Nate Intolubbe

Today is the anniversary of the release of my first novel, The Cases of Inspector Marshall, Volume I. A thanks to all who have helped with their feedback, reading, and time are more than called for; I appreciate all of your support.

Volume II is in production, and mostly complete. Keep an eye out for a release this summer.

With that, I am diving into another case study on blending genre: World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks. The book, not the Brad Pitt movie. We do not speak of that, unless in jest.

*****SPOILER FREE*****

A war epic, told like a documentary. A series of interviews with people across the world, giving their account of the zombie apocalypse and humanity’s narrow victory. A large-scale simulation that tackles the enormous and pressing question of:

What would happen if a zombie plague were real?

Despite the wide scope, the novel does a great job in giving detailed and nuances perspectives. Each interview narrows in on a couple topics, fleshing each one out. A puzzle piece with intricate artwork, filling out the full picture.

The dialogue reads like a journalist conducting an interview, giving it an organic flow that augments the immersion. It adds a unique take on the zombie phenomenon, which usually goes for themes of rugged survivalism and heavy in-the-moment tension. These are people with hindsight, who look back with pride at their successes and guilt at their failures, trying to consolidate what they went through. In a sense, the journalist is like a therapist for the trauma that the war inflicted them with.

The zombie genre, like the epic, is largely a tale of humanity. One faces a choice when besieged by the embodiments of death, of ruin, of a reversion to the mind of a wild animal; for zombies often represent the fear not only of death, but losing everything about who we are. We can choose to stand and fight; to create fraudulent solutions; to develop technology to save lives; to isolate and break down social order; to calculate a cold-hearted plan of sacrifice and strategy. Some rise to the challenge, and others become as much a threat as the living dead themselves.

Staring down the idea of no longer existing shows someone who they really are.

The zombie apocalypse is relatively new to the field of human literature, as juxtaposed to the ancient storytelling form of the epic (though the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest surviving works of all time, does have zombies in it). The title “Oral History” brings up the Homeric oral tradition, which itself includes a tale of war (The Iliad) and the quest to recover from it (The Odyssey).

The people of WWZ have had their Iliad, and this is their Odyssey to return to “normal” life. Other epics, like those of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, deal with similar themes, as these authors (WWI veterans) used their works to capture the emotions of their generations. Young people who fought in trenches, besieged by tanks, mines, and mortars, who returned home and had to change to “normal” life. And, ultimately, these stories conclude that life will not be normal again, and people most now navigate a new and unfamiliar world.

And what are battles against zombies, orcs, or minotaurs, but analogies for the erasure of humanity? Not only dehumanization of the enemy, but the risk of oneself falling to that?

Brooks elegantly addresses these age-old questions, and framing it like a documentary feeds into the reflective nature of the attempt to answer them.

Plot: 4/4

Characters: 4/4

World-building: 4/4

Details: 4/4

Misc.: 4/4

Total: 20/20

The people of the book better hope that the surviving zombies do not have their own Aeneid.

*****SPOILER REVIEW*****

Paul Redeker is easily one of the most interesting figures in this novel. To concoct a plan so indifferent, emotionless, borderline inhuman, all in the intent of saving humanity, is a great paradox of literature. Whereas the zombies are the savage expression of the loss of humanity, he is the equal and opposite reaction in the form of cold-hearted reasoning.

In a hypothetical case, if your foot had a lethal infection that could rapidly spread, and someone like Paul Redeker were your doctor, he would rip your foot off with his bare hands. Unflinching, unsmiling, unemotional; it is what is necessary to save the whole, no matter the seemingly small cost of the foot, or the pain it brings the rest of you. And all of this, a metaphor for the Redeker Plan. Such a strong contrast with the rest of the book.

I’ll wrap this post up with some of the smaller details I liked that helped give the novel a level all its own, realistic considerations of the zombie apocalypse that people may not have considered.

