everyday reads

Almost Regret

2012-01-31T21:51:00.000+08:00

One of the things I miss about (book) blogging and reading book blogs regularly is my now-lack of information about the "bestest" new book I could get my hands on. Or something to that effect. I think it's one of the bonds I severed, sort of, when I hibernated from this venue.

This became palpable the other day, after leaving work early and passing by one of the bigger bookstores in the metro and found myself at a loss somewhere in the middle of aisles and aisles of books. That has never happened, not to me at least. I go to a bookstore and I hear titles and authors rattling at the back of my head, practically yelling "Pick me!" "Choose me!" "Try me!" Books and authors that left their mark after reading about them in a book blog. Books loved or scorned by book blogging friends.

The other day I was flummoxed. I know authors, yes. I know titles, yes. I saw a lot of new books. I saw a lot of old ones. I didn't know what to buy or if I should buy. Like I said, it has never happened before. To say that I made a hasty retreat is an understatement.

It's not that I want to be "in" on books that are popular nowadays. The other day I was just reminded that at times I need guidance. I know that I have a lot of books, most of them unread. I know that there are great ones there in the pile, stories adored by others I could not believe myself even for neglecting them up to now. I recognize that what I'm actually reading now is practically light fare and I'm planning on a meatier story sometime soon.

But the other day I was looking for comfort: the comfort of knowing what is actually out there. I missed that. Going to a bookstore with a plan in mind. Even in my occasional unplanned sojourns I have this idea of getting something to fit what I want. A couple of weeks ago I picked a book of essay because I need short snippets of everyday life. Last weekend I picked up and easily devoured two graphic novels. But the other day in the bookstore, I was afraid of not knowing: what's new, what's good, what's recommended, what's not. And I ran.

I look back at that and write about it. Because next time I'm not running away. Comfort zones are always welcome. But now I realized that you learn more, you live more when you're not in it. Ergo, I'm embracing the newness of not knowing, in books and in life.

[And may the Fates be kind to me.]

Mindless Drivel

2012-01-29T21:34:00.000+08:00

I have a solution to the impending zombie apocalypse that everyone is somehow prepared for. You see, I'm reading Christopher Golden's Soulless nowadays, mostly before bedtime because it's quite unbecoming, at least from my point of view, to read this in court prior to a hearing or something. Well, I could bring it and read but most of the times I'm reading papers and stuff so my leisure reading is done at home. Before I go to sleep. Oh life.

Oh, the solution? It's simple. Cremation. There won't be a zombie apocalypse if we start cremating bodies. Every (dead) body. That takes care of the vampires sleeping in their coffins during daylight as well. Yes, we have to disinter them. But there won't be a zombie apocalypse if there are no dead people coming back to life ala-Thriller, right?

It is a bit weird to come up with this solution while reading the book. It's a zombie book. I don't remember reading much of zombie books, save for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and a handful of The Walking Dead. It's hard to get a good zombie villain, given that their brains aren't functioning save for the mindless push to eat human flesh. That's why they are scary. Obviously you cannot banter with them, or even barter for your soul. And while I'm enjoying the handful of pages I get to read at night, I cannot get the scene out of my head: hundreds of dead bodies arising from their graves, speaking "I'm empty" in various stages of decomposition. Gross.

No wonder I wake up in the middle of the night half-scared of zombies.

Anyway, I'm posting tonight to remind myself to write about the three graphic novels I recently finished: Gerry Alanguilan's Elmer. Carlo Vergara's Zsazsa Zaturnnah sa Kalakhang Maynila. And Fables: Super Team.

Ok, memo done. Good night, book blogging friends. Hope all of you had a restful weekend.

After Death

2012-01-15T01:34:00.000+08:00

Today, half a century after Raymond Chandler wrote The Long Goodbye, twenty-four hours a day somebody is still running in Los Angeles.

If I keep posting every weekend, it means I should at least post fifty-two times this year. Which means, I should, at the very least, finish a book within a week. Which means I should be able to finish at least fifty-two books in 2012. Hmmmm.

I take back my simplified calculations and instead focus on this post. Hahaha.

This week I braved the crime-laden streets of Los Angeles; read about real-life detectives and the handful of murders they encountered in one year of their careers. I have never heard of Miles Corwin before (then again, I have not heard of a lot of non-fiction authors). I mean, this is just one of those books I bought to spend some of my idle, waiting time in court for the next hearing. I did not expect it to grab me by the throat and hurtle me to the dark side of the human psyche or something similar to that.

The title alone is a dead giveaway (pardon the pun) but it does not portray how deeply moving the crimes and stories are stitched together in this book. While it's a book about crimes basically, it is inherently the stories of the men who made it their mission to catch criminals.

Men, yes. The detectives featured here are all men. And it's quite a treat to peek into their lives: their different backgrounds, how they became cops, how they take a break from the crimes they encounter daily and so forth. On a personal note, given that I was raised practically watching and reading whodunits, I would've liked some women detectives featured as well.

Chapters are divided into certain parts of Los Angeles, where the jurisdiction of the LAPD lies. A certain crime becomes the starting point of everything: a dead prostitute found in her apartment, a mother and child in an apparent suicide, a wrongly-misplaced folder opening up a cold case, the murder of a has-been actor's wife, and more. Crimes like murder are always gruesome. Murder is never a pretty sight and it can be a bit uncomfortable reading about it. It is one thing reading fiction and another reading about an actual murder of an actual woman killed in her own apartment, left for dead for two or so days, with no witnesses and no one even hearing a gunshot. Personal vulnerability comes into play. Victims who had friends and relatives who carry on and try to make sense of the violence. You put yourself in the victim's place and think "This could very well happen to me." It is a kind of morbid thinking I cannot escape, reading true crime stories.

The detectives featured here are just plain dedicated. Tried and tested, so to speak. I have no idea if any of them are still in active duty since the book, rather the research was done in 2001. But I truly felt for them; when they get stumped yet hopeful that pieces of evidence will show up or fall into place somehow, learned from the tips and tricks they employ to hook a confession or when investigations lead them to different possibilities, or, as in a couple of cases, managed to solve a crime after tireless work. I also appreciated the humanizing factor: the detectives' other lives - who they are outside their office. Reading up on their varied backgrounds made me smile at times (one of the detectives wanted to be a fashion photographer, one of them trained and became a sous chef). It's the side we rarely see but often imagine.

It's a good read and yet, given the time frame for the entire research (one year), most of the cases mentioned in the book are still undergoing investigation and/or trial. I had to Google the ruling on one case even and found myself shocked at the result.

Here's an excerpt, on how a criminalist see their tv counterparts:

"I was watching CSI the other night and laughed my head off," the photographer tells the detectives. "They picked up a dead baby and didn't even look for trace evidence. There was no coroner around, no photos, no nothing. Then they barge in on the detectives, push them aside, and interview the witnesses. On another show, they picked up hairs with tweezers. Obviously, you use gloves so you don't damage the hair. One detective told me it was so bad he wanted to shoot his TV."

Life not imitating art.

-----
Homicide Special: A Year with the LAPD's Elite Detective Unit by Miles Corwin

Color Him Red

2012-01-08T00:30:00.003+08:00

Imaginative thought is to be discouraged. No good ever comes of it – Munsell Book of Wisdom

It took sometime for me to finish this, not because it was not good but because I was just not in the mood. But when my grey cells finally snapped in the right place, I found myself flipping pages like crazy and err, hoping it's years into the future and I already have a copy of both the second and third books planned for this series. It's that bad. I mean, my wanting to read the entire series. If I wanted to I could have finished this last year except that I chose to sit down and write a yearend post. I think I was done with this the first day of the year. That, after on-again and off-again reading early last year. Ok, enough of the rambling.

Before I start let me say outright, I'm a big fan of Jasper Fforde. I've read most of the Thursday Next novels and the two Nursery Crimes books. Last year, when I couldn't wrap my head around a world with chromatic hierarchy, I thought I was losing my marbles, so to speak. You see, I was used to his stories being somehow safe. No, that does not sound right. Safe is not the proper word. More like, I believed that the characters in his stories will somehow come out of their predicaments scarred yet safe. You get my drift? Sort of a happy ending or a semblance of a hopeful ending. And in the case of the Thursday Next stories, literary characters' happy endings, old stories falling into place as if nothing happened to them in Jurisfiction. I mean, Thursday's husband time travels so even if he disappeared in some books, they were reunited (I hope I'm remembering the stories right).

Maybe I was not ready for this side of Jasper Fforde. Any maybe that's why I did not want to read this last year. From the very first pages of Eddie Russett's narrative there's danger involved. Yes it was funny alright. That's one of the reasons I'm a big fan of the man. It's not easy being funny when your character is being eaten by a carnivorous tree, but he does it so effortlessly (at least as it appears to me as I wouldn't have any idea how agonizing it was to write or eh, how effortlessly even, hahaha). So there.

Can you imagine a world without colors? A drab, grey world? That or you can only see certain shades of the primary colors and that there are colors you do not see at all? And that one's social standing is based on the vibrancy of that particular color that you see? That you cannot see at night when blackness envelops the entire town? This is the world that Fforde imagined. Our world really, hundreds of years into the future until an event happened that reduced the population into a state of chromatic hierarchy: Reds, Blues, Greens, Yellows and Greys, among others. In this world of chromatic hierarchy, obviously there are rules. And the rules are rigid, which I think is key to every dystopian novel out there.

A community where everyone has their place, everyone knows their place, and everyone works ceaselessly to maintain continuance. If you were to dispassionately consider the principal aim of the society to be longevity rather than fairness, then everything is downgraded to simply a means of attaining that goal.

It is a dystopian novel. Like every dystopian novel, nobody is safe. It made me laugh at times, yes. Delightful to read about wrongly-titled books found by the characters (even a reference to a Nursery Crime title, if I remember correctly). And the colorful references are just plain inventive – Mrs. Lapis Lazuli, Lucy Ocher, Violet DeMauve – to remember their places in society. That does not mean it's not serious as hell.

The story starts out simply enough: Eddie Russett, a Red, is sent to a place called Outer Fringes, literally the outer fringes, to learn a little bit of humility. In a world where prefects take score with merits earned and demerits freely given, there really is no place for Eddie and his curiosity. Then he falls for a Grey named Jane which is tough luck on his part. Greys are the lowliest of lows in the scheme of things. And while he tries to forget about love and instead pines for a perfectly chromatically-arranged marriage with a better-suited Red in Constance Oxblood, his curiosity will get him into far more trouble and enlightenment.

It's a refreshing take on a pretty dark future with a slight chance of hope in the end. And while saying this sounds lame and all, I cannot wait for the succeeding books in the series to come out.

-----
Shades of Grey is the first book of a planned trilogy by Jasper Fforde

Endings and Beginnings

2011-12-31T21:32:00.002+08:00

I write this with barely three or so hours left before the year ends. It feels weird to sit down and finally gather my thoughts. It seems I have been avoiding it for the better part of the year. You see, I only posted fifteen times this year, a handful of them just plain Status Updates if I remember correctly. To think that when I started this blog it was just an offshoot of my online journal as I wanted something dedicated to books. Then I killed the online journal altogether and retained this. While I've had thoughts of rebooting this I didn't find the time. Life caught up with me this year, and now that I'm on a break, it feels right to write, at last.

I haven't read much books this year, yes, compared to last year at least. I still have read more than the average reader (though considerably quite less than the average book blogger, hahaha). Then again, how many books does an average reader eh, average in a year? A book a week? A book a month? I've read, alright. My issue is that I haven't blogged much. And it felt like I lost a lot if not all of my virtual friends in the process. Virtual only in the sense that we are bound by circuits of this world wide web. Virtual but no lesser in any respect as far as friends and/or acquaintances are concerned. I know that blogging is a bridge that connects me with a lot of you, dear readers. We've shared a lot these past years I've consistently raved and ranted about books and authors I adore and detest. When I failed to blog, the end result is that I failed to connect. You see, it's not just the lack of posts this year I barely skimmed the surface of blogs I follow as well. And a part of me feels that unfilled space meant for books I intend to get, characters to admire or revile, and bloggers to follow and share stories with.

I have no excuses really. I just didn't blog. If I wanted to, I could have. But life happened. And I broke a lot of blogging promises in the course of the year already to vow yet again that I will blog regularly. I just hope that this will do, for now.

In the meantime, I read some great books.

2011 will always be the year that I was so enthralled with Alan Bradley's wonderful Flavia de Luce. I read all three books this year, starting with The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie sometime earlier and the last two (The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag and A Red Herring Without Mustard) during the Readers Imbibing Peril challenge, a failed challenge on my end (one book posted, two books read with nothing to show for it, hahaha). All three books were easy reads, if I may say so.

Emma Donoghue's Room is a favorite. So with Lionel Shriver's We Need to Talk About Kevin.

This year I finished Patrick Ness's Chaos Walking trilogy with Monsters of Men. I never really talked much about the series save for the one-liners I did as my yearend post last year for the first two books. Suffice it to say that I loved the ending, despite uh, the fact that I did not like the way the Mayor died. Well, it is justice and the Mayor really has a powerful mind. Dying on his own terms, Todd's goodness retained. Still.

I also read Suzanne Collins's Mockingjay this year. Next year I'll reread the first book, in time for the film version. Yes, I am looking forward to the film version of the trilogy. While Jennifer Lawrence was not my Katniss of choice, the stills and trailers I see nowadays are more than promising.

Oh and because of the HBO series, I started reading George R.R. Martin's A Game of Thrones. I love Jon Snow. I love Arya. And goodness, the character Tyrion Lannister is such a pleasure to read. I am done with and greatly enjoyed the second book as well – A Clash of Kings. I started thumbing through a couple of chapters of the third book (A Storm of Swords) but I haven't gone back yet. There were other things to tempt my brain in the meantime.

As far as graphic novels are concerned, I finished Fables: Rose Red. Prior to that, The Great Fables Crossover and Fables: Witches. That's why I named my stuffed elephant Bigby at the start of the year. If that's a spoiler, ooops! Hahaha! As an aside, I started watching Once Upon a Time. I'm done with three episodes and looking forward to watching the rest of the available seven, so far (I download torrents, the series has yet to air here in my part of the world) and I've read this interesting interview of Bill Willingham (with himself) regarding the show. On another Fables-related note, James Jean is coming to Manila! But he'll be visiting another part of the metro and I am not sure if I will be able to catch him. I'm also looking forward to reading Fables: Super Team next year.

I also skimmed through a handful of Robert Kirkman's The Walking Dead. I'm watching the series too. My favorite character in the show is not a character in the comics. I think it's quite obvious that I'm referring to Daryl Dixon (ably played by Norman Reedus). Ergo, I stopped reading the comics.

What else do I remember? I want to know if it's a good thing to continue reading the series that started with A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray. I liked it, yes. I don't know if I like it enough to pursue the story though.

Wallflower at the Orgy by Nora Ephron took me to the not-so-distant past and she still made me laugh. I have always liked Nora Ephron's writings. This book is actually a collection of some of her earlier magazine articles way back in the 70's. It's more newsy, compared to the essays I've grown accustomed to reading from her.

As far as great rereads go, I went through the last two books of Harry Potter prior to watching the final installment of the film. Enough said. And yes, I still cried reading that part of Snape's story. And went misty-eyed while watching the film.

I think I'm already rambling as I don't want to go through the other books or graphic novels I finished. It is also evident that I spent more time watching tv than reading. Technically, I watch shows through my laptop but that is beside the point. I still fill my head with stories. So I'll start the wishes of the year with words borrowed from one of my favorite authors.

What am I reading now? What do I hope to finish next year?

Jasper Fforde's Shades of Grey. Scott Westerfeld's Behemoth. Gerry Alanguilan's Elmer. David Masiel's 2182 Kilohertz. Chelsea Handler's Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea. George R.R. Martin's A Storm of Swords. And Sarah Vowell's The Partly Cloudy Patriot, at least for January.

I'm also looking forward to reading Sarah Waters's The Little Stranger, and Terry Pratchett's Nation.

I have a great stack of books by my bedside in the metro (I'm not there, hence I cannot rattle of titles and titles of my TBR nor take a picture of the pile). My TBR gets bigger and bigger by the minute. I can opt not to buy a lot of other stuff but I just can't seem to stop myself from getting new/old books.

So there. A post to end the year with hope for a better reading year next year. Less than three hours before 2012 creeps in.

May you all have a prosperous new year reading, writing, and loving stories further.

May this ending post bring forth a better beginning for 2012.

And, may we all have time to read our TBRs next year before the world ends, if the world will end.

Shock Me

2011-10-13T13:51:00.003+08:00

Dear Flavia,

I adore you. I am enthralled by you. I wish I was more like you when I was your age. But I wasn't. If I had the penchant for poison way back then I would've been committed to a mental hospital, no, scratch that, probably worse. That or exorcised. They would've called me "witch" or "bruha," not to my face but in whispered conversations when I pass by a throng of people.

With just a handful of weeks after discovering a dead body in your garden here you are again, witnessing a murder! And yet, unlike other people's horrid reaction, your continuous fascination with death is truly noteworthy! So, like an adoring pup, I followed you around, even if I am way older than your precocious eleven years!

And what a revelation yet again! At times I forget that you are indeed young. That you are as fascinated with poisons as with tricks of a puppeteer! If only Inspector Hewitt could hire you on the spot, to help him solve the murder of that horrid Rupert Porson! Seriously, he has your grudging respect.

Oh, Flavia, I can see Bishop Lacey in my mind's eye! I wander its meandering roads with Gladys as well. But I fear for you for every dead body you find! In your first foray in our midst you almost died! This time, while you weren't placed in the exact same predicament, I also feared for your safety! Despite that, I laud your powers of deduction! Sherlock Holmes himself would be proud to have you as a companion (though I doubt if he has that much patience with girls your age - then again, he might make an exception - as you're an exceptional girl!)

I also find comfort in your poisons. If I have a laboratory for a bedroom I'd probably tinker with flasks of dangerous substances as well.

Oh and how you are so enamored of Antigone!

Thank goodness for introducing me to another relative. Your aunt Felicity is quite a handful, surely, but the things she said about you and Harriet were quite priceless!

I think I must end here as I'm embarrassing myself! Just know that you kept my heart racing and my mind whirling with hundreds of scenarios while you try to solve not just the puppeteer's death ahead of the authorities, but also that of a supposed suicide of a young, sweet boy lovingly remembered in your parish.

I cannot wait for your next adventure. In fact, I'm in the middle of it now! Oh you crazy girl! And I mean that lovingly.

Your adoring fan,
Lightheaded

PS
Dogger is growing on me. He is such a good sidekick, even if he doesn't know it yet.

-----
The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag by Alan Bradley is part of my pool for Readers Imbibing Peril Challenge.

Back from the Dead

2011-09-02T01:11:00.000+08:00

Sort of.

It's the second day of September this side of the world and I'm officially signing up for Carl's Readers Imbibing Peril. Excited? Yes. Does this mean I'll go back to blogging about books regularly? Let's hope so. Do I have a pool already? Not quite. But still, I'm in and it's my fifth time in six years (I missed the first year, I read about it a few days before it ended, hahaha).As always, this is my chosen peril:Though I'll put in a handful of short stories in the process, not to mention some scary films as well.

Books I might read include the following: The Weed that Strings the Hangman's Bag by Alan Bradley, The Fall by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters, and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. For now.

But before I start the challenge (is it a challenge still if you love doing it?) I'll finish reading A Game of Thrones first, hopefully by weekend.

Bored

2011-08-16T10:30:00.001+08:00

Maroon 5's Wake Up Call has been playing in my head for the better part of the day and it's just two hours past the time I reached the cubicle. So yes, I'm bored as hell. I didn't bring a book with me (major sin) though I can't bring myself to read leisurely while I'm here. And nothing stuns the mind more than sitting mindlessly in front of the PC doing just that - nothing. My first post in a handful of months and I complain. Sigh.

On a more hopeful note, I'm looking forward to October. And before that, the start of Readers Imbibing Peril. Hopefully by then, I'll be blogging regularly again.

Have a great week, book blogging friends.

Status Update

2011-04-08T23:03:00.001+08:00

I forgot to sign up for Dewey's 24 Hour Read-A-Thon.

