Memorable Quote | ‘Fahrenheit 451’ by Ray Bradbury

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dystopian, fahrenheit 451, quotes, ray bradbury

Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy. Lord, there were a lot of lovely books once, before we let them go.

I love finding quotes like this. Bradbury has summed up beautifully that evasive smell of books that we all love so much. Anyone know of any parfumier’s who have succeeded in bottling it?

Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.

Top Ten Most Hated Books

Tags

Book Thief, Haunting of Hill House, janet fitch, Marcus Sedgwick, min jin lee, Shirley Jackson, white oleander

Recently I stumbled across a comment made by a reader of mine (Caroline Tien) who expressed, quite eloquently, her complete and utter disappointment of Janet Fitch’s ‘White Oleander’ (click here for comment, and scroll to bottom).  Now I love honest reviews of books and find it really refreshing when someone has the guts to say otherwise. I myself being a reader that prides herself on reading what is GOOD, not what is in vogue value that immensely. However I often find some readers simply join the herd and say how damn interesting it was, when it damn well wasn’t (*cough* 50shades *cough*).

Anyway, Caroline made some really valid points which, even though I could see and feel as I was reading it at the time, didn’t really disturb me much. But it obviously had a huge negative impact on her. She explained how Fitch ruined the story with her obsessive use of metaphors and melodrama. Among other things she touched upon the completely unlikable characters that portrayed women as unstable  nympho types (feminists unite!).

I can’t discount any of the above. It does exist in Fitch’s writing, and in huge helpings, but I personally loved all the metaphors and melodrama. But it got me thinking upon the REASONS people may love one book and completely dislike another. Like most bloggers in the blogopshere, I have my little collection of titles I love to loathe, which I simply do not get (regardless of how many times I’ve sat and tried to read) or because something about the thing offends me be it literary boo-boos or otherwise.

One blogger posted about how renowned author’s also have similar problems with certain books. My favourite is Ian Rankin’s rant, as it really struck a chord:

Ian Rankin, novelist

I haven’t ever wanted to hurl it to the floor, but I’ve started Midnight’s Children several times and been unable to get past the first 10 pages. Not sure why; it’s been a few years since I gave it a go . . . maybe time to try again! I loved Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men, but was told by author friends that Blood Meridian is his masterpiece. I tried it and couldn’t get halfway through. Just didn’t find it interesting. Also couldn’t finish The Road. How can a book be harrowing and pedestrian at the same time? Enjoyed The Hobbit as a teenager; gave up on The Lord of the Rings after about 30 pages

It’s so good to know I’m not the only one who HATES McCarthy (he’s so DRY) and that I’m not alone in thinking how inaccessible ‘On The Road’ was. Maybe I need to do a bit of hillbillying around the USA to get what it’s all about. I’m from the UK, we don’t really have coming-of-age-bumpkining-around novels… I fear the subject is all too remote for us.

But the sad thing about it is this; I seriously DO want to get these novels. They’re big and beautiful and highly respected. Being the only one who doesn’t get it makes me feel slightly dumb.

So, here is my inspired response to Caroline’s comment and a list of my top ten most hated books in no particular order and why. Enjoy!

1. Lost Souls – Poppy Z. Brite

Gratuitous violence, sex and gore; vampiric LGBT incest; characters who act without thinking; a plotless plot and eating of placenta’s… Lost Souls? I damn well think so! On the upside, there are oodles of Chartereuse drinking going on, which is about the only positive thing about this novel of vampire’s who have lived for so long that they don’t know what to do with themselves. If you have still NOT grown out of your teenage-ennui, then you might like this. Otherwise grown-ups stay well away!!

