My Summer’s Favourite Author and a Great Disappointment

This summer, I finally guilted myself into reaching into the mound of ‘to read’ books on my desk. From an author I had never read before, I grabbed a collection of short stories, attracted by how un-intimidatingly thin the book was. The book was Stefan Zweig’s A Game of Chess and Other Stories. The pages flew by in the first story, The Invisible Collection. I hadn’t realized that I had read the entirety of the story without a single distracting thought, something that hasn’t been true of any of my forays back into reading in quite some time. I sat in a daze thinking of the 30-odd pages I had read, feeling my inner reader resurfacing. 

If you are slightly confused as to who this author is, as I was, Zweig is the author who heavily inspired the film The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) by Wes Anderson. Each story was thoughtful and intelligent without overly complicated prose. Zweig places the reader in front of a stranger overcome with despair or guilt, observing their situation neutrally or having the stranger confide their story. His writing is beautifully constructed, neither excessively meandering nor excessively sharp. He takes his time to describe mundanity with clever metaphors and insights, providing delightful imagery to situations.

While I will refrain from elaborating for fear of spoiling the stories or being unable to do them justice, I truly cannot recommend Zweig enough. I am legitimately considering whether or not Zweig will become my new favourite author (yes, even over Ms. Jane Austen). In a frenzy after finishing A Game of Chess and Other Stories, I bought Zweig’s novel Beware of Pity. As I slowly move through the novel, impeded by IB and university applications, Zweig’s gorgeous writing has remained my glorious companion from the summertime, saving me from misery.

On a less positive note, The Garfield Movie was released this summer. BOOOOO. As someone who read the cartoons, watched the 1988 and 2008 shows, and some movies, I cannot tell you how fast I walked out of that movie theatre. Well, I’m exaggerating. But the displeasure I felt for the unbearable hour and a half was immense. While entertaining, especially considering the target demographic of children, I couldn’t help but cringe when Garfield opened his mouth and the overdone voice of Chris Pratt came out. 

I was baffled by the high-stakes father-son reuniting heist plot, especially considering that Garfield is famous for his lazy, apathetic, and hedonic nature, which often comes into play in other iterations of his character as he navigates short, often inconsequential quests centred around him, Odie, Jon, and other side characters. Some critics attributed the film’s uncompelling plot to Garfield’s ‘inability to be adapted into a movie,’ but I disagree. Other movie adaptations could retain Garfield’s essence, even if some attributes of his character were slightly altered to work well on the big screen. The movie was just another generic children’s film with unresolved storylines, boring characters, and shallow villains (who just so happen to be the only female characters in the movie). 

My indescribable rage over the movie would eventually fade and transform into sadness at having witnessed the sarcastic cat I grew up with, undoubtedly shaping my personality and sense of humour, being introduced to another generation in such a forgettable, bland manner. With Hollywood’s increasing need to flanderize, frankenstein, and water down beloved characters, I feel like I finally felt that extreme sadness and betrayal others have described. While it may be odd that my disillusionment was prompted by the appropriation of an ‘80s lazy cat comic rather than that of other characters, I nonetheless finally felt that sadness. The realization that something you love will only continue to exist in re-runs and re-collections and that you are unable to share the same fondness with others as they only know something subpar is a uniquely melancholic feeling. 

So, at the end of this summer, I was left with two things; a new favourite author and an old character destroyed. Perhaps I am being dramatic — I find I often develop my most extreme media opinions during the summer anyway — but I thought I would share those more intense opinions for once. If you were to take anything from this article: go and read some Stefan Zweig and don’t watch The Garfield Movie (2024). And maybe crack open an old Garfield comic.