Review: Less Than ZeroAuthor: Bret Easton EllisGenre: Coming-of-age, contemporary, young adultMy Rating: ★★★★ (3.5/5 stars) ___ Whenever I feel the need to visit literature’s moral badlands, get a hefty dose of realistic grit, or just watch in-your-face messages bleeding through un-sugarcoated storylines, I always crack open a Chuck Palahniuk book. Spinning tales with all these ingredients is his specialty. However, even if I do like his works, I’m averse to not sprinkling a little spice onto my reading list. I sought for other authors who play with the same elements in a completely different way, and luckily, I stumbled upon Bret Easton Ellis and his first work, Less Than Zero. To a complete tenderfoot in Ellis’ works (like me), Less Than Zero does seem to emit a little vibe similar to Palahniuk’s themes… but that ends at the period of the book’s blurb.  The first page would instantly give you the feeling that you’re in for a different kind of read. The narration, characters, and dialogues weave together a tale with a gloomy overall ambiance that I haven’t seen in the fictional works I’ve encountered before. Considered by many as a cult classic, Less Than Zero is Ellis’ unflinching dark portrait of the MTV generation—rich kids of Los Angeles caught in a string of drug-driven bashes, big C’s buy-and-sell sessions, casual sex, prostitution, and practically everything that falls under the category of self-destructive hedonism. It zeroes in on the story of Clay, an eighteen-year-old boy who comes back to LA for a four-week Christmas vacation. Instead of rest, what he finds himself facing is the inner demon of apathy that resides in all his friends—and in himself as well. Having a penchant for characters with four-dimensional complexity, I found myself on the brink of disappointment when my attempts to connect with Clay became more and more exhausting to establish. I always believe that in order for a book to be more enjoyable, its main character must have the ability to “click” with the reader. The narrator feels more alive to me that way. He/she must move on the borderlines of his/her world without exactly breaking a fourth wall, extending his/her reaches past the physical restrictions of the paper to latch onto the hearts of the readers using sympathy, relatable experiences, loneliness, love, or even rage. In short, I believe the speaker must make me feel things, regardless if these things were negative or not. For the most part, Clay failed in this department. He’s detached from the world, wallowing in cold cynicism, moving like a trembling marionette with strings that are all too tangled that it was no use to track where they originated. I tried to dismiss it as an effect of his drug addiction, but his coke-reliant friends appear to be more fleshed out than him sometimes. That’s saying something, since he’s already given the fact that no character in the novel has depth of a remarkable kind. It was only near the end that Clay finally made me feel something, proving that he is not the drug-fueled automaton that I initially think he is. I was irritated for the slow responsiveness, but I found myself wanting to pat him on the back when he begins to become disillusioned with his friends’ extreme self-indulgences. Vivid episodes from his pasts, which include dysfunctional families and fractured relationships, stand in stark contrast with his bleak present. This explains a little about his behavior. In almost every book, there is at least one character that you would want to wrap in a hug, cradle against you, and whisper that everything will be okay. I was almost surprised when someone like this popped out of the book’s vapid cast of characters: Julian. Clay’s relation does not give away too much about Julian’s situation, but it’s adequate to guess how the boy just got his life’s compass haywire. He is plunging headfirst into his own destruction and he knows it. Plot-wise, there is nothing much to say about the novel. I must admit that the story’s lack of conventional structure comes off as a strength rather than a weakness, portraying a gritty world as it should be through the eyes of a rather unreliable narrator. No frills and no embellishments, raw and stripped of sweet euphemisms. Despite the book just basically being a peek into the quotidian lives of well-off kids who pass around drug-filled Daffy Duck Pez dispensers, it gave me a queer feeling that I do not usually get from other books. It has a rough kind of charm that I found unexplainable; it left me a tad empty by the last page, but it also gave birth to a tiny voice in my head screaming, “I’m ready to feel a little emptier if it means I’ll be able to find out what happens to the characters in its sequel, Imperial Bedrooms.” And that, of course, hit me hard: I do care about the characters to a certain degree! I do not know what kind of magic Ellis posses that made him turn the tables on me without me noticing. Whatever it is, I like it. I think Ellis is a master of minimalism, his narration containing little to zilch emotional tinges that perfectly complements the lethargic attitude of the characters. I find it amazingly ironic how the stream of consciousness style seems so cleanly penned when its contents are generally dirty patchworks of the protagonist’s thoughts and memories. Content-wise, what the novel really wants to show is the perils of stoicism, of how too much pleasure can rob you of your humanity little by little. I’m excited for the sequel! :) ___ Photo by: fanoussss

Review: Less Than Zero
Author: Bret Easton Ellis
Genre: Coming-of-age, contemporary, young adult
My Rating: ★★★★ (3.5/5 stars)

___

Whenever I feel the need to visit literature’s moral badlands, get a hefty dose of realistic grit, or just watch in-your-face messages bleeding through un-sugarcoated storylines, I always crack open a Chuck Palahniuk book. Spinning tales with all these ingredients is his specialty. However, even if I do like his works, I’m averse to not sprinkling a little spice onto my reading list. I sought for other authors who play with the same elements in a completely different way, and luckily, I stumbled upon Bret Easton Ellis and his first work, Less Than Zero.

To a complete tenderfoot in Ellis’ works (like me), Less Than Zero does seem to emit a little vibe similar to Palahniuk’s themes… but that ends at the period of the book’s blurb.  The first page would instantly give you the feeling that you’re in for a different kind of read. The narration, characters, and dialogues weave together a tale with a gloomy overall ambiance that I haven’t seen in the fictional works I’ve encountered before.

Considered by many as a cult classic, Less Than Zero is Ellis’ unflinching dark portrait of the MTV generation—rich kids of Los Angeles caught in a string of drug-driven bashes, big C’s buy-and-sell sessions, casual sex, prostitution, and practically everything that falls under the category of self-destructive hedonism. It zeroes in on the story of Clay, an eighteen-year-old boy who comes back to LA for a four-week Christmas vacation. Instead of rest, what he finds himself facing is the inner demon of apathy that resides in all his friends—and in himself as well.

Having a penchant for characters with four-dimensional complexity, I found myself on the brink of disappointment when my attempts to connect with Clay became more and more exhausting to establish. I always believe that in order for a book to be more enjoyable, its main character must have the ability to “click” with the reader. The narrator feels more alive to me that way. He/she must move on the borderlines of his/her world without exactly breaking a fourth wall, extending his/her reaches past the physical restrictions of the paper to latch onto the hearts of the readers using sympathy, relatable experiences, loneliness, love, or even rage. In short, I believe the speaker must make me feel things, regardless if these things were negative or not. For the most part, Clay failed in this department. He’s detached from the world, wallowing in cold cynicism, moving like a trembling marionette with strings that are all too tangled that it was no use to track where they originated. I tried to dismiss it as an effect of his drug addiction, but his coke-reliant friends appear to be more fleshed out than him sometimes. That’s saying something, since he’s already given the fact that no character in the novel has depth of a remarkable kind.

It was only near the end that Clay finally made me feel something, proving that he is not the drug-fueled automaton that I initially think he is. I was irritated for the slow responsiveness, but I found myself wanting to pat him on the back when he begins to become disillusioned with his friends’ extreme self-indulgences. Vivid episodes from his pasts, which include dysfunctional families and fractured relationships, stand in stark contrast with his bleak present. This explains a little about his behavior.

In almost every book, there is at least one character that you would want to wrap in a hug, cradle against you, and whisper that everything will be okay. I was almost surprised when someone like this popped out of the book’s vapid cast of characters: Julian. Clay’s relation does not give away too much about Julian’s situation, but it’s adequate to guess how the boy just got his life’s compass haywire. He is plunging headfirst into his own destruction and he knows it.

Plot-wise, there is nothing much to say about the novel. I must admit that the story’s lack of conventional structure comes off as a strength rather than a weakness, portraying a gritty world as it should be through the eyes of a rather unreliable narrator. No frills and no embellishments, raw and stripped of sweet euphemisms.

Despite the book just basically being a peek into the quotidian lives of well-off kids who pass around drug-filled Daffy Duck Pez dispensers, it gave me a queer feeling that I do not usually get from other books. It has a rough kind of charm that I found unexplainable; it left me a tad empty by the last page, but it also gave birth to a tiny voice in my head screaming, “I’m ready to feel a little emptier if it means I’ll be able to find out what happens to the characters in its sequel, Imperial Bedrooms.” And that, of course, hit me hard: I do care about the characters to a certain degree! I do not know what kind of magic Ellis posses that made him turn the tables on me without me noticing. Whatever it is, I like it.

I think Ellis is a master of minimalism, his narration containing little to zilch emotional tinges that perfectly complements the lethargic attitude of the characters. I find it amazingly ironic how the stream of consciousness style seems so cleanly penned when its contents are generally dirty patchworks of the protagonist’s thoughts and memories. Content-wise, what the novel really wants to show is the perils of stoicism, of how too much pleasure can rob you of your humanity little by little.

I’m excited for the sequel! :)

___

Photo by: fanoussss

Posted 2 days ago
31 notes
Tagged: Less Than Zero, Bret Easton Ellis, book review, book, lit, literature, .
Title: The Fault in Our StarsAuthor: John GreenGenre: Young Adult, Drama, RomanceMy Rating: ★★★★★ ___ How would you feel about life when you know that—after some kind of a miracle that postponed your meeting with the Grim Reaper—it’s only prolonged by a tankful of oxygen? How would you feel if your breaths are dependent on the said tank, which is tethered to you like an ominous shadow?  The final chapter of your life has finally been published, and all these medicine and hospital visits represent the recklessly scrawled, long-winded epilogue. Then, when all you’re waiting for is that final punctuation to close your tale, a reason to actually be glad to be alive popped up in front of you. The reason’s name is Augustus Waters. This is The Fault in Our Stars, the story of Hazel Grace Lancaster, sixteen-year-old stage IV thyroid cancer survivor. But don’t throw it away just because you realized it’s “just another cancer book,” because in reality, it is not. This is not a story about death—this is a story about life. First of all, I want to say that I’m not particularly fond of novels that obviously use the theme of death only because the author knows it will sell like pancakes. I’m not averse to writers wanting to make the readers feel, but using the same formulaic thing over and over comes off as a mere strategy for commercial success. To me, capitalizing on something that guarantees an easy, heavy emotional impact from the audience sometimes feels like cheating. I believe you can touch, pinch, twinge, or even break the hearts of readers using (1) plotlines that do not require the attendance of some scythe-toting skeleton guy or (2) new material that does not zero in on the subject matter begging for tears. Countless of novels about cancer already exist; when I heard about John Green writing one, I backpedaled a little. But what can I do when a larger chunk of my nerdfighter heart trusts Green and all the stories he spins to life? I went through The Fault in Our Stars…and I’m more than glad I did, because even though it’s not perfect, I think it’s one of the best contemporary young adult books that I have read. Hazel Grace is perhaps the best Green heroine so far. She gets her own humanity, refusing to take the mold that Alaska Young of Looking for Alaska and Margo Roth Spiegelman of Paper Towns share (there’s someone in the novel that squeezes in the cast, though: the enigmatic and “bitchy” Caroline Mathers). While she still exhibits what I fondly call JG’s Smart Kid Syndrome, her raw honesty about life are impactful, especially because the readers take it as the acumen of someone who came so close to Death’s embrace and knows that Death is still an arm span away from her. But if you’ll ask me who I think takes the spotlight here, I’ll say it’s Augustus. A glimpse of the world from his perspective is never shown, but this is not deterrent for the readers to see he’s perfectly clad as the star-crossed hero. I kind of saw his fate a long, long way before it was revealed, but that knowledge didn’t prepare me when that time finally came. He’s just so alive, so hungry for more truths about the world, so funny, and so beautiful a person that his fate appeared to me as a crime when it took its course. In a short span of time, I’ve grown to love this boy. Hazel and Augustus’ situation did not transform their love to something you can banner as an extraordinary romance. The book is too honest to subscribe to this trope, and for this, I commend Green. I’ve grown tired of love stories trying to flaunt their magic or whatever because of instances that Lady Luck frowned upon. Hazel and Augustus’ relationship is about as complex as any realistically tragic story—they know they’re an unlucky pair, and they have no choice but to accept that. This leads us to the cornucopia of wisdom this book offers the readers: what it means to be alive, what it takes for a person to leave a mark, what happens to the people you leave behind, why unfairness seems to be a constant ingredient in recipe of mortality, and how you can say you have lived a good life. If you think about it, The Fault in Our Stars just enumerates things we already know, except that Green shifts the angles of his writing lenses a little so we may see the facts in a new light. It’s refreshing, well-written, and powerful enough not just to make me think, but also to make me laugh and cry (and sometimes both at the same time). I also have to say I love the Peter van Houten part. In a way, we are shown a facet of love affair with books that can strike a chord with anybody who has been totally invested in a work of literature. Do the characters live long after you’ve flipped the last page, or do they stay as the fictional creations that they are, flat and unmoving on the pages? This is a great read all in all. I’ll give it 4.5/5 stars! :) 

Title: The Fault in Our Stars
Author: John Green
Genre: Young Adult, Drama, Romance
My Rating: ★★★★★

___

How would you feel about life when you know that—after some kind of a miracle that postponed your meeting with the Grim Reaper—it’s only prolonged by a tankful of oxygen? How would you feel if your breaths are dependent on the said tank, which is tethered to you like an ominous shadow?  The final chapter of your life has finally been published, and all these medicine and hospital visits represent the recklessly scrawled, long-winded epilogue. Then, when all you’re waiting for is that final punctuation to close your tale, a reason to actually be glad to be alive popped up in front of you. The reason’s name is Augustus Waters.

