At least I'm not as late as last year. Instead of writing descriptions of each book and why I either did or did not like the book, here's the simple list:
Animal's People
Norwegian Wood
The Secret Scripture
The Handmaid's Tale
A Madman Dreams of Turing Machines
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
Bel Canto
The Reader
A Fraction of the Whole
Lying Awake
Death of Vishnu
Little Black Book of Stories
Gifted
Age of Shiva
Absurdistan
The Gathering
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
The Wind-up Bird Chronicle
Abundance
Moral Disorder
The Thin Line of Beauty
People of the Book
The Enchantress of Florence
The Path of Minor Planets
Alentejo Blue
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Books of 2007
Here are the books I read in 2007, albeit a bit late. I have ranked them in order of my preference, and while the ones at the bottom are on the list, I wouldn't necessarily recommend them. The first 10 I love, and I couldn't really rank them with precision because they are so different in writing styles and stories.
1. Possession: A fantastic, dense but thoroughly engrossing historical fiction centered around the hidden love affair of English poets Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte.
2. The Hummingbird's Daughter: A beautifully written novel about Teresita, the Saint of Cabora and the great aunt of the author
3. Special Topics in Calamity Physics: the story isn’t epic or unbelievably clever. The writing, however, is original and it’s a pleasure to read the entire way through.
4. Ines of My Soul by Isabel Allende. I feel should be able to say “by Isable Allende” and have that speak for itself. Every work of hers is captivating and beautifully written.
5. On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. Again, McEwan takes a relatively simple scenario, a couple’s wedding night, and deftly constructs an intriguing story that carries with it the motif of the unpredictable yet inevitable consequences of a decision made in a split second. Overall, a delightful read.
6. Middlesex: from the first sentence my attention was captured. I flew through this book because I cared so much what happened to each character. A complex, compelling and tragic story that is a must read.
7. White Teeth by Zadie Smith.
8. Birds Without Wings
9. Corelli's Mandolin
10. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. Mitchell’s style is refreshingly original. He manages to create 6 stories, each with its own genre, and delicately interweave them keeping me engrossed and awestruck. Overall, a compelling and ambitious read.
11. The Russian Debutante's Handbook
12. The Hero's Walk
13. The Inheritance of Loss. A Booker Prize winner that is a delight to read.
14. The Road This book demonstrates that an author does not need to appeal to sentimentality to capture the reader.
15. The Comfort of Strangers by Ian McEwan. Potentially my least favorite of Ian McEwan’s. McEwan has an impeccable ability to fit into a novella (with imagery, description, theme, etc.) what would take most authors hundreds of pages. Anyone familiar with the motifs in McEwan’s works will still be surprised by The Comfort of Strangers. Overall, an interesting read.
16. The Emperor's Children
17. Number 9 Dream by David Mitchell. Again, Mitchell’s style is so original that after reading Cloud Atlas, I purchased this book. The story is clever, interesting, unpredictable, and at times disturbing. I waffled between hating and loving the protagonist. Mitchell writes with such clarity that I felt I was with the protagonist while he experiences trauma after trauma. Overall, an intriguing read.
18. The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason. This is a historical fiction work about Burma in the midst of British imperialism. I enjoyed it immensely. The plot is original and raises questions of personal identity and self-discovery. Given the locale, the characters, and the story, I felt the author could have used more description to really make me see the location and surroundings. Overall, an enjoyable read.
19. Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje. After reading The English Patient, Anil’s Ghost and now Divisadero, I am left feeling as though there is some literary quality to Ondaatje’s work that I am unable to appreciate. The story is clever and meticulously constructed, and Ondaatje write beautifully. However, I did not become absorbed in the story, and I failed to care about any of the characters. Overall, a tedious read.
20. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. I would say that Hosseini made a tactical error. He published his best work first, leaving this fan of the Kite Runner disappointed in the book that followed. I suspect that much of the fanfare over A Thousand Splendid Suns has been carried over from the Kite Runner. So as not to overlook the obvious: Hosseini paints a dramatic and detailed portrait of Afghanistan. His use of imagery deserves credit. However, the plot was predictable, and unfortunately I felt the character development of the two female protagonists was mechanical. Overall, a tedious read.
