In Sadness

We lost a dog last Thursday. Our lovely little (big) yellow labrador named Winnie. I was the one who named her. In my mind she is Winnie the Paw; with her big welcoming front paws up in the air, her tongue lolling to one side and you could see her smiling, laughing even, every time we come home.

Winnie

2003 - 2010

She's in doggie heaven now, hopefully not annoying other dogs with her voracious, incessant barking. She was seven years old. I miss those barks, especially late at night when she's usually just outside the door while I'm on the computer typing God knows what. She didn't quite like having her picture taken but endured it just the same.

I miss her terribly.

Vicarious Travel

You Can Never Find a Rickshaw When It Monsoons
Mo Willems

Remember I talked about Lucy Knisley's journal of drawings for her six weeks' stay in Paris a couple or so days ago? Well, what if you have more than six weeks to spare, traveling with your sketchbook secured safely in your backpack? What if you have 52 weeks instead? What countries would you visit? Would you traverse the well-lighted, well-secured (and with oh so efficient travel guides) path of the tourists or trod along the side streets, destination unknown, of the traveler?

I'm totally over the moon about this book. I love, love, love drawings (because I can't draw). Add words to string them along together and you have a recipe for a perfect book. At least for me. And well, the words must be perfect in the sense that it tells you a story and not merely a descriptive summary of what's there in the sketch. Well, I mean there will be parts that are just mere descriptive summary of the sketch but I do need something to make me feel (read: I am cold hearted), to make me appreciate whatever it is that I'm focusing on. And this book, this collection of cartoons drawn from one year traveling extensively around the world, just makes me glad I can travel vicariously through the artist's eye.

This is actually his time capsule. The artist decided to travel around the world right after graduation, armed (so to speak) with a sketchbook, and drew a cartoon of his most memorable event of the day for one whole year. If you think the title of the book is long, think about the subtitle: The World on One Cartoon a Day. It's a daily personal account, obviously. How personal can you get when your second drawing ever for the entire set is a duck lazily paddling along a river? As a reader you ask yourself, on that second day, "Oh geez, did I just buy a book to let me see a cartoon of a duck paddling along a river?" and then you dread the next 363 pages. But there is always doubt and yet it gets amazing, and funny (relevant, revealing, sad, creepy, the whole gamut of human emotions) over the course of the year. His cartoons are good in evoking those feelings and with the right words, it really feels like you're reading a snippet of a story for each day.

Sample cartoons from the back cover of the book

Since the cartoons were drawn fifteen years before its actual publication, the artist inserts additional notes of information in most of them; most recollecting the actual event, others recalling a much later trip to the same country with a different reaction. Pretty insightful really and yet I imagine him sitting on his chair, looking over the cartoons, reminiscing the way he was back then. Oh, the deluge of memories!

It took a while for me to finish this as I picked it up as a kind of dessert, so to speak, from my usual readings. Traveling vicariously can be tiring too. Hahaha.

Pick this up if you're the type who love cartoons and travel (or at least thinking of traveling). Also, if you're not exactly a tourist. A part of me adored this book because I loved to travel and that I've been to most parts of eh, my country, on a budget, with none of the tour guides and tour buses for those cramped views of scenic spots of our 1,107 islands. I love those side streets and destinations not quite populated by foreign tourists who come to my country for the hyped beaches, world-class waves for surfing, and the cool, refrigerated air of our huge shopping malls. Then again, most people from the international community are shunning my country now right now. Understandable, really. And I myself am ashamed, angry and sad at what happened here last Monday. It really felt bad to be Filipino that day. Excuse me for that personal note.

Other interesting points of view:

Abe's Book Blog
Sonder Books

Intricately Villainous

Fingersmith
Sarah Waters

I started this book thinking it was just another story that a lot of people, book blogging people of the virtual world, loved. I didn't prepare myself for it in any way (given that hey, most of you practically kept the plot to yourselves, for good reasons, of course). Bad idea, really. I mean, not preparing myself for it. Then again, I've always been gullible.

The plot is simple actually. So simple it's quite easy to believe it's just another story you pick up on a leisurely day, thinking a few words, a chapter or two, would take your mind off the normality of your daily life. There once was an orphan named Sue Trinder who grew up in a house full of crooks in Victorian London. But barely allowed to join everyday thievery, Sue's life takes a different turn when the Gentleman, a master of con, arrives at her doorstep with a scheme in hand and a promise of three thousand pounds.

The con is also simple. So simple it's quite easy to believe everything would be over and done with in a hundred pages, two at most. There is a lady cloistered in a large house; an orphaned lady by the name of Maud Lilly under the care of her uncle. She has enough money in the world that three thousand pounds is but a pittance. But to secure the fortune she must marry. And here's where the Gentleman plans to step in. With Sue working as the lady's maid, he would inveigle his way into the lady's heart. And when the two are married it would just as easy to cast off the lady, who has no knowledge of the world outside the house she grew up in, to a mental institute.

Given this general background there are things at the back of your head you'd expect to happen. Rather, a part of you writes the story you want to unfold, if you're not the type to hold back and allow the author to actually convey her intentions. Me, I'm a fan of authors in general. I let them tell their stories. Hahaha.

Things started getting complicated when we realize early on that Sue has a heart in the right place. She might have grown up in a crook's house but her crookedness is born of necessity not of evil. And that's just one the things complicating the simple, little con.

Let me just say I started hyperventilating (sort of) three pages before the end of Part One (the book is composed of three parts, in all). Those of you who read this know what I mean. Those of you haven't, well, you've been warned. Hahaha. Because this simple, little con is not what it seems. And I think I've revealed more than enough, so I'll stop there.

So yes, I was pleasantly surprised that I was surprised at all! For a handful of possibilities in the seemingly simple plot, the author managed to craft a tale of veiled villainy and, no matter how corny this may sound, the triumph of love in spite of all the heartbreaks. It is quite easy to read, quite easy to situate one's self in Victorian London, living the crude life that crooks endure up to now, seeing Sue there, a part of and apart from the scene.

And a lot of things have been said about the story altogether that I don't know if I can add anything new or fresh to it. Although as far as term paper or reading assignments are concerned, one could easily juxtapose the two orphans Sue and Maud. Sue, the girl who grew up with crooks versus Maud, the girl who grew up with a wealthy uncle providing for her. I could say a lot of things really but that would also spoil the story for those who haven't read this yet.

If there's one thing I didn't like or at least didn't sit well with the apparent shadow brooding over the entire story, it's this: the happy ending. Well yes, I was expecting the happy ending, of the sort one can expect after having been broken-hearted for most of the pages. What I didn't quite like, I mean, it had that pretty neat denouement that somehow allowed the characters for a fresh start. At least as fresh a start they could get in this tale of swindlers. But that's easily forgivable given that a not-quite neat denouement would've been more heartrending than necessary.

Aren't you intrigued yet?

They said good things about this book better:

Caribousmom
Jenny's Books
Shelf Love
Things Mean A Lot

Serving Time*

I love this city this time of the year. The streets are more alive at night, especially in these modern times. I see people milling about, trying to capture its lights that illuminate not just the paved streets but the entire city itself, forming a glow that looks charming from where I'm perched. I love the way the lights play with the people's eyes as if fluorescent lamps can bring wonders beyond imagination. The people below look happy. Really happy.

