tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17609922141763926742024-02-02T08:10:37.642+00:00Finding The Lit: Five Easy StepsRoisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-80556528959512484612012-02-26T09:57:00.005+00:002012-02-26T10:20:08.140+00:00T.S Eliot reads The WastelandJust LISTEN TO THIS GUY. I know he's a notorious twat, but T.S Eliot is pretty much my favourite poet ever. Sometimes I listen to this and pretend he's reading to me, as a kindly anti-semitic misogynist grandfather would. <br /><br /><iframe width="525" height="350" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3tqK5zQlCDQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(Come in under the shadow of this red rock), <br />And I will show you something different from either <br />Your shadow at morning striding behind you <br />Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; <br />I will show you fear in a handful of dust.</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-5609083036074832392012-02-25T22:43:00.012+00:002012-02-26T10:17:56.982+00:00Leda and the Swan by William Butler YeatsI mark my return to blogging with a disturbing little ditty from Bill Butler Yeats. Recently I've been listening to the Swan Lake soundtrack, because I'm cool like that, and basically realised how amazing it is (thanks, Natalie Portman!). <br /><br />When you have the two together, the music almost seems to mirror the intensity, horror and excitement that comes across so mightily in the poem. Kudos, Tchaikovsky. <br /><br /><iframe width="525" height="350" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1ea90L91eZk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Leda and The Swan</span><br /><br />A sudden blow: the great wings beating still<br /> Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed<br /> By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,<br /> He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.<br /><br /> How can those terrified vague fingers push<br /> The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?<br /> And how can body, laid in that white rush,<br /> But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?<br /><br /> A shudder in the loins engenders there<br /> The broken wall, the burning roof and tower<br /> And Agamemnon dead.<br /><br /> Being so caught up,<br /><br /> So mastered by the brute blood of the air,<br /> Did she put on his knowledge with his power<br /> Before the indifferent beak could let her drop? <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">William Butler Yeats</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-41024949805820220272012-01-11T22:48:00.005+00:002012-01-11T23:05:12.951+00:00My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun by William ShakespeareI've had a literature blog for six months and not once have I mentioned Shakespeare or school. UNTIL NOW. <br />This is a beaut of a poem that I first read whilst studying for my GCSEs. I think the fact that it's written by a male for a female, basically telling her that she's brilliant just as she is, really appealed to me at age fifteen. He's essentially the Elizabethan Bruno Mars (though clearly not as talented). <br /><br /><a href="http://www.galleryofsurrealism.com/images%5CmDTMA-1950AD.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.galleryofsurrealism.com/images%5CmDTMA-1950AD.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun</span><br /><br />My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;<br />Coral is far more red than her lips' red;<br />If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;<br />If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.<br />I have seen roses damasked, red and white,<br />But no such roses see I in her cheeks;<br />And in some perfumes is there more delight<br />Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.<br />I love to hear her speak, yet well I know<br />That music hath a far more pleasing sound;<br />I grant I never saw a goddess go;<br />My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.<br /> And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare<br /> As any she belied with false compare.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">William Shakespeare</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-1881363155187870002012-01-06T19:58:00.026+00:002012-01-07T13:31:58.903+00:00Top Five Book CoversI'm judging books by their covers, because that's just the kind of rebel I am. <br /><br />Note: It has come to my attention that this post is really quite pretentious. Maybe just ignore the words and concentrate on the pretty pictures. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://dynamicliterature.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/anthony-burgess-a-clockwork-orange.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 500px;" src="http://dynamicliterature.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/anthony-burgess-a-clockwork-orange.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />I love this cover because it's become an icon in it's own right; there's no way you can see that bowler hat and the cog-eye without thinking of lactose-obsessed, Beethoven aficionado, psychopath Alex and his band of droogs. I fell in love with this book, and I think the cover reflects the tone perfectly. It's a novel which features gang rape, pedophilia, homicide and brainwashing, and the bold, block colours on the front illustrate these booming, intense themes; but the fact it is so bright and vivid, where it could easily be dark and brooding, shows that the book also has a sense of humour and fun - it's a book which doesn't take itself too seriously. The pop art feel is also reminiscent of the era - the sixties - of which novels such as A Clockwork Orange were a quintessential part. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/c/ce/EverythingIsIlluminated.jpg/200px-EverythingIsIlluminated.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 500px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/c/ce/EverythingIsIlluminated.jpg/200px-EverythingIsIlluminated.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltburtfdjz1qfj12uo1_400.jpg">Jonathan Safran Foer seems to have a knack for book covers </a> but there is something about this one in particular that really gets to me. There are no pictures. Instead, the words snake round the edges of the book, completely filling up the cover as if trying to break out of it. On the back of the book, there's no blurb - just a mirror image of the front cover, upside down - the claim that "Everything is Illuminated" becomes less of a title, and more an unrelenting promise about the novel itself. The book sprirals from one narrative to the next, linking individual stories together in order to provide one resounding message - the very same that is scrawled, almost frantically, on it's front cover. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />3. Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i11.tinypic.com/351h7cp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 500px;" src="http://i11.tinypic.com/351h7cp.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />There's something very "Being John Malkovich" about this, and if you have read Borges, you'll know that this surreal cover perfectly illustrates the stories he creates. "Labyrinths" explores alternate universes, the differing perceptions of time, the nature of dreams and crises of identity. The identical men suggest that the labyrinth Borges is most focused on is that of the human brain; and that, despite the fact people may differ in terms of dreams, everyone is inexorably fascinated with the nature of our their realities. Oh God, I really am pretentious today. I'll dumb it down for the next one. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />4. The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cairnsmedia.com/images/The-Time-Traveler%27s-Wife-Co.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.cairnsmedia.com/images/The-Time-Traveler%27s-Wife-Co.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Nice one right? I really like how Niffenegger makes a story about a forty year old man travelling back in time to make his five year old wife fall in love with him, seem absolutely fine and not pervy or weird at all. The cover illustrates the same thing. It's immediately intriguing and, once you finish the book, really quite heartbreaking as it both reflects the start and the end of the story. I hoped that the film would strike the same kind of chord, but due to to a shite script writer and <a href="http://www.childstarlets.com/lobby/bios/portraits/tatum_mccann12.jpg">some unfortunate casting</a>, it was not to be. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />5. The Trial by Franz Kafka</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bookcoverarchive.com/images/books/the_trial.large.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 305px; height: 500px;" src="http://bookcoverarchive.com/images/books/the_trial.large.