fever talking
Okay, I'll admit it.
I actually do like WoT.
(I know you're not surprised at all, considering I've been at it for what, nine years now).
But the only kind of re-reading I can manage to do is of the Mat Cauthon bits. Is he awesome, or is he awesome.
PS. People read and say all sorts of things when they're sick. Hah!
I actually do like WoT.
(I know you're not surprised at all, considering I've been at it for what, nine years now).
But the only kind of re-reading I can manage to do is of the Mat Cauthon bits. Is he awesome, or is he awesome.
PS. People read and say all sorts of things when they're sick. Hah!
mango book
A Case of Exploding Mangoes, Mohammed Hanif
Whatta book! I can't believe I read a whole book that makes no references to anything magical. (Well, almost. An old woman's curse and a crow ought not to count, no? Please don't make it count.)
Whatta book! I can't believe I read a whole book that makes no references to anything magical. (Well, almost. An old woman's curse and a crow ought not to count, no? Please don't make it count.)
epic fantasy
here's the thing - epic fantasy is simply fun.
and i am indeed the type to brave through thousands and thousands of pages of complicated and sometimes predictable plot to pass endless hours.
(bleddy wheel of time. why can't it just end, i say! it should be edited down to be about mat cauthon. is all.)
and i am indeed the type to brave through thousands and thousands of pages of complicated and sometimes predictable plot to pass endless hours.
(bleddy wheel of time. why can't it just end, i say! it should be edited down to be about mat cauthon. is all.)
Love Letters
by Fernando Pessoa
All love letters are
Ridiculous.
They wouldn't be love letters if they weren't
Ridiculous.
In my time I also wrote love letters
Equally, inevitably
Ridiculous.
Love letters, if there's love,
Must be
Ridiculous.
But in fact
Only those who've never written
Love letters
Are
Ridiculous.
If only I could go back
To when I wrote love letters
Without thinking how
Ridiculous.
The truth is that today
My memories
Of those love letters
Are what is
Ridiculous.
(All more-than-three-syllable words,
Along with unaccountable feelings,
Are naturally
Ridiculous.)
by Fernando Pessoa
All love letters are
Ridiculous.
They wouldn't be love letters if they weren't
Ridiculous.
In my time I also wrote love letters
Equally, inevitably
Ridiculous.
Love letters, if there's love,
Must be
Ridiculous.
But in fact
Only those who've never written
Love letters
Are
Ridiculous.
If only I could go back
To when I wrote love letters
Without thinking how
Ridiculous.
The truth is that today
My memories
Of those love letters
Are what is
Ridiculous.
(All more-than-three-syllable words,
Along with unaccountable feelings,
Are naturally
Ridiculous.)
why not to read pratchett in the metro
..or in the bathroom.
no, i don't know either. in my opinion, it's perfectly normal to laugh that loud.
no, i don't know either. in my opinion, it's perfectly normal to laugh that loud.
ruskin bond
It isn't time that's passing by
Remember the long ago when we lay together
In a pain of tenderness and counted
Our dreams: long summer afternoons
When the whistling-thrush released
A deep sweet secret on the trembling air;
Blackbird on the wing, bird of the forest shadows,
Black rose in the long ago summer,
This was your song:
It isn't time that's passing by,
It is you and I.
Remember the long ago when we lay together
In a pain of tenderness and counted
Our dreams: long summer afternoons
When the whistling-thrush released
A deep sweet secret on the trembling air;
Blackbird on the wing, bird of the forest shadows,
Black rose in the long ago summer,
This was your song:
It isn't time that's passing by,
It is you and I.
snap
For a few months now, I haven't been able to bring myself to read fiction/semi-fiction set in the Real World. It started with not being able to finish Reading Lolita in Tehran. Don't get me wrong, I love that book. It is page-marked and dog eared and margin-written in so many places, that I'm pretty sure I'm never going to lend it to anyone.
But I had a moment, while reading it. I was reading about custodial violence I think, the details are a bit hazy. I teared up and closed the book for a while. It was then that something in me just snapped. I tried all evening to explain it to someone. Something snapped, and I haven't been able to read fiction about real people with real problems since.
