Watched Slumdog Millionaire - an out-of-nowhere hit on Saturday night. It was.. qite intense- there was a moment (and I can't tell you which one without spoiling the story- suffice to say, it was fairly early on) - that I was terrified for the people sitting in front of me - because I very nearly puked.
It was a fantastic movie though - a light on some of India's darkest sides, but with such a deft touch, it tells the story without moralising. While it is basically a story of luck, its also about a person who remains, good, who retains hope, despite all the reasons for him not to. And in his victory we all win, a little. And in the end... it didn't really matter whether or not he won the show - you could see it on his face- he'd already won what was important.
Most recently, I got done with Rowling's latest offering - 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' . Its not a book I'd have considered reading, if it wasn't by Rowling- and it wasn't all that great either. I've heard it being compared to Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson, and all I can say is 'Oh, Please!' The side commentary by Albus Dumbledore is amusing, but it's hardly the profound wisdom we've come to expect from him...
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Other books I read lately
And what have I been reading lately? The usually junk- well, Orson Scott Card isn’t junk exactly, but he’s not exactly deep philosophy wither- but his book ‘Magic Street' was pretty good (actually, all his books are pretty good). On the one hand boy finds out he has special powers, massive villain to destroy, Fairy Queen to win (same old, same old) … on the other, some lovely supporting characters (and the hero kid's not bad either)
Then, there was “The Magicians and Mrs. Quent’ . It’s a weird cross of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and fantasy. The cross from p&p to Jane Eyre is quite jarring, and there were a couple of things that honestly annoyed me- the first being the inability of women to do magic, and the magic of women being the basic equivalent of the dark arts. There were some interesting parts to it though – although (spoilers here) personally, I would have picked Mr. Darcy over Mr. Rochester- though the equivalents are not quite exact – in the case of this book, I wouldn’t have picked either of the ‘heroes’.
I’m now reading 'The Starter Wife' – yes, just like in the show. It’s satirical without being foolish or fluffy and it does deal with quite real stuff- I’m enjoying it very much- I’m just not sure I should be reading so much about marriages gone bad right now (not that I have any illusions to be dispelled).
I also finished another book by Diana Wynne Jones. I didn’t realize it at first, but it is a sequel (of sorts) to Howl’s Moving Castle, called ‘Castle in the Air’. I really liked the way it started off, the new characters were whimsical and quirky… they just didn’t gel with the original Howl cast. It was a bit annoying when they all met, and it would have been really annoying to anyone reading the book without knowing the back story.
Next on my list is ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ … I seem to do writers in phases… I had the Rushdie phase, the Heinlen phase and I had a Robin Cook phase (and Sheldon phase a Jeffrey Archer phase, a Mary Higgins Clarke phase) ... and now it’s the Gabriel Garcia Marquez phase. One thing I do need to mention is that Marquez’s books (Is that right? Should it be Garcia Marquez, as it was filed in the library), are translated – and you can tell (though it takes nothing away from the quality of the book) . There are phrases that are stilted sometimes, and then, there are ones that are so lyrical, it should be poetry. Maybe its because of the translation, maybe its just him, but these aren’t books you can just skim through. Every word demands your attention- The story is not in the events that happen, it is in the progress of emotions of the characters- and a single word can define or destroy the mood.
Then, there was “The Magicians and Mrs. Quent’ . It’s a weird cross of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and fantasy. The cross from p&p to Jane Eyre is quite jarring, and there were a couple of things that honestly annoyed me- the first being the inability of women to do magic, and the magic of women being the basic equivalent of the dark arts. There were some interesting parts to it though – although (spoilers here) personally, I would have picked Mr. Darcy over Mr. Rochester- though the equivalents are not quite exact – in the case of this book, I wouldn’t have picked either of the ‘heroes’.
I’m now reading 'The Starter Wife' – yes, just like in the show. It’s satirical without being foolish or fluffy and it does deal with quite real stuff- I’m enjoying it very much- I’m just not sure I should be reading so much about marriages gone bad right now (not that I have any illusions to be dispelled).
I also finished another book by Diana Wynne Jones. I didn’t realize it at first, but it is a sequel (of sorts) to Howl’s Moving Castle, called ‘Castle in the Air’. I really liked the way it started off, the new characters were whimsical and quirky… they just didn’t gel with the original Howl cast. It was a bit annoying when they all met, and it would have been really annoying to anyone reading the book without knowing the back story.