I look at them every night. That's all I do. I can't leave my balcony, not yet anyway and I've accepted that already. I rely on other people to take care of me. Or those visiting me every so often, looking me over and at times whispering something in my ear waiting for a reply. But I can't talk. Even if I do, they probably won't listen. Or maybe we won't understand each other.

Because well, they don't exactly visit me. They come for the grandeur that is this city. I hear that all the time from Sim. He's the one who comes here often. Unlike the others, I can sense that he cares. He tries to make as little noise as possible when other people are about. He is sick, you see. He stoops like an old man and half his face is deformed as if crushed by the bones of his mother at birth. Maybe his mother didn't want him to experience this mean world and wanted to take him with her to the land of the dead. Alas, he survived. But she was right somehow. Because kids make fun of him. Adults are afraid of him. So he hides here most of the time, at night, when the doors are closed and no one's up and about.

He also works here. I hear the others talk about him above the din of the radio. "Beastly" they would say. "A demon's son." And then they would laugh. I am sure Sim knows that but he ignores them because he is kind and loving. I surmise it's to compensate for his hideousness but I seriously doubt that. Fate has a way of dealing people the wrong cards and yet Sim manages to remain pure in his heart.

He talks to me you see, because he has no friends except that lady who dances gracefully on the streets for coins. Today the lady is not here and Sim is sad. I would much like to comfort him but there is nothing I can do. Not for now.

I can feel the night creeping in. I'm counting the days until I'm free of this curse. Just a few more, really.


And maybe then I could fly Sim and her lady off to a much better world.

-----
*Posted By Lightheaded to everyday ambiguities at 11/08/2007 01:49:00 AM

-----
This is the gargoyle-inspired story I wrote (with slight edits today) after seeing the piles of photos from my friend's visit to the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. The other inspiration, you could see from the story itself. I still had my personal blog back then (which I eventually deleted a couple of years ago). I used to write very short stories for Three Word Wednesday, a writing exercise then under a blog called If You Read Only One Blog This Year.... The words for November 8, 2007 were compensate, modern and radio.

For gargoyle fans out there, enjoy. Hopefully by tomorrow I could come up with a post, either on Fingersmith, Y: The Last Man Volume 1 or The Strain. Or maybe about another thing entirely. Have a great week, bookloving people of the virtual world!

Before Mockingjay

Today is the last day of the annual Cut-Price Book Sale over at National Bookstore. In two day's time, Mockingjay, the third and final installment of the Hunger Games trilogy will be released. I know there's no connection but I would've appreciated the book's release within the annual sale, hahaha. Sue me for wanting a discount. But yes, the books are already here in the Philippines, probably padlocked with a handful of guards surrounding the boxes.

Come to think of it, the book will be sold here starting August 25. And I thought I'd take advantage of the time zone to read it ahead of eh, North American and European fans of the books. Silly me. I wasn't thinking straight. I was so looking forward to getting it on Tuesday. But no, I've to wait twenty-four hours further. Then again, I may end up foregoing the whole shebang of the launch and simply wait for the paperback copy in a year, right?

I'm posting for a simple reason. This is my What I Want to Happen post. It's immaterial to the story, really. We all have our hopes and expectations regarding the entire thing (I'm referring of course to the fans out there and not some random, book loving dude in the corner). Feel free to leave now, forget I ever posted this, go back to your routine. I won't take it against you.

Then again, I really don't have a set thing in mind as to what I want to happen. The thing with dystopian settings is the inevitable shift at the end, at least hopefully things would then turn out better than before. Otherwise, what would be the point of the exercise? At least that much I have in common with most if not all the fans of the trilogy. We want to bring the Capitol down, with it the President who smells like roses. You cut off the head then everything goes down, presumably. Still I am reminded of Dollhouse, particularly the last two episodes of the final season (Hollow Men and Epitaph: Two). That we can't always get what we want. Or, to the comics-lover, Fables: The Dark Ages, which I'll write about soon enough. Then again, the obvious target of any uprising is the figurehead, the leader. The willing and able supporters almost always get amnesty even if they share the same passions as the leader. But I digress.

There have been casualties and there will be a handful more, that much is expected. I'm not going to bang my head and imagine the deaths of Haymitch, Peeta, Gale or even Prim's goat for that matter. Then again, I just typed that, didn't I?

I want Katniss to stay as strong as she was in the two books and yet I also expect her to both be vulnerable and shrewd at the same time. She is the central figure in all this, after all. She can't die. I mean not yet, not even at the end of the book. Hahaha!

And after reading my previous posts on the two books, here, finally, is my take on the Team Peeta versus Team Gale angle:

Gale does not stand a chance. No-oh. Not ever. Not even a smidgen. Seriously.

Oh please, don't hate me for that. It's quite obvious anyway. To me, at least. Hahaha!

Maybe because I'm a romantic at heart. I recognize that Katniss isn't even required to pick one (hence my refusal to discuss the love angle in my previous posts). But see, Peeta is it. No doubt about it. And it's not because he saved Katniss a lot of times already or that he's been madly in love with her for the longest time. Those things don't even count. I just feel that Katniss is in love with him too and she's simply doubting it every step of the way because everything appeared forced upon her.

But don't feel bad for Gale. He'll end up with a girl, trust me. The girl who gave Katniss the mockingjay pin in the first book. Unless of course he gets killed in an act of extreme display of affection for Katniss. Which I doubt. Rather, which I think is overly dramatic and sounds like something Peeta already did (except that Peeta has yet to die).

There, I said it.

I wonder what District 13 looks like. I wonder what the inhabitants of the richer districts would do. There's a lot of things in my mind, really. Maybe I should reread the two books to prepare myself for the onslaught on Wednesday.

Happy Sunday, book loving people of the virtual world! Let's hope it doesn't get bloody.

Drink It Up

French Milk
Lucy Knisley

I wasn't really expecting anything when I got this. There were lots of copies of this book piled one of top of the other in BookSale months back and I figured I should check it out. I started flipping pages and gee, it's an illustrated journal! A part of me becomes envious once again. I can't draw, you see. Well, I can if I want to but believe me, it's not something worthy of publication (unless of course you consider a chapter like "Mistakes in Perspectives" or "What You Shouldn't Do When Drawing" in a book). But I digress. Methinks I'd enjoy reading this one so I bought it. But a part of me thought I heard of the title before. It was familiar. Like someone I know raved about this previously. But I'll get back to that later.

This delightful book is artist Lucy Knisley's journal of her stay in Paris with her mom for six weeks. Reading it feels like vicariously living her life out there. It's personal and yet engaging. Her capsule comments capture that sense of wonder in living in Paris and her observant eye translates well into a cartoony version of herself. Plus a handful of photos too! Both she and her mom starting a new year, so to speak, with birthdays that signal a new phase in their lives and Paris was their gift to their selves. And in those six weeks we witness the highs and lows of an artist struggling to make sense of her self not to mention enjoying hundreds of glasses of French milk. Or something to that effect.

I already said this is a delightful book, right? I could also add charming, adorable, enchanting (quick, get me a thesaurus) or well, choose your own fanciful description. I put fanciful because hey, she was in Paris and everytime I think of Paris I always think of a maitre'd for some reason, looking down at me in his most snobbish self with an eyebrow cocked as if saying "You expect to dine here with those clothes?" in French, obviously.

