So, 2009 will for all intents and purposes be over and done with in about 11 hours. It was a weird year, a year where I felt I didn't know myself half of the time and felt I knew myself too well half of the time (deep, profound thoughts eh?). I've always been one for summing up the year gone by (past?), and I've decided to do it here, but in a new way (i.e. not just describing it like "In January I moved to Gothenburg..."). Instead, I will do it in book quotes and provide some background information as to what was going on in my life at that point and blah blah blah, you'll get it when you read it. It's very play-by-play. Be prepared for (or beware of) a lot of Drabble.
JANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH
"Our lives are one endless stretch of misery punctuated by processed fast foods and the occasional crisis or amusing curiosity."
- Running with scissors, Augusten Burroughs
"I had been crouching inside the walls of my consciousness terrified to move too far or too violently in case they collapsed and left me looking at wild beasts."
- A summer bird-cage, Margaret Drabble
"I felt my existence was tainted, in some subtle but essential way."
- The secret history, Donna Tartt
Background: Moved to Gothenburg for three months, was absolutely miserable.
APRIL
"I remember saying things, but I have no idea what was said. It was generally a friendly conversation."
- Sex, drugs and cocoa puffs, Chuck Klosterman
"Just as we cannot think of spatial objects at all apart from space, or temporal objects apart from time, so we cannot think of any objects apart from the possibility of its connexion with other things."
- Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Ludwig Wittgenstein
Background: I met a boy.
MAY
"It wasn't that he suddenly changed, or anything like that, it was just that I saw too much of him and too little of anyone else. It was being abroad that did it, because all the people we ever saw were his friends (...) and I had to spend hour after hour, meal after meal being civil to people in order to get them to do obscure things for him."
- A summer bird-cage, Margaret Drabble
"She kept teetering on the brink of love with him, and even spent blissful hours in the zone of extreme fondness. But all it took was one flabby joke, a botched illusion, a moment of strained sincerity, and she felt a leaden seal forming in her gut, cutting her off from the suddenly former object of her affection as swiftly as a pair of scissors severing two sausage links. Back to square one."
- The private lives of Pippa Lee, Rebecca Miller
Background: Yeah, it didn't work out.
JUNE
""You have a lot of friends," she says.
"Not a lot", he says. "You don't need many if there's no rotten apples.""
- The blind assassin, Margaret Atwood
"The most poetic of endings to love affairs isn't apology, excuse, extensive investigation into What Went Wrong - the St. Bernard of options, droopy-eyed and slobbery - but stately silence."
- Special topics in calamity physics, Marisha Pessl
Background: I went out a lot with my friends. I love them. I was a bit sad on my own, had some accidents etc.
JULY
"I suddenly thought that perhaps I could take it and survive. I had thought this before when drunk but never when sober; up till that moment I had been inwardly convinced that too much worry would rot my nature beyond any hope of fruit or even of flower. But then, however fleetingly, I felt that I could take what I had been given to take. (...) I knew now something of the quality of life, and anything in the way of happiness that I should hereafter recieve would be based on fact and not on hope."
- The millstone, Margaret Drabble
Background: I came to my senses.
AUGUST, SEPTEMBER, OCTOBER
"She enjoyed this removal from her surroundings even as she was immersed in them. She felt mute and contented, loaded with potential, yet entirely unproductive."
- The privates lives of Pippa Lee, Rebecca Miller
Background: I moved to Cambridge.
NOVEMBER
"Ghosts? Sure.
I know all about ghosts."
- The green mile, Stephen King
Background: The boy turned up again, but only for a day. I enjoyed seeing him though, to an extent. He does do a lovely impression of a boy called Josh. who literally talked like Mickey Mouse (you know, like "Steamboat Willie!" and "Gosh darnit!"). However, this has led to me being unable to play Mickey Mouse on my Playstation because man, all I see in front of me is Josh haha. Whatever, it's a boring game anyway.
DECEMBER
"I can't help worrying," I said. "It's my nature. There's nothing I can do about my nature, is there?"
"No", said George, his hand upon the door. "No, nothing."
- The millstone, Margaret Drabble
Background: My nature will remain unchanged. It doesn't matter what year it is, what day or month it is. Won't change, will always be like this, forever and ever. In a way, it's nice.
20091231
20091226
I WALK AWAY FROM HIM. IT'S ENORMOUSLY PLEASING TO ME, THIS ACT OF WALKING AWAY. IT'S LIKE BEING ABLE TO MAKE PEOPLE APPEAR AND VANISH AT WILL
So, as I said in the last post, now I will write a bit about some of the books I've read. I'm a bit hungover so you'll have to excuse my English, but anyway. I seem to recall talking way too much about sex, falling over outside the club and singing way too loud to La Roux. Class all the way. Anyway. Books: I'll start with the best ones. Won't be like proper reviews, 'cause I'm terrible at them. Will probably just end up with me writing "This book was awesome!"
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld is, in my opinion, one of the best writers out there today. The way she writes about being a woman is amazing, because she always taps into those little things that you don't really think about but, when you read it, you go "Right! That's exactly what it's like!" I also like reading a story which details someone's whole life (there is a word for this yes?). Anyway, read it. This book was awesome (hahaha).
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Read it during July, and it really is one of those books you should read during sunny, idle days where you do absolutely nothing of value. It's about Dracula, but in a new, exciting way. It was scary too. Plot summary from Wikipedia: "The Historian interweaves the history and folklore of Vlad Ţepeş, a 15th-century prince of Wallachia known as "Vlad the Impaler", and his fictional equivalent Count Dracula together with the story of Paul, a professor; his 16-year-old daughter; and their quest for Vlad's tomb. The novel ties together three separate narratives using letters and oral accounts: that of Paul's mentor in the 1930s, that of Paul in the 1950s, and that of the narrator herself in the 1970s. The tale is told primarily from the perspective of Paul's daughter, who is never named."
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
Just read these quotes and you'll understand why it's so bloody awesome (if you don't: it's basically about me and since I'm in all likelihood the most awesome person who's ever walked this earth the book is bound to be great as well) (also, I like how I mixed the extremely English "bloody" with the incredibly American "awesome"):
"I thought how unnerving it is, suddenly to see oneself for a moment as others see one, like a glimpse of unexpected profile in an umfamiliar combination of mirrors. I think I know myself better that anyone can know me, and I think this even in cold blood, for too much knowing is my vice; and yet one cannot account for the angles of others."
"I really cannot look back upon that week. I had thought myself unhappy as a child, obsessed by unreal terrors, guilts and alarms, and as an adolescent, obsessed by myself, and as a woman, obsessed by the fear that my whole life and career were to be thrown into endless gloom by an evening's affection."
"I had never, however, managed to get over the fact that we had once known and loved each other so thoroughly (...) I would suddenly be assailed by sharp memories of his lips and teeth and naked flesh. They were not memories of desire, for I no longer desired him; rather they were shocking, anti-social disruptive memories, something akin to those impulses to strip oneself in crowded Tube trains, to throw oneself from theatre balconies. Images of fear, not desire. Other people do not feel this way about old lovers, I know. It must just be another instance of my total maladjustment with regard to sex."
""I can't help worrying", I said. "It's my nature. There's nothing I can do about my nature, is there?"
"No,", said George, his hand upon the door. "No, nothing.""
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
We need to talk about Kevin is about a family, but not your average family: Kevin, the 16-year-old son, is a so-called "school shooter" who shot up his school shortly after his 16th birthday. The book is written from his mother's perspective; she writes letters to her husband who, for some reason, is not there. In this book, Shriver deals with motherhood and the fact that some women don't want to have kids. What happens when you don't really love your child or know to deal with it? Can you be blamed for the child's actions? This is (obviously) about the worst-case scenario, but anyway. I don't think I want kids (although I'm just 20, so I really don't have to think about it for another 10 years) so this book and what the protagonist, Eva, goes through and her thoughts on children is completely relatable to me.
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Quotes, there is also one I would like to elaborate on, add my own story to why this particular quote resonated so well with me.
"You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away."
"I sit in the darkness and beer fug and cigarette smoke, getting a little dizzy, keeping my mouth shut, my eyes open. I think I can see them clearly because I expect nothing from them. In truth I expect a lot. I expect to be accepted."
"I know what is dangerous for me, and keep away from the edges of things. From anything too bright, too sharp. From lack of sleep. When I start feeling shaky I lie down, expecting nothing, and it arrives, washing over me in a wave of black vacancy. I know I can wait it out."
"I'm beginning to feel that I've discovered something worth knowing. There's a way out of places you want to leave, but can't. Fainting is like stepping sideways, out of your own body, out of time or into another time. When you wake up it's later. Time has gone on without you."
This summer I fell down some stairs and fainted. I woke up just seconds after, but something happened to me which is kind of like what Atwood describes: For about two minutes, I could not remember much about my life. The week before I had been in London, visiting someone who I think would agree that week didn't go at all as any of us had planned. For me, it had just been too much drama, weirdness and general confusion; when I got home I felt numb. And then seven days later, I couldn't remember any of it and it it felt like bliss. My parents asked me questions like "Where were you last week?" "Who did you visit?" "What did you do?" and I could not remember any of it. When I was told what the guy's name was, I literally could not remember what he looked like. I just had some vague recollection of very sunny days (it was practically summer) and watching The inbetweeners with someone. But that was all. And it was like being given a time-out: for two blissful minutes I didn't feel bad, I didn't feel confused, I didn't feel hurt. Then my memory returned and with that, the headache and concussion. Then I felt bad for a much more vaild reason, haha. Anyway, while Atwood talks more about the actual fainting and how that allows you to leave a place you don't want to be in, I believe it can be applied to my situation as well. Because I wanted to get out of a state and feeling I was in. And fainting allowed me to do that for a while.
OK, this will have to be part 1. Have already struggled one fucking hour with this post. Need to take a break. I'm gonna go play Playstation because I got one for Christmas! Yeah, I know, I'm 20 and wished for a Playstation. Whatever.
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld is, in my opinion, one of the best writers out there today. The way she writes about being a woman is amazing, because she always taps into those little things that you don't really think about but, when you read it, you go "Right! That's exactly what it's like!" I also like reading a story which details someone's whole life (there is a word for this yes?). Anyway, read it. This book was awesome (hahaha).
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Read it during July, and it really is one of those books you should read during sunny, idle days where you do absolutely nothing of value. It's about Dracula, but in a new, exciting way. It was scary too. Plot summary from Wikipedia: "The Historian interweaves the history and folklore of Vlad Ţepeş, a 15th-century prince of Wallachia known as "Vlad the Impaler", and his fictional equivalent Count Dracula together with the story of Paul, a professor; his 16-year-old daughter; and their quest for Vlad's tomb. The novel ties together three separate narratives using letters and oral accounts: that of Paul's mentor in the 1930s, that of Paul in the 1950s, and that of the narrator herself in the 1970s. The tale is told primarily from the perspective of Paul's daughter, who is never named."
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
Just read these quotes and you'll understand why it's so bloody awesome (if you don't: it's basically about me and since I'm in all likelihood the most awesome person who's ever walked this earth the book is bound to be great as well) (also, I like how I mixed the extremely English "bloody" with the incredibly American "awesome"):
"I thought how unnerving it is, suddenly to see oneself for a moment as others see one, like a glimpse of unexpected profile in an umfamiliar combination of mirrors. I think I know myself better that anyone can know me, and I think this even in cold blood, for too much knowing is my vice; and yet one cannot account for the angles of others."