Next on my list is ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ … I seem to do writers in phases… I had the Rushdie phase, the Heinlen phase and I had a Robin Cook phase (and Sheldon phase a Jeffrey Archer phase, a Mary Higgins Clarke phase) ... and now it’s the Gabriel Garcia Marquez phase. One thing I do need to mention is that Marquez’s books (Is that right? Should it be Garcia Marquez, as it was filed in the library), are translated – and you can tell (though it takes nothing away from the quality of the book) . There are phrases that are stilted sometimes, and then, there are ones that are so lyrical, it should be poetry. Maybe its because of the translation, maybe its just him, but these aren’t books you can just skim through. Every word demands your attention- The story is not in the events that happen, it is in the progress of emotions of the characters- and a single word can define or destroy the mood.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Christmas Shopping
Why, you may ask, do I celebrate Christmas at all, leave alone, get involved in the madness that is shopping this time of the year. The answer I suspect would lie in mob psychology, where I just go along with the herd.
It starts over a month before Christmas - during Thanskgiving - the very midnight of Thanksgiving actually; while all the good people of the United States are replete after their humongous dinner, the shopaholics (the vast majority, apparently), leave home at midnight, on a spree to 'boost the economy'.
I don't usually start that early- I wait at least until December- this has nothing to do with restraint, and everything to do with the fact that during Thanksgiving I'm usually at some megamart-less corner of the country- like Yosemite or the Grand Canyon, or Disney World. This year I was at home.
The truth is, I think people travel so much during the holiday, because its so expensive to stay at home. When you're not there you can't be tempted by the sales, by coupons in the mail, by the romist of 50! 60! 70! % of highly inflated prices, by the feeling of warmth and goodness at the idea of getting your shopping done early, and relaxing while everyone else rushes around hunting for appropriate gifts.
The truth is, it doesn't matter how early you start, you're still going to be shopping two days before Christmas. Hmm... you start... what about this shirt for X... and this bag for Y and this piece of jewellery for Z (and ooh! this dress for me!) ... but X would also love this ... and Y this and Z this.... and this and this and this.... until the budget (if there was one to begin with) is far exceeded.
And there are the accessories... wrapping paper! bows! bags! Christmas tree decorations!
And you know what? After Christmas after the last presents are exchanged, unwrapped, and a sigh of relief is heard... there are the end of seasons sales... and I've already got plans for those....
It starts over a month before Christmas - during Thanskgiving - the very midnight of Thanksgiving actually; while all the good people of the United States are replete after their humongous dinner, the shopaholics (the vast majority, apparently), leave home at midnight, on a spree to 'boost the economy'.
I don't usually start that early- I wait at least until December- this has nothing to do with restraint, and everything to do with the fact that during Thanksgiving I'm usually at some megamart-less corner of the country- like Yosemite or the Grand Canyon, or Disney World. This year I was at home.
The truth is, I think people travel so much during the holiday, because its so expensive to stay at home. When you're not there you can't be tempted by the sales, by coupons in the mail, by the romist of 50! 60! 70! % of highly inflated prices, by the feeling of warmth and goodness at the idea of getting your shopping done early, and relaxing while everyone else rushes around hunting for appropriate gifts.
The truth is, it doesn't matter how early you start, you're still going to be shopping two days before Christmas. Hmm... you start... what about this shirt for X... and this bag for Y and this piece of jewellery for Z (and ooh! this dress for me!) ... but X would also love this ... and Y this and Z this.... and this and this and this.... until the budget (if there was one to begin with) is far exceeded.
And there are the accessories... wrapping paper! bows! bags! Christmas tree decorations!
And you know what? After Christmas after the last presents are exchanged, unwrapped, and a sigh of relief is heard... there are the end of seasons sales... and I've already got plans for those....
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Love in the time of Cholera
Just got done reading ‘Love in the time of Cholera’. I can’t remember when the last time was, that I read a book so immediately relevant to my circumstances. No wonder I suppose, I sympathize so much with its heroine- if that’s what she is. There’s not so much of a hero or heroine – in the sense of people performing heroic actions – more of entirely human characters – occasionally – rising above their own natures to become – momentarily – better than they are.
