The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Benjy mouse and Frankie mouse

http://fuckyeahdouglasadams.tumblr.com 

About 15 minutes before the earth goes kaput, Ford Prefect (an alien who got stuck on earth for 15 years disguised as an actor but in truth was a researcher for the eponymous electronic book "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) survives this imminent doom along with Arthur Dent (an ordinary earthling who had a miserable Thursday  because his house is about to be bulldozed to make way for a "bypass"). They hitchhiked on a Vogon spacecraft, got busted and was sent for torture by way of Vogon Poetry (known to be the 3rd worst in the universe). They were soon spat out into space to die but was saved by "The Heart of Gold" a second too early before they asphyxiate in deep space. Inside the spacecraft they met Trillian (the second earthling spared from the destruction and was actually some girl Arthur fancied at a party), Marvin (a manically depressed robot) and Zaphod Beeblebrox (a two-headed, three-armed guy, elected president of the Galaxy who was actually on the run with The Heart of Gold and is also Ford Prefect's semi-half-cousin, and the guy who went off with Trillian at the party where Arthur was in). On board the stolen space craft they headed for the mythical "Magrathea" a place where planets are made and was actually in sleep for 5 million years. A series of misadventures took place, odd characters pop out, each turn of events were unpredictable adding up to the thrill and excitement to this interstellar adventure written by Douglas Adams. 

Zaphod Beeblerox, a two-headed, 3 limbed president of the Universe

I hold a very old copy of this book whose cover carried a hint of this absurd tale. It was a college friend who told me about it. Apple (that's her) proclaimed it as the funniest book she's ever read, holding out this itty book with scant pages like an educator holding out flashcards to a class of kindies. We were in college and none of her deadpan voice, her nondescript face or her freakishly tall height ( I think she was a six footer doing a bit of modelling on the side) connotes the person I have come to love and adore. We were puffing our nth cigarrette, my mouth was dry and tasted like a horrible compost from sucking in smoke of dead leaves (she has this thing of using them as a bookmark, she'd massage them to a fine roll and flatten its tip before lighting them), it was another afternoon spent talking about books, movies, music, poetry and stuff. She's already talked about Douglas Adams, Micheal Moorcock, Herman Hesse and I was all ears, feeling a bit like an obscure art form to this cool chic who used to hate me ("You walk and talk like someone who swallows shit" the best translation of her words I can come up with) but now ditched her classes (and soon failing them) just to spend time with me. By Apple's recommendation, I searched for this book hoping to enjoy it as much as she did. I fished an old edition sold cheap at SM Booksale. I was oblivious to its humor, lost amidst the nerd talk. What can you make out of a book that tells you that mice are hyperintelligent pandimensional beings (hyperintelligent what?) or that the earth was a product of the mythical "Magrathea", that towels are the "most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have"? and finally The Answer to Life, Universe and Everything is "42"? It was some geek culture I didn't want to be involved in. I'd rather bust my brains out with Marquez or Kundera or a bit of Nietzsche. It all seemed like a joke with a horrible stripe to it. Ha-ha. I read it again after years of neglect. 

Yes, I read it again and it was wonderfull. 

A Vogon reading a Vogon Poetry as a means of torture 

Beautiful illustrations can be found here 

http://jonathanburton.net/The-Hitchhiker-s-Guides

Snippets: 

"The world is about to end." Arthur gave the rest of the pub another wan smile. The rest of the pub frowned at him. A man waved at him to stop smiling at them and mind his own business. 

"This must be Thursday," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer. "I never could get the hang of Thursdays." 

*** 

"He slumped against the wall again and carried on the tune from where he left off. 

"You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelguese, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space, that I really wished I'd listen to what my mother told me when I was young. 

"Why, what did she tell you?"

"I don't know, I didn't listen." 

"Oh" Ford carried on humming. 

"This is terrific," Arthur thought to himself, "Nelson's Column has gone, McDonald's has gone, all that's left is me and the words Mostly Harmless. Any second now all that will be left is Mostly Harmless. And yesterday the planet seemed to be going on so well. 

A motor whirred. 

A slight hiss built into a deafening roar of rushing air as the outer hatchway opened onto an empty blackness studded with tiny, impossibly bright points of light. Ford and Arthur popped into outer space like corks from a toy gun."

