BOOKS | 10 Best Southern Gothic

Look: 10 Best Southern Gothic books. Or at least, a list of recommended Southern Gothic titles to read!

Looking forward to the Brownstein Memoir

Looking forward to Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl - Carrie Brownstein's memoir. Coming out Oct 2015.

Thoughts about Orange is the New Black Season 3

I binged watched season 3 of Orange is the New Black over the weekend. (This is going to be somewhat spoilery, so don't say I didn't warn you) It wasn't as fun as season 2, but there were a few surprises in character development that I look forward to. Not everyone is a fan of Piper Chapman, and neither was I - but I do like the twist towards the end. In many ways, her character development was always there - it's ironical to say she is fulfilling her potential. Prison has this way of stripping away all the lies we adorn ourselves with normal life. The real Piper Chapman is not an innocent. She's a stone cold bitch, and it's actually interesting.

But the most surprising character development for me this season would be Black Cindy's religious conversion. Black Cindy was fun as a character - carefree, irresponsible and unapologetically self-centred. Then the show took a left turn and she ends up with one of the most profound character evolution towards the end, when she had to explain to a rabbi why she wanted to be a Jew (and it's not just for the broccoli for meal times). This is where I continue to respect the writing team and the actresses on Orange is the New Black - they continue to shine light on how human beings are multi-faceted and oh, so complicated in our strengths, our cruelties and our capacity for something better. They gave depth to shallowness and it was beautiful.

I could just keep re-watching the scene where Black Cindy - now Tova, explained to the rabbi just why she wanted to convert to Judaism:

"Honestly … I think I found my people. I was raised in a church, where I was told to believe and pray. If I was bad, I go to Hell. If I was good, I go to Heaven. If I asked Jesus, he would forgive me - and that was that. And here y’all say there ain’t no Hell, ain’t sure about Heaven. And if you do something wrong you got to figure it out yourself. And as far as God is concerned, it’s your job to keep asking questions and to keep learning and to keep arguing. It’s like a verb. It’s like - you do God. And it’s a lot of work. But I think I’m in it. At least as far as I can see it. Maybe I’ll learn more. It’s a fuck whole thing. And I want to learn more. And I think I got to be in it - to do that. Does that make sense? Shit, did I just tell myself out of it?"

It was a genuinely beautiful speech. it says something about faith - although I would argue that real faith work regardless of religion, is about how you DO God. It's a verb. The writers got this part writer, and it gave this powerful understanding to this character, and this is why I can't quit this show. It's just really good writing.

SEA Games Swimming 2015: 'Gold' for the SG Singing Crowd

Our national anthem was playing as the winners of the 4 x200m Freestyle relay stood on the podium. Suddenly the speakers broken down - the hum of static, then silence. Then, from the silence, a growing chorus of our people singing the Majulah Singapura, our national anthem with gusto. Smiles broke across the faces of our gold medallists. At the end of the song, we cheered, and one of the swimmers, exclaimed, "Awesome!"

So it was. This is what it means to feels Singaporean. This is what sport is supposed to do - to unite us as one people, as Singaporeans. Money cannot buy this.

I've watched this clip many times over, and I have never felt more pride in my heart for my countrymen.

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Emily Dickinson | Go Above Your Nerve

If your Nerve, deny you—
Go above your Nerve—
He can lean against the Grave,
If he fear to swerve—

That's a steady posture—
Never any bend
Held of those Brass arms—
Best Giant made—

If your Soul seesaw—
Lift the Flesh door—
The Poltroon wants Oxygen—
Nothing more –

F329 (1862) 292
Emily Dickinson

Why Can't We Read Anymore?

I admit it - I have been having problems reading the last few years. I've been reading less - my attention span seems to shrink. I keep trying though, but there's always something to distract me.

Books, in ways that are different to visual art, to music, to radio, to love even, force us to walk through another’s thoughts, one word at a time, over hours and days. We share our minds for that time with the writer’s. There is a slowness, a forced reflection required by the medium that is unique. Books recreate someone else’s thoughts inside our own minds, and maybe it is this one-to-one mapping of someone else’s words, on their own, without external stimuli, that give books their power. Books force us to let someone else’s thoughts inhabit our minds completely.

Books are not just transferrers of knowledge and emotion, but a special kind of tool that flattens one self into another, that enable the trying-on of foreign ideas and emotions.

This suppressing of the self is a kind of meditation too — and while books have always been important to me on their own (pre-digital) merits, it started to occur to me that “learning how to read books again,” might also be a way to start weaning my mind away from this dopamine-soaked digital detritus, this meaningless wash of digital information, which would have a double benefit: I would be reading books again, and I would get my mind back.

- [full article]

Story of Lee Kuan Yew, from his Photographer

There has been many stories published about the late Mr Lee Kuan Yew. This one, is among my favourite. It's from his former photographer, George Gascon.

As they were preparing for the shoot, Mr Gascon caught a glimpse of Mrs Lee combing Mr Lee's hair.