"I really cannot look back upon that week. I had thought myself unhappy as a child, obsessed by unreal terrors, guilts and alarms, and as an adolescent, obsessed by myself, and as a woman, obsessed by the fear that my whole life and career were to be thrown into endless gloom by an evening's affection."
"I had never, however, managed to get over the fact that we had once known and loved each other so thoroughly (...) I would suddenly be assailed by sharp memories of his lips and teeth and naked flesh. They were not memories of desire, for I no longer desired him; rather they were shocking, anti-social disruptive memories, something akin to those impulses to strip oneself in crowded Tube trains, to throw oneself from theatre balconies. Images of fear, not desire. Other people do not feel this way about old lovers, I know. It must just be another instance of my total maladjustment with regard to sex."
""I can't help worrying", I said. "It's my nature. There's nothing I can do about my nature, is there?"
"No,", said George, his hand upon the door. "No, nothing.""
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
We need to talk about Kevin is about a family, but not your average family: Kevin, the 16-year-old son, is a so-called "school shooter" who shot up his school shortly after his 16th birthday. The book is written from his mother's perspective; she writes letters to her husband who, for some reason, is not there. In this book, Shriver deals with motherhood and the fact that some women don't want to have kids. What happens when you don't really love your child or know to deal with it? Can you be blamed for the child's actions? This is (obviously) about the worst-case scenario, but anyway. I don't think I want kids (although I'm just 20, so I really don't have to think about it for another 10 years) so this book and what the protagonist, Eva, goes through and her thoughts on children is completely relatable to me.
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Quotes, there is also one I would like to elaborate on, add my own story to why this particular quote resonated so well with me.
"You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away."
"I sit in the darkness and beer fug and cigarette smoke, getting a little dizzy, keeping my mouth shut, my eyes open. I think I can see them clearly because I expect nothing from them. In truth I expect a lot. I expect to be accepted."
"I know what is dangerous for me, and keep away from the edges of things. From anything too bright, too sharp. From lack of sleep. When I start feeling shaky I lie down, expecting nothing, and it arrives, washing over me in a wave of black vacancy. I know I can wait it out."
"I'm beginning to feel that I've discovered something worth knowing. There's a way out of places you want to leave, but can't. Fainting is like stepping sideways, out of your own body, out of time or into another time. When you wake up it's later. Time has gone on without you."
This summer I fell down some stairs and fainted. I woke up just seconds after, but something happened to me which is kind of like what Atwood describes: For about two minutes, I could not remember much about my life. The week before I had been in London, visiting someone who I think would agree that week didn't go at all as any of us had planned. For me, it had just been too much drama, weirdness and general confusion; when I got home I felt numb. And then seven days later, I couldn't remember any of it and it it felt like bliss. My parents asked me questions like "Where were you last week?" "Who did you visit?" "What did you do?" and I could not remember any of it. When I was told what the guy's name was, I literally could not remember what he looked like. I just had some vague recollection of very sunny days (it was practically summer) and watching The inbetweeners with someone. But that was all. And it was like being given a time-out: for two blissful minutes I didn't feel bad, I didn't feel confused, I didn't feel hurt. Then my memory returned and with that, the headache and concussion. Then I felt bad for a much more vaild reason, haha. Anyway, while Atwood talks more about the actual fainting and how that allows you to leave a place you don't want to be in, I believe it can be applied to my situation as well. Because I wanted to get out of a state and feeling I was in. And fainting allowed me to do that for a while.
OK, this will have to be part 1. Have already struggled one fucking hour with this post. Need to take a break. I'm gonna go play Playstation because I got one for Christmas! Yeah, I know, I'm 20 and wished for a Playstation. Whatever.
20091224
OH! SUCH A LACK OF TASTE. HOW DO YOU RISE ABOVE?
I stopped reading Allt because it was just way too pretentious for me. Got bored of Blonde, don't know why. Started re-reading Donna Tartt's The secret history, did not finish it. Basically: have read nothing in a week except introductions. Don't know why I love introductions so much but I just do. "Victor Hugo was born in 1802..." I especially love reading the introductions to Iris Murdoch's books because, the people who writes them, always discuss how utterly implausible the story lines are. And yet they are so good. Like that.
Anyway, today it's Christmas. I need to wrap Christmas presents which I'm unbelievably bad at but, before I do that and since it's almost the end of the year and and an era and since I most likely won't read anything more in 2009 since I'm planning on getting and staying drunk starting from tomorrow (by the way, what's up with my English right now?), I'm going to post a list of all the books I've read this year. I realise this is of little interest to anyone except me but whatever. I'm going to write a bit more about some of the books in another post, the best ones and the worst ones. Anyway,this is what I've read and re-read this year:
BOOKS IN ENGLISH
Richard Yates - Revolutionary road
Iris Murdoch - A fairly honourable defeat
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld - The man of my dreams
Curtis Sittenfeld - Prep
Albert Camus - The outsider
Ariel Levy - Female chauvinist pigs: Women and the rise of raunch culture
Margaret Drabble - A summer-bird cage
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
George Orwell - 1984
Steve Toltz - A fraction of the whole
Oscar Wilde - The importance of being earnest
Alex Garland - The beach
Alex Garland - The coma
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Alice Sebold - The lovely bones
Eminem - The way I am
Anthony Thornton and Roger Sargent - The Libertines bound together
Peter Welsh - Kids in the riot: High and low with The Libertines
Michael Collins - The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton
Margaret Atwood - The blind assassin
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Tom Wolfe - I am Charlotte Simmons
A.M. Homes - The end of Alice
David Ebershoff - The 19th wife
Nic Sheff - Tweak: Growing up on methamphetamines
David Sheff - Beautiful boy: A father's journey through his son's addiction
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the half-blood prince
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the deathly hallows
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
John Niven - Kill your friends
Jonathan Safran Foer - Extremely loud and incredibly close
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Chuck Klosterman - Sex, drugs and cocoa puffs
Chuck Klosterman - Downtown owl
Chuck Klosterman - Chuck Klosterman IV: A decade of curious people and dangerous ideas
Tobias Wolff - Old school
Ben Elton - Chart throb
Ben Elton - Dead famous
Marisha Pessl - Special topics in calamity physics
Claude Houghton - I am Jonathan Scrivener
Stephanie Kuehnert - I wanna be your Joey Ramone
Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones: the edge of reason
Tom Perrotta - The abstinence teacher
Dave Cullen - Columbine
Mitch Albom - The five people you meet in heaven
Alasdair Duncan - Metro
BOOKS IN SWEDISH
Linda Skugge - Men mest av allt vill jag hångla med nån
Linda Skugge - Lindas bästa/värsta
Jonas Gardell - Ett ufo gör entré
Jonas Gardell - Jenny
Bodil Malmsten - Hör bara hur ditt hjärta slår i mig
Bodil Malmsten - Kom och hälsa på mig om tusen år
OK, a) it's amazing that, in between reading all these books, I managed to find the time to work, go to London, live in Gothenburg and Cambridge, get a CPE and get drunk as much as I did, b) cannot believe I read some of them, like John Niven - Kill your friends? Why did I even buy in the first place? It was awful, c) why the fuck didn't A fraction of the whole win the Booker Prize in 2008? Preposterous and d) well, if you look at this, one could be forgiven for thinking I detest my own language. I probably have issues, hatred of own country, language, traditions, whatnot. Also, I might be schizophrenic.
Anyway, today it's Christmas. I need to wrap Christmas presents which I'm unbelievably bad at but, before I do that and since it's almost the end of the year and and an era and since I most likely won't read anything more in 2009 since I'm planning on getting and staying drunk starting from tomorrow (by the way, what's up with my English right now?), I'm going to post a list of all the books I've read this year. I realise this is of little interest to anyone except me but whatever. I'm going to write a bit more about some of the books in another post, the best ones and the worst ones. Anyway,this is what I've read and re-read this year:
BOOKS IN ENGLISH
Richard Yates - Revolutionary road
Iris Murdoch - A fairly honourable defeat
Curtis Sittenfeld - American wife
Curtis Sittenfeld - The man of my dreams
Curtis Sittenfeld - Prep
Albert Camus - The outsider
Ariel Levy - Female chauvinist pigs: Women and the rise of raunch culture
Margaret Drabble - A summer-bird cage
Margaret Drabble - The millstone
George Orwell - 1984
Steve Toltz - A fraction of the whole
Oscar Wilde - The importance of being earnest
Alex Garland - The beach
Alex Garland - The coma
Elisabeth Kostova - The historian
Alice Sebold - The lovely bones
Eminem - The way I am
Anthony Thornton and Roger Sargent - The Libertines bound together
Peter Welsh - Kids in the riot: High and low with The Libertines
Michael Collins - The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton
Margaret Atwood - The blind assassin
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Tom Wolfe - I am Charlotte Simmons
A.M. Homes - The end of Alice
David Ebershoff - The 19th wife
Nic Sheff - Tweak: Growing up on methamphetamines
David Sheff - Beautiful boy: A father's journey through his son's addiction
Lionel Shriver - We need to talk about Kevin
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the half-blood prince
J.K. Rowling - Harry Potter and the deathly hallows
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
John Niven - Kill your friends
Jonathan Safran Foer - Extremely loud and incredibly close
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Chuck Klosterman - Sex, drugs and cocoa puffs
Chuck Klosterman - Downtown owl
Chuck Klosterman - Chuck Klosterman IV: A decade of curious people and dangerous ideas
Tobias Wolff - Old school
Ben Elton - Chart throb
Ben Elton - Dead famous
Marisha Pessl - Special topics in calamity physics
Claude Houghton - I am Jonathan Scrivener
Stephanie Kuehnert - I wanna be your Joey Ramone
Helen Fielding - Bridget Jones: the edge of reason
Tom Perrotta - The abstinence teacher
Dave Cullen - Columbine
Mitch Albom - The five people you meet in heaven
Alasdair Duncan - Metro
BOOKS IN SWEDISH
Linda Skugge - Men mest av allt vill jag hångla med nån
Linda Skugge - Lindas bästa/värsta
Jonas Gardell - Ett ufo gör entré
Jonas Gardell - Jenny
Bodil Malmsten - Hör bara hur ditt hjärta slår i mig
Bodil Malmsten - Kom och hälsa på mig om tusen år
OK, a) it's amazing that, in between reading all these books, I managed to find the time to work, go to London, live in Gothenburg and Cambridge, get a CPE and get drunk as much as I did, b) cannot believe I read some of them, like John Niven - Kill your friends? Why did I even buy in the first place? It was awful, c) why the fuck didn't A fraction of the whole win the Booker Prize in 2008? Preposterous and d) well, if you look at this, one could be forgiven for thinking I detest my own language. I probably have issues, hatred of own country, language, traditions, whatnot. Also, I might be schizophrenic.
20091221
BUT WHAT IS LOVE WITHOUT LOSS?
