Choose Your Own Adventure #62: Sugarcane Island

Seven days ago we began our amazing inquisition into the bizarre publishing history of "Sugarcane Island" that will, thankfully, come to an end here. I'm afraid I'm left with more questions than answers after taking note of the copyright information which gives 1976 as the year this was formally released. It's also mentioned that it was originally written in 1969 (seven years worth of rejection on what was basically a license to print money...I feel much better about my own recent track record now) while the Which Way version is, unsurprisingly, not referenced at all. It looks like this mystery will stay a mystery and I'm mostly okay with that because this edition promises to feature new illustrations and "revised" text (fewer spelling mistakes, now!) and is proudly presented as number 62 in the series because 62 is a number typically associated with major milestones and anniversaries.

The turtle that took me to my death last time is prominently featured in the new cover.

Anyway, exciting revisions and major improvements. Or perhaps not, as the set-up seems almost completely identical. You know the drill: a reference to a doctor character that will never matter, rogue wave, in the drink, pass out because the body will swim on its own while out cold and then hit the beach. Last time I went for the "rocky hill," a hill that vanished as soon as the author got distracted, so this time let's walk along the beach and see what that gets us. We also get one of the new illustrations we were promised which features our in-story avatar giving a shocked expression while lying in a relaxed position, something not even hinted at in the text. Man, this special 62nd edition, I feel so privileged to be part of all this history.

Anyway, my long walk on the sands (I like sunsets and having fun, too!) ends with the discovery of some clams and the foul-looking meat within. It doesn't look "tasty" but I'm starving and all so let's just tuck this in. They taste horrible, but so does hateful death, so I choke it down. Then I remember that dehydration is the bigger danger in these situations. The big brain I'm packing, unbelievable. This segues into finding a "pond" because I guess I'm just speaking things into existence now like at a Texas mega-church. Sadly the water tastes very salty and I have to decide to drink or not. I love how this book is nothing but deciding what goes in your maw for page after page.

All new high-quality illustrations!

I'm not about to get all Ancient Mariner up in this biz-itch, so I just drink it down and come away feeling sick and weak. I decide I'll have to find something "better" than the brackish fluids and fine French cuisine the beach is offering, so I blunder around until encountering a "tiger without stripes." Revised edition, full of incredible new descriptive prose. I'm given a choice between "standing still" and "climbing a tree." Not to be That Guy, but both those options would get you killed in real life. You're supposed to make tons of noise and puff yourself up, right? I've seen those animal attack VHS tapes, I know what I'm talking about.

I do the freeze and the not-tiger walks off like the giant pussy (cat) that it is. I take a few steps forward to celebrate this victory and oh noes! Quicksand! Yeah, really. Once again, the correct course of action (just swim your way out) is not even on the table and I split the difference and try to walk my way out of this very muddy water. An ending that's less than two full lines informs me I die instead, or as the top-quality new prose puts it: "Glug, glug, glug." Yeah.

Just getting that glug on.

I gave the Which Way version a pass because it was a straight-up reprint of something that sat in a drawer for years because publishers didn't think any of this was a good idea and what people really want are political lectures from angry outsiders. This new version doesn't get the same mercies, obviously. Trying to pass this effort off as a revision and a special moment falls flat when the changes are minimal and the same poorly researched dangers remain. This is also the second time quicksand has killed me in an Edward Packard book, which is about two times too many. You could just tread water and/or swim out! This really bothers me and rightly so.

More like "Attention Suckers!"

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.  

Which Way Books #4: Famous and Rich

I can't stop reading Which Way Books. Honestly, what's not to like? The stories are threadbare and utilitarian, the low expectations coming in make the moments of glorious competence shine even brighter and there's a very pleasant lack of self-awareness and fourth wall (third page???) breaking. Sure, I'll probably get back into the always reliable late-early Choose Your Own Adventure offerings very soon, but for now it's time to live the American dream of filthy lucre and all eyes on me via the highly satisfying medium of barely serviceable text from 1982 practically dancing on badly yellowed pages.

How about some unrealistic life expectations?

