also sing Welsh folksongs (Welsh!) and traditional ballads like Renardine and Barb’ry Allen. Giddens celebrates the confluence of Appalachian folk music in the late 1800s/early 1900s and black spirituals and blues. The banjo, for instance, an instrument almost completely associated with “country and western” music, came from Africa with the people who were abducted and enslaved. White musicians often “borrowed” songs from black churches and black musicians, and recorded those songs and made more money, but Giddens points out at the level of the musicians themselves, the flow went in both directions. Black players borrowed British-Isle folk tunes and jigs to add to their traditional music.

This is rabbit hole, but I just want you to hear her voice (and I highly recommend Full Screen.)

(As for appropriation, June Carter’s uncle AJ Carter made a tidy living traveling around the southeast, Kentucky and Tennessee going into each individual “holler” and talking to people, tracking down folk tunes. He’d get people to sing their songs for him. Then he’d go back, write them down, copyright them, and have Sarah and Maybelle Carter record them and have huge hits.)

Another thing that stood out in the first three episodes was how many of country’s big stars; Williams, Cash, Lynn as examples, grew up in grinding poverty. Even after the rest of the country moved out of the Great Depression, the southeast was mired in poverty. Did this background fuel the drive of some of these pickers and yodelers? I have to think it did.

We’re less than halfway through the documentary as I’m writing this; I’m still recommending it. There is one problem with it; it’s hard for me to listen to the speakers or the text, because I want to sing along with many of the old-time folk songs!


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Meeting and Greeting

(Standing) Amber from Copperfields Petaluma and me, with the book
(Standing) Amber and me, with the book.

I did my first Author Meet and Greet.

Copperfields in Petaluma was welcoming! The table and a book-stand was already in place when I got there a few minutes after 1:00 PM. Amber and Ray greeted me. (Amber told me she was going to buy a copy at the end of the event for me to personalize. She did and I did.)

I brought water for me, chocolate leaves, extra copies — it’s good that I did — several pens and a notebook. I assumed I would have stretches of time with no one coming by, so I was prepared to do some writing. Several friends showed up, though, not just to buy books (in fact most of them already had the book) but to provide support.

One of these was Terry, who drove from Hayward — from Hayward!– to spend some time. There was a bonus for her. Terry is putting together a book of writing prompts and Ray directed her to the Writing How-To section, where she found a couple of decent comp-titles. She bought a couple of books for her grandchildren and briefly checked out Petaluma Underground, the used bookstore.

Lillian Lee was there when I got there. Lillian bought me a pen! Greg and Mary Varley showed up, as planned, because the four of us were going to to out later as a mass-birthday celebration before they leave on a trip to Disneyland.

To my surprise, my across-the-street neighbor Carol appeared! She came with her daughter, ate a couple more chocolate leaves — she likes them — and bought a book.

While traffic to my table was light, I was happy to see that the store itself was pretty busy, and that many of the groups were families. Lots of kids were already inspecting the Scary Story display, preparing for Halloween, and several had Star Wars related books.
A man named Peter bought a book from me, after an interesting conversation and a lot of thought on his part. He is a regular at Copperfields, apparently, which is odd, because the second thing he told me about himself was that he doesn’t read. That seemed strange. He’s a boomer, and we usually read. He said he’d gone to New York to visit a friend, and in the course of a conversation she revealed that she doesn’t read either. I asked him, magazines, papers, newsites? Nope. He watches the news on TV. He likes the radio. I asked about audio books and podcasts — nope. He said he thought books needed to be shorter, like one sentence long, and then shared a “one-sentence novel,” he had “written.” I suggested he explore micro-fiction, a concept that was new to him.

And after all that he bought a book and wanted me to sign it, so… there’s a mystery.

Traffic was light, but I got down to one book from the original consigned inventory. I left another five books with them. In the two hours I was there I sold six books; a friend bought two. Brandy, who owns Second Chances, said six books in a meet and greet is pretty good. I was happy.

I hope to schedule one at the Sebastopol Copperfields once I get some more books.

Balinese Dragon Kite
Balinese Dragon Kite Over Margaret Atwood’s New Book
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Making Chocolate Leaves

The finished product, with copper and silver luster

Betsy Miller brought aluminum-colored chocolate leaves to the launch party, and Brian Fies said, “Marion, take these to every book event. They are your secret weapon.”