There are other things to love aside from being envious of the scrumptious meals they ate but what struck me was that most of the books she read during the trip were books I've previously read as well. And she loves some of the authors I adore: David Sedaris, Margaret Atwood, Oscar Wilde. Nothing to it, really. Just an observation. Though flipping through the pages you do get that feeling of traveling back in time and seeing events she writes about the same way, like seeing the death of Saddam Hussein on the internet or simply watching marathon episodes of tv shows.

Pictured here is my off-center shot of the page with the "How they make foie gras" cartoon. The artist loves foie gras and unfortunately she lives in Chicago where it is prohibited to sell the stuff. Her stay in Paris somehow made her enjoy this specialty almost everyday and it's actually heartwarming to read about people enjoying their favorite stuff in the world. She actually bought canned foie gras on their trip back home!

Remember that I mentioned earlier about someone who previously raved about this book? It's Andi, actually. Funny but when I reread that post just now, I see the comment I posted earlier this year about wanting to get the book and well, apparently I did after like five months. Hahaha! And you should go see her wonderful interview with Lucy Knisley too!

I remember going back to BookSale about a couple of weeks after I bought this book thinking that this is the perfect gift for a couple of my friends who traveled through Paris before. Unfortunately, all copies of this book were gone. Tsk tsk tsk.

Other interesting points of view:

Boston Bibliophile
Estella's Revenge
Ms. Bookish
Oops...Wrong Cookie
Paperback Reader
Pinot and Prose
Reviewsbylola's Blog
Try Harder

Believe

The Gargoyle
Andrew Davidson

Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

And just like that the story starts. A car plunges into a ravine with the driver burned to near-death. We encounter him again at the Burn Unit recuperating, or at least trying to. He has nothing left to live for, nothing. And yet he knows he couldn't escape the hospital so he has to get well in order to plan the perfect suicide. Until a woman named Marianne Engel came along and started telling him stories. Stories of the past; a monastery nestled deep in the mountains. A young mercenary falling for a novice. Stories of love during the plague, during the reign of a tyrannical village chief, during the time of the Vikings, during times of war. But Marianne is not simply telling him stories but reminding him of it, of their times together in the past, centuries ago. But what could the man do but listen, particularly when he could barely move? And in listening I laughed, I nodded, was shocked and eventually believed, not just in Marianne but in the stories themselves.

Remember my Pensive post? I was talking about this book when I wrote that. I will try not go into the story itself now but I'll just tell you what it felt for me reading it last month.

It felt like love. The part when you're way too deep before you even recognized it as love. Reading the book felt like I was a fish happily swimming along until I bit a bait and got reeled in, unmindful of the fact that I was being reeled in. Oh dear, that's corny. Poor fish. But see, I wasn't expecting to fall in love with the story but I found myself bringing this book anywhere I go. I never liked the man, really, but he made his research well. He is the narrator after all. In painful, excruciating details he writes about his burns, about his addictions, about his life as a kid whose drug-addled foster parents barely took care of him, his life behind the camera as Adonis of the skin flicks. His is not the kind of life I would've admired and he knows it. But the way he told his stories are lovely and next thing you know, you're looking forward to his next thoughts.

It's a story easy enough to fall in love with and yet it is also a story of love. Loves. I already mentioned that earlier. These short stories of love told by Marianne are gems in themselves and like accidents, come surreptitiously. The blacksmith, the glassblower's daughter, the Viking, the widow. Plus, the story of the dragon La Gargouille. These stories are seamlessly incorporated into the apparent tall tale that Marianne is weaving for her burnt beloved. You get lost in them as well, seeing fully in your mind's eye the passion Francesco has with is dying wife, the glassblower's daughter's vow never to speak again, the Viking's forbidden love with his superior officer, the widow's undying devotion. Fiction is indeed powerful when you recall the emotions invoked of stories within the book as clearly as the time you were reading them.

Peppered with beautifully rendered historical facts not to mention imagined ones, Marianne Engel channels Scheherazade in this tale. Actually, more like a reversed Scheherazade. She wasn't telling stories to keep herself alive. She tells them to keep the Sultan in this story from killing himself. Or at least that's what struck me. Hahaha. Plus, this Scheherazade is not just a storyteller, as the pages unfolds part of why she nurses the man back to health, or at least a semblance of it. It was painful to read and yet you understand why she's doing it. It's a faith experience nestled within the pages of the book. You believe or you don't. Or at least try to. You see Marianne in two aspects: the one probably suffering from a disease or the woman talking to angels. A part of you mostly think of the former but evidence to the contrary points to the latter. That's not a spoiler, you see.

I have a certain sense of envy here. You see I don't write stories anymore as I'm too insecure for that, moreso now when I can marvel at how the author builds up the scenes prior to the ending and yet handling it well enough for a great finish. But that doesn't mean anything to you, right? It's easy enough to say that it's a captivating story about faith and love but it's just my opinion and others can very well not like this the same way I adore it to death. I say I don't write stories but reading this book made me write that Pensive post longhand first, before I transferred it online.

I know that I can ramble on and on about this book but that would be lame. But since this is my blog, to hell with that notion! Kidding. I mean, I'm not here to force this book upon you after all. I'm just here to tell you I love this book a lot. A LOT. Go. Read. It. Now. Hahaha!

And one last thing. I love the sense of humor. See, I just finished Thunderstruck when I picked this up and then I encountered this:


It was a long enumeration of various delectable food and the name pasted somewhere with the note (just checking to see if you're still reading) totally made me laugh out loud.

Oh well, I can be totally shallow at times.

Why I picked this book a year or so back? Not because of the hype (the unpublished text was the highest paid debut ever: $1.25M) but that got my attention. The truth is, I'm mildly interested in gargoyles. My dream house would have a gargoyle or two (or three or lots) of them. When a friend of mine visited the Notre Dame Cathedral I saved the photos with the gargoyle shots in my hard drive (with her permission, of course). I wrote a very short story once, with a gargoyle too but the link to that isn't working anymore. But I just might post that here someday (as I emailed a copy to myself, obviously). Reading this book I also realized that I could be interested in grotesques. You see, gargoyle is a waterspout. And grotesques are like gargoyles except they are not waterspouts. So much for being erudite.

Other interesting points of view:

A Guy's Moleskine Notebook
An Adventure in Reading
Books on the Brain
Devourer of Books
Fyrefly's Book Blog
Muse Books Reviews
Reading Matters
So Many Precious Books, So Little Time
The Book Lady's Blog
The Bookling
The Literary Omnivore
The Literate Housewife Review

More links using Fyrefly's Book Blogs Search Engine.

Crafty

I love books. That you already know. I also love coffee. Rather, I need coffee to survive. I need to have two mugs of the darkest, blackest coffee I could muster (I lie of course) before I could officially start my day. Otherwise I'll have monstrous migraine haunting me for the rest of the day and up until the next morning. Or until I have my fix. I am Lightheaded and I'm addicted to coffee.

Then there are days I simply have to take coffee outdoors, whether or not I have had my day's requirement. Since I still consider myself part of the civilized world, no matter how introverted I am, going to a coffee shop is a norm when you're out with friends and even family. Plus, there's always the opportunity for that chocolate truffle cake or even Belgian waffles!

If you're a judge you're probably wondering what's the point about this post and now I'll give you the answer: those damn cup holders are pretty nifty bookmarks! See, there's a crafty side of me and I don't mean that in the villainous way. Hahaha. Though yes, there is that crafty side of me as well.

