I went for a short jog today down to the Nature Centre. I think it’ll be a thing now. Stopped off at the breakfast place that Jamie and I like so much. Got a Twister wrap and a small coffee. The people there are fun.
These past few months have rolled by FAST. It’s October. It was almost July when I last wrote here.
Since July, I’ve turned 29. I’ve purchased a Google Chromebook. I’ve finished some TV shows. I’ve started the Novel version of Different yet again. I started knitting a wrap.
Not much else to add here except that my 29th year is passing awfully fast. I miss Jamie. We expect to see each other again by this month. And if not by this month, then in November at the latest.
I finally started it. All the random memories, along with the feelings associated with them, are now being recorded on virtual paper.
It’s something I was afraid of doing before. I was afraid of being absolutely honest even when it was to no one in particular. The fear of offending someone else’s sensitivities gave me pause.
But I’m ignoring all of that now.
I finished the series a best friend got me for Christmas. The Legend Trilogy by Marie Lu. Not the best writing I’ve ever come across, not even the best story. It wasn’t terrible enough for me to just abandon reading half way through. The ideas it put forth was familiar and the execution of it was admirable. I just didn’t feel sympathetic to the story or the characters–and I generally grow attached to books that CAN make me feel something.
I started another series that I came across while shopping for Steak. The book aisle at Stop & Shop is directly facing the meats. Miss Peregrine’s Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. Now this book is more up my alley. It’s horrifying at times and it reads as it the author drew the story from genuine feeling. The writing is fluid and the story enjoyable. There are certain areas of the book where it feels like a heavy-handed plot device inserted to get the characters from point A to point B, but it doesn’t distract enough from the story itself.
My family. How do I explain this? I changed my facebook profile photo to one of my younger self propping up my baby brother. The only comments this drew were from my mother and my aunts.
My mother: “You miss your brother.” What she’s really trying to say is that I don’t miss her.
My other aunt: “Good! Now when you come back you should continue to love your brother oh!” ……………
Why is my choice of living in a separate area from family viewed as desertion? Why am I accused of loving my family less simply because I live in a different area from them? The idea of what “family” means for my Chinese relatives prevents them from understanding this, but their lack of decorum is preventing them from keeping their thoughts to themselves.
There is nothing like being guilt tripped by one Chinese mother. I’m being guilt tripped by multiple because apparent my mother’s sisters all band together when it comes to their children’s wrong-doings. Let’s quadruple the guilt power, shall we?
So that’s today in my life.
I acquired three Classics for $10. Austen’s Pride & Prejudice, Emma, and Upton Sinclair’s The Jungle.
I’ve read Pride quite a few times already, but I thought it would be handy to have a small copy to take with me on hand–simply because I never know when I’d like to re-read it again. I’ve never successfully finished Emma, but now I plan to.
This is all an attempt to quit my reading dry spell. I sped through the last three books I read because they were difficult to put down. I spent most of my days looking forward to free time for reading. The magic ended after I put down John Grisham’s The Racketeer (I knew what Bannister was up to the whole time, by the way).
I attempted, for the N’th time, to begin reading A Time to Kill but I was foiled yet again by the descriptive rape at the beginning of the book. Other seasoned readers may suggest that I skip that chapter entirely and simply begin reading from after the rape, but that would be admitting defeat. Skipping any part of a story would be as if I never started that story at all.
I’ve been having some success with Emma this time around. I found it very difficult to relate to the character and theme in my previous attempts–a difficulty I suspect was due to my lack of life experience. This time around I found myself continuing to read the book while walking on the sidewalk (a dangerous habit).
Here’s to knocking off another great book on my list!
Here is another book crossed off of my reading list. A fantastic book–definitely joins the ranks in my personal reading history with The Time Traveler’s Wife and My Sister’s Keeper. What Anna Funder did with All That I Am absolutely blew me away.
What these books have in common for me is the after-reading-glow I experience when I’ve finally finished these books. It leaves me thinking and I end up reading the acknowledgements in my desperate need to feel somehow even closer to this story.
I rarely ever summarize a book I’ve read, but here it is.
All That I Am is a novel of the story of Nazi Germany told through the eyes of two different–and real–people. Ernst Toller and Ruth Blatt. While Funder takes fictional license to each of these character’s narratives, it is with much research of the historical facts from these two people’s lives.
While googling her book, I found a few comments and ratings on GoodReads.com. I was surprised that there were readers who took issue with the time lapse in the story and somehow they felt it was unclear; I can only assume these readers are used to reading Goosebumps or Twilight. I felt the the narrative switch is quite clear in the entire novel. There was always a clear distinction between present narrative and past narrative by the use of present tense and past tense.
The only reason I can think of the time line switch being confusing for readers is if the reader itself lacked the common sense knowledge of WWI and WWII. Common sense knowledge such as the general time line of when each War took place. Therefore, I do not think the book itself needs to make any apologies.
One of the many aspects that made this book so important to me is the writing. Funder is a poet, a storyteller, and a mistress of prose all at the same time. She understands the balance between Action and Narrative of a story incredibly well and her use of this balance in her story is one of the best I have seen in all the fiction I’ve read. Another comment on GoodReads.com mentioned that while the book was wonderfully written, the reader had a difficult time getting into the story. This was not so for me. I was immediately drawn into the book by the first paragraph, and the enchantment did not end for me until the very last sentence of the short biography blurb of Funder on the back cover of the book. I attribute this enchantment to Funder’s masterful use of action-narrative-action-narrative balance in her writing.
I also have to admit–my obsession with this book may have to do with my interest in both WWI and WWII. An interest that was peaked by Mr. Edgett, my Grade 11 History teacher. Even though his pits were constantly drenched–something we got to see every time he raised his arm to pull down the World Map–Mr. Edgett captivated me with his re-telling of the famous Schlieffen Plan. It’s amazing that this man was able to make a normally boring subject come so alive for 16 year old me. Mr. Edgett didn’t focus on the date of each event, instead he glossed over it and emphasized how each of these events were connected; in short, he showed us the bigger picture.
I still remember the mock run of the Versailles Treaty as well as the Nuremberg Trials. I was paired with my friends Kris and Jenn and we represented England. The two of them convinced me to be the Monarch of England (a useless figurehead) while they represented the Parliamentary Government.
Eleven years later, my fascination with both World Wars has not died. During university my passion for the analysis of these events was crushed by the mindless memorization of dates and names–facts that supports the study of history while distracting from real analysis. The professors of history always seemed uninterested in sharing their theories and their analysis of these events–instead they stood on the podium and rattled off dates and names like bored auctioneers who hated their jobs. It was obvious that the part of giving lectures to undergrads was the most tedious task of their professorship and they had no passion for it. Instead, they were more interested in passing their knowledge down to a select few students who managed to maintain enough wonder to carry their study into a Masters degree.
And who can blame them? How is it possible for one person to make such a connection with hundreds of students whom they saw for 120 minutes a week when they can make much more intimate connections with 10 students instead?
Here I go again, off on a tangent.
Funder has reinvigorated my passion for history by her story telling. She has reminded me that the study of history is not just about dates and names, but the study of all that has gone before–and perspective. I’m very grateful to have read this book.
Next on my list? Ernst Toller’s I Was A German of course.
The Netflix of Books – http://pulse.me/s/q8jkU
50 Shades of Backlash – http://pulse.me/s/pVTdw
Please, jebus, why???
How did the genius creator of American Psycho decide to put his name on such poorly written work?