More of my writing, as always from CotMWM:
"I always forget things after I have broken up with someone. Leave stuff. I always try to take everything with me, all my movies, clothes, letters, all the things that I had taken with me when visiting the boy’s place but somehow I always manage to forget something; a book, a spiral pad with my thoughts in it, a dress. Once I forgot a black scarf, my favourite one. That was annoying. I never go back to collect the things either; with the scarf, I couldn’t even if I had wanted to. We lived in different cities, different countries. Jump on a plane just to take it back? It was bad enough I jumped on a plane to see Oliver in the first place. I didn’t want to see him again and most of all, I didn’t want to be a guest in his life, someone’s who just picking up something as opposed to being a natural part of the scenery itself. Why would I want to go back to just doing a cameo when I used to be in the starring role? It seemed undignified. So I left it there, just like I left five CDs at Avery’s and four books at Sam’s. But what bothers me the most isn’t necessarily the lost items per se. Sure, it feels fucking stupid to have to go out and buy Marianne Faithfull’s Broken English when I know I used to have it. But I can replace stuff; I’m not precious about objects. What really gets to me is the thought that these boys use the stuff I’ve accidentally left behind; Maybe Sam takes the book with him on one of his camping trips, Avery might listen to the one of my CDs while doing the dishes, perhaps Oliver wears the scarf when it’s cold outside. The idea of it really, really, to the core of my being, bugs me. Bugs me to death! Some girls would probably like it; in some perverse way, they would think “Well, at least he’s thinking about me.” But I’m not one of those girls. That was my scarf, my CD, my book. In a way, I guess, I am precious about objects, but only because they are mine; they don’t cease to be mine just because I left them behind. I don’t really think Oliver thinks about me when he’s wearing the scarf either; he’s probably thinking he looks great in the black scarf, and the “the” will soon be replaced by “his”. Or when someone asks him about it, he’ll say “Oh, it belonged to some bird I dated.” Actually, maybe that’s what’s bothering me the most; even though it was mine, Miranda’s, a scarf I wore on every fucking day we spent together, I’m still reduced to being just “some bird” when leaving it hanging on his door. "
- The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
"I always forget things after I have broken up with someone. Leave stuff. I always try to take everything with me, all my movies, clothes, letters, all the things that I had taken with me when visiting the boy’s place but somehow I always manage to forget something; a book, a spiral pad with my thoughts in it, a dress. Once I forgot a black scarf, my favourite one. That was annoying. I never go back to collect the things either; with the scarf, I couldn’t even if I had wanted to. We lived in different cities, different countries. Jump on a plane just to take it back? It was bad enough I jumped on a plane to see Oliver in the first place. I didn’t want to see him again and most of all, I didn’t want to be a guest in his life, someone’s who just picking up something as opposed to being a natural part of the scenery itself. Why would I want to go back to just doing a cameo when I used to be in the starring role? It seemed undignified. So I left it there, just like I left five CDs at Avery’s and four books at Sam’s. But what bothers me the most isn’t necessarily the lost items per se. Sure, it feels fucking stupid to have to go out and buy Marianne Faithfull’s Broken English when I know I used to have it. But I can replace stuff; I’m not precious about objects. What really gets to me is the thought that these boys use the stuff I’ve accidentally left behind; Maybe Sam takes the book with him on one of his camping trips, Avery might listen to the one of my CDs while doing the dishes, perhaps Oliver wears the scarf when it’s cold outside. The idea of it really, really, to the core of my being, bugs me. Bugs me to death! Some girls would probably like it; in some perverse way, they would think “Well, at least he’s thinking about me.” But I’m not one of those girls. That was my scarf, my CD, my book. In a way, I guess, I am precious about objects, but only because they are mine; they don’t cease to be mine just because I left them behind. I don’t really think Oliver thinks about me when he’s wearing the scarf either; he’s probably thinking he looks great in the black scarf, and the “the” will soon be replaced by “his”. Or when someone asks him about it, he’ll say “Oh, it belonged to some bird I dated.” Actually, maybe that’s what’s bothering me the most; even though it was mine, Miranda’s, a scarf I wore on every fucking day we spent together, I’m still reduced to being just “some bird” when leaving it hanging on his door. "
- The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
20091216
YOU PUT THE FUN IN FUNERAL, YOU'RE THE ONE IN ONE-DIMENSIONAL
Read one of the blogs that I read every day but I hate it hate it hate it which is why I read that blog every day. Capisce? Anyway, today she had posted pictures of some boy taking pictures of himself in various "O-M-G! Look at me! I'm such a poet/inspiration/model and I'm so whimsical/quirky/thoughful" poses and she wrote about his "amazing cheekbones" and skinny arms etc. Like, vomit! So tired of all these boys and girls taking pictures of themselves dressed in skinny jeans with nothing on top (boys) or long t-shirts with nothing underneath except knickers (girls), smoking a cigarette and looking oh, so thoughtfully out of a window, which (obviously) should lead us to assume that they are having a deep, profound thought about the mysteries of life. Discovering some eternal truth that sadly would have gone unnoticed had they not taken that picture, posted it on their blog/flickr/facebook and added a quote from Camus' The outsider (which they've never read) (another popular choice is something from Peter Doherty's repertoire because (gasps) "he is a propa poet, that boy is, a propa hero"). What baffles me is how people still seem to find these people interesting. I'm yawning just thinking about them.
(Note: I figured I could put this rant on my book blog because, even though blogs are not books, it still involves reading, right? Oh, like anyone cares except for me, I can just post this wherever the fuck I want, it's just that I'd like for this blog to be strictly about books but since I'm not strictly about anything specific, my blog probably won't be either. I'm constantly side-tracking. Now that I'm on things that I've read but not in books, according to Cosmopolitan I'm supposed to get involved in a relationship next year that will be "unlike the stressful situations you've faced over the last couple of years." I will, apparently, not get scared away either when this prospective love of mine talks about commitment, flats and (the dreaded words in my book) moving in. Well, dear Cosmopolitan, as lovely as this horoscope sounds, I have to say it's unlikely. First of all: me making sensible choices? Unlikely. Second: Me not freaking out over commitment things? Nah, unlikely. And three: me in a relationship? A proper relationship? Living together, sleeping together, waking up together? Hell to the no. I also think you wrote something about it being romantic. I don't do romance. I'm the least romantic girl in the world. I just cringe, avoid, look away, get bored, feel embarrassed. I know, Cosmo. This means that I'm not a Cosmogirl because every Cosmogirl likes a bit of romance, Twilight and Colin Firth. Yet again something I'm missing out on. Not a proper woman, really. Bitterness is not becoming).
To get out of this long pharenthesis, I have no idea what I'm bitter about but it could be:
a) that I'm not in London
b) my generation
c) girl magazines.
Summed it up quite nicely. However, could also be that I'm tired. Seems likely.
(Note: I figured I could put this rant on my book blog because, even though blogs are not books, it still involves reading, right? Oh, like anyone cares except for me, I can just post this wherever the fuck I want, it's just that I'd like for this blog to be strictly about books but since I'm not strictly about anything specific, my blog probably won't be either. I'm constantly side-tracking. Now that I'm on things that I've read but not in books, according to Cosmopolitan I'm supposed to get involved in a relationship next year that will be "unlike the stressful situations you've faced over the last couple of years." I will, apparently, not get scared away either when this prospective love of mine talks about commitment, flats and (the dreaded words in my book) moving in. Well, dear Cosmopolitan, as lovely as this horoscope sounds, I have to say it's unlikely. First of all: me making sensible choices? Unlikely. Second: Me not freaking out over commitment things? Nah, unlikely. And three: me in a relationship? A proper relationship? Living together, sleeping together, waking up together? Hell to the no. I also think you wrote something about it being romantic. I don't do romance. I'm the least romantic girl in the world. I just cringe, avoid, look away, get bored, feel embarrassed. I know, Cosmo. This means that I'm not a Cosmogirl because every Cosmogirl likes a bit of romance, Twilight and Colin Firth. Yet again something I'm missing out on. Not a proper woman, really. Bitterness is not becoming).
To get out of this long pharenthesis, I have no idea what I'm bitter about but it could be:
a) that I'm not in London
b) my generation
c) girl magazines.
Summed it up quite nicely. However, could also be that I'm tired. Seems likely.
FEVER RAY
Home. Feels a bit weird. Miss England. Planning on moving to London next year. Would love to live in Bayswater, always been my favourite place in London. Places I refuse to live in: Brick Lane and (probably) Camden. They're way too "we so fashion, we so hip" for my taste.
To get to book-related topics; Blonde is still as lovely as it was before, but I might take a break from it and read Allt (translation: Everything) by Martina Löwden instead. Seems good.
20091210
NEVER BEEN GOOD ENOUGH BUT I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THE BEST
Exams are over! I'm so happy, weight off my shoulders! Will get drunk (or tipsaaay) tonight! On Tuesday I'm going home! On Saturday I'm buying myself a Moleskine to celebrate my own awesomeness! Exclamation point! On Sunday I'm going to London with my Mom, two days there and then I'm going home! Sweden, how I have missed you! Weird year, boring year, everything yet nothing happened year, 2009 I will not miss you! Best thing: all the books I've read! Best reading year ever! So happy! Exclamation point!
Look funny! Don't care! Full stop and exclamation point! High on life (haha, OK, need to stop before this gets worse)! Mom calls on Skype! Gotta go!
Look funny! Don't care! Full stop and exclamation point! High on life (haha, OK, need to stop before this gets worse)! Mom calls on Skype! Gotta go!
20091207
THE BOTTOMLINE IS THAT IT'S COOL TO SMOKE AND YOU ALL KNOW IT
I was planning on blogging (sentence?) yesterday, but I was so hungover I could barely get out of bed. Seriously, even when I fell asleep around midnight I still had a pounding headache. But I had a really good night, I drank red wine, I climbed in and out of windows while smoking, I danced on the street and I seem to recall standing in the middle of a room full of people and singing Soko - I'll kill her (best line: "She's a bitch you know, all she's got is blondeness, not even tenderness, she's clever-less." Oh, and also this: "I said it was a love story, but you don't wanna get involved. I said it was a love story but you're not ready for that (beat, beat, beat) ME NEITHER!") That whole "standing in a room singing while everybody is watching" seems to be my thing when drunk. Well, I guess it's everyone's thing when drunk but me more so than others. Unfortunately, I cannot sing. Fortunately, I wasn't alone. Maeva sang as well. She's great. I'm gonna miss everyone so much.
Today I was approached by a nun who wanted to give me a book on Hare Krishna. First she said she wanted to give it to me for free, then she wanted some money for it. Haha, the sneaky ways of the believers! Anyhoo, I politely declined and then cursed her because I missed my bus. Note to self: when someone asks you if you speak English and look like they will most likely talk to you about religion, the environment or mobile phones: just say no.
Anyway (to get off this sidetrack and actually write something about books), I'm reading Blonde at the moment. In August I blogged about how I would probably never read it, but thank God I decided otherwise. It is lovely. Quote:
"Never can you climb over this wall, you're not strong enough; girls aren't strong enough; girls aren't big enough; your body is fragile and breakable, like a doll; your body is a doll; your body is for others to admire and to pet; your body is a luscious fruit for others to bite into and to savor; your body is for others, not for you."
Basically what girls are told from the day they are born.
Today I was approached by a nun who wanted to give me a book on Hare Krishna. First she said she wanted to give it to me for free, then she wanted some money for it. Haha, the sneaky ways of the believers! Anyhoo, I politely declined and then cursed her because I missed my bus. Note to self: when someone asks you if you speak English and look like they will most likely talk to you about religion, the environment or mobile phones: just say no.