2. My Swordhand is Singing – Marcus Sedgwick

What could have been a good vampire novel that began to truly look around the geographical period of the times fell flat on its face with a very clichéd, stereotypical representation of the invading Turkish army. Why does this bother me? I’m sick and tired of writers representing my people as bloodthirsty barbarians who are a blight on the face of the earth. When are we ever going to see a good Turkish guy? Never it seems, because it’s just too easy (and safe) to call us the undesirable ‘other’. Do me a favour. Leave it. It’s been done to death, and I think people are getting the idea that it’s all bullshit anyway. Armies invade, they kill, they conquer. Everybody was doing it back in the day. Deal with it.

3. On Writing – Stephen King

… we were prescribed this book as required reading for our creative writing classes. I bought it, read it, and was extremely ANGRY. It was a complete waste of money and time as it was King ranting on about the time when he wiped his arse with nettle leaves when he was a boy, with several chapters thrown in about his near-fatal car accident. Very little to do with actual CRAFT of writing itself. It’s all hot-air and pompous reminiscing guys. Only buy if you truly want to read it for THAT purpose. You have been warned.

4. Free Food for Millionaires – Min Jin Lee

Don’t be fooled by the gorgeous cover. It’s a complete shambles. I love Eastern writers and writing, yet this debut novel by Korean author Min Jin Lee left a lot to be desired. Full of over-achieving young Korean characters who have all the opportunities in the world but fritter their time away feeling lost and lonely in the family and sexual relationships. All make characters were portrayed as nasty, and female ones – well, I couldn’t identify with. Avoid like the plague.

5. Woman in Black – Susan Hill

Works terrible as a novel, but could see the brilliance of it on the stage! The only scary bit was the moments describing the knocking sound in the nursery. For a more superior experience try Shirley Jackson’s ‘The Haunting of Hill House‘.

6. The Book Thief – Markus Zusak

Simply. Did. Not. Get. I dislike it when something as serious as WW2 is described in a trite, childish manner. This is the same reason why I didn’t enjoy ‘The Boy in Striped Pyjama’s’ so much either.

7. The Catcher in the Rye

One I’m ashamed to say I didn’t get either. Holden Caulfield’s immature rants failed to find a place of recognition in me. I’ve never been as petulant as all that. I think I’m seeing a pattern in my most disliked books. Most are centered around teen angst!

8. The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Required reading for our creative writing class (again), and only because our lecturer at the time was such a bloody fan of Kundera. He waxed lyrical about him. I failed to see the greatness of his prose. Very inaccessible. I prefer Borges. Any day.

9. Lost World

I disliked this novel so much. And made it very clear WHY. And have had a heated debate about the merits of Melo’s writing. You can read my thoughts about it in my review.

10. Spring Flowers, Spring Frost

So bad that it has put me off reading Kadare for life. I really didn’t know where the story was going, and lack of structure really puts me off. Story-writing is an art of blending ideas, thoughts and language. If after reading halfway through it I still can’t find anything of merit, then I give up. I also suspect that it was victim of a very bad translation. Too bad.

So there it is, my embarrassing list of dead-end novels. But at least now I feel better in knowing that even well-known writers have the same difficulties.

Related articles

• Book Review: 1984 (blueepicgeek.wordpress.com)
• The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time – Review (bookhad.wordpress.com)
• ‘Gone Girl’ most reviewed book of 2012 (kansascity.com)
• Fifty Shades of Grey crowned Book of the Year: ‘Mummy porn’ novel beats Clare Balding to top spot (dailymail.co.uk)
• Honour Among Thieves / Book Review (iamalienman.wordpress.com)
• Top Ten Tuesday: Book Blogs! (booksandreviews.wordpress.com)
• Miami Herald’s top 10 books of 2012 (miamiherald.com)

Literary Songs A-Z | C is for… ‘Catcher in the Rye’ by J.D. Salinger

Tags

Catcher in the Rye, Coming of age, guns n roses, Holden Caulfield, JD Salinger, literary songs, United States

The classic American ‘coming-of-age‘ novel ‘Catcher in the Rye‘ by J.D. Salinger is one of those books that leave me frustrated and slightly on edge. Holden Caulfield, the 16-year-old protagonist is an icon of teenage rebellion and angst. Now I’m well and truly past my teenage years I’m a little scared to relate with this strange boy who is caught in that in between stage of life.