I liked how tidal zones are extremely dangerous, with zombies being perpetually trapped in the undertow, further creating a worldwide sense of being surrounded. The specialized zombie-killing bullet, designed to lodge into and cook the dead brain, so it does not exit the body and risk infecting fellow soldiers; ingenious. The description of the overrun French Catacombs, and the people who braved it to clear it up, is the stuff of nightmares. The role of the dachshunds in the war brings some charm, and demonstrates how fresh the events are in people’s minds; one of the canine veterans, while old, is still alive. The unknown fate of North Korea adds into the theme of information, indicating that even all of these interviews from a multitude of angles can still have blind spots.

World War Z is easily one of the best zombie stories ever made. It knows when to think big, and it knows when to zoom in. It is a worthy tale in the great search to learn about ourselves.

Continuing my set of reviews based on blended genres, I will go over Priest by Matthew Colville, the first of the Ratcatchers series.

*****SPOILER FREE*****

Priest is self-described as a fantasy hardboiled, combining mystery with the realm of magic and monsters. Suffice to say, I have a soft spot for such a hybrid work (having written one of an expected trilogy of such books).

But rather than following an actual detective, this novel’s protagonist is referenced in its title: Heden, a priest. Not in a “Friar Tuck” sense, as he derives considerable spellcasting power from the deity he worships; for readers less aware of how priest/clerics work as magicians in fantasy, you can think of the concept being similar to Moses causing miracles by the power of God.

Heden’s superior in the clergy sends him to a castle in the middle of the forest, which an evil army is readying to attack. Their protectors, the Green Order of knights, are not helping in this desperate hour, and it is Heden’s task to investigate why.

Our hero does fit the “hardboiled” archetype with his cynicism, a heart toughened with experience with violence and corruption. Yet instead of being a veteran against bootlegging gangsters, he has been in wars against orc-like enemies. His past is gradually shown, which helps inform him as he continues his search. It puts the storytelling tropes of its foregenre, mystery, into the setting dynamic of its backgenre, fantasy, in a way that shows the author’s informed knowledge of both.

The genres blend quite well; the greatest joy, challenge, and pitfall of fantasy is the world-building, while for mystery, it is the building of suspense and intrigue. Heden’s lack of knowledge of the Green Order is a prime example of them coming together. He learns the lore as is relevant (in line with good fantasy), and new information shows that there is more going on than previously believed (in line with good mystery). In other words, the common world-building advice of “don’t infodump” comes in quite handy.

If you like one of these genres, the other, or both, Priest will have plenty of intrigue and magic-packed battles to offer. Written by a fellow Dungeon Master of the Dungeons and Dragons playerbase, I can only imagine what Colville’s game sessions are like.

Plot: 4/4

Characters: 3/4

World-building: 3/4

Details: 3/4

Misc.: 4/4

Total: 17/20

Looking forward to the sequel.

*****SPOILER REVIEW*****

Any story that starts with a person’s head blowing up immediately has my attention. Not only does it establish the stakes, it creates the tone of crime and retribution classic to the ‘detective’ story. And, the scene demonstrates Heden’s magic capabilities.

His journey to Ollghum Keep has its own symbolisms, how he can never blend in, and always makes enemies where he goes. This is a good fusion of the hardboiled detective (always looking over his shoulder for the people around him) and the fantasy adventurer (being a stranger in every town outside of home). This hangs a strong sense of loneliness about him, amplifying the threats around him, and giving uncertainty of who to trust.

I also like how even Heden has things he hides, even outright lying, creating a sense that the reader cannot fully trust him either. The truth about his job and who he serves makes the reveal at the end all the more striking.

His duel with the knight is one of my favorite scenes in the novel. A great way to utilize fantasy’s play on the supernatural, while setting up the suspicious atmosphere in the forest. And the fight itself had its own clever moves.

Ultimately, the stakes show how well the genres mix. There is an evil army out to attack innocent people, as often happens in fantasy; but unlike the backgenre, the hero does not have to defeat the ‘dark lord’ or destroy an ancient relic, rather has to discover the puzzle pieces behind the Green Order’s inaction (true to its foregenre, solving a crime).

Overall, the novel is a great start to the series, and is executed well.

So far, I have shared examples of a sequel that mostly lives up to the original, and another that was worse. This week, I will go over a third scenario: where the follow-up surpasses its predecessor. This takes us to a legend who put American literature on the map: Mark Twain.