Anyway (to get off this sidetrack and actually write something about books), I'm reading Blonde at the moment. In August I blogged about how I would probably never read it, but thank God I decided otherwise. It is lovely. Quote:
"Never can you climb over this wall, you're not strong enough; girls aren't strong enough; girls aren't big enough; your body is fragile and breakable, like a doll; your body is a doll; your body is for others to admire and to pet; your body is a luscious fruit for others to bite into and to savor; your body is for others, not for you."
Basically what girls are told from the day they are born.
20091203
I DON'T DO ENOUGH CHARITY, I DO A BIT, BUT YOU CAN ALWAYS DO MORE. BUT I LOOK AT IT THIS WAY: IT'S A PAIN INNIT? NOTHING IN IT FOR ME!
Finished reading Cat's eye two days ago, reading Blonde by Joyce Carol Oates now.
20091202
NO WORRIES, I'M GOING TO...
This is one of my favourite poems, from spoken word poet Bradley Hathaway. Do take the time to read this, it really is lovely. I have it on my iPod and it always calms me down when life seems too overwhelming. I don't believe in God but I don't mind the Christian element to his poems anyway.
" Wait, wait, wait!
Stop the press.
I woke up today without that
five million pound boulder of stress on my chest
and now I feel blessed and can rest.
Oh, to rest these weary extremities
that have been inflicted with infirmities
unseen or experienced by them before
So tell me
what does the future have in store?
(I don't know.)
But I'm just going to let today be today.
I'm going to wake up this morning
with a smile on my face
look in the mirror
brush my teeth and
not wrack my brain
wondering if she's going to call me or not
because when a girl says
"Let's just be friends",
what she really means is:
"I'm never going to talk to you again."
Accept it.
Move on.
I just did.
And then after that
I'm going to
put on my play clothes
go in the front yard
and climb that pecan tree
like I did last week
but this time
I'm not going to get halfway up there
and start debating
whether or not morality is:
A social adaptation.
A product of evolution.
Or put there by God.
I'm just going to climb the thing
and have fun like I did when I was a kid.
And after that
I'm going to go to
vertebrate zoology class
and listen to my
boring
lifeless
instructor
talk about how
there are fifty different species of minnows
in Arkansas alone.
But I'll smile
and nod
and show interest
act interested
because that really is interesting
if you think about it.
(Think about it.)
And then after that
I'm going to go home and have lunch
the same ol' lunch again!
Two more frickin' frozen El Monterey jack bean and cheese burritos
with a glass of distilled water
and an orange.
But I'll give thanks
that I do have food to eat
because so many people don't.
And then after that
I'll go to work and paint
but I'm not going to paint that
boring
eggshell
white
on that old lady's wall
like she requested.
No, I'm not going to do it.
I'm going to pretend
like I'm a
juvenile Leonardo Da Vinci
and paint a stick figure masterpiece
of a young couple
frolicking in a field of flowers
with little butterflies and gophers
popping up here and there.
(I'm sure the old lady will appreciate it later in life.)
And after that
I'm going to go have dinner with my Paw Paw
and when he cries to me
about how his arthritis is bad
his own daughter rejects him, he's sad
I'll put my arm around him and listen
watch his old weary eyes glisten
as he experiences
my love for him.
And after that
I'll go home
sit on the floor
and start singing songs
to the one that gave me this joy
that I am feeling
but it's more than just some
fleeting feeling
it's eternal truth
in which I am reeling.
And then at night
I'll lay my head to rest
without the slightest
bit of fright or fret
knowing I made the day the best I could.
And that God truly is good."
No worries, I'm going to... - Bradley Hathaway
" Wait, wait, wait!
Stop the press.
I woke up today without that
five million pound boulder of stress on my chest
and now I feel blessed and can rest.
Oh, to rest these weary extremities
that have been inflicted with infirmities
unseen or experienced by them before
So tell me
what does the future have in store?
(I don't know.)
But I'm just going to let today be today.
I'm going to wake up this morning
with a smile on my face
look in the mirror
brush my teeth and
not wrack my brain
wondering if she's going to call me or not
because when a girl says
"Let's just be friends",
what she really means is:
"I'm never going to talk to you again."
Accept it.
Move on.
I just did.
And then after that
I'm going to
put on my play clothes
go in the front yard
and climb that pecan tree
like I did last week
but this time
I'm not going to get halfway up there
and start debating
whether or not morality is:
A social adaptation.
A product of evolution.
Or put there by God.
I'm just going to climb the thing
and have fun like I did when I was a kid.
And after that
I'm going to go to
vertebrate zoology class
and listen to my
boring
lifeless
instructor
talk about how
there are fifty different species of minnows
in Arkansas alone.
But I'll smile
and nod
and show interest
act interested
because that really is interesting
if you think about it.
(Think about it.)
And then after that
I'm going to go home and have lunch
the same ol' lunch again!
Two more frickin' frozen El Monterey jack bean and cheese burritos
with a glass of distilled water
and an orange.
But I'll give thanks
that I do have food to eat
because so many people don't.
And then after that
I'll go to work and paint
but I'm not going to paint that
boring
eggshell
white
on that old lady's wall
like she requested.
No, I'm not going to do it.
I'm going to pretend
like I'm a
juvenile Leonardo Da Vinci
and paint a stick figure masterpiece
of a young couple
frolicking in a field of flowers
with little butterflies and gophers
popping up here and there.
(I'm sure the old lady will appreciate it later in life.)
And after that
I'm going to go have dinner with my Paw Paw
and when he cries to me
about how his arthritis is bad
his own daughter rejects him, he's sad
I'll put my arm around him and listen
watch his old weary eyes glisten
as he experiences
my love for him.
And after that
I'll go home
sit on the floor
and start singing songs
to the one that gave me this joy
that I am feeling
but it's more than just some
fleeting feeling
it's eternal truth
in which I am reeling.
And then at night
I'll lay my head to rest
without the slightest
bit of fright or fret
knowing I made the day the best I could.
And that God truly is good."
No worries, I'm going to... - Bradley Hathaway
20091130
I LIVE BETWEEN CONCRETE WALLS
Bought some new books (sorry Mother, I can practically hear your voice going "Juliaaa! How will we get all of these books home?" But I did give away six! Which, now that I think about it, doesn't really help me; if I gave away six, how come there's still thirteen here? Never mind...):
Sylvia Plath - The bell jar
Elfriede Jelinek - The piano teacher
A.S. Byatt - Possession
Mom and Dad, simply because I miss you and I love you. So young, so happening! Now you're oldies but goldies.
Sylvia Plath - The bell jar
Elfriede Jelinek - The piano teacher
A.S. Byatt - Possession
Mom and Dad, simply because I miss you and I love you. So young, so happening! Now you're oldies but goldies.
20091128
AS LONG AS YOU PLACE ME AMONGST ONE OF THEM GREATS, WHEN I HIT THE HEAVENLY GATES I'LL BE COOL BESIDE JAY-Z
More of my writing, from CotMWM:
When your find yourself in (a) pickle/bad situation/heartbreak/ "Once I went to a festival with Avery and his friends. It was a decision made on the spur of the moment, born out of boredom; I had just returned from four days in the archipelago, where I had been staying with a boy I used to date once upon a time. Four blissful days in the sun, swimming, talking about literature and drinking absinthe. They had been nice, but I needed some pulse, some people, some light. So when Avery asked me along, offering me a ticket that his brother had declined, I said yes.
When we were driving to the festival, we rolled down the windows, put our heads out and blew smoke rings. The stereo was pumping out the latest, obscure indie music. I didn't say much; I felt too much of a clichéd twentysomething to be able to comfortably join the conversation which (naturally and inevitably) had turned to drugs and travelling. I had nothing to add in the drugs department; unless they wanted to hear about taking cough syrup to fall asleep faster or taking Zoloft in order to alleviate depression, my opinion was irrelevant. And travelling: there is nothing as boring as having to listen to other people's travelling stories. It's even boring to tell them; you can never do them justice and pictures show nothing. That's why I rarely take pictures when in another country. I end up only remembering these forced images of my trip instead of what really happened. So I just sat there, watched the clear, blue sky and tried to allow myself to feel just as young as I actually was without hiding behind a protective shield of irony. It didn't work. I began to regret coming along at all, thinking about my bed at home and the books still waiting to be read and written."
-The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
20091127
Finished reading Dead famous yesterday, reading Cat's eye by Margaret Atwood now.
Borrowed Extras from Ramona, and I have to say, Ricky Gervais is a genius. I wasn't sure he could top The office (and he can't) but it's still amazing. Although I keep turning away from the TV in shame when Andy (Gervais' character) does or says something horrible which is all the time, although this character is much more likable than David Brent from The office who I ended up loving in the end anyway, especially when he finally told Finchey to fuck off. And Stephen Merchant is brilliant.
Borrowed Extras from Ramona, and I have to say, Ricky Gervais is a genius. I wasn't sure he could top The office (and he can't) but it's still amazing. Although I keep turning away from the TV in shame when Andy (Gervais' character) does or says something horrible which is all the time, although this character is much more likable than David Brent from The office who I ended up loving in the end anyway, especially when he finally told Finchey to fuck off. And Stephen Merchant is brilliant.
20091125
CRUISING MED LOW-LIFESEN
Haha, Dead famous is so funny. It's so spot-on, all those "It's, like, totally wicked. I'm like, so loving this at the moment" sentences. I can't really stand Ben Elton as he seems to be one of the single-handedly most annoying guys on this planet, but he is a very good writer when it comes to observing today's uninspired youth.
UPDATE
Haha, OK, am I a child of my generation or what? I just spent 30 minutes watching clips from my favourite season of Big brother on youtube (Dead famous is about a similar TV show). Note: a) I just spent half an hour watching 4 minute long clips of people who either fight, get drunk, lounge on the couch for an obscene amount of time, eat crisps, stare idly into space or do all of the above at the same time, b) I found this amusing and intend to watch more clips, c) I did all this while lounging on the couch, eating crisps and d) I have a favourite season of Big brother. Should I get the gun now or...? (But hey, it was like totally awesome, you know?)
UPDATE
Haha, OK, am I a child of my generation or what? I just spent 30 minutes watching clips from my favourite season of Big brother on youtube (Dead famous is about a similar TV show). Note: a) I just spent half an hour watching 4 minute long clips of people who either fight, get drunk, lounge on the couch for an obscene amount of time, eat crisps, stare idly into space or do all of the above at the same time, b) I found this amusing and intend to watch more clips, c) I did all this while lounging on the couch, eating crisps and d) I have a favourite season of Big brother. Should I get the gun now or...? (But hey, it was like totally awesome, you know?)
20091124
IT WILL, IN ALL LIKELIHOOD, BE A STRUGGLE FOR A CHILLINGLY LONG TIME, "IT" BEING LIFE, THE ONE WORD THAT IS UNIDENTIFIABLE IN ITS PUREST FORM
So, it's been a long time since I posted anything from CotMWM here. So I'll post some different paragraphs/excerpts OK? I can spot a few mistakes, but I'm way too tired to bother with correcting them.