This is The Fault in Our Stars, the story of Hazel Grace Lancaster, sixteen-year-old stage IV thyroid cancer survivor. But don’t throw it away just because you realized it’s “just another cancer book,” because in reality, it is not.

This is not a story about death—this is a story about life.

First of all, I want to say that I’m not particularly fond of novels that obviously use the theme of death only because the author knows it will sell like pancakes. I’m not averse to writers wanting to make the readers feel, but using the same formulaic thing over and over comes off as a mere strategy for commercial success. To me, capitalizing on something that guarantees an easy, heavy emotional impact from the audience sometimes feels like cheating. I believe you can touch, pinch, twinge, or even break the hearts of readers using (1) plotlines that do not require the attendance of some scythe-toting skeleton guy or (2) new material that does not zero in on the subject matter begging for tears. Countless of novels about cancer already exist; when I heard about John Green writing one, I backpedaled a little. But what can I do when a larger chunk of my nerdfighter heart trusts Green and all the stories he spins to life? I went through The Fault in Our Stars…and I’m more than glad I did, because even though it’s not perfect, I think it’s one of the best contemporary young adult books that I have read.

Hazel Grace is perhaps the best Green heroine so far. She gets her own humanity, refusing to take the mold that Alaska Young of Looking for Alaska and Margo Roth Spiegelman of Paper Towns share (there’s someone in the novel that squeezes in the cast, though: the enigmatic and “bitchy” Caroline Mathers). While she still exhibits what I fondly call JG’s Smart Kid Syndrome, her raw honesty about life are impactful, especially because the readers take it as the acumen of someone who came so close to Death’s embrace and knows that Death is still an arm span away from her.

But if you’ll ask me who I think takes the spotlight here, I’ll say it’s Augustus. A glimpse of the world from his perspective is never shown, but this is not deterrent for the readers to see he’s perfectly clad as the star-crossed hero. I kind of saw his fate a long, long way before it was revealed, but that knowledge didn’t prepare me when that time finally came. He’s just so alive, so hungry for more truths about the world, so funny, and so beautiful a person that his fate appeared to me as a crime when it took its course. In a short span of time, I’ve grown to love this boy.

Hazel and Augustus’ situation did not transform their love to something you can banner as an extraordinary romance. The book is too honest to subscribe to this trope, and for this, I commend Green. I’ve grown tired of love stories trying to flaunt their magic or whatever because of instances that Lady Luck frowned upon. Hazel and Augustus’ relationship is about as complex as any realistically tragic story—they know they’re an unlucky pair, and they have no choice but to accept that.

This leads us to the cornucopia of wisdom this book offers the readers: what it means to be alive, what it takes for a person to leave a mark, what happens to the people you leave behind, why unfairness seems to be a constant ingredient in recipe of mortality, and how you can say you have lived a good life. If you think about it, The Fault in Our Stars just enumerates things we already know, except that Green shifts the angles of his writing lenses a little so we may see the facts in a new light. It’s refreshing, well-written, and powerful enough not just to make me think, but also to make me laugh and cry (and sometimes both at the same time).

I also have to say I love the Peter van Houten part. In a way, we are shown a facet of love affair with books that can strike a chord with anybody who has been totally invested in a work of literature. Do the characters live long after you’ve flipped the last page, or do they stay as the fictional creations that they are, flat and unmoving on the pages?

This is a great read all in all. I’ll give it 4.5/5 stars! :) 

Posted 1 month ago
80 notes
Tagged: The Fault in Our Stars, John Green, book, book review, TFiOS, lit, literature, .
Title: StargirlAuthor: Jerry SpinelliGenre: Contemporary, Young Adult, RomanceMy Rating: ★★★★ ____ Picture your life—and everyone else’s around you—as a vast, boiling desert, occasionally littered with cacti and yuccas. For you, blandness is normality.  You’re all content on playing chameleon, melting against the nondescript walls of conformity, swaddling yourselves with the safety of not being singled out. You’re a bundle, you’re a “we,” and you like everything to stay that way. But glitches occur, no matter how perfectly shielded you think your system is. It may scare you one minute and enchant you the next, but when you realize it’s jeopardizing your perfect routines, you’re going to despise it. You’ll get the urge to banish it. It’s a rare event, but no worries—it’s only a normal stimulus of most people in your place.This is the story of Susan “Stargirl” Caraway, the ‘glitch’ that cartwheeled her way into the “normal” lives of Mica High School students…and into the heart of sixteen-year-old Leo Borlock. With her floor-length skirts, pet rat, and a ukelele strapped to her back, she faces each day with a bounce in her step and a grin on her freckle-dusted face, not minding what everyone else will think of her.I’d like to refer to Stargirl as a rebel, even if she only loosely fits in the category. Among my roster of female fictional revolutionaries, she—ironically—is the most normal. She’s not rising up against a cruel or corrupt government in a post-apocalyptic setting, nor is she preparing to serve cold dishes of revenge to those who did her wrong. She’s just being herself. It’s stereotype she’s ramming against. It’s no secret that in a world that forces you to be someone else, being yourself is perhaps one of the hardest battles you can ever fight. Not to Stargirl, though: she doesn’t even need to lift a finger to win it. She is not afraid to be unique…that is, before she fell in love. Leo is a typical MHS kid, and while he loves Stargirl so much, he doesn’t want to be turned into a social pariah because of their relationship. So he works to transform Stargirl into a normal girl, oblivious to what it will do to her. However, Stargirl as a character is a tad too Mary Sue-ish (too Pollyannaish?), and because we haven’t seen her ‘side’ of the story, it’s easy to judge she’s a shallow, flat character. Perhaps that’s why Spinelli spun a sequel to mold her more? I’m not really sure. While I think the portrayal of the main female protagonist is decent, she needs more development.Spinelli have spun a simple tale that will without a doubt resonate with every teenage heart that will encounter it. I marvel at the characterization of Leo, at how human he seems to be instead of being just another one-dimensional knight-in-shining-armor figure that pops up frequently in most of today’s young adult novels. He doesn’t recklessly rush to rescue his ‘princess’ when she’s in trouble; in fact, he even runs away from the scene, afraid of the prickly eyes and thoughts of the people around him. He is an ordinary boy torn between having to choose between the approval of the society and the happiness of being with the girl he loves. I understood his insecurities and behavior; I tasted his fears, and in the several nights he spent thinking on his moonlit sheets, it’s almost as if I caught a glimpse of everything he’s dreading. Sometimes I dislike him; sometimes I feel the urge to give him a sucker punch for not doing what he thinks is right “because the others think it’s wrong.” He’s like a bandwagon-riding, pesky little brother to me most of the time. I don’t know if it will make sense to you, but I began liking him because he so…unlikable.The world-building is not precisely first-rate, but the setting greatly adds to the symbolism department of the novel. The desert stands for the collective “we” of MHS. Then there are “enchanted places” beyond the sand dunes and saguaros—places that are always there but you can never locate with your naked eye, places that represent someone like Stargirl. More than once, a character explicates how Stargirl is closer to what we all should be, and that something is inside us already. We just need to get in touch with it by using our hearts as our compasses.The plot only takes a backseat here, since the enigmatic Stargirl steers the wheel of the story. There are a couple of twists and turns, but nothing that can imprint an indelible memory in my head. There are poignant scenes, hilarious scenes, and a mixture of both, but what really struck a chord with me are the times of ruminations and the conversations between Archie and Leo. :)A magnificent portrayal of the celebration of nonconformity, Stargirl is one of the few books that are so plain on the surface but is beautifully labyrinthine when you delve deeper into it. Four stars for a great read! I can’t wait to get my hands on Love, Stargirl.

Title: Stargirl
Author: Jerry Spinelli
Genre: Contemporary, Young Adult, Romance
My Rating: ★★★★

____

Picture your life—and everyone else’s around you—as a vast, boiling desert, occasionally littered with cacti and yuccas. For you, blandness is normality.  You’re all content on playing chameleon, melting against the nondescript walls of conformity, swaddling yourselves with the safety of not being singled out. You’re a bundle, you’re a “we,” and you like everything to stay that way.


But glitches occur, no matter how perfectly shielded you think your system is. It may scare you one minute and enchant you the next, but when you realize it’s jeopardizing your perfect routines, you’re going to despise it. You’ll get the urge to banish it. It’s a rare event, but no worries—it’s only a normal stimulus of most people in your place.

This is the story of Susan “Stargirl” Caraway, the ‘glitch’ that cartwheeled her way into the “normal” lives of Mica High School students…and into the heart of sixteen-year-old Leo Borlock. With her floor-length skirts, pet rat, and a ukelele strapped to her back, she faces each day with a bounce in her step and a grin on her freckle-dusted face, not minding what everyone else will think of her.

I’d like to refer to Stargirl as a rebel, even if she only loosely fits in the category. Among my roster of female fictional revolutionaries, she—ironically—is the most normal. She’s not rising up against a cruel or corrupt government in a post-apocalyptic setting, nor is she preparing to serve cold dishes of revenge to those who did her wrong. She’s just being herself. It’s stereotype she’s ramming against. It’s no secret that in a world that forces you to be someone else, being yourself is perhaps one of the hardest battles you can ever fight. Not to Stargirl, though: she doesn’t even need to lift a finger to win it. She is not afraid to be unique…that is, before she fell in love. Leo is a typical MHS kid, and while he loves Stargirl so much, he doesn’t want to be turned into a social pariah because of their relationship. So he works to transform Stargirl into a normal girl, oblivious to what it will do to her.

However, Stargirl as a character is a tad too Mary Sue-ish (too Pollyannaish?), and because we haven’t seen her ‘side’ of the story, it’s easy to judge she’s a shallow, flat character. Perhaps that’s why Spinelli spun a sequel to mold her more? I’m not really sure. While I think the portrayal of the main female protagonist is decent, she needs more development.

Spinelli have spun a simple tale that will without a doubt resonate with every teenage heart that will encounter it. I marvel at the characterization of Leo, at how human he seems to be instead of being just another one-dimensional knight-in-shining-armor figure that pops up frequently in most of today’s young adult novels. He doesn’t recklessly rush to rescue his ‘princess’ when she’s in trouble; in fact, he even runs away from the scene, afraid of the prickly eyes and thoughts of the people around him. He is an ordinary boy torn between having to choose between the approval of the society and the happiness of being with the girl he loves. I understood his insecurities and behavior; I tasted his fears, and in the several nights he spent thinking on his moonlit sheets, it’s almost as if I caught a glimpse of everything he’s dreading. Sometimes I dislike him; sometimes I feel the urge to give him a sucker punch for not doing what he thinks is right “because the others think it’s wrong.” He’s like a bandwagon-riding, pesky little brother to me most of the time. I don’t know if it will make sense to you, but I began liking him because he so…unlikable.

The world-building is not precisely first-rate, but the setting greatly adds to the symbolism department of the novel. The desert stands for the collective “we” of MHS. Then there are “enchanted places” beyond the sand dunes and saguaros—places that are always there but you can never locate with your naked eye, places that represent someone like Stargirl. More than once, a character explicates how Stargirl is closer to what we all should be, and that something is inside us already. We just need to get in touch with it by using our hearts as our compasses.

The plot only takes a backseat here, since the enigmatic Stargirl steers the wheel of the story. There are a couple of twists and turns, but nothing that can imprint an indelible memory in my head. There are poignant scenes, hilarious scenes, and a mixture of both, but what really struck a chord with me are the times of ruminations and the conversations between Archie and Leo. :)

A magnificent portrayal of the celebration of nonconformity, Stargirl is one of the few books that are so plain on the surface but is beautifully labyrinthine when you delve deeper into it. Four stars for a great read! I can’t wait to get my hands on Love, Stargirl.

Posted 2 months ago
49 notes
Tagged: Stargirl, book, book review, Jerry Spinelli, literature, lit, YA, young adult, books, .
ReviewTitle: The Sky is EverywhereAuthor: Jandy NelsonGenre: Contemporary, Young Adult, RomanceMy Rating: ★★★★ ___ When a shroud of mourning drapes itself on your world, how would you able to see the sky again? Looking up is just a misconception: “The sky is everywhere—it begins at your feet.” Meet Lennon “Lennie” Walker: teenage bookworm, band geek, clarinet-player, and Heathcliff fangirl. All her life she’s always been the sidekick, the shadow, and the second-placer to her older sister Bailey. That is why when Bailey dies, she is forced to take the center stage and choreograph her own life’s dance while dealing with her grief…and juggling two guys for a previously non-existent love life. This is The Sky is Everywhere: fueled by sorrow that gradually enmeshes itself with music, poetry, and love, until later on it transfigures into a bright new entity that encourages you to live instead of just to exist.  Contemporary romantic tragedies, particularly ones that kill off beloved characters near the end, can be counted as chick lit staples nowadays. I am not a happy-ever-after junkie but for some reason, this kind of books never became my cup of tea. I do not pick them up when I feel like I need to pepper my reading challenges with something from the chick lit shelf. If you ask me, stories that start with a death of someone you never knew or loved are more appealing. They have a quiet, morose charm that automatically tugs at your curiosity, and the author will attempt to assemble a jigsaw puzzle of this person in your mind, a patchwork of memories that made the other characters love him/her so much. In the end, if the author is successful, the tale will leave you a lingering feeling that will make you say, “I wish I met him/her before he died.” I expected The Sky is Everywhere to be such a book, but it is not exactly like that. For a story that initially revolves around a gloomy concept, it is incredibly…loud. Loud with all the emotions our bereft heroine is trying to shut inside her private world, loud with all the reckless ping-pong of reasons between logic and emotions, loud with all the off-key melodies of a heart that deliriously tiptoes on two tightropes. Lennie’s only outlet for the excess songs is scattering her poems all over town, hoping that in some way, she can mark the world with her story. The poems, which are mostly about her sister, appear at the beginning of almost every chapter: The morning of the day Bailey died, she woke me up by putting her finger in my ear. I hated when she did this. She then started trying on shirts, asking me: Which do you like better, the green or the blue? The blue. You didn’t even look up, Lennie. Okay, the green. Really, I don’t care what shirt you wear… Then I rolled over in bed and fell back asleep. I found out later she wore the blue and those were the last words I ever spoke to her.  (Found written on a lollipop wrapper on the trail to the Rain River) The tones of Lennie’s poems change throughout the novel, especially when she falls in love (we will get to that later). The thing about Bailey is  even if she is dead, her presence lingers thickly in every turn of the plot. The author still stitches together an image of her, but in the end you will not say “I wish I met her before she died” because in the course of the story, you did meet her. I guess Nelson’s hypnotic duet of poetry and prose made this possible. :) I find the romantic aspect of the novel quite fine. Funny and loyal Joe Fontaine, with his eyelash-batting and guitar-playing (and his being from Paris, if I may add), does not stray that much from the common teenagers’ fantasy of Mr.Right. Toby, the other guy, is Bailey’s skateboarding boyfriend. I shared Lennie’s embarrassment and guilt when she and Toby start a confusing, illogical affair, although I came to understand how both of them were just trying to fill the void that Bailey left behind in their lives. My favorite part is that even if the main male characters did contribute to Lennie’s growth, neither can be considered as her complete Knight in Shining Armor. Lennie comes out of her shell on her own; she begins to stand up for the things she believe in, she learns to bravely rectify the mistakes she make, and ultimately, she accepts her worth as an individual. Not just someone’s “shadow, sidekick, and second-placer.” To those who think this is a dark novel, it is not. It has just the right amount of humor that bursts even in the first pages, balanced out by the overall poignant feel of the story. I give this four out of five stars.

Review
Title: The Sky is Everywhere
Author: Jandy Nelson
Genre: Contemporary, Young Adult, Romance
My Rating: ★★★★

___

When a shroud of mourning drapes itself on your world, how would you able to see the sky again? Looking up is just a misconception: “The sky is everywhere—it begins at your feet.”

Meet Lennon “Lennie” Walker: teenage bookworm, band geek, clarinet-player, and Heathcliff fangirl. All her life she’s always been the sidekick, the shadow, and the second-placer to her older sister Bailey. That is why when Bailey dies, she is forced to take the center stage and choreograph her own life’s dance while dealing with her grief…and juggling two guys for a previously non-existent love life.

This is The Sky is Everywhere: fueled by sorrow that gradually enmeshes itself with music, poetry, and love, until later on it transfigures into a bright new entity that encourages you to live instead of just to exist. 

Contemporary romantic tragedies, particularly ones that kill off beloved characters near the end, can be counted as chick lit staples nowadays. I am not a happy-ever-after junkie but for some reason, this kind of books never became my cup of tea. I do not pick them up when I feel like I need to pepper my reading challenges with something from the chick lit shelf. If you ask me, stories that start with a death of someone you never knew or loved are more appealing. They have a quiet, morose charm that automatically tugs at your curiosity, and the author will attempt to assemble a jigsaw puzzle of this person in your mind, a patchwork of memories that made the other characters love him/her so much. In the end, if the author is successful, the tale will leave you a lingering feeling that will make you say, “I wish I met him/her before he died.”

I expected The Sky is Everywhere to be such a book, but it is not exactly like that. For a story that initially revolves around a gloomy concept, it is incredibly…loud. Loud with all the emotions our bereft heroine is trying to shut inside her private world, loud with all the reckless ping-pong of reasons between logic and emotions, loud with all the off-key melodies of a heart that deliriously tiptoes on two tightropes. Lennie’s only outlet for the excess songs is scattering her poems all over town, hoping that in some way, she can mark the world with her story. The poems, which are mostly about her sister, appear at the beginning of almost every chapter:

The morning of the day Bailey died, she woke me up

by putting her finger in my ear.

I hated when she did this.

She then started trying on shirts, asking me:

Which do you like better, the green or the blue?

The blue.

You didn’t even look up, Lennie.

Okay, the green. Really, I don’t care what shirt you wear…

Then I rolled over in bed and fell back asleep.

I found out later

she wore the blue

and those were the last words I ever spoke to her. 

(Found written on a lollipop wrapper on the trail to the Rain River)

The tones of Lennie’s poems change throughout the novel, especially when she falls in love (we will get to that later).

The thing about Bailey is  even if she is dead, her presence lingers thickly in every turn of the plot. The author still stitches together an image of her, but in the end you will not say “I wish I met her before she died” because in the course of the story, you did meet her. I guess Nelson’s hypnotic duet of poetry and prose made this possible. :)

I find the romantic aspect of the novel quite fine. Funny and loyal Joe Fontaine, with his eyelash-batting and guitar-playing (and his being from Paris, if I may add), does not stray that much from the common teenagers’ fantasy of Mr.Right. Toby, the other guy, is Bailey’s skateboarding boyfriend. I shared Lennie’s embarrassment and guilt when she and Toby start a confusing, illogical affair, although I came to understand how both of them were just trying to fill the void that Bailey left behind in their lives.

My favorite part is that even if the main male characters did contribute to Lennie’s growth, neither can be considered as her complete Knight in Shining Armor. Lennie comes out of her shell on her own; she begins to stand up for the things she believe in, she learns to bravely rectify the mistakes she make, and ultimately, she accepts her worth as an individual. Not just someone’s “shadow, sidekick, and second-placer.”

To those who think this is a dark novel, it is not. It has just the right amount of humor that bursts even in the first pages, balanced out by the overall poignant feel of the story.

I give this four out of five stars.

Posted 3 months ago
42 notes
Tagged: The Sky is Everywhere, Jandy Nelson, book, book review, read, lit, literature, young adult, romance, .
Source: cinderellainrubbershoes
REVIEWTitle: Going BovineAuthor: Libba BrayGenre: Young Adult, Surreal Dark Comedy, Speculative FictionMy Rating: ★★★★ ½Warning: SPOILERISH ___ Take a modern day Holden Caulfield diagnosed with the human equivalent of mad cow disease. Throw him in a mission to find his cure (and save the world!) with a hypochondriac dwarf and a Viking god cursed as a lawn gnome. Add a punk angel with a penchant for spray-painting misspelled messages on her wings, a cluster of fire demons, an enigmatic Wizard, and a wormhole that will bring the dreaded apocalypse. Stir well—and voila! You just prepared Libba Bray’s surreal dark comedy, Going Bovine. There are many authors who attempted to concoct an effective formula that can render their stories both fall-off-the-chair funny and heartbreaking at the same time, but I believe only a handful of those who declared “Eureka!” got a positive response from the reading world. Libba Bray is one of them. Speaking through the (vulgar) mouth of teenage lazybones Cameron John Smith, Going Bovine is a story of death, choices, friendship, and of course,life. Bray’s spot-on sense of humor is reminiscent of Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; her writing style is addictive and convincing. The characterization is astonishingly brilliant, and it proves to be more than enough in persuading the readers to root for the unlikable, unreliable narrator. Cameron is perhaps one of the most irksome antiheroes in Young Adult literature. The ennui he builds around himself is perpetually backed up by his I’m-the-world’s-most-apathetic-jerk-and-I-know-it-and-you-can’t-do-anything-about-it attitude. Considering himself a ‘social paramecium’, he wants to survive high school (and life in general) just by, well, having mass and occupying space. Nothing more. The word ‘effort’ is nonexistent in his lexicon. Bray makes it so that Cameron comes off as a sardonic quipster that can give you the urge to punch him just for being who he is. That is until he finds out he acquired a fatal illness, the Creutzfeldt-Jakob variant BSE.  Suddenly, he is forced to grow out of his shell of indifference; he is forced to care. He has to face many questions, the most important being: have I lived a meaningful life? Have I ever lived at all? Clearly, the answer is no. Cameron wasted a majority of his life existing, not living. With only a few time left before shifting off the mortal coil, he learns it is too late for him to taste the essence of life. He begins to despise everyone who will outlive him. But as in Pandora’s box, after all the bad news emerges hope: the angel Dulcie gives him a chance to live. He grabs this opportunity and sets off in an adventure like no other, to search for his supposed cure. Most of the poignant moments occur while Cameron and his newfound friends are on the road. Why is it only when Death is reaching out to you with open arms that you are finally noticing the things in life worth hanging on to? Cameron belongs to a dysfunctional family, and though he does not admit to hating any member, his attitude toward them is the usual “I don’t give a damn.” Everything changes when his impending death is confirmed. When Cameron talks with his father on the phone, you could almost hear his croaking “I love you.” He has a couple of touching moments with his mom too, but my favorite is the subtlest, when he dines at Konstant Kettle and misses his mom’s Grammar Nazi-sh pet peeve. He decides to call her: There’s a pay phone in the way back next to the men’s bathroom. I drop in all the change I’ve got and make the call. It rings four times and goes to voicemail. I hear my mom’s familiar message. “Hi, this is Mary Smith. I can’t come to the phone right now because I’ve probably been carried away bygriffins. But if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you just as quickly as Hermes would.” There’s a pause, and then she says to me, “Cameron, did I do that right? Oh! We’re still recording! Oh my goodness…,” and her laugh is cut off. That message used to annoy the crap out of me, my mom being all spacey and mom-ish. But right now, hearing her voice is the best thing in the world, like waking up and realizing there’s no school. There’s a beep, and my stomach tightens. “Um, hi, Mom. It’s me. Cameron. Well, you probably figured that part out,” I say, sounding like the biggest dork. “Anyway, I’m okay. I want you to know that first. And, you know what? Keep grading those moronic English Comp 101 papers, because otherwise, we’re all gonna be getting our gas at the K-W-I-K S-E-R-V and drinking our E-X-P-R-E-S-S-Os at the Konstant Kettle, two K’s. Seriously, the world needs you. You matter. A lot. Okay, I gotta go, ’cause the griffins are here and you know how much they hate to wait. Love you,” I add quickly, and hang up. Halfway through the novel, Cameron is becoming a more pleasant person. He is still a potty-mouthed smartass, but he cares a lot now. He even loves. I enjoyed reading about their “stops” and how Cameron picks up a couple of lessons from them that he hasn’t learned in the past sixteen years of his life. However, it easily became clear to me that the story will take a Lewis Carroll-esque turn. I’m not certain if it’s because of the plethora of clues strewn across each chapter or the extreme surrealism of events, but either way it did not deter me from liking the whole thing. Aside from carrying significant messages that will send you pondering, what makes Going Bovine stand out from today’s flurry of cookie-cutter Alice in Wonderland tales is that it makes you question what really happened. That said, I absolutely love the concept of parallel worlds/alternate realities. In the readers’ perspective, everything is just a Don Quixote journey…but what is real, anyway? Bray poses that rhetorical question from the very start. Like Schrödinger’s Cat experiment, who’s to say only one reality exists? Can two realities not happen at the same time? Perhaps it’s only my inner kid’s happy-ever-after alarm going off, but I took comfort in the fact that this recurring element may also apply to the storyline itself. There’s one thing I did not see coming: the identity of the Wizard of the Reckoning. I was shocked in a good way, and that’s plus points in my book. The final pages were amazingly bittersweet and thought-provoking. I was sobbing quietly, but a sense of eternal hope is also lingering there, making me smile (therefore making me look like a first class idiot, haha). Going Bovine is officially taking its place in the bookshelf of my favorite novels. 4.5 stars out of 5 for an unforgettable read! 

REVIEW
Title: Going Bovine
Author: Libba Bray
Genre: Young Adult, Surreal Dark Comedy, Speculative Fiction
My Rating: ★★★★ ½
Warning: SPOILERISH

___

Take a modern day Holden Caulfield diagnosed with the human equivalent of mad cow disease. Throw him in a mission to find his cure (and save the world!) with a hypochondriac dwarf and a Viking god cursed as a lawn gnome. Add a punk angel with a penchant for spray-painting misspelled messages on her wings, a cluster of fire demons, an enigmatic Wizard, and a wormhole that will bring the dreaded apocalypse. Stir well—and voila! You just prepared Libba Bray’s surreal dark comedy, Going Bovine.

There are many authors who attempted to concoct an effective formula that can render their stories both fall-off-the-chair funny and heartbreaking at the same time, but I believe only a handful of those who declared “Eureka!” got a positive response from the reading world. Libba Bray is one of them.

Speaking through the (vulgar) mouth of teenage lazybones Cameron John Smith, Going Bovine is a story of death, choices, friendship, and of course,life. Bray’s spot-on sense of humor is reminiscent of Douglas Adam’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy; her writing style is addictive and convincing. The characterization is astonishingly brilliant, and it proves to be more than enough in persuading the readers to root for the unlikable, unreliable narrator.

Cameron is perhaps one of the most irksome antiheroes in Young Adult literature. The ennui he builds around himself is perpetually backed up by his I’m-the-world’s-most-apathetic-jerk-and-I-know-it-and-you-can’t-do-anything-about-it attitude. Considering himself a ‘social paramecium’, he wants to survive high school (and life in general) just by, well, having mass and occupying space. Nothing more. The word ‘effort’ is nonexistent in his lexicon. Bray makes it so that Cameron comes off as a sardonic quipster that can give you the urge to punch him just for being who he is. That is until he finds out he acquired a fatal illness, the Creutzfeldt-Jakob variant BSE.  Suddenly, he is forced to grow out of his shell of indifference; he is forced to care. He has to face many questions, the most important being: have I lived a meaningful life? Have I ever lived at all?

Clearly, the answer is no. Cameron wasted a majority of his life existing, not living. With only a few time left before shifting off the mortal coil, he learns it is too late for him to taste the essence of life. He begins to despise everyone who will outlive him. But as in Pandora’s box, after all the bad news emerges hope: the angel Dulcie gives him a chance to live. He grabs this opportunity and sets off in an adventure like no other, to search for his supposed cure.

Most of the poignant moments occur while Cameron and his newfound friends are on the road. Why is it only when Death is reaching out to you with open arms that you are finally noticing the things in life worth hanging on to? Cameron belongs to a dysfunctional family, and though he does not admit to hating any member, his attitude toward them is the usual “I don’t give a damn.” Everything changes when his impending death is confirmed. When Cameron talks with his father on the phone, you could almost hear his croaking “I love you.” He has a couple of touching moments with his mom too, but my favorite is the subtlest, when he dines at Konstant Kettle and misses his mom’s Grammar Nazi-sh pet peeve. He decides to call her:

There’s a pay phone in the way back next to the men’s bathroom. I drop in all the change I’ve got and make the call. It rings four times and goes to voicemail. I hear my mom’s familiar message.

“Hi, this is Mary Smith. I can’t come to the phone right now because I’ve probably been carried away bygriffins. But if you leave your name and number, I’ll get back to you just as quickly as Hermes would.” There’s a pause, and then she says to me, “Cameron, did I do that right? Oh! We’re still recording! Oh my goodness…,” and her laugh is cut off. That message used to annoy the crap out of me, my mom being all spacey and mom-ish. But right now, hearing her voice is the best thing in the world, like waking up and realizing there’s no school. There’s a beep, and my stomach tightens.

“Um, hi, Mom. It’s me. Cameron. Well, you probably figured that part out,” I say, sounding like the biggest dork. “Anyway, I’m okay. I want you to know that first. And, you know what? Keep grading those moronic English Comp 101 papers, because otherwise, we’re all gonna be getting our gas at the K-W-I-K S-E-R-V and drinking our E-X-P-R-E-S-S-Os at the Konstant Kettle, two K’s. Seriously, the world needs you. You matter. A lot. Okay, I gotta go, ’cause the griffins are here and you know how much they hate to wait. Love you,” I add quickly, and hang up.

Halfway through the novel, Cameron is becoming a more pleasant person. He is still a potty-mouthed smartass, but he cares a lot now. He even loves. I enjoyed reading about their “stops” and how Cameron picks up a couple of lessons from them that he hasn’t learned in the past sixteen years of his life. However, it easily became clear to me that the story will take a Lewis Carroll-esque turn. I’m not certain if it’s because of the plethora of clues strewn across each chapter or the extreme surrealism of events, but either way it did not deter me from liking the whole thing.

Aside from carrying significant messages that will send you pondering, what makes Going Bovine stand out from today’s flurry of cookie-cutter Alice in Wonderland tales is that it makes you question what really happened. That said, I absolutely love the concept of parallel worlds/alternate realities. In the readers’ perspective, everything is just a Don Quixote journey…but what is real, anyway? Bray poses that rhetorical question from the very start. Like Schrödinger’s Cat experiment, who’s to say only one reality exists? Can two realities not happen at the same time? Perhaps it’s only my inner kid’s happy-ever-after alarm going off, but I took comfort in the fact that this recurring element may also apply to the storyline itself.

There’s one thing I did not see coming: the identity of the Wizard of the Reckoning. I was shocked in a good way, and that’s plus points in my book. The final pages were amazingly bittersweet and thought-provoking. I was sobbing quietly, but a sense of eternal hope is also lingering there, making me smile (therefore making me look like a first class idiot, haha).

Going Bovine is officially taking its place in the bookshelf of my favorite novels. 4.5 stars out of 5 for an unforgettable read! 

Posted 4 months ago
39 notes
Tagged: Going Bovine, Libba Bray, book review, book, young adult, literature, lit, Don Quixote, Schrödinger’s Cat, books, .
ReviewTitle: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time IndianAuthor: Sherman AlexieGenre: Young Adult, Coming-of-AgeMy Rating: ★★★★ ½ It’s a massive understatement to say life is hard for someone like Arnold Spirit, Junior. Being geeky and having hydrocephalus, epilepsy, stutter, lisp, and extra ten teeth made an outsider out of the aspiring fourteen-year-old cartoonist in an already outsider of a community. He’s used to the feel of punches and kicks on his body and the sharp stings of barbs on his heart; to take the edge off, he uses his humor and talent in the arts. “I belong to the Black-Eye-of-the-Month Club,” he jests when referring to the bullying. “I think the world is a series of broken dams and floods, and my cartoons are tiny little lifeboats,” he says about his drawings. Like everybody else in the Spokane Indian Reservation, Junior acknowledges the fact that they are destined to be poor for the rest of their lives…but only at first. He has a lot of dreams, and deep inside he knows he will not reach them if he stays in the rez. One book-hurling incident and a heart-to-heart talk with a teacher later, Junior decides to change his fate: he’s going to study in an all-white school and start chasing his dreams, even if the odds are not in his favor. His choice pushes him up a step closer to being a social pariah. Everyone in the rez thinks he’s a traitor (an ‘apple’, red on the outside and white on the inside) and everyone in his new school thinks he’s different (he’s the only Indian in school…if you don’t count the mascot). Junior knows it will be a difficult journey, but he figures it’s better to search for a brighter future than to surrender to the bleak destiny he is expected to fulfill. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is one of the books I’ll recommend without second thoughts to people who want to have a good laugh…and perhaps a good cry. There are only a few novels that can make my spleen hurt from laughing too hard one minute and then break my heart the next, and this one is perhaps the best of them. Sherman Alexie nimbly handles the hilarious and poignant moments with his simple but powerful writing prowess, and by that I don’t exactly mean he uses an extraordinarily brilliant prose. I just admire how easy it is for him to make Junior sound like a genuine kid blathering about his uproarious mishaps after a long, exhausting school day. In short, Alexie makes the readers feel like they’re conversing with the characters instead of actually reading a book (which, if you ask me, is a sign of a really good book). Even if you don’t have a drop of Indian blood in your veins, finding a friend—or bits of yourself—in Arnold is a cinch. The conversational narrative helps in drawing in the readers closer to the storyline. I heard this is Alexie’s first foray into the young adult genre, and honestly, it doesn’t show. He knows how a teenager’s mind works, he knows how a teenager’s mouth speaks, and he knows how to use this knowledge to reach out to all the teenagers inside of us. Interspersed with the story are the cartoons (by Ellen Forney)Arnold draws. These do not only serve as complementary illustrations, they also help the narrative to flow smoothly and provide additional humor to the story. Take a look at these doodles: I think the best thing about the book is how Alexie attacks serious issues like racism, poverty, alcohol and drugs usage, etc. with his sharp wit. In the process, he colors the prose with a lighter tone, but he never forgets to imply that these issues are grave enough to define the Native American life that exists even before the story starts. My favorite theme presented in it is the constant tug o’ war between individualism and collectivism, which Junior finds himself participating in while searching for his identity and place in the society. How do you continue to function in a community that sees you as a traitor? There’s nothing like watching a boy succeed in dealing with the heap of new burdens his own choice dropped on his shoulders, problems that would normally send an adult’s knees buckling. What’s fascinating here is that Junior doesn’t come off as precocious, like most kid geniuses in YA literature who hope to pass up as normal. He still sports the fragility of a kid, and he has a kind of optimism no one in the rez ever possessed. While I cannot say all the characters are well-developed, I think a majority of them can leave a mark deep enough in the readers’ hearts to make them remarkable. I give Alexie a thumb up for portraying everyone in gray shades; no one is one hundred percent hero and no one is one hundred percent villain. They are just people, described with stark honesty in the eyes of a fourteen-year-old. 4.5 stars for an enjoyable read! I’m now considering reading more of Alexie’s works. :)

Review
Title: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
Author: Sherman Alexie
Genre: Young Adult, Coming-of-Age
My Rating: ★★★★ ½

It’s a massive understatement to say life is hard for someone like Arnold Spirit, Junior. Being geeky and having hydrocephalus, epilepsy, stutter, lisp, and extra ten teeth made an outsider out of the aspiring fourteen-year-old cartoonist in an already outsider of a community. He’s used to the feel of punches and kicks on his body and the sharp stings of barbs on his heart; to take the edge off, he uses his humor and talent in the arts. “I belong to the Black-Eye-of-the-Month Club,” he jests when referring to the bullying. “I think the world is a series of broken dams and floods, and my cartoons are tiny little lifeboats,” he says about his drawings.

Like everybody else in the Spokane Indian Reservation, Junior acknowledges the fact that they are destined to be poor for the rest of their lives…but only at first. He has a lot of dreams, and deep inside he knows he will not reach them if he stays in the rez. One book-hurling incident and a heart-to-heart talk with a teacher later, Junior decides to change his fate: he’s going to study in an all-white school and start chasing his dreams, even if the odds are not in his favor. His choice pushes him up a step closer to being a social pariah. Everyone in the rez thinks he’s a traitor (an ‘apple’, red on the outside and white on the inside) and everyone in his new school thinks he’s different (he’s the only Indian in school…if you don’t count the mascot). Junior knows it will be a difficult journey, but he figures it’s better to search for a brighter future than to surrender to the bleak destiny he is expected to fulfill.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is one of the books I’ll recommend without second thoughts to people who want to have a good laugh…and perhaps a good cry. There are only a few novels that can make my spleen hurt from laughing too hard one minute and then break my heart the next, and this one is perhaps the best of them. Sherman Alexie nimbly handles the hilarious and poignant moments with his simple but powerful writing prowess, and by that I don’t exactly mean he uses an extraordinarily brilliant prose. I just admire how easy it is for him to make Junior sound like a genuine kid blathering about his uproarious mishaps after a long, exhausting school day. In short, Alexie makes the readers feel like they’re conversing with the characters instead of actually reading a book (which, if you ask me, is a sign of a really good book). Even if you don’t have a drop of Indian blood in your veins, finding a friend—or bits of yourself—in Arnold is a cinch. The conversational narrative helps in drawing in the readers closer to the storyline.

I heard this is Alexie’s first foray into the young adult genre, and honestly, it doesn’t show. He knows how a teenager’s mind works, he knows how a teenager’s mouth speaks, and he knows how to use this knowledge to reach out to all the teenagers inside of us.

Interspersed with the story are the cartoons (by Ellen Forney)Arnold draws. These do not only serve as complementary illustrations, they also help the narrative to flow smoothly and provide additional humor to the story. Take a look at these doodles:

I think the best thing about the book is how Alexie attacks serious issues like racism, poverty, alcohol and drugs usage, etc. with his sharp wit. In the process, he colors the prose with a lighter tone, but he never forgets to imply that these issues are grave enough to define the Native American life that exists even before the story starts. My favorite theme presented in it is the constant tug o’ war between individualism and collectivism, which Junior finds himself participating in while searching for his identity and place in the society. How do you continue to function in a community that sees you as a traitor? There’s nothing like watching a boy succeed in dealing with the heap of new burdens his own choice dropped on his shoulders, problems that would normally send an adult’s knees buckling. What’s fascinating here is that Junior doesn’t come off as precocious, like most kid geniuses in YA literature who hope to pass up as normal. He still sports the fragility of a kid, and he has a kind of optimism no one in the rez ever possessed.

While I cannot say all the characters are well-developed, I think a majority of them can leave a mark deep enough in the readers’ hearts to make them remarkable. I give Alexie a thumb up for portraying everyone in gray shades; no one is one hundred percent hero and no one is one hundred percent villain. They are just people, described with stark honesty in the eyes of a fourteen-year-old.

4.5 stars for an enjoyable read! I’m now considering reading more of Alexie’s works. :)

Posted 4 months ago
69 notes
Tagged: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie, young adult, book review, book, literature, Indian literature, lit, .
ReviewTitle: The Bell JarAuthor: Sylvia PlathGenre: Autobiographical fiction, coming-of-age fictionRating: ★★★★★   ____ Imagine this: you are perched atop a pedestal and your lucky stars are smiling down on you. It seems like nothing could go wrong, but deep inside there’s this soft hum of doubt in your heart.  Then you catch a glimpse of a fragment of your broken future, rendering you immobile. You look up to find a big bell jar descending upon you, caging you in a glass prison where there is no way out. You feel suffocated; you think of escaping, but every attempt goes awry. The chorus of the voices in your head is singing their dirge for your mind, and the noises from the outside world are distorted and unintelligible. You feel stifled, isolated, and lost. This is how Sylvia Plath more or less described the slow mental breakdown of Esther Greenwood, protagonist of her only full-length prose work, The Bell Jar. Since the book is often considered as a roman à clé or an autobiographical fiction (with Esther as the author’s thinly veiled fictional alter ego), it’s safe to say that Plath shared a firsthand account of what it was like to have a disintegrating sanity after spiraling down into depression. In the book, the parallels in Plath’s and Esther’s lives occurred between 1953 and 1954. Esther wins an internship on a prestigious New York magazine; she holds the position most girls her age would kill for, yet for some weird reason, she is confused and dissatisfied. When she learns that she is rejected from a writing course she wanted to join after her internship, she is completely devastated. She goes home with her mother, and everything goes downhill from there. Most of the issues Esther grapples with are connected to 1950s American gender roles. Being a woman in that era seems to be synonymous with the word ‘inferior.’ Esther struggles with her identity, her status in the society, and her choice of vocation.The patriarchal society’s insistent pigeonholing of the ‘appropriate woman’ pressures her to no end, sending her to ricochet between wanting to get in sync with everybody else and needing to latch to the possibility of her lofty dreams’ realization. While women at that time are encouraged to be successful in their own chosen fields, they are also expected to be subservient housewives—sacrificing their career and dreams—when they marry. “This seemed a dreary and wasted life for a girl with fifteen years of straight A’s,” Esther ponders after envisaging the quotidian life a suburban housewife. The book, in its depiction of men as shallow individuals with usually off-kilter morals, seems to ridicule the established fact of feminine inferiority. However, it also shows several aspects of women’s vulnerability in a world that refuses to take their aspirations seriously. Esther herself is an example—she is intelligent all right, but her inability to take part in the normality of the world around her (or is it the inability of the world to accommodate a woman like her?) causes her sanity to crumble. The book also touches issues about dating, relationship, and sex that are still relevant today. Why are women who had many sexual partners in the past considered “sluts” when men with the same reputation are referred to as the “cool guys”? Does having premarital sex prove I’m a bad woman? Does not having any sexual intercourse before marriage prove I’m prude? These are only few of the questions Esther finds herself asking. Since I’m aware of Plath’s fate, the reading experience came with an excitement closely akin to opening letters addressed to a celebrity that somehow wound up on my doorsteps. My thrill meter went up a notch when I find many moments of Esther’s life unnervingly relatable, especially in the first few chapters.  But what I liked the most about the novel is the astonishing honesty of Plath’s prose—it’s so naked and unflinching, so determined in showing you the raw facets of life and death in the eyes of someone who is trying to experience both…and seemingly failing. I myself didn’t know how to describe it at first. And of course, there are parts that will remind you that you are reading the Plath, paragraphs that are punctuated with a poetic feel. As evidenced by the effective depiction of 1950s America, I’ll say the world-building is ace…even if (or especially?) it’s seen through the kaleidoscopic perspective of a mentally disturbed lady. Overall, The Bell Jar is an excellent book that I will definitely revisit in the future. There are some moments involving electroconvulsive therapies and multiple suicide attempts, but they’re nothing really harrowing. I highly recommend this! :)

Review
Title: The Bell Jar
Author: Sylvia Plath
Genre: Autobiographical fiction, coming-of-age fiction
Rating: ★★★★★  

____

Imagine this: you are perched atop a pedestal and your lucky stars are smiling down on you. It seems like nothing could go wrong, but deep inside there’s this soft hum of doubt in your heart.  Then you catch a glimpse of a fragment of your broken future, rendering you immobile. You look up to find a big bell jar descending upon you, caging you in a glass prison where there is no way out. You feel suffocated; you think of escaping, but every attempt goes awry. The chorus of the voices in your head is singing their dirge for your mind, and the noises from the outside world are distorted and unintelligible. You feel stifled, isolated, and lost.

This is how Sylvia Plath more or less described the slow mental breakdown of Esther Greenwood, protagonist of her only full-length prose work, The Bell Jar. Since the book is often considered as a roman à clé or an autobiographical fiction (with Esther as the author’s thinly veiled fictional alter ego), it’s safe to say that Plath shared a firsthand account of what it was like to have a disintegrating sanity after spiraling down into depression.

In the book, the parallels in Plath’s and Esther’s lives occurred between 1953 and 1954. Esther wins an internship on a prestigious New York magazine; she holds the position most girls her age would kill for, yet for some weird reason, she is confused and dissatisfied. When she learns that she is rejected from a writing course she wanted to join after her internship, she is completely devastated. She goes home with her mother, and everything goes downhill from there.

Most of the issues Esther grapples with are connected to 1950s American gender roles. Being a woman in that era seems to be synonymous with the word ‘inferior.’ Esther struggles with her identity, her status in the society, and her choice of vocation.The patriarchal society’s insistent pigeonholing of the ‘appropriate woman’ pressures her to no end, sending her to ricochet between wanting to get in sync with everybody else and needing to latch to the possibility of her lofty dreams’ realization. While women at that time are encouraged to be successful in their own chosen fields, they are also expected to be subservient housewives—sacrificing their career and dreams—when they marry. “This seemed a dreary and wasted life for a girl with fifteen years of straight A’s,” Esther ponders after envisaging the quotidian life a suburban housewife. The book, in its depiction of men as shallow individuals with usually off-kilter morals, seems to ridicule the established fact of feminine inferiority. However, it also shows several aspects of women’s vulnerability in a world that refuses to take their aspirations seriously. Esther herself is an example—she is intelligent all right, but her inability to take part in the normality of the world around her (or is it the inability of the world to accommodate a woman like her?) causes her sanity to crumble.

The book also touches issues about dating, relationship, and sex that are still relevant today. Why are women who had many sexual partners in the past considered “sluts” when men with the same reputation are referred to as the “cool guys”? Does having premarital sex prove I’m a bad woman? Does not having any sexual intercourse before marriage prove I’m prude? These are only few of the questions Esther finds herself asking.

Since I’m aware of Plath’s fate, the reading experience came with an excitement closely akin to opening letters addressed to a celebrity that somehow wound up on my doorsteps. My thrill meter went up a notch when I find many moments of Esther’s life unnervingly relatable, especially in the first few chapters.  But what I liked the most about the novel is the astonishing honesty of Plath’s prose—it’s so naked and unflinching, so determined in showing you the raw facets of life and death in the eyes of someone who is trying to experience both…and seemingly failing. I myself didn’t know how to describe it at first. And of course, there are parts that will remind you that you are reading the Plath, paragraphs that are punctuated with a poetic feel.

As evidenced by the effective depiction of 1950s America, I’ll say the world-building is ace…even if (or especially?) it’s seen through the kaleidoscopic perspective of a mentally disturbed lady.