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />A cover that I maybe don't fully understand, but I think it reflects the content of The Trial so perfectly for that reason; it's quite a complex narrative, full of twists an turns, some of which are pretty inexplicable. It also seems appropriate that the man on the cover is blindfolded; throughout the novel, the protagonist K is completely bewildered by the events that surround him. A bit like the strange contraption that is wrapped round the head of the front-cover man; part torture device, part bird costume, it dehumanises him and makes him entirely vulnerable, prime themes featured in The Trial. <br /><br />Alas, this blog is limited to "<span style="font-weight:bold;">Five</span> Easy Steps", but here are a few others that I'm very fond of: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/1/19/PKD-high_castle-penguinclassics.jpg/175px-PKD-high_castle-penguinclassics.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/1/19/PKD-high_castle-penguinclassics.jpg/175px-PKD-high_castle-penguinclassics.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.harrypotterfanzone.com/wp-content/2009/06/poa-uk-adult-jacket-art.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://www.harrypotterfanzone.com/wp-content/2009/06/poa-uk-adult-jacket-art.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.smart.co.uk/dreams/f&lcritn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://www.smart.co.uk/dreams/f&lcritn.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://wellmedicated.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/kafka-on-the-shore.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://wellmedicated.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/kafka-on-the-shore.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://twilightswarden.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/rings_book_cover.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://twilightswarden.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/rings_book_cover.png" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.beyondhollywood.com/uploads/2011/01/the-stand-novel1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://www.beyondhollywood.com/uploads/2011/01/the-stand-novel1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.underconsideration.com/speakup/archives/25top_Jurassic_Park.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://www.underconsideration.com/speakup/archives/25top_Jurassic_Park.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.askewreviews.com/images2/porno%20walsh.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://www.askewreviews.com/images2/porno%20walsh.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://collider.com/wp-content/uploads/THE-GREAT-GATSBY.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 175px; height: 269px;" src="http://collider.com/wp-content/uploads/THE-GREAT-GATSBY.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-56330074866111398082012-01-01T17:19:00.006+00:002012-01-01T21:24:50.264+00:00To A Mouse by Robert BurnsRight. 1st of January. I've got tons of plans for this year, one of which is to blog like the absolute shitters. I'm starting off the year with an appropriate, if not terribly optimistic poem by Robert Burns, the same man who wrote Auld Lang Syne. The line "and forward though I cannot see, I guess and fear" might not indicate that I'm terribly enthusiastic about 2012's prospects and my "best laid schemes", but let's be realistic; the world's probably going to end this year anyway. <br /><br /><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_iRCt-m6tg6Y/SdZXqAV6qeI/AAAAAAAAGPI/P2bxIos1Xz0/mice_galaxy-teleskop-hubble-18.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 512px; height: 330px;" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_iRCt-m6tg6Y/SdZXqAV6qeI/AAAAAAAAGPI/P2bxIos1Xz0/mice_galaxy-teleskop-hubble-18.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">To A Mouse</span><br /><br />Small, crafty, cowering, timorous little beast,<br />O, what a panic is in your little breast!<br />You need not start away so hasty<br />With argumentative chatter!<br />I would be loath to run and chase you,<br />With murdering plough-staff.<br />I'm truly sorry man's dominion<br />Has broken Nature's social union,<br />And justifies that ill opinion<br />Which makes thee startle<br />At me, thy poor, earth born companion<br />And fellow mortal!<br />I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal;<br />What then? Poor little beast, you must live!<br />An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves<br />Is a small request;<br />I will get a blessing with what is left,<br />And never miss it.<br />Your small house, too, in ruin!<br />Its feeble walls the winds are scattering!<br />And nothing now, to build a new one,<br />Of coarse grass green!<br />And bleak December's winds coming,<br />Both bitter and keen!<br />You saw the fields laid bare and wasted,<br />And weary winter coming fast,<br />And cozy here, beneath the blast,<br />You thought to dwell,<br />Till crash! the cruel plough passed<br />Out through your cell.<br />That small bit heap of leaves and stubble,<br />Has cost you many a weary nibble!<br />Now you are turned out, for all your trouble,<br />Without house or holding,<br />To endure the winter's sleety dribble,<br />And hoar-frost cold.<br />But little Mouse, you are not alone,<br />In proving foresight may be vain:<br />The best laid schemes of mice and men<br />Go often askew,<br />And leave us nothing but grief and pain,<br />For promised joy!<br />Still you are blest, compared with me!<br />The present only touches you:<br />But oh! I backward cast my eye,<br />On prospects dreary!<br />And forward, though I cannot see,<br />I guess and fear!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Robert Burns</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-27993539758519243632011-12-07T22:17:00.004+00:002012-01-01T19:08:06.393+00:00This Is Just To SayThat I'm not dead, and will resume the blogging in due course.<br /><br />This is also just to say....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1272/1390748496_5178e0a8cb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1272/1390748496_5178e0a8cb.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />I have eaten<br />the plums<br />that were in<br />the icebox<br /><br />and which<br />you were probably<br />saving<br />for breakfast<br /><br />Forgive me<br />they were delicious<br />so sweet<br />and so cold<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">William Carlos Williams</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-86727818409064257282011-10-25T21:16:00.006+01:002011-10-25T21:38:56.025+01:00The Unknown Citizen by W.H AudenOh HI blog. I temporarily forgot you existed.<br /><br />I wish I could come up with some fabulous excuse for my absence - like I've spent the last week and a half in the New York office, working on some incredibly important papers, nicotine and coffee-filled to my eyeballs, ordering interns to "bring me those files, stat!" before firing someone in a violent fit of efficiency.<br /><br />Actually I've spent most of my week making photocopies. Hurrah.<br /><br />And in the light of this, here is a somewhat appropriate poem by the always excellent Auden. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://mclc.osu.edu/rc/pubs/lee/shadow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 400px;" src="http://mclc.osu.edu/rc/pubs/lee/shadow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Unknown Citizen</span><br /><br />He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be<br />One against whom there was no official complaint,<br />And all the reports on his conduct agree<br />That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a<br />saint,<br />For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.<br />Except for the War till the day he retired<br />He worked in a factory and never got fired,<br />But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.<br />Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,<br />For his Union reports that he paid his dues,<br />(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)<br />And our Social Psychology workers found<br />That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.<br />The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day<br />And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.<br />Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,<br />And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.<br />Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare<br />He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan<br />And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,<br />A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.<br />Our researchers into Public Opinion are content<br />That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;<br />When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.<br />He was married and added five children to the population,<br />Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his<br />generation.<br />And our teachers report that he never interfered with their<br />education.<br />Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:<br />Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">W.H Auden</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-18658363971455384672011-10-15T11:28:00.006+01:002011-10-15T12:19:12.479+01:00Briefly It Enters, Briefly It Speaks by Jane KenyonI'd never heard of Jane Kenyon until last week and I've already decided to do everything in my power to look like <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/e/e2/Jane_Kenyon.jpg">her</a>. This is a beautifully simple poem that's probably about God. Funny how that put me off at first - until I realised how hypocritical I was being, considering I have a poster of <a href="http://www.italian-renaissance-art.com/image-files/last-judgement-michelangelo.jpg">The Last Judgement</a> on my bedroom wall. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://claireshegoes.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/womanatwindow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 400px;" src="http://claireshegoes.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/womanatwindow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Briefly It Enters, Briefly It Speaks<br /></span><br />I am the blossom pressed in a book,<br />found again after two hundred years. . . .<br /><br />I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper....<br /><br />When the young girl who starves<br />sits down to a table<br />she will sit beside me. . . .<br /><br />I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .<br /><br />I am water rushing to the wellhead,<br />filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .<br /><br />I am the patient gardener<br />of the dry and weedy garden. . . .<br /><br />I am the stone step,<br />the latch, and the working hinge. . . .<br /><br />I am the heart contracted by joy. . . .<br />the longest hair, white<br />before the rest. . . .<br /><br />I am there in the basket of fruit<br />presented to the widow. . . .<br /><br />I am the musk rose opening<br />unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .<br /><br />I am the one whose love<br />overcomes you, already with you<br />when you think to call my name. . . .<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jane Kenyon</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-45474536572142889542011-10-12T22:55:00.003+01:002011-10-12T23:05:38.664+01:00Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn WaughI don’t care if Evelyn Waugh lived a century ago, I WANT HIM TO BE MY FRIEND.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://reuoq.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/brideshead-revisited.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 391px;" src="http://reuoq.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/brideshead-revisited.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Five Points About This Book Which I Thought Of And Wrote:</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. The Characters</span><br /><br />The novel opens as Captain Charles Ryder, after stumbling across a stately home in war torn England, begins to reminisce about the two most important people in his life: Sebastian and Julia Flyte. So begins the “revisiting” referred to in the title, and one of the funniest, most heartbreaking and poignant stories you will ever read. <br />Beginning with his university days, Charles is taken on a journey of debauchery and “naughtiness” by teddy-bear holding, atheist socialite Sebastian, introducing Charles to his home at Brideshead and his religion obsessed family. Sebastian is a complete personification of the Roaring Twenties spirit; frivolous, extravagant and ultimately, doomed.<br />Charles semi-infatuation with Sebastion occupies the first half of the book, whilst the second half focuses on his love for Sebastian’s equally profound and religiously confused sister Julia. The thing is, Waugh writes so BLOODY beautifully that you cant help but fall in love with these characters yourself, sharing Charles dizzying highs and pathetic lows with the two.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. The Writing</span><br /><br />Sometimes Waugh writes so well that I don’t even realise until I’m making dinner several hours later, shout “wait – what did he say?” and rush off to check while my macaroni cheese foams over the sides of the saucepan. <br />Take a read this passage to understand what I’m talking about:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">This was the creature, neither child nor woman, that drove me through the dusk that summer evening, untroubled by love, taken aback by the power of her own beauty, hesitating on the cool edge of life; one who had suddenly found herself armed unawares; the heroine of a fairy story turning over in her hands the magic ring; she only had to stroke it with her fingertips and whisper the charmed word, for the earth to open at her feet and belch forth her titanic serpent, the fawning monster who would bring her whatever she asked, but bring it, perhaps, in unwelcome shape.</span><br /><br />Yes, that is one sentence. Now go and make some macaroni cheese.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. The Comedy</span><br /><br />Imagine two Oxbridge students from the1930s, add champagne, strawberries, frivolity and homoeroticism and you get a flavour of the humour of this novel. Waugh writes with a biting wit, so caustic that it could burn a hole through the page, expressing great disdain through his characters for the multitude of well-to-do stereotypes that inhabited that particular era. <br />My favourite comedy scenes though involved Charles and Sebastian, who spend much of their time inebriated and carefree, talking about “rot” and “getting tight”; only occasionally reflecting on their behaviour as in this passage which made me cackle like a mad witch on the tube:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Ought we to be drunk every night?” asked Sebastian one morning.<br />“Yes, I think so.”<br />“I think so too”.</span><br /><br />Oh Sebastian and Charles, I want to be in your gang.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4. The Tragedy</span><br /><br />The triviality eventually fades away though, and the second half of the novel becomes a lot more introspective, examining the nature of addiction, religion and love. At the risk of giving anything away, I wont delve too deep but rest assured that even when Waugh writes tragedy, it’s never melodramatic. Everything is contained, bubbling under the surface. Charles’ infatuations shift from Sebastian to Julia, but it is really the Flyte family and the world they inhabit, Brideshead, that ultimately captures him and causes him to reminisce so vividly. <br />The real sucker punch is this – the biggest spoiler of Brideshead Revisited is on page one. Charles is a lonely soldier, and encounters Brideshead again completely by chance. I don’t need to tell you how his relationships with Julia and Sebastian turn out; the inevitable destruction of each character is really at the tragic centre of the novel.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5. The Relevance</span><br /><br />Perhaps the aspect I enjoyed most about Brideshead Revisited was how many times I found myself thinking “good grief, that is so true”. I felt this especially when Charles described his experiences at University; he is told calmly that “you’ll find you spend half of your second year shaking off the undesirable friends you made in the first” (unbelievably true) and particularly when he thinks that “if I was not going to take up one of the professions where a degree is necessary, it might be best to start now on what I intend doing” (it has occasionally struck me that I ought to start on that novel I’ve been planning since I was fifteen – my degree in philosophy was rendered useless the day I discovered “Philosopher” isn’t an actual career). <br />Not only this, but the observations he makes about society and social niceties completely spot on.This is a remarkable achievement, considering that the novel was written 80 YEARS AGO. Evelyn Waugh could be transported into the here and now and feel perfectly at home – once he gets used to touchscreens and unexpected items in the bagging area.<br /><br />Put quite simply, this novel is a masterpiece. Anybody with even a passing interest in literature should consider this a must read. <br /><br />8.5/10Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-2762319970872219852011-10-10T18:38:00.006+01:002011-12-28T08:51:52.555+00:00Genius by Mark TwainIt's days when your bank makes you wait for 35 minutes for no reason on your lunch break and the wind blows your skirt up just as a group of five teenage boys walks past, that you wish you looked more like <a href="http://trialx.com/curetalk/wp-content/blogs.dir/7/files/2011/03/gcelebrities/Mark_Twain-3.jpg">Mark Twain</a>. That moustache does not take shit from anybody.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEukqZFx2dj7Hwvqe63KZORiH2MH291G5Y5TTSQwXAJcLlFhMR58P61eL3-egZYce6z-5OVqoJZTwDr5blxfZ-V1Nmv70pLCPkILXaVcC1cSpi0Jwv6FQqmDakkkeGxuDS1nGseDDcvY/s1600/writer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYEukqZFx2dj7Hwvqe63KZORiH2MH291G5Y5TTSQwXAJcLlFhMR58P61eL3-egZYce6z-5OVqoJZTwDr5blxfZ-V1Nmv70pLCPkILXaVcC1cSpi0Jwv6FQqmDakkkeGxuDS1nGseDDcvY/s1600/writer.