When your find yourself in (a) pickle/bad situation/heartbreak/ When your find yourself in (a) pickle/bad situation/heartbreak/ "The cocktail of emotions made my stomach turn. I went to the bathroom to throw up but leaning over the bowl, nothing happened. Nothing ever happens. So I just sat on the floor for a while, reading the messages and graffiti written across the walls, but they were meaningless or meant something but not much. I considered adding something to it but couldn’t think of anything that would be significant to me in a year’s time. It was both reassuring and frustrating; if what I was doing now would not matter in twelve months time, why the fuck was I spending so much time worrying about my life? Why did I stumble out of pubs and clubs, why was I heartbroken? To pass the time was the answer. What else? I pulled myself up from the floor, making sure I didn’t touch the toilet or the weird-looking specs (blood? Semen? In this seedy excuse for a decent pub nothing was impossible) and unlocked the door. Three girls were standing outside, waiting in line, not talking although they seemed to be friends. I didn’t have the energy to figure out their relationships to each other or why they all kept busy on their cell phones while sending each other glares that plainly wished for the others to go to hell. Probably boys, I thought while washing my hands. It’s always boys. How predictable."
-The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
-The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
20091122
I LIKE TO THINK OF BUNGEE JUMPING AS SUICIDE FOR INDECISIVE PEOPLE
Books I hope to get for Christmas:
Norman Mailer - The executioner's song
A.M. Homes - Music for torching
David Cullen - Columbine
Norman Mailer - The executioner's song
A.M. Homes - Music for torching
David Cullen - Columbine
ASSAULTIVE IN ITS INSISTENCE THAT "DREAMS HAVE NO BOUNDARIES" AND OTHER SENTIMENTS THAT EVEN HALLMARK WOULD REJECT AS TOO FUCKING MUCH
Bought Dead famous by Ben Elton today at Oxfam. I've read if before and thought it was quite good, but didn't want to pay too much for it; 2.99 seemed reasonable. I went to London yesterday but didn't go to Waterstone's. Needed to save the money. See, even Julia knows how to be a hustlin honey when she has to be.
I'm not really in a reading mood at the moment. Think it might be a combination of just having three weeks left in Cambridge so I really just try to hang out with my classmates as much as possible and The shield. For some reason, if I'm really into a TV show I never read and vice versa.
Don't really have anything to say. In all honesty, my life is currently mind-bogglingly boring. All I've done today is listen to La Roux and smoke. See, while waiting for my glory days to come, I'll sing a song.
I'm not really in a reading mood at the moment. Think it might be a combination of just having three weeks left in Cambridge so I really just try to hang out with my classmates as much as possible and The shield. For some reason, if I'm really into a TV show I never read and vice versa.
Don't really have anything to say. In all honesty, my life is currently mind-bogglingly boring. All I've done today is listen to La Roux and smoke. See, while waiting for my glory days to come, I'll sing a song.
20091118
GONNA CATCH THAT PLANE AND FLY JUST TO GET AWAY FROM THAT COCKSUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER DARKENING MY MIND
"Ghosts? Sure.
I know all about ghosts."
The green mile - Stephen King
20091116
A CLICHÉ IS JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR PEOPLE EXPERIENCING SOMETHING HONEST
One of my favourite authors, Bodil Malmsten, writes a lot about The Shield in two of her books, Hör bara hur ditt hjärta bultar i mig (loose translation: Just listen to how your heart beats in me) and Kom och hälsa på mig om tusen år (translation: Come and visit me in a thousand years). The books are about the time she lived in France, the country, her life, her garden, her neighbours. They are both pleasant and heartbreaking. Anyway, I brought this up to show you I'm in excellent company as far as my love for The Shield goes. It appeals to everyone, from the 20-year-olds to the 65-year-olds.
Finished reading Michael Collins' The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton yesterday. I don't know what I think about it, it wasn't as good as I thought it was. Got pretty boring at the end. Anyhoo, reading The green mile now.
Finished reading Michael Collins' The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton yesterday. I don't know what I think about it, it wasn't as good as I thought it was. Got pretty boring at the end. Anyhoo, reading The green mile now.
20091114
ONE HAND DON'T KNOW WHO THE OTHER HAND'S STABBING
OK, I can't believe I still haven't finished The secret life E. Robert Pendleton; can't remember the last time it took me this long to finish a book. However, I think my The shield obsession is to blame; I've been too busy drooling over Shane Vendrell to be bothered with picking up a book. However, won't buy season 7 as everything is getting so sad so will have time to read.
Anyway, bought Stephen King's The green mile yesterday. I've read it before but that was a long time ago. People seem to have so many different opinions on whether he is a bad writer or not (critics think he is, the public begs to differ) but regardless, he's a great storyteller and sometimes that's all I ask for.
If you want to read some more on this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_King#Critical_response
This is pretty interesting:
"Some in the literary community expressed disapproval of the award: Richard Snyder, the former CEO of Simon & Schuster, described King's work as "non-literature", and critic Harold Bloom denounced the choice:
"The decision to give the National Book Foundation's annual award for "distinguished contribution" to Stephen King is extraordinary, another low in the shocking process of dumbing down our cultural life. I've described King in the past as a writer of penny dreadfuls, but perhaps even that is too kind. He shares nothing with Edgar Allan Poe. What he is is an immensely inadequate writer on a sentence-by-sentence, paragraph-by-paragraph, book-by-book basis.""
Anyway, bought Stephen King's The green mile yesterday. I've read it before but that was a long time ago. People seem to have so many different opinions on whether he is a bad writer or not (critics think he is, the public begs to differ) but regardless, he's a great storyteller and sometimes that's all I ask for.
If you want to read some more on this:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_King#Critical_response
This is pretty interesting:
"Some in the literary community expressed disapproval of the award: Richard Snyder, the former CEO of Simon & Schuster, described King's work as "non-literature", and critic Harold Bloom denounced the choice:
"The decision to give the National Book Foundation's annual award for "distinguished contribution" to Stephen King is extraordinary, another low in the shocking process of dumbing down our cultural life. I've described King in the past as a writer of penny dreadfuls, but perhaps even that is too kind. He shares nothing with Edgar Allan Poe. What he is is an immensely inadequate writer on a sentence-by-sentence, paragraph-by-paragraph, book-by-book basis.""
20091110
OH, AND SHE INEXPLICABLY MAILS ME A CACTUS EVERY VALENTINE'S DAY
Today I fell in love with a guy at a café. He was the cutest guy I've ever seen, all sparkling blue eyes, brown hair, dorky hat. He was there with his girlfriend and he seriously couldn't keep his eyes of her and man, it was so adorable! Made me wish we could switch places. After I had seen him, I was happy all day haha. Funny that, how complete strangers can evoke (invoke?) these feelings in you by just merely existing. Like Vince says in Queer as folk; "Sometimes you see these men and you think, that's it. That's him! He doesn't even know you exist, but you think about that man for the rest of your life." Or something along those lines.
I stopped reading Peyton place and went for The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton by Michael Collins instead. It's good, not one of those books that will stick in your memory forever, but it's entertaining for the moment. The Times wrote this about it: "This excellent novel draws on several genres - the campus novel, the rival-novelists novel, the classic crime novel - to make something unique" while Waterstone's Books Quarterly said it gave "a nod to both Donna Tartt and Stephen King" and I couldn't agree more. I love campus novels as well, like Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep and Tom Wolfe's I am Charlotte Simmons. That all-American campus life has always appealed to me.
Oh, and by the way, I just got the mock exams we did last week for the Proficiency class back and I had 85 % on the Reading exam and 96.5 % on the Listening exam. Seriously, just soak up the awesomeness that is your friend Julia. Just do it!
And also to update you on my The shield obsession: bought season 5 yesterday and have two episodes left. Um...
I stopped reading Peyton place and went for The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton by Michael Collins instead. It's good, not one of those books that will stick in your memory forever, but it's entertaining for the moment. The Times wrote this about it: "This excellent novel draws on several genres - the campus novel, the rival-novelists novel, the classic crime novel - to make something unique" while Waterstone's Books Quarterly said it gave "a nod to both Donna Tartt and Stephen King" and I couldn't agree more. I love campus novels as well, like Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep and Tom Wolfe's I am Charlotte Simmons. That all-American campus life has always appealed to me.
Oh, and by the way, I just got the mock exams we did last week for the Proficiency class back and I had 85 % on the Reading exam and 96.5 % on the Listening exam. Seriously, just soak up the awesomeness that is your friend Julia. Just do it!
And also to update you on my The shield obsession: bought season 5 yesterday and have two episodes left. Um...
20091107
AND I'M LIKE, THANKS A HEAP COYOTE UGLY. THIS CACTUS-GRAM STINGS EVEN WORSE THAN YOUR ABANDONMENT
I'm sick. Seriously, since I came to England I've been sick so many times I've lost count. Probably the air. The cold (although, I come from Sweden; cold shouldn't be a problem for me). Anyway, this past week has been great even though I haven't bought any new books (bought season 4 of The shield instead). I really can't buy any more books though, 'cause I won't be able to get them all home. But, since I can't buy books for myself I'm gonna buy books for the children of my host family. You know, like Christmas presents as well as good-bye gifts.
So I'm thinking, for the nine-year-old: Ronia the Robber's daughter by Astrid Lindgren as you obviously need to own something by Astrid Lindgren at some point. And also, because Astrid Lindgren is awesome; my favourite character was always Emil (as in Emil of Lönneberga). Still love those stories and oh my God, the music! Epic. Anyway, for the three-year-old I plan to buy Where the wild things are by Maurice Sendak because it's such a lovely book. I think I might have been two years older or something when I was obsessed with it, but still. I actually cried when I saw the movie trailer for it (I know! But hey, nothing beats nostalgia.) So yes, conclusion: if I can't buy books for myself, you better believe I'll find someone to buy them for! Haha.
Some epic music from Emil of Lönneberga (the accent is awesome):
So I'm thinking, for the nine-year-old: Ronia the Robber's daughter by Astrid Lindgren as you obviously need to own something by Astrid Lindgren at some point. And also, because Astrid Lindgren is awesome; my favourite character was always Emil (as in Emil of Lönneberga). Still love those stories and oh my God, the music! Epic. Anyway, for the three-year-old I plan to buy Where the wild things are by Maurice Sendak because it's such a lovely book. I think I might have been two years older or something when I was obsessed with it, but still. I actually cried when I saw the movie trailer for it (I know! But hey, nothing beats nostalgia.) So yes, conclusion: if I can't buy books for myself, you better believe I'll find someone to buy them for! Haha.
Some epic music from Emil of Lönneberga (the accent is awesome):
20091105
THOSE OLD PIOUS SISTERS WERE RIGHT; THE WORST PART IS OVER, NOW GET BACK ON THAT HORSE AND RIDE
I'm incredibly tired but unfortunately for me, I have homework to do. I'm reading Peyton place right now but haven't gotten so far. Seems like a really good book though.
Anyway, listened to The Shins today and their song Turn on me sorta sums up what CotMWM is about pretty nicely, especially this part:
"'Cause you had it in for me so long ago, boy, I still don't know, I don't know why and I don't care... well, hardly anymore. If you'd only seen yourself hating me, when I'd been so much more than fair."
And also, Australia by the same band.