Overall, The Bell Jar is an excellent book that I will definitely revisit in the future. There are some moments involving electroconvulsive therapies and multiple suicide attempts, but they’re nothing really harrowing. I highly recommend this! :)

Posted 5 months ago
65 notes
Tagged: The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath, book review, book, literature, lit, .
ReviewTitle: A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire book#1)Author: George R. R. MartinGenre: Medieval Fantasy, Science Fiction, AdventureRating: ★★★★ ____ Political intrigue, medieval tropes, and Nordic mythologies—if any of these is your cup of tea (and if you have lots of time in your hands), you should try A Game of Thrones, the first book in George R. R. Martin’s epic fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire. It is difficult to condense the storyline, but one thing is for sure: it is aptly titled. Basically, all the events revolve around the metonymic Iron Throne. The Iron throne is made up of one thousand swords surrendered by defeated enemies, forged into the shape of a chair, its edges still sharp and cold that anyone who is not careful enough while sitting on it may get himself cut…or killed. This is said to be the desired effect, for no king should sit comfortably while ruling the Seven Kingdoms.  It took fifty-nine days, the flaming breaths of a legendary dragon, and the blood and honor of so many men to construct it. In A Game of Thrones, more blood is shed and more honor is sacrificed in the name of this throne and what it represents. In the center of the conflict are the Starks of Winterfell, whose lives are jeopardized after getting involved in the political scandals of the Seven Kingdoms. I half-expected this doorstopper to be choked with unnecessary embellishments, but I was in for a surprise. Martin takes the straightforward angle—he does not bother with frilly descriptions, yet he still successfully establishes a believable and intricate universe in the readers’ minds. Usually the prose I love is the kind that is slightly tinged by poetry, but I have no problem loving Martin’s writing whatsoever. Martin proves that unadorned realism is an efficient bullet in a contemporary bandoleer of writing styles. It is important to note that while A Game of Thrones is not the first in its genre, it still stands out for zeroing in on the gritty and rotting portrait of the human spirit. Blind pride and the apathy it entails, humans’ inner animals that are forever lured by the pleasures of power and flesh, honor and the desperate battles to protect it, peace and the acknowledgment of its fleeting sweetness…Martin tackles them adroitly from the minds of eight viewpoint characters, never losing a beat. But that does not mean he neglects showing off the fantasy staples—he dedicates portions of the storyline to supernatural creatures too (like zombie-like creatures and dragons), and he consistently paints the colorful cultures of fictional lands with astonishing clarity. Now we go to the characters. Tyrion “The Imp” Lannister easily became my favorite POV character, what with his sarcastic thought processes and fascinating outlook on things. I find him interesting and weirdly inspiring. He is practically a dwarf and is a recipient of all kinds of insults, but he never comes off as a pitiful person—what he lacks in physical appearance, he makes up for wisdom. Oh, he does clobber himself with self-deprecation sometimes, but only in a humorous way. His defense mechanism is not letting other people use his own weaknesses to destroy him. But most of all, it is “fun” to read from his POV since he, in theory, is the only viewpoint character who came from “the bad side.” Persuading the readers to root for someone from the enemy camp has never been this successful. Clearly, it is a testament to Martin’s writing prowess. I also enjoyed Daenerys Targaryen’s chapters. If you get past the fancy name and her being white-haired and purple-eyed, it is easy to see that she is not a Mary Sue at all. She has her flaws, too. She may need a lot of character development, but who doesn’t? From the vulnerable girl who timidly follows her abusive brother, she has shown a passable amount of growth by the end of the book. I believe she will become more developed in the sequels.The Mongol-like culture of the Dothraki is a rough backdrop to her fragile character, and when she gradually learns to melt into it, it is easy to see the change in her. Anyway, the other characters are quite okay. If Arya Stark has more chapters, I guess she’ll be my favorite too (I think she’s my fictional alter ego, haha!). What I am really expecting, though, is the fleshing out of Cersei Lannister that I saw in the HBO small screen adaptation. I am quite disappointed when I did not see that. The TV Cersei is much more layered than the one in the book, in my honest opinion. I wanted to worm inside her head, to learn where she gets all her twisted ideas, to know what fuels her motivations, to peek at what is really behind her cold facade…but no, I did not even get a glimpse of it. To be fair, she is not a POV character, and all of those who are were not around her a lot. I hope I get to know her more in the next books. Anyone who reads this book must be prepared to invest more of his/her time for the brick-thick sequels, because there will be no “ending” of any kind in A Game of Thrones. Trust me on this. Over all it is an amazing start. Four out of five stars!

Review
Title: A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire book#1)
Author: George R. R. Martin
Genre: Medieval Fantasy, Science Fiction, Adventure
Rating: ★★★★

____

Political intrigue, medieval tropes, and Nordic mythologies—if any of these is your cup of tea (and if you have lots of time in your hands), you should try A Game of Thrones, the first book in George R. R. Martin’s epic fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire.

It is difficult to condense the storyline, but one thing is for sure: it is aptly titled. Basically, all the events revolve around the metonymic Iron Throne. The Iron throne is made up of one thousand swords surrendered by defeated enemies, forged into the shape of a chair, its edges still sharp and cold that anyone who is not careful enough while sitting on it may get himself cut…or killed. This is said to be the desired effect, for no king should sit comfortably while ruling the Seven Kingdoms.  It took fifty-nine days, the flaming breaths of a legendary dragon, and the blood and honor of so many men to construct it. In A Game of Thrones, more blood is shed and more honor is sacrificed in the name of this throne and what it represents.

In the center of the conflict are the Starks of Winterfell, whose lives are jeopardized after getting involved in the political scandals of the Seven Kingdoms.

I half-expected this doorstopper to be choked with unnecessary embellishments, but I was in for a surprise. Martin takes the straightforward angle—he does not bother with frilly descriptions, yet he still successfully establishes a believable and intricate universe in the readers’ minds. Usually the prose I love is the kind that is slightly tinged by poetry, but I have no problem loving Martin’s writing whatsoever. Martin proves that unadorned realism is an efficient bullet in a contemporary bandoleer of writing styles.

It is important to note that while A Game of Thrones is not the first in its genre, it still stands out for zeroing in on the gritty and rotting portrait of the human spirit. Blind pride and the apathy it entails, humans’ inner animals that are forever lured by the pleasures of power and flesh, honor and the desperate battles to protect it, peace and the acknowledgment of its fleeting sweetness…Martin tackles them adroitly from the minds of eight viewpoint characters, never losing a beat. But that does not mean he neglects showing off the fantasy staples—he dedicates portions of the storyline to supernatural creatures too (like zombie-like creatures and dragons), and he consistently paints the colorful cultures of fictional lands with astonishing clarity.

Now we go to the characters. Tyrion “The Imp” Lannister easily became my favorite POV character, what with his sarcastic thought processes and fascinating outlook on things. I find him interesting and weirdly inspiring. He is practically a dwarf and is a recipient of all kinds of insults, but he never comes off as a pitiful person—what he lacks in physical appearance, he makes up for wisdom. Oh, he does clobber himself with self-deprecation sometimes, but only in a humorous way. His defense mechanism is not letting other people use his own weaknesses to destroy him. But most of all, it is “fun” to read from his POV since he, in theory, is the only viewpoint character who came from “the bad side.” Persuading the readers to root for someone from the enemy camp has never been this successful. Clearly, it is a testament to Martin’s writing prowess.

I also enjoyed Daenerys Targaryen’s chapters. If you get past the fancy name and her being white-haired and purple-eyed, it is easy to see that she is not a Mary Sue at all. She has her flaws, too. She may need a lot of character development, but who doesn’t? From the vulnerable girl who timidly follows her abusive brother, she has shown a passable amount of growth by the end of the book. I believe she will become more developed in the sequels.The Mongol-like culture of the Dothraki is a rough backdrop to her fragile character, and when she gradually learns to melt into it, it is easy to see the change in her.

Anyway, the other characters are quite okay. If Arya Stark has more chapters, I guess she’ll be my favorite too (I think she’s my fictional alter ego, haha!). What I am really expecting, though, is the fleshing out of Cersei Lannister that I saw in the HBO small screen adaptation. I am quite disappointed when I did not see that. The TV Cersei is much more layered than the one in the book, in my honest opinion. I wanted to worm inside her head, to learn where she gets all her twisted ideas, to know what fuels her motivations, to peek at what is really behind her cold facade…but no, I did not even get a glimpse of it. To be fair, she is not a POV character, and all of those who are were not around her a lot. I hope I get to know her more in the next books.

Anyone who reads this book must be prepared to invest more of his/her time for the brick-thick sequels, because there will be no “ending” of any kind in A Game of Thrones. Trust me on this.

Over all it is an amazing start. Four out of five stars!

Posted 5 months ago
49 notes
Tagged: A Song of Ice and Fire, A Game of Thrones, Game of Thrones, book review, George R. R. Martin, Tyrion Lannister, .
ReviewTitle: South of the Border, West of the SunAuthor: Haruki MurakamiGenre: Romance, Drama, ContemporaryRating: ★★★ I am a discriminating reader. Even if I love an author unreservedly, I don’t go around loving everything that he writes. After all, in a writer’s compendium of works, not everything will be explosively brilliant; some of them will turn out as duds. To many Murakami-experienced readers, South of the Border, West of the Sundefinitely reads like the spiritual successor to his acclaimed novel Norwegian Wood. Both don’t have a trace of magical realism (or surrealism?) in them that is commonplace in the majority of Murakami’s oeuvre; they deal with the quotidian lives of average people, with subtle twists that can instantly establish a connection with the readers. Norwegian Wood is an amazing read, and for some time it made me believe that Murakami is indeed a versatile writer—he’s dangerously good when it comes to surreal stuff, but he can surely soar with a story that is not necessarily situated between dreams and reality. However, his sophomore work that falls into the latter category just proves to me that his forte is still with the ‘weird’ (not that I’m sayingNorwegian Wood is a fluke, though). The gist of South of the Border, West of the Sun is this: two childhood friends are separated by quite run- of-the-mill circumstances, until later in their lives—when the guy is already a successful jazz club proprietor and a family man—their paths converge again, sending everything haywire. Now, the reason why ordinary love stories are not my cup of tea is that I’ve always been smitten with fantasy/science fiction. Fascinated by magic and out of this world material at an early age, I developed a penchant for fantastical juke-in-the-boxes embedded in the stories, things that can surprise you in a way ordinary stuff can’t, and events that can make your imagination go wild and bring you to different places like Narnia or Oz or Wonderland. It doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t go for the normal stuff. It’s just I don’t dig those with tales reminiscent of neighbor gossip stories. :p Norwegian Wood doesn’t sound like one, and add to that Murakami’s flair for the quirky, poetic words, and you can get a thumb up from me. Anyway, I have to admit that SOTBWOTS is not one of Murakami’s better works. I’ve read What I Talk About When I Talk About Running so I’ve caught glimpses of his personal life: he opens a jazz bar, loves music, loves literature. When I read that Hajime, the main protagonist, also opens a jazz bar, loves music, and loves literature, I found myself a little disappointed. It’s true that an author sometimes puts bits of himself into his characters, but Hajime is a literary Xerox copy of Murakami. Gary Stu? Perhaps. There is nothing much to say about the plot, too, as you may have guessed from the gist I provided above. But what I liked about it is of course Murakami’s ever-tasteful choice of words, and the bittersweetness that lies underneath every thought that he puts on page. Almost every idea he shares will make you question what you believed in the past, and it will also make you look back at the things you’ve taken for granted. His humor, which I’ve always loved ever since reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, is also peppered in some of the passages. All in all it’s still a decent read. There are a few haunting moments that I liked, but nothing that can leave indelible marks in my memories.

Review
Title: South of the Border, West of the Sun
Author: Haruki Murakami
Genre: Romance, Drama, Contemporary
Rating: ★★★

I am a discriminating reader. Even if I love an author unreservedly, I don’t go around loving everything that he writes. After all, in a writer’s compendium of works, not everything will be explosively brilliant; some of them will turn out as duds. 

To many Murakami-experienced readers, South of the Border, West of the Sundefinitely reads like the spiritual successor to his acclaimed novel Norwegian Wood. Both don’t have a trace of magical realism (or surrealism?) in them that is commonplace in the majority of Murakami’s oeuvre; they deal with the quotidian lives of average people, with subtle twists that can instantly establish a connection with the readers. 

Norwegian Wood is an amazing read, and for some time it made me believe that Murakami is indeed a versatile writer—he’s dangerously good when it comes to surreal stuff, but he can surely soar with a story that is not necessarily situated between dreams and reality. However, his sophomore work that falls into the latter category just proves to me that his forte is still with the ‘weird’ (not that I’m sayingNorwegian Wood is a fluke, though). 

The gist of South of the Border, West of the Sun is this: two childhood friends are separated by quite run- of-the-mill circumstances, until later in their lives—when the guy is already a successful jazz club proprietor and a family man—their paths converge again, sending everything haywire. 

Now, the reason why ordinary love stories are not my cup of tea is that I’ve always been smitten with fantasy/science fiction. Fascinated by magic and out of this world material at an early age, I developed a penchant for fantastical juke-in-the-boxes embedded in the stories, things that can surprise you in a way ordinary stuff can’t, and events that can make your imagination go wild and bring you to different places like Narnia or Oz or Wonderland. It doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t go for the normal stuff. It’s just I don’t dig those with tales reminiscent of neighbor gossip stories. :p Norwegian Wood doesn’t sound like one, and add to that Murakami’s flair for the quirky, poetic words, and you can get a thumb up from me. 

Anyway, I have to admit that SOTBWOTS is not one of Murakami’s better works. I’ve read What I Talk About When I Talk About Running so I’ve caught glimpses of his personal life: he opens a jazz bar, loves music, loves literature. When I read that Hajime, the main protagonist, also opens a jazz bar, loves music, and loves literature, I found myself a little disappointed. It’s true that an author sometimes puts bits of himself into his characters, but Hajime is a literary Xerox copy of Murakami. Gary Stu? Perhaps. 

There is nothing much to say about the plot, too, as you may have guessed from the gist I provided above. But what I liked about it is of course Murakami’s ever-tasteful choice of words, and the bittersweetness that lies underneath every thought that he puts on page. Almost every idea he shares will make you question what you believed in the past, and it will also make you look back at the things you’ve taken for granted. His humor, which I’ve always loved ever since reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, is also peppered in some of the passages. 

All in all it’s still a decent read. There are a few haunting moments that I liked, but nothing that can leave indelible marks in my memories.

Posted 5 months ago
30 notes
Tagged: South of the Border West of the Sun, Haruki Murakami, books, book review, Japanese, .
ReviewTitle: DeliriumAuthor: Lauren OliverGenre: Dystopia, Romance, Young AdultRating:  ★★★ ____ Amor deliria nervosa, n. also known as “love” in the old times, this is a disease that can kill you both when you have it and when you don’t. Symptoms include preoccupation, impaired reasoning skills, periods of euphoria, obsessive thoughts, etc. Unless there are emergencies, everyone is scheduled to be “cured” at the age of eighteen; everyone also undergoes “evaluation,” where your future husband/wife is assigned to you based on your answers to some questions. All uncureds are required to stay away from the opposite sex. Can anyone really be safe and happy in a world where love is considered a fatal ailment? What will you do if you finally realize that the fences that are supposed to protect you are also caging you from the truth? This is the tilt where Lauren Oliver’s dystopian world in Delirium rotates, and in the middle of it all is a plain teenager who can’t wait to be cured, Lena Haloway.  It’s no secret that I’m infected by the dystopian/post-apocalyptic virus that’s continuously spreading in the world of literature nowadays, particularly in the young adult department. I haven’t read a lot of novels under this genre, but it’s easy to pick up common themes. Rebellion/resistance is at the hub of most books, its automatic spoke consisting of defiant protagonists that go against the established laws and take down the abusive government…mostly in the course of three books. The Hunger Games trilogy is by far my favorite, and truth be told I think it set the bar in this genre. I plan to bury my nose in more post-apocalyptic books, but I tend to delay reading those that use the same formula as THG. Then came a story about “love” as a sickness, and I thought, “That sure is a catchy idea!” I readily grabbed it from the shelf.  It’s true that the best way to enjoy new books is not to get your hopes too high. I liked Oliver’s debut novel Before I Fall, but I really can’t say the same for Delirium.  Delirium’s main idea is appealing and I wanted to find out how its author will deal with the domino-like line of questions that pops out after the concept is laid down. In my opinion, Oliver isn’t so successful in answering them. The origin of love as a mental illness (the whole package—the when’s, the who’s, and even the how’s) is not thoroughly discussed. Obviously there is government resistance, and my first hunch is that the “cure” is more than what it seems. In my mind, the government is transforming the world of love into a world of apathy through these vague brain surgeries because they don’t want the people to be angered and to revolt against them, in fear that they may end up like the rest of the world, destroyed perhaps by wars. Okay, maybe that’s just my overactive imagination—let’s say they just want to control the people like inanimate objects while feeding them the idea that they’re safe and sound. I can feel that Oliver has something up her sleeve, but I never got to learn what that is. Maybe I’ll find it out in the sequels, but if that’s the case, then Delirium as the first installment did not quite achieve its goal of cementing a strong foundation. Leaving questions normally makes the reader go hungry for more, but leaving too much makes the story look like a Swiss Cheese, full of plot holes. Speaking of plot holes, I’d like to point out the very big flaw in the “Law of Segregation” in this book’s universe, where boys and girls are separated because they may fall in love. How about LGBTQ? Boys can love boys. Girls can love girls. It’s impossible that there’s no record of this. In a world where love is already considered dangerous, how do they deal with same-sex amor deliria nervosa? I think that will be interesting to explore because even in our society today, homosexuality is already considered by many as a disease. I hope Oliver will prove me wrong, that it’s not a flaw at all and it’s just waiting to be solved; I hope she touches this kind of love in the next installments, and touches it effectively. If the epigraphs that came from fictional pamphlets and textbooks in that world were not included, the plot and the world-building will appear so thin. The characters are okay albeit bordering on stereotypical young adults. Most of the time, Lena is toddling precariously on the edge of being a Mary Sue, occasionally showing Bella Swan-esque qualities. Her thought processes are pretty interesting and thought-provoking though, and sometimes her memories can subtly break your heart (I’ll give her that). Alex is the regular love interest—you know, the once mysterious guy now sitting with you under the stars and reading romantic poetry. There are two more books, so there’s more room for them to develop.  When it comes to originality, Delirium doesn’t stand out that much. It’s strikingly similar to Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies series (dead ringers—just replace the word “love” with “ugliness”), and I’ve also heard of this book called Matched by Allie Condie, which shares a few similar concepts with Delirium, particularly the prearranged matches.  There are a few things that redeemed this book for me. One is how Oliver showed that hate is not really the worst thing but indifference. She painted horrifying images that can make you think. I realized how without love, everything seems to be an insipid dollhouse; the people inside are marionettes trying to function normally according to the pattern that everyone else is following. It’s a choreographed world. Imagine a family that is only a family because it’s dictated by the authority; imagine how all the movies, music, and books that come your way never deal with anything that can tug at your heartstrings. What’s the point? Eradicating love is like taking away everything that matters, and it’s a very harrowing thought.  Second is Oliver’s writing style. It’s quite different from Before I Fall, but I caught glimpses of the poetic curls at the edges of her prose. They’re usually overlapped by the book’s initial slow pacing, but they’re still there.  Third is the climax at the end. I think that’s what really made me decide not to completely rule out reading Pandemonium, the sequel. :)

Review
Title: Delirium
Author: Lauren Oliver
Genre: Dystopia, Romance, Young Adult
Rating:  ★★★

____

Amor deliria nervosa, n. also known as “love” in the old times, this is a disease that can kill you both when you have it and when you don’t. Symptoms include preoccupation, impaired reasoning skills, periods of euphoria, obsessive thoughts, etc. Unless there are emergencies, everyone is scheduled to be “cured” at the age of eighteen; everyone also undergoes “evaluation,” where your future husband/wife is assigned to you based on your answers to some questions. All uncureds are required to stay away from the opposite sex.

Can anyone really be safe and happy in a world where love is considered a fatal ailment? What will you do if you finally realize that the fences that are supposed to protect you are also caging you from the truth? This is the tilt where Lauren Oliver’s dystopian world in Delirium rotates, and in the middle of it all is a plain teenager who can’t wait to be cured, Lena Haloway. 

It’s no secret that I’m infected by the dystopian/post-apocalyptic virus that’s continuously spreading in the world of literature nowadays, particularly in the young adult department. I haven’t read a lot of novels under this genre, but it’s easy to pick up common themes. Rebellion/resistance is at the hub of most books, its automatic spoke consisting of defiant protagonists that go against the established laws and take down the abusive government…mostly in the course of three books. The Hunger Games trilogy is by far my favorite, and truth be told I think it set the bar in this genre. I plan to bury my nose in more post-apocalyptic books, but I tend to delay reading those that use the same formula as THG. Then came a story about “love” as a sickness, and I thought, “That sure is a catchy idea!” I readily grabbed it from the shelf. 

It’s true that the best way to enjoy new books is not to get your hopes too high. I liked Oliver’s debut novel Before I Fall, but I really can’t say the same for Delirium. 

Delirium’s main idea is appealing and I wanted to find out how its author will deal with the domino-like line of questions that pops out after the concept is laid down. In my opinion, Oliver isn’t so successful in answering them. The origin of love as a mental illness (the whole package—the when’s, the who’s, and even the how’s) is not thoroughly discussed. Obviously there is government resistance, and my first hunch is that the “cure” is more than what it seems. In my mind, the government is transforming the world of love into a world of apathy through these vague brain surgeries because they don’t want the people to be angered and to revolt against them, in fear that they may end up like the rest of the world, destroyed perhaps by wars. Okay, maybe that’s just my overactive imagination—let’s say they just want to control the people like inanimate objects while feeding them the idea that they’re safe and sound. I can feel that Oliver has something up her sleeve, but I never got to learn what that is. Maybe I’ll find it out in the sequels, but if that’s the case, then Delirium as the first installment did not quite achieve its goal of cementing a strong foundation. Leaving questions normally makes the reader go hungry for more, but leaving too much makes the story look like a Swiss Cheese, full of plot holes.

Speaking of plot holes, I’d like to point out the very big flaw in the “Law of Segregation” in this book’s universe, where boys and girls are separated because they may fall in love. How about LGBTQ? Boys can love boys. Girls can love girls. It’s impossible that there’s no record of this. In a world where love is already considered dangerous, how do they deal with same-sex amor deliria nervosa? I think that will be interesting to explore because even in our society today, homosexuality is already considered by many as a disease. I hope Oliver will prove me wrong, that it’s not a flaw at all and it’s just waiting to be solved; I hope she touches this kind of love in the next installments, and touches it effectively.

If the epigraphs that came from fictional pamphlets and textbooks in that world were not included, the plot and the world-building will appear so thin. The characters are okay albeit bordering on stereotypical young adults. Most of the time, Lena is toddling precariously on the edge of being a Mary Sue, occasionally showing Bella Swan-esque qualities. Her thought processes are pretty interesting and thought-provoking though, and sometimes her memories can subtly break your heart (I’ll give her that). Alex is the regular love interest—you know, the once mysterious guy now sitting with you under the stars and reading romantic poetry. There are two more books, so there’s more room for them to develop. 

When it comes to originality, Delirium doesn’t stand out that much. It’s strikingly similar to Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies series (dead ringers—just replace the word “love” with “ugliness”), and I’ve also heard of this book called Matched by Allie Condie, which shares a few similar concepts with Delirium, particularly the prearranged matches. 

There are a few things that redeemed this book for me. One is how Oliver showed that hate is not really the worst thing but indifference. She painted horrifying images that can make you think. I realized how without love, everything seems to be an insipid dollhouse; the people inside are marionettes trying to function normally according to the pattern that everyone else is following. It’s a choreographed world. Imagine a family that is only a family because it’s dictated by the authority; imagine how all the movies, music, and books that come your way never deal with anything that can tug at your heartstrings. What’s the point? Eradicating love is like taking away everything that matters, and it’s a very harrowing thought. 

Second is Oliver’s writing style. It’s quite different from Before I Fall, but I caught glimpses of the poetic curls at the edges of her prose. They’re usually overlapped by the book’s initial slow pacing, but they’re still there. 

Third is the climax at the end. I think that’s what really made me decide not to completely rule out reading Pandemonium, the sequel. :)

Posted 6 months ago
58 notes
Tagged: Delirium, Lauren Oliver, book review, dystopian, young adult, romance, book, lit, literature, .
ReviewTitle: Norwegian WoodAuthor: Haruki MurakamiGenre: Romance, Coming-of-Age, ContemporaryRating:  ★★★★★ ____ (Note: this is not a new review) Being a music junkie and a bookworm made me jump excitedly when I saw this book, Norwegian Wood, for the first time about four years ago. The Beatles and Haruki Murakami occupy two different “I-love-this” ladders in my system, but both of them are settled on the highest rung. For some reason I find the combination rather interesting, so I picked it up, getting myself ready for the usual Murakami treat thrown with a spice of good ol’ music. But no, this book doesn’t have the typical elements you’ll see in a Murakami book. No surrealism of any kind, no Oedipal prophecies or soul-searching in wells or talking cats or prostitutes of the mind. This is perhaps the only “normal” book that Murakami has ever written, a coming-of-age love story that is readily accessible to most young adults of our day. The novel kicks off with the old Toru Watanabe reminiscing the most important days of his youth while listening to Norwegian Wood (The Bird Has Flown), the favorite song of his high school friend Naoko. The readers are then taken to 1960s Japan, where student activism is at its full swing. Toru and his friends are rather apolitical, and the narrator often comments on the hypocrisy of the students. The novel didn’t focus much on it anyway—that only provided the milieu of the complicatedly romantic bildungsroman. Toru is friends with lovers Kizuki and Naoko—that is, until the former committed suicide at the age of 17. The two are left grieving, but they find themselves being romantically attracted to each other. However fate seems to have another plan for them, and Naoko needs to go away for some time. Then enters another girl character, the outspoken, energetic, cheerful, and confident Midori. Toru still likes Naoko, but he thinks he likes Midori too. And as if it’s not complex enough, Reiko, Naoko’s friend, adds another side to make it all a confusing love polygon. With that premise at its core, the story is still populated with intriguing themes: suicide, sex, identity crisis, and a little bit of politics. And of course, how could I forget? It’s all about growing up. I know why a lot of young readers love this book. For one, what kind of teenager doesn’t become interested in love stories at least once in their life? Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I’m not an avid fan of ordinary love stories; I just can’t find the thrill in the infamously clichéd boy-meets-girl-loses-girl blah-blahs. But what makes Norwegian Wood exceptional for me is its depth. That’s why I love Murakami; nothing he ever writes is what it seems, be it surreal or otherwise. Every word has a profundity in them, the dialogues are powerfully executed, and how he hands the reader the strings to tie it at the end is spot-on.  Objectively speaking, this book is not perfect (is there any perfect book?). There are dry and slow points at the wrong places in the novel, making me roll me eyes sometimes for the lost momentum. But Murakami will always be able to come up with something that can redeem the whole book, be it a twist or a deeper kind of surrealism or just a melancholic ending that leaves the story’s door ajar for the benefit of the readers. This may not be my favorite book, but it has a special place in my heart.

Review
Title: Norwegian Wood
Author: Haruki Murakami
Genre: Romance, Coming-of-Age, Contemporary
Rating:  ★★★★★

____

(Note: this is not a new review)

Being a music junkie and a bookworm made me jump excitedly when I saw this book, Norwegian Wood, for the first time about four years ago. The Beatles and Haruki Murakami occupy two different “I-love-this” ladders in my system, but both of them are settled on the highest rung. For some reason I find the combination rather interesting, so I picked it up, getting myself ready for the usual Murakami treat thrown with a spice of good ol’ music.

But no, this book doesn’t have the typical elements you’ll see in a Murakami book. No surrealism of any kind, no Oedipal prophecies or soul-searching in wells or talking cats or prostitutes of the mind. This is perhaps the only “normal” book that Murakami has ever written, a coming-of-age love story that is readily accessible to most young adults of our day.

The novel kicks off with the old Toru Watanabe reminiscing the most important days of his youth while listening to Norwegian Wood (The Bird Has Flown), the favorite song of his high school friend Naoko. The readers are then taken to 1960s Japan, where student activism is at its full swing. Toru and his friends are rather apolitical, and the narrator often comments on the hypocrisy of the students. The novel didn’t focus much on it anyway—that only provided the milieu of the complicatedly romantic bildungsroman. Toru is friends with lovers Kizuki and Naoko—that is, until the former committed suicide at the age of 17. The two are left grieving, but they find themselves being romantically attracted to each other. However fate seems to have another plan for them, and Naoko needs to go away for some time. Then enters another girl character, the outspoken, energetic, cheerful, and confident Midori. Toru still likes Naoko, but he thinks he likes Midori too. And as if it’s not complex enough, Reiko, Naoko’s friend, adds another side to make it all a confusing love polygon.

With that premise at its core, the story is still populated with intriguing themes: suicide, sex, identity crisis, and a little bit of politics. And of course, how could I forget? It’s all about growing up.

I know why a lot of young readers love this book. For one, what kind of teenager doesn’t become interested in love stories at least once in their life? Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I’m not an avid fan of ordinary love stories; I just can’t find the thrill in the infamously clichéd boy-meets-girl-loses-girl blah-blahs. But what makes Norwegian Wood exceptional for me is its depth. That’s why I love Murakami; nothing he ever writes is what it seems, be it surreal or otherwise. Every word has a profundity in them, the dialogues are powerfully executed, and how he hands the reader the strings to tie it at the end is spot-on. 

Objectively speaking, this book is not perfect (is there any perfect book?). There are dry and slow points at the wrong places in the novel, making me roll me eyes sometimes for the lost momentum. But Murakami will always be able to come up with something that can redeem the whole book, be it a twist or a deeper kind of surrealism or just a melancholic ending that leaves the story’s door ajar for the benefit of the readers.

This may not be my favorite book, but it has a special place in my heart.

Posted 6 months ago
53 notes
Tagged: Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami, book, book review, Japanese, literature, lit, Japanese literature, .

Review
Title: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Author: Jonathan Safran Foer
Genre: Contemporary, Historical Fiction
Rating: ★★★★

___

Morse code bracelets. Edible microphones that magnify everybody’s heartbeats. Special drains embedded in pillows that channel the sadness of New Yorkers into the Reservoir of Tears. Ambulances with flashing signs on their roofs that indicate the condition of their occupant. Body paints that change in color in accordance with the moods of their wearer.

These are the fanciful inventions you’ll find in the corners of Oskar Schell’s nine-year-old mind. Precocious as he is, the fuel that truly pushed his imagination to weave these whimsicalities is the untimely demise of his father in the World Trade Center on the morning of September 11. Even if he doesn’t admit it, he’s utterly devastated. One day, he stumbles upon a key that he believes belonged to his father. Thinking that it’s just like one of the clues in their “Reconnaissance Expeditions,” he embarks on a secret journey across the five (or six?) boroughs of New York to find the mysterious lock, hoping that if he finally gets his hands on it, his grief will also come to an end.

This is Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: a healing tale about loss, sorrow, forgiveness, heartaches, and new beginnings.

Pre-reading, I have this thought that Foer just hitched a ride with the 9/11 gravy train—and succeeded in gaining overwhelming support. We all know that the tragedy did not only leave a lot of people grieving, it also scattered a flurry of opportunities in the pop-culture landscape. Foer was still reeling from the success of his debut novel Everything is Illuminated at that time, and in hindsight everyone who enjoyed his first baby will readily pick up the next thing he cooks up. Needless to say, I didn’t harbor high expectations for this novel despite everyone’s rave reviews. I guess that’s always a good thing; I was caught off guard by how Extremely Beautiful and Incredibly Poignant this gem really is.

Oskar is unlike the clichéd versions of “genius” kid-narrators populating most of today’s coming-of-age literature. While he is indeed intelligent (I believe he has Asperger’s), he doesn’t sound like an adult trapped in a child’s body. His thought processes are flawed and clumsy like an ordinary boy’s, and even if he doesn’t talk about his despair in an ultra-deep level, it tinges his every thought. The way he manages to sandwich humorous nuggets of ideas between the distressing ones—the same way Foer inserts funny scenes between the heartbreaking ones—makes for an unforgettable rollercoaster of a reading experience.

Foer’s prose is quirkily poetic, especially when he leaves Oskar’s voice for a while to speak through the mouths of the boy’s grandparents. Epistles addressed to Oskar and his dad are interspersed throughout the book, chronicling separate experiences of the old couple from the Dresden bombings in WWII up to the present. Anyone who enjoys poetry will revel in the beauty of these letters, what with their underlying meaning more magnificently arresting than their superficial definitions. These emotional flashbacks don’t propel the plot forward, but they help in fleshing out the rather two-dimensional characters that are their owners and in adding extra “emotional baggage,” if you know what I mean. The noticeable differences of the three voices just show how good Foer is in juggling POVs.

I love how the striking photographs (from Oskar’s scrapbook Stuff that Happened to Me) and the unconventional typography (words typed over each other until they’re just a wall of scribbled blackness) helped in adding extra emotional impact. I know some people who literally tore up while reading this.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is the kind of book that best fits the adage “it’s about the journey, not the destination.” Both content and form are [WARNING: SPOILER] wild sheep chases of sorts. There are no big epiphanies or shocking twists plot-wise, and Foer has a habit of turning several parts of the story into loose threads. Yet, by the end of the novel, you know you’ve gotten something precious from it—maybe realizations, maybe the threefold footprints the story left in your heart, or maybe just those feelings that swaddle you when you stop journeying with a hero because you know from that moment on, he’ll be okay on his own.

For me, this is an enjoyable, one of a kind read. I’ll be watching out for more of Foer’s works. :)

Posted 6 months ago
79 notes
Tagged: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, book, book review, Jonathan Safran Foer, books, literature, lit, 9/11, .

Review
Title: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Millennium#01)
Author: Stieg Larrson
Genre: Thriller/Mystery
Rating: ★★★★

___

AN UNHEALTHY OBSESSION- this is how the majority of the wealthy Vanger family describes Henrik’s unyielding search for the truth about his niece Harriet, who vanished almost four decades ago. Financial journalist Mikael Blomkvist, although freshly convicted of libel, is hired to investigate. Aided by a punk hacker-slash-hardboiled P.I. Lisbeth Salander, he digs into the family’s skeleton-full of cupboards and discovers more than what he is searching.

This is Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo: a noir crime fiction that does not only revolve around a murky murder/disappearance case but also paints a portrait of Sweden with all shades of black and grey.

One of the things I liked the best in this novel is the top-notch world-building. Through Larsson’s unembellished prose I was instantly transported to Sweden, and although it was no tourist’s holiday, I enjoyed the trip immensely.  If you are squeamish and want to read this book, you better get prepared for the things that can possibly give you a bad case of vertigo: lots of rape, sadism, torture, and other incredibly harrowing stuff that happens to women (which makes me think the original title Men Who Hate Women is more appropriate). Needless to say, the descriptions are grotesquely effective. These—plus a couple of dirty snapshots of the Swedish business scene—added to the solidity of the dark setting.

While the world-building is ace, I cannot say the same for characterization of the male protagonist. Mikael Blomkvist reads half-baked to me—a character prematurely taken out from the writing oven, that is. I cannot picture him as a fully-realized person for the most part. His Practical Pig complex, stubborn naivety, and strong moral code (okay, and propensity to magnetize almost every woman to his bed) are a few of his attributes that Larsson did not successfully take to the final stage of character-molding. I think he would have been a great character if Larsson did not write him as his glossed-over fictional alter ego of some sort. That only made him a small step shy from being a Gary Stu. Fortunately another protagonist exists, and that’s our titular ‘girl with the dragon tattoo’: Lisbeth Salander.

It’s no secret that I have a weakness for well-written antiheroines, and Lisbeth is the newest addition to the roster. A taciturn 25-year-old punk prodigy, Lisbeth is both a heroine and a victim. With her tattoos, piercings, and the ‘mentally ill’ label she received in court, it is so easy to pigeonhole her. As much as she wants to show that she doesn’t care about others’ low opinion on her, deep inside all she ever wanted to be is someone who is not judged and laughed at. Unlike Blomkvist, she understands that ‘the raptors of the world speak only one language,’ and throughout the novel it is shown she is driven by the fuel of revenge. Somehow, I loved her slightly off-kilter version of justice and her way of achieving it. It talks so much about her past, which is not entirely revealed in this book. I am hoping to see more of it in the sequels.

The book is wonderfully plotted, but my interest fluctuates throughout the story. It took me a while to get through the first two parts (Incentive and Consequence Analyses) mainly because of two things: the plot doesn’t charge along at the speed I expected from a suspense/thriller book, and the Vanger clan is a confusing web—it’s hard to remember who’s who, despite the detailed table and family tree that Larsson provided. Honestly I was tempted more than once to stop reading and move on to other books. I am glad I didn’t. The plot picked up speed when Blomkvist and Salander met, and from that moment on I was glued to my seat, refusing to put the book down.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I actually liked how it ended:  “Millennium’s Revenge.” I did not ace my Business and Economic Writing class when I was still studying journalism, but I enjoyed how the Millennium staff turned the tables on financial gangster Wennerstrom just with the possession of the right information, causing a domino reaction in Sweden’s field of banking and business. I also liked the ethical dilemmas Blomkvist and the rest of Millennium faced: how can you report objectively about the Vanger Corporation if they are a part-owner of your magazine? Isn’t there a conflict of interests? Would you still publish this old rape story with the consequences of immortalizing the ghost of the victim’s past in print, when all that she really wants to do is forget it? Which would you choose, your role of being a public servant or your role as a human being?

I reiterate, almost half of this behemoth of a book I did not entirely enjoy, but the parts that did, they blew me away like no other suspense books I have encountered before. Giving it 3 or 3.5 stars seemed a tad too criminal because when I turned the last page, I was extremely satisfied that I was actually contemplating to buy the second book that moment.  So yes, I’m giving this four stars. Can’t wait to read The Girl Who Played with Fire!

Posted 7 months ago
36 notes
Tagged: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Millennium trilogy, Stieg Larsson, book review, book, literature, lit, .