***
The mice bristled. 
"Well, I mean, yes an idealism, yes the dignity of pure research, yes the pursuit of truth in all its forms, but there comes a point I'm afraid where you begin to suspect that if there's any real truth, its that the entire multidimensional infinity of the Universe is almost certainly being run by a bunch of maniacs. "

The Recital, June 21, 2013

The recital which I have been planning since the beginning of this year finally took place last Friday, June 21, 2013. A good date since June 21 marked the exact date that I arrived in Brunei 6 years ago (a coincidence which I happen to realize later on) so what better way to commemorate the day that I took the courage to accept a job offer overseas at 24 than to hold a recital, right? The event featured some of my outstanding students (to my standard, at least) as young as 6 years old with repertoires of standard Baroque, Classical, Romantic and 20^th Century music. Although it has been a very busy week (or month) for both me and my students (there was a pedagogy class in KL on the 15^th, violin exams last May, Malaysian Youth Music Festival in September and my students had school exams and tons of other things that proved to be more important than attending violin classes) it was a well-applauded night and everyone was unforgettable with his or her own performance. It was a modest event held at Expression Music, Brunei. We cleared out my boss’s office, set the glass wall aside and dragged her Steinway to a suitable corner and voila! a stage. Present during the recital were parents, some of my students’ friends and some more students whom I insist to watch. 

The soloists: Evan Chiam (Cossack Dance, Onn Jia Yi (Gypsy Rondo), Andrei Skinner (Fiddle Time Runners), Ruby Lim (Seitz Concerto No. 3), Zhi Yi (Fiddle Time Joggers), Kayla Ho (Winter, Etude, La Cinquantaine, Yu Shian, Etc.. 

The Advanced Players: Yolanda (Spring 1st and 3rd movement), May Cho (Summer 1st and 3rd Movement), Shian Li Chiam (Winter, 2nd and 3rd Movement) all are violin concerto's by Antonio Vivaldi 

A Group performance of Paldini's Theme and Variation.

To end the night with a bang, Wolgang Amadeus Mozart's Rondo alla Turca arranged for 3 violins and a piano by Benjamin Zamora, III

All photos are by our drums teacher, Arthur John Menguito 

Black Swan Green by David Mitchell

After weeks of deciding whether to finish reading David Mitchell’s “Black Swan Green” or not, I’ve finally reached its final chapters with both relief and palpable sadness. Weird. I don’t usually hold on to books for more than 3 weeks. But I’ve warmed up to this book’s central character which drew a not-so-new story but is still a brainchild of one of the greatest contemporary writers. In the midst of violins exams, pedagogy classes and violin recitals, I kept Black Swan Green safely tucked in my bag for work or as I travel, with hopes of not wanting it to be an “unfinished affair” with its author. It would’ve been sacrilege, really.

I remember buying this book during my short trip back to the Philippines in October of 2012. Among the 10 others which I hand carried back to Brunei (God, I even took this with me during my month-long trip wintering in the UK).

The story is about this 13-year old boy, Jason Taylor, who (like Mitchell himself) suffers a stammer which makes him quite an odd kid and a favourite bug bear for village prats. He is not popular (but, mind you, he is a published poet under spurious name Eliot Bolivar) and he gets tormented on a daily basis. And to make things worse, his parents are on the brink of a breakup. The story may seem like an-all-too-written-of, coming-of-age genre, in fact, it is. But again, what’s so special about this book is Mitchell’s obvious literary gift; he dazzles his readers with such fine and subtle prose that seems to sing out of the pages plus the fact that it is semiautobiographical, one can’t help but sympathize with both Jason Taylor and David Mitchell. I have come to like the introspective way of writing. One will come to experience the deep-seated struggles of a stammerer – their complicated way of uttering even the simplest of words or sentences; which consonants triggers The Hangman and which words would catapult him into fame by school misfits. The story took place in the year 1982 during the Thatcher Era. One will find out about the Falkland’s war, I think David Mitchell is well-equipped with so much repainted sceneries that mirrors England during the cold war.