Having said that, it is almost terrifying, how much I see of myself in Fermina Daza; how much her thoughts seem to parallel mine; how much her story could be my future. I feel myself being drawn to her decision - of choosing a man with no valid reason for preferring one over any other – acquiescing to a suit not undertaken in the name of love- only worldly goods, security, order, happiness, that might resemble love, but are not (to quote the authors own words). Like Fermina Daza, I am likely to choose, as I sense a deadline I set for myself approaching. And like her I may find myself in a gilded cage of domesticity, that if I grow not to love, may at least become used to- which might be the same thing in the end. The ability to persuade myself that what I am is the best of what I could be- to immediately throw any blame on to the other- to despise and pity at once – to be a little repulsed by a person who lives in the shadow of love, never living, save in the thought of another – to live a life wholly virtuously – without reproof in the eyes of the world- to take pleasure in the activity of everyday, for activity keeps thought at bay.
As for Florentino Ariza- I despise him – for all the sympathy with which the author writes of him – his rationalization of his actions – his unending love (obsession), his achieving of his goal far beyond his just deserts- like Fermina I see him as a shadow of a man, lost in the darkness of his love. It is not his philandering with a hundred women that disgusts me (and what does that say of my own morality?), but that he does all that in the name of one woman; the fact is even without the philandering I would be disgusted by his weakness (as I see it) his inability to get over the one love of his life. And yet who am I to judge him? In the end his persistence pays off, he gets his Fermina at the ripe age of 76, having waited a lifetime for her.
I do love the tenderness with which the author talks about old age. His descriptions of the physical ailments, the lessening of mental acuity, have nothing of pity or scorn; he treats it as entirely natural, even a happy stage as life goes on. I love the idea of people finding love even in old age, after all of life has gone by still they have love. I love the honesty of the author, his insightfulness into the hearts of men and women alike- having found so much of myself in Fermina Daza, I assume that his portrait of Florentino Ariza would read as accurately to a man.
And through it all cholera is never far from the mids or fates of the players, pushing each of them through paths that may have not opened to them otherwise.
Having said that, it is almost terrifying, how much I see of myself in Fermina Daza; how much her thoughts seem to parallel mine; how much her story could be my future. I feel myself being drawn to her decision - of choosing a man with no valid reason for preferring one over any other – acquiescing to a suit not undertaken in the name of love- only worldly goods, security, order, happiness, that might resemble love, but are not (to quote the authors own words). Like Fermina Daza, I am likely to choose, as I sense a deadline I set for myself approaching. And like her I may find myself in a gilded cage of domesticity, that if I grow not to love, may at least become used to- which might be the same thing in the end. The ability to persuade myself that what I am is the best of what I could be- to immediately throw any blame on to the other- to despise and pity at once – to be a little repulsed by a person who lives in the shadow of love, never living, save in the thought of another – to live a life wholly virtuously – without reproof in the eyes of the world- to take pleasure in the activity of everyday, for activity keeps thought at bay.
As for Florentino Ariza- I despise him – for all the sympathy with which the author writes of him – his rationalization of his actions – his unending love (obsession), his achieving of his goal far beyond his just deserts- like Fermina I see him as a shadow of a man, lost in the darkness of his love. It is not his philandering with a hundred women that disgusts me (and what does that say of my own morality?), but that he does all that in the name of one woman; the fact is even without the philandering I would be disgusted by his weakness (as I see it) his inability to get over the one love of his life. And yet who am I to judge him? In the end his persistence pays off, he gets his Fermina at the ripe age of 76, having waited a lifetime for her.
I do love the tenderness with which the author talks about old age. His descriptions of the physical ailments, the lessening of mental acuity, have nothing of pity or scorn; he treats it as entirely natural, even a happy stage as life goes on. I love the idea of people finding love even in old age, after all of life has gone by still they have love. I love the honesty of the author, his insightfulness into the hearts of men and women alike- having found so much of myself in Fermina Daza, I assume that his portrait of Florentino Ariza would read as accurately to a man.
And through it all cholera is never far from the mids or fates of the players, pushing each of them through paths that may have not opened to them otherwise.
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