When I write CotMWM, I have to revisit old times, old wounds, old loves of mine. But it's not painful at all; somehow it's fine, it's not even nostalgic. It just needs to be done. And when working on CotMWM, I realise that, even though liking these different boys sometimes sucked, I'm really happy I at some point did. Not only because they are awesome writing material haha, but because it was nice to have them in my life. So thanks boys I've been in love with and don't know anymore; thanks boys I've been in love with who later turned out to be great friends; you were all pretty awesome (well...). Haha, no. And you really are pretty great writing material even though I never explicitly write about you. I write about me, or someone like me (write what you know eh?). As Margaret Drabble once put it:
"I meant to keep myself out of this story, which is a laugh, really, I agree: I see however that in failing to disclose certain facts I make myself out be some sort of voyeuse, and I am too vain to leave anyone with the impression that the lives of others interest me more than my own."
Anyway, listened to The Shins today and their song Turn on me sorta sums up what CotMWM is about pretty nicely, especially this part:
"'Cause you had it in for me so long ago, boy, I still don't know, I don't know why and I don't care... well, hardly anymore. If you'd only seen yourself hating me, when I'd been so much more than fair."
And also, Australia by the same band.
When I write CotMWM, I have to revisit old times, old wounds, old loves of mine. But it's not painful at all; somehow it's fine, it's not even nostalgic. It just needs to be done. And when working on CotMWM, I realise that, even though liking these different boys sometimes sucked, I'm really happy I at some point did. Not only because they are awesome writing material haha, but because it was nice to have them in my life. So thanks boys I've been in love with and don't know anymore; thanks boys I've been in love with who later turned out to be great friends; you were all pretty awesome (well...). Haha, no. And you really are pretty great writing material even though I never explicitly write about you. I write about me, or someone like me (write what you know eh?). As Margaret Drabble once put it:
"I meant to keep myself out of this story, which is a laugh, really, I agree: I see however that in failing to disclose certain facts I make myself out be some sort of voyeuse, and I am too vain to leave anyone with the impression that the lives of others interest me more than my own."
20091103
20091101
PORNOGRAPHY IS THE THEORY; RAPE IS THE PRACTICE
Apparently, it was Halloween yesterday. I saw more girls dressed in Playboy bunny suits and cat suits than I've seen in my entire life. The boys accompanying these girls did - surprise, surprise - not have any costumes on whatsoever, but were dressed the way they normally are. Honestly, being a girl and being heterosexual makes me depressed sometimes. Especially here in England because man, do the boys and men of this country seem to view girls in a pretty weird (and despicable) way. Without writing too much about it (this is, after all, a blog that's supposed to be about books), we were discussing prostitution, strip clubs, porn and feminism in one of our lessons this week and my teacher's thoughts on that stuff... Jesus Christ. (Note: I'm not judging all English guys based on my teacher. Of course not! I'm judging them by how guys act when I've been out and the way I've heard English boys talk as well. Haha.) Anyway; disregard this paragraph (or, you know, shape up). There are (probably) nice (English and otherwise) boys out there. I've just had a bad week with the male population of the world.
Now, to get to books-related topics: Finished reading The end of Alice two days ago and bought three new books yesterday:
Michael Collins - The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton
Grace Metalious - Peyton place
Alice Sebold - The lovely bones
Was thinking about buying The informers by Bret Easton Ellis as that is the only book by him I haven't read, but seriously, I don't like his writing anyway. I flicked through The informers in the shop, reading a paragraph or two here and there, and all I could see was yet another book about a bunch of self-obsessed, boring cokeheads who should just grow up, cut their hair and get a job. It seemed to me to be exactly like Rules of attraction which basically is a book about five people taking drugs and forgetting the names of the people they sleep with. I read it and was like "Am I supposed to, in any way whatsoever, care about these people?" I have the same relationship with Bret Easton Ellis as I have with Chuck Palahniuk; I buy the books, I read them, I hate them. Just routine. But nowadays I can't even read them; one more book about drugs, London, blow jobs and coke-binges, and I might just vomit out of sheer boredom.
Now, to get to books-related topics: Finished reading The end of Alice two days ago and bought three new books yesterday:
Michael Collins - The secret life of E. Robert Pendleton
Grace Metalious - Peyton place
Alice Sebold - The lovely bones
Was thinking about buying The informers by Bret Easton Ellis as that is the only book by him I haven't read, but seriously, I don't like his writing anyway. I flicked through The informers in the shop, reading a paragraph or two here and there, and all I could see was yet another book about a bunch of self-obsessed, boring cokeheads who should just grow up, cut their hair and get a job. It seemed to me to be exactly like Rules of attraction which basically is a book about five people taking drugs and forgetting the names of the people they sleep with. I read it and was like "Am I supposed to, in any way whatsoever, care about these people?" I have the same relationship with Bret Easton Ellis as I have with Chuck Palahniuk; I buy the books, I read them, I hate them. Just routine. But nowadays I can't even read them; one more book about drugs, London, blow jobs and coke-binges, and I might just vomit out of sheer boredom.
20091029
HAHANOTSOMUCHDOTCOM
Had trouble deciding what to read after The 19th wife. Also, watched three seasons The shield of so didn't read much. However, have decided to get out of my The shield obsession (seriously, have to! I even dream about it) so I started reading A.M Homes' The end of Alice yesterday. It's really good, but horrifying. Disturbing as hell.
On another note; read my Swedish blog, every entry since January, and Jesus Christ, what a weird year it's been. I've changed from month to month, really. I've moved to two different places in under six months (Gothenburg and Cambridge), I've fallen in and out of love in just two months, I've danced the summer away in clubs and pubs and I've read more books than ever before. And I have improved my writing by leaps and bounds. Just one horrible CPE exam to go and then 2009 will be over, officially the funniest (not in the ha-ha way) year of my life. It's pretty much been like this expression which basically says "Huh?", "Hooch is crazy" and (Chandler Bing style) "Could I be any more confused?":
On another note; read my Swedish blog, every entry since January, and Jesus Christ, what a weird year it's been. I've changed from month to month, really. I've moved to two different places in under six months (Gothenburg and Cambridge), I've fallen in and out of love in just two months, I've danced the summer away in clubs and pubs and I've read more books than ever before. And I have improved my writing by leaps and bounds. Just one horrible CPE exam to go and then 2009 will be over, officially the funniest (not in the ha-ha way) year of my life. It's pretty much been like this expression which basically says "Huh?", "Hooch is crazy" and (Chandler Bing style) "Could I be any more confused?":
20091018
EVERYDAY'S AN ENDLESS STREAM OF CIGARETTES AND MAGAZINES
My Dad's been visiting over the weekend which was really nice; I miss my family a lot. A part of me sorta wish I could go home with him tomorrow, but at the same time I don't mind being here for another seven weeks. I think.
We went to Ely today which is so the place I'm gonna live in when I get old and have written a lot of awesome books and want to retire peacefully. Just wanted to mention it.
Anyway, bought some new books which my Dad paid for (thanks Dad):
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Ian McEwan - Atonement
David Ebershoff - The 19th wife
Audrey Niffenegger - The time traveler's wife
A couple of days ago I bought The end of Alice by A.M. Homes and today, in this great bookstore in Ely, I finally bought The virgin in the garden by A.S. Byatt. Happy times. Happy times all over!
We went to Ely today which is so the place I'm gonna live in when I get old and have written a lot of awesome books and want to retire peacefully. Just wanted to mention it.
Anyway, bought some new books which my Dad paid for (thanks Dad):
Margaret Atwood - Cat's eye
Ian McEwan - Atonement
David Ebershoff - The 19th wife
Audrey Niffenegger - The time traveler's wife
A couple of days ago I bought The end of Alice by A.M. Homes and today, in this great bookstore in Ely, I finally bought The virgin in the garden by A.S. Byatt. Happy times. Happy times all over!
20091014
YET IN MY EXPERIENCE, WHEN LEFT TO THEIR OWN DEVICES PEOPLE WILL GET UP TO ONE OF TWO THINGS: NOTHING MUCH, AND NO GOOD.
Finished reading We need to talk about Kevin this afternoon. Truly disturbing book, extremely readable. I highly recommend it. Anyway, reading The accidental by Ali Smith now; bought that book, and Zoë Heller's Notes on a scandal, yesterday. Ali Smith actually lives in Cambridge; would be nice walking into her. Anyway, need to go do something productive now, like getting out of bed and get my Mars bar, so see ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!
20091012
THE SCENT OF DRIED ROSES
Now I'm back from London. It was nice; I went to Westminster Abbey, Covent Garden and Hyde Park by myself; I was given a free cappuccino by some guys who worked at EAT. because, according to them, I was "so beautiful"; me and Palle went to The Enterprise in Camden and had some drinks, I sang along to Blondie's Atomic; and on Sunday we went to Brick Lane for a few hours and then I went home.
Bought two new books; The scent of dried roses by Tim Lott and Lionel Shriver's We need to talk about Kevin which I am currently reading; took a break from The little friend. I've read We need to talk about Kevin before, but I felt like giving it a re-read. I also bought The virgin in the garden by A.S. Byatt but returned it an hour later, simply because I needed to get those £10 back. But damn, do I want that book! Byatt is Margaret Drabble's sister. I mean, even if the book didn't seem awesome (which it does), that alone would make me want it. Anyway, maybe I'll buy it the next time I'm in London. If I can find it.
Bought two new books; The scent of dried roses by Tim Lott and Lionel Shriver's We need to talk about Kevin which I am currently reading; took a break from The little friend. I've read We need to talk about Kevin before, but I felt like giving it a re-read. I also bought The virgin in the garden by A.S. Byatt but returned it an hour later, simply because I needed to get those £10 back. But damn, do I want that book! Byatt is Margaret Drabble's sister. I mean, even if the book didn't seem awesome (which it does), that alone would make me want it. Anyway, maybe I'll buy it the next time I'm in London. If I can find it.
20091009
A HAZY SHADE OF WINTER
I'm going to London to visit one of my best friends, Palle, this weekend. It'll be nice; I have so much to talk about that I can really only talk about with a best friend. Tomorrow, however, she will be working all day, so I plan on visiting Waterstone's (read: Mecca) on Picadilly Circus. Maybe I'll go to Camden or Brick Lane as well. Hopefully she'll have some free time on Sunday though because, if the weather is nice, I wanna take her to Hampstead. It's such a lovely place.
I might write a bit too. I won't be able to bring my computer with me, but I have my little black book so it won't be a problem. You'll have to excuse the wild hair and the weird expression, which is due to the fact that a) I just got out of bed b) I just got out of the shower and c) it's a webcam and I don't really know how to work it. Anyway, fuck that, just check out the awesome notebook instead. Love of my life (well, at least until I get myself a Moleskine)! (There's an update, scroll down)
Haha OK, so I tried to take a new picture after I had fixed my hair, put on some make-up, whatnot. But, after having looked at these as well, I realised that the reason the pictures don't turn out well is not because of the webcam. It's because of me. I can't keep serious (but I mean, if you can keep serious when taking WEBCAM pictures of YOURSELF in an EMPTY ROOM, then be my guest). Anyhoo, I'm posting one of the new pictures too. If you don't admire the notebook after I've gone through all this trouble for you, then dude, I don't even know why you read my blog. Go to the mall.
.