21. The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. This is second to last, because neither the story nor the characters captivated me. It vacillates between multiple narrators, the main two being Leo and Alma. Leo’s story is by far the most interesting while Alma’s seems to make the story drag. It is perhaps because Krauss is married to Jonathan Safron Foer, one of my favorite authors, that I had high expectations for this book leaving me disappointed. Overall, an onerous read.
22. Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. While I appreciated the historical elements present in this book, there is little else to praise. While the narrator is a likeable and sympathetic elderly man, the plot is predictable and trite. It’s an easy read and perhaps most appropriate for an airplane or “beach read.” Overall, a lackluster read.
1. Possession: A fantastic, dense but thoroughly engrossing historical fiction centered around the hidden love affair of English poets Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte.
2. The Hummingbird's Daughter: A beautifully written novel about Teresita, the Saint of Cabora and the great aunt of the author
3. Special Topics in Calamity Physics: the story isn’t epic or unbelievably clever. The writing, however, is original and it’s a pleasure to read the entire way through.
4. Ines of My Soul by Isabel Allende. I feel should be able to say “by Isable Allende” and have that speak for itself. Every work of hers is captivating and beautifully written.
5. On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. Again, McEwan takes a relatively simple scenario, a couple’s wedding night, and deftly constructs an intriguing story that carries with it the motif of the unpredictable yet inevitable consequences of a decision made in a split second. Overall, a delightful read.
6. Middlesex: from the first sentence my attention was captured. I flew through this book because I cared so much what happened to each character. A complex, compelling and tragic story that is a must read.
7. White Teeth by Zadie Smith.
8. Birds Without Wings
9. Corelli's Mandolin
10. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. Mitchell’s style is refreshingly original. He manages to create 6 stories, each with its own genre, and delicately interweave them keeping me engrossed and awestruck. Overall, a compelling and ambitious read.
11. The Russian Debutante's Handbook
12. The Hero's Walk
13. The Inheritance of Loss. A Booker Prize winner that is a delight to read.
14. The Road This book demonstrates that an author does not need to appeal to sentimentality to capture the reader.
15. The Comfort of Strangers by Ian McEwan. Potentially my least favorite of Ian McEwan’s. McEwan has an impeccable ability to fit into a novella (with imagery, description, theme, etc.) what would take most authors hundreds of pages. Anyone familiar with the motifs in McEwan’s works will still be surprised by The Comfort of Strangers. Overall, an interesting read.
16. The Emperor's Children
17. Number 9 Dream by David Mitchell. Again, Mitchell’s style is so original that after reading Cloud Atlas, I purchased this book. The story is clever, interesting, unpredictable, and at times disturbing. I waffled between hating and loving the protagonist. Mitchell writes with such clarity that I felt I was with the protagonist while he experiences trauma after trauma. Overall, an intriguing read.
18. The Piano Tuner by Daniel Mason. This is a historical fiction work about Burma in the midst of British imperialism. I enjoyed it immensely. The plot is original and raises questions of personal identity and self-discovery. Given the locale, the characters, and the story, I felt the author could have used more description to really make me see the location and surroundings. Overall, an enjoyable read.
19. Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje. After reading The English Patient, Anil’s Ghost and now Divisadero, I am left feeling as though there is some literary quality to Ondaatje’s work that I am unable to appreciate. The story is clever and meticulously constructed, and Ondaatje write beautifully. However, I did not become absorbed in the story, and I failed to care about any of the characters. Overall, a tedious read.
20. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. I would say that Hosseini made a tactical error. He published his best work first, leaving this fan of the Kite Runner disappointed in the book that followed. I suspect that much of the fanfare over A Thousand Splendid Suns has been carried over from the Kite Runner. So as not to overlook the obvious: Hosseini paints a dramatic and detailed portrait of Afghanistan. His use of imagery deserves credit. However, the plot was predictable, and unfortunately I felt the character development of the two female protagonists was mechanical. Overall, a tedious read.
