Why read The Old Man and the Sea

Ah, Papa Hemingway. I just love your sparse sentences. Sometimes, I try out your writing style. Just the subject, followed by a short predicate. It reads like crap though. Like the sentences in this paragraph. Such a total waste of virtual real estate. So I bow down before you, Papa Hemingway. You make it seem so easy.

My first Ernest Hemingway read was A Farewell to Arms. That book made me an instant fan. I reread a few pages of it last month, as the book club's theme for May was all about Ernest Hemingway: his works and a bio. Then I realized that some of the lines spoken by the main characters are just so insufferable. I gag, but in a good way.

Here's a rather simpler way to show this to you, dear reader. Man asks, "Do you love me?" Woman responds, "No." Man asks again, "Do you love me?" Woman responds again, "No." Man asks for the third time, "Do you love me?" Woman finally admits, "Yes." To which the man says, "I like your hair." Argh!

The book club's swag during the discussion
I wonder if Papa H would approve of all these.
Somehow, I imagine him thinking, "Great. More stuff I don't need."

But I'm not here to talk about A Farewell to Arms. I love that book too much to talk badly about it. What I want to discuss is a much shorter work of Hemingway, which is The Old Man and the Sea. I'm not too sure how to categorize it—is it a novel, a short story (that's gone too long), or a novella? Let's just call this a novella. I love that I suddenly became all gung-ho and just decided that for you, dear reader.

Anyway, The Old Man and the Sea is the perfect book to read if you haven't read any of Hemingway's works. It's short, which will make you instantly decide if you like his writing style or not. It's also what I would like to call a gateway novel. It connects Hemingway's older works with his later fictions. It won the Pulitzer Prize, and I think it just might be the work that tipped the Nobel committee to award him the Nobel Prize for literature.

Wasn't Papa Hemingway a hottie? I get palpitations looking at this.
He served as an ambulance driver during  World War I.
Well, he can take me to the hospital anytime. 

I am partial to Hemingway's earlier works though. The Sun Also Rises and A Farewell to Arms are just brilliant. His later novels were hits and misses. The novel that preceded The Old Man and the Sea was very much lambasted by critics; it prompted Hemingway to write something that he said will be his best work. I don't think The Old Man and the Sea is his best though. But a lot of people from the book club liked it, which is good enough for me.

I don't think the novella is about man versus nature; it's more of a man-versus-himself kind of thing. The old man and the marlin that he has caught and held on for a few days are like mirror images. Only a great man can catch a formidable inhabitant of the sea. And having caught the marlin, the old man proved that he still had it in him. He still got his mojo. He rocks.

What I didn't get in the novella are all those religious references pertaining to the old man. He was supposed to represent Christ. He got wounds on his hands which some people compared to, ummmm, the stigmata. And when he finally went home after having spent several days in the sea holding on to that marlin, he collapsed in his bed in a position similar to Christ being nailed on the cross. Whatever. But the novella did make me crave for sushi. Mmmmm. . . Having fresh sushi—now that's a religious experience.

Oh, and this is the first official book club discussion that I attended this year. There's just been too much work. And I had to keep R. company, as the past few months were a very difficult period for him. Well, it definitely felt good to be back, and what better time than a discussion on one of my favorite authors.

R. (right) and I (left), after the book club discussion
Yes, we both wear reading glasses now.
No, we are not hipsters.

We also got the chance to read any biographical work on Ernest Hemingway. I didn't finish mine though. But thank goodness for Wikipedia, yes? From what I read of Papa Hemingway's life, he certainly did lead a very interesting one. War veteran at 19, married 4 strong women, lived in 4 continents, struggled with depression, took his own life. Compared to his, my life seems very much uneventful. But looking at what happened to Hemingway during his twilight years, I realized that uneventful is good.

I opted to read A. E. Hotchner's classic memoir of the time
he spent with Ernest Hemingway. It's a heartbreaking read.

On a reading high

So last Sunday, we decided to stay at home and just catch up on whatever stuff that needs catching up on. For me of course, that would have to be reading. As I slept at 8 pm last Saturday night, I woke up at 3 am, logged on to Facebook (goodness, 390+ likes for that photo!), checked my emails and downloadables, and started reading this latest novel by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah.

I bought Americanah on a whim, as I think I remember reading about it that the novel was optioned by Lupita Nyong'o. With my A to Z classics challenge, I figured I wasn't recently reading contemporary novels more often than before.

And then I checked the clock on my wall. It was already 8 am! I almost missed breakfast! Americanah is that good, dear reader. No wonder it received a lot of awards this year and last. The hype is oh so true! Read it! Read it! Read it!

I can't remember the last time I was so enamored with a book. So passionate I felt about this novel that I just wanna rush to the nearest bookstore and get all the novels written by Ms Chimamanda. I actually called my favorite bookstore and found out that they have only Americanah in stock, and there's no news as to whether they'll stock the earlier works of this author. Sucks vacuum cleaners.

The last time I felt like this after discovering a very talented author was after finishing José Saramago's The History of the Siege of Lisbon. That novel instantly converted me into a Saramago fan, making me read most of his novels. But The History of the Siege of Lisbon will always be my favorite Saramago. The novel combined history with proofreading! Orgasmic.

The hunt is on for the works of Ms Chimamanda. I never figured that I'd be interested in fiction which is very much centered on Nigeria. Americanah is just too beautiful, and I hope that the author's other works would be just as satisfying as this one.

K is for Kipling

I have a certain feeling of ambivalence after reading Rudyard Kipling's Kim, my 11th writer in my dead guy challenge. After turning over the last page, I thought that it was merely a coming-of-age novel. But then I checked out the novel's summary online, and boy oh boy was I surprised. How could I have missed all those details! To say that I felt stupid would be an understatement.

Kim, the main character, is a boy of Irish descent living in India during the British empire in the 19th century. He's a ruffian, a jester, a street rat in Lahore. Then he befriends Teshoon Lama, a former abbot whose dream is to free himself from the Wheel of Things. Teshoon Lama is on a quest to find the River of the Arrow, and he and Kim find themselves in many adventures in their quest.

As the novel progresses, we witness how Kim grows from the unruly orphaned boy that he is to a chela (servant) of the lama, a student in an English school in Lucknow, a government appointee, a surveyor (a spy of sorts), and a key player in the battle between the British empire and the Russians. And this last role is where I have a problem with. I felt that Kim was never really offered a choice in his role as a spy. Everything was laid out for him to become one.