Betsy showed me how to make them, and lent me the chocolate mold and the brushes with which to brush on the edible luster dust. In the meantime, I ordered a mold online. These candies are about 2/3 the size of Betsy’s.

Since I want to bring some to the Petaluma Copperfield’s event, I have made a couple of practice batches. I’ve used these opportunities to experiment with different types of chocolate.

The easiest and most foolproof kind to use is called melting chocolate or covering chocolate. I found it at two places: The Baker’s Boutique on Farmer’s Lane, and at Nancy’s Fancy’s on Industrial Drive, both in Santa Rosa. I don’t know, call it a hunch or a feeling, but I bet you would find it on the internet.

For this batch I experimented with “gourmet” chocolate chips.




I’m a big fan of dark chocolate so that’s what I used.

The easiest, and again, most foolproof way to melt chocolate is in a microwave; the 30-seconds-and-stir, 30-seconds-and-stir method. Take it out and stir it even if the disks or chips haven’t lost their shape, because the chocolate will have softened. The 30-second intervals keep you from over-cooking the chocolate. Cooked too long, chocolate “breaks,” which means the solids separate out, leaving you with a dull, chalky texture.

I used a classic heating tool, the bain-marie, which is French for “I don’t have a microwave.” A bain-marie is a double boiler.

The helpful proprietor at Baker’s Boutique gave me some tips and some warnings about how to use one:

  • in a pot, heat water to a boil
  • remove from heat
  • set a heatproof bowl over the pot.
  • make sure the bowl fits tight; steam will affect your chocolate
  • make sure the bottom of the bowl does not touch the water.
This is 2/3 of a cup of chips
Bain-marie in action

Neither the melting chocolate disks nor chocolate chips require tempering. Tempering is a process that makes chocolate creamier and more shiny. It is laborious and precise; you heat the chocolate to Temperature Point A, let it cool to Temperature Point B, reheat to no hotter than Temperature Point A, let it cool to Point B… for a few more iterations. Imagine a fine sword maker heating up their steel blade, sticking it into water (Steam! Hiss! Crackle!), heating it up again, plunging in into water again,and so on. If they fail, a blade is destroyed. If you fail, you have ruined chocolate. I think we all know which of those is the true catastrophe.

I skipped that step.

Untempered yet shiny. Those tools are: one chopstick and a fancy cavier spoon.

With the chocolate ready I filled the mold.

As you can see, I am pretty sloppy when it comes to filling the mold.

I am not good, yet, at filling each mold. I alternated between the fancy caviar spoon (which has never, to my knowledge, touched cavair) and the chopstick. It isn’t a huge deal; once the chocolate has set and hardened, you can cut off any rough edges with a small sharp knife. Periodically, I tapped the mold firmly against the counter to get the molten chocolate to settle evenly into the mold.

Silver luster and copper luster. For scale, the length of the brush head is the diameter of a dime.

I put the filled mold in the freeze for 3 minutes to flash chill, then into the refrigerator for one hour. That was probably longer than they needed.

As in life, a little luster goes a long way. I popped the candies out of the mold onto a white plate. (They mostly pop out easily. There were a couple of stubborn ones.) The luster dust will fall off the brush, but you can sweep it back up off the plate. Betsy used silver to get the aluminum quality, which was perfect, and she was unable to locate copper. Nancy’s Fancy’s had copper, and I experimented with both.

Spouse taste-tested them. To be thorough, he ate several. He said they were good, but I had to test for bias, for so I took a plateful to my across-the-street neighbor. She ate three while we were visiting, so I decided that was a positive review. Her suggestion (since they’re small) “Just put it in your mouth and let it melt.” I pass that along.

While I like the flavor of the fancy chocolate chips, the texture did seem softer and more melty than that the “melting chocolate.” It’s late summer, temps in the high 80’s, and I’m transporting, so that is a real consideration. I also have not experimented with other flavorings, like vanilla, maple or mint, yet. I want to go cautiously, and will probably stick to the tried-and-true for Saturday.

I plan to make a three batches today. I store them in an airtight jar in the refrigerator, with waxed paper between each layer.


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Frozen Out: it Left Me Cold

Quentin Bates is a British writer who has written a mystery series set in Iceland. Bates lived in Iceland for ten years during the 80s/90s, and he and his wife live there part time now. He has translated several Icelandic authors work into English.