I might write a bit too. I won't be able to bring my computer with me, but I have my little black book so it won't be a problem. You'll have to excuse the wild hair and the weird expression, which is due to the fact that a) I just got out of bed b) I just got out of the shower and c) it's a webcam and I don't really know how to work it. Anyway, fuck that, just check out the awesome notebook instead. Love of my life (well, at least until I get myself a Moleskine)! (There's an update, scroll down)
Haha OK, so I tried to take a new picture after I had fixed my hair, put on some make-up, whatnot. But, after having looked at these as well, I realised that the reason the pictures don't turn out well is not because of the webcam. It's because of me. I can't keep serious (but I mean, if you can keep serious when taking WEBCAM pictures of YOURSELF in an EMPTY ROOM, then be my guest). Anyhoo, I'm posting one of the new pictures too. If you don't admire the notebook after I've gone through all this trouble for you, then dude, I don't even know why you read my blog. Go to the mall.
.
20091007
20091006
20091004
THERE ARE PATTERNS I MUST FOLLOW, JUST AS MUST BREATHE EACH BREATH
Today I reckon I will travel into town, sit down at Costa's, finish The blind assassin and work some more on The creativity of the mess we make. I'm a bit sick and I guess going out Friday night didn't really help, but I need to make time for my writing. Otherwise madness, sadness will happen. And I don't really feel like it. You know, Hooch is crazy as it is, don't need to make it worse!
20091001
IT ALL COMES DOWN TO NIGHTMARES I'VE HAD
In order to cheer myself up, (I keep having these horrible dreams), I went to Waterstone's and bought two new books; Villette by Charlotte Brontë and Alice's adventures in wonderland and Through the looking-glass by Lewis Carroll. I loved that book when I was a kid but haven't read it in English. Still reading The blind assassin though.
20090929
THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN WRITE THE TRUTH
I don't have that many pages left of the Margaret Atwood book which feels horrible because it's so good. I bring it with me everywhere and always read it on the bus home; lovely. (Realise this is common behaviour, but felt like I needed to mention it).
I've been trying to videoblog about books but I can't seem to get my webcam to work. Might give it a try later on.
I've been trying to videoblog about books but I can't seem to get my webcam to work. Might give it a try later on.
20090926
I GOT PAIN FROM LIVING THE MUNDANE
""You have a lot of friends," she says.
"Not a lot," he says. "You don't need many if there's no rotten apples.""
The blind assassin - Margaret Atwood
Today I'm sick but it's sorta OK, because I've been writing a bit on The creativity of the mess we make. Right now, though, I'm trying to get my head around how to open a certain paragraph; I know what I want it to be about, I just don't know how to start it. Oh well. I think I'm gonna go out for a smoke; maybe it'll come to me then.
"Not a lot," he says. "You don't need many if there's no rotten apples.""
The blind assassin - Margaret Atwood
Today I'm sick but it's sorta OK, because I've been writing a bit on The creativity of the mess we make. Right now, though, I'm trying to get my head around how to open a certain paragraph; I know what I want it to be about, I just don't know how to start it. Oh well. I think I'm gonna go out for a smoke; maybe it'll come to me then.
20090923
I finished reading The private lives of Pippa Lee by Rebecca Miller this morning before I went to school. It was quite good, and had some pretty nice quotes as well:
"Sometimes, she found the mystery of other people almost unbearable to contemplate: rooms within rooms inside each of them, an endless labyrinth of contradictory qualities, memories, desires, mirroring one another like an Escher drawing, baffling as a conundrum. Kinder to perceive people as they wished to be seen. After all, that's what Pippa wanted for herself: to be accepted as she seemed."
"She enjoyed this removal from her surroundings even as she was immersed in them. She felt mute and contented, loaded with potential, yet entirely unproductive."
"She kept teetering on the brink of love with him, and even spent blissful hours in the zone of extreme fondness. But all it took was one flabby joke, a botched allusion, a moment of strained sincerity, and she felt a leaden seal forming in her gut, cutting her off from the suddenly former object of her affection as swiftly as a pair of scissors severing two sausage links. Back to square one."
Today I picked up Margaret Atwood's The blind assassin at Waterstone's, so I'll probably read that.
"Sometimes, she found the mystery of other people almost unbearable to contemplate: rooms within rooms inside each of them, an endless labyrinth of contradictory qualities, memories, desires, mirroring one another like an Escher drawing, baffling as a conundrum. Kinder to perceive people as they wished to be seen. After all, that's what Pippa wanted for herself: to be accepted as she seemed."
"She enjoyed this removal from her surroundings even as she was immersed in them. She felt mute and contented, loaded with potential, yet entirely unproductive."
"She kept teetering on the brink of love with him, and even spent blissful hours in the zone of extreme fondness. But all it took was one flabby joke, a botched allusion, a moment of strained sincerity, and she felt a leaden seal forming in her gut, cutting her off from the suddenly former object of her affection as swiftly as a pair of scissors severing two sausage links. Back to square one."
Today I picked up Margaret Atwood's The blind assassin at Waterstone's, so I'll probably read that.
20090920
So, now I'm back in Cambridge after a lovely London weekend. Friday night we went to Camden, I literally stood on a bench in Regent's Park and sang Circle of life, that song from The Lion King. It was nice. Saturday we went to a lot of great book shops in Notting Hill and Soho, but I managed to only buy that book by Alex Garland I mentioned in the previous post. Kinda sad though; now that I've read that one, I've read everything by Garland. Weird.
YOU WAKE, YOU DIE.
Bought The Coma by Alex Garland yesterday and finished it this morning (like 20 minutes ago). It was really good. Will carry on with the Rebecca Miller book now. I'm in Notting Hill for the moment, but tonight I'm going home to Cambridge which will be good. I really like London and I love Palle, but I'm more of a small-town girl than a big-city one.
20090917
HOOCH IS CRAZY
So, hello dear book blog, I have missed you. OK; I'm in Cambridge now and it is pretty fucking awesome. I'm studying to get my CPE, so that's why I'm here. There are a lot of great book shops around here, I've already bought eight books (and I've only been here five days...)(don't worry Mom and Dad, they were all second-hand, I haven't spent that much money).
Anyway, these are the books:
Iris Murdoch - The sandcastle
Elaine Feinstein - The amberstone exit
Jean Cocteau - Les enfants terribles
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
Jonathan Coe - The rotters' club
Lionel Shriver - Double fault
Daniel Mayhew - Life and how to live it
Sorta regret buying the last one, 'cause I don't think I'll like it. But the title was so good I had to have it. Reading The private lives of Pippa Lee. Seems good. Will go out for a smoke now. Tomorrow I'm going to London, I'm beyond excited. Haven't seen Palle in ages. Well, well, bye book blog, catch ya later!
Anyway, these are the books:
Iris Murdoch - The sandcastle
Elaine Feinstein - The amberstone exit
Jean Cocteau - Les enfants terribles
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
Jonathan Coe - The rotters' club
Lionel Shriver - Double fault
Daniel Mayhew - Life and how to live it
Sorta regret buying the last one, 'cause I don't think I'll like it. But the title was so good I had to have it. Reading The private lives of Pippa Lee. Seems good. Will go out for a smoke now. Tomorrow I'm going to London, I'm beyond excited. Haven't seen Palle in ages. Well, well, bye book blog, catch ya later!
20090912
SHYNESS IS WHEN YOU TURN YOUR HEAD AWAY FROM SOMETHING YOU WANT. SHAME IS WHEN YOU TURN YOUR HEAD AWAY FROM SOMETHING YOU DO NOT WANT.
I just finished reading Extremely loud and incredibly close. It was just as beautiful and heartbreaking as the last time I read it. I will soon start reading John Steinbeck's The winter of our discontent. Won't have any time today though, because I have to pack my bags and get ready for tomorrow as I'm moving to Cambridge in about 24 hours. Happy times; next Friday I'm going to visit my friend Pauline in London as well, which will be awesome.
Anyway, I've decided to only take three books with me because I can't even bring five, there's no room! So I'll take Doris Lessing's Volume one, The winter of our discontent and Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep. I really do want to bring The bell by Iris Murdoch as well so maybe I will. I'll make sure I get myself a library card pretty quickly though.
Anyway, I've decided to only take three books with me because I can't even bring five, there's no room! So I'll take Doris Lessing's Volume one, The winter of our discontent and Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep. I really do want to bring The bell by Iris Murdoch as well so maybe I will. I'll make sure I get myself a library card pretty quickly though.
20090909
TOO FAMILIAR TO BE STRANGE, AND TOO EXCITING TO DREAD. BEFORE LONG, IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO ENJOY.
Just finished re-reading Alex Garland's The beach. God, that book is so fucking good. So fucking good. So fucking good. God! I love it to bits. Now I'm going to read another favourite book of mine, Extremely loud and incredibly close by Jonathan Safran Foer because I can't take these two books with me to England (no room), so I have to re-read them. Otherwise I would probably regret it.
"Fucking New Guy? Yea, though I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil, for I am the evilest motherfucker in the valley.
New to what?"
The beach - Alex Garland
"Fucking New Guy? Yea, though I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil, for I am the evilest motherfucker in the valley.
New to what?"
The beach - Alex Garland
20090906
20090903
I FINISHED MY WORK (BANGS TABLE) WHATTUP?
Since I've been spending most of my time shouting "But I'm not a telemarketer!" into phones (in other words, I've been working) lately, I haven't really had time to read. But, as I need to get into reading mode again before I drive myself crazy with my self-obession, I will devote all of tomorrow to reading. I have to run some errands though, but most of them involves queues so I will just bring the fucking book and read it while waiting. But actually, as I'm typing this, I realise that I will probably spend most of that time enjoying my new iPod. My old one broke down a few weeks ago (a sad face appeared and that was it: what's up with that?) which may be the saddest thing that happened to me all summer. Most of the other things I took in stride but being robbed of my music was terror (as you can see, I'm very modern in my angst). Anyway, bought a new one this Monday; life is good again; however, will (must) read anyway (note to self).
Oh, and another thing that has prevented me from reading, is carrying boxes full of mail. God, they were heavy. But I'm beast you guys, you just don't know!
Oh, and another thing that has prevented me from reading, is carrying boxes full of mail. God, they were heavy. But I'm beast you guys, you just don't know!
20090829
HAVE I LEFT MY HOME JUST TO WHINE IN THIS MICROPHONE?
Stopped reading The radiant way. I liked it but wasn't in the mood for it so now I don't have anything to read which sucks. Honestly, I always feel so lost when I'm inbetween books. Could read Dracula I suppose, but I don't feel like it. The vampire-thing, it's fairly interesting but no. Although the "vampire-hype" is really getting out of hand with the whole Twilight deal. I saw the movie a few months ago and honestly, I don't get it. It was really rather bad. I haven't read the books (and I never will), but the fact that everyone I know who never reads loves them, sort of makes me think they are probably as bad I think they are. But then people tend to read fucking awful books by fucking awful authors. Paolo Coelho anyone? Dan Brown? Liza Marklund? There are too many bad writers out there.
Anyway, I need to read something. I do still have those Margaret Drabble books at home, but I think I'll go for something else. Shouldn't force it. Right now I mostly read old issues of NME which is really boring because I can't really stand NME. And I hate not having anything "real" to read.
Anyway, I need to read something. I do still have those Margaret Drabble books at home, but I think I'll go for something else. Shouldn't force it. Right now I mostly read old issues of NME which is really boring because I can't really stand NME. And I hate not having anything "real" to read.