What I did like were the amusing parts where Kim and lama travel to many exotic locations in India. Also, I found their encounters with several characters (e.g., a prostitute, a sick child, a sorceress) charming. This is where Kipling's novel shines. As for the grand plot involving espionage, everything was like a blur. I would have preferred more details, more texture, on these parts of the novel.

Kim is still an entertaining read. Although one major aspect of my ambivalence toward is whether the novel can be enjoyed by children or not. I do see Kim in many bookstores under the children's section, and there's a Puffin edition of it. But the novel's political themes may be too overwhelming for young readers. I guess if the readers are guided to focus on the characters' adventures, then I guess it could very well work as a children's book.

Read this book if:

1. You like your adventure stories set in exotic locations.
2. You've always been curious about the actions of the British empire.
3. You'll read anything by Nobel Prize-winning authors.

Of collaborators and resistance fighters

I guess I spoke too soon when I posted my 10 favorite reads for 2013 in the previous post. I never knew that I'd be making a late addition to it, and it's this debut novel by Laurent Binet—HHhH. Somehow, I'm glad that this would probably be the last book that I'll be reading for the year, for HHhH is one truly glorious read.

HHhH is Laurent Binet's debut novel, but it doesn't feel like it. This historical novel really makes other books in the genre feel like they've been written by history undergraduates who are just too lazy with their research. If there's anything that Binet pulls off in this novel, these are the meticulous details that make HHhH very richly textured.

HHhH stands for "Himmlers Hirn heisst Heydrich" or Himmler's brain is called Heydrich." Now, Heydrich: If there's one man more feared that Hitler during WW2, it was this blond who was responsible for carrying out the Jewish solution, the systematic killing of Jews. I can't imagine how one person can think of all those gruesome ways just to exterminate a group of people. But Heydrich was able to do it, until he died of an infection after an assassination attempt.

So HHhH is about how two exiled operatives living in London were able to change the course of this dark period in our history. And these two are Josef Gabcík and Jan Kubiš, a Slovak and a Czech, resistance fighters extraordinare. I have much admiration for these men after reading the novel. I wouldn't have the courage to go into enemy territory and plot to kill a person so close to Hitler. You know that if you've been tasked to do this mission, there really is no coming back.

Most of the chapters of the novel focus on Reinhard Heydrich though. It provides details from his youth up to his quick rise leading to Hitler's cabinet. The Blond Beast, everyone called Heydrich, for he really had those "prized" Aryan features—he was tall, had blue eyes, and striking blond hair. But what makes Heydrich truly Hitler's soldier is that he shared the Führer's plan—to rid all of Europe of Jews.

The novel's very postmodern in its narrative. Oftentimes, the narrator strikes a conversation with the readers, telling us how such and such detail were arrived at. And the narrator can be funny too, especially when he mentions how certain dialogues by famous men in history can never be truly confirmed. When the narrative makes way for conversation, the narrator is quick to point out this caveat. In a way, this technique seems to be quite endearing, as if the author makes fun of himself or at least criticizes the way he presents his story.

Because HHhH is about an assassination, it reads like a thriller and adventure story. How can it not be, no? At the part where the actual assassination is described, the reader is left breathless. And during the hair-rising climax when the resistance fighters were trapped in a church surrounded by Nazi stormtroopers, you can't help but root for them, even though you know that that's one situation where it's impossible to get out of.

I just wish that there were many historical novels written this way. History is exciting. We shouldn't be forced to read boring texts about events that influenced how we are now. I think this is why I loved HHhH so much. It shows us that history was made by people, and that these people thought of us when they risked their lives or did remarkable things.

Read this book if:

1. You love historical fiction.
2. You want to give postmodern novels a try.
3. You are, like I am, fascinated by all things related to WW2

Horror-ish

And I've finally read my first Lessing! Yes, it's taken me this long to read one of her novels. I was originally gunning for The Golden Notebook, but when I looked at how thick it is, I died. Twice. The Fifth Child, running no longer than 150 pages, was perfect.

What a beautifully creepy novel The Fifth Child is. The story is pretty much straightforward. A young couple, Harriet and David, decide to move to a house of hotel proportions and have one child after another. Harriet and David have never been financially stable and have relied on David's well-to-do father for support. Things seem to go well with the family until the fifth child, Ben, was born.

All right, maybe the problem didn't start at Ben's birth but during the time Harriet was still carrying him in her womb. Ben was a difficult baby. Harriet often had to take sedatives just to keep Ben quiet inside her. Ben does appear to be an unusually strong baby. When Ben was born, nothing could have prepared the family of the sight of Ben. Besides being unusually strong for his age, Ben seems to resemble a Neanderthal, a monster in his parents and siblings' eyes.

If the other 4 siblings grew up with the attention (if not the love) of their parents, Ben didn't. Everyone seems to be afraid of him. Who wouldn't? When a cat and a dog die from strangulation, everyone thinks that it was Ben. And this thinking seems to be rightly so. Ben appears to act based on very primal instincts: eating ravenously, hurting people who view him with revulsion, and basically not communicating with any of his family. Eventually, the family decide to put Ben to an institution, even though Harriet has always been dead set against it.

Harriet does get Ben back after making an unscheduled visit and discovering that he has been drugged, fitted in a straightjacket, and covered in his own excrement the whole time he was at the institution. Harriet really tries to love Ben as much as she does her other children. But Ben's monstrous appearance and his wild disposition prevent her from doing so. She had to resort to having the teenaged gardener, whom Ben seems to like, watch over her son. It becomes inevitable that Ben becomes part of the gang of teenagers who terrorize parts of England.

Lessing shows us how one child can tear a family apart. The rest of Ben's siblings all leave for boarding school, as if wanting to put as much distance between themselves and their youngest. Harriet and David's marriage is never the same when they had Ben. Their house, which seemed to be their one prized possession, is eventually sold. And Ben only considers his friends as his true family.

I loved The Fifth Child. It's a horror novel that works on so many levels. On one level we see the family dynamic when one aberrant person joins the group. On another level we read about the horrors that Ben was capable of when he was growing up. And yet on another level we imagine the terror that could still happen, terrors brought about by Ben and his loutish friends. It's also a heartbreaking novel of loss, frustration, and what could have been. Somehow, I felt bad for the couple. I can't  help but imagine how everything would've turned out for them if Ben hadn't been born.