Since I don't have enough bookmarks to accomodate the number of books I've started, forgot, relegated to the back pile, left inadvertently on top of my bed at home, piled beside the bed, shelved for the time being, archived (hahaha) until further notice, well, you get the drift: I need bookmarks. I don't even hanker for an actual bookmark. A piece of paper would do, like the Krispy Kreme ad included in every box of donuts. Or delivery ads. If you go through my shelves you'd see some books with those ads in place. Sometimes I use postcards but those won't do on mass market paperback copies of books as they are simply to thick or too big.

Hence, those damn cup holders.

I know it's too thick. Thicker than your average postcard. What I do is I cut off the folded side and retain merely the part with the logo. Then I smash down the corrugated part with a dumbell. Well, smash isn't the apt description but since the corrugated part is the thickest part of the whole thing I really want to smash it down to a usable thinness. Piling heavy books would do the same trick.

But the other day, with a handful of extra cup holders from 7-11 after a long road trip, I decided on making my bookmark more appealing.

Materials:

2 cup holders of the same size
Glue

1. Cut off the sides of the two cup holders.
2. Tear off the corrugated side carefully.
3. Glue the two together with the logos out.
4. Voila! Instant bookmark!


Of course you could string along a ribbon or something by punching a hole at the side. But I like mine sans ribbons.

What I learned from doing this: 7-11 cup holders have thicker cardboard backing and has a glossy finish compared to the thinner cardboard of Starbucks.

Plus, posting this is an excuse not to post about a book today. I've a migraine you see, not the lack of caffeine kind. Tsk tsk tsk.

Fairies Galore!

I know I said previously that I'd post about The Gargoyle today. I'm sorry but I can't do that now. My travel plans are wreaking havoc into my blogging schedule (and I laugh as I type that). Plus, it's raining here. Actually, just a drizzle. A continuous drizzle with a hint of much harder onslaught to follow. And I have no plans of getting wet outside and now I have to rethink about bringing my camera with me to take (hopefully) better pictures of dogs and cold, cold places. My brunch is in the oven and I sit now with just about 30 minutes to come up with a post. And 30 minutes of mostly screaming (in my head) "Aaack, what am I going to say now?" won't do for my favorite book of the year, so far.

So I decided to post about this book. 30 minutes is actually quite a long time when all I want to write is this: Go get yourself a copy, fast! If that's not enough, well, Neil Gaiman tells you to do the same as well.

The Good Fairies of New York
Martin Millar

To simply say that the story is just about a bunch of fairies is a bit too general and uh, too ambiguous. But yes, the story is about a bunch of fairies. Fairies from all over: from Scotland, to Ghana, from China to Italy. And like humans they all converge in that all-too human melting pot: New York City. But I'm not doing it any justice now, am I?

It's not just about fairies, who drink too much liquor in this one which questions my belief that they like milk! Hahaha! There are people here, too! A fat young man, a sickly young woman, a homeless wanderer who thinks she's a protector, a jerk of an ex-boyfriend, and a ghost. Hey, ghosts are people too! I mean, former people. I mean, I will shut up now.

There's also a revolution brewing somewhere, a continuing search for the perpetually misplaced rare triple-bloomed Welsh poppy, a fairy pact, a hint of the sex trade and Shakespeare. Shakespeare! Oh my!

Again, I know that I'm not doing this any justice. But I had fun with this. Totally, utterly hilarious fun. Every sentence feels like there's a joke coming. Every page feels like there's a background music playing, be it the violin, the guitar or simply a croak of a mercilessly played fiddle by a young man who can barely strum correctly. And yet, no matter how improbable things get, no matter how the story seemed destined to fall flat in the end (because at the back of my head I was thinking, "How he'd tie this all up?") I trusted the storyteller and was rewarded with the great ending.

And basically, that's all you ask for in a good book.

Other interesting points of view:

Beyond Books
Rhinoa's Ramblings
Stuff As Dreams Are Made On
Tiny Little Reading Room

Lifted

I am honored that Fantaghiro23 of Coffeespoons chose me as one of her Versatile Blogger. I think it's my first award in years and I'm happy to accept that. I just don't have a lot of time in my hands right now to cull links from blogs I currently enjoy so I'll hand out my list sometime soon. Thank you again for making me smile and lifting my spirits.

Of course I clicked on the other links she included in the post and happily chanced upon One More Page particularly the post on 75 Signs of a Book-a-holic. Her notes were totally funny and maybe one day I could analyze the list and see if I actually fit the mold. The original list came from Online University Reviews. And while skimming it, I chanced upon this:

33. Your solutions to any sociopolitical problem inevitably involve references to eating babies.

If a peer gets the reference and laughs, you are in good company. If a peer does not get the reference and laughs, you probably should examine his or her motives first before judging them a sociopath. They could just be harmless internet denizens in their downtime.

And I couldn't help but laugh and reminisce at my English 21 class in UP way, way back. That however, doesn't mean I'm not a sociopath. I could still be. Hahaha!

And no, I haven't completed an English degree, which is number 1 on the list. My imperfect grammar alone is proof of that. You should hear how I second guess myself when I speak. I however have a Philosophy degree, thank you. Primarily because I wasn't accepted in a science program and Philosophy sounded better in the form I filled up back when I was still in highschool. Hahaha.

I'll post about The Gargoyle tomorrow. I can't wait. I so love that book. My personal favorite so far for this year.

Mildly Electrifying

I have a tendency to over stuff my shelves as any book lover does, I imagine. So while I can say that this isn't my first nor second Erik Larson (my copy of Devil in the White City is at the last column of a three-columns deep shelf, same with Isaac's Storm on a lower shelf, I mean I hope it's Isaac' Storm, I could be mistaken), this is the most accessible hence the first one that I read. I finished this last month, I think, but I read it over the course of a three-month period, mostly as my go-to book before bedtime; you know, the kind of book you read for like a couple of paragraphs or so, more like simply a handful of pages to lull you to Neverland.

Thunderstruck
Erik Larson

Here, Larson takes us back to Edwardian England, at a time when a young, persistent, temperamental inventor named Guglielmo Marconi was trying to develop and enhance a wireless transmitter, one that can transmit messages out to sea, crossing the Atlantic even, if possible. Marconi's tale of both impediments and triumphs along the way is juxtaposed with the second most famous murder in England. You may ask if Jack the Ripper is the most famous murder mystery and I'll say yes. But here, from the depths of sepia-toned case files of old, Larson unearthed the second most famous murder mystery there is and we are left to be shocked and awed (oh, how cliched) of how that crime and how Marconi's invention collided head to head, or something to that effect. Hahaha.

Let me say that I had difficulty in finishing this, mainly due to the part devoted to the invention of the wireless. Even if I should have been gripped by the fact that everything happened for real. Actually, I was gripped by the murder mystery. If you haven't noticed yet, this is non-fiction.

You guys probably know that I love science. I love most everything about it and all other stuff that goes with it, hence my perpetually divided mind between reason and feelings. So the history of the wireless transmitter is exciting. At first. I mean, truly it is. Larson has that gift of reporting from the past. Heck, I can even assume he traveled through time just to record the events occurring in this book; all of those feel so real, as if he was there to document it all.

But after a lapse of time I grew tired of Marconi. Yep, that great man Marconi. The thing about Marconi's character is his persistence. You could feel it from the first time he was introduced up to the point where the wireless technology he was promoting became successful. And gee, his persistence is both tiresome and something to be admired! I know invention doesn't occur in a vacuum, things take time to check if they are working as they should be. The science back then is not as known as what we have now and I recognize that. Plus, the question of patents, of whether or not Marconi indeed was the first one to invent the technology, those parts are totally riveting. Still, the story of the wireless somehow stretches on quite a bit to match the pacing of the murder mystery. But sadly, the murder mystery outpaces the wireless story by a mile!

