Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

This year reading started off well with "Flowers for Algernon". I have been wanting to read this book for a while especially after reading the synopsis a couple of years back. I grabbed it out of the library shelf after spotting it and 36 hours later, i am surprised how much I have come to love this book.

The story essentially is a record of all the thoughts pacing through Charlie Gordon, a 32 year old mentally disabled janitor. It tells the life of Charlie Gordon before and after he had undergone an operation that not able to reverse his disability but exceed his mental capabilities to those comparable to Einstein and Hawkings.

It is the psychological rollercoaster that Charlie experienced that makes this book amazing. On preceiving how the world was for him when even though he was intellectually superior to most of the people in the world, emotionally, he was no different for a child. And finally when he began to flourish emotionally, it might just be a tat too late.

Without giving away too much, the book is thought provoking. It altered my perception on mental disability, about EQ and IQ, and even question the concept of intelligence.

It is an excellent way to start the year with this book.

The end of the affair by Graham Greene

People can love without seeing each other, can't they, they love You all their lives without seeing You...

I almost did not read this book. I had the intention to read "The Power and The Glory" to start my acquaintance with Greene. But the library that I frequently visit does not seem to have it. Instead, I picked up "The End of the Affair" thinking it was Sebastian Japriscot "A Very Long Engagement" in mind (i kept seeing the theatrical poster in my mind).

I regretted picking up this book from the library. I wish dearly that this is my copy. The book that I first became acquainted with Sarah Miles and Maurice Bendrix. It is one book that I know I'll buy at a later time. One book that I know I'll come to love and hate. For is it not what Greene said, you cannot hate something without loving it?

The plot doesn't leave much to do imagination as it is blatantly announced in it's title. An affair that ended. The beauty however lies in how brilliantly and how real Greene described the characters (himself in this case? Right down to the limp). The turbulent emotions. The jealousy, the hatred, the love all so brilliantly described. It haunted me. And I suspect like Kawabata's A Thousand Cranes, I'll still be thinking about it for a while. There are shades of Endo here. And of course like Endo, there is the spirituality aspect of it that added a new dimension to this tale, to take it to another level as cliche as that sound.

But God, even it is good, it is just too depressing and dreary. But I will admit here, it is this depressing and dreary tone of Greene that I found almost seductive. And most likely making this one of the best books I've read this year.

What we talk when we talk about love by Raymond Carver and The magic toyshop by Angela Carter

It is possible that I am going through a Carter and Carver stage.

I picked up a copy of "What we talk about when we talk about love". Which left me a little surprised. I love, love Carver's poems. There is something about the little snippets of life, strung together with words that oozes out realism at its best. But, this collection of short stories, although there is that hint of realism that I experienced in his poems, had an edge of strange barbarism, unrefined and borderline animalistic feel to it. It made me ponder why is there such disparity with how this man wrote poems to his short stories. The mystery was somewhat resolved after I read Stephen King's review in the NYT. Carver's editor, Gordon Lish has literally butchered and distorted his stories and unfortunately for me, the copy that I picked out was just an evidence of this terrible, terrible massacre. Gah. I long to pick up a copy of Carver's collected stories as how he had written it. Somehow, it just haven't cross my path yet. I suppose for now, I'll stick to his poems.

After Carver came Angela Carter. I was lost in a horrific toyshop in the outskirts of London. My first foray into Angela Carter's work has left me wanting more. Her prose is breathtaking. If Bradbury had written to impress, Carter's wit and humour was subtly breathtaking. It is incredible how this book could be so funny and dark at the same time. The best part of the book personally came much earlier on. Melanie, the protagonist, in her mother's wedding dress, out in the field, in the middle of the night. Her words were so effective in transporting me to that scence that it feels as if I am an invisible voyeur. As lost as Melanie at the moment, experiencing the ghosts that haunted her. I can't wait to read Night at the Circus and Wise Children now.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Ten months of reading

I'm not sure why I don't write here anymore. It's not that I don't read. I do. Prolifically, in fact. More than my usual looking at past years record. (One of the hypothesis that came up was simply because I was deprived of time to read when I was doing my MSc. Perhaps. It did get a little out of hand after I was done with the lab).