Read this book if:

1. You'll read anything that's won the Nobel.
2. You like your horror "literary."
3. You're the black sheep of the family.

A little bit of book thievery on a weeknight

One of my favorite young adult novels is Markus Zusak's I Am the Messenger. I guess this is why it took me this long to read his later (and more popular) work, The Book Thief. I thought that for all the hype The Book Thief got, it couldn't live up to the brilliance of I Am the Messenger. So when the book club decided to read TBT and have an unofficial discussion about it, I thought to myself that it's about time I get this book over with. Besides, the movie's coming out soon, right? And The Book Thief is that kind of book that everyone seems to like.

(I say "unofficial" because The Book Thief isn't really part of the book club's official roster of books to be discussed this year. So basically it just served as an excuse for us to read a book, gather around to talk about it, and talk about it over good food. Oh, and usually, unofficial discussions happen during a weeknight. But looking back, with the kind of preparation that went with it, i.e., the bookmarks, the loot bags, the carefully thought-of discussion questions, and the number of members who attended, the discussion might as well have been an official one. This "unofficial" thing would probably need another post.)

Anyway, the novel is really difficult not to like. Zusak has a character, 11-year-old Liesel Meminger, who comes of age during the turbulent period in Germany during World War II. She has communist parents, and she was set up for adoption by this German couple, Hans and Rosa Hubermann. You just know that things won't turn up all daisies and sunshine for the characters. How can it? You're in Nazi Germany. And add the fact that the couple and Liesel hide a Jew in their basement. There are air raids often, too. We just know how indiscriminate bombs are as killing tools.

As I said, The Book Thief is a novel that's so easy to like. I can list a few points why this is so. First, Liesel is a bibliophile. Well, she isn't technically one at the start of the novel. She didn't even know how to read. But when she does, she develops a passion for the printed word. So much this passion is that she sometimes resorts to stealing books.

The novel also has a very strong anti-war message. Yes, we've all read how war has devastating effects on the parties involved in one. But Zusak manages to show us how war can affect families. And that, sometimes, people are forced to do things just to survive during wartime. We read about how difficult it is to find food, to get paid work, and to feel safe. We learn how one act of compassion can be interpreted as being a traitor to the nation's cause. We see how families are oftentimes separated and displaced. We see how it's all terrible, and we are made to feel uncomfortable. There's no hint of romanticizing any of these unfortunate scenarios in Zusak's novel.

The Book Thief is also about keeping promises. Hans owes his life to a Jew who somehow saved him during the first world war. And that Jew's son, Max, goes to the Hubermann household to escape the Nazi persecution. Hans never thinks twice about helping the boy, even though he's putting himself and his family at risk.

There's a bit of a romance going on between Liesel and a golden-haired boy named Rudy Steiner. The scene where Liesel, now 14 years old, finally realizes that she loves Rudy so much is just heartbreaking. I've always thought about an alternate scenario wherein Liesel agrees to be kissed by Rudy at the start of the novel. But that would not show the funny and heartwarming dynamic between Liesel and Rudy when they were just friends. In the end, the shy, bookish, and obedient girl falls for the rebel.

Oh, and the novel is narrated by Death, and what a glorious narrator he is. The novel presents Death as someone just doing his job. The war has kept him busy, and he's just your everyday omniscient being going about his business. He can be funny, amoral, and very objective with the things going on around him. But sometimes, Death appears to be someone capable of feeling and states that, sometimes, humans confuse him. He oftentimes spills the beans early in the chapters (who will die, what will happen in the end, etc.) but I didn't really mind these spoilery bits. For me, it was all about the story—how it will unravel in the book's 500+ pages.

I like The Book Thief. I probably didn't like it as much other people did. I'd still recommend it to young adults and adults alike. There's something in it for everyone. I guess what turned me off a bit was the idea that the novel was trying to be a very dramatic work, one that sets out from the start to elicit tears in the reader. The novel succeeds on this aspect though, but I feel that some of the scenes border on the overly melodramatic.

Read this book if:

1. You love YA historical fiction.
2. You're both fascinated and horrified by this terrible period in our history.
3. You know that there is indeed a being named Death.

Redeemed

Ah, the Printz medal. If a book has been awarded the Printz, even though it's just an honor book (shortlisted for the main award), then it's bound to have a few controversial themes. And A. S. King's Please Ignore Vera Dietz is anything but controversial. I know this is a cliche, but I think it's true and has to be said about King's wonderful young adult—this novel pushes the envelope.

Edgy, that's what Please Ignore Vera Dietz is. But it does have its flaws. Flaws which the reader might tolerate if only for the somewhat different storyline and narrative. So, who the heck is Vera Dietz and why the plea to ignore her? She's the novel's junior high school student protagonist. Vera is a character seeking redemption for her best friend, Charlie Kahn, who's recently died following a tragic incident involving the fire at the local pet shop.

Vera and Charlie have been best friends for so long, but something comes in the way in their friendship, specifically someone named Jenny who becomes Charlie's girlfriend. Vera is what we would call a, pardon the word, slut. She offers oral sex to Charlie who wisely refuses it. However, in an act of stupid revenge so typical of people her age, tells everyone at school that Charlie's father physically abuses her mother. Everything is blamed on Vera, as Charlie was made to believe. Charlie then tells everyone another secret involving Vera—that her mother was once a stripper.

Of course, everything spirals downhill from here. Vera's father a reformed alcoholic, is still hung up on the fact that his wife left them. Vera is probably headed toward the bleak path of alcoholism herself. Hey, if you were forced by your father to work your ass off (full time!) to save for college on top of maintaining an A average, then you'd probably drink yourself to death too. And it doesn't help that alcoholism does indeed run in Vera's family. But hats off to Vera! She decides one day to just simply stop and try to have a "normal" relationship with her father. Now I think that this is one of the novel's flaws. I was surprised that she could just stop. Just. Like. That.

If you're a junior high school student who's best friends with someone whom everyone thinks burned the town's beloved pet shop down and whose mother is actually a stripper, then you'd think that everyone should just ignore you. Something's nagging at Vera though—the thought that she should clear up Charlie's name concerning the fire. She owes it to herself, her dead best friend who she was in love with, and her best friend's family. In the end, she redeems Charlie's name, and when she does, she truly comes of age as she comes to terms with her father and her willingness to have control in her life.

A lot of readers may find it difficult to suspend their disbelief in some of the chapters of Please Ignore Vera Dietz. The chapters wherein we read Vera's thoughts are wonderfully candid. But those that feature the voice of the dead Charlie, the inanimate pagoda, and Vera's father require a bit of work. Sometimes, these chapters aren't believable enough. Plus, Vera's father shares flowcharts on how to deal with certain aspects of life, and these flowcharts feel iffy. They stick out of the novel like a sore thumb. If the point of these flowcharts is to show how methodical Vera's father is in making decisions, all right, they're fine then. Otherwise, they're just a waste of valuable page space.

I did enjoy Please Ignore Vera Dietz though. How ironic to have that title in the book, especially when the character of Vera Dietz, her aspirations, her insecurities, her addiction, her failed love life, and her angst are just so hard to ignore. They're quite compelling to read actually.

Read this book if:

1. You like controversial young adult books.
2. You have a best friend whom you were secretly in love with.
3. You know the importance of redemption.

When a book has won so many awards, it comes with expectations

Ah, literary awards. Such a double-edged sword in the life of a reader. If a novel, say, like Jo Walton's Among Others, has won both the Hugo and the Nebula awards, you know that it can go both ways. One is that you'll be happy that the novel lived up to your expectations, and another is finishing the book and thinking that you missed something. You just didn't appreciate it that much. Unfortunately, the latter is what I felt when I finished Among Others.

All right, I don't think that Among Others isn't good. I just felt that it wasn't good enough; I was hoping for a wow factor. I was waiting for that glorious moment when I'd be blown away by all the fantasy elements melding together. I was hoping for magic. What I do get though is a beautiful coming-of-age story of a 15-year-old girl who sees fairies and who may or may not possess the ability to do magic.

At the start of the novel, there's poor Morwenna Phelps, the main character of Among Others. She's forced to live with her father who she hasn't seen for the longest time. Apparently, Mori's mother, a seemingly crazy woman who has her hands deep in black magic, is out to seek Mori. Why? Because Mori thwarted her mother's evil plans of becoming a powerful being. The cost of this was high for Mori though, for it involved a car accident that killed her twin sister and left her somewhat crippled.

So Mori is then whisked from her Welsh origins to live with his father, Daniel, and his 3 sisters in the English countryside. Daniel has other plans for her though, as he enrolls Mori in an exclusive boarding school, where, naturally, Mori, is treated as an outcast. Mori then discovers one thing that allows father and discover to bond—their shared love for fantasy and SF books. It becomes clear in Among Others that this love for this particular kind of genre is significant. Mori is one SF and fantasy geek, having a deep love for Tolkien, Silverberg, Vonnegut, Lackey, Asimov, and other fantasy and SF greats. Her father introduces her to Herbert and Dune. The way Daniel lets this love for books grow in Mori is endearing.

Things pick up even more for Mori when she discovers a book club and is asked to join this like-minded group of individuals who have a deep passion for fantasy and SF. It is in the book club where Mori falls in love, where Mori finds the courage to speak out (and to speak out a lot), and basically just grow into her confident self.

But let's not forget Mori's mother, the dark witch. She's probably the only fantastical character in the novel, except for the fairies that Mori sees, which somehow don't figure prominently in the story. The novel's end has Mori confronting her mother in a somewhat anticlimatic manner, in my own opinion. Still, it's a happy ending, and one that makes clear that Among Others is, at its heart, a coming-of-age tale.

Again, there isn't any clear cut use of magic in Jo Walton's multi-awarded  novel. The opening sequence had my hopes up, but in the end, the reader is simply made to speculate whether it was magic that Mori wielded or not. It makes you think, which is definitely not a bad thing. If you're looking for something heavy on the fantasy though, then you're better off reading something else.

Read this book if:

1. You like your fantasy subtle.
2. You love unusual coming-of-age tales.
3. You'll read anything that has won the Hugo and the Nebula.

This isn't just about food

One of the main characters in Jami Attenberg's novel, The Middlesteins, is obsessed about food, lots and lots of food. But its effect on the reader is a 180. After reading this novel, I felt a lack of craving for Big Macs, Chinese take-out, and baby back ribs. Yes, I've been affected by The Middlesteins, and in a good way.

The Middlesteins may be a short novel, but it certainly is meaty on the issues of family, our roles in it, marriage, the importance of coping with change, and the consequences of failing to do so. We all know that family is important, and yet our actions, our attitude, toward our family seem to point otherwise.

Attenberg's novel is made up of the narratives of the Middlestein family. There's Edie Middlestein, the 60-year-old retired lawyer who has been abandoned by her husband. Edie's problem is that she can't stop eating, even though she's now more than 300 pounds and is diabetic. Richard, her husband of more than 30 years, is now living in an apartment with his girlfriend. Apparently, Richard has long been contemplating leaving Edie, which was finally triggered by Edie's latest diabetic surgery.

Then there are their children. Robin, their daughter who is a schoolteacher, naturally hates her father for leaving. Benny, who has now a family of his own, is married to Rachelle, who also gets her own narrative in the novel. Rachelle is your Stepford wife: is a perfectionist, counts calories in her family's meals, and is determined to "save" Edie's life. It's a futile attempt though, as Edie just consumes all the food that she can possibly can up to the end.

Food is central in the story of The Middlesteins. When Edie's children were growing up, she gave them all the food that they can afford, as if thinking that "food was made of love. . . and they could never deny themselves a bit of anything they desired." Robin was a fat kid who decides that she's had enough of all the eating during her teenage years. Now an adult, Robin may be thin, but she has all this pent-up anger toward her father and probably just a slight bitterness that her career didn't actually become how she thought it would.

Throughout the novel, it's as if Edie has resigned herself to the fact that all she has in her life, apart from her kids and grandchildren, is her love of eating. Attenberg even describes the food, junk food and otherwise, with much detail. We know that all this eating will eventually lead to her death, but we're still reading, anxiously awaiting how the final events will play out.

I love The Middlesteins. It allowed me a glimpse of contemporary family life, albeit the family is Jewish and American. I enjoyed reading the narratives of each of the characters. I'm amazed how the author has created distinct voices for each. I just felt sorry for Edie and I somehow sympathized with Richard. And Rachelle's obsessive compulsiveness is a gas.