I tell myself that I don't want to know how other people interpret people's pain and anguish. I don't want Nafisi to tell me about people she knew who went through these things, I don't want her to tell me what she went through herself, I don't want Aboulela to tell me about Sudanese women and their everyday politics. I don't want to read fiction about people's sad, miserable lives. I don't want to know, not even if it is a tale of hope and rebellion, of struggle and triumph.
But even as I say it like this, it sounds unlikely. I have no problems whatsoever with reading non-fiction. I read Urvashi Butalia's book on the partition recently, and that was terrifically evocative and powerful as well. I also read Sharmila Rege's book on Dalit women's testimonios, which relies heavily on first person narrative (women telling their stories of hope, rebellion, pain, anguish, struggle and triumph). I didn't just finish it in a day, I was also very moved by it.
May be it was the theory in these books that made it interesting and readable for me. Perhaps it was because of the perspective with which I approached the narratives - While reading a work of fiction may mean following a story and empathizing, reading someone's story as a part of an argument or a theory makes it about the argument or theory rather than the story itself. While both fictional and non-fictional works have their politics, often works of non-fiction are explicitly about their politics (as a point of view, a part of a larger debate, a theory from which it takes and adds to) while works of fiction are simply about politics.
In any case, something snapped, and I haven't been able to read books that aren't strange, hallucinatory, fantastic or somewhat historical since.
But even as I say it like this, it sounds unlikely. I have no problems whatsoever with reading non-fiction. I read Urvashi Butalia's book on the partition recently, and that was terrifically evocative and powerful as well. I also read Sharmila Rege's book on Dalit women's testimonios, which relies heavily on first person narrative (women telling their stories of hope, rebellion, pain, anguish, struggle and triumph). I didn't just finish it in a day, I was also very moved by it.
May be it was the theory in these books that made it interesting and readable for me. Perhaps it was because of the perspective with which I approached the narratives - While reading a work of fiction may mean following a story and empathizing, reading someone's story as a part of an argument or a theory makes it about the argument or theory rather than the story itself. While both fictional and non-fictional works have their politics, often works of non-fiction are explicitly about their politics (as a point of view, a part of a larger debate, a theory from which it takes and adds to) while works of fiction are simply about politics.
In any case, something snapped, and I haven't been able to read books that aren't strange, hallucinatory, fantastic or somewhat historical since.
shades of grey
Shades of Grey, Jasper Fforde
it's a dark story, with the most fascinating premise. when Something Happened, the world started go off-colour. and if different people see different things differently, so why ever not colour, yeah? what comes to my mind instantly is george orwell's 1984. control over everything, rationing spoons and sugarcubes, corrupt officials, rebellion, nothing is private except for a valise of one's own - fforde gets all of this right, and manages this in a story that's mostly fantasy. actually, fantasy might be the wrong word. (the guardian informs me that the right thing to say would be 'high-concept' fiction. yes, that sounds stupid even to me.)
i expected it to be similar to the thursday next series (of which i've only read the first book), but it's less meandering and more, let's just say serious. honestly, i still haven't come to terms with his style - it was only on the hundredth page or so that i started getting really involved in the story (which is also what happened with the eyre affair). it took me a while to quite understand what was happening, and at places, he'd say stuff that would completely unhinge what i thought i got. in any case, it was quite funny and i quite liked it, although i must say that i'm not inspired enough just yet to read the next book in the thursday next series.
it's a dark story, with the most fascinating premise. when Something Happened, the world started go off-colour. and if different people see different things differently, so why ever not colour, yeah? what comes to my mind instantly is george orwell's 1984. control over everything, rationing spoons and sugarcubes, corrupt officials, rebellion, nothing is private except for a valise of one's own - fforde gets all of this right, and manages this in a story that's mostly fantasy. actually, fantasy might be the wrong word. (the guardian informs me that the right thing to say would be 'high-concept' fiction. yes, that sounds stupid even to me.)