The truth is, I didn’t like the book (nor would I say that I hated it). It just didn’t work for me as did his other works like Cloud Atlas (which delved away from the traditional novel genre), or the beautiful literary landscape of his “The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet”, the surreal, creative mess that was “Number9 Dream”, this was like a walk down a bleak and muddy village in the midst of war, a firsthand narrative of a tormented schoolboy in a village threatened by gypsy settlement and a family on the verge of collapse. Although there were interesting characters, they were not given enough time to develop like Madame Crommelynck, who happens to be the daughter of composer Vyvyan Ayrs the composer mentioned in Cloud Atlas (their discussion of life and poetry were quite interesting) or the old lady from that freaky house in the woods who nursed his broken ankle in a skating incident or his cousin Hugo. Among the 13 chapters (the book covers a whole year in the life of Jayce) it is only during its last 3 chapters that his life turns on a better promise. By its penultimate chapter, I was breathing in atoms of its happy and uplifting ending.

One will find himself in the person of Jason; his village life full of mischief, the bitter phase of being an easy pick by village spooks and of course through his tragic flaws.

I especially liked the way David Mitchell recreates this era through the songs. At some point it’s like Stephen Chbosky’s “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” where I ended up listening to its central character’s choice of songs. With Black Swan Green, I ended up with an awesome 80’s-inspired soundtrack. “Stand and Deliver” by Adam and the Ants blares out from the speakers as I write this now. Donna Summer’s “I feel Love”, John Lennon’s “Number9Dream”, the Locomotion, Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ “Come on Eileen”, Spandau Ballet.

“Right now. That’s what freaks me. I dip my fountain pen into a pot of ink, and a Wessex helicopter crashes into a glacier in South Georgia. I line up my protractor on an angle in my Maths book and a Sidewinder missile locks onto a Mirage III. I draw a circle with my compass and a Welsh Guard stands up in a patch of burning gorse and gets a bullet through his eye. How can the world just go on, as if none of this is happening?”  

 “Shadows passed the frosted-glass window as teachers rushed to the staff room to smoke and drink coffee. Joking, moaning shadows. Nobody came into the storeroom to get me. The entire third year’d be talking about what I’d done in the Metalwork, I knew. The whole school. People say your ears burn when people’re talking about you, but I get a hum in the cellar of my stomach. Jason Taylor, he didn’t, Jason Taylor, he did, oh my God really he grassed who off? Writing buries this hum. The bell went for the end of break and the shadows passed by in other direction. Still nobody came.” (p. 262)

June 24, 2013

TIOBE by Oscare Wilde

The characters:

John Worthing

Algernon Moncrieff

Rev. Canon Chasuble

Merriman, butler

Lane, Manservant

Lady Augusta Bracknell

Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax

Cecily Cardew

Miss Prism, Governess 

THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST 

A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR SERIOUS PEOPLE 

Act I

The opening scene of the story is of a conversation between Algernon (the man of the house) and his manservant, Lane. The conversation was nothing profound as Mr. Algernon isn’t much of a man with a deeper insight on things. They hold a conversation on “the deep science of life” as compared  to cucumber sandwiches and of the kind of wine served under married households (that it is rarely of a first-rate brand). Then enters Jack (Mr. Ernest Worthing) who, fresh from the country, notices the cucumber sandwiches and tea cups on the table. Algy informs him that they are for Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen who are coming over that very afternoon. Jack was delighted upon knowing this as he himself planned on proposing to Miss Fairfax (Gwen). Algy, however, was less enthusiastic about this and so was Aunt Augusta who disapproves of the way Gwen and Jack flirted with each other in a “perfectly disgraceful” way. For Algy, a proposal only ends all the excitement and the romance in a relationship. Mr. Worthing, in a off-handed manner, tells him that it’s basically why The Divorce Court was invented. The man of the house then tells him the very reason why he is so against Mr. Worthing’s idea of proposing to Miss Fairfax (who is after all his first cousin). A cigarette case with an inscription of a person’s name was brought up. Algy asks him who Cecily was. Mr. Worthing tells him that she is actually an aunt who lives at Tunbridge Wells. A little sceptical, Algy asks him why his Aunt calls herself “Little Cecily” as the inscription read “From Little Cecily with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack” and why she calls her nephew (Mr. Worthing) “ Uncle Jack” and first and foremost why she calls him Jack when in fact his name is Ernest, Ernest Worthing. Mr. Worthing (or Jack, whatever) bungles for an answer and begs for the cigarette case to be handed back to him. He then admits that his name is actually Jack not Ernest. Mr. Worthing, annoyed with the flush of questions, accuses Algy for being a dentist “ My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you are a dentist. It is very vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist.”  and a Bunburyist (Bunbury is Algy’s invented person for the sole purpose of avoiding his Aunt Augusta).