Play with Me

2011-03-28T12:36:00.001+08:00

Early this year I saw a news feature on either CNN or BBC about the proliferation of bear attacks in a European countryside. The attacks were due to the decreasing habitat of bears and the increasing human population in the said area. The thing that struck me most was this vignette about a man who adopted a baby bear, apparently left by its mother, who wandered into his home one time. The bear became fond of the man and there were pictures and videos of him frolicking with the bear even. Yet, despite this close, almost-human father and son relationship, when the authorities learned about it the bear was taken away from the man. I found my mouth hanging open while watching the scene unfold. I mean, it was barely five minutes (at least that part, the whole feature was probably around ten to fifteen minutes) and yet it felt like I've read something eerily similar to what just unfolded before my eyes.

And that book is Troll: A Love Story, written by Johanna Sinisalo and translated by Herbert Lomas to English. I know trolls aren't bears. Trolls are even eh, fictional to begin with. But Sinisalo's story begins almost in the same fashion. Bear with me, I'll be rambling about another book I finished a month or so ago so this might appear quite eh, all over the place. Then again, that's the way I write.

Angel, upon returning home one night, found a handful of gangster tormenting a creature huddled in snow. After successfully shooing the guys away, he realised that the creature is none other than a troll, hurt and possibly dying in his hands at that moment. He quickly brought home the creature and tried to nourish it back to health. So begins his adventures, but not quite. You see, meeting with the troll isn't the first part of the story. The first scene goes back to Angel's rejection by Martes, after a previous fling. And it's this feeling of hurt, of rejection that prevails over the entire book, under the guise of a love story.

Because it is a love story. Or more like a story with the different faces of love coming into play. There's Angel and his obsession with Martes, the guy who led him on. There's this obsession of Ecke, who sees Angel in a bar, falls for him, stalks him and tries to woo him. There's Palomita, the maid-to-order bride from the Philippines who is obsessed with the idea of Angel as a saviour. There's Martes and the dangerous game of love he plays. There's the veterinarian, Dr. Spiderman, Angel's previous boyfriend, who observes things from afar with the complex feelings of those having to deal with exes. And of course, Angel's love for the troll he named Pessi and the latter's affection to his rescuer as well, like a parent to a child. Except that Pessi is a troll, a wild creature of the night. Oh wait, I exchanged the word obsession with love there. I didn't mean to, but I guess love takes the form of obsession, one time or another. And it's that aspect that turns this seemingly fantastic tale into a dark story about love, rejection and acceptance.

That sounds a bit dramatic but this short novel does have a wide range of complex yet familiar emotions enveloping all the characters you meet. It isn't melodramatic but full of muted suspense I held my breath at the end of chapters, particularly the ones leading to the conclusion. The story is divided into different points of view of different characters, interspersed with imagined history of trolls in Finland and beyond; it feels like a Jello shot with too much sugar and vodka you don't feel its effects until you try to walk and eh, fail. You end up feeling for every character, one way or another, because you understand the kind of love they want, the kind they can give.

While I enjoyed it and recommend it to anyone, I do have one major qualm and that is with respect to the translation of the Filipino phrase used by Palomita near the end of the book, the one that starts with "Ang hiya lalaki nasa noo...." You see, I'm Filipino like Palomita. Tagalog is my first language and I'm very much familiar with the other dialects in the other major islands of the country. While I can accept the notion that someone from the outskirts of Zamboanga speaks or thinks in Tagalog in a foreign country out of artistic license from the author, a bit of research would have helped. Given the background on Palomita in the book, I'd place her as speaking either Chavacano, Bisaya or Ilonggo even, depending on the location of her hometown and definitely not Tagalog because you rarely hear people speak that even if Tagalog/Filipino is taught at school, which eh, Palomita even lacked. It's part of the regionalistic nature of us, Pinoys. Like I said, I accept the notion of artistic license on this aspect.

My main concern is the translation. The problem with the translation, for me, is quite simple. That first line is grammatically incorrect as it lacks a conjunction but that's not my complaint. The mistake is the use of the word "hiya" at all. The English translation in the book (since Palomita thought of them sometime in the last quarter of the story) refers to honor as hiya. That is so wrong. Totally. Hiya translates to either shame or modesty depending on usage (yes, our vocabulary can be weird, which can be said of all vocabularies, I think. I mean, a good example of which is the word "mahal" which can either mean beloved or expensive. Hahaha.) But not and never will be honor. And it put me off. If Sinisalo wanted "honor" she should've used "dangal" instead.

Of course, my complaint is only material to those who understand Tagalog. Non-Tagalog speaking readers wouldn't even notice the difference seeing that the entire Tagalog statements had corresponding translations in the story. Still, it put me off. So much for short Tagalog lessons. Let's not start on other regional dialects now. And yes, I love Tagalog. I'm quite severe to Pinoys misusing it, what more foreigners who do.

Thank You

2011-03-26T21:27:00.001+08:00

For making this world a much better place with your stories.

Diana Wynne Jones

August 16, 1934 - March 26, 2011

You will be missed.

Part 2

2011-03-26T11:59:00.001+08:00

Last night I read Shirley Jackson's short story titled The Lottery and now I know why people who read The Hunger Games compared that with the early scene wherein Katniss's sister Prim was earlier chosen to be a tribute from District 12, as achingly similar. I agree. But I won't delve on that because I think Shirley Jackson deserves a separate post. What I need to do today (I think of it as a box waiting to be ticked off) is to end my ramblings on Mockingjay. Yes, Mockingjay.

I have my own issues with it and today's a good day to let it all hang out. By all, meaning whatever I can translate into this medium. It's a difficult story to discuss. When I see friends who have read the book, we rile at the "fans" who are merely after the love angle; a point I previously dealt with in Prelude. So now I'd like to get into the actual story itself which might prove difficult considering that I don't have the book here in the metro. Tsk tsk tsk. I do rely on my pretend-eidetic memory and to the fact that the book still resonates with me to be able to do a passable job, fingers-crossed.

Mockingjay starts with Katniss visiting the bombed out District 12 after a month or so recuperating from her injuries suffered from the Quarter Quell. While her mother and sister Prim are safe in District 13, she worries for Peeta, who remains captured in the Capitol. Then she sees the perfect stem of rose in her room, which somehow remains untouched. All her anger is now focused on one person, President Snow. She vows he has to die for the suffering to end. Eventually she agrees to become the symbol of the revolution while Alma Coin, District 13's head, and her minions plan a strategic attack on President Snow and the rest of Panem. While District 13 prepares for war, Katniss's reunion with Peeta proved difficult. Peeta, drugged and programmed, so to speak, lashes out against Katniss upon his rescue. In the final assault on the Capitol, Katniss again realises that her role is just another pawn in a war for power. And in her last act as the Mockingjay, she sends a message that reverberated throughout Panem.

I asked myself whether I liked the final book and it was quite easy for me to answer "No" at the time I finished it. It's because I hated Katniss in this one. I didn't like the fact that she allowed herself to become a pawn like that yet again. I cringed at the thought of her hiding out in one of those spaces in District 13 while the rest of the world moved on, with people trying to stay alive. She spaced out. I don't like spaced-out heroes. I mean, I was Team Katniss through and through but every time I turned the page I felt like she was going to break under pressure. And she did. At least the way I see her.

Good thing? As far as dystopian settings are concerned, the book addressed not just the shift from one oppressive government to a similar if not more troubling one. Lest we forget, the vital aspect of the entire trilogy is to change the government, to change Capitol, basically to free the people who have been oppressed and made to serve the whims of the prosperous ruling class. Stories dealing with revolutions aren't easy reads in general, but with the three books, Collins addressed the conflict in an accessible manner. Introducing Coin in the mix, with the grey hair, living in the totally grey surroundings that is District 13, the symbolism is quite obvious. Here is an option for change but taking everything in, is she really the answer against President Snow? I love the shrewdness of the juxtaposition, the option that is not really a good one. The powerlessness of the choice Katniss had to make to survive, when asked if she'd be willing to become the symbol of the revolution is one of the better things about the story. And her final act that would hopefully spur the districts not to make the same mistakes as the previous Capitol, is priceless.

As far as the characters are concerned, those we already knew remained true to their selves. Katniss, spaced-out, is still Katniss, the passive citizen turned soldier, spurred to fight to protect those she loves. I've to admit that reading was quite a pain, at times. I don't like my lead character wasting pages, so to speak, by hiding. But it's in those moments of doubts, of close to giving up that summarises her essence: she didn't want any of it. That has been her mantra from the first book onwards. She didn't want it but she had to do something. Katniss is not the hero we wanted her to be. If she was Frodo, she'd give the ring to Boromir, probably. This wasn't a heroic quest. I keep forgetting that part, thinking that Katniss will grow a backbone soon to stop people from using her. In fact, if there was a hero character through and through it is Peeta, although we never had that much on Peeta in this final book.

The other thing I didn't like, the main reason I told myself this is the worst book of the three, which can be thematic as well, is the heartbreaking thing that Katniss suffered in the Capitol. Seriously. It made me question the whole thing. I didn't like it but it made things real for Katniss. It unhinged her, alright, but made things real. The bigger picture will tell you that death occurs randomly, that wars aren't fought with a certain number of survivors unscathed all the time. Katniss had to suffer yet again to see that she couldn't go on being passive on an important aspect of the revolution. It was heartbreaking, yes, but something I think Collins felt necessary. For a moment there I put Collins in the Joss Whedon School of Creators Killing Their Beloved Characters. It's the message Collins chose to tell her story.

What I don't understand, on some reviews I've read, is the anger some of the readers felt about Katniss, about not telling us, readers, of her plans for that last scene in the Capitol. Goodness, wasn't it obvious? To me, it was. Weren't you guys reading, too? It should've been obvious from the start. In fact it should've been obvious, if you were paying attention, from the time that she lost the most important thing in her life. Go read the first book again as to why. And then the second book. And reread Mockingjay again. If you still missed it, it was plain as day when she started looking for answers in the conversation with her sworn enemy. Not the act but the motive on that fateful day. As readers, we're so quick to heap Katniss all qualities of a leader's role we failed to see her for what she is: just another teenager on the verge of a breakdown. And most of you guys hated her for her apparent breakdown when in fact she made the sanest decision she could have done when the opportunity presented itself. I may not liked Katniss as the spaced-out symbol but on that moment, my faith in her was restored.

I still like the first book best, even if my liking it is somehow tainted by the fact that it reads too much like Battle Royale (which I read later than HG). The first book is a good story. A story that makes you want to read more. Something that makes you care for the characters placed in the difficult situation in Panem. The second book suffers from the cliffhanger ending. Kidding but true. It felt incomplete, that one. The third book I think focused too much on the message. A message that, to me, is obviously lost on those merely after the love angle between Katniss, Peeta and Gale. Kidding, but not quite. I like the message but not the story. But I concede that it's a good way to end the trilogy. And with that I end this rambling.

Prelude [or Ramblings on Mockingjay Part I]

2011-03-23T01:00:00.001+08:00

A part of me believes that Mr. Burns from The Simpsons can easily portray President Snow in my version of The Hunger Games trilogy. He's despotic, he gets what he wants, and he has this sinister air about him, which makes him perfect. And he owns the nuclear plant, which supplies power in the town of Springfield. I remember telling my friend Anj about Mr. Burns one time, after dinner, when our conversation lapsed into actors fit for the roles available in the film version of Suzanne Collins' books. I couldn't even remember Mr. Burns' name and her husband Jan supplied it for me. I didn't get the response I wanted; then again he's a cartoon and she was talking about real actors.

I still firmly believe that Mr. Burns is the perfect President Snow. Maybe my brain is wired to play a cartoonized, rather Simpsonized version of the trilogy with Lisa Simpson playing Katniss, out to save Maggie from the tribute. It's a weird thought. Lisa cannot be Katniss but she can play the part because she's smart, brave and stubborn. However, Lisa isn't passive.

Which is my main concern with Mockingjay, the final book in the trilogy. I finished it early this year and let it stew in my brain until now. The lingering memory still is my belief that Mr. Burns should play President Snow in the film version. Hahaha.

It's pointless to read this post if you haven't read the trilogy, unless you're one of my three constant readers. If that's the case, welcome back. I'll start with this: there's a certain agony involved in waiting for the final book. Those of us who read it waiting for the final installment probably had a lot of scenarios in mind for Mockingjay: death, destruction, rescue, revolution. And the waiting can drive you crazy, if you're that serious a fan. That or if you're one of those simply waiting for the resolution of the apparent triangle: Peeta or Gale, which I think is a far crazier reason for reading the trilogy, scenarios of reunion or rejection. Personally, if all you are after is who would Katniss choose in the end, I think it's better if you buy yourself a love story and get your satisfaction from there.

I actually have no qualms about the love angle in the books. If you've read my two previous posts about it and my final thoughts prior to Mockingjay's release, you'll see that the choice, if she should decide, is actually obvious. I do have qualms about her choosing anyone, really. She's young. If she survives the last book, she should live her life and choose whoever she wants, even outside of Peeta and Gale. But we live in a world where opinions of readers about love angles get a life of its own. I've qualms about the magnification of the Team Peeta versus Team Gale by those who prioritize the love angle over and above the themes of the books. Seriously people, a dystopian community where kids kill each other and all that's important to you is Katniss should pick either Peeta or Gale? The way I see it, it's an obvious projection of personal choices of future partners; the proverbial questions: someone who loves you or someone you love, the boy you just met or the boy whose been there all along, the one who treats you as a princess or the one who treats you as an equal. Choices, choices. Oh of course, there's that revolution in the making, could we at least set aside love options and deal with the problem at hand?

Yes, I got tired of banners proclaiming Team Peeta or Team Gale on pages I saw online. So tired that in reading the first few pages of Mockingjay the week it was released and seeing Gale there while Katniss pines for the captured Peeta, I just had to stop and put the book down lest I write about it and eventually read blog posts about how she decided in the end. I know that the book isn't about the love angle, but if I read it at that time, I knew I'd encounter posts about the resolution of the love angle more than the resolution of the story. I encountered that scenario before: I've read the Twilight books after all.

So?

Back to the agony. The waiting part.

Reading an ongoing series is always a challenge. It's good if you pick it up somewhere in the middle, where there are a handful of books already published and you end up practically devouring one book after another. That's what happened to me with the Harry Potter books. I picked it up when the first three books were out. But waiting for the succeeding installment after was pure torture, though it helped that Rowling ended each book with a sense of closure; the kind where you wait for the next term at Hogwarts, the kind where you try to enjoy a summer break, just like Harry and the rest of the gang. Waiting is better if the series is short, like Hunger Games. I picked it up a couple of months before the release of Catching Fire. Except that when I got to the second book, Collins deemed it fit to have a cliffhanger of an ending. Oh well.

In Katniss's case, the cliffhanger was a deadly one. With Peeta captured by the forces of President Snow, Katniss is left broken and I waited with bated breath as to how the rest of the story would conclude. Obviously with a handful of thoughts in my head as to how it would probably end.

And just like that I'll leave this post hanging, too.

Define Motherhood

2011-03-20T13:01:00.000+08:00

I have been reading Lionel Shriver's We Need to Talk About Kevin off and on (mostly off than on, hahaha) since late last year. I haven't read any reviews when I bought it though it had that Good Morning America: Read This! label on the cover (and I didn't buy it because of that - I don't watch Good Morning America, I live on the other side of the world).

I finally finished it a handful of days ago. For the past couple of weeks I've spent my late night and witching hour reading the book, getting further drawn in while the horror builds up page after page. It's an epistolary novel with the mother, Eva Katchadourian, writing to her husband, Franklin, about their son Kevin. Eva talks about Kevin, her son who killed more than a handful of his classmates and a teacher inside the school gym one fateful Thursday.

Frankly, I was going for the dead bear shot.

It's not an easy story to tell and that's why I admired the manner by which Shriver handled this novel. We're all probably exposed to news and documentaries about kids on a shooting spree in school and the last thing we want to read about, before we turn in at night, is a novel about a kid gone wrong, right? You just might want to pick this up. In fact, I encourage you to pick this up. On some parts you could feel the violence, yes, plus. But there's more to this book than the violence that occurred in school. It's Eva's side of the story. She writes to her husband to make sense of the tragedy, looking back from the time they both decided to have a child and her realization early on, that there is something terribly wrong about Kevin.

Given that the last book I read before I decided to finish this is Room, a part of me chuckled in disbelief at the contradictory views on motherhood when it came to play. Well, not exactly contradictory. It's just that in Room, despite the violence, the darkness enveloping the story, you could actually feel Ma's enduring love for her son, Jack. It's in Jack's voice, it's in the story. This book, on the other hand, lets you inside Eva's head, on how her son, seemingly perfect from birth, felt wrong, and how she doubted her love for her own kid, at times. I'm not going to compare the two books; I just wanted to start from there. Because in real life, not every mother is like Ma and not every kid born is like Jack, much as we want them to be.

Those of us with reading diaries or book blogs aren't all parents, but we all were children once. We all went through the parental disagreements, some more than others, probably. This is where I started relating to Eva, and to some extent, Kevin. Yes, Kevin. Seriously. While I don't think he is purely evil (even if he killed classmates he didn't like in the story), I do think, to some extent, that he wasn't brought up properly. Of course it's easy to dump that all in, it's just fiction anyway. Am I trying to find fault here? Yes and no.

Yes, because Eva herself went through the entire process of finding her own faults for the entire book. Her letters to her husband is her apology, so to speak, for her son Kevin and for herself, for feeling like she raised a monster, for not doing anything about it because she felt defeated in a battle of wills most of the time, for recognizing that at times she didn't even like her own son. These are feelings you won't necessarily hear from a mother. But Eva is an honest mother. Of course she made mistakes but that feeling of helplessness, I think, becomes part of motherhood, one way or another.

And no, because Kevin is a smart boy. Unfortunately, he's also an angry boy. He knows how to pull strings even as a kid. Like he perfected that art of annoyance even before he could speak. There are real-life Kevins out there. I believe that. Is it pure "I-gave-birth-to-Satan's-son?" kind of thing? No. But he was placed in a situation where he felt the need to kill people for kicks. Let me take that back. He grew up testing the extent of what he could get away with, and unfortunately, murder is one of them.

Kids have a well-tuned radar to detect the difference between an adult who's interested and an adult who's keen to seem interested.

And the most heartbreaking thing about the book is that both Eva and Kevin are the only ones who understand each other to the core. You cannot find fault there.

While it's not an easy book to read I think it is beautifully written. Peeking through the letters gives you that sense of intruding upon someone else's private, honest thoughts. And Eva is being her private and honest self with these letters to Franklin; all her love, regret, blame, remorse, forgiveness, sadness and hope. The last one is all she have left. Plus, love. Love, in spite of. She is Kevin's mother after all. She loved and still loves Kevin, in spite of. Which is a good thing. Because I think Kevin, in his perverted world view, feels the same about her. I can only hope that.

Getting Some

2011-03-14T16:30:00.003+08:00

This is the third day I had Lay's Potato Chips for breakfast. It's a bit weird considering eh, potato chips aren't exactly breakfast fare, but moreso because I'm not a big fan of potato chips even. I don't like salty food. The tiniest bit of salt makes me scrunch my face in distaste. Wait, that's overly dramatic. Except that it's true. I've a very salty tastebud and I use salt sparingly when I cook. Most potato chips are salty and I could've told the Frito Lay company to hold off the salt a bit (though some of you may be thinking I could've gotten a reduced salt variety; if there is one I don't know, I beg ignorance) but that's beside the point. The point is, potato chips? Really? Yes, I probably ate my required sodium recommendation for the rest of the week with those three servings of chips (the big bag says 7 servings but I cheated) but in the end I had my cravings sated. Or that at least I hope I had my craving sated.

Cravings are funny things; one minute I'm in my longest reading and posting slump ever recorded in this blog (my other two major previous slumps I consider as "official breaks" since I was studying then, hahaha) and the next minute I crave for a book, pick and finish one in a single sitting. I'm referring to Emma Donoghue's Room. Maybe I craved that feeling: reading a story up to the end; the last time I did was way back January and I haven't even posted about those books. But there is something about Room that I cannot put down. It's one of those stories that makes you think of real-life news straight from headlines, one that paints a fictional, hopeful picture for some of the victims out there. I'm rambling from somewhere in the middle of the story already because I think I'm the last blogger to have read this. To the middling few still uninitiated, Room is a story about a young mother and her son living in eh, room. The mother, simply Ma, was abducted seven years previously and kept in a securely locked room by the villainous Old Nick for his pleasures. Jack, borne of the continuing rapes five years ago, lived his entire life believing that Room is the world and that everything else seen on TV are different planets and lots of space.