Maybe because Marconi wasn't a likable person. His persistence, his focus means that other important stuff are relegated in a very far background. Like his personal life, for example. Or that of the people around him. During the course of the development of the wireless we now all enjoy, Marconi hurt a lot of people with his attitude and that much is obvious. It's good though that Larson managed to keep the narrative focused and relevant, without putting off more readers against Marconi's attitude. But that's just me.

But the murder mystery? Oh goodness. Totally riveting even if the story started slow with just a hint of the darkness that would envelop the character of Hawley Crippen, the murderer. I could've finished this one sooner had there been less of the Marconi stuff and more of the mystery. Hahaha. So yes, the drama of regular people takes precedence over the drama of the invention. Thing is, the wireless invention is integral to the drama! Hahaha!

Hopefully I get to unearth the other Larsons that I own and let's see if my calling him a time-traveler is indeed correct.

Other interesting points of view:

Care's Online Book Club
Non-Fiction Five Challenge

Darth Vader Moments

I had a title in mind for this post (Ooops, I Did It Again and Again) but I think the one I agreed with my other selves is much, much better. Especially if you've read the books I'm about to write about. Particularly so if you've read them out of order, just like me, which isn't much of a surprise, really. Haha.

Considering that these books are bestsellers I presume that at least more than a handful from the bookblogging world I currently inhabit have read this. At least half of them who enjoyed the books probably have seen the film adaptation. And unless you lived under a rock (or at least have no internet and aren't interested in pop films) then you probably don't know what I'm talking about. Oh no, not Twilight!

Let's say hello to Percy Jackson, Rick Riordan's imagined hero. Uhm, you did read the first paragraph of this post, right? Because I picked up both the second and third books of the 5-part series and lazily refused to seek out the first, probably buried in my tons and tons of stuff. These two however I borrowed from a dear friend and I decided over the weekend to read them both in hopes of returning them soon (and hopefully borrow the last two books in the process, haha).

Enough of the over-extended introductions. The premise, for those haven't read them yet (and even for those who do) , is quite simple enough: the gods of old are real. They still inhabit the earth though we don't see much of them because a magical mist prevents us from doing so. Creatures of old are here, alive. And the gods? They still act godly and excuse me for saying, still their lustful selves. Because for the past hundred years or so they continue to beget children: half god, half-human. Until the three Big Bosses (Zeus, Poseidon and Hades) made a pact, after World War 2, not to sire any halflings because there's a prophecy, you see, one that foretells of a halfling of the big three bringing the fate of the gods in his (or her) hands.

The Gods are still battling the Titans for what its worth. And they are seeking all the halflings that they sired to train them in the upcoming epic battle. Hence, Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon who apparently broke the pact. Then again, Zeus did as well. Hahaha. So much for gods being true to their words.

Good enough for someone who hasn't read the first book? Like I said, that's just the premise. I learned bits and pieces of what happened there by reading the second and third books. Oh and excuse me for calling them halflings. I realy don't want to type half-god, half-human everytime I talk about them. Plus, a part of me misses hobbits. Hahaha.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Sea of Monsters

In the second installment, Percy Jackson learned that Camp Half-Blood, the training/summer camp for halflings, is under attack and the magical tree that had been Thalia once (Zeus' daughter) is poisoned, weakening the magical borders protecting the place . They also learned from Percy's dreams that Grover, their satyr friend is taken by a Cyclops. In a parallel quest for the Golden Fleece that would both save the camp and Grover, Percy and Annabeth on one side, and Clarisse (Ares' daughter) on the other, come face to face with an evil Cyclops and a herd of deadly, deadly sheep. Oh of course there's family too, as Percy learns more about his father and of secret he couldn't believe. And there's Luke who I believe is one of the major villains in the first book. He used to be good. Now he just wants to kill Poseidon's son if he won't join the Titan's cause.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Titan's Curse

The third installment features more gods, more monsters, more distress. Two more halflings are located and apparently in danger of being kidnapped by a monster, a manticore, under the guise of a school principal. Enter our heroes to the rescue. But the mission turned sour, Annabeth gets taken, and Percy met Artemis, the Hunter. And as Greek tragedies go by, Percy learns of his (probable) fatal flaw. Hahaha.

The books are so easy to read. Seriously. I actually needed a fun and fast-paced book after finishing Fingersmith last Friday and I settled with this because they are just that: fun and fast-paced. Done in matter of two hours, even less if I didn't take breaks in between. It's like watching an action flick, you just let your mind enjoy the high-flying kicks, ingenious traps, crazy monsters and adorable characters while a part of your brain recuperates from the heavy blows of another fictional tale. Allow me to call it Harry Potter Lite. It has all the fun and action yet none of the depth or drama of Rowling's series, at least for me. And I say that with much love, actually. Percy Jackson is adorable. He's fun, he can be a bit fearless, he's extremely loyal, his emotions are real and yet, while I like him, really like him, I can't say I'm as emotionally invested in him compared to when I first encountered that wizard named Harry. And I think it's quite simple why: Percy's the son of a god. A god for goodness' sake! Gods may be fickle but they sure as hell are watching over their children and woe to the men, women and monsters who take them out!

Short of saying it's not the kind of book I take seriously though I enjoyed it immensely. It was just what I needed for the weekend.

It's also a good series to review your knowledge of the Gods and the Titans well out of Edith Hamilton's Greek Mythology. Imagining Tantalus out of his bonds and going for a piece of pizza that skitters away from him is fun. It's fun that way, the author weaving together a fresh tale out of the gods of old. Like Zoe's story being one of the sisters of the Hesperides. Ooops, that's a spoiler, sorry. And I love the monsters' names. I feel like practicing my Latin pronunciation and make my professor proud.

But what really set me off, laughing I mean, are the Darth Vader Moments. Yes, I call them that (hence the title of the post). For a story premised on half-bloods it's quite obvious that the gods will somehow tell their children: I am your father. Or of the children telling others "He's my father" or probably even "She's my mother" every so often. Two books I read and in those two books I get that "He's my father" and I can't help but laugh out loud for like a minute or so, even if the situation is serious and doesn't call for a joke. I'm 100% sure that the same thing happened in the first book. I mean, unless of course Percy knew all along that Poseidon, the Poseidon is his father. I'm pretty sure the same thing will happen with the fourth book (because I think a major thread of the story will come up, particularly Nico's part in the prophecy).

Of course I'll read the last two books. I'll probably search my piles for the first book myself after this post. I may call this Harry Potter Lite, I may laugh at those Darth Vader Moments but see here, the Harry Potter series is pretty darn superb. And a Lite version of that is probably half as good.

Black or White?

Mr. Sebastian and the Negro Magician
Daniel Wallace

I did nothing wrong, but I hope you can forgive me just the same.

So ends the letter written by James to a yet unnamed "My dear" at the very beginning of this book. A letter preparing you to peek into the past of the recently interred Henry Walker, once a world-class magician but gradually diminished in stature until he ended up a heckled performer every so often, in a traveling circus. The circus is an important backdrop. We all know stereotypically what we'll find in there: misfits. And Henry Walker belonged with them. But I'm not telling you anything now, am I?