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Genius</span><br /><br /> Genius, like gold and precious stones, <br />is chiefly prized because of its rarity. <br /><br />Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild, <br />incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility, <br />and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter. <br /><br />Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres <br />far above the vulgar world and fills his soul <br />with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth. <br /><br />It is probably on account of this <br />that people who have genius <br />do not pay their board, as a general thing. <br /><br />Geniuses are very singular. <br /><br />If you see a young man who has frowsy hair <br />and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress, <br />you may set him down for a genius. <br /><br />If he sings about the degeneracy of a world <br />which courts vulgar opulence <br />and neglects brains, <br />he is undoubtedly a genius. <br /><br />If he is too proud to accept assistance, <br />and spurns it with a lordly air <br />at the very same time <br />that he knows he can't make a living to save his life, <br />he is most certainly a genius. <br /><br />If he hangs on and sticks to poetry, <br />notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him, <br />he is a true genius. <br /><br />If he throws away every opportunity in life <br />and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends <br />and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot, <br />and finally persists, <br />in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense <br />but not any genius, <br />persists in going up some infamous back alley <br />dying in rags and dirt, <br />he is beyond all question a genius. <br /><br />But above all things, <br />to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse <br />and then rush off and get booming drunk, <br />is the surest of all the different signs <br />of genius.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-2212978479105184392011-09-30T22:08:00.006+01:002011-10-01T12:52:32.887+01:00General End Of Month UpdateI haven't read as many books as I would've like this month, but the sheer super quality of the books I have read more than makes up for this. They are:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">One Day</span> by David Nicholls (this book DESTROYED me emotionally. Oh Nicholls, you build us up just to bring us down again, just like the irksome buttercup from that popular song)<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Wind Up Bird Chronice</span> by Haruki Murakami (come and live in London, Murakami, so that I may befriend and subsequently wed you)<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Brideshead Revisited</span> by Evelyn Waugh (Just. Superb. Review will come imminently because I need to rave about this book to somebody other than my bathroom mirror)<br /><br />This weekend I will be off round London to search for books as part of the Guardian Book Swap, pretending to be some kind of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manic_Pixie_Dream_Girl">manic pixie dream girl</a>.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-72959478599639253352011-09-26T17:49:00.002+01:002011-09-26T17:51:53.470+01:00The Best Idea EverOh.<br />My.<br />God.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/sep/15/guardian-book-swap-15000-volume-giveaway">http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/sep/15/guardian-book-swap-15000-volume-giveaway</a>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-6335889745559045272011-09-25T20:00:00.007+01:002011-09-26T07:28:09.620+01:00Phenomenal Woman by Maya AngelouThe first time I heard this poem was when a lady in a coffee shop in Liverpool played the AMAZING acoustic version (below) that made me feel inexplicably good about myself. I think it's because insecurity has grown to annoy me - there's something sort of vaguely attention seeking and depressing and boring about it. What's refreshing is when people accept their flaws and either try to change them or flaunt them, which is exactly what Maya Angelou does in this poem. Fantastic.<br /><br /><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/G-6ngL2pdgA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Phenomenal Woman</span><br /><br />Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.<br />I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size<br />But when I start to tell them,<br />They think I'm telling lies.<br />I say,<br />It's in the reach of my arms<br />The span of my hips,<br />The stride of my step,<br />The curl of my lips.<br />I'm a woman<br />Phenomenally.<br />Phenomenal woman,<br />That's me.<br /><br />I walk into a room<br />Just as cool as you please,<br />And to a man,<br />The fellows stand or<br />Fall down on their knees.<br />Then they swarm around me,<br />A hive of honey bees.<br />I say,<br />It's the fire in my eyes,<br />And the flash of my teeth,<br />The swing in my waist,<br />And the joy in my feet.<br />I'm a woman<br />Phenomenally.<br />Phenomenal woman,<br />That's me.<br /><br />Men themselves have wondered<br />What they see in me.<br />They try so much<br />But they can't touch<br />My inner mystery.<br />When I try to show them<br />They say they still can't see.<br />I say,<br />It's in the arch of my back,<br />The sun of my smile,<br />The ride of my breasts,<br />The grace of my style.<br />I'm a woman<br /><br />Phenomenally.<br />Phenomenal woman,<br />That's me.<br /><br />Now you understand<br />Just why my head's not bowed.<br />I don't shout or jump about<br />Or have to talk real loud.<br />When you see me passing<br />It ought to make you proud.<br />I say,<br />It's in the click of my heels,<br />The bend of my hair,<br />the palm of my hand,<br />The need of my care,<br />'Cause I'm a woman<br />Phenomenally.<br />Phenomenal woman,<br />That's me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Maya Angelou</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-56739573810083433112011-09-22T19:08:00.003+01:002011-09-25T21:03:06.056+01:00For a Fatherless Son by Slyvia PlathHere is a sad poem - I'm not sure why, as I'm in an uncharacteristically good mood today. It's also by Sylvia Plath, whose poetry I'm generally not crazy about. Good old Sylv wouldn't know a good mood if it smacked her in the face and in tribute to her misery and seriousness, here is a little ditty from "Winter Trees".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://starchickadee.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/lonely-chair-g3393.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://starchickadee.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/lonely-chair-g3393.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">For a Fatherless Son</span><br /><br />You will be aware of an absence, presently,<br />Growing beside you, like a tree,<br />A death tree, color gone, an Australian gum tree ---<br />Balding, gelded by lightning--an illusion,<br />And a sky like a pig's backside, an utter lack of attention.<br />But right now you are dumb.<br />And I love your stupidity,<br />The blind mirror of it. I look in<br />And find no face but my own, and you think that's funny.<br />It is good for me<br />To have you grab my nose, a ladder rung.<br />One day you may touch what's wrong ---<br />The small skulls, the smashed blue hills, the godawful hush.<br />Till then your smiles are found money.<br /><br />Slyvia PlathRoisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-34229426195146530202011-09-18T18:00:00.006+01:002011-09-25T21:04:19.765+01:00The Passage by Justin CroninA futuristic apocalyptic zombie/vampire/mutant thriller, based around an immortal little girl with magical powers called Amy. As ridiculous as it sounds.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aVupcM62v6hImIDF9qcOjKliVmgX3K4mVUUYZZq9aluLaTXNlD-Bw-zyreSzE_ztFL-4Ysi3nP8dEHUaSHwRL-CE6s_4XDypZ_mLOMNwCfHAhPZSbEefCnPkXiAQu01qzZrpkEsoeHU/s1600/the-passage-by-justin-cronin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 327px; height: 499px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aVupcM62v6hImIDF9qcOjKliVmgX3K4mVUUYZZq9aluLaTXNlD-Bw-zyreSzE_ztFL-4Ysi3nP8dEHUaSHwRL-CE6s_4XDypZ_mLOMNwCfHAhPZSbEefCnPkXiAQu01qzZrpkEsoeHU/s1600/the-passage-by-justin-cronin.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Five Things You Really Should Know About The Passage Before You Attempt To Read It</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. The First Half<br /></span><br />The outbreak of a deadly virus which turns the world’s population into murderous immortal super-humans had the potential be quite an interesting read. Throw in some sympathetic, engaging characters and a compelling plot and BAM! You’ve got yourself a bestseller. The first half of the plot generally followed this formula; great characters, some really memorable scenes (the zoo scene and the chapter in which the virals escape especially stand out)-overall a worthy effort. I genuinely sympathised with and cared about the protagonists, especially Amy and her police officer, make-shift, foster parent Wolgast. Everything was going swimmingly. That is until the plot jumped forward a hundred years, and all the characters we had grown to love subsequently disappeared. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. The plot jumped forward a hundred years, and all the characters we had grown to love subsequently disappeared.</span><br /><br />Sorry. But it is worth saying twice. This was such a huge risk to take with the plot and I really didn’t feel it paid off. Halfway through the novel, we’re introduced to a completely new set of characters; a community of survivors trying to put the bread on the table without being torn to shreds by the bloodthirsty mutants who roam the neighbourhood. The new characters themselves (Peter the eponymous hero, his brother Theo, Alicia, the token cold, beautiful and deadly female, and about a hundred and sixteen others) were incredibly uninteresting and all came with long established histories and relationships that I found difficult and frankly, boring to piece together. It was like starting a new, different book, just at the point where the original was starting to get interesting. I even resorted to flicking the pages ahead to make sure that Amy does turn up eventually, so that the book’s first half wasn’t rendered completely pointless. This would all be fine- if the book was under 800 pages long.