Jack's voice (the story is told in Jack's point of view) is hauntingly real. What's it like for a boy to grow up in such a small space? Donoghue charms us all with Jack. He's five. He likes watching Dora and considers her a friend. He throws tantrums here and there. He's quite a normal kid placed in such an abnormal situation. And this is where I felt like strangling Old Nick to death. Him and his real-life counterparts in this world. Because it's quite easy to be reminded, in reading Jack's story, that something similar happened to a lot of girls like Ma. I didn't feel the rage, at first. I mean, it's there from the start. Stories of rape and its consequences aren't meant to be soothing but this knot of rage became bigger and bigger as I turned the pages and be enamored of Jack's seeming innocence in all the crap he's been made to live in. Which is natural, I mean. We're all meant to cheer Jack, to hope for his rescue, to see him outside Room, among other things.

But more than Jack, this is Ma's story. It's easy to paint her with a label of a victim that refused to be victimized. It's a good label but not quite right, not quite enough. Held captive for seven years to sate the cravings of a man, Donoghue infused Ma with enough willpower to raise and protect Jack from such an ugly view of the world. It's the magic of the book for me: motherhood in spite of the villainy of Old Nick. Ma's a lioness when it comes to protecting her cub. Teaching Jack seemingly normal things in such a small Room, adapting but not accepting the situation, ensuring Jack's safety and somewhat infusing a sense of normalcy in their captive world. It is believable. It is hopeful. It is something you wish every mother should be. At least that sense of protectiveness, that much amount of love. Any woman placed in the same situation is expected to be broken easily and seven years is such a long time. But not Ma.

A story about rape and its consequences can go in different directions, can evoke strong feelings in the readers and this story does that, true, but more. A story about rape, abduction and illegal detention can be written in a sensational manner and not lack for readers. By writing a story from Jack's point of view, the idea of the crimes committed becomes accessible to the readers since the focus shifts to Jack more than Ma, to that contained room and how they survive the horrors in spite of.

True crime stories were running through my head while I was reading this so I give props for Donoghue for giving voice to those victims of the crimes similarly suffered by Ma in this story. It's one thing to know that there are real-life crimes and real-life victims like Ma and Jack, it's another to spin the story in such a memorable, unforgettable, heartbreaking tale that is both hopeful and powerful in the end.

Enter Room here and see for yourself.

Which brings to mind another story about rape, something I can't bring myself to finish, for now. While reading Room I realize that there's a certain parallel with Margo Lanagan's Tender Morsels. You see, I started reading that book a couple or so months back. Started is the operative world. It is painful to read. I'm at the point where I do not want the characters to suffer any further. I know it's fictional, but it's difficult to read. Maybe that's why I can easily sit through a difficult theme in Room hearing Jack's story through his very accessible voice but I can only give a handful of minutes of my time to devote to Liga's story, hoping against hope she won't ever suffer again, which is impossible. It's far easier for the rage to go on against Old Nick, you see. He's just one person. In Liga's case, I don't know, it's like I'd like to curse an entire fictional town. I'd like Liga and her daughters to stay magically cocooned in fantasy, safe from the prying eyes of a judgmental, unhelpful public. But that also means wishing them a life that is not real. It's difficult and I'll leave it at that. I'll finish it sometime soon, but not right now. So yes, I'm chicken. I worry about my heart, you see, it's a bit wobbly in places and I might not be able to handle Liga, Branza and Urdda's heartbreaks any further. It's part of my bedside pile but it's the last book I reach out for when I feel like reading something before sleep. Maybe I need a dose of some courage pill before I finish it. That or heart medicines.

I Resolve

2011-03-02T21:58:00.000+08:00

I have neglected this long enough that any promise to come back and write about books sometime in the future would sound like a broken record. Life, or lack of it in my case, has a way of messing up my routine of typing stuff I picked up from reading. Nowadays, it's rare that I get to write about anything. Rarer still to actually finish reading something. Any chance I have in front of the computer is spent playing Angry Birds or doing other games. It's like I totally forgot about the blog.

But I'm posting now to tell myself I should not neglect this. Crazy, right? I post this so I won't neglect this. So if I fail to post this, this entire typing exercise would be for naught. Something you guys won't know unless I press the Publish button. Crazy indeed.

While I remind myself not to continue neglecting this venue, I should also tell myself to finish a book already. Like soon. Like now. It's no good leaving a lot of books unfinished. I have a lot of those strewn all over the place.

So my resolution this March is to read and write. Simple. That way I can get my life in order. Hopefully. So that other things fall into place.

Choices

2011-01-27T12:18:00.002+08:00

Let's have another round of Book Porn! Of course it's another excuse to post a photo of Bigby, no matter how blurry he gets. The fault of the photographer (eh, me) and the fact that I'm using an old cameraphone I haven't even mastered yet. Oh, excuses. Let's start, shall we?

These are photos of books that are basically within my reach. No unnecessary scouring of shelves for eh, better books to feature. Plus, heaviness is a factor as I have to move them from my bedside book pile to my working desk for the actual shots. Ergo, The Complete Bone isn't here. And the reason I haven't pursued the series (I already read the previous two or three single colored volumes awhile back) is that it's quite heavy for those precious few minutes before sleep time. I could try, but the book might knock me unconscious if it slips from my grasp. Eh yeah, I read in bed, lying down. No wonder I need reading glasses. Ooops.

Right now I'm reading the last Tiffany Aching book, I Shall Wear Midnight. Hence, it's not featured here. I'm posting this so eh, you guys could help me decide what to pick first. I think I've seen reviews about a handful of these books so maybe that would help me decide (that way, I could knock down a few books from the pile that is growing steadily as the year progresses - obvious signs of a book hoarder).

Here goes:

Auster. Donoghue. Atwood. Tinti.

Jones. Ephron. Butler. Carey. Banville. Gentle. Winterson.

Rodriguez. Oates. Donovan. Hustvedt. Scalzi. Brooks.

Tell me if you can spot the authors married to each other. Hahaha. And if you've read any of the books featured here, I'd love to hear your thoughts about them as well.

Not Sophie's World

2011-01-25T12:13:00.001+08:00

I'm one of those lucky students who breezed through college with not much of an effort. Wait, I take that back. I make it sound like my major was easy. Well, it was and it wasn't. It was one of those highly reviled courses from among others in my school. Reviled because it's the automatic course of choice for students who don't know what they want to do with their lives. Others with a dream straight from their childhood are puzzled. Why, they ask? Isn't that the easiest course? That's the course with the most number of students, right? Reviled easily because eh, they probably don't get it as much. They get straight A's in other subjects but they barely scratch the B's when it comes to my major. You see, I studied Philosophy. Gee, typing that sounds so pretentious. But yes, I studied Philosophy and I have a diploma to prove it. True to form, I still don't know what I want to do with my life. Kidding. I do have another diploma and a certificate to boot that I'm part of a noble profession. Something I won't discuss for now. Hahaha.

College was both easy and not easy, alright. But I had fun. Probably not as fun for those who took up Molecular Biology and Biotechnology, the only course that makes me go "Awww, I wish I had the brains for that." Since I can't turn back time to remake my old grade school and high school self to hone a more scientifically-inclined mind for MBB, I'm stuck with Philosophy.

That's why I had a blast reading this book. It's like going through college again, only this time I was laughing my head off. It's the kind of book I wouldn't get caught reading in public because I might end up wiping happy tears in my eyes. Not to mention having to fend off puzzled looks and questions from the public. Gee, did I mention the title?

Plato and a Platypus Walk Into a Bar: Understanding Philosophy Through Jokes
Daniel M. Klein and Thomas Cathcart

To me it's like a review of my four years in college, sans the stacks and stacks of reading materials I had to photocopy and (presumably) read in time for the next class. No boring professors as well. Ooops, did I just say that? I do remember doodling in class, particularly on my last year.

The book is divided into main topics such as Ethics, Religion, Language and such, like a course outline. I almost put Philo 180 on Ethics until I recalled I just borrowed the book from my good friend C, also a diploma-carrying philo major. But the jokes are the best part, primarily because I could've used the jokes in college. Particularly in one of my electives where the reason I probably made it through the end was the fact that I wasn't caught nodding my head off most of the times. Kidding.

It's a great book for those of us who endured the four years of remembering the Greeks up to eh, Aldo Tassi (his name simply popped up, and while I remember his name I can't seem to recall the topic of the paper he wrote). I read this late last year and I remember thinking that it's the funniest book I read in ages.

See, even Bigby recommends it!

And this is my favorite joke from the book:

Jesus was walking through the streets when he noticed a crowd of people throwing stones at an adulteress. Jesus said, "Let whoever is without sin cast the first stone." Suddenly a rock flew through the air. Jesus turned and said, "Mom?"

So yes, this book is a riot. I do wonder if I'd feel the same thing had I been an MBB major. Hahaha!

To those who'd like a more serious representation of Philosophy in the mainstream media, try watching Lost. Good luck. Hahaha.

Introducing

2011-01-16T00:44:00.000+08:00

Meet Bigby, my new stuffed toy. The kind that comes free from a drink ordered at a buffet. I normally drink water unless I have this urgent need to take sugar (hence the softdrink and/or the occasional iced tea) but this time around I wanted my own eh, Bigby.

Bigby's such a nice name for a stuffed elephant, right? And I laughed as I typed that.

I'm currently reading Johanna Sinisalo's Troll. That's my second cup of really black coffee early this morning. My dead Samsung phone to the left (it died on me last month and it was a blessing, sort of, to have a quiet phone for the month of December, unless of course I ponder and regret about missed opportunities and such). My external hard drive filled with unwatched episodes of Bones, Fringe, Leverage and Burn Notice. And well, I guess my printer's more than just dusty.

Random rambling for the weekend done. Hopefully, this venue becomes a book blog again soon enough. Then again, I mentioned a book in this post (with a corresponding photo). Hahaha!

Before Lunch

2011-01-08T12:12:00.000+08:00

I'm loving the #inthisdecade hash tag on Twitter. In the spirit of being positive and wanting to do something to eh, make myself a better me, I'll start the weekend with a photo of some of the books I meant to post about last year:

And instead of waiting until the mood hits me, I'll post one line (or even two) about them just so I could start blogging this year (while I wait for my lunch to boil):

Beyond the Far Side by Gary Larson. The Rapunzel cartoon cracked me up so much my stomach ached.

The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. After rereading this I felt like I missed the fight scenes with the orcs in the end until I realized that "Oh, that was in the film version."

The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett. Death and drama over a forgotten statue.

Blindness by Jose Saramago. Stark portrait of humanity's dark side.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Left me with an aching heart and tears in my eyes.

Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs. Had me in stitches.

The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald. Go read Sasha's post, in which I wrongly commented about the author being Penelope Lively.

The Ask and the Answer by Patrick Ness. The Mayor and Mistress Coyle remind me of Snow and District 13.

The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. "I'm not like you" says my dog, Titan, to Manchee. Translated from "Arf, arf!"

The Metaphysical Touch by Sylvia Brownrigg. Feels like an e-mail version of Griffin and Sabine.

Season of the Witch by Natasha Mostert. It pays to know who you are named after.

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. I felt like I was part of a traveling circus in this one.

Crescent by Diana Abu-Jaber. I wish I could sample the dishes mentioned herein.

Ok, my noodles are ready. Time to eat!

Bye, 2010

2010-12-31T17:59:00.002+08:00

I leave you with many leftover books to talk about.

Have a good year next year, book blogging people of the virtual world.

Chaos

2010-12-02T09:47:00.000+08:00

Don't fail me.

Currently Reading

2010-11-28T11:22:00.006+08:00

If you look at the sidebar you'd see that I'm reading a lot of books right now. Rather, it appears that I'm reading a lot. There are two titles I could add to that as my book pile has grown humongous since the last time I posted a picture, but today's not the day for Book Porn. Maybe later. Maybe never. But yes, I'm reading a lot. As much as I can in the handful of minutes before sleep.

I'm not in the habit of discussing books I've yet to finish, particularly when I'm just starting them or right smack in the middle of them but I'm having a hard time composing stuff from the bunch that I did finish awhile back. Those books, comics and what-have-yous might make an appearance on this blog or another venue later on, but for now I think it's best to talk about the stuff I'm actually reading. And why. Gee, I sound like a professor. Maybe I should teach. La di da.

I remember picking up Natasha Mostert's Season of the Witch quite greedily. Carl posted about the book once and since then I tried in vain to search for it in stores here. Two or so years after and I finally see a copy here. [Aside: Sometimes I get lucky. I read posts on Margo Lanagan's Tender Morsels early this year, I think, and I got a hardback copy of the book last month.] Anyway, as soon as I got home I started reading the book. Well, I started admiring the cover of the book first (the one I have features a photo of a closed gate with tangled barks of a creeping plant barring any entrance whatsoever, which is pretty creepy and lovely at the same time). And I met Gabriel already, the lead character mentioned at the back of the book. In those couple of minutes before sleep, I learned that this hacker and techno-thief Gabriel is also a telepath and that an old girlfriend of his is in town, asking him to look for her stepson. And I stopped there.

While I would've gone on with that book it was also quite unfortunate that I chanced upon a copy of The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley's retelling of the Arthurian legend a couple of days after I purchased Mostert's book. I guess it's obvious by now I'm a book hoarder, a proud one at that. Save for at least a week's discussion of a handful of passages of Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur in one of my English lit classes way back in college, I haven't really read any Arthur stories. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, yes, but that was a reading requirement in the same class. So all I know about King Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere and Morgan LeFay comes from tv and movies. I remember Excalibur being thrown back to sea and a hand catching it from the depths as part of my memories of childhood movies. Bits and pieces tied together to form a semi-coherent understanding that King Arthur was a great king and Camelot was a great kingdom. A legend. And everyone knows legends, right? But nobody knows details of how the legend came about. Way back in college I knew I wanted to read the complete Malory but it was forgotten after I finished the class. And this book reeled me in completely. From stories from the Lady in the Lake, to Merlin, to Ingraine and Uther's love, the birth of Morgaine and the near-crowning of Gwydion, I mean, Arthur. It's quite a chunkster, almost 900 pages long and yet I breezed through it for almost 200 pages until I saw Oliver Sacks from my book pile.

You see I have a tendency to just pile up books and pick up what I feel like reading. And when I placed Bradley's book on top of the pile, the ones underneath it were dislodged and out comes Sacks' Oaxaca Journal. And I love Oliver Sacks. I wish I have all his books! I used to lug The Man Who Mistook His Wife for A Hat in college and read snippets during my free time. And this journal is about his trip to Mexico with other members of The American Fern Society. I may not know the difference between one fern to the other but I always find something new to learn when I read Sacks' books. True enough, I was enjoying my vicarious trip to Mexico, a bit history of chocolate and some drawings of ferns that a part of me didn't mind leaving England of old for the time being. I'm halfway through the journal when I started and stopped just as quickly with two or three books that won't be mentioned here for now.

Which brings me to The Fellowship of the Ring.

There was a time I read The Lord of the Rings trilogy every year for like four or so years. It started with the movie. Once pictures from the set started appearing in Tolkien-related sites way back, I knew I had to finish the books. You see, I'm a late bloomer when it comes to Tolkien. I owned the books for years but never got around to really reading them. I think I read The Hobbit first primarily because I almost always fall asleep every time I start with Bilbo's birthday preparations. And once I got past Bilbo's birthday it truly was an epic read and I had fun with it. So much fun that I reread it every year for like four or so years. Wait, I mentioned that already.

Early this month I wanted to reread all the Harry Potter books so I searched the box of books I shipped home for them. But luck (or my picky reading sense) led me to this book so I happily read Bilbo's birthday yet again. One night I chanced upon the film version on cable and I found myself laughing heartily along at the confluence of two seemingly unimportant events. So I brought this book with me after the holidays and quite promptly forgot about it until my not-quite remarkable books I picked up after Sacks.

And now I'm somewhere in Lothlorien, prior to meeting Galadriel.

Short of saying I'd probably get back to Mostert, Bradley and Sacks (not necessarily in that order) after I finish the first part of Frodo's quest.

And this is a long enough post that my lunch is probably cool enough and needs to be reheated again. But before that a photo:

Who the hell is Frondo? Tsk tsk tsk.

Stolen Status Update

2010-11-23T10:32:00.001+08:00

[I] didn't start writing so people would want to meet me. I wrote because I had to. I had to put those words into print, simply, frivolous though many of them were. OK, so I did, I'll admit, want to see if there'd be an audience for what I had to say. Yes, I wanted people to read it. I'd be an idiot, or a liar, to say anything else. But wanting people to read you is emphatically not the same as wanting them to knock on your door and ask you out for a beer.

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Excerpt from Sylvia Brownrigg's The Metaphysical Touch. A book vying for my favorite read of the year.

Doggie Break

2010-11-05T10:42:00.000+08:00

Guido

See the teeny tiny puppy teeth of this yawning dog? Those hurt a lot even if he's actually play-biting. For puppies, I think there's no such thing as play-biting.

Of course I shouldn't neglect my Titan now. Here she is:

Ok, enough of the my-dogs-have-teeth post for the day.

Tempting the Wizard

2010-10-31T15:59:00.001+08:00

White Night
Jim Butcher

Ah, Harry Dresden. You never fail to make me laugh. Nor make my heart palpitate everytime you go into battle. The life of a wizard is never easy. I mean, it never gets easier as the books in the series pile up.

Today I wrap up my Readers Imbibing Peril V Reading Challenge with Harry Dresden. While I have failed to post a couple or so other titles in the past two or so weeks I barely posted (because eh, life gets in the way of blogging) I'd like to end the challenge laughing. Because Harry Dresden always make me laugh. Heck, even if I finished this book early this month. Way earlier than my previous post about Edgar Allan Poe.

To those who have yet to pick this series, a word of caution: this is the ninth book already. Whatever summary I may (or may not) include here, some parts obviously happened in the span of the eight previous books, in bits and pieces, in one form or another. I'll try not to spoil newbie Dresden readers and yet that's quite a daunting task considering the history of the eight books. The operative word is try.

This we already know: Harry Dresden is the only wizard advertising himself as such in Chicago. His abilities are tapped by the Chicago Police Department through Special Investigations, particularly Sergeant Karrin Murphy, when crimes appear out of this world (and I don't mean that in the X Files sense). The previous books dealt with the rapport between the wizard and the doubting policewoman but in this ninth book, Harry and Karrin are not just working together but are good friends. They trust each other.

The story starts with an apparent suicide and with Harry's trained eye he discovered that the supposed suicide is actually an attack by an adept magical being. Unearthing other apparent suicides from police files, Harry and Karrin realized that a magical serial killer is on the loose, out to get minor practitioners of witchcraft. In protecting the coven in Chicago, Harry now has to work with his first love, Elaine Mallory, to prevent further bloodshed. But Harry has another problem; the murders point to Thomas, a vampire of the White Court and well, Harry's brother, who hasn't been talking to him since leaving Harry's apartment to live on his own.

And if the vampire of the White Court is involved, are the killings part of the bigger war currently ongoing between the Red Court Vampires and that of the White Council?

Plus, Johnnie Marcone is here again. Mafia boss of Chicago. Lovely.

Oh but really, that's not all. But why would I deny you guys the pleasure of discovering for yourselves what Harry is up to?

As a big fan of the series it's quite easy for me to say go out and read this because it's sure to take you somewhere fun and exciting and all that magical, fantastical stuff that comes out of urban fantasy titles such as this one. But what I like best about the Dresden Files is that it never gets boring. While the story takes on darker turns as each book is done, and while Harry is continuously tested in each one of them, he remains to be that wizard with his heart in the right place, struggling yes, but never giving up the good fight. Yikes, that sounds so cliche. But true, too. I've read nine books so far (and starting on the tenth, but that's on pause since I left my copy in the metro a couple of weeks ago) and in those nine books I imagined and understood his struggle and yet I believed in him. A belief born of his experiences - from fighting his mentor, to being doubted continuously by the Council he still believes in, for disappointments, broken hearts and a taste of vengeance - he has matured yes, but remains the same Harry Dresden I met from the first book. Which is saying a lot for a book I read knowing that I'll spend my reading time laughing at Harry and his one-liners, or Mouse or whatever. It's like pop music; enjoyable, sweet, strikes you at the right chord and yet you know you can't go on listening to pop music all your life, particularly if you love rock. At least in my case. Hahaha.

It never gets boring and yet it remains wickedly fun to read. I say wicked because heck, Harry gets into more scrapes and stuff as each book progresses I'm starting to think he'd die in the last book of this series. But let's not go there yet. I'm sure Mr. Butcher still has a lot in store for Harry and let's hope death isn't one of them. Yet. Wickedly fun because in spite of the scrapes, bruises and other stuff that goes with reading the series, the story still matters. And that's why I like Butcher's ability to tie things together, neatly, with a bow even, at the end of each installment in the greater scheme of things. Even if it means going back to previous events. I need to remind myself sometimes to draft all the characters I've encountered so far from the first book on to be reminded of what already transpired, what Harry has encountered so far. Because those stuff are important in their own little way. Yes, even in the books I found less appealing compared to others. That after solving the required crime that occurred.

So there. Obviously I love the guy. I love Murphy too, as a good friend and foil to this wizard. I think the collection of Harry Dresden short stories has been released in the States already (it would take some time before it reaches Philippine shores). Which is ok, I still have the ten and eleventh book to look forward to. While I'd like to bide my time before I actually read them (or wait until the next installment of the series is released next year), I think I'd get back to Harry's world once I'm back in the metro.

Here are the links to my posts on The Dresden Files: Storm Front, Fool Moon, Grave Peril, Summer Knight, Death Masks, Blood Rites, Dead Beat, and Proven Guilty. Goodness, I feel like I've said the same things over and over for this post. Hahaha.

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This is my sixth novel for the Readers Imbibing Peril V and as I said previously, I'm wrapping up the challenge with this post. Here are the links to the previous books, stories and film that made the past two months perilously challenging for my not-quite-easy-to-scare brain:

The Strain by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan
SS: The Ladies of Grace Adieu by Susanna Clarke
SS: On Lickerish Hill by Susanna Clarke
The Passage by Justin Cronin
Film: Resident Evil:Extinction
We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler
SS from The Ladies of Grace Adieu and other stories by Susanna Clarke
The Beautiful Cigar Girl: Mary Rogers, Edgar Allan Poe, and the Invention of Murder by Daniel Stashower
White Night by Jim Butcher

I only read two books from the pile I initially posted (so maybe I'll post about them again next year, hahaha). I failed to post on the short stories of Joe Hill that I've read. That and a couple of Bradburys and H.P. Lovecraft. But that's ok. What's important is that I had a great time as always, reading about scary, scary books.

Hope all of you book blogging friends had a happy Halloween! Or at least gave a scary book (as the wonderful Neil Gaiman suggested)! Maybe next year we could add that to the RIP Challenge?

Death Most Foul!

2010-10-29T22:05:00.001+08:00

I first encountered Edgar Allan Poe way back in my teens. That's some time ago. Yes, I'm old. I mean not that old. I still have a bit of spring to my steps and can pass for someone younger than my actual age but yes, I'm old. Adult. Yikes. But I digress.

Before the encounter I knew of this great writer. Who hasn't heard The Raven, or at least the attribution that he wrote The Raven even if you've yet to read the actual poem? Back then I was a fan of mysteries and suspense, spy stuff and well, romance. But when I got my hands on Edgar Allan Poe my world changed. Oh wait, that's too darn dramatic. But yes, I was captivated. To this day the only poem I can probably recall by memory is Alone. If you know me personally you'd probably assume a Shakespeare sonnet or even e.e.cummings or maybe none at all (as I can never write a poem). But no. While I can recite certain passages of The Bard's work, in the end, years later, it is the poem Alone I adore with all my heart. It held me in thrall. I can forget about the raven's "Nevermore" or the cask of that great drink. But I loved Alone then and it hasn't changed up to now.

Other than Alone and the resonance of the story The Tell-Tale Heart plus a handful of poems, not much however remained with that brief fling with Poe years back. I can barely recall most of them now.

So when I chanced upon this book I knew I had to read it. He died broke. He was an alcoholic. Other than that I'd like to know more about him, about the man that inspired someone going to his grave on his birthday dressed in black, leaving a fine bottle of cognac and three red roses. Oh and yes, the murder angle hooked me in, not so much for the crime but for the manner the author, Daniel Stashower used it for the tag line: Mary Rogers, Edgar Allan Poe and the Invention of Murder. I liked that tag. Invention of murder. Sinister.

The Beautiful Cigar Girl: Mary Rogers, Edgar Allan Poe, and the Invention of Murder
Daniel Stashower

One hundred sixty-nine years ago, the body of Mary Rogers was found floating out to sea a couple of days after being reported as missing by her fiance. Mary Rogers was a popular figure in New York. She used to be the cigarette vendor in Anderson's Tobacco Emporium. Her beauty captivated the adoring customers, inspired poems, pictures, stories. Even when she left the employ of Mr. Anderson to help her mother manage their boarding house, she retained her popularity. So the whole of New York City became aghast when her bloated body was finally discovered; bruised, and for all appearances brutally violated then murdered afterwards. The mystery of her death became fodder for journalists in the city, not to mention writers who cashed in on the story.

With this crime, Stashower circled back to the life of Mr. Poe and how he came to write The Mystery of Marie Roget, a short story based on newspaper accounts of Mary Roger's death. Of course I'm making it appear simple. Reading Mr. Poe's life isn't a simple task. And Mary Roger's death remains a mystery to this day.

There's something about the past that surprises me. Reading about Mary Rogers and the way the media handled her death is an eye-opener. I mean, some headlines nowadays are nothing compared to the vileness of some of the news reports back then. Talk about the creation of a sensationalist media! More than a hundred years ago at that! Of course I recognize that the search for the killer or killers was paramount. But the calculated manner by which some newspaper editors write, rather invent their scoops is shocking to say the least. Then again, if you aim to sensationalize then shock value is the way to go about it. [Aside: I wanted to be a journalist way back but the part of me that negated this want is strong - I do not want to encroach on other people's privacy. It's an almost-dream I knew I had to give up. I don't have it in me to ask questions to people who would rather stay quiet. I don't see myself running after people, asking questions they'd rather evade. Which is probably a no-no in a world where getting the next scoop is paramount to one's survival in the business. I know it's part of the search for the truth, but I'd rather do it in another way, the search for truth I mean. Like in the courtroom. Or research. Then again, research would lead to expose that would lead to people-chasing in the future. Ah, life.]

The crime aspect of the case is a compelling read. Who killed Mary Rogers? Later on in the book you'd revise that question to "What really happened to her?" in light of circumstances that materialised later on. True crime is always fascinating and I mean that in the technical sense because you see, it's never fascinating to the victims and their families. True crime is mostly a study of the perpetrators and the victims they pick. It's what makes procedurals popular on tv as well as in print. There is a certain danger involved, and crime-solving as well. In the case of Mary Rogers all left for us are plain conjectures. The crime has yet to be solved. The evidence aren't enough to point to a certain person or persons. Suspicions will remain as that. Maybe, to console ourselves, the ghost of Mary Rogers is still with us, looking for justice in a world that has forgotten her.

Hard as it is to go through the death of Miss Rogers, it is harder still to stomach the media. Reading about editors one-upping the others, of quarrels on moral grounds, of fabricated stories made me want to call them fiction writers instead of journalists! That or the half-truths. It's like they paved the way for the half-truths we read in the papers now. Well, it's not like truth can't be spun. That's why there are spin doctors out there.

To me, it was more difficult to read Poe's life. And death.

Poor Poe, both literally and figuratively. Never a popular guy to begin with. Couldn't hold his liquor. Depressed. With a brilliant mind. Temperamental. With a certain sense of entitlement. And yet I felt for him all throughout this book when it was all too easy to hate him. If there was a man who appeared to be always out of luck, it's him. Partly through his own fault. Or faults. He was never an upstanding young man (and I say that not to besmirch his reputation). Biographies would tell you the same things I mentioned above and more. And it's easy to surmise that if he was more of a doer and less of a complainer he would've flourished and gained success in his lifetime. But no. We cannot talk about the past in terms of what could've been. The past is the past. It's there and it cannot be changed. Poe can write and write well, yes. But Poe was never a good employee. His sense of entitlement prevented him from being humble. And yet you cannot help but wonder why this man, who could write a tale of cold rational observation from Daupin's eye, couldn't be a bit friendlier to help himself at least.

Plus, with short stories and poems, who could really tell? It's up to the reading audience. And his audience back then, while appreciative, were never as avid fans as those who adore him now.

Reading this book reminded me that I've read a lot more of Poe than I ever thought. But not enough still, considering his body of work. Then again, I've no plans of reading his entire collection. But I am more appreciative of him now, knowing what he had gone through and somehow finding a certain sense of affinity with him. I still can't help but be sad about him, particularly near his death when most people he considered as friends turned their backs on him. Understandable really, considering that he practically begged for his existence back then. If I was surprised back then when I learned that he was found in the gutter reeking of alcohol; reading how he lived his life and how he turned out made that earlier fact more tragic.

To this I say bravo to Mr. Stashower for seamlessly stitching the stories of the two enigmatic people together in one compelling, fascinating book. So ends my nonsensical ramblings.

This is my fifth novel for the Readers Imbibing Peril V Reading Challenge.

A Fairy for Your Thoughts

2010-10-21T13:47:00.000+08:00

Gloomy, cloudy days are fun. Without a hint of sunshine, it's best to spend the day curled in bed wishing the normality of everyday routine is but an imagination. Sigh. If only. Still, breaks are welcome. Such as lunch. So let me ramble for a bit.

Today I go back to the perilous travels to the fae world of Susanna Clarke both by suspecting and unsuspecting humans. Or vice-versa. Then again, I don't think there's such a thing as unsuspecting fairies. I could be wrong though. I posted previously on the first two stories of this collection. It's time to do the rest of them.

All stories mentioned here are culled from The Ladies of Grace Adieu and other stories by the wonderful Susanna Clarke.

Mrs. Mabb is a story of love. Rather, of what love could do to a woman. Venetia falls for Captain Fox, a man apparently in love with her also. Until he met the wily Mrs. Mabb. And Mrs. Mabb isn't just another cougar on the prowl for younger men. Mrs. Mabb obviously is a fairy. And if we go by fairy hierarchy, Mab is the meanest queen of them all! Ooops, I'm sorry. I think I'm strangely influenced by the first part of Jim Butcher's Small Favor, where Mabb, the faerie queen of Winter, appears and comes to collect on Harry Dresden's debt. So yes, I picked up the tenth book of the series already. And put up that wallpaper of Harry Dresden on my PC. I think I'm in love with Harry Dresden. But I digress.

Let me go back to Mrs. Mabb. You see, crossing a fairy isn't a good thing. You don't know what you're up against. But I like this story a lot. Venetia is a woman in love. And crossing a woman is love is much worse that crossing a fairy, whether you're up there in the fairy hierarchy or way down below. Oh dear, is that a spoiler?

I read The Duke of Wellington Misplaces His Horse a few years ago. Neil Gaiman linked to it awhile back when the story was made available online. It's a story set in Wall, and the wall once breached by Tristran Thorn to capture a falling star in Stardust is once again crossed by the Duke of Wellington this time to eh, find his horse. And there he had to devise a means to escape this magical other side.

Mr. Simonelli or The Fairy Widower is by far the story with the most Austen-like feeling to it. I mean, I can't help but recall Pride and Prejudice while reading it. I can't help but laugh at certain circumstances that happened to Mr. Simonelli. It is an epistolary story. And it tells of Mr. Simonelli's unfortunate transfer in Derbyshire where he met with a certain John Hollyshoes. And he becomes embroiled in the search of a missing young mother not to mention five secret engagements with five beautiful siblings.

In Tom Brightwind or How the Fairy Bridge Was Built at Thoresby, I fell in love with the name Princess Lament-from-across-the-Water. Well, there's not much to the character, really. But I love the name. I mean, it's way better than Princess Kiss-upon-a-True-Love's-Grave which sounds so morbid. Or Princess Bird-in-the-Hand which sounds more like an occupation. That or it's quite tiring to imagine. Haha. Thing is, the princesses aren't the focal point of the story. It's more like a story on how fairies are, of how literal they can be, of how they live, at least for that small part we are briefly allowed to glimpse with their friendships with humans.

Antickes and Frets feels more of a witch's story and not of the fae. And it deals with real-life characters I am not familiar with in the sense that I'm not English, I didn't study English history and the apparent quarrel between the Elizabeth, Queen of England and Mary, the Queen of Scots is lost on me. I mean, the historical background. But this historical fiction is inventive, evil and judicious. Scary if you're on the receiving end of a curse.

The last story, John Uskglass and the Cumbrian Charcoal Burner, is about the Raven King. Maybe I shouldn't say that, he might hear me and rain curses if I told the rest of the world I pretty much adored the fact that a Charcoal Burner can be a match against this powerful faerie King. And why would a faerie king go up against a lowly charcoal burner? Thing is, he didn't have to. Oh dear. At least I realized this; you can be a great, powerful faerie king but you certainly have no match to judicious gods out there. Definitely a fitting end to the collection as it made me laugh like hell.

Did I just say laugh? To think I'm posting about six other stories meant for RIP V Challenge? Yes indeed. Laughter, nervous or otherwise is a good response as any to fear. In the six remaining stories of the collection there is always that element of danger, of peril to the characters involved; be it Venetia trespassing on Mrs. Mabb's territory, Mr. Simonelli trying to rescue Dido, the Queen of Scots wishing evil on her sister or of the Duke wanting to get out of the other side of the Wall, preferably in one piece. There's danger but there's laughter too, because in some instances you can't help but laugh. Comedy of manners plus peril. Comeuppance. Justice. Oh and while we see or feel sinister beings lurking in the vicinity, the right attitude not to mention preparedness is a good thing to have. At least the stories aren't exactly horror. With horror, even preparedness won't save you from the hand of the Reaper. Horror mocks your preparedness, actually.

The lovely drawings of Charles Vess are divine. As always.

I will certainly cherish this collection of stories. Well-written, well-imagined and so properly told, even if some of the characters are misbehaving! Again, it made me want to reread Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. I'd love to pick that up again and revisit the realm of the Raven King. I'd like to read that part where Arabella walked back to Jonathan's life via the mirror. I'm remembering things correctly, right? Sometime soon. Hopefully.

If you feel that the world you live in is drab and boring, pick this up and take a glimpse of the other side. You might like it there or you might find yourself scared. Either way, it's good exercise, mental or otherwise.

A Good Man

2010-10-17T14:19:00.000+08:00

The Big Sleep
Raymond Chandler

It feels like summer here in the Philippines when it should be rainy, at the very least. There's a typhoon up north but the sun is shining brightly here in the metro. So there's nothing like the sunny weather to talk about Philip Marlowe, right? He who lives in the sun-baked streets of California. Oh well, forced but hopefully worth it this sunny Sunday afternoon.

I already pledged my undying affection to Philip Marlowe, Raymond Chandler's detective in his hardboiled crime stories. I have been waiting to get my hands on the first book, given that I started reading Chandler's stories with the penultimate book in the Marlowe series and followed it up with the final one. Which isn't a good thing, really. Broke my heart and all that. So now I'm ready to meet Marlowe like it's the first time.

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

It starts with a new job for our dapper detective. An oil tycoon, retired General Sternwood asked Marlowe to look into a blackmailing attempt by an antique book dealer which involves Sternwood's daughter, Carmen. Marlowe's visit with the ailing, old man prompted the elder daughter Vivian to inquire whether or not his father wanted to find Vivian's husband, who disappeared and presumably ran off with somebody else's wife. Citing confidentiality, Marlowe rebuffed Vivian's questions. And it's not only Vivian that Marlowe will end up rebuffing by the novel's end.

It's a crime story so let's just say that it's enough to tease you who haven't read it with that. There's more than one blackmail, there's more than one dead body in the mix, and leave it to Marlowe to find those who disappeared, in the end. I mean, as far as crime stories go, you actually read it to get to the resolution, right? And there's that and more. It wouldn't be a crime novel without resolution, at least that much you expect in detective stories. Otherwise, you'd end up with a half-baked detective. And Marlowe is fully whole.

Those who love Marlowe to death, me included, find him different. Classy. Edgy. He gets the job done, for sure, and gets into all sorts of scrapes and bruises while doing it. I like his loyalty to his clients. I like his integrity. And he gets to kiss pretty ladies in the process. Or throw demented ones out:

She called me a filthy name.

I didn't mind that. I didn't mind what she called me, what anybody called me. But this was the room I had to live in. It was all I had in the way of a home. In it was everything that was mine, that had any association for me, any past, anything that took the place of a family. Not much; a few books, pictures, radio, chessmen, old letters, stuff like that. Nothing. Such as they were they had all my memories.

I couldn't stand her in that room any longer. What she called me only reminded me of that.

I said carefully: "I'll give you three minutes to get dressed and out of here. If you're not out by then, I'll throw you out — by force. Just the way you are, naked. And I'll throw your clothes after you into the hall. Now — get started."

I wasn't expecting to meet Marlowe that way, though. As far as first books go I think I got used to being introduced to characters at their fledgling selves. But here, Marlowe is Marlowe already: a detective with a good reputation. No mention whatsoever about his past, about why he's alone, why he's that way. I'm not saying it's a bad thing and I'm not complaining either. It just wasn't what I expected given that in The Long Goodbye and in Playback, there is a certain continuity of the story. So it was reasonable for me to hope for a backstory somewhat, at least of earlier experiences that made him the way that he was in the last two books. But eventually I'm left with a simple backstory: Marlowe is a detective and that's that. Well, at least it saves me the time hunting instances and psychoanalyzing him in the process. Kidding.

I still consider The Long Goodbye as my favorite Marlowe story after having read this. Maybe because I met him at his most grittiest self by then. But it was nice meeting a sort of younger Marlowe. A Marlowe that showed the toughness of the later stories. A Marlowe with the wits in him to understand that the case before him is not what it seems. I see why fans of the crime novel adore him to bits. I want more Marlowe! I want the rest of the novels! That way I could reread The Long Goodbye with all the backstory in place.

This perilous ride through the streets of Marlowe's crime-laden world is my fourth book for Carl's Readers Imbibing Peril V Challenge.

One line in the book baffles me though:

I said harshly: "Cute as a Filipino on Saturday night."

Now, what did Marlowe mean by that? [Frowns disapprovingly]

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An interesting fact I discovered just now. I clicked on Poodle Springs in the Wikipedia article on Raymond Chandler I linked to above and found out that the last Philip Marlowe novel is not Playback. Technically, Playback is the last complete novel that Chandler wrote. Poodle Springs was posthumously published, using the first four chapters of Chandler's then-unfinished Marlowe novel with a working title of "The Poodle Springs Story." Any Marlowe fan here who has read that? Is it any good? And I mean that in the sense of "Does it feel like it's a Philip Marlowe story?"

Reading Habits

2010-10-16T13:16:00.002+08:00

I don't think I'm ready to write about the ninth book of the Dresden Files. It's not that I can't. I don't want to. Not yet. Because if I do I'd feel like I have to move on to the next book in the series. And the next. And after that, no more, until next year, I think. So I'll hold off on that one, probably before I wrap up this year's RIP V Challenge.

Instead I'm doing a meme, which is something I haven't done in a long time. I picked this up from Sumthinblue of Bookmarked. The meme is called Reading Habits and posted for Filipino Friday for Filipino Book Bloggers.

I'm taking Filipino time to the extreme by posting my meme on a Saturday, hahaha.

1. Do you snack while you read? If so, what are your favourite reading snacks?

No, I don't. I don't like the idea of crumbs getting into my books. Crumbs or stuff. Goodness, I can't imagine gravy or any kind of sauce staining the pages of my books! I just read when I read. That or the occasional background music. But since I have this tendency to focus my attention on what I am reading, the rest falls away. Or something to that effect.

2. What is your favourite drink while reading?

Water.

3. Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?

It depends on the book and whether or not I have a pen near me while I'm reading. But yes, I mark books. I highlight lines I find interesting (though now I stopped using Dermatograph on fiction since it's practically crayon which has a tendency to smear the next page with waxy substance). Sometimes I correct them, you know the occasional misspelled words or something. Hahaha. Marking for a reason does not horrify me one bit. Defacing a book is another story altogether. Though for some people the two are the same thing. Rather, marking is but one aspect of defacing, or something to that effect. Then again, to each his/her own.

4. How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears? Laying the book flat open?

Bookmarks (actual or otherwise) or dog-ears would do and that's fine by me. I remember that in reading Fire and Hemlock by DWJ awhile back, laying a book flat open is a no-no. So I try to stop doing that. If I have no choice I lay them angled instead, to support the spine still and not break it, which happens when you lay a book flat.

5. Fiction, non-fiction, or both?

I read everything, so both and then some.

6. Are you a person who tends to read to the end of a chapter, or can you stop anywhere?

I can stop anywhere though most of the times I'd like to stop when there's a certain break in the story as well, be it a chapter ending (and goodness, chapters are arbitrary since it's not a constant measurement) or just a paragraph break.

7. Are you the type of person to throw a book across the room or on the floor if the author irritates you?

I'm the type who contemplates about it but restrains at the last minute. And then I'd vent my feelings on the author here, sparing the book the agony of being thrown.

8. If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop and look it up right away?

No as I try to take words in context first. But yes, I do check word meanings when I can. I have my very old Webster dictionary at my bedside pile. However, if the word is not there and I'm comfortably tucked in bed, reading, I usually just wait until I could look the word up online after.

9. What are you currently reading?

Tender Morsels by Margo Lanagan

10. What is the last book you bought?

Tender Morsels by Margo Lanagan

11. Are you the type of person that reads one book at a time, or can you read more than one?

I usually read more than one. I'm quite used to reading more than one book at a time. Particularly before I sleep when I juggle between paragraphs of two or three books just to find that sweet spot where I'd either read on or eh, sleep.

12. Do you have a favourite time/place to read?

I'm most comfortable reading in bed before sleeping.

13. Do you prefer series books or stand-alones?

Either. I'm after good stories whether they are stand-alones or in a series.

14. Is there a specific book or author you find yourself recommending over and over?

No. I usually talk about authors and/or books I love here. Dealing with people asking for book recommendations would depend on the person I'm talking with as I try to gauge their reading taste when I recommend something. It's a bit snobbish, I know, but gee, I wouldn't recommend a totally hilarious book say like Plato and a Platypus Walks Into A Bar to someone who considers the Twilight series as the best books ever written. Or maybe I would. But odds are against that someone picking it up and thoroughly enjoying it as I did or even more so.

15. How do you organize your books? (by genre, title, author’s last name, etc.)

Oh, the sad thing is that I don't have a system. You see, I don't have the shelves to organize all my books. Hence my bedside pile. And then there's that modular kitchen contraption I actually use as a book shelf here in the metro for books I've yet to read. In my room at home I have boxes and boxes of my favorite books I've read, each wrapped in plastic, piled one on top of another, inside my closet. I do have one tall bookshelf and it houses my Murakami collection, lots of paperbacks and some hardbacks I haven't the time to read yet. And then there's my study table where my comicbooks are enshrined, a handful of Pratchetts, Gaimans, and my Michael Stipe-signed book of R.E.M. pictures by David Belisle. Yes, enshrined is the proper term. You'd even think that when you see it.

What are your reading habits?

Sweet Poison

2010-10-11T10:22:00.003+08:00

We Have Always Lived in the Castle
Shirley Jackson

The last thing I want to do now is to actually discuss the book. Discussing it would diminish everything that I have felt while going through the pages in Merricat's voice. Merricat. Mary Katherine Blackwood. I met her before, you see. When I first got this book a couple of years ago, the cover flap inside introduced me to her: My name is Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am eighteen years old, and I live with my sister Constance. I have often thought that with any luck at all I could have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both my hands are the same length, but I have had to be content with what I had. I dislike washing myself, and dogs, and noise. I like my sister Constance, and Richard Plantagenet, and Amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. Everyone else in my family is dead.

And I left it at that. There's more to read at the back cover flap. Plus the drawings of both the mushroom and the spider. But dear readers, I'm not going into it. The last thing you need to read is another person's take on the plot that can very well reveal everything about the story. I let it sit in my shelves for quite sometime and waited until I felt myself ready to pick it up. I'm weird that way. There are books I could pick up any time of the day and read it without any ounce of preparation. And then there are books I bide my time with, allowing myself to be prepared with its onslaught, so to speak. I did that with a lot of books. The Book Thief comes to mind as the last book prior to this one. I let that hang for more than two years or so and I only picked it up last August. Gee, I haven't even posted about it. I'm not even close to trying.

Is this book good? Indeed. You'd think it's such a short book but it's not. It isn't thick compared to other books I once pictured on my bedside pile. The words inside are densely packed in single-spaced goodness. It's like the words themselves, viewed from arms length, are claustrophobically enclosed in the pages, like sardines in a can.

The one last thing you need to read, especially if your version of the book is like mine, is the introduction by Jonathan Lethem. Don't get me wrong, I adore Jonathan Lethem. I just detest introductions. Rather, I detest reading introductions when I'm not familiar with the book yet. Introductions are full of spoilers you don't want to read. And it's a good thing that I have this personal rule when reading a book with introductions in them: I ignore them completely and merely read it after I'm done with the story, if I feel like reading them at all. I think I share this same personal rule with other book blogging friends I met through the years. Introductions = Spoilers. And I'm emphasizing it now since this book is Chris's pick for his readalong and the discussion will come up sometime November. It's best to be surprised by the story, any story for that matter. Unless of course you're the faint of heart type and can't be bothered by stuff that is sinister or shocking.

So what am I left to discuss? Thomas Ott.

He created the gorgeous cover of this book which you should see in its entirety. This is the perfect cover of the book. That cover alone is enough to induce fear in the hearts of puny men and women. And yet you look at the two central figure, particularly the girl holding the cat, and realized she's unperturbed while the other hides behind her, afraid. If you're like me you'd take in the expressions of every single one of them: the cheering guy at the back cover, the scowling man beside him, the woman with the headband with a sad frown, the little boy with his tongue stuck out, a hand with a bat raised high. There's more. I picked this book up a lot just to look at that cover. And I spent some time going over it again and again after I read the story.

That cover is enough to place this book as a perfect fit for Carl's RIP V Challenge. This is my third book which actually came from the pool I picked for this year. Hahaha.

Read this, you won't be sorry.

Defying Gravity

2010-10-02T18:31:00.000+08:00

The Light Princess
George Macdonald
With illustrations by Maurice Sendak

Once upon a time there was a king and queen in a faraway land who had no children yet. But after years of waiting, the queen finally conceived and the kingdom was blessed with the birth of a little baby girl. The king was ecstatic and invited all the important people for the christening. But we need a curve ball to the story so he forgot to invite his sister, Princess Makemnoit, who took it upon herself to go to the affair. And obviously curse the little princess as well.

This is but a short fairy tale about a princess who defies gravity, literally. And the adults around her trying to find the solution to her problem. And then there's a prince in need of a wife. Princess plus prince equals possible match? Yes since it is a fairy tale. But how do you solve the problem of gravity, not to mention the fact that the princess appears, for all intents and purposes, silly? Then again, that's just me. Hahaha.

I like the description of Princess Makemnoit best. Talk about labeling villains, not to mention the possible discussions to be made with the general assumptions based on her description:

She was a sour, spiteful creature. The wrinkles of contempt crossed the wrinkles of peevishness, and made her face as full of wrinkles as a pat of butter. If ever a king could be justified in forgetting anybody, this king was justified in forgetting his sister, even at a christening. She looked very odd, too. Her forehead was as large as the rest of her face, and projected over it like a precipice. When she was angry, her little eyes flashed blue. When she hated anybody, they shone yellow and green. What they looked like when she loved anybody, I do not know; for I never heard of her loving anybody but herself, and I do not think she could have managed that if she had not somehow got used to herself. But what made it highly imprudent in the king to forget her was - she was awfully clever. In fact, she was a witch; and when she bewitched anybody, he very soon had enough of it; for she beat all wicked fairies in their wickedness, and all clever ones in cleverness. She despised all the modes we read of in history, in which offended fairies and witches have taken their revenges; and therefore, after waiting and waiting in vain for an invitation, she made up her mind at last to go without one, and make the whole family miserable, like a princess as she was.

With the story slightly taking jabs at my college major and with very good use of word play in just about a hundred pages (exclusive of the lovely drawings by Maurice Sendak), this is a good sort of story to take me out of my reading slump one rainy evening. Yes, it took me off my sudoku-before-sleep addiction. And I don't know if that's a good thing. Hahaha.

Short and sweet like your usual fairy tales made all the more lovely by the illustrations. I actually wanted to read other Sendak books because of this. Yes, for a book addict, I haven't read a Sendak book yet. Stop screaming at me, I know.

And I think my brain is floating as well and cannot churn out other thoughts for now.

Clanker or Beastie?

2010-10-01T13:02:00.000+08:00

Leviathan
Scott Westerfeld
With illustrations by Keith Thompson

Today's the first day of my favorite month of the year. It's also the month of release of Behemoth. It's probably fitting that I post about Leviathan today. Or not.

I'm probably the last book blogger out there to have read Leviathan. I have an excuse actually, which may sound lame by Scott Westerfeld-fangirl standards. You see I waited for the paperback copy. I never had a hardbound Westerfeld so why deviate from my norm, right? Lame, I know. That doesn't make me less of a fangirl anyway. And yes, while I've seen glowing posts on the book about a year back, I never got into the meat of book reviews then as I wanted to be surprised by the entire thing.

I was easily taken in by the entire Clanker versus Beastie story. So taken in by the introductions of Alek and Deryn that I found myself wishing for a Huxley or goodness, a semblance of sword fight lessons. Kidding. I was on Deryn's early pages into the book when I felt this sudden gush of emotions remembering the intricacies of the Uglies series, the tridecalogisms of the Midnighters, and even the creepy feeling left by Peeps that I just had to tweet the author "I love you, Scott Westerfeld. Seriously." sixty-six pages into this book. Excuse me for being a fangirl.

To those who lived under a rock and quite simply surfed their way into this post upon emerging from it, here's a brief background on Leviathan. It's a story about an alternate past. Alternate. Past. Let that sink in first. It's 1914 and Europe is on a brink of war. A different Europe. The English forces have huge, scientifically-engineered animals as both weapons and ships, hence the term Beasties. Other parts of Europe, say the Austria-Hungarian empire (where Alek is an heir to the throne) have machines as weapons, hence, Clankers, far advanced that what we now have. And that's just the view from the top.

If we go by characters, we meet Alek first. The son of the recently assassinated Archduke and his wife, he goes on hiding with the loyal followers of his father and plans to escape to a neutral territory to avoid assassins out to eliminate him from the royal succession. As far as spoiled heirs go, Alek is a natural, and I say that lovingly. And the escape from bloodthirsty warmongers is enough to prod the boy into taking a serious look into the politics of war. Grieving for his parents' death must come later.

And then there's Deryn. In this alternate past not much has changed when it comes to women. Deryn has to pretend to be a boy in order to be allowed into the British Air Service. And once in, she has to maintain her disguise lest she be tried for treason. So for the better part of the book, her shipmates call her Dylan. It's funny when she thinks "What would a boy do?" in situations she finds herself in.

Uh yeah, what about the title of the book? Leviathan you see is the name of the ship, err animal, uh a genetically engineered animal that is also a flying ship. If that's not enough to whet your steampunk appetite, I don't know what else to tell you. Then again, your steampunk appetite should've been whetted by the idea of Clankers alone!

Now that I'm done with the book (I finished this late August, I think), here's what I have to say:

I still love you, Scott Westerfeld!

Hahaha!

I don't think the man could write something that I'd hate.

Which somehow makes this post biased. Then so be it.

It's a great story anchored on facts that may be familiar to those who took up the intricacies of the first World War. Seamlessly integrating a well-imagined, futuristic science into the story is simply precious! I imagine what's it like flying a Huxley. I love those animals featured here and I want more Beasties! Though in real life I'd probably be scared to death of them. And Westerfeld's notes at the end are helpful. I didn't know that thylacines are real animals. Then again, there are lots of things I didn't know about the past.

The whole Clankers versus Beastie thing doesn't make for the great story. It's a great element alright but what makes this story great are the twisting plots that make your heart skip beats and characters you actually root for. Alek, despite his initial spoiled self is redeemed right in front of our eyes. Deryn's heroic acts all throughout. Dr. Barlow's mysterious eggs. The talking lizards. I mean, uh they don't exactly converse with you but hey, it was fun to read. The supporting casts. And the war.

It's never easy reading about wars in general. This book is no different. You keep reminding yourself it's alternate fiction. You agree on the idea of "villain" easily, since labeling means less emotional attachment. For now there are no specific villains but forces of a country hell bent on eliminating Alek. And it's but natural to root for Alek's safety. The rest has yet to unfold.

And a shout out to the lovely, lovely art of Keith Thompson. The drawings are precious! And gee, one of the Clanker weapons reminded me of the evil robot thingy in Will Smith's movie Wild, Wild West. Hahaha.

Oh yes, this book is the first part of a series. Didn't I tell you that earlier? The second book will be released a day before my birthday. I guess I'll wait another year for the paperback copy.

If there's one thing I hate about my paperback copy it's this: I hate the cover. No, I don't mean the actual cover which is great. But the paperback cover actually curls up like a flyaway hair and does not stay put unless you put other books on top of it. Tsk tsk tsk. So yes, being practical means having to make do with cover paper that doesn't stay in place.

Wasted Brains

2010-09-29T12:46:00.001+08:00

I used to be a backseat gamer. You know, the kind who watches someone play a game and interjects, at times, questions, tips or reactions that may or may not make the end result of the game better. Or, from the point of view of the player, mostly annoying stuff that bothers his concentration. Much like a regular backseat driver except that you won't get booted off the car once the annoyance reached boiling point. Haha. But you do get lectured, or if your lucky, have your questions answered, if you just watch the game. Because, like all backseat gamers, I suck at playing games. Well, mildly suck. To this day I can say I only finished one creepy game the entire time the old PlayStation was still with us. The game unfortunately isn't Resident Evil. For the life of me I always get eaten by zombies by the time I step out of the police station. So I think mildly suck is an understatement.

I do enjoy watching creepy action films. Zombies are fun to watch back then; they are slow, they just want to feed (unfortunately, humans are on the menu), and that's it. Until the film 28 Days Later came in. Zombies become fast, more aggressive than usual and well, they still feed. I haven't had much luck in reading zombies in books (Just World War Z, check. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, check.) but I love watching action films with zombies in them. I like to see them die and uh, stay dead.

Hence, Resident Evil. I've seen all three previous films. And today, for my Peril on the Screen for RIP V Challenge, I'll discuss the fourth installment to the franchise.

Alice is back, as well as her clones. After vowing in the last scene of Resident Evil: Extinction that she'll come after the leaders of the Umbrella Corporation, we are now transported to Japan where the underground facility of the group becomes Alice's target. Unfortunately, Wesker got to her with a serum erasing all the superhuman effects of the T-virus in her cells. This after eliminating all her clones with a blast that left a very large hole in what was once Japan. But hey, since Alice is the heroine of this film, sans her superhuman abilities, she somehow survives a plane crash. Whew.

She now flies to Arcadia. It's the haven in Alaska previously discussed in the third film. But all she finds there is Claire with a mechanical bug strapped to her chest, feral and with major memory loss. She couldn't remember Alice. But Alice took her back and off they flew searching for survivors across the States. They landed in California and met a ragtag team of survivors holed up in a prison.

And gee, maybe I shouldn't discuss the entire thing, right? I practically mentioned stuff better off seen than said, anyway. But here's what I thought about the whole thing.

If you're looking for some mind-enriching activity, this is not it. If you're looking for semblance of characters believable enough to be stuck on top of a prison garrison, this is not it. One thing it is is that it's an action film so you expect and hope for great action scenes. You can only hope for good dialogue or even lines and gee, I only get one and it's even an inside joke, so to speak, with respect to Wentworth Miller's character. And those who don't have any idea of the series Prison Break might not even get it. Short of saying this is my least liked Resident Evil film of the four.

Yes, the action scenes are sort of ok. I liked that part seen on the trailer where Alice is being chased by a horde of zombies on top of the building. But all the 3D stuff, I don't know. When I watch action scenes, I want them fast and good. Like watching Jason Statham slathered in oil fighting a horde of baddies in the first Transporter movie. I don't want my action scenes slow-mo'ed for the purpose of giving effect to the 3D elements of the film. It breaks the pacing for the purpose of the effect. And I didn't like the fact that fight scenes near the end feels like The Matrix all over again, complete with Wesker in shades and dodging bullets and what-not.

But the zombie dogs are creepy. Creeeeepy. There's not much zombie stuff anyway. There appears to be new ones, the kind that has a stinger, pretty much like the vampires of del Toro's The Strain. And there's this big, tall, covered thing with the very large ax bent on killing the girls. For a zombie, he sure looks like he could process information (instead of the usual "Oooh humans, food!"). Then again, I could be missing some characters from the game.

In a nutshell it's mindless, sort of fun action flick enough to waste your time if needed. It's something you watch if you've already invested yourself with the first three films, like I do. Because I learned to care about Alice even if I miss Carlos terribly. There's not much emotional connection with the other cast to care for them right now and I would probably ignore the next film until uh, that last scene after the initial round of credits were featured and made me go "What the...."

So yes, in a couple or so years I'll probably see the sequel to this one. Let's hope it's way, way better than this.

2010-09-28T14:06:00.000+08:00

My guest post on my Book Twin's blog is up at Things Mean A Lot. It's all about Joss Whedon. Let the geek love begin!

Hive Mentality

2010-09-28T11:11:00.002+08:00

The Passage
Justin Cronin

Remember my reaction after reading The Passage a couple or so of weeks back? Here's why:

It's a story that starts with a flashback and a caveat: Before she became the Girl from Nowhere — the One Who Walked In, the First and Last and Only, who lived a thousand years — she was just a little girl in Iowa, named Amy. That line alone prepares you for a story that will span the ages as well as raises questions as to why those appellations are attached to her. You feel the book in your hands, carefully fanning the pages without peeking, trying to assess the enormity of it all.

But once you start reading everything becomes irrelevant. You become part of the story somewhat. You see yourself in Iowa, where Amy was born and raised by her mother and eventually left at the convent. And with just a little hint of horrors to come in the form of emails exchanged between doctors, you are back, now in the company of federal agents tracking her. But I'm not making things clear now, am I? The Passage, in a nutshell, is a story of engineered science gone wrong. Horribly wrong.

Set in America of the near future troubled by acts of terrorism in its native soil, the government sets it sight on creating super soldiers that would take out the enemy surreptitiously, overseas. In a well-guarded fortress in snow-covered Colorado, in floors below the surface, is a laboratory complete with cells destined for test subjects. And those subjects are people forgotten by time, people who are deemed by law to live the rest of their lives behind bars to keep the rest of us safe. Can you feel where this is heading already? But see here, the Dr. Frankenstein of this imagined future needs a control subject, someone very young, someone like Amy, No Last Name. Like the other test subjects, no one would miss Amy. And of course something goes wrong somewhere.

You see, the super soldiers they were trying to create weren't exactly soldiers to begin with. We, bookish people, have a better term for that: vampires. This is a science-engineered vampire story.

Fast forward seventy or so years into the future and we encounter that well-lighted community in California where we meet the other cast of characters: Peter, Caleb, Mausami, Theo, Alicia, Sara, Michael, Hollis and a handful of others. They are the third generation of survivors from the first wave of infection after the experiments had gone wrong. They call the vampires virals. And this is where the rest of the story takes off. Because the batteries that power the electricity of the community are failing. And one light-less night, heck even a light-less hour, is enough to decimate the group by the virals that stalk the place the moment night comes in.

It's not just a story of fighting virals but one of survival. And a story of survival doesn't get interesting without good characters to believe in and cheer for. Here, the third generation survivors give us a glimpse of what's it like living in a world devoid of the amenities we currently enjoy. They give us the face of the future where all their lives were lived walled-in, with gates guarded by crossbow-bearing peers. They read books saved from years back about places and things they are not familiar with. All the babies and kids live in a further enclosed space where the virals are never mentioned until they are old enough to understand, old enough to take on a role in further defending or helping the community, old enough to be responsible.

Based on my previous short posts a couple or so weeks back you guys know that I couldn't put this book down. And yes, even if I practically told you parts of the first fourth of the story I encourage you to read this. It's a rollercoaster ride to one scary, heartbreaking, horrifying future.

Let's get some things clear. The science-engineered vampires here aren't your Bram Stoker's version. The virals aren't the supernatural kind but borne of the mind of one Jonas Lear after experiments with vampire bats. Like the bats, the virals hate the light and feed on blood. The virals often kill the ones they feed on but a small percentage survive the attack and become virals themselves which is the effect of the lab-created virus injected on the initial test subjects.

One thing I didn't know even after I finished the book was the fact that this is the first of a planned trilogy. Seriously. I mean, I was practically holding my breath knowing that I was holding a mere handful of pages left with just a major obstacle removed (and if you've read the book you know how many problem areas are there - oh dear, speaking in riddles to avoid further spoilers is killing me). And that's not the entire reason why I screamed "Nooooooooooooooooooooo" in that post of mine. And it's not entirely due to the cliffhanger ending also. As cliffhangery (hahaha) as one gets with the last major line.

I screamed because it had a negative ending. Rather, it is easy to speculate that it had a negative ending. I screamed "Nooooooooooooooooooooo" because I never thought I cared so much for the characters only to be left with that note. Then again, I should have known better than to assume everyone's safety. In fact I should have known early on and took note of the introductions for the chapters; those lines I thought were positive signs for survival but not necessarily of the ones I am rooting for. Again I speak in riddles so bear with me. I traveled with those characters throughout the rest of the book and it broke my heart to be left hanging that way. Like I said, everything is speculation from the time the book ended. And at that time I didn't know that this book is part of a trilogy. So I continue to hope. Which means I am looking forward to the second book in this series.

Sigh. Everything comes in threes. The Strain Trilogy. The Uglies Trilogy. The Midnighters Trilogy of four. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy of five. Hahaha. I just need a laughing break.

This is my second book for Carl's Readers Imbibing Peril V and let's see if my next pick would top this as my favorite for the challenge, so far.

Other interesting points of view:

Books I Done Read
Boston Bibliophile
Estella's Revenge
Fantasy Book Critic
Fyrefly's Book Blog
Hey Lady! Whatcha Readin'?
Neth Space
Presenting Lenore
Rhapsody in Books Weblog
Savidge Reads
S. Krishna's Books
The Wertzone

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Aside: Funny how my reads tend to have a certain commonality in them, in my case a certain characteristic of a chosen animal. The Strain points me to the nesting habits of rats. This one about the hive mentality of bats. Rats. Bats. Maybe my next book should feature cats. And then gnats. Oh wait, gnats aren't mammals. Hahaha.

Without A Photo

2010-09-23T19:03:00.000+08:00

I need to get my writing mojo back. And my reading mojo for that matter. Obviously I haven't been reading much. Well, I try every night as it's the only time I get to pick something up. But most times I end up solving easy sudoku puzzles to lull me to sleep. Weird, right? Like I get my brain worked up with placing numbers on a grid so I could sleep. Hence, my not-quite moving Reading List. Not to mention a pile of books I've yet to ramble about.

But a good thing happened this week. We have a new puppy at home.

Now's the perfect time to place a picture below but no, not going to happen. Today, at least. I'm still having trouble getting it to sit still. It. How cruel of me. The "It" has a name. His name's Guido. It's like saying doggie backwards. That's the idea. I stole that idea from a friend actually. But for lack of any other appealing names, we stuck to it. And Guido seems to be fine with it. He responds to it already. Then again, any growing puppy craving for attention would respond to any call, right?

There's a downside to having Guido. You see I own the alpha dog in the house, Titan. I posted a picture of her once. She was actually sick a couple of weeks back and had to be taken to a vet. Plus, she was sad when Winnie passed on. She was slowly regaining her strength back the day Guido was brought to us (just this Monday). And then she suddenly became sad and depressed again. The alpha dog is jealous. She hated me for doting on the new puppy. And when I took her back to the vet for the follow-up, the doc told me as well not to pay too much attention to the puppy while my dog is still recovering.

Ah, but how could I even ignore the puppy! Oh well, my sister told me I was a bad alpha dog owner. Hahaha.

Dogs. If you have one (or two) then you know what I'm talking about. It's bad enough my Titan gets cranky and snarls unnecessarily when Guido comes near her. Much worse during feeding time when the puppy (who basically requires at least three meals a day) prances around my Titan while the latter slowly chews her food. Hopefully, things would normalize soon enough. Normal, meaning the new puppy recognizes my Titan as the alpha dog and would cower at the mere sight of her. Hahaha.

Oh well. Hopefully I get back to posting regularly, that or at least my backlogs, in the next couple of days. Have a great weekend, book blogging friends!

Rumple-What?

2010-09-16T21:57:00.000+08:00

I watch Top Chef as much as I can. Here, it is aired on free tv quite late. Top Chef Las Vegas had its finale about a month back with reruns airing in the meantime hopefully before picking up Top Chef Masters 2. I don't think the recently finished Top Chef Washington DC will be aired this year. Other than books I love food, you see. And it is fascinating to watch those chefs create meals in a time-pressured environment where other chefs of notoriety or renown (haha), taste and pass judgment ala-Simon Cowell on food. It sounds like a nice gig, really. You get to eat and wonder at the brains behind the chefs in the kitchen. Me, I just watch. If you ask the very basic cake recipe from me I'll come up with nothing. I need a recipe book propped open before I create something remotely tasty.

I'm not here to talk about food, really. There's just this one favorite challenge of mine in the Las Vegas season, the one where Penn and Teller (yes, the magicians) appeared as guests. The chefs were asked to deconstruct a favorite American dish and it was exciting to see the chefs come up with imaginative ways to like, deconstruct a lasagna. Or pot roast. In the present season (Top Chef Washington DC), they had a somewhat similar challenge called Covert Cuisine where the chefs were asked to disguise a commonly known dish into something else. Why this talk about disguise and deconstruction? Simple. The story I picked for my Short Story Peril this week is a well-known fairy tale in disguise.

On Lickerish Hill is the second story in Susanna Clarke's The Ladies of Grace Adieu and other stories. And it's quite difficult to read. I mean, it feels like I'm reading a very old English text. It was only sometime in the middle of the story when I put the pieces together and realized that this is a retelling of Rumplestiltskin. Did I even spell that right? I won't say it three times. Oh wait, I'm not calling the Bogeyman.

Miranda Sowreston relates in her journal the events leading to her marriage with the melancholic Sir John Sowreston, who was led to believe Miranda could spin five skeins of flax in a day for a month. About a year after they were married, Sir John put Miranda in a cell to demand his spun threads.

The thing I had difficulty here isn't actually the text but uh, well for one thing how the women are treated. It was good that Miranda gets to talk with the scholars and all, all visitors of her husband, but gee, putting your wife in a cell and threatening her with death isn't exactly the proper way to treat one's spouse. It's just a story, I know. And it's not like the original had a judicious leading man in the first place. Still, I never even liked the original story to begin with.

But this one was well-written. If this were a Top Chef dish it would get great points for disguising the tale until sometime in the middle of the story. Then again I should have picked up on it much earlier. There were clues, you see. I was just a teeny wee bit slow that day. Hahaha.

Still, for my hands down favorite deconstructed fairy tale of all time, nothing beats Snow Glass Apples from Neil Gaiman. You should listen to the audio version of that in Two Plays for Voices. Far creepier. Hahaha.

Nooooooooooooooooooooo*

2010-09-11T18:39:00.000+08:00

*My reaction after reading that last line from Justin Cronin's The Passage.

Status Update #2

2010-09-07T12:11:00.000+08:00

While I try not to ditch any of the books I picked for my RIP V pool, I'm finding it hard to ignore Justin Cronin's The Passage. Note to self: Why didn't I place that on my pool to begin with? I finished ten chapters already and now I feel like I'm neglecting my other books.

And that I don't mind neglecting those other books. Sigh.

Magical Ladies

2010-09-06T13:09:00.004+08:00

Above all remember this: that magic belongs as much to the heart as to the head and everything which is done, should be done from love or joy or righteous anger.

While I have a lot of backlog posts in mind, I decided to pick up Susanna Clarke's The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories, if only to jumpstart my RIP Challenge V. I needed it, you see. I'm having trouble with slow starts and I'm having the slowest of slow starts with The Town that Forgot How to Breathe. It's not the book's fault really, but mine. I see the hauntings: the ghostly appearance of a little girl in the barn, the smell of stinky fish, a sea monster found floating at sea (Oh wait, that's another book entirely - Lauren Groff's The Monsters of Templeton), at least two people on the verge of dying. All these things are signs of things yet to come and yet, with a measly number of minutes allowed to me before sleep I cannot move on just yet with the story.

I will be doing Short Story Peril today with The Ladies of Grace Adieu. Picking this up reminded me of how much I adored Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell when I read that about five years ago. It tells the tale of three women, all practitioners of magic: the second Mrs. Fields, Cassandra Parbringer, and Miss Tobias, in a village called Grace Adieu in Gloucestershire. The events of the story took place during Jonathan Strange's visit to his brother-in-law Mr. Henry Woodhope, a rector enamored of Cassandra. During those times, women practitioners of magic were rarely known. Rather, they keep to themselves. And they believe in and respect The Raven King.

There is a certain familiarity to the manner by which the story is written if at least you've read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Plus, Jonathan Strange is here in the story, so with Arabella, his wife. But the focal point of this tale is basically the titular ladies.

This story has all the perfect ingredients for a great read: a short background, a possible entanglement, an impending doom, a rescue mission, and a meeting of considerable importance, all in 32 pages. Well, that's as far as I can say without actually spoiling it. But gee, it was a charming read despite its darkness. There is a slight humor in the darkness actually, because bad things happen to presumably bad people, which somehow makes it easier to digest. Besides, the protective mantle shown by the three ladies is formidable magic enough that even Jonathan Strange recognized and would like to learn from. Oh dear, this story made me pull off my copy of that big block of a book off my shelves wanting to reread it! Tsk tsk tsk.

One of the things I adored with Clarke's novel and extends up to this story (and quite possibly the entire collection) is this: she has created a perfectly believable, magical world fit for the Napoleonic era. It feels like a story of manners on the one hand (and yes, it is) and yet a story of magic on another. Which is simply delicious. It also reminded me of Northanger Abbey, somewhat, with the reference to Mrs. Radcliffe's novels.

I'll go through the rest of the stories in due time. But for now consider picking up this imaginative tale and be delighted by the possibility that three seemingly regular ladies out for a walk on a starlit evening are magicians indeed, out to protect kids from a dire fate.

And if you haven't read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell yet, why haven't you? I'm thinking of rereading it this year, I mean this month. Which would somehow throw off my planned reads for the season.

Other interesting point of view:

Rememorandom

Lesson #3

2010-09-05T13:55:00.000+08:00

If you plan on writing the rest of the afternoon, never eat pasta for lunch.

I'm so sleepy....

Among Us

2010-09-02T11:33:00.002+08:00

The Strain
Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan

This too will be difficult for you to accept. But to them we are not enemies. We are not worthy foes. We don't even rise to that level in their eyes. To them we are prey. We are food and drink. Animals in a pen. Bottles upon a shelf.

I remember tweeting about listening to the audio version of this book last month, likening it to having Hellboy tell you a scary bedtime story. You see, it is Hellboy telling you a scary bedtime story. Ron Perlman, the guy who played that damn red thing onscreen, read it. Hahaha! But here is where it gets interesting, at least for me. I didn't like the shivery feeling the voice left me while describing a huge plane lying stranded along the runway and for all intents and purposes everyone in it being dead. Didn't. Like. It. Don't get me wrong, I love the story. I was just too damn afraid to press Play again. And again. But I'm stubborn so I still listened, a track or two at a time. I haven't had a good night's sleep for a handful of days until I finally saw a copy of the book during NBS' annual Cut-Price Book Sale. Some of you are probably thinking I copped out and read the book instead. And you're right. Hahaha.

I'm listening to Radiohead while typing this. I don't know. Maybe I just want to keep the sound of Sardu's walking stick (Pick-pick-pick) off. I haven't gotten it off my system since I started listening to the book. Even after I finished the text. Yay, creepy. What a way to start RIP V. To think I'm cheating here by posting about a book I finished last week but have yet to ramble about. Hahaha.

Noticed my nervous laughter yet? Hahaha. Oh, there it is. Hahaha.

While it starts ominously enough with a tale of a young Abraham Setrakian listening to his grandmother telling him a scary bedtime story, the shift to the future-present we are more familiar with is far creepier. After descent and uneventful landing a plane stopped communicating to the tower. It lies there on the runway with all the lights off. No sign of a hostile situation even. All windows appeared to be closed. This occurred at night, before the occultation or what is known as a total solar eclipse for the next day. Enter Ephraim Goodweather, a CDC doctor out to investigate the cause of the apparent death of all the passengers save for four who survived not remembering anything that happened previously. And before I tell you the whole thing I'll stop now and let you discover the rest (scare yourself like me). I'll tell you this though, it's a vampire story. It's a scientific vampire story. Think Richard Matheson, research like Richard Preston and uh, a bit of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Hahaha.

Oh and before you pick this up I have to tell you now, it's the first book of a trilogy. Yep, that's right. So if I tell you now that the ending is [insert a hypothetical situation here - hahaha] you'll probably tear my hair out for saying so. Then again, the second book titled The Fall will be out this month. Or is already out? I'm not sure. What I'm sure of is that I won't be seeing that book anytime soon here. I mean it took a whole year for me to find a copy of this. The last book will be released in 2011.

What do you need to know before you pick this? It's written by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan. I may not know who Chuck Hogan is but I like del Toro. Pan's Labyrinth ring any bells? That gorgeous, gorgeous dark faerie story? He created that. He also directed both Hellboy films.

When visual people start writing horror stories you tend to take notice. And that's your first mistake. Because once you cracked open the book, or in my case I initially pressed Play, I was hooked - no matter how claustrophobically eerie everything was, even out there in the open air of the runway, blanketed by darkness. When visual people write, your brain automatically reacts, sending induced shivers down your spine. And the only way to stop is to finish the entire thing. Seriously. Because if you put it down halfway through it would haunt you. No, seriously.

It doesn't help that the chapters feel like you're watching a film unfolding before you, chopped into scenes designed for maximum effect. And yes, while it feels like there's more action involved you also have this empathy towards the characters. They are likable (at least the good guys, as good as you could get them in a story like this, hahaha). There's the usual suspension of disbelief (the fate of the world lies in the guiding hand of a very old man wielding a silver sword, among others). There's enough back story on relationships, on their personal history, to react and feel for them. Of course all those take a backseat when you read parts brimming with the horror. And yes, there's blood and gore. It's a vampire story after all.

I think there's a part of our brain that flips a switch when things get too much. Maybe that's why I longed for the text version. I still haven't finished the audiobook. I try to (am on the fifth disc now) but I think I'm rationalizing why I haven't gotten far with it. I rationalize that it's not as scary listening to a story written in third person point of view. And it is. [Aside: I commented as much to Charley on a separate post of hers, the difference in listening to a story in varying points of view. A first person story feels more personal, more immediate, more intimate. A third person story, not quite. Then again, if I'm listening to a first person point of view horror story, I'd probably have a heart attack.] It feels like someone's just describing something, yes. It just so happened that the scenes are pretty disturbing indeed. Or I can ask myself "How come he doesn't do good voices for other characters?" When I say that I feel like he's (Ron Perlman) just reading the text. And goodness, I did that already. Now I feel that I can finish the whole discs. The only difference now and back then is quite simple, I already know how it ends. Short of saying I couldn't handle the suspense with just a disembodied voice telling me how things are going.

One last thing. A bit spoilery though so stop now if you haven't read this yet and planning to pick this for the challenge. The vampires here appear somewhat familiar to me. No, they're not the sparkly kind. But if you've seen Blade II then you know what I mean. It's been bugging me the whole time, you see. I've seen them before (and no, I don't mean in real life, unless I'm a vampire typing this thing up in a basement or something, away from sunlight, which is a good yet creepy idea). And the reason it's familiar is simple. Del Toro directed that film too. And his version of a vampire probably germinated from that. I'm talking about the Reaper vampires. Sardu and the others appear somewhat similar to the Reaper vampires of the film. The latter actually is more menacing if you've seen the film. Then again I assume too much.

Think you can handle another scary vampire story? Pick this. Better yet, listen to the audio version first like I did and see if you could handle that without copping out, like I did. Hahaha.

Night is real. Night is not an absence of light, but in fact, it is daytime that is a brief respite from the looming darkness...

Other interesting points of view:

Dark Wolf's Fantasy Reviews
Fantasy Book Critic
The Wertzone

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This is a cheat post for Carl's Readers Imbibing Peril Challenge V. I read this before the official start of the challenge, hahaha, but I'm posting about it only now. Hence, cheating. This is a good choice for RIP V. One hell of a horror story indeed.

RIP V

2010-09-01T10:39:00.002+08:00

Officially, Fall is here. I mean, there. I mean, it's Fall somewhere, right? But not in Australia, I think. I live in a tropical country. We don't have a Fall season. But every year for four years now I go through the season vicariously with most of the book blogging world. So I guess it's obvious, Readers Imbibing Peril Challenge V is here!

I'm picking Peril the First. Ergo, I've to read four books. Who am I kidding? Since I joined this fun event I never stopped at four. Plus, I'll be doing Short Story Peril as well as Peril on the Screen too! Sounds like I'll be having a wickedly delightful two months!

Here's my not-quite pool:

I know it's not quite a large pool as before but give me a few days to add other stuff in. These books have been neglected for some time, like there's a TBR forest in my room. Two of them I placed on the past year's list (or even prior). If you've seen a photo of my bedside pile, well, these books weren't there save for two. You could only imagine the number of books in my overly stuffed shelves. These came from some of those shelves. Dusty even (hence I opted for the Copy setting meant for text shots, and goodness, it's still blurred). Maybe later I'll be able to unearth other gems. Or maybe a gnarled hand sandwiched between dusty spines will point me to other perfect matches for this challenge. That thought alone is weird I should stop now.

I know I'll be adding a bit more as I set aside some of my current reads for now. Join us in this fiendish, spine-tingling endeavor!

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Books from the top to bottom: The Beautiful Cigar Girl: Mary Rogers, Edgar Allan Poe and the Invention of Murder by Daniel Stashower, The Poet and the Murderer by Simon Worrall, We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson, Renfield: Slave of Dracula by Barbara Hambly, 20th Century Ghosts by Joe Hill, Scary! Stories That Will Make You Scream Edited by Peter Haining, The Monsters of Templeton by Lauren Groff, The Town that Forgot How to Breathe by Kenneth J. Harvey and The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters by Gordon Dahlquist.

In Sadness

2010-08-31T11:22:00.001+08:00

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

2010-08-26T11:34:00.002+08:00

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

2010-08-25T15:19:00.002+08:00

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*

2010-08-23T09:15:00.000+08:00

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.

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

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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

2010-08-22T12:38:00.003+08:00

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

2010-08-21T12:39:00.000+08:00

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

2010-08-20T11:37:00.002+08:00

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

2010-08-19T09:53:00.000+08:00

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!

2010-08-12T11:43:00.001+08:00

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

2010-08-11T15:31:00.003+08:00

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

2010-08-10T12:07:00.002+08:00

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

2010-08-09T11:25:00.002+08:00

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?

2010-08-07T12:23:00.003+08:00

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

2010-08-06T12:01:00.002+08:00

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

2010-08-05T14:37:00.001+08:00

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

2010-08-04T09:23:00.004+08:00

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

2010-08-03T11:55:00.001+08:00

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

2010-08-02T13:56:00.001+08:00

#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

2010-08-01T13:56:00.000+08:00

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

2010-08-01T13:33:00.002+08:00

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

To Be Free

2010-07-30T11:13:00.000+08:00

I have a (schoolgirl-like) confession to make. I like James McAvoy. A lot. I could go on watching Atonement forever, even if the story floors me, even if it breaks my heart. I laugh at the thought of him saying "I'm sorry" as he guns down a guy in a suit on Wanted. I'll even sit through parts of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe for the same reason. And don't make me start on The Last King of Scotland! Of course there are other films out there and series I haven't seen. I even have the discs for The Children of Dune that I never got to watch for years now. Maybe it's time to unearth them from my cabinet.

A couple of months ago I was flipping channels at home and caught him discoursing with a snout-nosed Christina Ricci via a one-sided mirror. Obviously I stayed on and watched. The film, Penelope, has started already by a good fifteen or so minutes but I didn't care. James McAvoy is there. Plus the adorable Christina Ricci. Oh ok, she'll always be the adorable Wednesday Addams, to me.

It's a story about a girl cursed with a pig face and her family's attempts at breaking the curse given to them by an angry, grief-driven old witch. It's quite easy for me to say that now given that yesterday I sat through and finish in less than a couple of hours the book version of the screenplay.

So yes, I really like James McAvoy enough to get the book version of the film so that I would know how it actually started. It also gave me the opportunity to relive the scenes from the flick. Yeah, call the doctors and have me institutionalized right now.