The problem with summarizing a story such as Henry's is that we only get a glimpse of what his life had been through the eyes of the different storytellers tasked to narrate what they know. Should we trust them? Or better yet, should we even trust Henry himself? He who piqued our curiosity from the very first page. Who is this Henry after all? And from there we pick up the pieces and try to join them together. But if you're looking for a linear plot, basically it's this. Henry Walker grew up in a hotel with his younger sister. It wasn't a glitzy and glamorous life. The family had fallen through hard times and Henry's father worked in the hotel to repair this and that, what-have-yous and what-have-nots. Henry met a magician who showed him card tricks. And one day, a day etched in his young mind, both the magician and his little sibling Hannah disappeared from his life. Henry vowed to look for the magician and exact vengeance someday. Because if there's one thing his mind is telling him, it's simply this: Hannah is dead. So he became a magician on his own.

The storytellers in this case are obvious; they are the ones from the circus and it's quite entertaining to imagine them. The guy who appears the strongest of them all is, deep inside, a weakling. The Chicken Lady named Hester Lester. The Ossified Girl. Jeremiah Musgrove, the proprietor of the circus. A host of others. They have a lot to tell and the Henry puzzle is slowly coming together. As a reader you are left to discover the bits and pieces left out, discovered by the detective we encounter along the way. As a reader you can't help but be stymied by the whole thing. Should I rage at the Fates or admit that memory is a tricky little thing?

I read this awhile back and recognized what the power of stories can do to a person in search for something. I haven't read any other Wallace book before but I've seen the film Big Fish which is based on Wallace's book and there's a certain similarity to it in the way that the a person's life is told through stories. Though if I recall correctly, Big Fish is told through seemingly tall tales by the character of Ewan McGregor to his son. In this book, the life of Henry Walker is told through stories seen by the others around him. Is it even safe to assume that the author loves telling stories through little bits of stories stitched together into one coherent whole?

But now that I sit and pick my brains for anything resembling the book I find myself at a lost. I see images from the book in my head: the card underneath the dresser in the dusty hotel room, the circus, Mr. Sebastian smiling devilishly, the people heckling and bullying Henry Walker, but they are just that, images. I don't recall a single story that stood out except that instance when Hannah disappeared in front of Henry. In fact, if I don't have the book with me now I won't even be able to write any other characters in it (hence I flipped through and search for the names of the circus performers I typed above). And something at the back of my head is telling me that the book somehow reminded me of Memento while I was reading it months ago. And that alone (for those who've seen that film) is probably spoiler enough to those who haven't read this book. Then again, my mind plays tricks on me too!

So yes, this was ok while I was reading it but now has lapsed into the forgettable stage. I hope the other Daniel Wallace book that I have isn't like that, if and when I read it. Because now I'd probably take it out of the bedside pile and move it towards the shelves.

Another good thing that I'm posting about a book I haven't shipped home yet is that I get to post my chosen lines from the only page I marked as important:

"Evil always wins," Henry said. His voice was low, strained, guttural. He sounded as if he were possessed. "Eventually, evil wins. We fight it because it's the right thing to do, but in the end we'll always lose. Always. Because, to be good - truly good - there are rules, we have rules inside of us, rules we have to follow to be that way, to stay good. And evil can do anything it wants to. It's not a fair fight. Together, though, you and me, maybe there's something we could do. Something we could do - not to stop it - but at least to slow it down."

There you go.

Other interesting points of view:

A Fraternity of Dreamers
A Striped Armchair
Here, There, and Everywhere
OF Blog of the Fallen
Things Mean a Lot

Can't Think of a Title

There are times I simply want to read something different from the usual. Which is quite difficult to peg given that I actually read almost anything. I mean if you go through the piles of books I featured a couple of days ago you'd get a sense of that: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, Widdershins by Charles de Lint, The Wordy Shipmates by Sarah Vowell, Harry Lorayne's Page-a-Minute Memory Book, The Elements of Style by Strunk and White, Now and Forever by Ray Bradbury, The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula LeGuin, The Quiet Girl by Peter Hoeg, among many others. I could list every title down from that pile and it might even interest you, but not now when I have a book post in mind. Hahaha.

The Pigman
Paul Zindel

I picked this up months back because the cover says it's "A most unusual story..."

And it is. Two sophomores, John and Lorraine, befriended an old man named Angelo Pignati, by chance. They were making crank calls with their two other classmates when they talked to the Mr. Pignati, planning on milking him for a couple of bucks. When they eventually called on his door to follow through with the joke, they both felt guilty and sad for the old man living alone amongst his collection of miniature pigs. So they went out of their way to become the old man's companions. Everything changed one night when they broke the trust they forged with the old man for having a party in the old man's house while he was away.

Actually it's not that unusual. Kids growing up, learning about trust, breaking free of the mold that they are the only ones important in this world, or something to that effect. By going out of their way to be there for the old man, they recognize in him something that had been lacking in their lives: the listening ear of their parents, the understanding of teachers, the warm friendship of someone who doesn't ask something in return. In a world where it is quite easy to lose one's self in what other people expect them to be, John and Lorraine met someone that taught them what is important, what should be cherished in life. Like I said, it's not unusual. It's will probably affect others in a way that it didn't affect me. And it's not because I'm coldblooded and mean (even if partly, I am). It's simply because the story is dated and I couldn't wrap my head into that.

Dated in the way that the things John and Lorraine did would not apply anymore. I mean, do you still even remember rotary phones with a partyline? Do you even know what a partyline is? Dated. This was written in the late 60s where rotary phones had partylines and locks even. Since I come from the third world, we had rotary phones and partylines here up until the late 80s. Some of my friends still store old rotary phones in their attic! So you see, the details got to me. I can't picture the story happening now even if I can see the same type of friendship blossoming between an old person and younger ones. It's not easy to do crank calls anymore with Caller ID and all that stuff. Hahaha.

So I had this certain sense of detachment that prevented me from enjoying the book but that doesn't negate the fact that the book: well-written, well-meaning and actually heartbreaking if you think about it, is probably a good book for younger individuals. Why younger? Because when you get to my age (adulthood, hahaha) the themes in the book are something that you already know, lived or hurdled through. Or something to that effect.

And maybe that's another reason why this was just another book to pile in my "Ok Book But Won't Reread" stash. That while I understand John and Lorraine, why I could relate in part to what they were going through to the kid that I was back then, I had no need for a Mr. Pignati in my life. But it's good to have met him just the same through this book.

Other interesting points of view:

A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy
Jen Robinson's Book Page

Status Update

Listening to Ron Pearlman read Guillermo del Torro and Chuck Hogan's The Strain feels like Hellboy telling you a bedtime story. A scary bedtime story :)

Fences

There are lots of books out there being adapted to the big screen. Lots. Though people from the movie-making world mess things up most of the time without regard to the loyal readers out there, the simple truth is that some people are just readers and some are plain movie fans. I myself straddle the line. I read a lot, I know that, but like most of the population, I am entertained by the visuals. I'd even go as far as watching a film just so I could watch my favorite actors or directors, gods of the big and small screens.

If the source material is based on a book however, I'd like to read the book first. Maybe it's just me but maybe it's also my opportunity to wander, on my own, what the story is like. My time, my place to imagine the faces of the characters, the background, the colors. Yes, even the colors. I mean, gee, I'm listening to The Strain right now and my brain simply conjures a black and white sketchy cartoon in my head to give uh, color to the story. But I digress.