Lady Bracknell arrives with Miss Fairfax. The sandwiches were offered but alas! There was no sign of cucumbers in it! But it didn’t matter to Lady Bracknell. She asks Algy to join her for dinner with Mary Farquhar but of which he had to turn down as his “friend” Mr. Brunbury is very ill (by this time we know that there was no such person and that he was only saying this to avoid the company of his Aunt and the lady she mentioned. Wink). Despite Aunt Augusta’s commanding presence and ceaseless chatter, Gwen and Jack (or Ernest) managed to snuck in a word or two with each other and like lovers trying to escape Aunt Agatha’s notice expressed their love for each other with crushing passion.

Jack: You really love me, Gwendolen?

Gwen: Passionately!

Gwen, at the height of her inspiration from all the mush told Ernest that she has been in love with him before she met him. That she was destined for a man named Ernest and that when Algernon told her about him, she knows she was destined to love him. Ernest, how she loves the ring of that name, that it is a divine name, how it seems to have “a music of its own”, that it produces vibrations! A bit worried, Mr. Worthing asked her if she would love him less if his name wasn’t Ernest but (consider) Jack. But Gwen would here none of it as she thinks that “Jack” lacks the thrill, the music, the vibration unlike “Ernest”. Not wasting anymore breath, Jack/Ernest proposed to her of which Gwen’s only answer was: Of course I will, my darling.

Lady Bracknell’s entrance killed the moment, however. Enraged at the public display of affection, she asks the genuflect Ernest to rise! Gwendolen calls her off saying that she should leave since she holds no concern on this matter and that Ernest has not quite finished .... proposing. This angered Lady Bracknell. Furious, she asked Gwen to wait at the carriage and held Mr. Worthing in an interrogation. Does he smoke? How old he is,  what is the nature of his income,  of any houses with how many bedrooms he has, about the kind of politics he’s in, an inquiry about his parents. Here he confides to Lady Bracknell that he has lost both of his parents and that he was actually a found baby. As if the latter information isn’t enough to leave Lady Bracknell gobsmacked, he tells her that he was found inside a hand-bag in the cloak room at the Victoria Station. Aunt Agatha tells him that he must call on a person of certain relation to him, along with a parent (from either sex) before the end of the season. She left him in his frustrations.

Act II

In a garden with roses in full bloom, one will find Miss Prism and Cecily working on her German class under the shade of a large yew tree. Their conversation was about how she doesn’t find interest in learning the German language and of how Cecily’s Uncle (Jack) insists that she must do well at it. Then enters Algernon introducing himself Ernest, Cecily’s cousin.  Meanwhile, Miss Prism, who took a walk with Dr. Chasuble to ease out her nagging headache, came across Mr. Worthing. Surprised at his unexpected visit and the unmistakable grief in his countenance (mourning clothes), the governess asked him what brought him over to the country sooner than expected. Mr. Worthing, feigning sadness breaks the news that his dear brother died of a sever chill in Paris and wished to be interred there. At the house, Cecily informs her Uncle Jack (in a giddy kind of way) that his brother (Ernest Worthing, in the person of Algernon) is here for a visit. Shocked at the news (after his recent story of his death with Dr. Chasuble and Miss Prism) he then storms into the room to be even more shocked to find Algernon in the guise of his (supposed to be dead) brother. Everyone, with the exception of Jack and Algy (who can’t stop calling him John), exits the room quite pleased to find both brothers in reconciliation. Jack orders him to leave the soonest but Algy won’t hear it since he is in love with Cecily. What Algy found out later, as he was trying to bade farewell to the lovely Cecily, was the fact that he and Cecily were actually engaged last February 14. She showed him the letters they’ve exchange for over 3 months now. Although the engagement was broken off, seeing him in person has done so much for Cecily. After all, he is Ernest. Just the sound of that name seemed to inspire absolute confidence in her. Rather taken aback, Algernon asks her if she would love her just the same if his name wasn’t “Ernest” but, say, Algernon. Cecily tells her that she can only respect him yet not devote an undivided attention (if his name is Algernon not Ernest). At this point of the story, both the conniving Jack and Algy intends to go to the rector (Dr. Chasuble) with the intention of being baptised as “Ernest”.  Miss Fairfax pays a visit to Ernest (Jack) and finds Cecily instead whom she mistook as his guardian. Quite relieved to hear this (since the sight of the young and lovely Cecily under the house of her beloved Ernest has struck a certain jealousy on her part) she tells her how she likes her in a sisterly kind of way. But Gwen couldn’t contain her shock once Cecily told her that she (Cecily) is actually engaged with Ernest and she has her journal written 10 minutes earlier to prove it. At this point, both women under the confounded notion of being engaged under the same Ernest (although we all know that it was Algy and Jack) sorority war ensues. The presence of Merriman and a footman causes them to delay it and they engaged instead in giving snide remarks about each other. Ernest appears right in the thick of things (the Ernest who is Uncle to Little Cecily and is Jack to Gwendolen). No sooner than things get interesting another Ernest enters, offering a kiss to Cecily (this is Algernon). Gwendolen tells Cecily that this guy is not Ernest but in none other than her cousin, Algernon Moncrieff! Realizing the misunderstanding of mistaken identities regarding which Ernest, both women reconciled. At this point, Jack was at pains in revealing the truth to both ladies that he has no brother named Ernest. This news convinced both ladies that they are not engaged to anyone after all (since both men didn’t bear the name “Ernest” at all).   

