Literary Craving

It's a challenging world

2008-01-30T07:02:00.000-08:00

One of the drawbacks of being out for such a long time is that when you finally come back everything has changed so much. Take for instance the myriad of challenges that are being hosted at the moment:

Want more? YES, PLEASE!

The Series Challenge, The Africa Reading Challenge, The Short Story Reading Challenge, The Book Awards Reading Challenge, the Mythopoeic Award Challenge, ... let me catch my breath, the Expanding Horizons Challenge, The Royalty Rules Reading Challenge, The Unread Authors Challenge, the Chunkster Challenge, ... Ok let's have a break now. There are so many more!

Not all of them are over yet but some are, so I'm feeling pretty miserable. However, I'll secretly ( who said I can keep secrets) join them even though it might take me a while to catch up. Yet it is always inspiring reading about what the world is reading.

No more craving

2008-01-28T09:31:00.000-08:00

That's right. No more craving for Firmin. I've got it! I bought it this morning so Rilke will have to wait just for a little while. I've been waiting for so long and it's been torture having to watch this beautiful video made by Seix Barral (that's the Spanish publishing house) . But now I'm off to read. See you later.

Pereira Declares by Antonio Tabucchi

2008-01-24T15:43:00.000-08:00

The novel is set in Portugal during a grim period of our world's history. World War II is about to break and a handful of names that history won't forget is getting all the attention: Hitler, Mussolini, Franco and Salazar in Portugal.

Pereira is a journalist in charge of the cultural section of a rather modest newspaper. His days revolve around his physical ailments, his meals, his little talks to his dead wife's portrait, his love for French literature and his recent obsession with death. Eventually, he needs to hire someone to be in charge of the obituary section and that's how he meets the young idealist Monteiro Rossi. The story that ensues from that meeting is the heart of this novel.

However, there is so much more. Not only are we asked to witness a dramatic story, but also to experience this journalist awakening to the reality he's been trying so hard to ignore. Ultimately, there is also a need to think about the role of intellectuals, literature and the media in dark times when politics, religion, history and believes are being challenged.

I was wondering about the reason of the"declares" in the title (which is also present throughout the novel), about the tone resembling a police interrogation and I came to realize that without it the novel would have lost much of its power. The menacing atmosphere would have been more difficult to grasp. I believe that here, in these two simple words Pereira declares lies the whole soul of the novel.

All in all, I found it absolutely brilliant, not just because of the story or the way it is written, but also because it has something that all readers love: a wealth of knowledge that can only open doors. Think of it: it mentions Pessoa, Maupassant, García Lorca, Mann, Rilke, Balzac, Daudet, T.S. Eliot. Aren't you just as curious as me?

Antonio Tabucchi is an Italian writer.

There is also a film.

By the way, I read the Spanish version Sostiene Pereira.

Time to wake up

2008-01-22T11:11:00.000-08:00

I can't believe it's been almost a year since my last post! Actually, I can and that makes me feel very sorry.

First of all, I'd like to thank all of you who have kept reading this blog and even commented on the last post. I should've said something earlier but I wasn't well enough to sit and write. Shame on me.

But it's time to snap out of it and face this new year!

I've finally started reading again and that only is enough to make me a happy girl. Soon this blog will be filled to the brim with books, books, and more books.

Bleak House by Charles Dickens

2007-03-12T10:40:00.000-07:00

As the interminable case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce grinds its way through the Court of Chancery, it draws together a disparate group of people: Ada and Richard Clare, whose inheritance is gradually being devoured by legal costs; Esther Summerson, a ward of court, whose parentage is a source of deepening mystery; the menacing lawyer Tulkinghorn; the determined sleuth Inspector Bucket; and even Jo, the destitute little crossing-sweeper. A savage, but often comic, indictment of a society that is rotten to the core, Bleak House is one Dickens’s most ambitious novels, with a range that extends from the drawing rooms of the aristocracy to the poorest of London slums.

It seems virtually impossible to pick up any of Dickens' books and regret it. His genius was such that in spite of the years that separate us from his days, we still can feel very close to the plight of most of his characters.

This novel is particularly touching for those who have gone through the (nearly) endless and (most of the times) miserable path of seeking justice in the courts (yes, there is a little bitterness in these words). Yet, it reaches far beyond. All the stories, all the characters that are brought together are each a marvel, an example of literary craftsmanship. I've enjoy this novel so much that I highly recommend it. You'll get everything: intrigue, a mystery, one of the first detectives in literary history, a couple of love stories, a lot of irony, some heart-rending moments and always, the incredible power of Dickensian prose.

(by the way, this is my first chunkster and I'm so glad I loved it!)

Winter Classics Challenge

2007-03-01T11:28:00.000-08:00

March already! Summer's ending and so is my summer break. My first literary challenge is also over and, even if I didn't pass it with flying colours, I have accomplished something. Thanks to booklogged I've rediscovered a taste that was temporarily quiescent or somewhat lessened due to the power of attraction that contemporary fiction holds. After all, it all started with the classics. Dickens, Austen, Melville (among many more) remain the unshakable foundation of this literary passion. Now, because of this challenge, I have the following to add:

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame (a joy to read)
The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers (a pleasant challenge)
Candide by Voltaire (a discovery)
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad (a starting point that demads further reading)

I'm currently reading Dickens' Bleak House (which was part of the WCC and is also part of the Chunkster Challenge) and Shakespeare's Hamlet (rereading it for the nth time), so I'm still in the mood for more classics. The Return of the King will have to wait until next week, though.

I'll be waiting eagerly for the next, and in the meantime I'll be enjoying more classics and plunging into more challenges than I can possibly handle; but, hey, I'm just too weak when it comes to books.