Frozen Out (also released as Frozen Assets) was published in 2011 and is set, roughly, in the run-up to the Icelandic governmental and banking scandal that was their part of the global Great Recession of 2008. For this reason, Frozen Assets would probably have been the more successful title.

I didn’t care for the book and I probably will not seek out the others. There were things that attracted me; the Icelandic setting, a woman detective (police sergeant Gunnhildur, who goes by Gunna), and a scandalous blogger called, in fact, Skandalblogger. I was looking forward to an immersion in the Iceland landscape and culture.

Unfortunately, my very first problem with Frozen Out came up quickly; it’s not an Icelandic mystery. It’s a British murder mystery nominally set in Iceland. Everyone speaks in British colloquialisms and slang, and Iceland is not well-evoked in the story. There are two exceptions: the names are good, and Bates has a character explain the Icelandic naming conventions to a Danish visitor, and a few of the foods mentioned are authentic local foods. Otherwise, it might as well be set in London, in The City, London’s financial district, during the 2008 economic collapse.

There is so little physical description given that when, late in the book, the villain pulls his car out of a parking space and “heads for the coast” I have no idea where he is going. Iceland is a large island; every direction is, eventually, “toward the coast.” Is he headed for the capital? For the airport? No clue.

The nation is filled with glaciers, geysers, lava fields, mountains, old farmhouses, old churches, modern churches, thriving modern cities (at least one, the capital); except for telling us in an early chapter about the “pastel-colored houses” in a village, there is no description. When Gunna and her crew head to Reykjavik and have to go into the “notorious bar district,” where things are skeevy, we don’t see it. Are the streetlights burned out? Is there graffiti? Is there litter? I haven’t got a clue.

The story itself also disappointed, I think in small part because Bates wasn’t sure where his story lay. He has a convincing woman police sergeant in a small fishing village. He also has a group of journalists from an independent paper in Reykjavik. For a while, it seemed like he wasn’t sure who his main character was. The story uses a mosaic point of view choice that compounds the confusion in some ways. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be reading, — a mystery, a thriller? Generally, when we follow the villain(s) in a story, the story is a thriller, but there were no real stakes in the book, no rising tension, which precludes “thriller,” and there was a murdered guy in the opening, so that should have made it default to mystery. I was confused.

The villains were horribly shallow, although the financial shenanigans were interesting, as was the blogger. I would hope the blogger continues as a story element in future books.

Basically, I think the repeated slackening in the tension is the mark of a new novelist struggling with a genre — and if here had been more for me; more immersion in the culture, more nuanced characters, I could be more forgiving about the dull plot and the missed opportunities. Overall, though, this book was not for me.







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When Characters Wander Off

I don’t mean in the literary sense, where you the writer, on impulse, let the characters turn down that narrow lane, or jump on the bus to Ithaca, New York even though that’s nowhere in the plot, or even on impulse suddenly kiss the character they’re talking to even though you, as the writer, never planned for a love relationship there.

I mean literally, like that time Erin and Trevian, the main characters of Aluminum Leaves, “stowed away” in someone’s luggage (taking the book with them) and went on a journey.

Those scamps!

Claire Fortier is an artist who lives near Fort Bragg. She is married to Doug Fortier, who has retired from a tech job. Doug and Claire are both very involved with the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference. Doug has attended for several years; as a volunteer he has done many things to assist the conference, including some design work and support of their website. Claire was on the board of the conference for a year, and has volunteered as a room elf. I met them through the conference.

Claire asked the Gallery Bookshop to order her a copy of Aluminum Leaves. It came, and she set it aside to read. Some friends came up to visit, and the husband was looking for something to read. Claire loaned him the book. After they left, she looked for it and couldn’t find it. She had no idea where it had gone, but a quick phone call soon located the wandering book. When the friends mailed it back, and they did, that note was inside.

Claire shared it with me over dinner last week. I’m keeping it forever. Seriously, I fondly imagine that it will go into the Marion Deeds Collection, and be left to a university someday.


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Let’s Do a Writing Exercise

First of all, a quotation:

“He rode into our valley in the summer of ’89. I was a kid then, barely topping the backboard of father’s old chuck-wagon. I was on the upper rail of our small corral, soaking in the late afternoon sun, when I saw him far down the road where it swung into the valley from the open plain beyond.