This time around I saw the film version first. I didn't want to but I couldn't pass up the chance when I did. You see I've been looking for the book for like three years now to no avail. So I sat up and watched the film when cable tv aired it during the first quarter of this year. And just like that, after seeing the film, the next time I visited my favorite bookstore, this book was on sale. Quite pointless to "What if" myself to death, right?

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
John Boyne

I think I'm probably the last blogger out there to have read the book so I'll keep the plot short. A young boy, Bruno, after moving from Berlin to an unremarkable town due to his father's job, befriended another young boy, Shmuel during one of his exploratory walks into the vast land surrounding his new house. Separated by a fence, they talk like boys their age do; they learned they share the same birthday even but Bruno realized that his new friend barely eats, always in hiding, and always appears in his striped pajamas. A friendship such as this is a gift but has no place during the cruel time imagined by the author.

There's a certain disadvantage in watching the film version of a very short yet moving book such as this. The book is naive and innocent, like the boy asking questions while the film, is serious like the father and heartbreaking like the mother. The book is beautifully handled anchored on the enquiring mind of a young boy. The film, while translating the naivete of the boy well, has to deal with the grownups too. And if you've seen the film first, then you'd miss the chance of meeting Bruno as is, the boy barely able to pronounce The Fury, barely able to say Out-With. Because by then, every page you turn, instead of seeing things in your mind, the images of the film fills you. And I didn't like that mainly because the voice of the young boy in the book is now lost on me. I am faced with the scenes of the entire family, the entire film. And it wasn't poetic and lovely, moving yet heartbreaking at the same time as the book should be. The film was stark, vivid, heavy. Emotionally draining. And I couldn't separate the two.

It's still a book I'd recommend that people read. Because the author is right: Fences like this exist all over the world. We hope you never have to encounter one.

I just hope I've read the book first before watching the film. But like I said, quite pointless to "What if" myself to death,

Other interesting points of view:

Booknotes by Lisa
Books on the Brain
Maw Books Blog
Sasha and the Silverfish: A Reading Journal
Small World Reads
The Avid Reader's Musings
The Wertzone

Do tell me if you've reviewed this book as well so I could put up your link.

Infinitely Charming

House of Many Ways
Diana Wynne Jones

In the kingdom of High Norland lives Charmain Baker, a bookish, sheltered young girl tasked to house-sit a wizard's house while the elves try to heal him of his ailment. Not having learned anything resembling house work, Charmain repairs to books and in the wizard's study encountered the Boke of Palimpsest where pages and pages of magical spells opened up her mind to the world of magic. That notwithstanding, she was more excited when the King responded to her letter, allowing her to assist Princess Hilda in the inventory of the castle's Royal Library. You see, the kingdom is in dire straits, losing money left and right without a plausible cause and the inventory might uncover where Wizard Melicot of hundred years ago, hid the stash of gold he took from the kingdom back when the present king is but a lustful thought in the eyes of his early ancestors. Allow me my pitiful poetic license.

So ok, now you may ask "What's that got to do with the house? Of many ways, even?"

Suffice is to say that I always find it difficult to summarize a Diana Wynne Jones plot. Well, I could reveal more than what I've written above (and goodness, you won't believe the hundreds of things I took off just to keep that in its basic "Here's-what-happens-without-spoilers" groove). Oh ok, so I'll reveal a bit more.

You see the wizard's house is not just a house. It's like a world of its own. Oh ok, it's enchanted. It's a wizard's house after all. Hence the title of the book.

Oh so you want to hear if this indeed features Howl, Sophie and Calcifer? Why didn't you say so? Yes, it features Howl, Sophie and Calcifer. Plus, Morgan. Is that enough? Oh stop, I could feel that you just want to wring my neck just about now.

Sophie's been invited to help investigate the cause of the disappearing riches not to mention the search for what is said to be an Elfgift, under the guise of a simple visit by a Mrs. Pendragon to her friend, Princess Hilda. For those not in the know, the former Sophie Hatter is a powerful witch in her own right. But the simple visit turns out to be a family affair when little boy Morgan comes crashing in asking for his mother, followed by an aghast Calcifer who can't seem to contain the young boy, and followed still by another handsome older boy named uh, Twinkle.

Don't you just hate it when I write stuff you both want to read and not read at the same time?

I love this book. Then again, I think I've said that to pretty much anything DWJ churns out. But here are my reasons specifically for this book alone without going through spoilery specifics. I love it because of Charmain, because I could relate to her on some parts (the bookish part, obviously and that other part where she simply loves eating, though unlike her I get too chubby too soon eating too much, hahaha). I love it that she loves dogs (there's Waif, the dog) and that she's willing to learn new things. I envy her that she's still at the stage in her life that everything seems possible. I love it when she recognizes her mistakes, realizes her power and yet retaining her goodness despite losing tact every so often.

And my imagination wandered yet again with the creatures called the lubbock and their half-lubbock, half-human offspring called the lubbockin. Creepy, creepy, creepy. Reading those descriptions of what they are like, or even that part where Charmain first encountered them or that part when she read about them were enough to make my blood boil!

There are also creatures called kobbolds which somehow remind me of Terry Pratchett's Wee Free Men, except that the kobbolds don't wear kilts, don't have braided, red hair, and well, they are very subservient with rather interesting noses. So yes, they're small and they're blue. Hahaha!

And then there are the books. I mentioned one already. I'll mention Res Magica too. It's like the encyclopedia of magical creatures. Funny but I was reminded that somewhere in Sheridan Hay's The Secret of Lost Things, the main character there named Rosemary read from Jorge Luis Borges' The Book of Imaginary Beings. Res Magica feels like that and I want it to be both real and not real at the same time. That or I wish I could read Borges book too!

And while I failed to mention other characters in the story, believe me when I say that Miss Jones know where to tie all the seemingly irrelevant information, history and characters together into one cohesive, beautifully designed tale enough for you to wish that when you look outside your window, you'd see a castle floating there, just so you could flag it down and get a chance to hug the inhabitants thereof. This is one filling, more than satisfactory read. It gives you new characters to get to know, love and admire, a story that is fast-paced and somewhat creepy, not to mention re-introducing beloved characters of old. What's not to love in a DWJ book anyway?

I'm posting this for Jenny's Diana Wynne Jones Week.

I picked this book for a lot of reasons. I really wanted to read Enchanted Glass but last time I checked, I haven't seen a copy here. No, I didn't settle for this book. I actually wanted to read it since I bought it because of the much-hyped info on the cover alone that it's another sequel to Howl's Moving Castle. You see, Howl's Moving Castle is my sentimental favorite DWJ book. Hands down. Call me a romantic, call me anything, but that book is just perfect!

Those of us who choose Howl's Moving Castle as the ultimate DWJ favorite probably has the same aspirations: that a sequel should feature them, in their own story, living their own lives, as a happily fighting, loving couple of the first book. The great, insightful DWJ probably said "Bah, let them alone" and wrote Castle in the Air instead, giving us with a short glimpse of not-quite daily living of the two plus that funny, lovely, exasperating fire demon Calcifer. I think I learned my lesson when I reread Castle in the Air not too long ago: not to expect too much on what the story should be in my head but rather allow it to unfold before me.

