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 It seems as if he had withdrawn from the world, despising its very existence as he so quoted himself.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