i expected it to be similar to the thursday next series (of which i've only read the first book), but it's less meandering and more, let's just say serious. honestly, i still haven't come to terms with his style - it was only on the hundredth page or so that i started getting really involved in the story (which is also what happened with the eyre affair). it took me a while to quite understand what was happening, and at places, he'd say stuff that would completely unhinge what i thought i got. in any case, it was quite funny and i quite liked it, although i must say that i'm not inspired enough just yet to read the next book in the thursday next series.
lily
There is a story about a girl called Lily in Daniyal Mueenuddin's collection of short stories 'In Other Rooms, Other Wonders.' As I read it, I wanted that. I wanted to fall in love like she did, I wanted that life, chaotic and wild between moments of solitude. I felt like, in many ways, I was her, seeking to leave my adolescent past behind me, hoping somehow that I'd find someone who could see me for all of that, but more than anything, help me see myself. And through the story, now familiar with the way he writes I kept thinking I want to stop here - I want to stop here -I want to stop here but I kept reading. I read till they lived happily, and then it all came tumbling down.
rumi
from enough words:
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.
I can explain this, but it would break
the glass cover on your heart,
and there's no fixing that.
You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.
...
The soul lives there in the silent breath.
...
**
When I am with you, we stay up all night
When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.
**
The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere
They're in each other all along.
**
from a thirsty fish:
A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.
I don't want learning, or dignity,
or respectability.
I want this music and this dawn
and the warmth of your cheek against mine.
The grief-armies assemble,
but I'm not going with them.
This is how it always is
when I finish a poem.
A great silence comes over me,
and I wonder why I ever thought
to use language.
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.
I can explain this, but it would break
the glass cover on your heart,
and there's no fixing that.
You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.
...
The soul lives there in the silent breath.
...
**
When I am with you, we stay up all night
When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.
**
The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere
They're in each other all along.
**
from a thirsty fish:
A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.
I don't want learning, or dignity,
or respectability.
I want this music and this dawn
and the warmth of your cheek against mine.
The grief-armies assemble,
but I'm not going with them.
This is how it always is
when I finish a poem.
A great silence comes over me,
and I wonder why I ever thought
to use language.
hush
hush.
(writer - pratheek thomas, artist - rajiv eipe, based on a story by vivek thomas. published by manta ray comics.)
a silent graphic novel (a 'quiet story' because "the rest is noise") whose art does all the talking. if you find it, take a look. it's a compelling story told effectively by the medium it employs. a heart wrenching tale about a child - very evocative, very beautiful. and the art is just absolutely stunning. sometimes some (very few so far) indian graphic novels get it right. this is one of them. i kept just looking at the pages on it when i brought it home. somehow, even though i've gone through it all, it lingers (like a good story should).
(writer - pratheek thomas, artist - rajiv eipe, based on a story by vivek thomas. published by manta ray comics.)
a silent graphic novel (a 'quiet story' because "the rest is noise") whose art does all the talking. if you find it, take a look. it's a compelling story told effectively by the medium it employs. a heart wrenching tale about a child - very evocative, very beautiful. and the art is just absolutely stunning. sometimes some (very few so far) indian graphic novels get it right. this is one of them. i kept just looking at the pages on it when i brought it home. somehow, even though i've gone through it all, it lingers (like a good story should).
vertigo
you gotta love it!
**
15.08.2011
Crazy, copious amounts of reading that is simply not getting done. I'm stuck in that rut again - When do I stop reading and start writing? When am I going to have that epiphanic moment where I know what to do with this paper? When am I going to stop fiddling with the formatting and start the actual creating tables and stuff? When when when when? (Although, I do quite like getting all wound up in my reading. You never know where the next reference is going to take you, and what argument is going to catch your fancy. :) )
**
15.08.2011
Crazy, copious amounts of reading that is simply not getting done. I'm stuck in that rut again - When do I stop reading and start writing? When am I going to have that epiphanic moment where I know what to do with this paper? When am I going to stop fiddling with the formatting and start the actual creating tables and stuff? When when when when? (Although, I do quite like getting all wound up in my reading. You never know where the next reference is going to take you, and what argument is going to catch your fancy. :) )
joker
Joker, Brian Azzarello. (Art by Lee Bermejo)
Let's, very quickly, get the basic thing out of the way. There's no loving Brian Azzarello. In fact, if you really get down to the mean, dirty detail (because that's all there is to him), there's only being repulsed. And horrified, let's not forget that. With a swagger and a smile, the Joker returns from the asylum to take back what is his. While they turn Gotham into a toilet, he just sits there. (He just shits there.) The whole comic is building up to one single punch-line, not the Joker's, although those are pretty amazing. The gruesome, the ugly, the twisted, the terrible: All these Azzarello builds, only to bring them down with a single tug. All these, Azzarello crashes - with one single panel, one beautifully chiselled jaw, one Batman - and one single line.