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. Did I mention the length?</span><br /><br />Good God, this was a long read which, again, would be fine if for the most part it wasn’t filled with mind-numbing pointless details. If you’re considering reading this, my advice would be to hack off everything after page 300 with a flick knife and hand it to the nearest available tramp to burn for warmth. I bet even the smoke it gives off would be dull. <br />About 67% of this novel is made of unnecessary titbits of information, sometimes lasting for entire chapters. If there was a clever and compelling plot to make up for this ceaseless hoarding of minutiae, I could forgive the author (I’m looking at YOU, Tolkien), but it barely even scrapes that. What’s worse is that this that The Passage is only <span style="font-style:italic;">part one of a confirmed trilogy</span>, which I find slightly unbelievable. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4. The Tone</span><br /><br />This is a vain book, a book which thinks it is a lot better than it actually is. Only with complete self-assurance could the author introduce aspects such as “Flyers!”-what he imagines to be a commonly used swear word hundred years from now. Only with supreme confidence in his characters’ integrity could he allow most of their actions to be taken up by meaningless humdrum tasks. And to make a trilogy of this…this really is credence at its highest. Cronin has tried to make an epic but has failed to grasp that the word “epic” is not necessarily synonymous with the word “long”. However much it so desperately tries, I Am Legend, this is not-it doesn’t even have the grittiness of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7gPoU8TFcE">I Am Fighter.</a> <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5. The Unoriginality</span><br /><br />I mentioned I Am Legend, and at the end of the day, there are hundreds of other post-apocalyptic dystopian vampire (virals, vampires, whatever) novels that are shorter, smarter and simply better written than The Passage. The Passage is what you get when you castrate The Stand, from which it has heavily borrowed; the two do display some uncanny similarities (the significant dreams, a war between good and evil, a community of survivors placing an elderly black woman at the centre, etcetera, etcetera, et-bloody-cetra). In contrast to the The Passage though, The Stand is a novel with intense depth and meaning.<br />If nothing else, the front cover of The Passage should give you clue-whilst I’m sure it was designed to convey a potent mixture of mystery and horror, the greyish dirty face of Amy simply displays an unmistakable look of boredom.<br /><br />5/10Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-78331287320773627222011-09-16T20:06:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:05:44.238+01:00Black Cat by Rainer Maria RilkeA brilliantly layered little poem by somebody that I'd previously not heard of, Rainer Maria Rilke. (Google Image him. Seriously). I especially love the last two lines. Partly because the image of the black cat's eyes staring into your soul, sucking it in, is so powerful; partly because it reminds me of Jurassic Park.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lgsf2p5Lz61qe0r71o1_r2_500.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 425px;" src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lgsf2p5Lz61qe0r71o1_r2_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Black Cat<br /></span><br />A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place<br />your sight can knock on, echoing; but here<br />within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze<br />will be absorbed and utterly disappear:<br /><br />just as a raving madman, when nothing else<br />can ease him, charges into his dark night<br />howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels<br />the rage being taken in and pacified.<br /><br />She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen<br />into her, so that, like an audience,<br />she can look them over, menacing and sullen,<br />and curl to sleep with them. But all at once<br /><br />as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;<br />and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,<br />inside the golden amber of her eyeballs<br />suspended, like a prehistoric fly.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Rainer Maria Rilke</span>Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-64212046899597223462011-09-13T23:04:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:26:48.876+01:00The Wasp Factory by Iain BanksIf you were hoping for a manual on industrial buildings mass producing hymenopteran insects, then I’m afraid you will be disappointed. If you were looking for a novel which unrelentlessly grips you from page one, leaving you buzzing even long after you’ve finished, then please step up and enter-if you can bear it-the extraordinary private world of Frank, just sixteen and unconventional to say the least (Note: apparently I'm pretentious today).
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.iain-banks.net/lib/TheWaspFactory.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.iain-banks.net/lib/TheWaspFactory.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Top Five Things About The Wasp Factory The Book, (not “The Wasp Factory”, the factory) (or “The Wasp, Factory” about a young wasp named Factory):
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<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1.The Shock Factor</span>
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<br />The first and last thing you will always hear about The Wasp Factory is the spectacular way it offends, nauseates and unsettles the reader. With fiction like this, it’s helpful to think of the clichéd rollercoaster analogy. You simply have to accept it for what it is trying to do, because only then can you appreciate the ride; resist and you end up angry, sick and completely oblivious to the purpose of such an activity. Make no mistake-graphic animal abuse, child murder and a series of twists unlike any that you are unlikely to ever encounter again mean that this is no Space Mountain. It’s only once you dare to enter the world of sixteen year old, serial murderer Frank, and embrace it’s every facet, that you can really recognise the scope, creativity and originality of this novel.
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<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2.The Hypnotization </span>
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<br />Once you do enter the world of Frank, you’ll quickly find it difficult to leave. Even the blurb sold me.
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<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Two years after I killed Blyth, I murdered my young brother Paul, for quite different reasons and more fundamental reasons than I’d disposed of Blyth, and then a year after that I did my young cousin Esmeralda, more or less on a whim. That’s my score to date. Three. I haven’t killed anybody for years, and don’t intend to ever again. It was just a stage I was going through.”</span>
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<br />Enough said. Who wouldn’t want to find out why this sixteen year old was driven to murder? How he can be so nonchalant? How has he gotten away with it? How the murders were committed? Once the novel begins, we are faced with other questions. What drove Frank’s brother, Eric, insane? (Clue: you almost definitely won’t be able to guess). What is The Wasp Factory? Iain Banks unravels the mystery slowly and carefully, slapping the reader in the nose with a tremendous twist at the end.
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<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3.I <3 Frank
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<br />Frank is a lot like the protagonist of A Clockwork Orange, Alex. You don’t want to like him-you loathe the things that he does-but you just can’t help yourself. Frank is really nothing more than a bored, insecure and massively misinformed teenager, shaped by his label and fart obsessed father, absent mother, clinically insane brother and his own social isolation. His actions are in no way excusable, but we are pulled towards Frank, in spite of everything, because of his humanity and vulnerability. At one point lamenting “<span style="font-style:italic;">Looking at me, you’d never guessed I’d killed three people; it isn’t fair</span>” Frank displays characteristics of the average teenager. His moods range from low self-confidence, to fantastic self-assurance. His brother Eric is crazy, most certainly-but <span style="font-style:italic;">he</span> isn’t. Killing dogs for food is barbaric, but exploding rabbits with dynamite is a fine way to spend ones afternoon. Frank is a quintessentially flawed character-a cold sadistic killer, he is not, however much he would like to be. It is these insecurities and contradictions that drew me to Frank, and even (dare I say it) encouraged me to cheer him on. Just because he’s a psychotic murderer doesn’t mean you cant sympathise with him. I’m a strict vegetarian, yet I still think bacon smells amazing.