Two short stories

2007-02-23T17:48:00.000-08:00

I've just finished two very short books, two very short stories, utterly delicate and pure.

Snow by Maxence Fermine.

On coming of age, Yuko is expected to become either a monk or a warrior. He decides instead to become a poet. And to write poems about snow. But to become a master poet he must also master the arts of painting, and of music, and of calligraphy. And lastly, the art of love…

Snow resembles Baricco's Silk: soft, clean, simple and delicate. Yet it is even more lyrical due to the influence of haiku. That is why it is said that this is "a novel that reads like a poem" (so gentle, so delicate, soothing). There are two love stories intertwined, Yuko's, which is a little predictable and Yuko's master, Soseki, which is a little jewel itself. All in all, it was a pleasure to read it, it is a joy to remember it.

...to write, is to feel your way step by step along a thread of beauty. Along the thread of a poem, or of a story unfolding on sheet of silk. For the poet, like the tightrope walker, must go forward, word by word, page after page, along the path of a book. And the most difficult thing is not that you must keep your footing on the rope of language, with only a pen for balance; nor to keep going straight ahead, when the way is blocked by the sudden drop of a comma, or the obstacle of a full stop. No, the difficulty for the poety is to stay on the rope that is writing, to live every moment without losing sight of his dream, and to never come down, not even for a second, from the rope of imagination.

El cuento de la isla desconocida (The Tale of the Unknown Island) by José Saramago.

A man went to knock at the king's door and said, Give me a boat. The king's house had many other doors, but this was the door for petitions. Since the king spent all his time sitting at the door for favors (favors being offered to the king, you understand), whenever he heard someone knocking at the door for petitions, he would pretend not to hear . . ." Why the petitioner required a boat, where he was bound for, and who volunteered to crew for him, the reader will discover in this delightful fable, a philosophic love story worthy of Swift or Voltaire.

It seems I'm having a literary crush on this gentleman's work, and with stories like this one who wouldn't. It's a very short tale, a sort of fairy tale, with simple, straightforward yet incredibly deep dialogues, enganging characters and a captivating ... cadence, yes, that's the word. A story that works on many levels, that makes room for serious thought and utter delight.

What I've been reading

2007-02-19T04:54:00.000-08:00

The Carpet Makers by Andreas Eschbach.

Since the time of pre-history, carpetmakers tie intricate knots to form carpets for the court of the Emperor. These carpets are made from the hairs of wives and daughters; they are so detailed and fragile that each carpetmaker finishes only one single carpet in his entire lifetime. But one day the empire of the God Emperor vanishes, and strangers begin to arrive from the stars to follow the trace of the hair carpets. What these strangers discover is beyond all belief, more than anything they could have ever imagined...

The beginning is terrific. Each chapter focuses on a single character/member of this particular society and eventually each is woven into the larger story. The first half is absolutely enchanting, beautifully told. You get a clear view of this people, their fears and sorrows. However, by the end, when the mystery behind the carpets is revealed, it isn't as interesting as you'd expected it would be (maybe that was the real purpose, a cosmic prank). What I didn't like is that some characters disappear whitout a trace; and I really wanted to know what had happened to them. All in all, pretty interesting.

Las intermitencias de la muerte * by José Saramago.

In a country whose name is not mentioned, something never before seen since the beginning of time happens: death decides to stop its unflagging track and people stop dying. From that moment on, the destiny of human kind will be to live eternally. A short period of euphoria is followed by despair and chaos.

This is my first Saramago. Many have said it isn't his best, or at least, it isn't as good as Blindness. They could be right. I can't tell since I didn't have the courage (or heart) to finish Blindness. Imagine death on strike. Interesting, exciting... think again. To live eternally doesn't mean to be young forever or to be healthy. There lies the dark twist in this fable. The first part is highly ironic and deals with the cruel destiny of the elderly, the ill, the fate of hospitals, insurance companies, funeral homes, old people's homes, the role of the government, the appearance of a new maphia (as they choose to call themselves). The second part gets a little bit more complicated and focuses on death as a character: why she decided to stop killing, why she decides to return, and finally what happens when she meets someone she can't kill.

Even if this isn't Saramago at his best, I did enjoy raeding this novel (its bitter criticism, its love story, and its particular style).

* (I believe this novel hasn't been translated into English yet)

Classics Challenge

2007-02-15T06:44:00.000-08:00

It's been so long since my last post that I hardly know how to begin. Perhaps I should explain where I've been. Bedridden and with a swollen face. You see, my dentist decided it'd be great fun to get rid of one of my wisdom teeth and I, being the nice girl I am, caved in. That's it. It's over. I refuse to think of it again.

So, in spite of a little pain (and too many pills and I loathe taking any kind of meds), I've managed to read quite a lot.

The Two Towers. It's amazing how long it took me to finish the LOTR's second instalment. I can't really explain why (even when there's definitely more action than in the first part, an impending-doom atmosphere, and evil is at hand). Sometimes it was difficult to follow and I almost lost it but was caught immediately, especially by passages as the following:

They walked as it were in a black vapour wrought of veritable darkness itself that, as it was breathed, brought blindness not only to the eyes but to the mind, so that even the memory of colours and of forms and of any light faded out of thought. Night always had been, and always would be, and night was all.

Of all the characters that populate this beautiful tale, Samwise Gamgee will always be my favourite. His innocence, steadfastness, and courage are sometimes nothing when compared with the melody of his voice and the depth of some of his musings. The next one means the world to me.

The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually - their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same - like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of tale we've fallen into?

Candide, or Optimism. Voltaire's little masterpiece was a joy and a challenge to read. A joy because I've been in the mood for philosophical novels and this one has satisfied this craving with a touch of irony that makes it even more palatable. A challenge because Candide's constant misfortunes and almost incurable naivety had me on the brink of madness. I took a deep breath and just told myself: this boy has got to learn something so let him get robbed, hit, burned if that is the price. Fortunately, he didn't (get killed).