It's no wonder why The Middlesteins was chosen as a best book of the month by Amazon and also by The Millions. The novel is just so wonderful that you wish it were longer. It's heartbreaking and smart. The term "tragicomedy" doesn't cut it in describing this beautiful novel.

Read this book if:

1. Food is your obsession.
2. You know that every family is weird in its own way.
3. You love reading personal narratives.

Despicable mother

Sometimes, the people who can hurt us the most are the ones that we truly love. Or, at least, the ones who should supposedly love us. In Nancy Werlin's National Book Award-nominated novel, The Rules of Survival, the one who does the hurting is the mother, who is probably the most abusive, most hateful, most unstable matriarch that I've encountered in books.

The Rules of Survival is not an easy read. It made me uncomfortable while I was reading it the whole time. It's a young adult novel narrated by Matthew, a teenager living with his coke head of a mother named Nikki. Matthew has 2 younger sisters—Callie and Emmy, ages 11 and 5, respectively.

Matthew and his siblings have a difficult time coping with the presence of their mother. Nikki has no qualms whatsoever in hitting Matthew repeatedly or of driving on the wrong side of the road in a car with all her children just to get a thrill. I can never imaging a mother like that can actually exist. Who would ever want to physically and emotionally hurt their own children?

One day, Matthew encounters a man named Murdoch in a convenience store. Matthew is transfixed as he sees Murdoch stand up to that much bigger man in the store and stop him from hurting his kid. From that day onwards, Matthew vows that he'll look for Murdoch.

But Murdoch talked directly to the kid. "It's wrong for anybody ever to hurt you. No matter who does it, it's wrong. Can you remember that?" 

The kid's eyes were now huge. He looked at his father again. Then back at Murdoch. Then he nodded. 

"You'll remember that?" Murdoch insisted. "You don't have to do anything else. You just have to remember." [page 6]

The siblings do track Murdoch down, with the hope that he'll be their savior, their superhero. But, in some strange twist of fate, Murdoch becomes their mother's boyfriend. For the next 3 months, with Murdoch around, everything was relatively fine in their household. Then he breaks up with Nikki and everything spirals toward hell.

Nikki becomes more abusive to Matthew, Callie, and Emmy, especially when she finds out that Murdock has endeared himself to her children. She even went on a date with another man just so that she can ask him to kill Murdoch. It's very surreal. Is Nikki even for real? In this f****d up world, I do believe that there are people who just make everything messy for everybody else.

But The Rules of Survival is Matthew's story, and it is he who steps up to the plate. All his life, he has protected his 2 younger sisters and he doubles his efforts now that Nikki is seemingly spiralling out of control. He asks the help of Murdoch, reconnects with his father, and becomes instrumental in making Nikki's sister, their Aunt Bobbie, finally muster up her fear and ultimately help her nephew and nieces.

In several levels, The Rules of Survival is a coming-of-age tale. Matthew realizes that things will never just work things out, as most people say to him, and that something concrete has to be done. He also accepts that he did think of killing his mother had Murdoch not intercepted him. And finally, Matthew becomes determined to survive. Because after all, it is the survivors who get to tell their story.

Read this book if:

1. You're a survivor yourself.
2. You don't cringe from some of the harsh realities of life.
3. You know that superheroes don't have to wear costumes.

A great book raises many questions

It's easy to get lost in Albert Camus's short novel The Stranger. At just a little over 100 pages, one can easily finish it in one sitting. That's what I did actually, this morning when I couldn't go to work.

The Stranger is the kind of book that, as soon as you close it, several profound questions pop up in your head. First, the title. Why title it as The Stranger, when it clearly is about Meursault, a man thrown into the spotlight when he commits an unexplicable act of murder.

Meursault, whom I'll label as our novel's hero for lack of a better term, shoots an Arab one sunny day on a beach midpoint in the novel. When he's asked by the judge for his reason, he just said it's because of the sun. WTF?

The Stranger is a kind of novel that lets you dig deeper, forcing you to "read between the lines" if you will. Perhaps it's Meursault's enigmatic nature that makes the reader feel that he doesn't understand the novel's protagonist at all.

Yes, it's a bit of a challenge deciphering Meursault's reasons for his actions. In the first part of the novel, the reader is informed that his mother has died in a home for the elderly. Why does Meursault refuse to see his mother in a casket? Has he reached a point of being unfeeling toward his parent? The novel doesn't clearly state his rationale. And this is one of the reasons the book will make for a good discussion.

Also, why does Meursault refuse to show any deeper feelings toward the woman he's seeing. He appears to enjoy his company. When he's asked if he loves her or if he wants to marry her, he tells her no. But later on, he thinks that he probably doesn't have any real objection to him being wed to her.

In the last few pages of The Stranger, Meursault is sentenced to be beheaded. Naturally, a priest goes to him during his last remaining hours. And what does our Meursault do? Why he laughs in the face of the priest and throws him out! He feels that everything doesn't matter at this point.

The Stranger is a kind of novel that requires introspection. Reading the final page doesn't complete the reading experience. It forces you to question, to think, to rationalize. And that I think is a hallmark of a great book by a truly gifted writer.

Read this book if:

1. You like your novels short but pithy.
2. You're into philosophical novels.
3. You'll read anything by someone who has won the Nobel Prize.

This year's Newbery

I usually make it a point to read the Newbery-winning novel every year. These novels never fail to entertain and to delight. I particularly like the more recent winners—Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book, Rebecca Stead's When You Reach Me, and Claire Vanderpool's Moon over Manifest. This year, the award went to prolific children's book writer Katherine Applegate, and her novel, The One and Only Ivan, is such a joy to read.

Now The One and Only Ivan is about talking animals, which is something I feel iffy about. There's just a hint of being unnatural about that feature. Fortunately though, the animals in the novel (the gorilla named Ivan, the mongrel named Bob, the elephants Stella and Ruby) communicate only among themselves and never with humans. In fact, one of the things I liked about the novel is how Ivan doesn't get humans, with our harsh and noisy habits. "Humans just waste words. They toss them like banana peels and leave them to rot." I have to agree though—we humans speak too much.