Let's, very quickly, get the basic thing out of the way. There's no loving Brian Azzarello. In fact, if you really get down to the mean, dirty detail (because that's all there is to him), there's only being repulsed. And horrified, let's not forget that. With a swagger and a smile, the Joker returns from the asylum to take back what is his. While they turn Gotham into a toilet, he just sits there. (He just shits there.) The whole comic is building up to one single punch-line, not the Joker's, although those are pretty amazing. The gruesome, the ugly, the twisted, the terrible: All these Azzarello builds, only to bring them down with a single tug. All these, Azzarello crashes - with one single panel, one beautifully chiselled jaw, one Batman - and one single line.
magic
About halfway through Kate Griffin's book now, so obviously a proper comment will be written later. Her style is interesting - I'm not sure what to make of it yet. As I read, I am aware of the fact that it is just way too much detail. Her effort at being slick and cool often comes off as an effort. But as I'm sinking into it, I can feel the flow of the story, and that's always a good thing.
Anyway, the point of this post is to log somethings from the book:
"...the city you saw in daylight, and on the surface, was only a lie, an illusion sustained by all the things going on underneath, and at night - the lorries delivering food to the shops between 1 am and 5 am., and the men cleaning the congealed fat from the sewers, painting lines onto the roads when all the traffic had stopped, changing the bulbs in the street lamps, checking the rails in the underground, fixing the water pipes when no one was awake to want something to drink, and listening to the wires under the streets - The Downers understood that all these things had to happen for the city to survive..."
Anyway, the point of this post is to log somethings from the book:
"...the city you saw in daylight, and on the surface, was only a lie, an illusion sustained by all the things going on underneath, and at night - the lorries delivering food to the shops between 1 am and 5 am., and the men cleaning the congealed fat from the sewers, painting lines onto the roads when all the traffic had stopped, changing the bulbs in the street lamps, checking the rails in the underground, fixing the water pipes when no one was awake to want something to drink, and listening to the wires under the streets - The Downers understood that all these things had to happen for the city to survive..."
23.07.2011
There's no better way to waste an afternoon than reading crappy fiction and drinking lots of tea.
(On policy decision, I have decided not to document reading any books published by the great Mills and Boons, but make no mistake: they exist.)
(On policy decision, I have decided not to document reading any books published by the great Mills and Boons, but make no mistake: they exist.)
murakami
The thing about Murakami, apart from the melancholy and the emotion, not counting how immediately I take in many of his pop culture references for granted into my own life, given the philosophical undertones, the thing about Murakami is the normalisation of the strange. He does it with such ease, such remarkable flow, such passion and such nonchalance, that sometimes I just have to sit back and read it over and over again.
On some days, in some moments, some things just make sense. Like the gorilla in Dance, Dance, Dance. (Or was it Wild Sheep Chase? The books blur into each other in my head.) The way it walks into the room and put him to sleep. Or what he says about the scenery in his memory in Norwegian Wood. They just come back to you. What's even better, are the things that stay. Things that are left unfinished in your head, things that he says offhandedly, things that stew.
For me, Murakami is someone who comforts me, someone I read when I'm lonely. Someone who makes me enjoy my moments of darkness; inspires it, even. And the reason I want to go to Japan sometime in life, the only reason I want to visit Tokyo is so I can go to his cafe (in my head, it's a quaint little place - like the cafe in which Elvis plays in the Hitchhiker's Guide), where there are musicians in a corner, doing their own thing. A place with pretty lights and a prettier view, a place made solely out of corner tables.