According to Candide's tutor, the philosopher Pangloss, we live in the best of all possible worlds and yet poor Candide has to come to terms with a world riddled with corruption, war, torture, deception and treason. The best indeed. And this is probably the main aim of this novel, to denounce the brutality of the world, the nature of evil and the absurdity of certain philosophies such as Gottfried Leibniz' optimism.

It is a rich novel, witty, sarcastic and thoroughly enjoyable.

I wonder whether this novel counts as the fourth? Hope it does, or I won't make it.

The Non-fiction Five

2007-02-04T12:18:00.000-08:00

Because I can't say no. Because it's a wonderful idea. Because I need to read more non-fiction.

Here's my (very) tentative list:

Writing Degree Zero byRoland Barthes
A Short History of Nearly Everything byBill Bryson
Why Read the Classics? byItalo Calvino
A History of Reading by Alberto Manguel
Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason by Michel Foucault
Three Guineas by Virginia Woolf
Regarding the pain of others bySusan Sontag
Apocalypse Postponed byUmberto Eco
Republic by Plato
Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss

I just can't make up my mind. There's still some time. Yet, chances are I might end up adding more books!

Currently Reading ...

2007-02-02T10:10:00.000-08:00

is getting a little bit out of hand. I usually don't do this (reading more than two books at a time, that is). But these books are so good!

This morning I picked up Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors on a whim and started leafing through it. I've just finished the first story -"Chivalry"- and now I must confess that, after reading two novels (Stardust and Neverwhere) and just one short story, I'm irrevocably in love with Gaiman's work. I'm not putting this book down until I finish it. So there's the first one.

The second book is The Carpet Makers by Andreas Eschbach. The story so far goes like this A barren, isolated planet's whole economy turns around weaving carpets, allegedly for the emperor's palace, out of the hair of the weavers' wives. So far I'm absolutely enthralled.

The third is El Aleph by Jorge Luis Borges. What can I say about it? This is a little gem of a book, awe-inspiring and marvellous.

Candide by François Voltaire. It's a classic, it's Heather's fault (again) and I'm really enjoying it.

The last one (is it? really?) The Two Towers by Tolkien. Yet, I'm cheating now, because I've left Frodo and Sam lost in the Emyn Muil for a couple of days. I'm coming back guys, just hang on there.

Well, that's it. (not really because I've found this!)

King Rat by China Miéville

2007-02-01T08:06:00.000-08:00

"I can squeeze between buildings through spaces you can't even see. I can walk behind you so close my breath raises gooseflesh on your neck and you won't hear me. I can hear the muscles in your eyes contract when your pupils dilate. I can feed off your filth and live in your house and sleep under your bed and you will never know unless I want you to."

These words open the door into this alternative world. And through these words I was lured into this story. This beginning is massive, overpowering, and breathtaking.

The story itself is also highly appealing. It's a fairy tale rewriting (and jeez, do I love fairy tale rewritings!), and Mieville did a great job. Here's how it goes:

Something has murdered Saul Garamond's father, and left Saul to pay for the crime.. "But a shadow from the urban waste breaks into Saul's prison cell and leads him to freedom. A shadow called King Rat. Freedom and a new destiny: King Rat reveals Saul's royal heritage, a heritage that opens a new world to Saul, the world below London's streets.. "A heritage that also drags Saul into King Rat's plan for revenge against his ancient enemy, the Pied Piper of Hamelin. The Piper walks the world again, and wants to finish the job he started those long centuries ago. With Drum and Bass pounding the backstreets, Saul must confront the forces that would use him, the forces that would destroy him, and the forces that shaped his own bizarre identity.

It's stunning, dark and brutal at times (the best times probably, and no, I don't revel in violence)

"Saul was right in the middle of something horrendous, a kaleidoscope of bizarre and bloody murder..."

Sometimes I feel it's full of potential and yet I can't really grasp it. What I mean is that I know all the references to the city and Jungle music (of which I'm totally ignorant) are important but I just can't get them. Not yet, at least.

Miéville's command of the language is delicious (slang and patois provide a fantastic linguistic ride) and how he manages to make movement and music so vivid for the reader is just impressive.

It's was a really interesting reworking of the classic fairy tale. It won't change your life, though. Unless... unless you end up believing that

"...these things take place so close to the real city, and no one can see them. They take place ten feet away, somewhere in another world."

Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder

2007-01-29T03:37:00.000-08:00

One day fourteen-year-old Sophie Amundsen comes home from school to find in her mailbox two notes, with one question on each: "Who are you?" and "Where does the world come from?" From that irresistible beginning, Sophie becomes obsessed with questions that take her far beyond what she knows of her Norwegian village. Through those letters, she enrolls in a kind of correspondence course, covering Socrates to Sartre, with a mysterious philosopher, while receiving letters addressed to another girl. Who is Hilde? And why does her mail keep turning up? To unravel this riddle, Sophie must use the philosophy she is learning--but the truth turns out to be far more complicated than she could have imagined.

I've always been interested in philosophy but I've never been able to fully grasp it. So I thought that approaching it through fiction could help me to unravel some of its mysteries. It did a lot more than that.

This is one the most soul-searching books I've read in a while. I admit that I'm exhausted; but happily exhausted. It's been quite a ride. To go through centuries of human thought, to follow the different processes of thinking and understanding them is exhausting but rewarding. You get but the tiniest glimpses of human knowledge but those glimpses are so powerful and alluring that you can't help wanting to learn more.