It was a moment that Mr Gascon dearly wished to capture. So he took out his Leica, knowing the quiet shutter would not intrude into the tenderness.

Yet, even with her back to Mr Gascon, Mrs Lee heard the clicking of the camera.

She said: "George, I heard that."

History Books Reading

A couple of friends and I were looking at this list recently, 10 Book That Will Change How You See History. I always believe history is just narrative fighting for dominance. In many ways, history has a lot to do with literature. History should be interesting, and even fun, which was probably why this list catch our interest.

My friends and I are trying out something new. Each of us will pick up a book from the list, read the book and then pass it on to the next person. It's about book sharing, and also a group reading. We just started, and I chose to read The Nuns of Sant'Ambrogio by Hubert Wolf first. It's about scandalous nuns, with some Papal politics thrown in. Why not, right?

WILD | How wild it as, to let it be

I finished re-reading Cheryl Strayed's Wild last night, and it was as beautiful as I remember. Towards the end of her hike, Strayed's narrative shifted, as an author in a distant present looking back at her hike through the PCT, how her life continued since then - her meeting the handsome man who would be her husband, her children, bringing her family to the place she sat and ate an ice cream cone, and all four of them having an ice cream there.

What was it that hiking the PCT has given her? It gave her something to move forward in her life, yet like all mysteries, it is an elusive and wondrous thing.

It was all unknown to me then, as I sat on that white bench on the day I finished my hike. Everything except the fact that I didn't have to know. That it was enough to trust that what I'd done was true. To understand its meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was, like all those lines from The Dream of a Common Language that had run through my nights and days. To believe that I didn't need to reach with my bare hands anymore. To know that seeing the fish beneath the surface of the water was enough. That it was everything. It was my life--like all lives, mysterious and irrevocable and sacred. So very close, so very present, so very belonging to me.

How wild it as, to let it be.

How beautiful. How so very true.

The End of Cake

A certain realization dawned on him.

"Oh," he said.

YES, said Death.

"Not even time to finish my cake?"

NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.”

― Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

Sir Terry Pratchett is dead.

Author Terry Pratchett has passed away. [BBC obituary here] His books gave me great joy, his writings showed me how great insight and wisdom must be slathered with copious humour to make them go down easier - sort of like lubricant down an inconvenient orifice. There were so many characters in Discworld that I love, but of them all, I adored Granny Weatherwax and Tiffany Aching - two characters so wise to the world, and so they suffer the world even as they continue to work for everyone around them, knowing that they do not know better.

Pratchett was wiser than a lot of us, yet I believe he never stopped wanting us to be better. I will miss him.

He was so much cooler than your usual knight. His coat of arms had an ankh on it, and he threw in meteorite rocks to forge his own sword when he was knight. Another fun fact: His family motto on his coat of arms was Noli Timere Messorem (Don't fear the Reaper).

You have nothing to fear from the Reaper, Sir Terry.

[source]

PEMA CHODRON |You have to do it alone

“Taking refuge in the Buddha means that we are willing to spend our life reconnecting with the quality of being continually awake.

Every time we feel like taking refuge in a habitual means of escape, we take off more armor, undoing all the stuff that covers over our wisdom and our gentleness and our awake quality.

We’re not trying to be something we aren’t; rather, we’re reconnecting with who we are.

So when we say, “I take refuge in the Buddha,” that means I take refuge in the courage and the potential of fearlessness, of removing all the armor that covers this awakeness of mine.

I am awake; I will spend my life taking this armor off.

Nobody else can take it off because nobody else knows where all the little locks are, nobody else knows where it’s sewed up tight, where it’s going to take a lot of work to get that particular iron thread untied.

You have to do it alone.”

~ Pema Chodron

BOOKS | Neil Gaiman reviews Ishiguro's The Buried Giant

In case you missed it - Neil Gaiman reviews Kzauo Ishiguro's The Buried Giant. I'm reading it right now. It's a slow built up, but I will probably stick with it, to find out what's going on with the story.

Ishiguro is not afraid to tackle huge, personal themes, nor to use myths, history and the fantastic as the tools to do it. “The Buried Giant” is an exceptional novel, and I suspect my inability to fall in love with it, much as I wanted to, came from my conviction that there was an allegory waiting like an ogre in the mist, telling us that no matter how well we love, no matter how deeply, we will always be fallible and human, and that for every couple who are aging together, one or the other of them — of us — will always have to cross the water, and go on to the island ahead and alone.

SLEATER-KINNEY | This is the sound my heart would make if I could amplify it

I'm posting this Rolling Stones interview with Sleater-Kinney here. I was looking for a quote from Carrie Brownstein about the riot grrrl movement earlier:

Brownstein enrolled at Evergreen State College, in Olympia, Washington, the epicenter of the early-Nineties feminist-punk movement known as riot grrrl, where she started a band, Excuse 17, and saw shows by iconic Evergreen acts like Heavens to Betsy, who were fronted by Tucker, and Bikini Kill. The scene was revelatory: "I thought, 'This is the sound my heart would make if I could amplify it,' " Brownstein recalls. "Sometimes, with your family, you're like, 'How can you be so close to me and not see me?' And then, all of a sudden you see yourself portrayed in music, and it's like, 'On the other side of the telescope is someone that sees me.' "

I love it - 'This is the sound my heart would make if I could amplify it'.Sometimes, you come across music that echoes your heartbeat, and this is how it feels.