So in honour of the novel here is Guns’n’Roses with their tribute ‘Catcher in the Rye’. Enjoy! Lyrics are below.

When all is said and done
We’re not the only ones
Who look at life this way
That’s what the old folks say
But every time I see them
Makes me wish I had a gun
If I thought that I was crazy
Well I guess I’d have more fun (Guess I’d have more fun)

Oooh, the Catcher In The Rye
Again Won’t let ya get away from him (Tomorrow never comes) It’s just another day… Like today
You decide
Cause I don’t have to
And then they’ll find
And I won’t ask you
At anytime
Or long hereafter
If the cold outside’s
As I’m imagining
It to be Oh, no

Lana nana na na na
Lana nana na nana
Ooh, the Catcher In The Rye Again
Won’t let ya get away from him (Tomorrow never comes)
It’s just another day… Like today
When all is said and done
We’re not the only ones
Who look at life this way
That’s what the young folks say
And if they’d ever change
As that reminds to say
But every time I see them
Makes me wish I had a gun
If I thought that I was crazy
Well I guess I’d have more fun
Cause what used to be’s
Not there for me
And ought to for someone That belongs… Insane… Like I do
Oh, no Not at all

On an ordinary day
Not in an ordinary way
All at once the song I heard
No longer would it play
For anybody
Or anyone
That needed comfort from somebody
Needed comfort from someone
Who cared To be Not like you
And unlike me

And then the voices went away from me Somehow you set the wheels in motion
That haunt our memories
You were the instrument
You were the one
How a body
Took the body
You gave that boy a gun

You took our innocence
Beyond our stares
Sometimes the only thing
We counted on
When no one else was there

Related articles

• US schools drop ‘Catcher in the Rye, ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ from curriculum… (telegraph.co.uk)
• So Long, Holden (slate.com)
• Classics “To Kill a Mockingbird”, and “Catcher in the Rye” to be Banned in Schools (dvorak.org)
• The Catcher in the Rye (dihs2011reading.wordpress.com)
• J.D. Salinger, Famous Recluse (introducingcitr.wordpress.com)
• Filming Catcher (introducingcitr.wordpress.com)
• Catcher in the Rye is dropped as pupils get insulation guide instead (thetimes.co.uk)

Writer’s Journal | Notes About a Small Island, The Novel as Seedling (1)

Tags

cyprus conflict, notes about a small island, novel, once upon a time in cyprus, poltical, short story, writers journal, writing

 … How the story fell upon my mind, and refused to leave…
… And grew into a thorny briar patch…
… Demanding to be told…

Years ago I had an idea for a novel. It struck me one day when I was doing something quite normal. Maybe I was washing the dishes, maybe I was taking a walk, but it was during one of those moments when your body is in autodrive and your mind elsewhere.

The story began with: ‘Why hasn’t anyone written about this before?’ At first, the question was small, a pin-prick in the brain. But later I realised it was in fact an old, dull ache born from an event of systematic racial intolerance that subsided and was later left to stew slowly in a stagnant mire of political and personal gain. It’s a well known fact that people get used to things they shouldn’t, things like pain, hunger and even death. Of course, this had nothing to do with those things, but harboured within it the traces of such suffering and was seeking justice to its burnt pride. It offered me its tangled skein of problems and asked me to listen to the voices therein.  

Writing a story is hard enough, but giving a story the justice it deserves 
requires phenomenal talent. All I had at my possession was an above average passion for books and an appreciation for the written word. So it was here I began my search, between dusty pages and forgotten tomes, for remnants of the question. I racked my brains, trying to come up with a book, a film, a play, anything that was a half-decent attempt to portray this neglected area of history. I was to my dismay, met by silence and denial.