This isn't a fully comprehensive book and it's been argued that it's occasionally undermined by dry language and by an idiosyncratic bias that gives one paragraph to Nietzsche but dozens to Sartre. Like I said before, this isn't a textbook; it's merely a start. It's supposed to arouse your curiosity not to satisfy it completely (to assume otherwise would be a sad contradiction). Gaarder just gives you the very basics of philosophy, with clear, concrete examples, and a mystery to unlock. Is there anything else you could wish for?

Now I finally feel a little bit more confident to tackle Russell's History of Western Philosophy. Eventually.

Complete Works and Other Stories by Augusto Monterroso

2007-01-22T13:30:00.000-08:00

I'm a helpless bookworm. There, I said it. Now you can understand how I found out about this book. Last year there was a show on a local radio called Parrafus Interruptus. Every night, the host would begin to read either a play, a novel, a poem or a short story and you were supposed to guess its name and author. What did you get if you guessed right? Well, a book, what else! One night someone called and thank him for mentioning Augusto Monterroso's book since it was simply marvellous. Get it right away, said the green-eyed monster lurking inside me.

This is a jewel of a book and each story is unique. Their power reside in their simplicity, in their social criticism, in their tenderness, witticism, gentle despair, and above all, in Monterroso's fantastic command of the language and an outstanding narrative technique.

I can't possibly choose my favourite because each is powerful in their own way. Take this one for example which is supposed to be the shortest story ever written (though Héctor Yánover -my favourite author and bookseller- claimed that it was Einstein's E=mc2)

The Dinosaur

Upon waking, the dinosaur was still there.

This is my first Monterroso but I'm sure I'll read more. Soon. Really soon.

This is also my second book for the Reading Across Borders Challenge. (I love this new challenge)

Hygiène De L'Assassin by Amélie Nothomb *

2007-01-20T16:02:00.000-08:00

Prétextat Tach is a well-known writer and a Nobel Prize Laureate in Literature. A genius, in the eyes of the world. He is also a racist, a misanthrope, a misogynist, an egocentric and an utterly despicable men. A character so full of contradictions as he is full of himself. He is also about to die. The whole world wants a piece of the exclusive. He agrees to be interviewed by a handful of journalists ( after a careful selection based on the writer's prejudices). Throughout a series of dialogues, we witness how he manages to baffle and humiliate them while he destroys their self-esteem in a just a few minutes. The last reporter, a woman, survives the first onslaught and unravels the mystery of his last novel ( unfinished because "every writer should leave a novel unfinished in order to keep his credibility") . Yet, is she better than her colleagues, better than Monsieur Tach? (yet this novel goes beyond these two questions in a way I can't explain)

This is the first book Nothomb published in 1992. Her very first book and yet remarkable beyond words. It is hardly possible to avoid feeling drawn into the dialogue in spite of its cruelty. As each topic is addressed, a whirl of mix feelings takes over the reader and by the end of the novel this reader has certainly not escaped unscathed.

This is probably the kind of book you need to mull over or move on.

* (I believe this novel hasn't been translated into English, though I'm not sure)

Comet Mc Naught

2007-01-18T16:12:00.000-08:00

Pic taken from newspaper since what I saw didn't look like this at all.
Nonetheless, it was wonderful.
It made me think how small we are.

“Comets”

Long distance travelers from the cold of space, ice-clad, dirty,
		tugged by a passing star,
journey to see the sun whose searing burn swells them with gas as on they race
		streaming their blowing, sunlit hair.
These are comets. They come. They go.
		They will return.

Myra Cohn Livingston

Have I been reading?

2007-01-14T11:42:00.000-08:00

You bet!

Here's a (not so) brief post about what I've been reading in the last 4 days.

Tithe: a modern faerie tale by Holly Black.

Sixteen-year-old Kaye is a modern nomad. Fierce and independent, she travels from city to city with her mother's rock band until an ominous attack forces Kaye back to her childhood home. There, amid the industrial, blue-collar New Jersey backdrop, Kaye soon finds herself an unwilling pawn in an ancient power struggle between two rival faerie kingdoms — a struggle that could very well mean her death.

Good plot, dialogues sound real, funny at times, gothic, a tough leading female character, interesting topics adressed. Must reread. In my humble opinion, far far better than Twilight.

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle.

How could I possibly attempt a review of this novel? What words could I say that would explain it thoroughly and definitely? No, I have no words yet. All I have is gratitude. Thank you so very much Heather for making me pick up this novel!

Maybe, just maybe, the following excerpt can shed a little light on what this novel made me feel.

With a sudden enthusiastic gesture Calvin flung his arms out wide, as though he were embracing Meg and her mother, the whole house. "How did all this happen? Isn't it wonderful? I feel as though I were just being born! I'm not alone any more! Do you realize what that means to me?"

Pobby and Dingan by Ben Rice.

I was wondering how I could move on from L'Engle's story into something else. That's how I picked Ben Rice's Pobby and Dingan. It's the kind of book you hold in your hands and is almost as light as a feather. You read the blurb and yes, it sounds interesting. So you decide to give it a try. What harm could it do?

The Williamsons live in a small Australian town. Rex Williamson, the father, works in a mine looking for opals. Kellyanne, the little girl, has a couple of imaginary friends (Pobby and Dingan) and suffers all the typical problems this special kind of friendship usually brings. Ashmol Williamson, our young narrator, has such a powerful voice and strong personality that can't fail at catching your attention from the beginning. Then things get complicated. Kellyanne's friends disappear and she begins to wither away. Ashmol has got to do something, even if it means condoning her sister's immature imagination. He has to believe in the existence of her sister's friends and make others believe as well.

I admit I didn't expect this but, this is such a powerful, touching novel that it will bring joy to your heart and -most likely- a tear to your eye.