21. The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. This is second to last, because neither the story nor the characters captivated me. It vacillates between multiple narrators, the main two being Leo and Alma. Leo’s story is by far the most interesting while Alma’s seems to make the story drag. It is perhaps because Krauss is married to Jonathan Safron Foer, one of my favorite authors, that I had high expectations for this book leaving me disappointed. Overall, an onerous read.
22. Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen. While I appreciated the historical elements present in this book, there is little else to praise. While the narrator is a likeable and sympathetic elderly man, the plot is predictable and trite. It’s an easy read and perhaps most appropriate for an airplane or “beach read.” Overall, a lackluster read.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Don't get sentimental, it always ends up drivel
I accomplished much during my break from blogging. I: successfully took the CA Bar exam; hurt my back; underwent a root canal without dying; brought back "booyah;" made a lucrative bet in an unusual currency; joined facebook and created a pet zombie; bought my first jar of eye cream; have had 2 jobs and hated one but under appreciated the other; been asked to be a maid of honor. There were other things I wanted to accomplish, such as travel to Portugal and back up my computer for the first time, but that is what lists are for.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
gonna stick my bloody hand in the jaws of the beast
The title aptly describes how I feel about the upcoming Bar exam. I have avoided blogging, because I knew it was inevitable that at least part of any post would revolve around studying for the Bar exam, the constant feeling that I'm going to fail regardless of my efforts, my inability to study, stay focused or motivated, and the low-level wonderment as to whether I really want to do this. In an effort to avoid this inevitability, I will focus on what little good can come from 2 months of violent studying and the accompanying self-deprecation.
First, studying for the Bar has given me good cause to visit Office Depot multiple times. My affection for visits to the drug store are rivaled by my affection for excursions to Office Depot. My love for office supplies really comes from my innate compulsion to be organized; in this way, I love all things that enable this. Whenever I watch Friends and there's a bit about how organized Monica is - take, for example, when Chandler is looking for a job and Monica organizes his options by color-coded folders and she gets excited about using her label maker - I get excited for her, and I wish I had a label maker or even a laminator. So far, I have stocked up on highlighters to the point that I have them in excess, packs of colored pens, and lined post-it notes in various colors (which, by the way, I really have no use for unless I'm going to go so far as to stick inspirational post-it notes, such as ones saying "you can do it" and "if you can't, the universe will not implode" or "at least you're not a drug-addicted prostitute and single mother in Calcutta" around my apartment).
Second, studying for the Bar exam has fueled my already strong appetite to read and practice yoga. I am more dedicated than ever, if you can believe it! Now that I am reading even more, I have an even greater need to visit Borders more frequently. And, who can visit Borders without visiting the nearby Anthropologie, Victoria's Secret, or Papyrus?
Third, studying for the Bar exam stimulates me to think of what I am going to do after it's all said and done. I do not mean this in the practical, sensible way. I am not contemplating where I am going to live, where I am going to work, how I am going to pay back my student loans that are now due and owing. Instead, I am contemplating what corner of the world I will get to explore. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I now realize I simply need to purchase my plane ticket. My choice of destinations has included (in this order): Portugal, France, Thailand, Vietnam, India, Nepal, Peru, Argentina, Ethiopia, Tanzania, (and now I'm back to) Portugal, Corsica, and Croatia.
Fourth, while this may seem counterintuitive, the Bar exam has enabled me to enjoy even more of the day than law school did. I've given Barbri's Pace Program the strongly-deserved middle finger; just as I was the furthest thing from a "gunner" in law school (I'm disappointed that in acquiring an actual career I'll be losing my weeks), I am not gunning it with the Bar exam. The Bar exam gives me something to do so that I'm not completely bored, but since I'm incapable of aiming high, I have plenty of free time to do things like: shop, visit Office Depot, practice yoga, see movies, grab lunch at my favorite spot - Samovar - and generally wander around aimlessly.
Who knows, I may even get to enjoy all of the above all over again in December.