20090828
NAIV.SUPER.
”Vi pratade om ditt och datt. Plötsligt överraskade jag mig själv med att förebrå mina föräldrar för att de aldrig tvingat mig att hålla på med sport på hög nivå. Det var alldeles orimligt. Jag sa idiotiska saker. Att jag kunde varit proffs idag. Kunde haft en formkurva. Och pengar. Varit på resande fot för jämnan. Olyckligtvis sa jag att det var deras fel att jag inte hade lyckats bli något och att mitt liv är oengagerande och tråkigt.
Jag sa förlåt efteråt.”
Naiv. Super. - Erlend Loe
Haha, the "kunde haft en formkurva" is brilliant, so clever.
Jag sa förlåt efteråt.”
Naiv. Super. - Erlend Loe
Haha, the "kunde haft en formkurva" is brilliant, so clever.
20090826
20090824
20090823
DON'T SPEAK; I CAN HEAR YOU OR: I'VE SEEN THOSE ENGLISH DRAMAS TOO, THEY'RE CRUEL
My writing, again from The creativity of the mess we make. I haven't really edited it, but anyway, whatever, I don't have time:
"For all intents and purposes, we are who we are at the end of the day, when we turn the lights off and put ourselves to bed; two complicated, possibly fraught, human beings, splendid in our originality but incompatible in a supposed companionship. Oh, there was common ground, but it would not have been easy to find; it would have been a compromise and that compromise would always have been mine. Perhaps because of my gender, the society or simply because of my nature, I would always have been the one who would have to go to him; I would have passed the “meet halfway” sign and walked all the way by myself; perhaps cursing under my breath, perhaps despairing, definitely with my eyes open to what this would do to me, the toll it would take on me, but we wouldn’t have questioned it; not openly at least. My desire to not fight, to not disagree, to let things pass, to let it go, would have won oh so many victories over my real self-perseverance and the screaming need to say fuck you rather than fuck me (in order to make it all better, to make it go away). But eventually, my reluctance to do this, to walk that distance, would have caused an ever bigger rift between us than the fact that I had walked it alone all along would. And that rift, that gap, the resentment and contempt it holds, would have broken my heart more severely that just tagging along would ever do. And that is why I can never see myself in a relationship: as long as I am not in one, I don’t lose myself.
The funniest, in the “saddest”, “weirdest” sense of the word, is that I could be talking about any boy I have ever thought I loved."
- The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
"For all intents and purposes, we are who we are at the end of the day, when we turn the lights off and put ourselves to bed; two complicated, possibly fraught, human beings, splendid in our originality but incompatible in a supposed companionship. Oh, there was common ground, but it would not have been easy to find; it would have been a compromise and that compromise would always have been mine. Perhaps because of my gender, the society or simply because of my nature, I would always have been the one who would have to go to him; I would have passed the “meet halfway” sign and walked all the way by myself; perhaps cursing under my breath, perhaps despairing, definitely with my eyes open to what this would do to me, the toll it would take on me, but we wouldn’t have questioned it; not openly at least. My desire to not fight, to not disagree, to let things pass, to let it go, would have won oh so many victories over my real self-perseverance and the screaming need to say fuck you rather than fuck me (in order to make it all better, to make it go away). But eventually, my reluctance to do this, to walk that distance, would have caused an ever bigger rift between us than the fact that I had walked it alone all along would. And that rift, that gap, the resentment and contempt it holds, would have broken my heart more severely that just tagging along would ever do. And that is why I can never see myself in a relationship: as long as I am not in one, I don’t lose myself.
The funniest, in the “saddest”, “weirdest” sense of the word, is that I could be talking about any boy I have ever thought I loved."
- The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin
20090822
I'm moving to Cambridge in three weeks and I've been thinking a lot about which books I should bring, because I can't take too many with me as I'd rather make rooms for clothes (yes, clothes!) than a crazy amount of books. Anyway, I have finally decided to bring these:
John Steinbeck - The winter of our discontent
Evelyn Waugh - Brideshead revisited
Iris Murdoch - The bell
Doris Lessing - Under my skin
Donna Tartt - The secret history
Douglas Coupland - Microserfs
Junot Díaz - The brief wondrous life of Oscar Wao
Might leave the last one home, but will definitely take the rest of them with me. Actually, I should bring Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep as I fucking love that book, or something by Chuck Klosterman as I suspect I might get serious Klosterman withdrawal if I don't. I'll probably skip the Junot Díaz book, and bring Prep instead. Have to remember to take it back from my friend Pauline before the weekeend is over though (note to self), as she's moving to London to study at London College of Fashion this Tuesday.
John Steinbeck - The winter of our discontent
Evelyn Waugh - Brideshead revisited
Iris Murdoch - The bell
Doris Lessing - Under my skin
Donna Tartt - The secret history
Douglas Coupland - Microserfs
Junot Díaz - The brief wondrous life of Oscar Wao
Might leave the last one home, but will definitely take the rest of them with me. Actually, I should bring Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep as I fucking love that book, or something by Chuck Klosterman as I suspect I might get serious Klosterman withdrawal if I don't. I'll probably skip the Junot Díaz book, and bring Prep instead. Have to remember to take it back from my friend Pauline before the weekeend is over though (note to self), as she's moving to London to study at London College of Fashion this Tuesday.
20090820
CIVILIZED BEHAVIOUR IS SICK, ISN'T IT?
I just finished reading A summer-bird cage and yet again, here are some lovely Margaret Drabble quotes that can basically be read as excerpts from my mind:
"As I went to bed that night, I wondered why social events are for me such a sea of blood, sweat and tears, from which I salvage perhaps two floating words, set afloat by a providence which will not let me drown with empty hands."
"(..) I do admire as well as love her, though I have always believed love preferable to and exclusive of admiration."
""Whatever happens," she went on, "you can't buy the past. You can't buy an ancestry and a history. You have your own past, and the free will to deal with it, and that's all. It can't be bought with money.""
"The human mind is not a delicate plant, I thought: on the contrary, it will survive almost anything..."
"I now find myself compelled to relate a piece of information which I decided to withhold, on the grounds that it was irrelevant, but I realize increasingly that nothing is irrelevant. I meant to keep myself out of this story, which is a laugh, really, I agree: I see however that in failing to disclose certain facts I make myself out be some sort of voyeuse, and I am too vain to leave anyone with the impression that the lives of others interest me more than my own."
"I had been making difficulties to him, and I always hate myself for that, and at the same time feel an ominous horror because it is always a sign that I am about to have a crisis of malice, weeping and exhaustion. I had felt it coming for days: I had been crouching inside the walls of my consciousness terrified to move too far or too violently in case they collapsed and left me looking at the wild beasts. In the pre-crisis days I feel like someone living in a paper house surrounded by predatory creatures. They believe the house is solid so they don't attack, but if I were to move they would the walls flutter and collapse and they would be on to me in no time."
"Odd that one doesn't mind being called insensitive, selfish, and so on, provided that one can entirely understand the grounds for the accusation. It should be the other way round; one should not mind only when one knows that one is innocent. But it isn't like that. Perhaps the rare and simple pleasure of being seen for what one is compensates for the misery of being it."
"It wasn't just that they kept the bread loose on the windowsill among the ashtrays, without a suggestion of a breadboard, and cooked in unwashed pans, and left stale Martini in the only teapot: I could have thought these habits endearing, if it hadn't been for the phoneyness of the whole setup. And these were such phoneys that I couldn't even pride myself on detecting them. I felt as though I were watching them all through the civil pages of one of Stephen's short stories about Bohemia. I hated the way they all felt it their duty to be rude, frank and blunt. I felt in relation to them as my probation officer friend no doubt felt in relation to me. Squalor has its degrees, like crime."
"Sunday is one of those days on which I expect to do typical, characteristic things - characteristic of myself, that is - yet usually end up doing things I don't want to do at all, going to places I loathe, and so on. This was a particularly bad patch: I seemed to spend my time seeing people I didn't care about, and talking about things that interested me only in mild journalistic way. I never saw anyone who could arouse a flutter of apprehension and excitement, and who would turn out unexpectedly, and I couldn't think of anyone that I really wanted to see more than anyone else."
"Immaturity is no good, and they made me feel immature, all those people, even those I could see through: they caught undertones I couldn't, though they didn't even know they were doing it. The thing is that I couldn't start to feel them in my terms because I couldn't really feel them in theirs, and one needs the double background. (...) Perhaps it is only me that takes refuge in things like chance, unchartered encounters, cars in the night, roads going anywhere so long as it's not somewhere that other people know better. You can't judge or despise or even really get at something that you don't know and haven't thoroughly got, because of the fear of despising it because it's not yours. The sour grapes principle, in fact. It applies to everything. Only when one has got everything in this life, when one is eaten up with physical joy and the extreme, extending marvel of existing, can one trust oneself one the subject of the soul."
"I would so like people to be free, and bound together not by need but by love. But it isn't so, it can't be so.""I remembered the first and only other time when I had seen them all three together. It had seemed significant even at the time, but I had thought it was significant only as itself, for what it was to me, then, in my life."
"It was so sad, that a girl like Gill should be beaten simply because she had taken a gamble on love. Because that did seem to be the reason. She had jumped in with her eyes shut, and she had got nowhere."
""It wasn't that he suddenly changed, or anything like that, it was just that I saw too much of him and too little of anyone else. It was being abroad that did it, because all the people we ever saw were his friends (...) and I had to spend hour after hour, meal after meal being civil to people in order to get them to do obscure things for him.""
""(...) God, what a fool I was, what fools women are, what fools middle-class girls are to expect other people to respect the same gods as themselves...""
"I saw for her what I could never see for myself - that this impulse to seize on one moment as the whole, one aspect as the total view, one attitude as a revelation, is the impulse that confounds both her and me, that confounds and impels us. To force a unity from a quarrel, a high continuum from a sequence of defeats and petty disasters, to live on the level of the heart rather than the level of the slipping petticoat, this is what we spend our life on, and this is what wears us out. My attitude to the petticoat is firmer than hers, but I am exhausted nevertheless."
"I suppose it was possible that she wanted Stephen. It occured to me as the train began to slown down that perhaps she was in love with Stephen, and then it occured a second afterwards that since this was such an obvious explanation it would certainly have occured earlier if true. So I discounted the concept of love.""As I went to bed that night, I wondered why social events are for me such a sea of blood, sweat and tears, from which I salvage perhaps two floating words, set afloat by a providence which will not let me drown with empty hands."
"(..) I do admire as well as love her, though I have always believed love preferable to and exclusive of admiration."
""Whatever happens," she went on, "you can't buy the past. You can't buy an ancestry and a history. You have your own past, and the free will to deal with it, and that's all. It can't be bought with money.""
20090818
I DISCOUNTED THE CONCEPT OF LOVE
I stopped reading Net oj jewels for two reasons: 1) Because I simply don't like the main character. Well, I guess I don't nessecarily dislike her, but I don't care for her and I don't want to waste my time reading something I couldn't care less about. 2) Because I've got five books by Margaret Drabble at home and I can't wait to read them; I can hardly contain my excitement. I swear, whenever I open a book by Drabble, it's like opening a door (window? what is it?) to my own mind. Reading A summer bird-cage now.
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