In The One and Only Ivan, we see the dangers of confined spaces. For Ivan, Ruby, and Stella, who are kept in cages in a mall and perform daily for the mall's customers, it's such a lonely existence. Imagine being kept in a box with people staring at you whether you like it or not! It's particularly hard on Ivan and the elephants: Ivan, a mighty silverback, should be out with his troop. Instead, he is reduced to making crude paintings that sell for 20 dollars a piece. At first, he has only the aging elephant Stella and the wise-cracking dog Bob for company. But pretty soon, the popularity of Ivan and Stella has waned and the mall employees decided to add a baby elephant named Ruby to drive more people.

Spoiler alert: Stella dies. But she makes Ivan promise her that he'll take Ruby out of the depressing mall and bring her to the zoo. According to Stella, the zoo is a place where humans make amends. I feel ambivalent about the latter statement though. If we humans were to make our amends, wouldn't it be more appropriate to just return the animals in the wild? On the other hand though, I do think that the zoo is sometimes the best option that we have, provided that it's well maintained and that the animals are kept healthy.

Ivan's voice in the novel is very much in character. His words are the kind of language that you imagine gorillas to speak. Oftentimes, he's confused, pensive, and accepting of his fate. He rarely shows emotions, at least to people. He knows that it's not nice to see one angry alpha male gorilla. But we need a character transformation to propel the story, yes? And fortunately, Stella's death and Ivan's promise provide the trigger.

how i look  

I used to be a wild gorilla, and I still look the part.  

I have a gorilla's shy gaze, a gorilla's sly smile. I wear a snowy saddle of fur, the uniform of a silverback. When the sun warms my back, I cast a gorilla's majestic shadow. 

In my size humans see a test of themselves. They hear fighting words on the wind, when all I'm thinking is how the late-day sun reminds me of a ripe nectarine. 

I'm mightier than any human, four hundred pounds of pure power. My body looks made for battle. My arms, outstretched, span taller than the tallest human. 

My family tree spreads wide as well. I am a great ape, and you are a great ape, and so are chimpanzees and orangutans and bonobos, all of us distant and distrustful cousins. 

I know this is troubling. 

I too find it hard to believe there is a connection across time and space, linking me to a race of ill-mannered clowns. 

Chimps. There's no excuse for them. [pp. 4-5]

So the novel's resolution focused on Ivan keeping his promise. The way Applegate enables Ivan to do so may be a bit hard to believe. Ivan crudely writes the word "home" on bits of paper, draws a rough picture of a zoo, and manages to hand them over to Julia, the emphatic daughter of a mall employee. In the end, Ivan does keep his promise, as he and Ruby end up in a zoo under the care of trained people.

The ending is a bit too clean, too sterile, for my taste. But I understand that The One and Only Ivan is a novel for children. Children should know that things should get done, promises be kept, animals be cared for, and people be more resilient and persevering. After all, the way we treat animals, or all living things for that matter, is a reflection of how much we put value into them.

Read this book if:

1. You'll read anything that's won the Newbery.
2. You love these cousins of ours.
3. You fear enclosed spaces.

Now under my radar

When the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction was handed out this week, I was relieved to find out that they actually picked a winner. Last year, they just had a list of 3 nominated novels. For shame! Oh well, we couldn't really nitpick on the judges' reasons.

Now The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson. A novel about North Korea. The books seems eerily familiar to me. So familiar that I recall having bought it. And that's how I spent part of my Wednesday night—me and my big fat ass riffling through my shelves. Damn silverfish and dust bunnies everywhere.

And then I found it! Woot! So now The Orphan Master's Son is my Mt. Everest. I will read it because it's there. Now I understand how important these awards are. They bring to our attention books that we wouldn't have picked up. In my case, it just gave me the motivation to lessen the number of books that I have to read, by 1.

Hooray for impulsive book purchases! One never knows if the book one gets will end up being a keeper.

Step right up

It's about relationships. It's about sex. It's about fetishes. It's about everyday people. It's about city life. It's about violence. It's about almost anything under the sun. That's what Jerzy Kosinski's National Book Award-winning work, Steps, is all about.

As I scan this slim fictional work, however, I realize that it's a challenge encapsulating the very feel of this book: sometimes hopeful, sometimes depressing, but never cloying. The stories are just a joy to read.

I bought Steps on a whim one weekend. I was early for an appointment and I didn't like the book that I had in my bag. For the life of me, I don't know the point of having a book I have no plans of reading in my bag. But anyway, there was I with an unwanted book.

When I bought it, I went to one of those trendy juice shops with their overpriced drinks. I plopped my fat ass in their comfy seats. And then I turned the first page of Steps. Several minutes later, I kept on looking at my watch, hoping that the person I'm meeting will run late. I didn't want to put the book down. I was on a stranglehold.

Don't you just love these little things—when the book you have no ideas about turns out to be one very satisfying read? And could it be true: that we're only 1 month into the new year and I've already found my best read for 2013? Maybe.

Steps is categorized as a novel. It didn't feel like it at times though, especially with the disconnected narratives found in the pages. But there seems to be a connecting thread to each story, as if Kosinski is weaving an intricate picture of humanity in its raw form. Some stories, like the one involving bestiality, may shock some readers. But it doesn't erase the fact that these scenarios can happen.

Kosinski's writing reminds me a lot of Hemingway; his sentences terse, and the paragraphs short. I love Papa Hemingway, so that's probably one of the reasons why I immediately became comfortable with Kosinski's writing. These gifted writers can say a lot in just a few words. And with the case of Steps, with its less than 200 pages, the writer spoke volumes.

Read this book if:

1. You'll read anything that's won the National Book Award.
2. You like writing that can range from poetic to visceral.
3. You love wonderfully freaky stuff.

Life with pie

When your parents name you Tulip, would you have your name changed? That's exactly what our character in Joan Bauer's novel, Hope Was Here, did. So, our Tulip is now known as Hope, a name that's quite ominous in this wonderful young adult novel.

Hope Was Here may probably seem to be a novel that wants to say a lot of things. There's the story about Hope and her aunt Addie who move from New York City to work in a diner in a small town in Wisconsin. There's another story about the owner of that diner who decides to run for mayor, never mind that he's been diagnosed with cancer. Another story delves into the corrupt politics of that Wisconsin town. And yet another is a coming-of-age of sorts for Hope as she realizes her worth.

I do believe that, despite these many story lines, Bauer's novel is just about one thing, and that's having hope. That message comes across clearly in every page of the novel.