The thing about Murakami, the real thing about him, is that he makes emptiness okay, and loneliness a way of life. And that's why I love reading him.
On some days, in some moments, some things just make sense. Like the gorilla in Dance, Dance, Dance. (Or was it Wild Sheep Chase? The books blur into each other in my head.) The way it walks into the room and put him to sleep. Or what he says about the scenery in his memory in Norwegian Wood. They just come back to you. What's even better, are the things that stay. Things that are left unfinished in your head, things that he says offhandedly, things that stew.
For me, Murakami is someone who comforts me, someone I read when I'm lonely. Someone who makes me enjoy my moments of darkness; inspires it, even. And the reason I want to go to Japan sometime in life, the only reason I want to visit Tokyo is so I can go to his cafe (in my head, it's a quaint little place - like the cafe in which Elvis plays in the Hitchhiker's Guide), where there are musicians in a corner, doing their own thing. A place with pretty lights and a prettier view, a place made solely out of corner tables.
The thing about Murakami, the real thing about him, is that he makes emptiness okay, and loneliness a way of life. And that's why I love reading him.
03.07.2011
100 Bullets.
First Shot, Last Call.Whoa. Take a broken character, offer her reprieve and an eye for an eye as it may seem. But dig a little deeper, just an inch below the surface, and you're not sure anymore. Vodka outside Russia tastes the same anyway, and nobody knows who's really pulling the strings. It's loud, it's pacy, it's subtle, it's oh-so-noir, it's sexy, it's compelling and it know what it's doing. What's more, the storytelling is incredible. Minimal dialogue, almost no narrative and fucking brilliant art. I can't wait to read the next one.
'Hey I know death's a part of life.'
'You don't know death. You ignore it, same as I do.'
**
Kafka on the Shore
Which I had saved for a rainy day. I guess today's as rainy as any other. :)
'Hey I know death's a part of life.'
'You don't know death. You ignore it, same as I do.'
**
Kafka on the Shore
Which I had saved for a rainy day. I guess today's as rainy as any other. :)
01.07.2011
More River of Smoke:
I absolutely love the gay, gossipy, italicky Robin Chinnery. Ghosh seems to have had quite a bit of fun writing him and I'm having fun reading.
'I have to bring you to Fanqui-town's landing Ghat, which is called, and this is true, I swear- Jackass Point (the fabled Man-Town must, in other words be entered through Jack's Unspeakable).'
I absolutely love the gay, gossipy, italicky Robin Chinnery. Ghosh seems to have had quite a bit of fun writing him and I'm having fun reading.
'I have to bring you to Fanqui-town's landing Ghat, which is called, and this is true, I swear- Jackass Point (the fabled Man-Town must, in other words be entered through Jack's Unspeakable).'
25.06.2011
Preliminary observation on River of Smoke: The first one was okay, with its English and Bhojpuri mix-ups, but this French-Bhojpuri thing is really, really trying. It tests the very limits of my already much-limited french vocabulary. But storytelling-wise, already love it.
24.06.2011
Small Gods, Terry Pratchett
Yes! I know Pratchett doesn't count as much reading as fondly remembering. So what! Pfft. Bought the new Ghosh book. But I do have to re-read Sea of Poppies first. (Sigh. Having fun has never been so taxing.) Anyway, Small Gods - After Thief of Time, a bit dull, but oh-so-awesome with the Philosopher Theatrics in Ephebe. And the desert. That too.
Yes! I know Pratchett doesn't count as much reading as fondly remembering. So what! Pfft. Bought the new Ghosh book. But I do have to re-read Sea of Poppies first. (Sigh. Having fun has never been so taxing.) Anyway, Small Gods - After Thief of Time, a bit dull, but oh-so-awesome with the Philosopher Theatrics in Ephebe. And the desert. That too.
June
Watchmen, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons
11.06.2011. Yes Ma, my reading is indeed as neglected as this page. Although, I did manage to filler-re-read Watchmen over the past week. So there's this bit where Jon's telling his story - and he starts with the old photograph and builds on it. What an absolutely stunning piece of story-telling! I read that over and over again, just to go over how that story gets built, how the details get folded, one on top of the other, almost like a song, almost like poetry. I find myself thinking, there's a reason why this book is that awesome. Sigh.