Penelope
Marilyn Kaye

It is a modern-day fairy tale, it says so on the back cover. Penelope became the accursed child of the Wilhern clan by default since she's the only girl born to the family for more than a hundred years. Her great-great-great-grandfather's fault really, for refusing to marry the love of his life, the very pregnant Clara because she's the help. Unfortunately, she's the daughter of a powerful witch who grieved over her daughter's suicide after the rebuke. Hence, the curse: the next female born of the Wilhern clan would have the face of a pig. Only when an aristocrat could accept the pig-girl as she was would the curse be broken.

Tough luck then that the Wilherns produced mainly male heirs until Penelope, in our time, came along. She grew up being told that her face isn't her real face. Hidden from view from the rest of the world, her mother now plans on interviewing young, blue blooded men for her daughter to marry so that the curse could be broken.

It's really a lighthearted, romantic comedy that has a strong, vibrant heart. If you're looking for lessons or is the type looking for morals at the end then you're in luck too. Because seeing Penelope grow into herself, meeting new people after escaping the clutches of her mother's controlling, marriage-focused attitude towards her, and finally accepting herself as she is, all that are a joy to watch. I mean read. Hahaha. Oh and yes, falling in love with the cute James McAvoy, I mean Max Campion, who's not really Max Campion. Ay, the plot thickens!

While the book version is actually based on the screenplay, the actual film is slightly different. Slightly better. Like the part where Penelope had to guess what musical instrument Max plays is quite delightful in the film and that's not on the book. And that's the good thing about translating the written word into visuals; you get to improve on them.

Early this week, while I was about to leave the house I caught Penelope again on Star. Darn it! I still missed the first part, I actually reached the part I've actually seen! Oh well, maybe someday I'd get to see the entire film. And if your cable subscription covers Star Movies, do check out Penelope if you can, you just might enjoy it. I'm just loony enough to read the book version too.

Have I told you guys I have Giles Foden's book The Last King of Scotland as well? This time though, the film was based on the book. Hahaha. And well, I got that not because of James McAvoy. Please believe me.

Death Whines A Lot

2010-07-22T15:32:00.004+08:00

Death's Daughter
Amber Benson

If you're a fan of Joss Whedon's work then you understand a certain sense of loyalty to his stories, his characters and the actors that vividly portrayed them. So picking this up wasn't really a surprise as I somehow kept tabs with actors that appeared in Whedon's shows. In fact, this wasn't my first book by Amber Benson. I read the two novels under the Ghosts of Albion franchise (the animated series from BBC long ago). While she partnered with Christopher Golden on those two novels (as well as the series itself), this is the first novel that Benson wrote solo.

Oh, Benson played Tara in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

And fans of Whedonverse will feel right at home with Calliope Reaper-Jones. If her surname's not indication enough, at least the title of the novel is clear: she is Death's daughter. Death, as in.

In present-day New York we encounter Callie living a normal life until her father's assistant Jarvis appeared and well, he's a faun! And if that's not shocking enough, it seems Callie did a Forgetting Charm on herself and only now remembers that she is indeed Death's daughter! Thing is, Death's been kidnapped, together with Callie's sister and the rest of the board members of Death, Inc. and it's time for Callie to come home and be there for the rest of her family: her mother and her younger sister. While there, she found out that the Devil and his protege are worming their way to usurp the family business so Callie steps in, albeit reluctantly, to fill in her father's shoes for the time being, in hopes of rescuing her father and her sister, keeping the business off the Devil, maintaining their immortality, and hopefully be back in one piece to retain her job in New York.

This is basically an easy read and probably something that younger women would be into. Short of saying if you're into serious tomes and in dire need of a sign that life is indeed worth living, then this book, which sometimes stray into fashion name-dropping and unfettered thoughts of a young woman lusting after virile men, might not be a good fit for you. This book is perfect for one boring summer day to spend, with no worries, just you and the beach and this book for a short time off. That's it. The word chick-lit comes to mind though it's not exactly that. I should've written that first. Hahaha.

I had fun with this yes. I like the cohesive view of the world where both Death, God, Evil, the gods and godesses, plus mythologies all seamlessly mix. I like Runt, the hound from Hell. I like the trips to Hell, in fact. Hahaha. And how the Devil can be devious and the godesses as charming and yet remained their shrewd selves.

But I'm on the fence on Callie. She rambles a lot. Well, I do ramble a lot as well but Callie's rambling gets a bit tiring after she whines her way to the three tasks she's supposed to do. I mean, I understand the rambling style as a way to convey a story, really. But in the end, she becomes more of a heroine by default and that's why I can't decide whether I like her or I'd like to wring her neck. Probably both. She's brave yes, if a bit reluctant, a crybaby for most of the time, and she seemed to have learned a lot by the end of the book, which is promising, considering that the series is a trilogy if I go by Benson's blog. But I had to get over the whining (though it was easy since her travels to Hell were enjoyable, not to mention the images of a castle made with... wait, no spoilers here.) Hahaha!

I read this last month, right after I finished Mary Roach's Stiff and what I find funny, in that funny way how the Fates align things in my life, is that Callie mentioned an exhibit of a process of preserving dead bodies by way of plasticine or something. And if I go by Roach's book from memory, she mentioned the same thing, an exhibit even of those bodies that has never been shown in the US (or some major city) at the time of writing of her book. Or something to that effect. Sorry I couldn't verify. My copy of both books are in the metro while I'm currently here in the province, waiting for the water crisis to stop.

Anyway. If you want a feel for the book, read an excerpt here.

Here's Amber Benson doing the Macarena. She did this after telling her Twitter followers that if reviews for this book in Amazon reaches 75 or something, she'd post a video of herself doing the Macarena. And well, the rest is history.

Oh and I'll read the next book and see if Callie matured a bit. But not right now as I'm into into serious tomes and in dire need of a sign that life is indeed worth living. Hahaha!

Other interesting point of view:

This To Say About That

Split Writers

2010-07-21T14:31:00.000+08:00

I previously tweeted this a couple or so days ago when my bro pointed me to the I Write Like website.

I picked two blog posts for those results: P. G. Wodehouse and Mario Puzo. Oh dear, I have to say that I haven't finished the Puzo book I borrowed from a friend years ago (not that it wasn't good, I wasn't just in the mood for it - hahaha, an excuse, and short of saying I still have the book and my friend probably forgot all about it. Or not. Maybe that's why he hasn't lent me another book since then. Hahaha.) And Wodehouse always reminded me of Ask Jeeves and the cartoon on that website looks like a butler. Hence that tweet. For the life of me I haven't read a single thing Wodehouse wrote! And gee, his books are really expensive (trade paperback copies are at National Bookstore, if you're in the Philippines).

Then a friend of mine's result as well as my bro's were consistent. Just one writer. David Foster Wallace.

So a part of me wanted to be consistent, too. If I get another P.G. Wodehouse or Mario Puzo, even if I haven't actually read either of them, would be fine.

But no.

The third time I tried it, I got Cory Doctorow (for my post about spammers, just about thirty or so minutes ago).

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

The fourth time, Stephen King. The fifth time, David Foster Wallace. The sixth time, Dan Brown. Oh dear, I don't want to end with Dan Brown. So for the seventh time, I got Kurt Vonnegut. And I'll stop there. For now.

Since all my samples came from posts from this blog I think it's quite obvious that eh, I don't have a writing style. Hahaha!

If you're not into Mafia Wars as time-waster, what better way to do it that compare your writing selves with great and not-so great authors out there.

Excuse me while my other selves from my other posts itch to try out the site yet again.

Try it! What's your result?

In Moderation

2010-07-21T13:48:00.001+08:00

I haven't been blogging regularly for the past year or so but there's something I have to get out of my chest, like right now. I'm very much baffled by the spam I get. Spam comments, I mean. Yeah, baffled.

Like hey, I barely blogged particularly the first quarter or so, I haven't visited nor left many comments on other sites and yet I get a handful of spam comments daily. Why oh why, spammers? Business is so bad you guys are targeting sites with just a handful of (barely) traffic?

To think I only placed comment moderation just for kicks. Now it's a lot of help. And a lot of laugh.

Like getting non-English comments are funny. I mean, if you're a legitimate uh, commenter, you might as well leave a comment that I can understand. That way I can respond or not, react or simply let it go. Ergo, comments in pure Chinese (Japanese, Korean, Thai, Russian, Arabic, what-have-you) characters are automatically rejected, whether or not your intentions in leaving messages are pure. Don't expect me to learn your language for you just so I could respond or react to whatever meaningful messages you tried to send. I say that with a lot of love.

I tend to laugh at spam that appear legitimate and yet sounds like the spammer picked up a book of quotes or something. Just this morning I rejected a comment that tells me something about being my best. I thank you for that, dear spammer and I would've published that had I been discussing Dollhouse in my post.

And what's with all the periods? Seriously funny. If you don't want to announce to the whole world you're sending spam try to make it appear proper and maybe some unsuspecting blog surfer would click it. That and improve your grammar. I don't have perfect grammar. I think before I type. English isn't my first language and yet I'd like to think my posts make sense, at least most of the times. Some of the times? And if you're sending spam you might as well convince people to click on your uh, links instead of them wishing you had better education. Because I do. Wish you had better education.

Maybe I should change the title of this post to "Advice to You, Spammers" instead.

Next time you want to spam me, try sending me the real thing:

Preferably with less sodium. Great for breakfast; with fried rice, scrambled eggs and a dollop of ketchup.

Goodbye, Harvey

2010-07-13T16:09:00.000+08:00

I was watching CNN's weather report around lunch time earlier when my eye caught the ticker tape with news of Harvey Pekar's passing.

Harvey Pekar
October 8, 1939 – July 12, 2010

The first thing that came to mind was his story called Hypothetical Quandary, illustrated by Robert Crumb, which I think is the best story I've read from a bunch among his American Splendor series. The second thing that came to mind was a thank you, belated or otherwise unheard, to a writer who made me appreciate the extraordinary in his mundane, daily, very ordinary comic series. I mean, he did comics, he writes stories fit for panels and panels of black and white drawings. They don't feature men in tights, capes and masks, which I know is a comic stereotype. In fact those panels mostly feature him, his life, his daily routine, his tirade against queueing behind old Jewish women at the counter, his failed romances, his record collections among other things. In short, his life.

It's not just his life you see, it's ours one way or another. We've been down in the dumps like him, duped and vice-versa, forgot to buy coffee, bought that perfect pair of secondhand shoes; things so ordinary and yet not quite so with his words.

A panel from Hypothetical Quandary

This is also a good time as any to say that while I find those panels for Hypothetical Quandary the best story of his that I've read, I still haven't gotten around to finishing the entire thing (the collected American Splendor: The Life and Times of Harvey Pekar) so that when I read that ticker tape news, the third thing that came to mind was actually guilt. I felt a little bit guilty for not finishing the thick book. I know that "ordinary life is pretty complex stuff" (according to my book cover), but maybe I'll get to finish it in the future.

Pensive

2010-07-11T11:13:00.001+08:00

When you're three-fourths of the way through a thoroughly engrossing story, you feel you both want it to end and not end at the same time. You pause, gather your thoughts, skim back to previous pages, previous chapters, hoping you're still somehow at the start, a third through, midway through instead of where you are right now. But no. You have to move on and read. You have to know what happens next. And somehow, you reserve a curse in advance if things start its eventual downfall. Because you simply can't accept the fact that the book you're holding, with only a handful of chapters left unread, is really that good.

Excuse me while I get back to that book.

The Dead Tell Tales

2010-07-10T12:24:00.000+08:00

I grew up in a house where I relished reading everything I could get my hands on at a very young age. I probably was the only kid ever who squealed with delight upon receiving a big, hardbound illustrated dictionary as a gift. While other kids would rather play outside, I was indoors learning what a tureen is and drawing my own version of it. Of course I'm kidding. I mean, I also went out and played, of course I wanted Lego and other toys as gifts, too. But I was more of a reader.

I also love science though we had a falling out that started in my computing errors in chemistry and physics exams. Once, way back then, I had a dream of becoming a scientist, nurtured by cartoons of old of an evil mastermind. I mean, well a scientist is a good dream as any as a kid, right? But we can't always get what we want. Thank goodness!

Ok, that long introduction means I'll be posting about a book that blends my love of reading with my other love, science.

A couple or so years back I probably read a handful of references to Mary Roach and her books from other bloggers out there. So I waited until I finally found a copy of this in my favorite bookstore. And after reading this, gee, please Philippine bookstore owners, bring her other books here! But I'm getting ahead.

Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers
Mary Roach

First off, a caveat. From the title and cover alone you'll see it's about cadavers. That alone would put off a handful of readers. It's a good thing if you grew up reading everything. Unfamiliar things such as this are welcome opportunities to further broaden your brain thirsting for a boost or two of new knowledge.

Second, Mary Roach may not be your type of writer. She's frank, she's funny, she asks questions you probably wouldn't even dream of asking, she's irreverent, she's witty and very observant. And she strings her observations and interviews with words that are frank, funny, uncomfortable, irreverent, and witty. Ergo, she's my type of writer.

Ok, that's out of the way. Let's see, what do I have to say about the book? Read this! Read this! Read this!

I mean, ok, the book deals with the dead and the handful of things we don't even know about them. Divided into chapters that deal with those specific things: as a tool for medical students in anatomy class, as a crash test dummy, as an organ donor, among other things we are all familiar with. Then the other stuff we aren't and I won't mention them here. You have to see for yourself. I mean, gee, it's the first time I heard of a honeyed cadaver for goodness' sake!

It's a well-researched, well-written and well-intentioned book that made me laugh and think over and over again, though I have to say half of my friends probably won't pick this up and I understand that. In this predominantly Christian (mostly Catholic), third-world country of mine we treat the dead with saintly reverence. And I recognize that there is nothing wrong with that belief system, unless of course the righteous few should prevent those of us from reading books such as this.

A part of me learned a lot from the book if I set aside the fact that I laughed so hard at least half the time. I never thought actual cadavers were used as crash test dummies and yet it's understandable that safety researchers would. I know of the not-quite dead donors, bodies kept alive prior to harvesting organs for other patients in need. I've heard of experiments preserving the bodies to show the human anatomy as is and of doctors and scientists of the Victorian age trying to reanimate the dead. But I never heard of freeze-drying cadavers until now. To me, that chapter was the most thought-provoking and I end up nodding along the entire thing.

What did I say earlier? Read this! Read this! Read this! Here's a link to some excerpts.

From among the chapters in the book, I am most familiar with the one used for human anatomy classes for medical students (sorry, I left my copy of the book at home so I won't be posting my favorite lines or funny lines, some of which can be found in her footnotes). My sister's a doctor, you see. When she was a medical student I dropped by her school a handful of times and then there was this one time I saw a former classmate of mine after classes were over and he was about to enter the anatomy laboratory for some stuff he left behind and asked me to join him. He probably thought I'd freak out. I didn't. That's when I first saw a human cadaver in mid-dissection. I think I even asked about the nerves and muscles and stuff.

So it didn't even come as a shock that one day my sister and her groupmates in class brought home a brain steeped in alcohol for further dissection at home. It's my own version of a brain in a vat (around the time we were discussing brains in vats for my philosophy class - you know, what if we're all just brains in vats, imagine The Matrix as real). I probably made up a lot of stories in my head as to what kind of person the owner of the brain was when s/he was still living; among them a wraith or something searching for its brain, and the brain is in our unit slowly being dissected. Yeah, horror stories in my head. No wonder I read everything. But I digress.

Learn something new, keep an open mind. Read this.

Other interesting points of view:

A Striped Armchair
Books I Done Read
Bookshelves of Doom
Capricious Reader
Confessions of a Bibliophile
Fizzy Thoughts
Mike Battista's Blog
Rebecca Reads
Sophisticated Dorkiness
The Bookworm Collective

Unite and Take Over*

2010-07-02T10:36:00.003+08:00

The Anxiety of Everyday Objects
Aurelie Sheehan

All good secretaries will eventually find truth in the hearts of men.

While I still ponder what it feels like to actually work in a law firm, the main character of this book, Winona Bartlett, lives and breathes it. She's not a lawyer but a secretary for a New York law firm of Grecko Mauster and Crill: a reliable, trusted one at that. She makes sure that everything is in perfect order - be it the coffee for the partners of the firm, the papers that go in and out of her little space, the routine call collecting fees from clients who don't pay - name it, she does it! And to say that she revels in it is partly true. For her, there is a certain sense of stability in taking down notes, drafting them to coherent form for lawyers to sign, photocopying documents, little things that make life a little bit easier for her bosses. She takes pride in little rewards such as M&M's for a job well done! If we all could be happy with tiny chocolate pieces as a reward for job well done this world would be a much better place.

Of course there's a different side to Winona. She dreams of becoming a filmmaker. There's a movie in her head titled The Anxiety of Everyday Objects and it's basically about meaning of words and how it can easily be misconstrued.

Her world takes on a different turn when the firm hires a blind lawyer, the gorgeous Sandy Spires. For the first time someone in the firm recognizes her efficiency. With the ensuing promotion comes trouble, obviously. And it's up for our heroine to come to terms with herself and of what she has become to pull through from the mess she had a hand in making.

Even the smallest meeting can be perfect. You can sit next to someone on the train and comment on the coldness of the chrome and chuckle together about the trainmaster and that's it, that's perfect. Or you can talk to someone about, say, Casablanca on a plane from New York to Chicago, and it can be the most heartfelt conversation in the world and you will never see that person again, you don't even know her name, but it was still a perfect hour over beer and peanuts at thirty-thousand feet. Or you can have a longer conversation, one that takes days, weeks, years.

Hmmm. It's quite difficult to write a summary about a book that deals with eh, real life. I mean if this were a mystery I'd start with the crime, right? But real life is messy and shocking and ordinary and life-changing and gee, a lot of things. It's writing about a character that is like someone we know, or quite similar to us. And maybe that's why I'm having difficulty writing about Winona right now. I'm a bit like her, except the part she wants to be a filmmaker. Or the fact that she's a secretary. Rather, I'm like her in the little (big) things; probably the fact that I won't be able to say no to my sister, or the fact that allows for valid excuses, or even being happy with tiny pieces of chocolates as a reward for a job well done. Also the fact that I can be manipulated because I'm easily awed by someone strong and powerful, and that I'd probably hurt a handful of people without my knowing them. Oh well, real life.

What I mean to say is this: I never thought I'd find such heart in such a short book.

-----
*Was listening to a Smiths song while typing this, hence the title. Except of course this post doesn't refer to shoplifters.

Opposites

2010-06-29T14:22:00.001+08:00

Sometimes my reading choices bring me to places that are eerily similar and yet completely different from each other. Take the case of these two. I read them within the same time frame (sometimes an overlap occured when I wasn't feeling one or the other) and basically finished them within days of each other. And the buzzword in my brain right after I was done was simple: opposites. Hence the title of this post.

Before I go further I'll discuss the similarities. Both stories have ghosts in them but both aren't exactly ghost stories, per se. Well, there were moments of utter terror but hey, if you're not conversant with ghosts, utter terror is natural, right?

Both stories deal with isolation and finding a friend or two along the way to make life a bit more bearable. And both are written by authors I've previously read before but that one's beside the point. Hahaha. Things get more than a wee bit different later on though.

More importantly, both books deal with secrets. Ah, got you there, right?

A Fine and Private Place
Peter S. Beagle

In this case, this isn't exactly a ghost story but more of a story with ghosts in it. You have Mr. Rebeck, a guy who lives in the cemetery and while out there he realizes he can see the ghosts of the dead people interred therein. He encountered Michael Morgan, recently deceased, and befriended him, something he learned for the past years he has lived there: conversing with the newly-dead until they start forgetting, until they start their endless sleep. Because hey, if you're dead there's nothing else to do, right? Later on, they both met another ghost, that of Laura Durand. And weirdly enough, the two ghosts fell in love.

As for Mr. Rebeck, his own sense of security, living sort of satisfied in an old mausoleum, conversing with ghosts and a talking raven who brings him food, is suddenly shattered by his increasing attachment to Mrs. Klapper whom he met while the latter was visiting her dead husband's grave. And to make matters more touching, Mrs. Klapper feels the same way.

And while I shouldn't spoil the book for you, do take note that tension is needed to make our characters overcome their doubts in revealing themselves to each other. And the tension is palpable when revealed.