There are also lots of characters that readers may feel very emphatic about. Of course, my favorite is Hope, who appears to be quite cynical at first but learns to accept that everything may not turn out well. Her aunt Addie is a character one can easily relate with. We all have our Addie, that adult who seems to have our backs every time we falter. It also helps that Addie makes a mean pie and lots of delicious comfort food. Bauer's description of the food they serve in the diner makes one salivate. Here are a few:

• Stuffed pork tenderloin with apricots
• Country meatloaf with garlic mashed potatoes
• Deep dish apple pie with cinnamon ice cream
• Brown sugar pecan pancakes
• Split pea soup with ham chunks and garlic butter croutons
• Grilled Swiss cheese on seven-grain bread with sliced tomatoes

I can see why this novel received lots of critical acclaim (a Newbery honor, an ALA notable book, an ALA BBYA). It's hard to find something not to love in Bauer's story. Hope doesn't go overboard with her angst. The romance between Hope and her co-worker in the diner doesn't seem forced. Even the way the novel ended is bittersweet, which I feel makes the novel very grounded.

I've always seen Bauer's books in bookstores but have been very hesitant in picking up one. I'm so glad I did though! Hope Was Here is one fine novel. It's a novel that you'll be pushing to your friends, especially to those who, for whatever reason, have become pessimistic, cynical, and unhappy.

Read this book if:

1. You've always wanted to have your name changed.
2. You miss eating at a diner.
3. You know how important it is to always be hopeful.

In 14th century England

Historical novels written for children and young adults are tricky. At times, they feel like history textbooks, wearily feeding their readers with large helpings of historical facts. Sometimes, history is used simply as a vehicle, providing the right time and place for the events to unfold. Thankfully, Avi's Crispin: The Cross of Lead is the latter. It's a beautiful children's story set in 14th century England.

However, I do feel that I'm just tasting a dish I've been served before, instead of being offered with an exciting novelty that assault my senses. Our main character, Avi, becomes an orphan and is accused of stealing. He is advised by the village priest to run away to England's more prosperous cities. Along the way, he meets Bear, who teaches him the art of performing to a crowd.

It's not Avi who manages to get my empathy in this novel. Rather, it is Bear who becomes the character you root for. Underneath the big frame is a man who believes in an England free from the corrupt feudal systems that plague it. Of course, Avi becomes an unwitting member of this rebellion as well. And it turns out that he's more than just your poor orphan; he has noble blood and an heir.

At its heart, Crispin: The Cross of Lead is an adventure story set in a historical context. But Avi does not people his Newbery-winning work with actual historical figures. In fact, there's just one: John Ball, one of the leaders of the revolt of the peasants, and his role isn't even a major one in the novel. The story is still Crispin's and Bear's.

One of the things that I love about children's books is the straightforward narrative and the crisp writing. While I do appreciate novels that "push the envelope" in terms of literary style, I keep coming back to books for children and young adults because of the elegant stories. Crispin: The Cross of Lead is one such book. From page 1, it's an adventure until you flip the last page.

Read this book if:

1. You like historical fiction.
2. You'll read anything that won a Newbery.
3. You're a sucker for people known by one names only (e.g., Avi).

Heartbreaking and beautiful

John Corey Whaley's debut work, Where Things Come Back, is one of those young adult novels with big messages about second chances, family, and interconnected lives. But unlike your usual YA novel, Where Things Come Back works because it isn't sappy and cloying at all.

I'm reminded of Melinda Marchetta's Jellicoe Road, which has a dual narrative. In Whaley's novel, well at least at the start, we read alternating chapters featuring a 17-year-old named Cullen Whitter who lives in a town in Arkansas and a young missionary in Africa who's looking for meaning in his life. Two lives set continents apart. And this is one of the reasons that makes this novel suspenseful: how on earth could the author establish the connection between these two completely disconnected story lines.

I think most readers would be able to identify with Cullen. He's your typical introverted American teenager living in a very small and dull town. Cullen's life soon becomes non-typical, with the disappearance of her gifted younger brother and the appearance of the Lazarus Woodpecker (long believed to be extinct) in their town. In Where Things Come Back, it is the woodpecker which somehow symbolizes the hope that things and people can come back. It's a pipe dream though, as the woodpecker is never actually seen and Cullen's brother won't be coming back ever. (Of course, I don't want to spoil the reason for his brother's disappearance.)

But everything ties up so neatly that I was surprised at how logical all the connections were. You know the gripe some people have with George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, wherein he kills off his major characters just when you've started rooting for them? Well, Whaley pulls something like that in his debut novel. Characters take several steps back for other characters to play out their roles. The young missionary dies midway into the novel, paving the way for his college roommate to bring the novel into a climax.

A lot has been said about this debut novel. Where Things Come Back did win the 2012 Michael L. Printz and the William C. Morris Debut awards. Totally deserving, if I may say so. And if you're looking for a heartbreaking and beautiful read, this novel might just be it.

Read this book if:

1. You like debut YA fiction.
2. You've lived in a small and idyllic town yourself.
3. You know that everyone deserves second chances.

Poverty, politics, poultry

If you've read at least one novel by Gabriel García Márquez, then you might be in for a surprise if you read No One Writes to the Colonel and Other Stories. If you're expecting magical realism (e.g., people suddenly ascending into heaven as if it's the most natural thing), then the stories in this collection might disappoint. For in this collection, García Márquez chooses the path of a realist. Compared with his other works, you can probably refer to this short story collection as GGM lite.

I, however, wasn't a bit disappointed when I finished No One Writes to the Colonel and Other Stories on this fine Sunday morning. I'm one day late though, as the book club discussed this collection yesterday afternoon. And because I didn't even finish the novella No One Writes to the Colonel, I just decided to keep my mouth shut yesterday.

The thing about the novella is that García Márquez drives you smack in the middle of things. You feel the inescapable poverty of the town, the sickening reek of bureaucracy, the uncomfortable humidity of the town, the futile hopefulness of the characters. You know that nothing's going to come out a situation wherein a retired colonel pins his hopes on a rooster. It's the rooster that's supposed to bring in the money, much needed after so many years of not receiving a pension from the government. The colonel and his wife is so poor that she has been reduced to boiling stones in the kitchen, in the hopes of deceiving their neighbors that they have something to eat.