First, studying for the Bar has given me good cause to visit Office Depot multiple times. My affection for visits to the drug store are rivaled by my affection for excursions to Office Depot. My love for office supplies really comes from my innate compulsion to be organized; in this way, I love all things that enable this. Whenever I watch Friends and there's a bit about how organized Monica is - take, for example, when Chandler is looking for a job and Monica organizes his options by color-coded folders and she gets excited about using her label maker - I get excited for her, and I wish I had a label maker or even a laminator. So far, I have stocked up on highlighters to the point that I have them in excess, packs of colored pens, and lined post-it notes in various colors (which, by the way, I really have no use for unless I'm going to go so far as to stick inspirational post-it notes, such as ones saying "you can do it" and "if you can't, the universe will not implode" or "at least you're not a drug-addicted prostitute and single mother in Calcutta" around my apartment).
Second, studying for the Bar exam has fueled my already strong appetite to read and practice yoga. I am more dedicated than ever, if you can believe it! Now that I am reading even more, I have an even greater need to visit Borders more frequently. And, who can visit Borders without visiting the nearby Anthropologie, Victoria's Secret, or Papyrus?
Third, studying for the Bar exam stimulates me to think of what I am going to do after it's all said and done. I do not mean this in the practical, sensible way. I am not contemplating where I am going to live, where I am going to work, how I am going to pay back my student loans that are now due and owing. Instead, I am contemplating what corner of the world I will get to explore. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I now realize I simply need to purchase my plane ticket. My choice of destinations has included (in this order): Portugal, France, Thailand, Vietnam, India, Nepal, Peru, Argentina, Ethiopia, Tanzania, (and now I'm back to) Portugal, Corsica, and Croatia.
Fourth, while this may seem counterintuitive, the Bar exam has enabled me to enjoy even more of the day than law school did. I've given Barbri's Pace Program the strongly-deserved middle finger; just as I was the furthest thing from a "gunner" in law school (I'm disappointed that in acquiring an actual career I'll be losing my weeks), I am not gunning it with the Bar exam. The Bar exam gives me something to do so that I'm not completely bored, but since I'm incapable of aiming high, I have plenty of free time to do things like: shop, visit Office Depot, practice yoga, see movies, grab lunch at my favorite spot - Samovar - and generally wander around aimlessly.
Who knows, I may even get to enjoy all of the above all over again in December.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Put your hands up for Detroit - I love this city!
An ode to Smith (aka Susan, Red, Home Skillet, Smalls, Homegirl) is an ode to the hive mind more or less. The hive mind is a type of collective consciousness that Smith and I share. As a result of the hive mind, many people get a little twitchy when we say the same thing or gesticulate in the same manner at the exact same moment. For example, tonight while on the phone Smith said "You'd makeout anywhere" at the very second I said "I'd makeout anywhere." When Smith wants to shop, I usually do too. The hive mind rocks out at the gym and goes to Whole Foods and Trader Joe's together to buy the same groceries (minus green goop - this is where the hive mind malfunctions). On the way to said destinations, the hive mind sings along to "you can't see tits on the radio, I'll give you five fingers for a one man show!" We are convinced that most peeps at school think we are a couple, since we can typically be found in each other's company. Need one of us and you're likely to get both. We were also both meant to be born and raised in a tropical environment given our unusually strong affection for all things pineapple. Smith is the one who searches high and low for things like pineapple jam with me.
Aside from the hive mind, Smith joins the disco bus at an ungawdly hour AND brings blow pops to the party! She also makes a last minute run to Anthropologie (otherwise, if I'm there she is as well), to get a new outfit for a date that was lamely upgraded at the last minute, bringing forth my spazztastic self.
Red also gets particularly rageful, especially when skeezy crackheads call her "red." She accepts and understands my fits of rage and encourages me when I tell her that I want to put my fist through a wall. She even devised a plan with me - after graduation we are smashing shizz in the street. She was quick to point out that we will need protective eyewear. Oh, and she got me saying "shizz."
Not many people like soft serve from McDonald's. She reignited my fondness for it - especially when (as Susan nicknamed it) you get a flaming torch. She does not judge me when we go to 1984, I get fully loaded, and start engaging in behavior I'd rather not remember the next day.