11.06.2011. Yes Ma, my reading is indeed as neglected as this page. Although, I did manage to filler-re-read Watchmen over the past week. So there's this bit where Jon's telling his story - and he starts with the old photograph and builds on it. What an absolutely stunning piece of story-telling! I read that over and over again, just to go over how that story gets built, how the details get folded, one on top of the other, almost like a song, almost like poetry. I find myself thinking, there's a reason why this book is that awesome. Sigh.
May
Thief of Time, Terry Pratchett
Dissolution, CJ Sansom (Book 1, Shardlake series)
Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman (The author's preferred text etc.)
Colour of Magic and the Light Fantastic, graphic novels, Terry Pratchett
01. 05. 2011. This page has (had) been temporarily suspended to remind the owner of this blog of deadlines looming like impending doom. Everything that may distract her will reappear in a span of three days when her term papers have been successfully written and submitted.
Or, in the words of Douglas Adams, 'We apologise for the inconvenience.'
(The owner of this blog is also quite the drama queen and loves referring to herself in third person.)
10.05.2011. Okay, so not so much reading done yet, for the month. Been doing all sorts of exciting things that don't involve sitting in one place. (Or if they do, the sitting has involved catching up on lost sleep.) The art on the graphic novels was very disappointing. The editing and graphic novel-ising was pretty sad too. I kept expecting to read the jokes I liked, and they just weren't there (like "Big Bang" for example.) Also, WHAT did he do to DEATH? Yuck. *Wipes image out of brain.*
Plan to start on Sansom tonight. Let's see how that goes. :D
23. 05.2011. Need. To. Find. Time. For. Self.
28.05.2011. Okay, I have to read at least one book fully by the end of this month. What the fuck!
Dissolution, CJ Sansom (Book 1, Shardlake series)
Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman (The author's preferred text etc.)
Colour of Magic and the Light Fantastic, graphic novels, Terry Pratchett
01. 05. 2011. This page has (had) been temporarily suspended to remind the owner of this blog of deadlines looming like impending doom. Everything that may distract her will reappear in a span of three days when her term papers have been successfully written and submitted.
Or, in the words of Douglas Adams, 'We apologise for the inconvenience.'
(The owner of this blog is also quite the drama queen and loves referring to herself in third person.)
10.05.2011. Okay, so not so much reading done yet, for the month. Been doing all sorts of exciting things that don't involve sitting in one place. (Or if they do, the sitting has involved catching up on lost sleep.) The art on the graphic novels was very disappointing. The editing and graphic novel-ising was pretty sad too. I kept expecting to read the jokes I liked, and they just weren't there (like "Big Bang" for example.) Also, WHAT did he do to DEATH? Yuck. *Wipes image out of brain.*
Plan to start on Sansom tonight. Let's see how that goes. :D
23. 05.2011. Need. To. Find. Time. For. Self.
28.05.2011. Okay, I have to read at least one book fully by the end of this month. What the fuck!
April
Durable Disorder, Sanjib Baruah
Democracy and Development in India, Atul Kohli. (Okay, to be fair, I only read one section of the book. But I did! So there.)
Democracy in India, Niraja Gopal Jayal (ed.)
In the Belly of the River, Amita Baviskar
The Girl who Couldn't Come, Joey Comeau (Say it with me, weird and wonderful. :) )
Discipline and Punish, Michel Foucault
Before They Are Hanged, Joe Abercrombie (Book 2, First Law Trilogy)
The Dream Hunters, Neil Gaiman and P. Craig Russell
Last Argument of Kings, Joe Abercrombie (Book 3, First Law Trilogy)
Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Gender and Caste, Anupama Rao (ed.)
Nocturnes, Kazuo Ishiguro
10. 04. 2011 - In retrospect, I wonder how I made that jump from obsessive Murakami to obsessive Pratchett to general fantasy. Hmmm.