The book of Tom Sawyer is an adventure novel about the shenanigans of its titular character and his friends. There isn’t much of a deeper meaning, nor is there meant to be. It’s an overall fun read.

Huckleberry Finn provides a story with a better adventure, a more likable protagonist in the picaresque style, and a greater deal of meaning. Remember my four principles of sequel writing? Refresher:

• A sequel should maintain a critical balance, one part honoring the traits that made the original good, and the other part creating a new story with its own identity.
• A sequel should demonstrate the reasonable consequences of what happened in the previous installment.
• A sequel should reinforce the messages and spirit of the original, while also expanding it and showing new challenges.
• A sequel should learn from the shortcomings of their predecessors, so that the following works and the series itself improve.

And now, the fifth rule: The first three rules can be broken if doing so improves the work. (The fourth rule cannot be broken with this justification; refusing to improve the work cannot improve the work, that’s a paradox.)

If the author believes that a subsequent installment should not carry on the spirit of the original, or mimic the traits of its predecessor, then it does not have to. For instance, if a different direction or message is desired, or if the work is meant to stand more independently.

Which leads us to Huck Finn. A story with a different protagonist. Meant to engage in a larger number of subject matters, such as alcoholism, neglect, bloody feuds, and slavery. The carefree spirit of Tom Sawyer would not be appropriate, nor would honoring the traits of romanticism, nor would reinforcing the message (or lack thereof).

This is what differentiates the two. Huck Finn is so much of a u-turn of the original, it actively works against it. Especially with Tom Sawyer’s behavior at the ending, showing how his romanticized views of the world are childish at best, and impeding sense and goodness at worst. The first book is meant to show an idyllic view of the Antebellum South, and the sequel is meant to slap you out of the daydream and scream, “No, this place and time sucks!”

Great literature knows how to subvert the expected. In this case, the book subverts its own predecessor, a ballsy move. A sequel going against the original should have a good reason for doing so – and Huck Finn did. Making a stronger story, with higher quality character development and meaning.

The eponymous character learns the foolish ways of the adult world, and how easy it is to trick people (like with the preacher), pulling off cons that put Tom’s stunt with the fence to shame. He witnesses violence that disillusions the games of playing pirates and robbers, finding the grim reality behind it in a way that the murder in the first book does not cover. He undergoes internal conflict about his friendship with Jim, and the prejudices of the time, juxtaposed with Tom’s terrible companionship.

Some say this sequel ruined the original in its portrayal of Tom Sawyer, and to that I say: the character was not a good-hearted person even in his own novel. He let his aunt believe he drowned, putting her through torment as a prank. His book only seems favorable to him because it is from his perspective, and changing the focus to Huck shows the outside view of how he really is.

Tom Sawyer is a good book, Huck Finn is better. This duology serves as an exemplary case of the fourth and fifth principles.

	Tom Sawyer	Huckleberry Finn
Plot:	3/4	4/4
Characters:	2/4	3/4
World-building	3/4	3/4
Details:	3/4	3/4
Misc:	4/4	4/4
Total:	15/20	17/20

Which of these novels do you prefer? Are there other cases you can think of where the sequel was better than its predecessor?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

With everything from Legend of Korra in mind, we continue with our September dive into the art of the sequel. Next on the list: Star Wars.

This franchise has had more ups and downs than the tidal cycle. The original trilogy, The Clone Wars and Mandalorian shows, many of the video games, and several books have had strong positive feedback. On the other hand, the prequels, sequels, other books, and a certain holiday special that shall not be named (lest we summon the Force-Ghosts of Life Day Past, Present, and Future) faced negativity.

For the sake of this post, I will restrict this analysis to the nine main movies, of the prequels, originals, and sequels. For, they are most relevant to this subject.

I would say that the prequels and sequels are the equal but opposite reactions to the other; what one trilogy did poorly, the other did a one-eighty for, and vice versa. Sometimes, the reversal is for the better; other times, it creates something equivalently bad albeit from a different direction.

Which brings me to the fourth principle of sequel writing: subsequent installments should learn from the shortcomings of their predecessors, so that the series itself improves.