Susan lets me spend inordinate amounts of money without pointing out that I either don't have it or that I should spend it on more practical things. In fact, she put me on the path to using war paint, and now I use it almost every day. Oftentimes, I call or IM Susan in the morning to see whether she thinks what I want to wear will look good. Susan is THE ONE who broke me of wearing lots of black. I am not to the point of "dressing like candy" or wearing all colors at once, but I now own orange clothing and few black things.
She has a teddy bear made of alpaca, and she lets me cuddle it when we watch movies at her place. She appreciates the value of a glue gun. She embraces my predilection for boxes and nicknamed me the Box Ghost after a character on Danny Phantom. "I'm the Box Ghost - Beware!" is sometimes a random interjection into a conversation of ours.
Aside from the hive mind, Smith joins the disco bus at an ungawdly hour AND brings blow pops to the party! She also makes a last minute run to Anthropologie (otherwise, if I'm there she is as well), to get a new outfit for a date that was lamely upgraded at the last minute, bringing forth my spazztastic self.
Red also gets particularly rageful, especially when skeezy crackheads call her "red." She accepts and understands my fits of rage and encourages me when I tell her that I want to put my fist through a wall. She even devised a plan with me - after graduation we are smashing shizz in the street. She was quick to point out that we will need protective eyewear. Oh, and she got me saying "shizz."
Not many people like soft serve from McDonald's. She reignited my fondness for it - especially when (as Susan nicknamed it) you get a flaming torch. She does not judge me when we go to 1984, I get fully loaded, and start engaging in behavior I'd rather not remember the next day.
Susan lets me spend inordinate amounts of money without pointing out that I either don't have it or that I should spend it on more practical things. In fact, she put me on the path to using war paint, and now I use it almost every day. Oftentimes, I call or IM Susan in the morning to see whether she thinks what I want to wear will look good. Susan is THE ONE who broke me of wearing lots of black. I am not to the point of "dressing like candy" or wearing all colors at once, but I now own orange clothing and few black things.
She has a teddy bear made of alpaca, and she lets me cuddle it when we watch movies at her place. She appreciates the value of a glue gun. She embraces my predilection for boxes and nicknamed me the Box Ghost after a character on Danny Phantom. "I'm the Box Ghost - Beware!" is sometimes a random interjection into a conversation of ours.
I'm a classy honey kissy huggy lovey dovey ghetto princess
An ode* to my favorite ex-roommate: Candace. Canned Ass. Candit. Porch polisson.
I moved out of my wonderful apartment on Masonic in August when I moved to Copenhagen. I was sad to leave. Candace, on the other hand, didn't seem to care either way. What ensued was an unspoken passive-aggressive battle in a relatively small space. I left with the suspicion that we wouldn't remain friends. While in Copenhagen, my suspicion became more of a certainty, one which was solidified when I first returned. It's an imperfect world since it is full of imperfect people, so I was ready to accept what I couldn't change. I spend my time doing otherwise too often. Magically though, she came to her senses and realized what bad assery fun she'd be missing.
She is the progenitor of the excessively expressive and interpretive car dancing. She too is troubled by the fact that we can't download "Shiny Disco Balls" off itunes. She gives me the opportunity to kill an evening and night at Lucky 13 at the spur of the moment. She loves the mac and cheese from Home just as much as I do. She appreciates the wonky eye - or at least the wonky. She too is willing to make a meal out of mango mojitos. She spends an entire day with me engaging in retail therapy which requires a joint effort to pretend that we have more money than we do ($60 for a pedicure, sure! as long as it comes with crital gel). She joins the disco bus and loves its hydraulics. She has Ralph who responded "Bitch is back!" when told that she was in the disco bus. I can say "I don't sparkle on Wednesday," and she gets it and responds with "we need vitamins!" She doesn't kill me when I yell "Hotender!" when outside Double Dutch. She comes over, eats the nastiness that is yellow curry (that is now sitting in the garbage stinking up my kitchen), bakes cookies and watches Grey's Anatomy with me. She says outrageous things, performs outrageous feats, and is more dramatic than 3 xanax, 2 lines and a flask of bourbon - all of which make me feel a wee bit more grounded. Homegirl can go through a box of kleenex with amazing speed. She is brutally honest even about her own shortcomings, which is refreshing. Oh, and she loves my new mix tape.