The novella isn't a pleasant read. The story just gets bleaker at every page. But you plod on, because García Márquez's writing is beautiful. Unlike his novels, here the sentences are terse, the dialogue natural, and the sense of place given in detail. And like most shorter works of fiction, the ending makes you ponder. Is there still hope for the colonel and his wife? I believe not.

During the discussion, Marie, the moderator, mentioned something about the iceberg model of short stories. In an iceberg, the part that is visible on the ocean surface is just a very small fraction of the actual size of the iceberg. I fully agree. Short story writers are masters of the tease. They offer you just mere spoonfuls instead of the whole dish. They leave it up to you on how you interpret the story and, ultimately, on how you appreciate it. They make you question. And such is the pleasure of reading short stories.

The other stories in this collection are just as good as the novella. In fact, my favorite in this book isn't the novella itself but an 8-page short story entitled "Tuesday Siesta." My mind can't stop thinking of all the various scenarios that can transpire after the last scene. What happens when folk learn that the mother of the thief whom they've killed has come to their town to visit his son's grave? Such delicious possibilities.

It's quite fascinating how Gabriel García Márquez has assembled a treasure of stories in this collection. I don't read a lot of short stories, but each small gem in No One Writes to the Colonel and Other Stories is enough to urge me to read some more.

Read this book if:

1. You'll read anything by Nobel laureates.
2. You love Latin American fiction.
3. You like your fiction bite sized.

Good for the soul

Effing hell, poetry! Poems are not really my cup of tea. More often than not, I can barely get what the poet is saying. But I would have to agree that some poems are beautiful, and that they evoke in the reader feelings that are a hard to describe.

But I'm determined that my taste should not just be dominated by fiction, specifically novels. So when I saw Selected and Last Poems 1931-2004 by Czeslaw Milosz in Fully Booked 2 weeks ago, I thought that it would add variety to my reading habit. Besides, Milosz was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1980. Just reading 1 collection by this poet is a bragging right in itself.

Here's a book by a Nobel laureate, who was part of the Polish resistance during World War II, defected to France in the 1950s, and then became a professor of poetry in the US in the 1960s onwards. Surely his vast experience would add a rich texture and a profound depth to his poems, yes? Hmmmm.... Quite daunting. This would need a plate of cookies; one cookie for every poem that I finish.

Oy! The subject matter tackled in the different poems are so broad: religion, politics, personal stuff, weird and random stuff, and some other stuff that I can barely comprehend. The poems' lengths have a huge range as well, with some as short as 2 or 3 lines and some as long as 20 pages.

There are some poems that resonate after reading them. Some of my favorites are "A Song on the End of the World," "Sentences," and "After Paradise." I've provided excerpts below.

A Song on the End of the World
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned, as it always should be.
[excerpt, page 33]

Sentences
What constitutes the training of the hand?
I shall tell what constitutes the training of the hand.
One suspects something is wrong with transcribing signs
But the hand transcribes only the signs it has learned.
Then it is sent to the school of blots and scrawls
Till it forgets what is graceful. For even the sign of a butterfly
Is a well with coiled poisonous smoke inside.
[excerpt, page 80]

After Paradise
Don't run anymore. Quiet. How softly it rains
On the roofs of the city. How perfect
All things are. Now, for the two of you
Waking up in a royal bed  by a garret window.
For a man and a woman. For one plant divided
Into masculine and feminine which longed for each other.
[excerpt, page 179]

The poems collected here were written from as early in the 1930s and up to the early 2000s, when Milosz was already bedridden. Was Milosz a romantic? I think so, for there are some poems of his that deal with love. Was he pragmatic? Maybe.

Milosz's work, for its sheer brilliance, scope, and number, can be quite overwhelming, especially for one whose exposure to poetry is quite limited. But the 200 or so poems collected in Selected and Last Poems 1931-2004 are certainly enough to make you love this poet.

Read this book if:

1. You love poetry.
2. You'll read anything by a Nobel laureate.
3. You want variety in your reading habit.

What really matters at the end of the day

People say that the end of the day is the perfect time for reflection. Did I do my job correctly? Am I richer today because of the things I've accomplished? Am I happy? I guess that's why a lot of folks feel that the sunset is very dramatic, for it provides moments for introspection.

What do you feel, dear reader, every time you see the sunset, that huge orb slowly disappearing over the horizon? It's as if it reminds you that the day is truly over, and what remains of the day, the few hours between sunset and bedtime, is for your enjoyment.

In Kazuo Ishiguro's Booker prize–winning novel, The Remains of the Day, the one doing the reflection is an English butler named Mr. Stevens. On the surface, one sees a very servile, loyal, hardworking, and unselfish individual. Truly the qualities one could expect from a man dedicated to his job.

Mr. Stevens exists solely to serve whoever is the resident of Darlington Hall—be it a Nazi sympathizer in pre-WWII England or a rich American who's every bit the fish out of water in English upperclass society. If ever I do have the money, the genealogical heritage, and the estate to have a butler and household help, I'd go with Mr. Stevens. But what really makes Mr. Stevens tick? Is he really happy? Is he really the perfect English butler as he seems to be?

Maybe he really is happy. Perhaps what molds his existence, his persona, is his utter disregard for himself in favor of the people whom he serves. Never mind that he sacrifices his having a romantic relationship with the head housekeeper or his apparent lack of showing affection to his father even on the latter's death bed—all these are irrelevant to him. He serves his master, and that's all there is.

I loved The Remains of the Day. I loved its quiet tone. I loved Ishiguro's controlled narrative. I loved both Mr. Stevens and Miss Kenton. The banter between these two are typical English: the two saying so much but really leaving out what's important. Miss Kenton's brashness equally matches Mr. Stevens's reserve. You're really hoping that something will happen with them, but the spark never catches fire. But it's still a beautiful relationship nonetheless.

Aside from The Remains of the Day, the only Ishiguro I've read is The Unconsoled, which I've read more than 10 years ago. I enjoyed that novel as well. In both novels, Ishiguro lets you in on the deepest thoughts of his main characters. The Remains of the Day does just that with Mr. Stevens. For all his musings, his daydreams, and his thoughts of what could've been, he can't escape his pragmatism, thinking if he did everything that he can as a man who serves another. And for him, that's really what counts at the end of the day.

Read this book if:

1. You'll read anything that's won a Booker.
2. You're fascinated with what's going on in great English houses.
3. You love sunsets.