Or, as a wise man once said: “R2, we need to be going up, not down.”

Speaking of prequels memes, that’s the next point on this. Meme-ability, and memorability. The dialogue in that trilogy is cringey and cheesy, but it sticks in the mind, with many quotes being iconic from a comedic perspective.

Compare to the sequel trilogy, whose dialogue was adequate, but mostly forgettable. It is like pouring a truckload of concrete on a dumpster fire; you extinguish it, but now the dumpster has a concrete brick filling it up and making it unusable.

Then, there is the matter of the short versus long term storytelling. The prequels had lower quality films, but the overarching plot is well done and even is a haunting statement on how easily tyranny arises. The sequels had mostly better movies, but the story across installments was disjointed and inconsistent. Many positive qualities of these trilogies carry a major caveat.

The prequel protagonist, Anakin Skywalker, is whiny, annoying, and rarely behaves in a manner befitting the man who becomes the iconic Darth Vader. Yet, his skills are more realistic, where he loses against more skilled opponents, and has to train to use the Force and a lightsaber. And, he has a more definitive arc around his relationship with Jedi principles and those close to him.

Rey has no unlikable personality traits (though that could simply be a byproduct of having minimal personality traits), making her more agreeable on-screen. Yet the way she becomes an instant expert in Jedi skills with no training is a drawback, because she is robbed of character growth. A hero needs to not begin their journey at full power, so we can see them develop their capabilities alongside their mentality and learn from mistakes.

In other words, one protagonist is largely unlikable and an embarrassment to the franchise, but has clear character traits and a cohesive story. The other is more amiable, but is not a full enough character to invest in, and lacks development.

So, how do the recent films stack up with my other rules of sequel-writing? As listed below:

1. A sequel should maintain a critical balance, one part honoring the traits that made the original good, and the other part creating a new story with its own identity.
2. A sequel should demonstrate the reasonable consequences of what happened in the previous installment.
3. A sequel should reinforce the messages and spirit of the original, while also expanding it and showing new challenges.

The Force Awakens did these to an extent. It went back to basics, telling a story similar in structure to A New Hope. Some of the characters did have their own identity (Kylo Ren and Finn), giving enough promise. The events leading up to it (reestablishment of the Republic, the First Order a reactionary attempt to reestablish the Empire, the collapse of the New Jedi Order) all were plausible consequences. It kept the spirit of A New Hope, of people fighting for liberty against the rising Snoke.

The Last Jedi then promptly attached all that potential to cinder blocks and tossed it into the river. Finn was sidelined (which his actor, John Boyega, has called out), which got worse as the trilogy progressed. Luke attempting to kill his own nephew, when the younger version of himself was willing to take lightning to redeem his father, is an unreasonable u-turn of character. The new challenge of Snoke was eliminated without any development. There are many ways that this film undid the bricks they had laid down in its predecessor, not just halting the house’s construction but tumbling it all down on their heads.

And, The Rise of Skywalker suffered as it tried to overcompensate for all this. The writing was as rushed as its plot. Palpatine’s return was unearned (but, at least they finally gave Rey character development as she struggled with the legacy she inherited). Ben Solo’s arc was rounded out well, but the other characters (Finn, Rose, Poe) were left behind.

Changing writers and directors played into the inconsistency of the series. It changed direction more times than a compass surrounded by super magnets.

But then, is the sequel trilogy not a microcosm for the Star Wars franchise itself? What is The Force Awakens but the promising start of the originals? What is The Last Jedi but a disappointing butchery of this potential like the prequels? What is The Rise of Skywalker but the sequels trying to repair the damage done, at its own expense, while still failing?

We can all learn from what the Star Wars film progression has done. A case study of how the inverse of something bad is not always good, and how learning from your mistakes should not mean forgetting the parts of your errors that did have truth in them.

And now, my ratings:

	The Force Awakens	The Last Jedi	The Rise of Skywalker
Plot:	3	2	2
Character:	3	1	2
World-building:	3	1	2
Details:	3	2	3
Misc:	3	0	3
Total:	15/20	6/20	12/20

For an average of 11/20.