From "Wild"

Watched "Wild" the movie on Saturday. Towards the end, this passage, in Reese Witherspoon's voice, came up. Her voice, quiet, gentle, so precious:

“What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I'd done something I shouldn't have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I'd done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do? What if I was sorry, but if I could go back in time I wouldn't do anything differently than I had done? What if I'd actually wanted to fuck every one of those men? What if heroin taught me something? What if yes was the right answer instead of no? What if what made me do all those things everyone thought I shouldn't have done was what also had got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?”

There's probably going to be quite a lot of "Wild" posts these days, in bite-size.

Some thoughts, and a Song from the "Wild" Movie Soundtrack

I'm re-reading this article from The Atlantic, about Annie Dillard and her writings - The Thoreau of the Suburb. I read the article while the afterthoughts of my recent readings was slushing around in my brain. Without quite being that conscious of it - although, perhaps being subconsciously aware of it - I have been picking up books related to the idea of women and retreat and journey. I recently read Rebecca Solnit's Encyclopedia of Trouble and Spaciousness, where she mentioned the bizarre controversy about Thoreau's laundry: did Thoreau's sister do his laundry? (She probably did. *gasp*) I'm re-reading Cheryl Strayed's Wild, and that has been interesting, including reading about the controversy that arose that some of Strayed's worse critics seem to object to her casualness with her sexuality in the book. (Why is it even an issue?)

Which amused me (and annoyed me a little) when I read that Annie Dillard had considered writing her book in a male's voice, because she had the idea that readers could not reconcile with the idea that a female would venture "into the wild".

“It’s impossible to imagine another situation where you can’t write a book ’cause you weren’t born with a penis,” wrote Dillard in her journal. “Except maybe Life With My Penis.”

Somehow, reading this, I thought, "She wields a pen". Sometimes I have no idea why I think the thoughts I do. But I do. The whole idea that one type of narrative is more gender-appropriate than another is sadly archaic, yet persistent. Even as Cheryl Strayed made her journey (and oh, how she suffered along the way) hiking along the Pacific Crest Trail, she's constantly behind reminded of how she was a woman, and how strange it was for a woman to do this. Perhaps this is why her book is so important, and it so speaks to me, for all the heartbreaking moments inside it. This is too, a woman's narrative.

Anyway, on an off-tangent note, I will end this post with First Aid Kit's cover of "Walk Unafraid" - taken from the "Wild" movie soundtrack. Catch it if you can. Reese Witherspoon is wonderful in the movie.

Sleater-Kinney Returns

The articles on Sleater-Kinney's return have been coming. This is one of the more recent ones, by Pitchfork. It's no secret that I am a fan. Sleater-Kinney is on my bucket list - "Bands to watch 'live' Before I Die". Yes, some people have Bucket Lists like that. Their music carried me through some bad times. The growls of their guitars, Carrie and Corin with their vocal intensity, the invigorating drumbeats - their music makes me feel more alive.

When they announced the band was on "indefinite hiatus" - it was heartbreaking. Then they came back, sneaking a new single onto the vinyl collection of their old records last year. I was so excited, promised myself I had to catch them when they tour.

Life right now is making it hard to travel, so I will wait. If it is meant to be, it will be.

Then they went and did something like this with their friends, and they remind me again why I totally adore them:

Let's not forget their appearance on David Letterman's. A heart melting moment.

QUOTE | From Tiny Beautiful Things

One of those quotes from Cheryl Strayed's Tiny Beautiful Things that stayed with me. There were many memorable quotes in that tiny little book that was full of heart and loss - and so much hope. This one though - lingered most powerfully. Well, perhaps because it was at the end, but most likely because of what it had to say about getting yourself screwed up in a bad, self-hating place - and yet that there is something within us still worthy, still beautiful, and deserving of grace. Grace in the shape of a purple balloon. Such a tiny beautiful thing.

Everyone should read that book.

“One hot afternoon during the era in which you’ve gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin, you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding the strings of two purple balloons. She’ll offer you one of the balloons, but you won’t take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You’re wrong. You do.”

― Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar

Reading Goals for 2015:

#1: Finally Finish War and Peace

So it seems this month is sort of the 150 anniversary of the publication of War and Peace. Sort of.

According to Paris Review, the story was first serialized in 1805, and it was reworked later:

Well, sort of: the first installment of what was then titled 1805 was indeed published in the January 1865 issue of Russkiy Vestnik. It ran in serial form for the next two years. However, Tolstoy wasn’t happy with this version and reworked much of the book—which he called “not a novel, even less is it a poem, and still less a historical chronicle”—before publishing it as War and Peace in 1869.

Time to get to it. So, I declare, 2015 will be the year I finally finish reading War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy.