'Identity' by Milan Kundera

Milan Kundera: one of my favourite (although previously despised) authors.

I personally enjoyed 'Ignorace' much better than this book. I'm not sure if I was paying enough attention to it when I read it this morning, but his philosophies and theories about identity didn't seem to hit me as hard as the nostalgia of 'Ignorance'.

This novel revolves around the lives of a Parisian couple: Jean-Marc and Chantal. The narrator is strictly third-person but his perspective reclines on either couple alternately.

The ending isn't so sad.

'Venus in Furs' by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch

Indeed, 'masochism' is coined from the name 'Sacher-Masoch'.

Better hold your horses about 'Venus in Furs' though. There's an awful lot of whipping and obsessive behaviour, nevertheless, this contains next to none of pornography. I rate this as a 15+.

The masochism described in this book (although greatly physical) is more emotional. You can argue that I am just being female.

It gets annoying. Watch out for Wanda von Dunajew. Be nice to Severin, he sold his self to become a slave after all, with the price of being always around his tormentor forever. That's like Dr. Faustus selling his soul to the devil in exchange for going to hell.

And that. That is masochism.

'Bonjour Tristesse' by Françoise Sagan

Oh yes, I actually went on to read this.

It's not wonderful and quite simplistic. Not particularly scandalous either. Then again, it might have been something of a novelty in the era of literature and epoch of morals it was published into. One can never tell unless the right conditions are inoculated into the equation.

So the story goes: late teens, female, only child, filthy rich. Father finds someone to marry. Fiancee is close to the family and almost treated as her mother. Fiancee is righteous but threatens the 'debauchery' of their existence. Girl wreaks havoc but doesn't lose conscience.

You should read the ending.

'Reflections in a Golden Eye' by Carson McCullers

A military story. Another concise piece of work. I believe this book was born into a warren of bad reviews. I wouldn't know the contrast between this and 'The Heart is a Lonely Hunter', which is of course, the author's esteemed masterpiece.

The story revolves around a loveless military couple, another loveless military couple, their Filipino servant and a horse (this I shamelessly copy and add to from the first few paragraphs of the book).

Anacleto? I'm not even sure if that's a Filipino/Spanish name - certainly one that I have not encountered before. The novel was set and written in a warless time (first half of the 20th century - not sure when) in a military base/facility full of bored soldiers.

Apparently this story of 'murder' is one of the few exceptions to the severe ennui soldiers without kill suffered.

'I was Amelia Earhart' by Jane Mendelsohn

I was (born the same date as) Amelia Earhart. I'm quite proud of it (although it has no real bearing whatsoever in life, the universe and everything)

Before I read it, I wondered how the author would go about telling the story of Miss Earhart. Personally, I think it's quite a risk to write a fiction about a real person. I've always thought that the important thing is to get your facts straight. Then I realised, after reading several such work, that it is called fiction for a reason.

This is a well-written book. Some of the images are very vivid (fish skeleton palm leaves etc) and the entire book seems to have an almost stream-of-consciousness quality (thanks to the absence of quotation marks and the frequent changes in the perspective of the narration).

I thought the post-'disappearance' part of the book was far-fetched and unwarranted. But who really knows what happened to the great Amelia?

Leave it to fiction to form eloquent conjectures.

'The Old Man and the Sea' by Ernest Hemingway

This is the first Hemingway book I have ever read (and a very short one at that) and I love it.

Some books are fantastic because they are saturated in information and culture and metaphors and teeming with characters and misdemeanours and passion. Then some books have that fragility, that suave simplicity such as, for example, 'The Old Man and the Sea'.

That rhymed.

I found that I relished every sentence of this book and it never got tedious because it was a short read. The mellifluous injection of Spanish words here and there also had a good effect (and reminded me I need to brush up on my Spanish).

The Old Man was nameless and so was the Boy. Everything that mattered was nameless. Was it the Old Man who caught the fish or the fish that caught the Old Man?

The metaphors never cease.

'Oroonoko' by Aphra Behn

Aphra Behn, saluted by Virginia Woolf, and so it seems, a woman who paved the way for fellow women in the world of writing.

This book was written in the 17th century and thus, one needs an open and non-chronocentric mind to read it. It certainly gave me a headache. I'm not sure if it were the large chunks of text (almost devoid of paragraphing) or it's just terribly hot today but it did induce some headache upon reading.

The language isn't hard to understand and is surprisingly not as given to verbiage as I thought it would be. The plot revolves around Prince Oroonoko (later given the Christian name 'Caesar' by his captors) and the various ways in which his dignity was cheated, wronged and abused by everyone around him from his own kingdom to the colony of Surinam.

The ending is conclusive. Yes, that doesn't mean anything. I'd really rather not spoil it. I'm glad I read this book.

'The Penelopiad' by Margaret Atwood

I've not yet read the Odyssey (nor the Iliad for that matter - woe is me) so I cannot really comment on the effect of Atwood's chosen perspective.

Her retelling of the story is modern and feminist. Her language is a strange contrast to that of Homer's - almost sallying his graveness and age with her humour and hipness for, indeed, this is a funny book.

I read this in the dead of the night, which may have had something to do with making Penelope's narration from Hades more effective. She crosses paths with people from her lifetime (now also deceased), intermingles with the living and comments on their silliness, and is still, being made to wait by Odysseus the great voyager, escape artist and eloquent liar.

Atwood has some interesting theories about female cults, the twelve wrongly killed maids and I certainly enjoyed the portrayal of Helen.

Poor Penelope.

'A Spy in the House of Love' by Anaïs Nin

The cover of this book when I read it was an assortment of chocolates. It seems that chocolates amount to endorphins which are produced equally when we are in love which is (sometimes) sweet.

Don't judge the book by it's cover, as they say, but assess its suitability. I can't complain. Although if it were up to me, I would have drawn a semi-nude woman bathing on a shore with the sun's brilliance effacing her nakedness. And it would be in oil or in pastel.

Anyway, there wasn't much of the graphic eros in this book - contrary to my expectations. Nin is infamous for her erotica. To wit, in porn. But her writing is much more than just the carnal. 'A Spy in the House of Love' is a story of adulterous affairs and its toll on the unison of personal identity. It's about acting and roles and expectations and love.

After reading this book I felt tired. Sabina is restless.

'Those Without Shadows' by Françoise Sagan

I read this book yesterday morning and I hardly remember how I felt upon reading it. It's another story about the moral delinquency of the bourgeoisie, evanescent love, misery in artistry and well, adultery. Anything else to add?

I'm not puritanical but one thing I find in novels like these (novels detailing the purposelessness and futility and dilapidation of the human life) is God - or at least, spirituality for that matter.

One thing I liked about this book is the brevity. Everybody loves succinctness.

The book wasn't particularly riveting and the themes, I thought, were exhausted numerous times before in other books (or do I just tend to read books like this)? I'll have to read her other more famous book some time. Guesses as to what it is?

'A Small Place' by Jamaica Kincaid

This small book is about a small island country (9 miles by 12 miles in size) called Antigua.

I think it's a wonderfully moving book written by a passionate (and greatly indignant) author. The narration starts in the second person, addressing the reader and transmogrifying him into a tourist. 'An ugly tourist'.

I can sympathise with the author's sentiments: the anger towards colonisers, the anger towards the bleached culture that you didn't even get the chance to experience, the anger towards the enslavement and displacement of lives. It is hard to forgive something that is done and harder still to appease your vehemence when the fact is, these wrong-doers are dead, there is nothing you can do about it and yet, their lasting damage you are still living.

In saying that I don't support the (anti-white) racism. Different cultures appear both alien to one another. I would agree that discontent and self-absorbed depression is a strange western disease, though - or at least, it is something that Western cultures recognise as a proper ailment deserving of medical attention and drugs.

This book makes me want to visit Antigua. Although I'm not sure how welcome I'd be being a tourist. Hey, I'm not white.

The author's description of Antigua is so alluring.

'Housekeeping' by Marilynne Robinson

This is the sort of book title that provokes all sorts of sexist comments from the xy kind. Then again, I suppose my friends are just playfully misogynistic.

The book was dreamy and airy by the sentence. The author is eloquent and this eloquence is haunting in quality. I especially liked the wide use of water: from the Great Flood to the lake water housing the body of the (narrator's) grandfather to the fleeting reflections of oneself imbued on the waves.