I have to concede that the usually brilliant Which Way opening is sadly deficient in this one. Instead of poor TeeVee reception, magic birds or horrible movies coming to life the high concept here is that some older gentleman moves into the house next door. Since it's the eighties and I don't have to check a phone every fifteen seconds or take lots of arm-length photos of myself I go over to talk, something people used to do. We have this lengthy conversation that, fortunately, is brutally summarized down to "talking 'bout dreams and stuff" and suddenly my new best friend wants to know about my future goals. "To be famous and rich!" Roll credits?

Instead there's some red diaper talk about how ambitions often come at a heavy cost and money can't buy a beautiful sunset and general "You've got to LIVE every day, man!" bullshit that we're all sick of hearing. My pragmatic response is the only way I can determine if power does, indeed, corrupt is by being handed the joystick of wealth and glory. Naturally this leads to mumbling and quivering, because this guy is some sort of wish-granting plot contrivance.

Can we get that lengthy conventional war, with mandatory draft, going soon? Please?

Because it's Which Way there's the usual triple choice of things that are very loosely related to the core conceit that's been so expertly established, specifically three occupations that allegedly deliver the chedda and that sweet envy and hatred of the faceless masses. One is movie star, which is fine, but the other two are a mess. Explorer? Maybe in the 19th century, old-timer. Detective? Sure, that's a sure route to big money and we all know the more notoriety you have the more effective you would be. Notably absent are more believable options like air-headed nepotism case who "accidentally" releases home-made pornography into the public domain or son of already wealthy parents who becomes obscenely wealthy via monetary voodoo.

Fine, I'll take explorer.

We makin' Cartier coin.

Instead of swimming in portfolios or being worshiped by life's extras I'm right in the middle of an adventure, one that involves a light aircraft. Get your lawyers on the phone, R.A. Montgomery. I'm on the cover of "Time" magazine, which seems an odd choice when there's National Pornographic, but I guess there was a time when they might have covered global exploration before they lost all relevancy and went off the Cultural Marxist deep-end. No time to dwell on that, the plane's engines are on fire. It's famous and rich, not famous and fastidious about pre-flight check-ups, after all.

I jump out, hit the water, deploy a raft and note an island about 25 miles away, all in rapid fire prose. Hey, we're not being paid by the hour, here. I'm given the choice to retrieve the floating parachute, but instead decide to paddle toward the island, nice and secure in my new wussy and impractical mode of travel. Many miles of rowing against ocean currents, no problem.

This raft is superior to other rafts in every possible way.

After much rowing I'm confronted by a "mammoth bed of seaweed" blocking the path to the island. No, not water dope! Faced with this daunting obstacle I decide to soldier on and incredibly just float right through the wet green to the beach. Just as I think I'm in the clear I hear barking and a family of sea lions is swimming toward my raft. First waterlogged crops and now ocean dogs. You're gonna have to do better than that, nature. 

As you might expect, the pets of Davey Jones are more about goofy playful cavorting than devouring the flesh of a guy that did a magazine cover when that feat still had cultural relevance. Just as I hit the shore, though, a "bull" sea lion, the pack alpha I would assume, is running up on me in a "vengeful rage." Faced with this, I'm given two different coward options instead of some righteous "last good fight" battle with the playful clowns of the sea. Also, what does this have to do with being famous or rich? I've got nothing but a raft and paddle to my name and I'm running and hiding from a Sea World warm-up act. Gah.

Not exactly the most intimidating enemy.

So I run away with the goofy nemesis hot on my heels, barking happily and slapping its flippers together in anticipation of devouring flesh and washing it down with warm blood. Then I blunder into quicksand. The world's greatest explorer, ladies and gentleman, punked out by an animal know for its goofy clapping and working wacky horns and now I'm sinking into wet earth. Fortunately, both myself and the author remember that so-called "quicksand" is just really muddy water and you can float and swim in it, so that's what I do. After getting out, a rescue party is there to bail my pathetic ass out before I get attacked by panda bears or get trapped in pussy willows or whatever other humiliating event that could top what already happened occurs. 

Plus, they know who I am because I'm famous. The End. Good grief.

 Don't you hate it when there's no bamboo or you're shot to make Chinese medicine?

This one was pretty bad. How did I become a famous explorer when I'm so completely inept? Why am I exploring an island that a "rescue party" can easily access? How come the story-line I got had nothing to do with the thin reed setting up the action. I'll give a point for correct understanding of quicksand, but that's all this one is getting. Yeah, I'm going back to Choose Your Own Adventure next time.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.