The Fellowship of the Ring - J. R. R. Tolkien

2007-01-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

By now, I believe it's pretty obvious that I love books. I crave for them, always, everywhere. Whether I'm reading and some book is mentioned within the text, or maybe I'm on the bus and someone is holding a book, I just have to know its title. Even if I'm watching a film and some character is reading, I cross my fingers and hope the director has made a decent shot of its cover.

It pretty much happened that way with The Lord of the Rings.

I remember the day vividly. I was watching TV, flipping channels aimlessly, until, the magic moment came. There was this lady talking. I could see her lips moving and I could hear her uttering words, but my whole world had stopped as soon as I'd noticed the huge, beautiful book lying open on her lap. The name of the book. That was all I wanted to know.

The Lord of the Rings by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. The words rang in my ears for a while, and I remained still, entranced by such revelation.

I just had to get that book.

Right away.

Years went by (well, maybe not many, but go by they did), and I forgot about the book. There is a chance that some other book took my fancy afterwards (as always), but Tolkien's books remained somewhere in the back of my mind.

This Winter Classics Challenge has provided me with the perfect opportunity and I've seized it with both hands. I've just finished the first instalment and sweet memories are coming back.

I know this book isn't for everyone. I myself don't always enjoy fantasy. But the sheer effort Tolkien put in his story, the delicacy of its cosmogony, the development of an extraordinarily complicated mythology, the magnificence of the epic combined with the simplicity of pure selfless friendship, all of this, takes my breath away.

Now, since this post has dragged on a bit, I leave you with one of my favourite quotes.

The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out.

The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

2007-01-07T16:15:00.000-08:00

I remember having watched it as a very young girl. I had in my mind the picture of a funny little toad driving a beautiful red motor car, like a maniac and, having a blast. With that picture in mind I set out to read the classic that Kenneth Grahame wrote in 1908. I thought - as I always do, silly me - that this was going to be a pleasant yet uneventful reading. How mistaken I was!

I'm sure we all know the story. River bankers and Wild wooders, Mole and his steadfast friend the River Rat, the kind yet solitary Mr Badger and the impossible Toad, along many more. We all remember Toad's fads, Mole's slow thinking, Ratty's selflessness and the Badger's wisdom. I know I did. But what I did not know ( or remembered ) was the breathtaking poetry of this story.

From the very beginning, Grahame made me see, perhaps for the first time (can't really tell), all the power and liveliness of a simple river

Never in his life had he seen a river before - this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver -glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories ...

and later on, after reading this passage, I would've flung open the door and hit the road unafraid

`And you, you will come too, young brother; for the days pass, and never return, and the South still waits for you. Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!'
'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for company.

and feel Toad's mounting excitement

He increased his pace, and as the car devoured the street and leapt forth on the high road through the open country, he was only conscious that he was Toad once more, Toad at his best and highest, Toad the terror, the traffic-queller, the Lord of the lone trail, before whom all must give way or be smitten into nothingness and everlasting night.

With every page turned, I must confess, I felt like little old Mole and simply had to say `O my! O my!' at each fresh revelation.

One more challenge!

2007-01-04T11:11:00.000-08:00

I was already moping around the house because I thought it was too late to join. MizB at Literary Cache has made my day! It turns out you have time till Jan 31st to join the 2007 TBR Challenge.

What you're supposed to do:

* Pick 12 books - one for each month of 2007 - that you've been wanting to read (have been on your "To Be Read" list) for 6 months or longer, but haven't gotten around to.

* Then, starting January 1, 2007, read one of these books from your list each month, ending December 31, 2007.

I've had the most difficult time choosing these 12 books. All of them were like little children jumping and shouting PICK ME, PICK ME!

Anyway, here's my list (in no particular order as yet)

Mist - Miguel de Unamuno
Tithe - Holly Black
Possession - A. S. Byatt
The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz - Mordecai Richler
A Separate Peace - John Knowles
Saturday - Ian McEwan
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith
Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafón

FOR EXTRA CREDIT:

Memoirs of Hadrian - Marguerite Yourcenar
The Brief History of the Dead - Kevin Brockmeier
The Historian - Elizabeth Kostova
The Book of Imaginary Beings - Jorge Luis Borges

With 3 challenges, a pile of compulsory reading, and a mountain of overdue books, I must confess that I'm a happy, avid, beginning-to-panic reader! :)

Literary Hangover

2007-01-01T07:32:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling positive, gutsy and cheery. Yep, it has got to be the result of my literary hangover. I've just been browsing through my reading list, your 2006 reads, and the ever growing pile of books to be read.

2006 was the year in which I started this tiny blog; and I truly hope that 2007 is the year in which I finally manage to handle it succesfully (unfortunately, computers are naturally immune to my commands).

So, what's left from last year. Yes, I remember my first read was Albert Camus' The Plague. I really loved this novel, couldn't put it down. But, it'll be committed to memory not just because of the story, but because I read it during the worst heat wave last summer. BAD COMBINATION, mark my words.

Later on, I learned The Importance of being Earnest; I sailed down the Thames with Three Men in a Boat (not to mention the "marvellous" dog), I time travelled with Henry and Clare in the Time Traveller's Wife; I survived with Pi and befriended Richard Parker in their boat; I accompanied Lyra in her quest and suffered greatly with her in Pullman's His Dark Materials; I was tenderly lulled by Silk; I felt deeply for Kathy and her friends in Never Let me Go; I rediscovered my favourite bookseller hidden in 84 Charing Cross Road. And that's just some of the journeys I went through last year.

Book with Wings - Anselm Kiefer

By the end of the year I was positively exhausted and my mind was begging for some light reading. That's when I decided to go through children and YA literature. That was highly patronizing of me. Those books gave me all the peace I needed, but they were nonetheless pleasently challenging, and most of them will stick to my heart for as long as I live.