It's only the middle of October. It's been a good year so far. I've come to love a few books and better acquainted with some authors. Steinbeck for one (So many lost years! A fellow bookworm is persuading me that I have done Dickens wrong and pleaded with me not to make the same mistake as I did with Steinbeck.). Kawabata still haunts me (well that one particular book. It feels as if that book could easily be the contender for the book of the year). There is Gaskell that I know I should read more but need to find time. For I want to read Graham Greene next since reading Shusako Endo, the Eastern version of Greene apparently (Of course there is that Yukio Mishima's book that he finished writing the day he committed hara-kiri. I just need to know what was on his mind then!). Oh there was Hesse. That kept me so engrossed and entertained in Munich airport with time to kill and no one to talk to. There are just so many, many other books that I am itching to read. It feels as if the desire to read grows exponentially. The moment I finish one book, there is much more things that I would love to read more about. Authors to venture into (oh oh! there is Virginia Woolf that I want ot read so badly. Or more of Fitzgerald! The Great Gatsby!). I wonder does it ever end? Most likely I'll still be reading on my death bed! (Do you think there are books in heaven? What happens if there are only scriptures?!?!?!? What am I going to read then??????)

So all in all, it's been good. The Goddess of Literature must have been smiling upon me. Perhaps I picked up some good vibe when I was in the temple of Literature when I was in Hanoi. *grins*

I'll pick up the urge to write here again soon, I hope. Happy reading!

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

I am mighty, mighty please that I don't have anything much plan for today. At least then I can curl up and read the day away. I was extremely sorry that I had agreed to do something in the morning that left me absolutely no time to read except while waiting for the bus (I was quite agitated when I met an acquaintance in the bus stop that cut my pleasure of reading this book even shorter. How horrid of me!).

And it is such a charming and lovely book! I came across it once while roaming the aisles of books in Borders (A dangerous past time I am afraid). The title caught my eye. What in the world is a "Potato Peel Pie"? (Answer: Mashed potatoes for the filling, boiled beetroot for sweetness and potato peelings for the crust). I left it at the back of my head and left Borders (not empty handed I am afraid).

Several weeks ago, I came across this particular forum discussing the most memorable characters in a book (ermm... mine was Billy Prior. I am not sure why! I have an odd fetish for books on war and soldiers). Of course there is the usual swooning of Mr Darcy (Austen's legacy of a perfect man! Mine too.). But this book came up so many times that it piqued my interest. And boy, I was in for a ride. I love, love the characters to bits. There are in turn funny, charming and witty. I fell in love with most of them (and for the one particular I didn't like, she was slapped in the face, so all was good) and wished sorely that I had letters from them and could write to them in turn.

If only there are more books that are of this vein that I am aware of. Especially to think that it dealt with painful subjects such as the German occupation during WWII. It was still witty and funny.

I am not sure I want to read Silence now for it looks a little on the heavy side! I am not sure whether I can let go this giddy happiness yet!

Thousand cranes by Yasunari Kawabata

I've read Kawabata's Snow Country and Beauty and Sadness prior to this. But, both books somewhat paled in comparison to this book. Perhaps I did not fully appreciate his minimalist style before this. But this book takes my breath away.

From the title, Thousand Cranes, a symbol of healing that is prevalent throughout this thin book, to the idea of using tea ceremony to relate the complex relationship of the protagonist to ghosts of the past. I love the subtle use of metaphors and understatements. How everything seems so simple and uncharacteristic on the surface is filled with so much undertone and unstated emotions. Something that reflects vividly of the Japanese culture of the past (perhaps even now?)

Oh how I love the description and idea of the two tea cups. The Karatsu and the Shino. Lying side by side in the tea house. Representing his father and his mistress. Both dead but yet the cup remained, untouched, unaged. The juxtaposition of mortality and immortality.

And true to most Kawabata books, there is always that depressive end to it. Perhaps, it is asking of too much from a man who had after all commited suicide to have a good ending.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyne

Tortilla Flat by John Steinbeck

The Wall Jumper by Peter Schneider