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<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4.The Twist…</span>
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<br />…is the very definition of a twist. One of those ones where you have to read the book a second time, to really allow the impact of the twist to sink in. A bit like Fight Club (which if you haven’t already seen, literally go and watch it NOW).
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<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5.The Impact</span>
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<br />Days after I finished the book, I was still thinking about it. The character of Frank, Eric’s traumatizing experiences, the grisly deaths of Paul, Blythe and Esmeralda, and the huge twist at the end...it's completely engrossing, in the same way that a car crash is-you want to look away, but find yourself unable to. This is a book that will stay with you. The attitude, tastes and tenacity of the individual reader decide whether this will be for better or for worse.
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<br />8/10
<br />Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-60402083712757107022011-08-24T22:38:00.002+01:002011-12-28T08:54:08.640+00:00Ozymandius by Percy ShelleyI am terrible at blogs, as much as I love them; not having updated in three weeks seems terrible but, unfortunately, pretty inevitable. I dont know why I am trying to reason with you, the internet, but I feel I need an excuse. To be fair, I've had RIOTS to deal with and I also got a job, the one which required excellent communication abilities. Not sure if I have those just yet, but here is a man who most definitely did. It's everybody's favourite Romantic poet that's not Wordsworth or Byron; that's right it's PERCY SHELLEY, or as he's known to his friends, Perky Shellfish.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://newteevee.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/5x16_statue_ruins.png?w=514&h=279"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 514px; height: 279px;" src="http://newteevee.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/5x16_statue_ruins.png?w=514&h=279" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ozymandias<br /></span><br />I met a traveller from an antique land<br />Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone<br />Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,<br />Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown<br />And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command<br />Tell that its sculptor well those passions read<br />Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,<br />The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.<br />And on the pedestal these words appear:<br />`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:<br />Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'<br />Nothing beside remains. Round the decay<br />Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,<br />The lone and level sands stretch far away".Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-73004729489548727742011-08-01T13:38:00.002+01:002011-12-28T08:53:39.321+00:00The Writer by Richard WilburSomething to inspire me as I struggle to think up potential answers for my interview tomorrow. They want "excellent communication abilities". So. Yikes, then.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.emobilez.com/wallpapers/data/media/255/grass_typewriter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="http://www.emobilez.com/wallpapers/data/media/255/grass_typewriter.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The Writer by Richard Wilbur</span><br /><br />In her room at the prow of the house<br />Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,<br />My daughter is writing a story.<br /><br />I pause in the stairwell, hearing<br />From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys<br />Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.<br /><br />Young as she is, the stuff<br />Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:<br />I wish her a lucky passage.<br /><br />But now it is she who pauses,<br />As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.<br />A stillness greatens, in which<br /><br />The whole house seems to be thinking,<br />And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor<br />Of strokes, and again is silent.<br /><br />I remember the dazed starling<br />Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;<br />How we stole in, lifted a sash<br /><br />And retreated, not to affright it;<br />And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,<br />We watched the sleek, wild, dark<br /><br />And iridescent creature<br />Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove<br />To the hard floor, or the desk-top,<br /><br />And wait then, humped and bloody,<br />For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits<br />Rose when, suddenly sure,<br /><br />It lifted off from a chair-back,<br />Beating a smooth course for the right window<br />And clearing the sill of the world.<br /><br />It is always a matter, my darling,<br />Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish<br />What I wished you before, but harder.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-74069101389768763642011-07-30T13:19:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:24:15.875+01:00Hey Nostradamus! by Douglas CouplandMy first thought as I started reading this book was "more things should have exclamation marks on the end"*. My second thought was "this is quite good actually".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.futurumbooks.com/contents/media/BIGHeyNostradamus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 380px;" src="http://www.futurumbooks.com/contents/media/BIGHeyNostradamus.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Top Five Things Which I Also Thought About This Book That You Might Find Interesting:<br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. The Story:</span> <br />Cheryl is a high school student, who has recently married Jason in a secret Vegas ceremony. A few days after, she is shot dead in a massacre at her school. The novel explores how a single day can irrevocably change the course of a life forever. Coupland demonstrates humour, subtlety and sensitivity in documenting the effect this tragedy on the character’s lives, over the years. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2.The Characters:</span> <br />The story is told through four different characters, at four different times. There is Cheryl, the final victim of a high school massacre whose absent minded scribblings (God is nowhere, God is now here) are taken vastly out of context by the media and who now speaks to us beyond the grave, Lovely Bones style. Ten years later we are introduced to Cheryl’s sweetheart Jason who is left to cope with the aftermath of the massacre, Cheryl’s death and his heroic actions at the scene being vastly taken out of context by the media. Next, we are faced with Heather, Jason’s girlfriend who has their relationship vastly taken out of context by a gold-digging psychic. Finally there is Reg, Jason’s father, whose sense of reality is taken vastly out of context by his extremist religious beliefs. <br />The first two characters, Cheryl and Jason, I found to be endearing, humorous, sympathetic representations. Towards the middle of the book though, it felt like Mr Coupland had run out of steam. Heather was by all accounts a pretty boring character, with not much to say for herself. It’s almost like the author realised this and threw a few “quirks” into her character (like her Muppet-style private jokes with Jason) to make her seem a bit more three-dimensional and likeable. Reg, the final character, was a clichéd religious zealot who sees the error of his ways after a stint in hospital. Thankfully, Heather’s chapter has an engaging plotline to it, which distracts from her dreary personality and Reg’s chapter is quite short. So it all works out for the best.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3.The Themes: </span><br />The story essentially explores the effect that the Columbine-esque massacre has on each of these characters; this is refreshing for the simple reason that this is often the side of tragedy that you don’t hear about, that doesn’t lay itself open to examination, because grief has evolved to be a solitary mental activity. And this is another aspect which the novel explores-the impact that is produced when this inherently personal reflection is propelled into the public arena by the media. There are misinterpretations and exaggerations, mimicking the media furore that was seen after Columbine**. On a broader note, the themes of death and loss reach into every part of the novel. The characters are essentially defined by their experience of loss, the entirety of their lives being shaped and moulded by one event that happens at the start of the novel. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4. The Humour:<br /></span>Some parts were ridiculous. I’ve only read one other Coupland novel before this-“Girlfriend in a Coma”-which featured an apocalypse at its climax, before the events of the novel were reversed and everything went back to normal. So I wasn’t exactly unprepared for some, more surreal, occurrences. At one such point, the protagonist Jason’s brother Kent dies. His brother’s wife asks Jason to impregnate her, as Kent was infertile and Jason, being his brother, has the same DNA as him. Jason agrees, but only if they get married in Vegas first. Oh also, when a friend notices them on the way to the chapel, Kent’s wife immediately murders him. As you do. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5.The Style: </span> <br />For a book with such deep themes, it’s incredibly simplistic in its writing, and this is a great asset. There’s nothing worse than a book which is highly meaningful and profound, but the writing style is so impenetrable that you come away from it uninterested, confused and frustrated (I’m looking at YOU, Moby Dick). If you are unemployed, bored and live in a country where it rains incessantly (I tick all three boxes) you could easily get through this is in a day. And what’s better than spending a day reading a good book? I don’t know, probably bungee jumping or something.<br /><br /><br />*******1/2 (That’s seven and a half stars out of ten).<br /><br />*<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westward_Ho!">Like this</a><br /><br />** Especially with regards to student Cassie Bernell who supposedly answered “yes” when asked by one of the killers if she believed in God, just before being shot. This exchange has later been disputed by witnesses and investigators.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-20182346687512562382011-07-29T21:21:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:23:24.478+01:00Young by Anne SextonThere has been a lot of complicated, nasty things happening lately. So here is a simple and sweet little poem. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Travel/Pix/pictures/2008/12/16/STars4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 276px;" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Travel/Pix/pictures/2008/12/16/STars4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Young by Anne Sexton<br /></span><br /><br />A thousand doors ago<br />when I was a lonely kid<br />in a big house with four<br />garages and it was summer<br />as long as I could remember,<br />I lay on the lawn at night,<br />clover wrinkling over me,<br />the wise stars bedding over me,<br />my mother's window a funnel<br />of yellow heat running out,<br />my father's window, half shut,<br />an eye where sleepers pass,<br />and the boards of the house<br />were smooth and white as wax<br />and probably a million leaves<br />sailed on their strange stalks<br />as the crickets ticked together<br />and I, in my brand new body,<br />which was not a woman's yet,<br />told the stars my questions<br />and thought God could really see<br />the heat and the painted light,<br />elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-89980576792031513212011-07-20T11:13:00.002+01:002011-09-25T21:20:29.685+01:00Don't Go Far Off by Pablo NerudaPablo is always good for a bit of heart-broken anguish.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/files.posterous.com/missymoody/2NQSji7TrTNYLOIC6AfmYZNzY1eyZo45kYWULDE2MvyRQlehBzg8MbbxAd93/please-do-not-go-tonight.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJFZAE65UYRT34AOQ&Expires=1316982237&Signature=%2BhuEzsQSFwzamH7s56Yzkw4UTDM%3D"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 500px;" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/files.posterous.com/missymoody/2NQSji7TrTNYLOIC6AfmYZNzY1eyZo45kYWULDE2MvyRQlehBzg8MbbxAd93/please-do-not-go-tonight.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJFZAE65UYRT34AOQ&Expires=1316982237&Signature=%2BhuEzsQSFwzamH7s56Yzkw4UTDM%3D" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Don't Go Far Off</span><br /><br /><br /> Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --<br /> because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long<br /> and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station<br /> when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.<br /><br /> Don't leave me, even for an hour, because<br /> then the little drops of anguish will all run together,<br /> the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift<br /> into me, choking my lost heart.<br /><br /> Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;<br /> may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.<br /> Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,<br /><br /> because in that moment you'll have gone so far<br /> I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,<br /> Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-43378211486647205492011-07-15T16:44:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:22:37.226+01:00The Good Man Jesus and The Scoundrel Christ by Phillip Pullman<span style="font-weight:bold;">The Good Man Jesus and The Scoundrel Christ</span><br /><br />Phillip Pullman’s latest venture is a re-telling of The New Testament that took me under a day to read (as opposed to The New Testament). <br />Don’t be put off by the title-there’s plenty to enjoy whatever your belief. I, personally, have no belief, except the belief that I don’t know enough to have any kind of belief and I liked it enough to give it 7 out of 10. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2010/03/31/article-1270063631187-08F17072000005DC-91301_304x474.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 304px; height: 474px;" src="http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2010/03/31/article-1270063631187-08F17072000005DC-91301_304x474.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Here are exactly five notable things about this book:</span><br /><br />1.<span style="font-weight:bold;"> The Story</span>: <br />If, like me, you were incredibly confused by the title and the blurb, allow me to clear this up. The novel is essentially a “what REALLY happened”; instead of Jesus Christ being one person, Pullman has split the character in two. We are now presented with Jesus, a strong, determined and impassioned preacher and his twin Christ. Christ is the opposite of Jesus, weak, intuitive and an overall relatively simple character who dedicates his life to documenting his brother’s activities (the finished product is implied to be the basis for The New Testament itself). Because the concept of twins as opposites isn’t exactly original, you could be forgiven for thinking that the rest of the story is this predictable. But Pullman manages to pull off a deep and complex narrative, with twists; not only twists of fate, but twists on a story which everybody in the Western world is so familiar with. <br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Humour:</span><br />There are some real comic turns which will probably make some people scream “blasphemy” whilst shaking their fist disapprovingly and/or write an angry review on Amazon.com that will earn them a “1 out of 184 people found this helpful”. At times it actually made me LOL (God, I hate that phrase). The scene depicting the twins’ anything-but-immaculate conception springs to mind; a voice coming from Mary’s window whispers “so sweet and so gracious, to have such eyes and such lips….”. Mary enquires about the gentleman caller, he claims he’s an angel sent to fertilize her, and Mary’s reaction is along the lines of “fair enough”. It’s this blatant naivety that is satirized by Pullman throughout the novel. Miracles are not really miracles, merely ingenuity and mistranslations. Pullman fully exposes the ridiculousness of these events and at times, all you can do is laugh.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Simplicity:</span><br />The minimalistic style mimics that of the Bible itself. It’s an extremely quick read, and even though there’s a lot to consider, you could probably get through it in a few hours because of the wonderfully reductionist prose. This simple approach is both a blessing and a curse. Barely any characters are developed beyond your original image of them. The disciples, Mary and Joseph, Mary Magdalene, John the Baptist and King Herod all appear but, apart from a few tweaks, they’re all pretty much what you’d expect. However, the character of Jesus makes a massive turn around towards the last few chapters; he decides to have a little sit down in the Garden of Gethsemane questioning the nature of faith and reason, the evils of church and state, finally concluding that God doesn’t exist. You know, those type of thoughts we all get from time to time, which often result in a SOLILOQUAY THAT GOES ON FOR TEN PAGES. My thoughts when I first read it-“1. This is very poetic and deep, but it’s going on a bit” 2. “Ohhh, THIS must be where all the character development was hiding.”<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Accessibility:</span> <br />One of the most appealing aspects of this novel is the fact that can be appreciated by a person of any faith (unless you’re one of those crazies that Louis Theroux always does shows about, in which case the only thing you’ll appreciate is if I dedicate my life to shooting homosexuals and Bibles out of cannons). Phillip Pullman is famously atheist, so I went into the book expecting an attack on God, Christianity, miracles, praying, faith crystals, yoga, fairies and Bigfoot, especially with comments describing the book as a “rebel scripture” (The Independent). If there is an attack here, it’s on organised religion and not on faith itself- but for the most part I felt like the story was the priority, and that the true meaning is left up to the interpretation of the individual reader. I think the beauty of a novel such as this one is that, like the blurb says, it is a “story about how stories become stories”; exploring the power of individual interpretation is essentially the novel’s purpose, rather than to provide another tired comment on religion.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Reviews:</span><br />I’m going to finish up on a bum note here. This book is reasonably enjoyable, quite thought provoking and most of all, superbly overrated. It is no way going to change your life or how you view the world, and it will most certainly not “want to make you put the book down and say “wow”” (Times Educational Supplement). It is not “Pullman at his very best” (Guardian)-for that you need to go and read His Dark Materials. I think because Pullman is an atheist and the book is focused on religion, providing an alternate series of events, critics have automatically seen it as an explosive and damning critique of religion and faith without bothering to really think about what’s being said. <br />This is a clever, mainly entertaining, sometimes philosophical read; it is by no means a divine read.<br /><br /><br />******* (That's seven stars out of ten)<br /><br />If you like these things, you might also like this thing:<br />Paulo Cohelho, Richard Dawkins, anything else from The Cannongate Myth Series.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-11265385130074162011-07-07T11:48:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:21:42.268+01:00Desert Places by Robert Frost<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKT5hzsH3EFQixgo04ZTBek4nc9OFUgHjY9is6vwKG_VCcGKy_anNQBLkd00buU5f-auRpUZAeRPt4Oq5SfMcpylpQQ_9X7VqSqOVaziO_AMpITdnH8a6cRPn-D7ZibM6byFWNezwfxyrk/s400/SnowyTrees.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 383px; height: 383px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKT5hzsH3EFQixgo04ZTBek4nc9OFUgHjY9is6vwKG_VCcGKy_anNQBLkd00buU5f-auRpUZAeRPt4Oq5SfMcpylpQQ_9X7VqSqOVaziO_AMpITdnH8a6cRPn-D7ZibM6byFWNezwfxyrk/s400/SnowyTrees.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Here's a bit of poetry while I write my next review. It's raining outside at the moment, I'm searching for jobs and everything is very dark and gloomy, so here is a dark and gloomy poem to fit the mood. <br /><br />Desert Places<br /><br />by Robert Frost<br /><br /><br />Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast<br />In a field I looked into going past,<br />And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,<br />But a few weeds and stubble showing last.<br /><br />The woods around it have it--it is theirs.<br />All animals are smothered in their lairs.<br />I am too absent-spirited to count;<br />The loneliness includes me unawares.<br /><br />And lonely as it is that loneliness<br />Will be more lonely ere it will be less--<br />A blanker whiteness of benighted snow<br />With no expression, nothing to express.<br /><br />They cannot scare me with their empty spaces<br />Between stars--on stars where no human race is.<br />I have it in me so much nearer home<br />To scare myself with my own desert places.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1760992214176392674.post-69427708276465062262011-07-05T21:33:00.001+01:002011-09-25T21:17:42.614+01:00"Kafka on the Shore" by Haruki Murakami********* (That's nine stars out of ten).<br /><br />I’m going to start this blog of mine with a review of a book that I simply and utterly loved. It’s called Kafka on the Shore by an author called Haruki Murakami. You might have heard of him before; he’s pretty much the best thing to come out of Japan since Godzilla and before Pokemon. (1) I stumbled upon him quite by accident, about a year ago, when I decided to read arguably his most famous work “Norwegian Wood”. I’m a massive Beatles fan, and despite the fact I usually only read books by people I’ve heard of (2), I thought I’d give it a bash. It was brilliant. And then I read Kafka on the Shore. It was amazing. And then I made some macaroni cheese for dinner. It was a bit too cheesy but, in general, was also very good. <br /><br /><br />If you like......Twin Peaks, Lost, Mulholland Drive, Labyrinths (Luis Borges), 100 years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez), The Third Policeman, At Swim Two Birds (Flann O’ Brien).......you might like this, but you know, don’t take my word for it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.paul-charles-smith.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/kafka.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 332px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.paul-charles-smith.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/kafka.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Things You Should Know About “Kafka on the Shore” (in no particular order):</span><br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Surrealism:</span> <br />And hence, the completely absorbing nature of the story itself. It shifts back and forth between two protagonists, one: a teenage boy (Kafka) running away from his home and his father to find himself. Yeah, we’ve heard it all before right? Only he’s actually running from an Oedipal prophecy which leads him to become bessies with a gay pre-op transsexual, oh, and he also falls in love with the ghost of a woman who isn’t actually dead yet. The other protagonist is an elderly man who encountered a UFO as a child which left him with the ability to talk to cats and summon fish from the sky, which then leads him on a quest to……well, it’s difficult to say, which leads me onto my next point. <br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Mysteries:</span> <br />At the beginning of this post, I compared Kafka on the Shore to Lost, and whilst they are similar in many ways-the surrealism, the bending of time and space, the shifting narratives, the flashbacks-they differ in the respect that an avid Lost fan had to sit through six series to find even half the answers to the questions the show had built up over it’s 8 years. It wont take you 8 years to read Kafka on the Shore (unless you are an incredibly slow reader, in which case I’d stop reading this immediately as it’s probably taken you several weeks to get this far) which is good, as the mysteries can all be solved with a bit of deep and abstract thought. Don’t expect any concrete or definite conclusions within the text, however; the not-knowing, the feeling that the answers are just out of reach, is part of the book’s appeal and everything depends on your own interpretation.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight:bold;">A bespoke genre:</span> <br />In case I haven't already implied it with my previous gushing, it was completely genre defying. Part murder mystery, part epic romance, part Greek tragedy, part comedic buddy story, part horror-it’s these constant shifts in the fabric of the story that made the book so addictive. I, personally, became wrapped up in the romance at the centre of the story (as I usually do, with any work of fiction, because I’m SUCH A BLOODY WOMAN) which was just bizarre and magical, but there are so many layers to this book, that there’s really something for everybody. Above the age of, let’s say, thirteen. Which brings me onto…..<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight:bold;">There is explicit sex and very explicit violence towards cute animals in this book so maybe just be prepared for all that: </span><br />My general view about both these things is that if it’s not necessary to the story, then it probably doesn’t need to be there,(3) because if I want to read graphic cringe worthy sex scenes, I’ll read a Mills and Boon novel.(4) In this case, the sex scenes, though relatively explicit, were written with sensitivity and were necessary for the story to progress; because the teenage protagonist Kafka is essentially on a quest to discover himself, sexual discovery must be included as part of this. The animal cruelty scene was horrific and needed to be. If there was a turning point in the novel that scene would be the main contender, and needed to be as horrendous and memorable as possible in order to motivate the characters and provide momentum to the narrative. If it’s still hard for you to swallow, please do remember that it is A WORK OF FICTION.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Characters:</span><br /> The characters are layered and genuinely likable. Both characters are so compelling, that once you get caught up in one narrative, it switches to the other-and the exact same thing happens. It’s a page turner with a capital PT. Basically if you like magic realism, fantasy, romance or horror, you will love this book. If you like excellent writing, superb characterization and a plot that will keep you completely involved and engrossed from page one, then you will love it too. There’s nothing more I can say, JUST READ IT WILL YOU.<br /><br />Footnotes:<br /><br />(1) I think that, in a way, the evolution of the Japanese portrayal of monsters reflects the portrayal of the Japanese culture itself-once a mysterious, fearsome and solitary beast that reacts aggressively when threatened, now a lovable, cute and quirky bunch that just want to be friends with everyone and explore the world, usually in groups of about 150 or more. <br /><br />(2) I do this because I figure that if it’s famous, it’s most likely a good enough read. Not true. I should probably think about changing this tactic at some point actually.<br /><br />(3) More on this when I review The Slap.<br /><br />(4) I actually love Mills and Boon.Roisinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14647708998930231225noreply@blogger.com0