In that clear Wyoming air I could see him plainly, though he was still several miles away. There seemed nothing remarkable about him, just another stray horseman riding up the road toward the cluster of frame buildings that was our town. Then I saw a pair of cowhands, loping past him, stop and stare after him with a curious intentness.”

That’s the opening to the classic western Shane, by Jack Schaefer. Shane is a loner who rides into a newly formed town of homesteaders who are being menaced by a cattle baron. Shane is a man of mystery and danger, and our young narrator, Bob, is fascinated with him. It’s a western so it ends with violence and death.

But look how much we know about the story in those two paragraphs. By the end of the second one, we know there is something special — or strange — about that “stray horseman.” Even before the two cowhands react to his presence, though, there’s something about that description. Why does that lone rider hold Bob’s attention even though Bob thinks he’s “miles away?”

So, the exercise.

Part One: Pick an emotion. It can be fear, dread, relief, joy, anger, love… whatever. Curiosity… (is curiosity an emotion?). Spend a little while thinking about what you notice when you’re experiencing that emotion.

Part Two: Imagine a character, or at least a figure.

Part Three: Create a viewpoint character and have them observe the approaching figure. Imagine your viewpoint character is experiencing the emotion you picked, or at least begins to experience it.

Try to write a full page, double-spaced… about 250 words. (If you can’t, don’t sweat it.) It’s not necessary, but it might be fun to see if you can add as much physical description as Schaefer did.

It anyone does this, I’d love to see them! You can post them on your blog or someplace like Wattpad, and put a link to them in the Comments. Or, if it’s short, paste it into the Comments. Let’s go!


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Television Tuesday: The Iron Baby

(These shows have been cancelled on FOX, and I watched them On Demand. I think Netflix has cancelled them too.)

I’ve now watched Iron Fist, Season One and Marvel’s The Defenders, Season One. there is no escaping Danny Rand, aka The Immortal Iron Fist, in either show. Seriously, that’s how he introduces himself, “I’m The Immortal Iron Fist.” Which, aside from everything else that’s bad about it, is factually incorrect. The Iron Fist, in some incarnation, is immortal. Danny is not.

To be fair, nothing about the backstory for Iron Fist is promising, and why Netflix chose it for one of the mini-Marvel shows is an enigma. I’ll skip the comic book genesis (which seems to be about the same as the show) and give you Danny’s tragic TV history.

Spoilers for both Iron Fist, S1 and The Defenders will abound.

Danny Rand was the only child of the billionaire Rands. His dad co-owned a multi-billion-dollar corporation, Rand Industries. While the family was flying over the Himalayas on a business trip/family vacation, the jet disintegrated around them. Both senior Rands and the pilots died in the crash but ten-year-old Danny survived and was found by the Mysterious Monks of Kun L’unTM, who carried him off to the monastery, beat on him occasionally, made him meditate in the middle of the snow and apparently taught him kung fu fighting (although we only see the beatings and the meditation). Danny ultimately faced the Immortal Dragon and absorbed some of its chi or energy, making him the Iron Fist and giving him a strange mark that looks a lot like a tattoo on his chest.

The Iron Fist’s duty is to guard Kun L’un against its enemies, but instead, Danny saw a hawk or an eagle flying around, and that inspired him to leave the monastery, hitchhike to Morocco, get a fake passport and fly to New York City to reconnect with Dad’s old business partner.

All that took eighteen years. I’m not going to talk about the glaring colonialist, white-exceptionalist, male exceptionalist tones of this backstory. We’ll just move on, as barefoot Danny comes through the door of the humongous office Rand Industries office building.

The partner has died of cancer and his two children Ward and Joy, run the corporation now. Joy is competent. Ward is a mess. Neither of them believes this barefoot fool is Danny Rand, and of course Danny has little to no proof of his identity. They shut him out and shut him down; Danny flails around a little bit and then meets Colleen Wing who teaches martial arts and self-defense. He also makes a vital connection with Jeri Hogarth, a powerful lawyer. Meanwhile, Joy begins to think this weirdo really is Danny… and a huge secret is revealed!

(Rand’s business partner did die of cancer, but he came back from the dead! And he is the debt of the Evil Five who call themselves the Hand.)