Art had next to nothing in its vast repertory that was a study of the country, its people or their history. Any accounts were abridged version of events written predominantly by outsiders. I poured over military documents, political correspondence, ‘eyewitness’ accounts, but all were sterile, too neutered to be  a faithful representation of events. The question pulsed its’ red light, ‘Something is missing, something is wrong’. Yes, I could see it now. Something was missing. It was the absence of the hand-over-the-heart, the honesty, the coming-clean. It was the absence of the voices in the skein, those who could still recount the past on the rough-hewn syllables of their mother-tongue.   

This silence, this absence was denial and it issued from a particular political ilk that championed democracy and fairness, but was (as the indelible ink of history would have it) the very demon that fanned the embers of racism. 

For months I thought about this, and an anger welled up inside me. There were so many stories to tell, so many versions; the culmination of which would be the chorus to break this unreasonable silence. These stories weren’t in any 
historical books or anthologies, instead they existed as fables of old did: on the dying breath of story-telling. No one ever thought of recording it in print. My family is one of the rare ones that still talk about that time, talk about it in its ugly glory. Through them I saw what the question really wanted: the grassroots of the problem. It wanted the events as it happened, the series of cause and effect as it unfolded under the relentless glare of the mediterranean sun. It wanted the chorus of voices, each unique yet the same in their own ways to merge with the elements of a small island on that day on June 1974, and sing their deafening cicada song to a world who would rather forget them. 

Men and women now in their eighties had faced the ugly, mindless wrath of war. Some had seen things that had pushed them to murder, madness and suicide. Others did things for country and religion that they carry around with them today like a guilty sin. People went missing, whole villages were razed to the ground. There were the tortured with some still alive to tell the tale. There was an artillery bullet through the hipbone of a five-year old girl, four years in hospital clamped together by metal because of metal and a lifetime (a half-life) confined to wheel-chairs.

Yet after three decades people are trying to build a future for themselves, free from the horror and shame of their near-past. But the skyscrapers and the luxury villas, the five-star hotels and expensive shopping malls are not bringing any comfort. Money is a temporary panacea. It does not fill the strange void, the gaping alienation of a nation. The bones of the dead, the eternally silenced, push at the foundations of these new-fangled buildings. At night, the dreams of the new, forgetful generation are troubled from the tremors of their ancestors shuddering in unmarked graves. It is like the hum of a coming earthquake, a deep guttural unearthly hum. It’s a rule: no one can build a future by burying the past. The truth will out. And it is the charge of a writer to tell the truth, the way it needs to be told.

All the above, in all its straight and flowery language fell upon my mind in a matter of minutes, yet took months to spool out into its full-length. Thought moves fast, and one thought follows another at lightning speed until you have a many-headed hydra; reason upon reason to tell a story, to strengthen the validity of it in the world.

As I said, this idea for a novel happened years ago, and I still wrestle with it. I write almost daily, but there is so much to write. It began with a people and a particular moment in their quiet yet complex history, but has extended to the rocks and the seas and the wind. I used to listen to people recounting the history of their personal lives during that time, but now I find everything in the hum of the earth, and all the silent souls it bears inside it.

Teaser Tuesday | ‘Octopussy and The Living Daylights’ by Ian Fleming

Tags

ian fleming, meme, teaser tuesday

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

This week the spotlight is on an Ian Fleming classics, ‘Octopussy and The Living Daylights’. I’m not a big fan on espionage thrillers, but since this clocks in at about just over 100 pages I thought I’d give it a try. And it’s turning out to be quite good. Here’s a tidbit from pg. 007 (and no, I didn’t pick the page number on purpose. It was totally random!)

“Part of Major Smythe’s mind took in all these brilliantly coloured little ‘people’, but today he had a job to do and while he greeted them in unspoken words – ‘Morning, Beau Gregory’ to the dark-blue demoiselle sprinkled with bright-blue spots, the ‘jewel’ fish that exactly resembles the starlit fashioning of a bottle of Worth’s ‘Vol de Nuit’; ‘Sorry. Not today sweetheart,’ to a fluttering butterfly fish with false black ‘eyes’ on it’s tail and, ‘You’re too fat anyway, Blue Boy’,’ to an indigo parrot fish that must have weighed a good ten pounds – his eyes were searching for only one of his ‘people’ – his only enemy on the reef, the only one he killed on sight, a scorpion fish.”