Act III

To console their pains at being found out the men munched on some muffins while the ladies are in a quiet talk, quite furious with the obvious trickery employed by two men and therefore finds no reason to forgive them. But they were swayed when both men told them that, by sheer act of love, they are willing to be baptized as “Ernest”. This rekindled their affection in an instant. The sudden presence of Lady Bracknell broke the smitten lovers apart. Lady Bracknell told Jack that he must never, by any chance, see her daughter. But Mr. Worthing told her that they are in fact engaged. Again, Lady Bracknell won’t hear any of it. Algernon also told Lady B that he too is engaged to Cecily. The idea of two engagements seemed too much for the old lady as she has never heard of Miss Cadrew, ever. But when Jack told her of Cecily’s hefty fortune (which is a total of 150,000 pounds) she had a sudden shift of heart for Little Cecily. Then enter Dr. Chasuble announcing the christening of the two Ernest-wannabes. Again, the shocked Lady B thought it ridiculous and irreligious for them to be baptized in their old age. This means that the baptism will have to be called off. Upon the sight of Lady B it can’t be denied that Miss Prism was actually acquainted with her. Her unease gave it away. It turns out that this Miss Prism was actually the same Miss Prism she knew 28 years ago who actually lost a baby boy by mere recklessness. She confessed to have placed the boy, instead of the manuscript of a three-volume novel inside the handbag and deposited it in the cloak room of the larger railway stations in London. Jack, upon hearing this rather familiar account rushes to his room and came back with a hand-bag. This turns out to be the very same hand-bag Miss Prism was talking about, the very handbag where Jack, as he confessed to Lady Bracknell earlier in her merciless interrogation regarding his person, was said to be found in while he was an infant. Then reality finally unfolded: The infant was indeed Jack, the missing nephew of Lady Bracknell, the long lost brother of Algernon. When he knew that he was lavished with every luxury available while he was young (including a christening) they mulled over his given Christian name. When he knew that he was named after his father, who was a General, it didn’t take him look to go through the list of the Army for the last forty years, and saw amongst the it, his father’s name and therefore his given name which was “Ernest”.  

Book List of 2012

an unflattering pic of the book-binged shelf. I am not an expert photographer. Heck, I'm not even an amateur.

1. 
   

   I can't believe it took me this long to compile a list of the books I've read during the previous year. The main goal was just 30 but you know how it is with books, one thing always leads to another. While some of the books were bought from bookshops I happen to come across while travelling, there were those which some people lent me. There were also titles ordered from  www.bookdepository.com, an online bookshop that delivers books free of charge, heaven-sent for my fellow book lovers out there but can be quite disappointing and frustrating especially for those who can't wait for 30+ days in order for the books to arrive (IF it arrives at all). I am quite pleased with this year's acquisitions (umm 2012). Though there were some which I never bothered to finish (not because they were awful but because the collection kept piling up and because, truth be told, I suffer ADHD. That upon other reasons he he), the ones in bold letters are the ones I enjoyed most and strongly  recommend. I am now in the process of compiling the list for 2013 :-)  

   
   

   
   

   Books of 2012

   
   

   1.       Anagrams – Lorrie Moore 

   2.       Who Will Run The Frog Hospital– Lorrie Moore

   3.       Like Life – Lorrie Moore

   4.       Heartbreak and Magic – Ian Rosales Casocot

   5.       Beautiful Accidents – Ian Rosales Casocot

   6.       The Girl’s Guide To Hunting and Fishing – Melissa Banks

   7.       Alibis – Andre Aciman

   8.       The Way by Swann’s – Marcel Proust (unfinished)

   9.       You Deserve Nothing – Alexander Maksik

   10.   Uncollected Poems – Rainer Maria Rilke

   11.   Waking the Dead – Yvette Tan ( not owned)

   12.    The Great Gatsby – Francis Scott Fitzgerald

   13.   This Side of Paradise – Francis Scott Fitzgerald (unfinished)

   14.   Palo Alto – James Franco

   15.   White Teeth – Zadie Smith

   16.   Boy Meets Boy – David Levithan

   17.   A Moveable Feast – Ernest Hemingway

   18.   The Fault In Our Stars – John Green

   19.   The Museum of Innocence – Orhan Pamuk

   20.    Call Me By Your Name, Andre Aciman

   21.   I Feel Bad About My Neck --Nora Ephron (unfinished)

   22.   Eleven – Mark Watson, July 6

   23.   The Uncommon Reader , Allan Bennet–

   24.   An Abundance of Katherines, John Green –  

   25.   Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares, David Levithan and –  

   26.   Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell

   27.   The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, David Mitchell –   

   28.   Looking for Alaska, John Green –  

   29.   Paper Towns, John Green (unfinished)

   30.   NP, Banana Yoshimoto

   31.   The Line of Beauty, Alan Holinghurst (unfinished)

   32.   Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami,  

   33.   Number9Dream, David Mitchell

   34.   Where Things Come Back, John Corey Whaley

   35.   Ex Libris, Ann Fadiman

   36.   Why We Broke Up, Daniel Handler

   37.   American Gods, Neil Gaiman

   38.   Death in Venice, Thoman Mann 

   39.   A Tiny Bit Marvelous, Dawn French

   40.   Before Ever After, Samantha Soto

   41.   Almost French, Sarah Turnbull

   
   

   
   

   
   

On Jonas Jonasson's "The Hundred-Year Old Who Climbed Out of The Window and Disappeared"

About the Book:

A few minutes before his hundredth birthday party is thrown, Allan Karlsson escapes from his room in the Old People’s Home and embarks on a journey that will leave the entire town of Malmkompling in a frantic search. With no destination in mind, he heads for the train station and inquires on a trip to anywhere that leaves the soonest. Here he met a slightly built young man who asked if he could look after a gray suitcase while he takes a dump in the toilet. The man rushes inside just as soon as Allan's bus arrives. As a man who has never been given to pondering things too long, Allan then took for the bus with the suitcase in tow. The suitcase, as it turns out, contains 500 million crown notes. Unbeknown to Allan, the young man (who is, by the way, a member of Never Again, a small group of men with criminal intentions)  follows his trail and haunts the geriatric that went away with his suitcase and its princely sum. While back in the Old People's home, things were set abuzz bringing some well-wishers (which includes the mayor, journalists and the police) in a wild goose chase for the old geezer. Riding the bus to Byringe Station only begins Allan’s escape, an adventure among the very many adventures in this centenarian's life. From his first failures as an explosives nut, to being a prisoner and a renegade of the Russian correction camp "Vladivostok" to the various coincidences that dragged him into the worst places at the worst times and with the most notorious men and women in history (among them were Spanish dictator Primo de Rivera; the father of atomic bomb, J. Robert Oppenheimer, 33^rd U.S. Vice President, Harry S. Truman; Madame Chiang Kai-shek or Soong May-ling; he saved the then British Prime Minister Winston Churchill from being blown to bits in Tehran, Herbert Einstein (brother of Albert Einstein whom he was mistaken for during a planned kidnapping); Soviet Union leader, Joseph Stalin; North Korea Supreme Leader; Kim Il Sung (and Kim Jong Il who was then 10 years old); The founding father of the People’s Republic of China, Mao Tse-Tung). There was no space for dullness in its pages. It's a thrilling and engaging read that makes you slap out a laugh or two (to be met by confused looks. Just warning you). A work of fiction that's a fun roll of comedy and unforgettable characters: Julius Jonsson, the red biddy Gunilla Bjorkland  a.k.a The Beauty (and her circus elephant “Sonya” and Alsatian “Buster”), Benny the hotdog vendor, Bosse. One will admire Jonas Joansson for milking a hilarious story in the midst of world wars and violence. I definitely enjoyed reading it that I didn't want to put it down. Definitely among the list of notable reads of 2013, along with Adam Johnson's "The Orphan Master's Son". 

This is Jonas Jonasson's first book and according to his FB page there's an upcoming book  "The Analphabet That Could Count" WHICH IS MAKING ME VERY EXCITED RIGHT NOW! 

The last pic is of the author and he is not at all dangerous. 

On Adam Johnson's "The Orphan Master's Son"

For someone who usually turns a blind eye and a deaf ear over the varying degrees of violence that's happening all over the world, it is most unlikely that I am suddenly possessed with the temptation to pick up Adam Johnson's "The Orphan Master's Son" which is basically about the atrocious life inside DPRK (Democratic People's Republic of Korea, or North Korea). There were no shilly-shallies involved and to save me the possibility of going skint the next few days, I goaded a friend to pay half its price with a deal that I lend him the book after reading it. 

I have read (in the news by accident) that once again, North Korea has been beating the Philippines with headline-worthy news on their nuclear attacks over the brewing dispute between the Sultanate of Sulu and Sabah, Malaysia. I can just imagine the toll it took on it's counterpart, the utopiac South Korea and it's personal bugbear, the U.S. If I read even further, the U.S. is ready for it's ballistic attacks. It's always news like these that gives me the funk and keeps me in bed, reading (instead) fiction for a more bearable version of these harsh realities, a diversion. 

But lo! Adam Johnson's work of fiction read like a firsthand experience in the terror torn North. The book circles around three people, with stories veering on the tragic, you'd want to go and save them yourself. Pak Jun Do, is an orphan and a trained assassin and kidnapper. He fell in love with actress Sun Moon, who is the wife of Commander Ga, the sworn enemy of the (then) Supreme Leader Kim Jong Il. There were chapters told in a first person POV and there were those told in a third person POV that sometimes you can't tell which side of reality is being narrated by who. After series of weird turns, Pak Jun Do finds himself in one of the prison camps under the identity of Commander Ga. He assumes marriage to Sun Moon who despite knowing this man who arrived in her house one night is not the Commander Ga who won her as a prized wife for bringing pride in the country. But she falls in love with him, nonetheless (but rather reluctantly). Despite coercion tactics on the autopilot ( whew! for lobotomy) Pak Jun Do still admits to the identity of Commander Ga. There is not a page that doesn't talk about the various oppressions of the people inside this hellish camp. It is a gritty and compelling work that uncovers the various horrors of this isolated half of the Korean peninsula under its supreme leader Kim Jong Il, from the various brutalities inside the camps, its coercion tactics, the massacres, of how people were starved to death, how they are duped under a perverse ideology of “propaganda” and much about cult of personality. This is a tale of aggression, fear, love and political control in one of the most self-ruling, controlled and restricted places in the world. If you've got the heart and the time to read this, it bears a promise of a brilliant story, I swear. 

On Susan Sontag's "On Photography"

Susan Sontag turns a critical eye on photography in her book “On Photography”. A collection of essays/critiques on the craft written for the “New York Review of Books” between 1973 and 1977, this book is a sheer burst of intelligent insights by one of the greatest thinkers of our time. Astute observations on photographs by photographic evangels of the past, this book can be regarded as an instant study of history; of a society of varying cultures in line with the practice and purpose of the taking pictures. While one may find her views enlightening, thought provoking even and always leaning towards the radical, unpopular; characteristic of a Sontag punch of confidence, conviction and wit, one may not always find ones self agreeing to everything. The fact that this is the very first reference on criticisms on the craft, its value cannot be easily undermined especially in the aspect of thorough education on “what” to observe and “how” to observe a photograph. Those who share the passion will find a great purpose for this book and those who wished to broaden their understanding or improve their visual experience when viewing certain photographs will find this book useful as well. Masters like Diane Arbus, Nathaniel West, Stiechenm, Alfred Steglietz, Edward Weston, Moholy-Nagy (to wit a few) were brought up and whose style and technique were discussed and pitted against. Whether you are a practicing photographer or a mere lover of beautiful pieces caught in a neat cut of time by a nanosecond press of a button, one may refer to this book as an academic and at the same time enlightening reference on the practice and purpose of photography.