The Princess Bride, The Phantom Tollbooth and Stardust will be cherished and reread till their pages turn to dust between my fingers and their ink turns an inseparable part of my blood.

Twilight, New Moon and the House series were ... mesmerizing. I still can't explain what was they all did to me but they got me, to me and at me.

What lies ahead is a mystery and I can hardly wait to see what happens.

Books read in 2006

2006-12-31T14:02:00.000-08:00

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Past the Size of Dreaming by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
The House of Paper by Carlos Maria Dominguez
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
A Red Heart of Memories by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
New Moon by Stephenie Meyer
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
Green Angel by Alice Hoffman
Stardust by Neil Gaiman
Politically Correct Bedtime Stories by James Finn Garner
Flush by Carl Hiaasen
The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster
The Princess Bride by William Goldman
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis
The Magician's Nephew by C. S. Lewis

Books read in 2007

2006-12-31T11:46:00.000-08:00

Here's a list of most of the books I read during 2007:

Las cenizas de papá by Graciela Beatriz Cabal
The Brief History of the Dead by Kevin Brockmeier
Holes by Louis Sachar
The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke
Wolf Brother by Michelle Paver (audiobook - read by Ian Mckellan)
The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne
Spiderwick Chronicles by Holly Black and Tony DiTerlizzi
The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly
The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
Secretos de familia by Graciela Beatriz Cabal
Memorias de un librero by Héctor Yánover
Frin by Luis Maria Pescetti
La loca de la casa by Rosa Montero
Maus: a survivor's tale by Art Spiegelman
La muerte como efecto secundario by Ana María Shua
Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones
Coraline by Neil Gaiman
Botchan by Natsume Soseki
Reads Like a Novel by Daniel Pennac
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl
Follow Your Heart by Susanna Tamaro
A History of Reading by Alberto Manguel
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
Bleak House by Charles Dickens
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Cosmétique de l'ennemi byAmelie Nothomb
Mist by Miguel de Unamuno
The Tale of the Unknown Island by José Saramago
Snow by Maxence Fermine
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
Las intermitencias de la muerte by José Saramago
The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien
El Aleph by Jorge Luis Borges
Candide by Voltaire
The Carpet Makers by Andreas Eschbach
King Rat by China Mieville
Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder
Complete Works and Other Stories by Augusto Monterroso
Hygiene De l'Assassin by Amelie Nothomb
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Pobby and Dingan by Ben Rice
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
Tithe: a Modern Faerie Tale by Holly Black

2006

2006-12-30T04:17:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for this year that still has some hours to go. I am thankful for the time I've spent with my family; for the laughters and the hugs, for the tears and even the rows . I am thankful for the stories that came to me from distant lands or far away in time; for the magical and challenging and yes! even for the dull ones . And I am also thankful because I've learned that...

"To know someone here and there who thinks and feels with us, and though distant is close to us in spirit, ... makes the earth for us an inhabited garden." — Goethe

Ofra Amit via Librosfera

Happy New Year!!

And may all your wishes come true.

G.I.F.T Challenge # 2

2006-12-20T07:39:00.001-08:00

I've chosen a Christmas memory as the final entry for the G.I.F.T. Challenge.

Time goes by and traditions can't always stand its pace. In this blessed country of mine, kids nowadays write letters to Santa, Christmas Trees are covered with artificial snow, and people eat the kind of food you'd expect to have on a freezing winter night. Yet, there was a time when everything was different. So, this is my fondest memory of a Christmas Eve.

When I was a kid, we did know about Santa but we wrote letters to the Baby Jesus instead. It was Him who brought us presents (with the obvious assistance of angels). We would have dinner pretty late and it would come a time when my grandmother, sitting at the head of the table, would have a puzzled look on her face and would ask us , in a soft wisper, Kids, did you hear that? My brother and I would freeze and look at her expectantly, not daring to move, to breath. Then she would say Yes, there it is again. Go, go! That was our cue. We would rush to the tree, and there they were, all our presents waiting for us.

Now, on this particular Christmas Eve, a gentle rain had started to fall sometime before dinner. We all sat to eat, being merry and all, asking her from time to time if she had heard anything, when all of the sudden the gentle rain turned into a thunderous storm. Just like that, the lights went out and the water came in. A little flood of our own came into our house. You can't imagine the chaos that ensued. My mother and grandmother fighting helplessly against the water, opening doors to let the water go out. Finally, my mother took us upstairs, to calm us down, while my grandmother remained downstairs. We sat tight in our rooms, a little frightened, until the storm turned into a fine drizzle. Just when we thought everything was all right, we heard our grandma shouting, calling for us Children, children. Oh God! What's this, come, come. My brother dashed downstairs while I clung to my mother's hand, scared to death till I heard my brother cry Presents! Just imagine the magic of that moment. All the presents were soaking wet. Baby Jesus had come amid a dreadful storm to deliver our presents! I still can't tell what was more important, the toys or the wet paper wrapping them.

Anyway, the power came back, we finished dinner and I still don't know how we manage to sleep that night after so much fun.

Years later, we learned the true account of that magical night. You see, my mother used to hide our presents in a shed in the backyard (poor woman, we were the nosiest kids in history). That night, when she took us upstairs, it was my grandmother who walked (God knows how many times!) under the biggest downpour ever to fetch our presents and set them under the tree.

Knowing the truth will never, ever diminished what we felt that night.

I guess I got a little carried away here, but I really wanted to tell you my most cherished "Christmas Tale".

Merry Christmas to you all !!

G.I.F.T. Challenge # 1

2006-12-20T05:26:00.000-08:00

It's impossible to say no to something like this.