What are your thoughts on the Star Wars sequels? Do they have redeeming characteristics that you enjoy?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.

I am currently over halfway through writing the second volume of the Cases of Inspector Marshall series. And, I have decided to return to writing blog posts. Within the past few months, I have taken many considerations in crafting the follow-up to my own story, and have been developing my ideas on sequels too.

And with the recent additions of Avatar: The Last Airbender (herein, ATLA) and sequel series The Legend of Korra (herein TLOK) to Netflix, I saw fit to give my thoughts on these shows and how they apply to this discussion.

For background, I did not watch either show as a kid. I watched ATLA in May over the course of five days, and TLOK in August within three days. Prior to then, the only exposure to these series was the first few episodes of ATLA while in college, and various posts/videos on social media. My opinions are not rooted in childhood nostalgia, but my own impressions as an adult and author.

There will be a general non-spoiler review below, then a spoiler one further down.

ATLA has long been praised as one of the best family-friendly shows out there, and I certainly agree. The story, richness of the characters, animation, choreography of the fights, approaches to philosophy; it astounded me.

And, I can then imagine how the creators would have felt trying to create to make a follow-up to that with TLOK. They must have realized that they could never make something like that again, partially from the quality, but also by making a new story that didn’t ripoff the original source material.

So they did the best thing they could do, a stroke of creative genius.

They made something completely different.

And it worked.

I was amazed with TLOK. Not to say that it lacks flaws, but like with ATLA, I’m willing to accept some of its shortcomings because of how good everything else is. I daresay, it is one of the best possible sequels they could have made.

Which brings me to the first major point on sequel writing: there is a critical balance, one part honoring the traits that made the original good, and the other part creating a new story with its own identity.

I am by no means comparing my own work to these series; rather, this is a principle I caught on to that helps me with my second volume. Drift too far from the original, and you lose the ability to create smart parallels and legacies, and the result feels like it does not adequately expand the story. Yet if you get too caught up in the past, you only create a cheap copy of the original, and are not creating a new story at all.

And there’s already too much direct-to-video sequels, bad/unnecessary remakes, and contrived fanfiction out there. Don’t fall to their level.

Yet TLOK for the most part maintains this balance. No surprise; it’s the Avatar’s job. It’s not afraid to be different. It’s not afraid to create parallels with the original, while also showing some features in a new light (if not downright subverting them). And, it’s not afraid to expand on what ATLA started.

Which brings me to the second major principle of sequel writing: it demonstrates the reasonable consequences of what happened in the previous installment.

The steampunk/gaslamp setting is visually appealing, and it makes sense. If the world nations are at peace, of course technology is going to advance. Benders of different elements coming together, infrastructure from the Hundred Year War; an industrial society is the natural progression not just from the political situation, but also the gathering of ideas and resources.

Hence, the conflicts fit the scene. Different extreme ideologies clamor for power in times of great change, all working to determine the course of the future. And it is Avatar Korra’s job to ensure that all works for the better.

The structure across seasons works to its advantage. Rather than one major threat across the entirety of the show, and most of the major villains being related to each other, TLOK provides a variety of evils to face. It demonstrates the Avatar’s constant need to quell new threats as they emerge (as the Sith say, “Peace is a lie”), and prevents it from becoming stale.

And as in its predecessor, the series is able to create a kid-appropriate story, but does not insult the intelligence of its viewers, rather supplements it.

Before I move into spoiler territory, I will give my ratings for both shows:

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Plot: 4/4

Characters: 4/4

World-building: 4/4

Details: 4/4

Misc: 4/4

Total: 20/20

The Legend of Korra

Plot: 3/4

Characters: 4/4

World-building: 4/4

Details: 4/4

Misc: 4/4

Total: 19/20

And now: **********SPOILERS**********

(Ye’ve been warned.)

I like how Korra has a nigh opposite personality to Aang, and that their development is the same path from reverse angles. Aang, the wise soul who learned to be strong, despite not wanting to be Avatar; and Korra, the natural warrior who gained wisdom as she boldly charged into being Avatar. True balance, and a fantastic use of a sequel’s advantage of hindsight.