I should give her a box of sandwich bags and a roll of aluminum foil.
* this is the first in a series of odes to my favorite peeps
I moved out of my wonderful apartment on Masonic in August when I moved to Copenhagen. I was sad to leave. Candace, on the other hand, didn't seem to care either way. What ensued was an unspoken passive-aggressive battle in a relatively small space. I left with the suspicion that we wouldn't remain friends. While in Copenhagen, my suspicion became more of a certainty, one which was solidified when I first returned. It's an imperfect world since it is full of imperfect people, so I was ready to accept what I couldn't change. I spend my time doing otherwise too often. Magically though, she came to her senses and realized what bad assery fun she'd be missing.
She is the progenitor of the excessively expressive and interpretive car dancing. She too is troubled by the fact that we can't download "Shiny Disco Balls" off itunes. She gives me the opportunity to kill an evening and night at Lucky 13 at the spur of the moment. She loves the mac and cheese from Home just as much as I do. She appreciates the wonky eye - or at least the wonky. She too is willing to make a meal out of mango mojitos. She spends an entire day with me engaging in retail therapy which requires a joint effort to pretend that we have more money than we do ($60 for a pedicure, sure! as long as it comes with crital gel). She joins the disco bus and loves its hydraulics. She has Ralph who responded "Bitch is back!" when told that she was in the disco bus. I can say "I don't sparkle on Wednesday," and she gets it and responds with "we need vitamins!" She doesn't kill me when I yell "Hotender!" when outside Double Dutch. She comes over, eats the nastiness that is yellow curry (that is now sitting in the garbage stinking up my kitchen), bakes cookies and watches Grey's Anatomy with me. She says outrageous things, performs outrageous feats, and is more dramatic than 3 xanax, 2 lines and a flask of bourbon - all of which make me feel a wee bit more grounded. Homegirl can go through a box of kleenex with amazing speed. She is brutally honest even about her own shortcomings, which is refreshing. Oh, and she loves my new mix tape.
I should give her a box of sandwich bags and a roll of aluminum foil.
* this is the first in a series of odes to my favorite peeps
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Worries vanish here within my dream
I chose the perfect song lyrics for this blog! My good day continues to get better, and it is only 10 a.m. The best occurrence so far (and I think this will be hard to beat) is that Alan and I scheduled a lunch date for next week at Triptych in SOMA. It is one of my favorite restaurants in this city full of fabulous eateries, and Alan is one of my favorite individuals. Five seconds into the conversation he had me laughing and knowing that I will get to spend at least an hour if not more in his company makes me look forward to next week.
I woke up this morning feeling well-rested. I had a great night, a good night's sleep and a dream from which I did not want to wake. I was back in Ireland. Enough said.
Aside from that, I had a fit (of what I'm not sure) and determined that I am tired of being disappointed in myself. I am sure I will continue to fuck up in some ways; I will do something and later think to myself, "why did that seem like a good idea?" Or, at the very least, I will feel a twinge of regret at something said or done (or something left unsaid or gone undone). I'm ok with this. It's those moments that lend themselves to some introspection and growth. It is the rather incessant nature of this as of late that I'm looking to mollify. So, here goes! Wheeeeee...
I woke up this morning feeling well-rested. I had a great night, a good night's sleep and a dream from which I did not want to wake. I was back in Ireland. Enough said.
Aside from that, I had a fit (of what I'm not sure) and determined that I am tired of being disappointed in myself. I am sure I will continue to fuck up in some ways; I will do something and later think to myself, "why did that seem like a good idea?" Or, at the very least, I will feel a twinge of regret at something said or done (or something left unsaid or gone undone). I'm ok with this. It's those moments that lend themselves to some introspection and growth. It is the rather incessant nature of this as of late that I'm looking to mollify. So, here goes! Wheeeeee...
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