The plot itself was worn-out, I thought: orphans, outcasts, loneliness, change. But there's something about the tone of narration, an impassivity, a detachment. I felt like I was reading the thoughts of someone who was not the daughter of the dead mother or the wandering 'transient' without home.

It's not so bad, you know. Not at all.

'Of Mice and Men' by John Steinbeck

A bull-strong imbecile and a less imbecilic rake: not so uncanny a tandem anymore. They are so unlike they can't do anything else but stick together as compliments to each other.

Lennie's simplicity is touching. Not only does he have an unripened mind, any twelve-year-old would have had more sense than him. If people are willing to pardon the innocent mistakes of a young child, why can't we pardon the mistakes of an adult with the mind of a child? Where do we draw the line for forgiveness and tolerance? We make allowances for children not so much for their physical age but for the inexperience, the innocence and the ignorance that is coupled with their youth: for the level of their understanding.

'Cannery Row' by John Steinbeck

I wasn't sure what to make of the title when I first encountered it.

Is 'cannery' an intentional misspelling of 'canary' and is it a row where canaries frequent? Is the word 'row' used to mean 'fight', as in a 'Cannery Fight'? Of course, the author goes ahead to explain before the story even starts that 'Cannery Row' is a place where they can fish (and by 'can', I mean, put fish in tin cans) and is a neighbourhood in Monterey, California.

The book itself, aside from being saturated in culture and innocent misdemeanours, is almost encyclopedic in its scope of zoology (and particularly, marine biology). I looked this up, wondering to myself whether or not I was meant to be familiar with all these aquatic animals mentioned in Doc's lab, and found out that Steinbeck had committed himself to the study of marine biology for some time.

The plot doesn't seem to be the focus of the novel/novella at all. Rather, the novel seems to be a collage of stories revolving around Cannery Row. Steinbeck gives his setting a personality and an identity.

There were many interesting characters in it: notably Mack (and the boys), Doc, Dora, Lee Chong and Henri the Painter to name a few.

A couple of years ago I would have said that Mack is annoying and deranged. He is the kind of person who does not have tact and works with little acts of selfishness under the veil of generosity. Moreover, he is a compulsive, professional liar. Now, I feel a kind of sympathy towards him, especially after his toothy, blood-trickling speech at Doc.

We don't live in an absolute world, after all. Cannery Row is a society in its own right, upholding its own ideals, its own rules and its own lifestyle. People may live a lifestyle of their choosing.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Truman Capote

I started reading Breakfast at Tiffany's at the bookstore. It was three hours before work, the dread of making sandwiches, dealing with the humourless lunch hour (and the messy back kitchen aftermath) made me stingy. Nothing would have convinced me to spend a dull hour's worth of pay.

I camped on a comfortable couch overlooking shelves of English Dictionaries and Grammar books. It was early enough so the bookstore was devoid of its familiar loiterers. I was alone, I could read and some sentimental sixty's music added to the ambiance.

Holly Golightly is a nice name. That was probably my first thought when I read the back blurb. It suited her quite well - beautiful, hypnotic, cajoling, confident, wild-spirited, happy-go-lucky. Perhaps the ballast of her existence: charisma. Perhaps, charm. They sound so alike.

What is it about Holly Golightly that people find so alluring? Other than the beauty and the sex?

She has this innocence about her: a 'sick' honesty (by society's standards). She acts on pure feeling and impulse. She does things without moral qualms (she is a kleptomaniac, for example). She simply doesn't see any moral implications.

I suppose some people are like that. People do things for 'kicks' or do not see the effects of their actions upon others (and there is a difference between not perceiving something and ignoring something you perceive).

In many ways Holly Golightly is just the nameless cat she owns: a scarred thug who lives off streets and thievery and other people's leftovers. They're both independent, as Holly goes on to say.

The book is a whirlwind of whims and the reserved narration of a penniless writer. I really liked it. Full of gangsters, playboys, Holly Golightly and lies.

My favourite part of the entire text would have to be:

Ms Holiday Golightly, travelling

Sums up the book from beginning to end, no?