I like how the Team Avatar has realistic implications of them being older. Whereas ATLA gave us a group of friends traveling the world together, the main characters in TLOK have a greater independence from the gang. They have jobs and responsibilities that prevent them from always being near each other, just like adult friendships, yet they retain their affection.

A common criticism of TLOK is the love triangle early on. I usually do not abide the trope myself, but I let it slide for this show because they did it right. It does not overbear the main story, and it demonstrates the emotional impact it has on the people involved. The look on Bolin’s face when he had the flowers? Mako’s own conflicting emotions, not wanting to hurt anybody’s feelings while ultimately losing them both? Asami not accepting being someone’s second choice? All understandable, and in summary a condemnation of love triangle behavior.

So, that particular criticism is unfair. Especially since ATLA had a worse-written love triangle with Sokka, Yue, and Hahn.

The villains in TLOK are well done. Each of them has a core concept they pursue, with understandable and even noble intentions. There’s nothing wrong with wanting non-benders to not be second-class citizens, seeking peace between humans and spirits, protecting against tyranny, or saving one’s country from mayhem.

Yet it is their methods, the means that contradict the very ends they desire, that makes them villainous. Being so consumed with ideology, that one loses sight of and betrays their original intent. Wanting equality, but dividing people through violence; supporting spirits, while forcing them to become dark; seeking freedom, but imprisoning an entire nation; battling for unity, through coercion and persecuting people by ethnicity. And the fact that they all show a darker version of something positive and heroic from ATLA creates another brilliant parallel that only a sequel can accomplish.

Another strange recurrence is that the third episode of each show was when I thought, “Oh yeah, this series is going to be amazing.” And I wasn’t wrong.

For TLOK, I am referencing Amon revealing his powers. Removing a person’s bending was how the first show ended the Hundred Year War, so seeing that weaponized against the heroes had me realize that the series was willing to honor something from the past while being different.

Me, I love when tropes are flipped on their heads; the light turned to dark, the heroic turned villainous, good falling to evil. I admire that so much, I made “corruption” an element in my book’s magic system. Which is why I love TLOK, for it is not afraid to show a realistically negative side of something in its predecessor.

The first time I heard of airbenders, my initial response was: “Why don’t they ever fight by taking the air from someone’s lungs?” I asked this to someone in college, who replied that the Air Nomads have a pacifist philosophy. I asked this again to someone at work last year, who said that, and added that TLOK has a villain who does just that.

An evil airbender? When the hero of the first series was an Air Nomad, who usually has peaceful ways? Demonstrating how Air Nomad philosophy can be used for evil ends? Zaheer using airbending to asphyxiate the Earth Queen and send the Earth Kingdom into anarchy? All great storytelling elements.

And the same applies to Unalaq becoming a dark Avatar, or Kuvira using Toph’s metalbending and Zuko’s legacy of a peaceful Fire Nation to advance herself. The writers were willing to go there, and that’s what makes the show legendary.

And, TLOK does the vice versa of what I mentioned above regarding trope subversion, things once seen as villainous being heroic (and so on). For instance, Mako being a heroic firebender (though his actions are not always good). Lightningbending used to fuel power plants, and war balloons from the Fire Nation assisting the protagonists.

And this adds into the third major point of sequel writing: it reinforces the messages and spirit of the original, while also expanding it and showing new challenges. The redemption of the Fire Nation is intact, and it has been reformed to a positive force in the world. And building off another takeaway, it shows the long-term effects of how much change can happen when people are willing to see other perspectives.

And the way this is challenged is also a darker version of it; each major villain has a secondary villain of opposing ideology, a hammer and anvil smacking together, with the innocent caught in between the clash. Many perspectives are seen, leading to conflict, while Korra and the others have to learn from their enemies to find the best path.

Some fans of either show try to make it a competition between the series, but I strive to discover the conversation between them. ATLA was a tough act to follow, and for them to create a sequel roughly equivalent to the predecessor’s quality is a feat of artistic skill.

What are your favorite parallels between these shows? What have they taught you on developing sequels?

Note: all works and characters are the property of their respective owners. Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for fair use for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, research, commentary, and or parody. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use.