I'm already feeling Christmassy because of it. So, here's what I've been doing.

A Christmas movie. OK my mind went blank here. All I could remember was watching A Christmas Carol a million times (the 1938 version and the 1984 one) and of course National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation on TV; say, half a million times?. But as Dickens himself said: "It is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself", I decided to watch The Snowman and Mickey's Christmas Carol. I've never watched them before, and so I must admit I've just had the most wonderful time. Briggs' story was heartrending and "Walking in the air" just broke my heart. Still, great film. What can I say about Disney's version?. Well, Goofy's trademark scream made me laugh my head off.

A Christmas novel/ short story. Well, thinking about A Christmas Carol made me realize I'd never actually read it. So, I went for it and loved it. Mr Dickens had a marvellous gift for words and a particular sense of humour that stirs all sorts of feelings. Time goes by and things change (please, say they have), yet, this story still feels like a breath of fresh air that helps you get your feet back on the ground and understand where the spirit of this season truly lies: among the loved ones and not (just) beneath the Christmas Tree.

A Christmas song. This one was difficult. I've chosen - after a lot of hard thinking - a local song. I had heard this huella many times but never actually listened carefully to it. It is called La Peregrinación (The Pilgrimage) and it was composed by Ariel Ramírez. This version is performed by Mercedes Sosa. Sorry I couldn't find a translation, but just listen to the melody, it's so sweet.

Should this work, thank my personal wiz, my (grudgingly) patient and generous brother who helped me selflessly (got that last part P?)

More challenges for me!

2006-12-18T10:55:00.000-08:00

It must be the season's thrill and a sudden burst of jolly good mood or simply these are just too good ideas to let them go by like that. So I'm joining another challenge. Hosted by booklogged at A Reader's Journal comes the Winter Classics Challenge.

We are to read five classics during the months of January and February. Yes!! I like it! Here's my list:

#1. Bleak House by Charles Dickens (ok, it overlaps with the Chunkster Challenge)
#2. The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien
#3. The Two Towers
#4. The Return of the King (do they count as three?)
#5. The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

Ok, as a backup for The Lord of the Rings (I don't know but I feel as if I were cheating):

# Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
# Candide by Voltaire

On Vampires and Magic

2006-12-17T03:59:00.000-08:00

I guess the YA mood still lingers and I am thankful for it. It's helping me a lot to go through this last leg of the 2006 trip. So, here's what I've been reading.

Twilight was a rereading. The first time it was quite a ride. I never thought I could actually enjoy reading about vampires. But hey, who can say no to a character like Edward Cullen? Maybe I was in the mood for a love story or maybe there was something in it that called some dark feeling lying hidden in my subconscious (creepy, isn't?). Whatever it was, it was something that kept me from being objective.

When I finished it the second time, I realized the feeling was still there but subdued. I was ready and willing for New Moon. Now, I must agree with those who claimed it wasn't as good as Twilight. Edward Cullen's absence is bearable because of the presence of Jacob Balck. This character can really ease any pain. So, even though the plot was fairly predictable, with no interesting twists, it was nonetheless appealing. However, I must confess I was almost about to put it down when Bella said she was "riddled through like Swiss cheese" when talking about her pain. I have nothing against cheese, I just don't like cheesy remarks. (Was I harsh? I hope not)

A Red Heart of Memories. I keep wondering how this book ended up in my TBR stack. This is so me. I pick up a book, greedy and eager to read it, but in reality I'm still halfway through another and then I forget why I got the new one. It hardly matters now. It was... oh... intoxicating and hypnotic. I felt plunged into the story, into the characters (though a little confused at first). But then one warms into them and their worries; and the fact that magic permeates everything eases one's way into it. After all, if you accept the possibility of magic, of holding conversations with man-made things, you must accept the somewhat thin plot.

I'm in!

2006-12-14T10:42:00.000-08:00

So, it's official. I've just joined my first challenge. I'm thrilled!

On books and Christmas trees

2006-12-09T06:41:00.000-08:00

The last couple of days have been wonderful. I've finished reading two books that have been a sheer bliss and a marvel.

Stardust by Neil Gaiman. How could I put into words what this book made me feel? I know not the words that could make justice to this jewel of a novel. All I can say is that I'll keep it close to my heart forever and a day.

Green Angel by Alice Hoffman. This was a surprisingly fast read, but one that lingers on for a long while after finished. It's quite... how should I put it... hypnotic. I felt trapped in Green's pain and enraptured by Hoffman's words. A story of outstanding lyricism.

Last but not least, we've put up and decorated our Christmas Tree. We do this every Dec 8th. We bought some new ornaments and broke an old one ( it's a family tradition, I don't even remember where it comes from nor who started it) and now it's ready and shinning and the Christmas spirit is slowly spreading throughout the house. The only downer is that I still have to go shopping for presents and the streets are bustling with late shoppers and tourists. I'll never learn!

Faerie rewritten

2006-12-06T06:17:00.000-08:00

I grew up reading most of the classic fairy tales. I dreamed of having Rapunzel's long beautiful hair; I longed for Cinderella's glass slippers and her Prince Charming; I feared Rumpelstiltskin and never really understood what the Pied Piper of Hamelin really wanted. I even remember watching the Faerie Tale Theatre with my brother every weekend. Now that time has gone by, that there are no kids in the family, fairy tales are just a blur. However, a couple of years ago I came across this article on the Sleeping Beauty and its many uses throughout history and all sort of memories and questions popped up. I could even add anger to that list because in the end I felt foolishly deceived. I know it's not a big deal but knowing just half of the story, of the truth, is one of the things that makes this world go wrong.

