As I was saying, the sensei in Kokoro had a past, a dark one that he would not tell anyone, not even his wife. Perhaps it is this secret that compels me to read the whole book, or rather how the student himself is so intrigued by it. At one point of time, I thought that the book shall not contain the sensei's past and if that is so, I shall be greatly disappointed and forever pondering what it may be. As it turns out, the sensei presented his story clearly in the third chapter. Maybe extra, but all the same, necessary to me.

The sensei's past is not unlike what some people may have suffered in life. Many may be able to identify with him. Not me, though. But it shears my heart at how one person's past can form his future so much that it destroys the entire being. I read and I revere the sentiment felt which is quite unexplained in the first two chapters when the general died after the Meiji Emperor's death. It did not cross my mind then that patriotism can catch such a strong hold onto one person to allow himself to end his life along with what he probably assumed as the end of an era. That it could affect so many other citizens as well, even the student's father, and needless to say, the sensei as well.

"Soft sunlight." This phrase captures my heart in one page in Kokoro, and it took me a while to flip through the many pages again to search out this phrase because I have forgotten what it was. There are certain phrases that I like, at how the different authors would describe or say of certain things. Just like how Kundera once said of the air as 'crispy'.

Then I allow myself to read Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden even when FK lent me The Little Princess first. The latter one will just have to wait a bit. There's an excerpt from this book that I like:

Much more surprising things can happen to any one who, when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his mind, just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting in an agreeable determinedly courageous one. Two things cannot be in one place.

"Where you tend a rose, my lad,
A thistle cannot grow."

It is a book for children and adults alike, so the language is easily digestible and the story a thrill to behold. I watched the movie Secret Garden when I was young, but I knew that was not how the story ended, as it was not also for the movie Little Women that I watched. It is refreshing to read a children's book once in a while; it takes the load off. And I like to hear how Colin talks about the Magic, and how Mrs Sowerby says that He is known by many other names. How comforting!

Then I started on Banana Yoshimoto's Lizard, which turns out to be a collection of short stories. I used to think that short stories are bad, and I never take much liking to them. I'd rather read a novel, something lengthy and more solid. Short stories tend to be left hanging in the end, and that was how I initially felt about her works. However I persevered, and I was shown the light when I read what she wrote about the book. Lizard is a collection of short stories, related somewhat, with the same theme that carries hope in the lives of other people in different walks of life. This is a new revelation to me, and I have come to appreciate short stories better; it reminds me of a series of artwork based on one theme.

At where I am now, I can barely exceed the 2500 word limit. So perhaps I should consider writing short stories first, and make a collection of it, with the same theme.

It being in my possession, still I hesitate not a moment to read Coelho's By the River of Piedra, I sat down and wept. Coelho seems to be at his height in expounding about Catholicism, with a tinge of deviant towards Mother Mary that reminds me of Dan Brown's novel. Excusing all that, I follow the story well, and simply like the way Coelho talks about love. The way it concluded is out of my expectation, as I thought it would be a sad story. It turns out that the man could love and be with the woman as well as continue on with his faith. I'm glad such decision can come about, but it does not work for everyone.

posted by lil piggie at 2:01 AM

As I try to recollect what other books I have read, I felt lost. This is not good. I have to keep track of my reading, more importantly of my reflection of what I have read, else it would all be in vain. What have I learnt, how can I apply that in my life (if any)? All the various questions that books may be a solution to. Lost. *Gag* This should not be so. Let me recall...

There was Lolita, way before Tangerine. It could be said that I finished reading the book, or rather I got the whole gist of it, though I am sure I messed up with the ending plot somewhere. The opening sentences:

"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta."

These words captivated me to read further because I fancied that style of writing. It reminded me of A Clockwork Orange, perhaps a little darker and more psychotic details. And true enough, when I tried to pronounce her name Lolita in my mouth, it was exactly as the author described it. But the book got worse, more sickening, and I decided to spite Nabokov and did what my friend would comment as sheer insult. I read the ending of the book, then I was quite intrigued as to what happened that I flipped and read backwards until I got a fairly clear picture. It was mean, but Nabokov deserves such measure from me.

It's not that he's not a good author. I give it to him that he has a very unique writing style, and a very original idea to write that during his times. But today, I would seriously regard that reading material as sinful. There, I have said enough about this particular book, more attention that it deserves.

Now is a season for me to sample Asian works, as I have previously mentioned. So I looked into other writers such as Adeline Yen Mah's Watching the Tree, which touches on Chinese spirituality. An interesting and informative book, which I have yet to finish, but I am taking my time because though as lightly as she presents the fact, my eyes beg me to look elsewhere. And I found Kokoro by Natsume Soseki.

Kokoro.. Literally in Japanese, it means 'heart'. It speaks of the life of a man, whom a student (the narrator) regarded as his sensei. This man - the sensei - differs from the other people that the student knows, in that he was indifferent, quite aloof about things. It seems as if he had withdrawn from the world, despising its very existence as he so quoted himself.

(they're closing down the place.. i'll continue later tonite... *darn..)

posted by lil piggie at 4:09 PM

My reading life has certainly not become as idle as this blog. I've taken every spare time that I have while traveling, and sometimes even burning the midnight oil just to read. I read so feverishly that albeit it might have been more refreshing for me to take a short nap on the ride, I push that idea aside to make way for more brain waves to absorb and burn whatever book I am currently reading. At times I even get sick of heavy text, yet I continue reading - the light-hearted ones, that is.

During my long weekend in May, which I went to KL with my family, I completed Tangerine by Colin Cheong. Perhaps it was a bad idea to read when I'm going some place else and not Hanoi, not any parts of Vietnam. That book made me want to go to these rural places and see them, see what he wrote. Perhaps that was what made me quite unsatisfied about my overall trip to KL.

Then I sampled other Asian writers such as Catherine Lim. I figure that since I stay here in Singapore, I should see how the locals fare in their writings. I was slightly disappointed by Colin Cheong, but Catherine boosted up the image quite a bit. I like the way she would describe the surroundings in her book 'Following the Wrong God Home' - somewhat lucid and permanent. I realise this:

It is not what you see around you,
but how you create it, in words.

She is very capable of doing just that.

My mom surprises me by taking on an interest in her books, and to date, she has read more of Catherine Lim than myself, who shamefully have not even finished a single one. I even borrow Adeline Yen Mah for my mother to read, the story about the Chinese Cinderella girl. Now she is at home, with no more books to read, and I know not what else would be good and easy for her to read.

There are other books I have yet to comment on, some even before the Tangerine season. Later then.

posted by lil piggie at 10:42 AM