I have earmarked some passages that I think were worth a thought or two.

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“Whatever the camera records is a disclosure—whether it is imperceptible, fleeting parts of movement, an order that natural vision is incapable of perceiving or a “heightened reality”, or simply the elliptical way of seeing.”  

 “In teaching us a new visual code, photographs alter and enlarge out notions of what is worth looking at and what we have a right to observe. They are a grammar and, even more importantly, an ethics of seeing. Finally, the most grandiose result of photographic enterprise is to give us the sense that we can hold the whole world in our heads – as an anthology of images.”—In Plato’s Cave,

“A photograph is both a pseudo-presence and a token of absence. Like a wood fire in a room, photographs—especially those of people, of distant landscapes and faraway cities, of the vanished past—are incitements to reverie.”

“When we are afraid, we shoot. But when we are nostalgic, we take pictures.”

“The photographer is an armed version of the solitary walker reconnoitring, stalking, cruising the urban inferno, the voyeuristic stroller who discovers the city as a landscape of voluptuous extremes.”

“ .... paper phantoms, transistorized landscapes. A featherweight portable museum.”

“Photographs are .... clouds of fantasy and pellets of information.”

“There is one thing that a photograph must contain, the humanity of the moment.” – Robert Frank, from chapter Photographic Evangels 

March 09, 2013

Talks in The Head

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"One of these days someone will come out of the darkness and into your life for hidden skeletons in your closet. You wouldn't like it. But it would be fun for him, like how you now jangle some of mine right in my face."

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"We sometimes learn the most valuable life-lessons from the wretched".

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Just these. After 7 hours of late sleep, too much analysis and too much movies and books, after oh so many talk in the head about oh so many things. It is only January 23, 2013.

Before Ever After Samantha Sotto

One part romance novel, one part historical fiction; a pastiche. Non of its romance-novel-cliches of a title nor its nondescript cover gave a hint of the kind of story Samantha Sotto had in store even for the most curios reader. I read it and loved it for its subtle womanly prose, its easy to love protagonists (who were too perfect for me, but) and its kaleidoscopic European adventures. Samantha Sotto is a writer from the Philippines. This is how her book looks like.

David Ackert on Singers and Musicians

"Singers and Musicians are some of the most driven, courageous people on the face of the earth. They deal with more day-to-day rejection in one year than most people do in a lifetime. Everyday, they face the financial challenge of living a freelance lifestyle, the disrespect of people who think they should get real jobs, and their own fear that they'll never work again. Everyday, they have to ignore the possibility that the vision they have dedicated their lives to is a pipe dream. With every note, they stretch themselves, emotionally and physically, risking criticism and judgment. With every passing year, many of them watch as the other people their age achieve the predictable milestones of normal life - the car, the family, the house, the nest egg. Why? Because musicians and singers are willing to give their entire lives to a moment - to that melody, that lyric, that chord, or that interpretation that will stir the audience's soul. Singers and Musicians are beings who have tasted life's nectar in that crystal moment when they poured out their creative spirit and touched another's heart. In that instant, they were as close to magic, God, and perfection as anyone could ever be. And in their own hearts, they know that to dedicate oneself to that moment is worth a thousand lifetimes.” - David Ackert, LA Times

Sarah Turnbull's "Almost French: Love and A New Life in Paris"

Among the books my sister kept in one of her car's pockets was of Australian journalist Sarah Turnbull’s “Almost French: Love and A New Life in Paris”. A delightful read about her “fish out of water” experience in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, Paris. If you happen to be someone who had a life-long dream to set foot on this romantic city, this is a book for you. She talked about Paris, its charms and complications. From people, places, culture, her her low points to her exciting accounts on finding an invite to fashion runways and eventually interviews with fashion bigwigs.  One will find this real-life stories entertaining if not an education on why Paris is still one of the most interesting places to be in.  

The French on fashion w Ines de la Fressange: