Dear John (Nicholas Sparks)

“It’s possible to go on, no matter how impossible it seems, and that in time, the grief . . . lessens. It may not go away completely, but after a while it’s not so overwhelming.”

I have already seen the movie version of this masterpiece. It was sad for the most part but I liked it because it had a happy ending. You see, despite the hard-case cynicism I often display, deep inside I am a hopeful believer of love and its triumphs. And Dear John the movie was a triumphant journey, a long one, yes, but a triumph nonetheless.

Imagine then my surprise when I finally got a hold of this book and I got to the ending only to be slapped in the face with the truth! tsk, tsk..

It is a refreshing change, however, being able to read from a man’s point of view. It’s blunt and it’s witty without being too flowery. I’ve nothing against poetry and the people who live for them but there are days when one just wants a simple story to curl up with. Oh, but beware lest you think this is a light one for your eyes to sink into. This is far from being shallow nor quick, no sirree! Dear John will take you back to when you first fell truly in love– that guy who made you look, that incredible scent that made you linger, and of course, that sweet kiss that made you want to open up your arms and enclose the warmth from whence that kiss came from.

And then there’s the rub..For in rehashing the past one is led to wonder whatever became of that person whose gaze once furiously brought out the blush in one’s cheek. Where could he be now? Is he living the dream that the two of you once swore you’d make come true together? Does he think of you everytime he passes by an old haunt?Is he happy? Does he remember you and the good things that you once shared?

And so it goes on and on until..hopefully..the next good read that comes your way. Until then, enjoy the memories. Don’t get lost in them now, ya hear? For hasn’t it been already said that memories are good only for remembering, but never for living?

Tah-tah!

Take that, you Bloodsucker! (Blade meets Twilight)

if you don’t get it, then you haven’t seen enough Vampire movies!

source

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan

It wasn’t a particular surprise that I found Lisa See’s Snow Flower and the Secret Fan an engrossing read. Not only did it talk about lifelong bond between women friends (something which I sorely lack), it also delved into the complexities of mother-daughter relationships. Now, me and my mom, we’re regular friends–we talk, we laugh and shop together, whenever given the chance. Whatever she wanted to say, she told me long before I was ready to hear them, but it didn’t matter. Ours is a genuinely amiable bond, one which is a rare commodity during the period this novel was set in.

Lily grew up in nineteenth-century China, in a remote Hunan country where mothers and daughters are only as good as their worth in marriage and childbearing. All her life, she is constantly told that in order to please her parents, she must bear a huge amount of pain and sacrifice. For any girl, this might seem an insurmountable task but for Lily, having Snow Flower around to share her agony of foot binding and arranged marriage makes it all a little less of a never-ending nightmare.

Snow Flower is Lily’s laotong or “old same”. In modern parlance, I believe it means something like a soul mate or less romantically, surrogate sisters. The lifelong match is determined by the elders and is exclusively between two women born of the same month, year, sign and social status. Laotongs share their lives via a secret language called nu shu, in the form of a poem intricately painted onto a silk fan or a handkerchief. Through these pieces of cloth, the sisters trade stories of hope, anger and frustration; Resolving conflicts, exchanging confidences, well away from the watchful eyes of the men in their household.

Now I can only imagine what goes through the mind of a six year old when she is told she must not play in the fields anymore and instead stay inside her room while her mother makes sure her feet are breaking and rotting properly. Obviously, I don’t live in such times. What I do know though is that as far as I can remember, whenever I felt sick or had something bothering me, my mom has always been there, in her own quite way. No, we were not the type to discuss my troubles openly (more my fault than hers, really), but I had no doubts whatsoever of her capacity and will to protect me, should I ever seek it.

The strength with which Lily and Snow Flower face each of their life-changing moments appalls me, but not as much as their abject refusal to challenge whatever fate deals them. Lisa See writes with unbiased honesty–her characters alternately showing weakness and dignity, cunning and innocence. For a while it may seem that there is only one side to a story, but then she shifts the control, quick and without much ado. Employed by authors less gifted than See, such formula maybe detrimental but for her, it works and there lays the charm of this wonderful creation.

Farewell to My Concubine

China during the 1930′s and the 1940′s is much like war-torn Europe, the way it mystifies and fascinates me. The words cheongsam, concubine and lilies all form a distinct imagery in my head, one that I’ve always wanted to see in life and in print. While this book failed to bring to life an era that I so longingly wish to live in (only for a day or two, really), it did serve as a useful conduit for all the flights of fancy that has overtaken me a couple of months back.

Farewell To My Concubine is a sad story of love, first and foremost. It is not as glamorous as that of Lisa See’s but it’s a close contender for depth and style. The romance that it delves into is well outside the realms of what’s considered conventional, which is probably why the story was able to sustain my interest. Like most novels of wartime, it is not an easy read. Often, I found myself setting it aside, in favor of a more frivolous reading material. But always, it draws me back, much like the light does to the moth. The characters are strong and distinctive, yet lacking that personal signature that makes them memorable. To any reader, they may dwell within the mind, but only until the last chapter is read. After that they become like ghosts–dead, unwanted and better left alone.

Chronicles of a Death Foretold

Why is it that majority of the award winning books that I come across with neither suit my taste nor strike me as particularly brilliant? Take this one for example. I have heard so much about this novel, the minute I saw this on my favorite seller’s book list, I immediately snapped it up, thinking it would be worth the wait.

Well, it wasn’t.

The narration isn’t half bad, in fact it’s very engaging the way Marquez allows one to actually feel the ocean beat its waves against the shore. And its poignant how I can almost taste the salt in the air or hear the rustle of the leaves as Santiago walks from his hut to the market, in search of God-knows-what. Yes, this is not a fresh read and yes, I am back-reviewing (if there is such a word). For those who care, back reviewing is when I review the books I read more than a month ago. It’s a pain, but it keeps the blood going and the mind pumping, and for now, that’s all I really need

Back to the novel. The story is deceivingly simple. Spanning an entire weekend’s worth of ordinary life in the boondocks, it tells of the incidences leading to Santiago Nasar’s untimely demise. Critics more learned and experienced than myself (not that I think of myself as one!) who took the time to write about this book say that it is an enchanting read, a mystical weave of mystery and bravura. But for the life of me, I cannot fathom its charm. Much like William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, the attraction fails me. Much to my dismay

tuesdays with morrie

For the longest time, I have been meaning to get a copy of this book. And I should have, long before I actually did. You see, this isn’t very hard to find in the bookstores. My friends own it, the beau’s office lends it, even the thrift shop has several of its dilapidated edition. And yet for some reason, I did not get to read this book until this year when life has just started becoming a fast moving blur.

Talk about irony, eh?

As a student, I too, was once a do-gooder who couldn’t bear to see a less than perfect score on my test sheets. That was, until I got to College when too much freedom and too little parental supervision swayed me from where I originally intended to be. In all of my academic years, I can only pinpoint one or two teachers whose kindness and passion evoked in me the same kind of warmth that Mitch Albom felt for his Morrie. Which is why the story fascinated and moved me so. It is not only a book about courage and the frailty of human life. It is also a book of love and honesty, conceived at a time when such sentiments maybe smirked or sneered at. Crying is not an option after leafing through the pages of this treasure. But yes, it will come, when you least expect it. Not all of us are gifted with the experience of knowing such a person as Morrie. But everyday, we do see people who carry his legacy, in some small way, and those, are what this book will remind you to be grateful of.

How fun you are, Dahl-in!

D is for Dahl is not a book merely for children in the kindergarten. Instead, it is a quirky and fun-loving biography of and about Roald Dahl (pronounced Ro-wal Dal); Especially designed for the young and the young at heart.

They say that it’s never too late to pick up a new hobby. Well, Roald Dahl is mine. The new hobby, that is. I didn’t read about him and his works until very recently and yet he has made me love his stories like I am still a kid of 5 or 6. Simple but never without his characteristic wit and fantastical signature, this particular edition will feed you tidbits about your favorite author. From his favorite-est candy (chocolates) to his least favorite type of bush (beards). From his quirky habits both as a child and as a man, to the gloriumptious stuff that made him the wonderful story teller that he was.

Like most of Roald Dahl’s works, the illustrations here are done by Quentin Blake; Each page is filled with color and vibrance, much like the magical tales spun by the author’s lively imagination. Recipes for fun things like kitkat pudding and hot-house eggs abound, knock knock jokes are thrown about like dog droppings on a cool, summer day.

It will make you laugh, doodle, snicker and giggle. Miss your childhood and want more of them days gone by; The magic that may have been lacking all your life will be replenished up to the nines. So, go ahead. Grab a copy. It won’t change your life but it will certainly turn your day around.

Enjoy!:D

A Groundbreaking Inception

The last movie I saw of Leonardo DiCaprio, Shutter Island, was a total psycho-babble mess which left me more than a bit wary of checking Inception out. The rave reviews, however, overrode my hesitations and boy, was I glad I took a leap.

Available in 3d at SM City Cebu’s iMax, Inception is a hugely engaging movie, not only because the concept is a novelty (at least for this viewer) but because it literally required one’s undivided attention. Every second counts, I tell you. Failing to grasp a single sequence of the film will surely throw you into a cinematic limbo, leaving you puzzled and so frustrated that you will have to watch the movie from the very beginning.

It’s not for the shallow nor the quick to judge, one is advised to finish the entire thing before making any kind of pronouncement. Action-packed as it was, its beauty lies in the fact that it left me clamoring for more–more mystery, more suspense, and definitely more lucid dreaming!

Leonardo as Dom was sufficiently enigmatic without being cruel to his protégé, Ken Watanabe (Saito) his awe-inspiring backdrop, Joseph Gordon-Levitt (Arthur) the charming accomplice and Ellen Page (from Juno, this time as Ariadne, the newbie) served as an effective avenue by which us viewers were let in on the secrets of their trade. If you’ve ever seen Juno then you can anticipate the impact this hefty powerhouse will bring into this masterpiece.

Working with a premise not readily understandable in layman terms is very challenging but this film succeeded not only in captivating but impressing, as well. Running for almost four hours, that’s no easy feat, even for one Leonardo DiCaprio. This, however, is one long sitting I’d gladly have done all over again.

Christopher Nolan (director) does it again! Bravo! Bravo!

Shanghai Girls

I’ve had a fairly privileged life, growing up as the only girl in a family of four. Our household, run by a doting mother and an indulgent father, allowed as much freedom as it could, without sacrifices, without prices. It fascinates me, therefore, to read about people trapped in the demands of the times they live in; Their stories are fodder for my imagination when life simply becomes too predictable for inspiration.

Lisa See’s Shanghai Girls has captivated me from the first time I ran my eyes through its inside cover summary. I expected it to just take me to an ancient world of colorful cheongsams,porcelain beauties and a vibrant culture I’ll never have the chance to experience firsthand. Instead it brought me to horrific heights, causing me to gasp out loud, close the book for a moment and let seep the harsh realities brought to mind by the author’s impassioned writing. The sights and sounds of pre-war Shanghai  became almost palpable, the flavors I could almost feel on my tongue, as the author brings to life a bustling era–glamorous and opulent like Victorian England or Paris in the 1800′s.

This historical novel is not all of joy and ideal existence; It’s of a journey fraught with much pain and sacrifice. The Shanghai Girls are brave casualties of war, their never-ending struggles only relieved by triumph that in these modern times maybe considered petty if not for the hardship that has brought the girls to their fateful ending. It talks of marriages arranged out of necessity and greed, of family loyalty so encompassing it survives even the cruelest sins. The bonds between the characters are irrevocable and yet their inner selves continually remind them they are but human–capable of scheming, selfishness and hate. Love in this story is learned, courtship is curtailed and set aside for the common aspirations of wealth and security.

Powerfully alive and a beautiful tapestry of a period long gone, it is the perfect read for a disillusioned 27-year old who, temporarily, have ceased to be awed by life and its complexities.

and so the magic continues

November 201o is nearly here..

And we’ve all waited long enough..

And of course, because I am, always and forever, will be a JK Rowling fan c”,)