This is taken from ‘Octopussy’; just one of the short stories in this collection. I love how Fleming evokes the colours and brings the tropical paradise to life. At a time where the Bond films (to my opinion) aren’t living up to expectations, it might be well worth a visit to the original stories that made it what it is.

Wondrous Words Wednesday | Radicarian Rushdie II

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salman rushdie, wondrous words wednesday

 

Wondrous Words Wednesday is a weekly meme hosted by BermudaOnion at Bermudaonion’s Weblog where we get to share new words that we’ve encountered in our reading. Anyone can join in!

Welcome to part deux of the rather too-prolonged exploration into Rushdie’s prodigious vocabulary. This time I offer radicarian oddities that revolve around ‘hearing’. Yes, the protagonist in ‘Midnight’s Children’ (see my progress/ thoughts on the book here and here) has lost his Professor X abilities as clairvoyant but finally gained a sense of smell. Our Saleem now has an olfactory system that would make Suskind’s Grenouille go green with envy! Here are my latest wordly gems:

1. Orotund – “the orotund emissions of power” (the smell coming from the exhaust of a bus to Saleem has a ’rounded’ shape…)

adj 1. (of the voice) resonant; booming
2. (of speech or writing) bombastic; pompous [from Latin phrase ore rotundo with rounded mouth]

2. Effluvia – “the competitive effluvia of the bus-drivers”

n. pl. ef·flu·vi·a (-v–) or ef·flu·vi·ums
1. A usually invisible emanation or exhalation, as of vapor or gas.
2. a. A byproduct or residue; waste.b. The odorous fumes given off by waste or decaying matter.
3. An impalpable emanation; an aura.

3. Itr – “mosques poured over me the itr of devotion”
Means ‘very pure fragrance/ perfume’. This is one of the foreign words Rushdie uses to pepper his narrative. I think it might be of Arabic origins.

I think it’s hard to choose a favourite from these three. But Effluvia is probably the most beautiful sounding word with the most nasty meaning. I’ve made up my mind to use itwhen talking about people I don’t like. Think about it, instead of saying ‘so and so smells like crap’, you could be a little more elegant and say ‘He has an effluvial scent about him’. Sounds more elegant, and with a bit of luck, no one will really know what you’re talking about!

Teaser Tuesday | ‘White Oleander’ by Janet Fitch

Tags

janet fitch, teaser tuesday, white oleander

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

Yay! I’m back (again), and have an excellent book to do a teaser from. I found it really hard coming up with my two sentences because EVERY SENTENCE in this book absolutely aches with beauty. So here is my latest read ‘White Oleander’ by Janet Fitch, pg. 1:

“The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shrivelling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves.”

Reading this is absolute heaven. I don’t want it to ever finish, which is why I’m taking it very slowly. It’s full of magical wordsmithery. Very highly recommended. I think this might be the first book of 2011 to get the five stars from me.

Problems with Colloquialisms? Here’s the Solution… | Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

Tags

colloquialism, Indian literature, midnights children, salman rushdie, translation

When I began reading Rushdie’s ‘Midnight’s Children’ back in November, I knew I was in for a bit of a culture shock and braced myself for the slew of foreign words that often pepper Eastern narratives. Personally, I don’t mind the odd foreign word that pops up every now and then. In fact it’s great to learn a few words in a different language and it adds colour and texture to the text. And anyway, if I don’t know the word I can usually suss it out through the context of the sentence.

Also reading Rushdie wasn’t as hard as I thought it might be, and the words he did throw out were all somewhat familiar (despite variations in spellings), but I only realised how inaccessible the book could be for an audience with no knowledge of basic Arabic. One fellow blogger in particular Adam (roofbeamreader) pointed this out to me. I have since looked on the internet for some kind of source (apart from free translation websites) and discovered a really cool glossary someone created specifically for ‘Midnight’s Children’.