13. 04. 2011 - Loved the Dream Hunters! It felt like reading an all new Sandman (which it was), with its intrigue and darkness and most beautiful storytelling. What's more, the art was absolutely stunning! I can't wait to get my hands on the original prose version, now.
17. 04. 2011 - Say one thing for Joe Abercrombie, say that he's a total wacko. He takes every single fantasy trope you can think of and turns it on its head. Who's the good guy, who's the bad guy? Who's the evil scheming bastard, who's the guy who wants to save the world? There aren't any prophesies, there aren't any rules, it's just a regular war with no good guys. You have to be realistic, after all. The first book was like the first season of the Wire - You don't make sense of the first half till you read the second half (Community reference alert). The second book was one long, maddening (and, might I add, brilliant and funny and absolutely riveting) tale at the climax of which you really, really understand the depths to which Abercrombie might take the turning-fantasy-on-its-head idea to. The third book, well, the third book builds on the *cough* climax of the second book to a whole new twist and finds a bastard in every character there is (some, literally too). On the whole, fun!
20. 04. 2011 - Just finished Ender's Game. I'm not sure what I think about it yet. It works like a video game, in so many ways. I think it's meant to, actually. With the levels, and the moving up, and the challenges at each level. It's written like a video game, about a game. There is a pattern to the story. He keeps going through the same thing. Minding-my-own-business ---> Put in confrontational, near-hostile situation --> Turn into some sort of mangy killer --> Wait, did he really die? --> Innocent saint. This happens in every episode and the book as a whole. I have much more to think about. And much that I'm very uncomfortable with. But good fiction - Like.
30. 04. 2011 - Loved Nocturnes. More later. This has been a crazy hectic and lazy month. Like a Sine curve. Don't ask how. So much writing, so much reading, so much fiction, so much Doctor Who, so much bumming at home, so many visits to Bahrisons and Full Circle, so few classes, so much TeeVee! Although you might think 12 books in a month is a bit much, I did have to write my research proposal and I'm currently writing one term paper and I have to write another one next week, so all things considered, it might be a bit less (also I've been reading some books for several months - Foucault for the past seven months, Kohli for two, Baruah for one and a half or so). On the whole, whattay April ya!
Democracy and Development in India, Atul Kohli. (Okay, to be fair, I only read one section of the book. But I did! So there.)
Democracy in India, Niraja Gopal Jayal (ed.)
In the Belly of the River, Amita Baviskar
The Girl who Couldn't Come, Joey Comeau (Say it with me, weird and wonderful. :) )
Discipline and Punish, Michel Foucault
Before They Are Hanged, Joe Abercrombie (Book 2, First Law Trilogy)
The Dream Hunters, Neil Gaiman and P. Craig Russell
Last Argument of Kings, Joe Abercrombie (Book 3, First Law Trilogy)
Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Gender and Caste, Anupama Rao (ed.)
Nocturnes, Kazuo Ishiguro
10. 04. 2011 - In retrospect, I wonder how I made that jump from obsessive Murakami to obsessive Pratchett to general fantasy. Hmmm.
13. 04. 2011 - Loved the Dream Hunters! It felt like reading an all new Sandman (which it was), with its intrigue and darkness and most beautiful storytelling. What's more, the art was absolutely stunning! I can't wait to get my hands on the original prose version, now.
17. 04. 2011 - Say one thing for Joe Abercrombie, say that he's a total wacko. He takes every single fantasy trope you can think of and turns it on its head. Who's the good guy, who's the bad guy? Who's the evil scheming bastard, who's the guy who wants to save the world? There aren't any prophesies, there aren't any rules, it's just a regular war with no good guys. You have to be realistic, after all. The first book was like the first season of the Wire - You don't make sense of the first half till you read the second half (Community reference alert). The second book was one long, maddening (and, might I add, brilliant and funny and absolutely riveting) tale at the climax of which you really, really understand the depths to which Abercrombie might take the turning-fantasy-on-its-head idea to. The third book, well, the third book builds on the *cough* climax of the second book to a whole new twist and finds a bastard in every character there is (some, literally too). On the whole, fun!
20. 04. 2011 - Just finished Ender's Game. I'm not sure what I think about it yet. It works like a video game, in so many ways. I think it's meant to, actually. With the levels, and the moving up, and the challenges at each level. It's written like a video game, about a game. There is a pattern to the story. He keeps going through the same thing. Minding-my-own-business ---> Put in confrontational, near-hostile situation --> Turn into some sort of mangy killer --> Wait, did he really die? --> Innocent saint. This happens in every episode and the book as a whole. I have much more to think about. And much that I'm very uncomfortable with. But good fiction - Like.
30. 04. 2011 - Loved Nocturnes. More later. This has been a crazy hectic and lazy month. Like a Sine curve. Don't ask how. So much writing, so much reading, so much fiction, so much Doctor Who, so much bumming at home, so many visits to Bahrisons and Full Circle, so few classes, so much TeeVee! Although you might think 12 books in a month is a bit much, I did have to write my research proposal and I'm currently writing one term paper and I have to write another one next week, so all things considered, it might be a bit less (also I've been reading some books for several months - Foucault for the past seven months, Kohli for two, Baruah for one and a half or so). On the whole, whattay April ya!
March
Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett
Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Haruki Murakami
The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman
A Walk in the Woods, Bill Bryson
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling
Romance of the State and the Fate of Dissent in the Tropics, Ashis Nandy
Subalterns and Sovereigns, Nandini Sundar
Wind-up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
March has been a thoroughly long, complicated, busy yet slow month. I'm pretty sure I don't like months like these. And clearly, I've been reading way more fiction than I've read for my proposal, so don't let me complain much about work not getting done, okay?
Also, one new and one old Murakami! He's getting slightly predictable and less quirky by the book, I feel. Wind-up just wasn't all that. And I definitely prefer Birnbaum to Rubin. With Graveyard Book, I think Gaiman's just getting old, and I-the-reader have to just accept this as a fact of life and not expect an American Gods to happen everytime I read one of his books. Bryson was enjoyable and quite a laugh, as usual. (Oh, also, what is with these new Pratchett covers? They're so boring and monotonous! What is that elephant doing on that cover. Psh.)
I loved Sundar's book, and seeing as it's full of post-it flags, have also made much use of it. And Nandy is tedious as usual. I felt like I was missing the point through most of the book, but I honestly wasn't even trying, except for towards the end.
Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Haruki Murakami
The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman
A Walk in the Woods, Bill Bryson
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, JK Rowling
Romance of the State and the Fate of Dissent in the Tropics, Ashis Nandy
Subalterns and Sovereigns, Nandini Sundar
Wind-up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami
March has been a thoroughly long, complicated, busy yet slow month. I'm pretty sure I don't like months like these. And clearly, I've been reading way more fiction than I've read for my proposal, so don't let me complain much about work not getting done, okay?
Also, one new and one old Murakami! He's getting slightly predictable and less quirky by the book, I feel. Wind-up just wasn't all that. And I definitely prefer Birnbaum to Rubin. With Graveyard Book, I think Gaiman's just getting old, and I-the-reader have to just accept this as a fact of life and not expect an American Gods to happen everytime I read one of his books. Bryson was enjoyable and quite a laugh, as usual. (Oh, also, what is with these new Pratchett covers? They're so boring and monotonous! What is that elephant doing on that cover. Psh.)
I loved Sundar's book, and seeing as it's full of post-it flags, have also made much use of it. And Nandy is tedious as usual. I felt like I was missing the point through most of the book, but I honestly wasn't even trying, except for towards the end.
February
Wild Sheep Chase, Haruki Murakami
Farewell Waltz, Milan Kundera
Simians, Cyborgs and Women, Donna Haraway
Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction, Volume 1
Farewell Waltz, Milan Kundera
Simians, Cyborgs and Women, Donna Haraway
Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction, Volume 1
January
Demons of Chitrakut, Ashok Banker
Orientalism, Edward Said
Fables, Volume 2, Bill Willingham
The Blade Itself, Joe Abercrombie
Because I Have a Voice, Gautam Bhan
Orientalism, Edward Said
Fables, Volume 2, Bill Willingham
The Blade Itself, Joe Abercrombie
Because I Have a Voice, Gautam Bhan
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