Danny lurches from motivation to motivation; the Hand killed his parents, he wants to kill them; he wants his company back; he wants to do good things with his company; he wants a Daddy. Along the way he stalks Colleen, acting like an entitled whiteboy billionaire, not respecting her boundaries when she says “No,” attempting to put her in his power by buying the building her dojo is in and forcing a gourmet take-out lunch on her in a stalker’s version of Cute. In nearly every scene, Danny Rand reminds us exactly why we don’t need another white, spoiled, male billionaire superhero.

Theoretically, Danny learned self-discipline at the monastery, but obviously it never took. Eventually his best-friend/rival from the monastery shows up. His name is Davos, and he’s Aussie or something. At that point I suddenly understood the Monastery at Kun L’unTM better. Despite its name, it isn’t a monastery at all; it’s an exclusive school for rich entitled Euro-American boys. Davos, after all, is named for a global economic summit.

Spoiler alert: while Danny gets revenge on one important person, he fails to defeat the Hand, which has an Evil Scheme which continues in The Defenders.

In The Defenders, Colleen and Danny connect with Daredevil, Jessica Jones and Luke Cage, all of whom are fighting the Hand. Daredevil’s (and Elektra’s) old mentor Stick shows up. We learn that the Hand all met in Kun L’un and that they take a “substance” that lets them cheat death. Soon it becomes obvious that the Hand want Danny Rand – actually, they don’t give a rip about Danny Rand, they want the Immortal Iron Fist. The Iron Fist is vital to their evil plan.

The other Defenders strongly suggest to Danny that he sit this fight out, ideally, as far away from the Hand as possible. A seasoned strategist would recognize the wisdom of that suggestion. An altruistic person, a defender of the innocent for example, realizing that the Hand intends to level New York as part of their scheme, would agree it’s for the best, and would go hide or step out the fight, preparing their own defenses.

But not Danny. The Hand killed his parents, so he’s going to fight them.

It was at this moment that I finally got the problem with Danny.

Danny is a child.

If returned-from-the-monastery Danny had been eighteen instead of supposedly twenty-eight, this whole storyline would have been… well, at least less annoying. Yet Danny is supposed to be an adult. Seriously, this is a man who makes Jessica Jones look well-adjusted.

He’s the Iron Baby. And the story knows that, because Luke in particular treats Danny like a sulky teenager. It just doesn’t help.

Once Danny refuses to do the right thing, Stick gets into the act. Stick is a homicidal maniac but he’s not necessarily wrong. Stick’s impetuous action allows Elektra to kidnap Danny and take him to the Hand, which still could have happened but could have been harder to do if Danny had done the mature thing to start with and gotten the hell out of Dodge.

And by the way, about The Monastery at Kun L’unTM: they churned out The Hand, murderous monster Stick, envy-driven villain Davos and whiny baby Danny the Immortal Iron Fist. The Mystical Monastery Certification Committee needs to schedule an audit on this place, right now.

Once the Hand has Danny, they advise him that they only need him to do one thing; hit something with his iron fist. (Which, by the way, is really a glowing Orange Fist. I’m thinking the Immortal Orange Fist has potential as a superhero.) I need to be clear; it’s a specific thing he needs to hit. Danny says he won’t. No, no,no, no, he won’t they can’t make him he won’t he won’t and so on into a tantrum with Elektra until he hits the thing. (Okay, it’s a fight, but other than that, no difference.)

Because of course he has to hit the thing for the rest of the plot to work, but I mean, come on! I know that all of this stratum of TV Marvel heroes are flawed, and that these shows celebrate the flaws of their heroes. People don’t come much more masochistic and messed-up than Matt Murdock, for instance. And Jessica self-medicates with alcohol and is physiologically incapable of asking for help. In their stories, mostly, at some point they overcome those flaws, just for a few moments. Danny Rand never does, mostly because he never has to.

Danny Rand is the Iron Baby, surrounded by strong people who take care of him. Left to his own judgment, he screws it up. Every time.


This would be at least slightly more palatable if Danny were in fact eighteen. At a supposed twenty-eight, with a fleet of private jets and a majority share in a multi-billion-dollar corporation, Danny Rand joins the ranks of wealthy frat-boys and selfish, dysfunctional billionaires. One Ironman per century is quite enough, thank you.

Give the Iron Baby a squeaky toy and a time out, please.

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