And that was my frame of mind when I finally picked this up: no more apprehensions, no more wishing "It should be this or that," just the willingness to be entertained, to spend some time in a place where magic is real. I knew from the cover that my favorite characters will appear but from the first page on, I never imagined this to be their story but simply just another tale from the mind of a master storyteller. I welcomed Charmain. Actually, it's like I eavesdropped on her mother and her aunt when they decided to send her to house-sit for the wizard. And I was hooked! When I finally encountered Sophie (in the part I've written earlier), I was happy to see her and glad to know she's out there to help, not because Charmain couldn't handle her own, but simply because the kingdom's problem is practically bigger than a budding young magician could even fathom to handle.

Sigh.

Oh, fans of Calcifer shouldn't miss this at all. Especially if you want to have a heart attack. Hahaha.

So right now I'm happy I've met Charmain. And Waif. And the other characters I didn't name earlier. The setting of High Norland is a good place to be, too, if you want to eat good food or even browse through the castle's Royal Library. Or maybe you'd like a visit to the wizard's house? Happier still that I got a bigger glimpse of what Howl and Sophie are like, two years off Castle in the Air. Glad that they're still funny and that they still love each other as much as or even more so than the first book. But I'm more likely to let them be, allow them to live their lives on their own, because married life is like that. I don't need a dramatic story detailing how they're handling Morgan's diapers, how Howl's job as the King's wizard is straining his wizarding abilities, how Calcifer manages the floating castle and at the same time demon-nanny to Morgan if need be, and how Sophie keeps them all in check. It's better to let them traipse through our imagination every so often. Besides, I could reread the three books now if I miss them that much and believe again that whatever happens, they have each other and their floating castle.

And if one day Miss Jones decide to let us peek through their lives once again, through the lives of other characters inhabiting her imagination, then I'd welcome them once again. With milk and cookies even.

Double sigh. Ah, happiness is a Diana Wynne Jones book. Double that if it's one with Howl, Sophie and Calcifer in it. Hahaha.

Lessons

#1 Don't take pictures against the light.



Can you actually see the titles without squinting? Without even trying to squint? Are you wearing glasses? Now, do you need to wear glasses? Here are the titles of books the posts referring to them still stewing in my brain. Let's hope I don't come up with a mash-up. Hey, that rhymes! On second thought, if I mash up any two of the books above, would that make an interesting book? Any ideas? Say, The Good Gargoyles of New York? The Pigman in the Striped Pajamas? Thunderstruck Mr. Sebastian?

#2 Focus



I mean not just because of the blurry shot but also my need to focus on just one book so that I could finish it. Hahaha. This is my bedside book pile. I think I'm in different stages of reading through nine titles from this pile alone. Do you know how difficult it is to just pick a book and go with it? Rhetorical question, that one.

See any book similar to yours? That's about thirty books, give or take, one piled on top of the other. You should see my shelves. Then again, better not lest you scream at me for not having enough shelves to house them properly.

Enough lessons for the day.

August 1

Today is the start of the Diana Wynne Jones Week. And I'm only on the second page of The House of Many Ways! Eeeeek!

I actually would have read Enchanted Glass but unfortunately I can't read something I don't own yet. Hahaha! Considering that I frequent a bargain bookstore I doubt if they have copies of the newest book of this great author. Which reminds me, time to visit National Bookstore for their annual Cut-Price Book Sale!

Plus, there's nothing wrong with Howl and Sophie, right? Howl's Moving Castle is my sentimental favorite DWJ book. I could read it over and over and over and over and not get tired of them all, Calcifer included.

Sigh. Ok, back to Charmain and hopefully I get to post about it before the week is over. Happy August book blogging people of the world!

Broken Kid

The advantages to knowing there's a film adaptation of a certain book includes not having to imagine the face of the characters. Or their voices. Your eyes slip through descriptive words such as patrician nose, big-boned, soft curls, grey eyes, and simply imagine the face on the screen. Extremely helpful if you don't want your imagination to wander. Extremely applicable in real-life settings of certain stories. Of course that only applies to actors you know, preferably ones you like.

And I actually like Ralph Fiennes voice, thank you, except when he's doing Voldermort. Hahaha. In this book, it's his voice that occupied my reading time. I haven't seen the film version of this. There was a time I noticed it was being shown on cable and I saw snippets of it while changing channels. I just wasn't interested to watch it then, even if Fiennes was in it.

The Reader
Bernhard Schlink

Since almost everybody must have seen the film then it's quite obvious what the story is about. A young boy of fifteen had an affair with a much older woman named Hanna and then she suddenly disappeared on him one fateful day. Fast forward a few years later, the young boy is now a law intern, observing the trials of former Nazi guards who allegedly locked up people inside a burning church. One of those guards accused of the crime is none other than Hanna, and it appears she would rather admit to the murders than share a secret she'd rather remain buried. A secret that the boy she always call as Kid realized early on, after piecing together the pieces of a puzzle on why she left him. Those who have seen the film or read the book know what the secret is, I mean even those who haven't seen nor read it, considering that I've known of the secret too, even before I cracked open this book. I blame it on all spoilers I encountered years back. Kidding.

Here's a paragraph off the book, during the trial and how the Kid both remember and deny Hanna in his heart:


Despite the Nazi elements of the story this is not a book about the Holocaust for me. Hanna is a former Nazi guard, yes. Tried for a crime that the Nazis are known for, yes. But it's not about the evil pervading during those times of war though we are reminded of that during the trial. The book is about the Kid, who fell for the older woman who rescued him one fateful afternoon. The Kid who consented to the affair even if he's not of age to give consent. The Kid left with just a glimpse of Hanna one afternoon by the pool, not knowing she was leaving him. The Kid broken by such desertion, who grew up empty, devoid of feeling after the hurt of a first love gone wrong.

This brokeness of the Kid made me sad. I couldn't call him by his name, you see, because to me he remained just that, a kid who got hurt and thereafter refused to allow anyone else to know him. He grew up a fine young man on the outside, attuned to the law and yet a part of him remained hollow, a void in the shape of Hanna, of what she meant to him, occupied his broken self. His heart once overflowing with love and passion to the older woman is now shriveled and dry. And after seeing Hanna, after realizing what she tried to hide, a part of him tries to make up for lost time as he reads to her yet again, belatedly, only this time through boxes of tape sent her way after the verdict. And yet somehow it's a bit late. Because while he may read to her yet again, he closed himself to her this time, in a certain sense deserting her emotionally the way she once deserted him. And he didn't even realize it until much later. And it's such a sad, sad thing.

It's quite easy to judge that Hanna was a misguided youth during the war and grew up knowing she could exert a certain sense of control over the Kid. Her character elicits both sympathy and anger. But her shame is understandable. In this day and age Hanna's secret is indeed shameful. Right now I'm reading Fingersmith and the main character Sue shares Hanna's secret, at least up to the part I've read. But while I understand Hanna, I wasn't sad about her. She was brave, you see, despite the inclination to judge her for what she did, not just during the war but with the Kid as well.

After having read the book I still don't know whether I'd watch the film. I'm sure it will be shown on cable again (the way cable tv rotates movies every so often). What I'm not sure of is whether I'd feel the same way about the Kid and Hanna in the film. Has anyone done both? Then again, I'll just wait for what Fate has in store for me when I flip channels during my free time.

Other interesting points of view:

A Guy's Moleskine Notebook
A Novel Menagerie
Bermudaonion's Weblog
Booknotes by Lisa
Boston Bibliophile
Caribousmom
My Friend Amy
Nishita's Rants and Raves
Steph & Tony Investigate!
The Octogon
Vulpes Libris