When Politically Correct Bedtime Stories by James Finn Garner came into my hands, it took away all the bitterness. I laughed at the foolishness of the originals, at the quirky rewriting, but most of all, at my own naivety. Some of the tales I had read as a child, others I knew nothing about. So I thought it'd be best to read the "originals" first and then read Garner's new version to fully understand them.

Among my favourites are Little Red Riding Hood (the nerve of that girl!):

The wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."

Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid, worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be on my way."

Cinderella was a laugh:

"Hello, Cinderella, I am your fairy godperson, or individual deity proxy, if you prefer. So, you want to go to the ball, eh? And bind yourself into the male concept of beauty? Squeeze into some tight-fitting dress that will cut off your circulation? Jam your feet into high-heeled shoes that will ruin your bone structure? Paint your face with chemicals and make-up that have been tested on nonhuman animals?"

"Oh yes, definitely," she said in an instant. Her fairy godperson heaved a great sigh and decided to put off her political education till another day. With his magic, he enveloped her in a beautiful, bright light and whisked her away to the palace.

And this is my favourite part of Jack and the Beanstalk:

Jack made the trade gladly and took the beans home to his mother. When he told her about the deal he had made, she grew very upset. She used to think her son was merely a conceptual rather than a linear thinker, but now she was sure that he was downright differently abled. She grabbed the three magic beans and threw them out the window in disgust. Later that day, she attended her first support- group meeting with Mothers of Storybook Children.

The next morning, Jack stuck his head out the window to see if the sun had risen in the east again (he was beginning to see a pattern in this).

And oh!, Snow White, just couldn't stop laughing.

Now, I do believe that if you read to little children these versions you'd be robbing them of the magic that surrounds Fairyland. But this stories do call for an adult rereading. After all, the wonderful William Goldman put it better than I can possibly imagine "...life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all".

Flush by Carl Hiaasen

2006-12-05T04:25:00.000-08:00

What can I say about Carl Hiaasen's Flush? First, read it! You'll have a wonderful time. At least I know I did.

This is both the first novel I've read by Hiaasen and the first in which ecology plays such an important role.What's interesting is that this is a story in which the scope of evil turns painfully palpable because it doesn't remain between the covers of a fictional story but reverberates in our real world. Besides, the timing for reading this novel was just perfect because of the "pulp war" going on down here. It helped me to fully understand and share the fear of those who live daily with this threat.

As regards the characters, I just loved them all. Chiefly the female characters They are all so powerful and independent; no damsels in distress, but equal partners in everything to their zany male counterparts. Abbey and Shelley definitely stand out.

All in all, it is an appealing econovel with interesting twists, witty remarks and endearing characters and even though the ending is quite predictable, why would anyone want it ending otherwise?

The Phantom Tollbooth

2006-12-01T17:09:00.000-08:00

How did this book end up in my stack of books to read? Who knows, maybe in the same way Milo gets his tollbooth it found its way into my hands, my eyes and my heart. It simply is the sweetest, funniest, wisest book I’ve read so far (i.e. november)
How could I possibly feel so close to a schoolboy and his worries? Perhaps I’m a child at heart :) (wishful thinking!. Terribly lost in the endless maze of dull routine, that’s more like it).
It’s neither preachy nor patronizing. It just makes you see that if a boy can figure out what’s wrong with him and this troublesome world so can you. It just begs you to open your eyes, your ears, your heart and your mind. Pretty simple, eh?

You read and learn...

2006-11-26T06:29:00.000-08:00

or what came out from The Princess Bride.

I just love how one story leads you into another. Call it intertextuality, allusion, or merely reference, it is wonderful all the same.

There is a chance I could've heard of The Lady or the Tige r? by Frank Stockton eventually, but it is due to Goldman's novel that I ended up reading it so soon. As different as these two stories might be, they still make us wonder how human nature works. Whether it is faced with all the conventions that surround fairy tales (and Goldman does a wonderful job at flouting them) or with an unexpected analysis of our innermost and darkest thoughts (as it is the case in Stockton's story), humane nature still proves a continual source of wonder. For instance, I do believe that Buttercup and Westley managed to escape and live relatively happy lives. Yet, in spite of this hopeful thought, my twisted mind has decided that a possible ending for Stockton's story could include the princess saving her lover only to get rid of his bride eventually (sick, isn't it?)

But I digress. Right. Yes, what came out from Goldman's novel... Ruritanian romances. I must make a mental note of reading The Prisoner of Zenda. That's all.

As you wish

2006-11-22T10:13:00.000-08:00

The end of this chaotic year is coming at fast speed and my poor brain can barely manage to function properly. So, with that in mind, I've realized that as much as I would love to join all those fantastic challenges out there, I'd better do something simpler instead. I've decided (though I might change my mind, which is something I do frequently) that for this year's last days I'm going to cater for my inner child needs and go back to those readings I've loved so much and I'll also explore some other great novels I've never read before.
Therefore, this is the book that inaugurates this joyful season: The Princess Bride by William Goldman. I must admit I thought I knew nothing of it, but when I found it was quite a classic, I read the blurb and something rang a bell. Well, of course! I had watched the film a million years ago. So I picked it up and wasn't able to put it down till the end. I fell in love with Goldman's voice, with the story, with all the characters, and even with the bittersweet message.
Well, what does it have that made it so special?

: "Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest ladies. Snakes. Spiders. Beasts of all natures and descriptions. Pain. Death. Brave men. Coward men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles."

Let me add: an eternally grateful reader.

The beginning

2006-11-20T13:55:00.000-08:00

It's difficult to remember how this passion for reading began. For it is a passion, it is an overmastering feeling ever present. It burns, it draws me into the written word, it soothes me and enrages me but it is always there, my faithful companion. Maybe it is in my blood, since both my mother and grandfather were avid readers.
Anyway, I can't hold it back anymore. I'll try to give this my best.