Considering that there are ghosts here and the story takes a dark turn once we get to know some of the characters, I find it weird that I think this book is actually heartwarming. And weirdly funny too. Because for Mr. Rebeck who has lived among the dead for quite some time, it took the ghosts of Michael and Laura for him to see that his self-imposed isolation isn't good for him. Like, duh. The same can be said of anyone who lives in a cemetery, away from and in fear of other people. Unless of course you're Nobody. Excuse me for The Graveyard Book reference. Hahaha.

Voice of Our Shadow
Jonathan Carroll

This one also has ghosts in it but this isn't your usual haunting. Early on you know that the story is being told from Joseph Lennox' point of view, reminiscing about the past while he now lives in Greece. In a way you are warned that everything that you'll read has happened already. Though of course that won't make things easier as you go through the horrors he went through. But I'm getting ahead.

Joseph Lennox lived in terror and complete adoration of his older, meaner brother Ross when they were young. Together with Bobby, Ross' friend, they terrorized and yet allowed the young Joseph to tag along during their exploits as teenagers. Sadly though, Joseph shoved Ross on the train tracks one day and only later realized that there was an oncoming train. Ruled as an accidental death, Joseph carried the guilt of his brother's death that allowed him to write about their years growing up together, particularly Ross and Bobby's gang in a story called Wooden Pajamas, later on adapted into a play titled Voice of Our Shadow.

This is practically where the story began all over again when Joseph, better yet Joe, found himself in Vienna and meeting a lovely couple named Paul and India Tate. The couple is very much the poster couple for fun-filled life! They go to movies a lot, they read books, visit museums and drag the first unwilling Joe into their circle. It's the first time in Joe's life where he found other souls who somehow get him, rather who would take the time to get to know him.

But Paul and India Tate aren't what they are supposed to be. For one thing, Paul has a creepy, creepy side filled with magic and dark things that remind the much older Joe of his dead brother Ross. And when Paul died suddenly, things take a turn for the worse.

This is one hauntingly scary book and I don't mean that just because of the ghosts. Sometimes there are far too many scary things that haunt us in real life far better than ghosts and among them is guilt, which in Joseph's case he has plenty of. But the ghosts here are scary too, so if you couple that guilt with them it's one hell of a ride. And hell it is, indeed for Joe who later on absconds from people altogether.

See here, this post wouldn't be titled Opposites if this had a happy ending, right?

And this is where I go to my feelings mode.

I find it funny finishing these two books conflicted at the two sides of life presented. On the one hand you have Rebeck and his self-imposed isolation and later on determination to live amongst people again, yet on the other you have Joseph who found companionship and later on retreats from life altogether. Both their experiences illuminated or darkened by the ghosts in their lives. Both wanted to live, both wanted a piece of their selves shared. Rebeck thrived trying to provide friendship with the ghosts in the cemetery yet he found that such friendships are feeble and not enough compared with the growing fondness he has with Mrs. Klapper. Joseph was satisified to be left alone but was later on pulled into the the lives of Paul and India and the attraction is similar to his complete and total adoration coupled with terror of his now dead brother. If you feel like Rebeck you'd want to really live. But if you're feeling a bit like Joseph, you'd rather just hide now and sever your ties with the society.

Excuse my rambling. I don't know if those who read the same two books felt the same way I did. Then again, it's not material. It was just easy for me to juxtapose the two. The old man Rebeck with the young man Joseph. Good ghosts and bad hauntings. Wanting to live, wanting to hide. Fiction and the way the stars aligned that made me read the two books at the same time. Lovely.

There's another major difference between the two. Beagle's novel is heartfelt and emotional. You can't help but feel for the old man Rebeck. It doesn't matter where the talking raven came from, you just go with it. You feel for the ghosts despite knowing the things they did, the way they felt when they were alive. You're practically cheering for the characters, even for the raven even if he steals food and eats a robin's nest full of eggs. Well, even if that last part was brutal. Law of nature is the logical way to see that.

Carroll's novel is, dare I say it, brainy and methodical. You're given a chance to see how Joseph practically built the fortress around himself and you understand why. Because he's such a wimp masquerading as a human being. Ouch! No, seriously. I mean we all have a bit of a wimp in us and we get why he's like that. We understand craving for love and attention from the people we love. But his downfall is quite easy to pinpoint: he allowed his guilt to take over his life. Of course it doesn't help that this is also a ghost story on the one hand or simply an adaptation of the initial Wooden Pajamas mentioned by Joseph himself and how he exorcises his demons. It's easy to say that he was haunted by his own guilt but it's also clear that the ghosts here aren't as friendly as Michael and Laura in Beagle's book. Hahaha!

In the end, both books were such joys to read. If you've read them before I hope you had a great time with them as well. Maybe I'm just weird posting about the two books at the same time. Hahaha!

Other interesting points of view for A Fine and Private Place:

Pat's Fantasy Hotlist
Stuff As Dreams Are Made On...
Things Mean A Lot

Other interesting points of view for Voice of Our Shadow:

Things Mean A Lot

Distraction

2010-06-28T11:14:00.002+08:00

I was supposed to post about a book or two last night. Take note of the word: supposed. But I got distracted by a bottle of Nutella.

Quite easily my thoughts soared toward the hundreds preparations I could do with it. Well, more like twenty. Or ten. Or like five, ok. Still, Nutella. I'm starting to feel like Giada (de Laurentiis) preparing her favorite desserts using the spread liberally on cakes, crepes and so forth.

Maybe I'll start with the wheat crackers I have. That way I could mix the bad stuff with the good one. Kidding.

Oh and that's just the handful of books I haven't posted about. There's more. But it feels like I'm making excuses all the time when I shouldn't.

And while my brain tries to come up with something (either with Nutella or with the books), I can't believe I haven't heard of this site until now: Hot Guys Reading Books.

I dropped by one of my favorite writer's blog earlier and she linked to the site. Guys and books, sigh. No wait, hot guys and books. Enough to make me salivate.

Have a good week ahead, book blogging people of the world.

Goodbye and Thanks

2010-06-19T00:50:00.000+08:00

I thought of Jose Saramago a couple or so days ago while I was commenting on Fyrefly's post. While the post had nothing to do with Saramago at all, her thoughts on one particular aspect of her chosen book reminded me of my reaction to reading Blindness.

Then again, I haven't really posted about Blindness yet. And I was briefly attracted to the idea earlier of writing a pocket review while arranging the books on my shelves. But it's not the kind of book I could sit down one late evening and type up a couple of paragraphs and hit "Publish" without composing, at least partially, my thoughts into something coherent worthy of that good book.

And as I put off writing another review yet again, I saw Jose Saramago trending on Twitter.

Jose Saramago

November 16, 1922 – June 18, 2010

And I felt sad. There goes another writer who sees the world as it is and write beautifully tragic, dark yet hopeful stories for us to read. And I only have Blindness to based that on.

Ah, well.

Enlightened, Indeed

2010-06-11T14:12:00.000+08:00

Ilustrado
Miguel Syjuco

But heroism and sainthood aren't lofty things. They're usually formed out of self-disgust, opportunism, sublimated fears - which we recognize in ourselves and therefore see, emphasized, in others. When who you are includes what you hate, you carry around your neck a daily reminder of what must be changed in the world.

I'm a Filipino citizen. But if you go through my blog it's rare that you find a Filipino novel here. You'd see a handful of graphic novels this side of the world, yes, one novella, yes, but no full-length novels. That is, until now.

Why, you may ask. It's not that Filipino novels are hard to come by. There are lots out there and I have read more than a handful of them. My beef is simple. They are far too painful to read, emotionally. I get too attached, too involved, the stories become too real that it's quite difficult for me to paint them as fiction. I don't know; I cannot be as detached about Filipino novels compared to other stories out there written by foreigners.

This one is no different.

It tells the tale of a writer, Miguel Syjuco searching for clues and the hidden manuscript of his mentor and friend, Crispin Salvador, after the latter died in a supposed suicide in New York. Wanting to uncover facts about the dead literary giant, Syjuco flies back to the Philippines to learn more about the man who left the country and made New York City his home.

It's a crafty, crafty tale. And it didn't take me long to get suckered into it. Alas!

In plain, simple words it's a story about a writer writing about another writer. A story about a fictional writer writing a story about another fictional writer interspersed with stories within stories, or glimpses of stories, made-up facts (haha), interview clippings and quotable quotes, using the Philippines and partly New York City as the background, peopled by characters Filipinos around the world are all too familiar with: from the upper-class emigrant to the lowly taxi driver, the politicians we all revile yet vote for anyway to celebrities that hog local headlines. They are fictional and yet they are not. It's like bumping into someone familiar and asking that question in your head "Do I know you from somewhere?"

And yet, despite the jumps and the mental calisthenics of stretching one's ability to contextualize meanings of unheard of words (goodness, I had to get my dictionary out for this book a times), everything gelled perfectly into this one great story: about personal histories, the self and the society, and the power of writing. Of course I'm not writing it well. See, I'm too emotional. Hahaha!

You don't have to be a Filipino to read it, of course. What appears to be in the Philippines conjured by Syjuco (no, not the similarly named Miguel Syjuco of the story) may be true of other third world countries out there. But the sentiments expressed by characters are as real as any Filipino stuck in the middle of traffic in congested Manila. Moreso with the humor, which made me laugh at times and made me shake my head in disbelief, that he used that joke there. And there. Oh well.

I love it that the book distills our nation's past and seamlessly mixes it with the present. You know how tired and tedious some stories are when detailing history? You can't find that here. And maybe that's the reason why, unlike my dear friend, I had to pause when I was reading this. When the book detailed a trip to Southern Negros, I had to stop as I found myself reminiscing about my stay in that region years back. When the book discussed political goings-on, I had to stop and sighed as I imagined the future of this wretched yet hopeful country. When the book featured old friends meeting, I remembered conversations I had with college buddies I haven't seen in a long time. Fiction can be as powerful as real life experiences and actual newspaper headlines. It's true in this book as in real life. There's that, and more.

I did mention that this is one crafty, crafty tale, right?

Read this and welcome Syjuco into the fold of writers to watch out for in this small world that gets even smaller and smaller every day.

Other interesting points of view:

From the Desk of Trisha Andres
Sasha and the Silverfish

Pure Speculation

2010-06-09T11:38:00.001+08:00

If you haven't read any of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series then this post isn't for you. Seriously. I have no qualms discussing the books. I'm probably some of those who, despite knowing from the first book that it's a story not written well at all, chunks of it could have been trimmed for a tighter narrative, still found the love affair between a vampire and a pale, young teenager compelling. And while I could objectify it to hell, to me, reading it was fun while it lasted. Although for the last part I was a tad disappointed that the blood and gore I expected to happen eh, didn't. Excuse me for expecting blood and gore about a book where vampires and werewolves exist as each others sworn enemies.

I'm not here to write about Edward or Bella or Jacob. I'm not here to tell you I vacillated between Edward and Jacob the whole four books. That's the thing about triangles, it makes you choose. But here's my theory for those on Team Jacob disappointed that Bella chose Edward. Blame it on Muse. Particularly that song Starlight.

I read the first three books one after the other late 2007. It was given to me by a friend who thought I could use some cheering up after hurdling exams left and right. Around that time I was familiar with Muse's song being played on the radio.

You see, when I like a song I could play it for hours on end on repeat day in, day out until I get tired of it. Call me corny and all but I did that to Starlight. I have the whole album, Black Holes and Revelation, but to this day I never bothered to play the entire thing. Unlike way back when tapes were the norm, like you had no choice but to listen to the whole stuff unless you want the tapes to go out of loop from endless rewinds and fast forwards. Oh wait, are my three readers way too young to know about tapes? And yes, I know I'm probably missing out on the other half of the album which probably sound as great or even better than Starlight.

Have you listened to Starlight and at the back of your head there's this story about missing someone to death? I don't know Meyer's writing process. I'm thinking that the fact she listened to bands (among them and a big favorite was Muse) the whole time she wrote those four books probably inspired her to carry the angst and the drama of a love affair seemed doomed from the start. And if she felt for Starlight the way I felt for it, then there's no way she could've written Bella choosing Jacob in the end for Eclipse.

Why, you may ask?

She may have finished writing New Moon when Black Holes and Revelations was released. I'm thinking that this verse resonated with her the fact that Edward left Bella in New Moon:

Far away
This ship is taking me far away
Far away from the memories
Of the people who care if I live or die

Or even this as a testament of Edward's love for Bella:

My life
You electrify my life
Let's conspire to ignite
All the souls that would die just to feel alive

And well, what about Bella? Here's the perfect thought for her:

But I'll never let you go
If you promised not to fade away
Never fade away

And that seals it. If you listened to the song there's no way that you could write Jacob and Bella into a love story. Starlight is intense and full of longing. The kind that I relate with what Bella and Edward went through. Of course that's just me. Meyer had a handful of bands to thank for providing her with background music and this song probably came up while writing the last two books, or not at all. She may have been inspired by other tracks. But if I were writing the book and heard the song Starlight, it feels like Edward and Bella talking to me about their intense longing and love for each other.

Oh well. Like the title of this post, this is just pure speculation.

Why this post then? This has been stewing in my brain for sometime now (yeah, since 2007 and was reminded of it after reading Breaking Dawn). But when Iris tweeted about the new soundtrack to Eclipse, I figured I need to let this out before I start hearing and watching music videos about the movie. Because I think Starlight is a better fit. Ok, enough.

And yes, I agree with Iris that the soundtrack to Eclipse looks amazing. The New Moon soundtrack was great so I don't doubt that this one will somehow equal that. Although not having Thom Yorke this time is a bummer (I so love Radiohead). Then again, I only got the New Moon soundtrack because of Thom Yorke. Hahaha! Funny also that I got the soundtrack to New Moon and didn't bother watching the movie. But that's just me. Oh, and I don't have the Twilight soundtrack though.

Anyone listened to the entire Black Holes and Revelations album by Muse? I think I listened to half of it only and then I always go back to Starlight and deemed the album great for that one perfect song.

Waiting

2010-06-07T11:27:00.003+08:00

While I wait for inspiration to hit for my future posts on at least 20 books I've read in the past couple of months or so, I'll write about something else related to books.

That something is music. I won't exactly write about music; I think it's one of those things I find myself quite discombobulated to write about. Today I'll write about music inspired by books. Actually, just one song inspired by one book.

It's Sting's Moon Over Bourbon Street.

The brim of my hat hides the eye of a beast
I've the face of a sinner but the hands of a priest
Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While there's a moon over Bourbon Street

I've read Anne Rice's Interview with a Vampire prior to purchasing my favorite Sting album to date: The Dream of the Blue Turtles. This I remember: I didn't pay attention to the liner notes before I pressed play but when I reached the B-side (oh ok, I bought the tape version of the album way back then) I stopped and gee, somehow got scared. I felt Lestat singing to me from the void and that was when I read the liner notes and realized that the former English teacher (Sting, hahaha) was inspired by the book into writing the song.

I love the song. And I love the book. It's like having the perfect review of a book with just a simple song. The song is just a perfect, perfect song for the perfect, perfect book. It's haunting, like the book. Am I even making sense?

Now, every time I hear the song I am reminded of Lestat*. And when I read the other books in The Vampire Chronicles way back, my head played Sting song over and over. Well, that's because I don't exactly listen to music while reading a book. I'm not used to background noise when I read, I shut them out. But I've been playing Sting's album lately, hence this post.

Which made me wonder whether there are other songs out there written because of a book. Well, am sure there are but I haven't paid them much attention. And it's not like I actually research for them. Haha. Do you guys know of other songs written because of a book? Can you share them with me?

Ok, I think this is enough for a post. Hahaha. I'll go and wait for inspiration now.

-----
*Should be Louis actually. I keep on forgetting that the first book is told from Louis' point of view. I mean, he's the one being interviewed, so to speak. But it's always Lestat that I associate with The Vampire Chronicles. Gee, how could I forget about Louis? Totally bonkers! [Thoughts added June 19, 2010]

Oh, Marlowe!

2010-05-27T13:56:00.000+08:00

Playback
Raymond Chandler

You guys know how much I've fallen for Philip Marlowe, right? Remember my post about The Long Goodbye? Oh goodness, the months after that I have scoured the shelves for Chandler's books, believe me. And it's only last week that I was successful, with this trade paperback copy costing only Php 10 from the bargain bins of Booksale. To give you a perspective on how cheap that is, the conversion rate is Php 46+ to US $1.

And I was really excited to read it. Here's another Marlowe story. What would he do this time? How many dames he'd fall for, kiss, save, or what-have-you. But wait, this is Chandler's last novel if I go by the back blurb. No. Oh please, no. My brain warned me not to read it, no, not this time. But the heart wants what the heart wants.

And the heart, at times, gets broken. This is the novel I shouldn't have read. Yet. But I didn't heed the warning signs and now I must suffer for it. Fair warning to all, this is the last Philip Marlowe novel. Raymond Chandler died the year after this book was published. And with that I start this post.

Marlowe's new assignment is to shadow a lady disembarking from a train. Simple enough really; just shadow and report to a lawyer named Umley whose client refused to be identified. Thing is, Marlowe isn't the only one shadowing the lady. So when he tried to find out on his own who really is this dame named Eleanor King, he gets suckered into another tale of murder and money and how dangerous women can sometimes be, and the men that want to control them. Or something to that effect.

Well, crime novels do have murders in them most of the time so no surprise there. I just didn't expect it to lack action or circumspection from Marlowe's character. He's still the same Marlowe though: utterly protective of women, ethical to a point, hard-hitting if need be, and detective-extraordinaire. But he's the Marlowe seemingly tired of the game, tired of the chase, and dare I say it, tired of the women (although he still kisses them and more, given the opportunity). This isn't Marlowe's fault but a mere progression of character. That's why I shouldn't have read this yet.

Back on Yucca Avenue I stuck the Olds in the garage and poked at the mailbox. Nothing, as usual. I climbed the long flight of redwood steps and unlocked the door. Everything was the same. The room was stuffy and dull and impersonal as it always was. I opened a couple of windows and mixed a drink in the kitchen. I sat down on the couch and stared at the wall. Wherever I went, whatever I did, this was what I would come back to. A blank wall in a meaningless room in a meaningless house.

I put the drink down on a side table without touching it. Alcohol was no cure for this. Nothing was any cure but the hard inner heart that asked for nothing from anyone.

You see, I met Marlowe when he had gone through a lot of things already. I take it he solved a lot of murders, a lot of crimes, been mauled close to death, probably incarcerated a handful of times, took on people far more powerful that him and all other stuff that occurred in the novels prior to The Long Goodbye. I met him black and blue from experience, and drinking lots of alcohol to deaden his senses further and closing the door on happiness offered by a woman willing to be by his side. And if I go by the natural character progression, he is in a far worse state in this book, personally of course, not professionally. Because hey, they hire Marlowe for a reason. He's a good PI and that's that.

I asked myself if this book is a fitting end to Marlowe and I still think so. While to me it seemd lacking in action (heck, he defended his life only once, hahaha), there's enough guessing game material for him to uncover. In the end, the heart of the matter is the matter of the heart. Gee, how cheesy. That's something I probably heard or read before. Marlowe admits to nursing a dream he shied away from in The Long Goodbye. That's why I think this is a fitting end to Marlowe's story. And no spoilers now, really. To those who have followed Marlowe's stories, better read this as the PI's last hurrah. But read The Long Goodbye first before this.

It's just too bad I read it without getting to know the earlier versions of Philip Marlowe. Maybe in the future I'd get to reread this again, after I find copies of Chandler's other novels.

There's this:

I picked a paperback off the table and made pretense of reading it. It was about some private eye whose idea of a hot scene was a dead naked woman hanging from the shower rail with the marks of torture on her. By that time Betty was in the bathroom. I threw the paperback into the wastebasket, not having a garbage can in handy at the moment.

For some reason that reminded me of a cover of a Mickey Spillane book. You know, the one where the secretary was tortured, near death and left hanging (not from the shower rail as far as I can remember) to be discovered later on by the PI and afterwards professed undying love and devotion to, or something to that effect. The cover was just that: a voluptous, bruised, scantily-clad, tortured woman hanging tied on a rail. You know how uh, garish crime novel covers were decades ago? Oh forget it, this is just an afterthought of my memory chugging out bits that correspond to certain scenes I read.

Goodness.

The lesson I learned from reading this book is to read stories according to the order they have been written. Or if that isn't possible (given my track record, hahaha) at least try not to read the last book in the series before the earlier releases. And I'm laughing as I type that.

Other interesting point of view:

Lies! Damned Lies!