Anyone wanting to read this book, but is concerned they might be alienated by the language will be able to look up the meanings from here. In fact, it might be a good idea to print it off and have it with you while you read.

Here are some of my favourite words from the book and their meanings:

Bombay-duck/bombil

A type of salt-water fish

Chapat

a slap. This is real Bombay slang

Funtoosh

Finished, disappear, excellent, etc..

Rakshasa

goblin, demon, evil spirit

Shiv-lingam

Shiva is one of the gods in the Hindu trinity (Brahma-Vishnu-Shiva), in the divine division of labor Shiva is sometimes the destroyer, sometimes the creator. A Shiv-lingam is black rock representing Shiva’s penis, worshiped as the source of his creativity.

 

Wallah

is almost like the word “smith” as used in English last-names. It can sometimes be appended to one’s last name to reflect the hereditary profession, in common parlance it simply means “one who is engaged in”.

Wondrous Words Wednesday (8/12) | Getting Radicarian with Rushdie

Tags

meme, midnights children, salman rushdie, wondrous words wednesday

Wondrous Words Wednesday is a weekly meme hosted by BermudaOnion at Bermudaonion’s Weblog where we get to share new words that we’ve encountered in our reading. Anyone can join in!

First things first, I am extremely proud of myself right now, as I have finally been able to use my adopted word for the first time in a meaningful way (points above to title). Second things second, my ‘radicarian’ ways have now been directed towards  Salman Rushdie’s wonderfully exotic prose  as I’m having the greatest pleasure of reading ‘Midnight’s Children’ right now. My vocabulary is benefitting enormously from his colourful language. Here are my finds so far:

1. Fustian 
   a. A coarse sturdy cloth made of cotton and flax.
   b. Any of several thick twilled cotton fabrics, such as corduroy, having a short nap.
   c. Pretentious speech or writing; pompous language.
2. Eccrine
   a. Relating to an eccrine gland or its secretion, especially sweat.
   b. Exocrine.
3. Apocrine
   a. (of exocrine glands) producing a secretion in which part of the secreting cell is released with the secretion; “mother’s milk is one apocrine secretion”
4. Piscine
   Of, relating to, or characteristic of a fish or fishes.
5. Declension
   1. Linguistics
   a. In certain languages, the inflection of nouns, pronouns, and adjectives in categories such as case, number, and gender.
   b. A class of words of one language with the same or a similar system of inflections, such as the first declension in Latin.
   2. A descending slope; a descent.

My favourite is ‘piscine’. Reminds me of the French lessons we used to take back in school. If you’ve come across any odd words today, please share!

Teaser Tuesday (7/12) | ‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie

Tags

meme, salman rushdie, teaser tuesday

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers!

Greetings book addicts. After a bit of a hiatus I’m back posting my Teaser Tuesday posts. This week my chosen text is ‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie; the read-along challenge I have been participating in. This monster of a book looks scary, but is great fun once you get into the groove of things. ‘Midnight’s Children’ has many twists and turns. Saleem’s imperfect narrative is also full of many colourful characters that come alive on the pages. If you loved ‘The God of Small Things’ by Arundhati Roy, then you’ll like this one too. My teaser sentences are from page 145:

“To understand just one life, you have to swallow the world. I told you that.” 

In brief, the story is about a young man, Saleem Sinai; whose birth, life and death are inextricably connected to the history of India. He calls himself ‘yoked to history’, as he discovers that he is one of the 1001 ‘midnight’s children’ who were born at the stroke of midnight; the very moment of India’s Independence from British rule. His parent’s realise he is a special child, but they live in ignorance of who he actually is, and the extraordinary powers he inherited due to the circumstances of his birth.

The teaser is short and sweet, but it kind of sums up the whole book. If you ever get a chance to read it, you’ll know why.