I had a couple of posts from my old blog that I’ll post below.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
One hundred years of solitude
Isn’t it strange how a book affects your life? I’m not meaning in a way such as reading a book changes your view on a whole manner of things, which of course is entirely true, I mean that during the point in your life in which you are reading the book, your behaviour is altered – either you feel melancholy, you desperately want a man, or you go out and buy a new umbrella. Recently I was reading “State of the Union” by Douglas Kennedy. I kept wanting a cigarette so bad. While reading the need to inhale increased, but I had to finish the book. Someone dies of lung cancer in it, but I still needed to smoke. Once I finished it I went out with my best friend K and had a few shots of nicotine. Damn it felt good.
I’ve just finished Gabriel Gael Marquez’ “One hundred years of solitude”. This book won a Nobel prize. I think I am an idiot because I didn’t find it that appealing. I felt like an observer, looking at the story of a family during the ups and downs of a South-American village. I couldn’t feel part of the story, and that’s what I love most novels for- for taking me away to another place. For letting me become obsessed with their world so much so that I forget my own. With OHYOS I just couldn’t do that. Sometimes I felt like I was reading a list. I had no urge to clean my house (they are often cleaning in this book) or to have sex (again which they frequently do). So without being able to entwine me into the lives of the protagonists, nor a thrilling plot, what did this book have? Philosophy? Social commentary? Beauty? Nothing really stood out to me. It was a gentle coming and going of tides.
I never read the forewords or introductions to book. They always make me feel like I should be thinking their way, pointing things out I don’t want to know before reading the book. I’d rather start a book not knowing a thing about it, and make my own mind up. Afterwards I usually read these things though, and then I feel bad for not noticing certain things in the first place. But at least I enjoyed the book without the feeling of inadequacy while I read. posted by Assidua @ 2:55 PM
So much of the time I’m scared. I’m scared to write in case someone hates it. I’m scared to write in case someone I know reads it. I’m scared of saying how I feel, but it eats at me if I don’t. Who else am I supposed to tell that I’m not happy being me? See, I can’t even say anything. Who the f*ck is going to read this anyways? Will they point their finger at me and tell me I’m a bad person? Will this be used against me later in a court of law? bla bla whatever. loosen up woman. posted by Assidua @ 2:33 PM
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Books and Films
Books to read
The female eunuch- germaine greer
Oranges are not the only fruit
The time machine – HG Wells
Brighton Rock- Graeme Green
One hundred years of Solitude- Gabriel Garcia Marquez
The Great Gatsby – F Scott Fitzgerald – Finished Feb 2006
I started off being inquisitive about Gatsby, then I disliked him, then I felt sorry for him. It made me think of human relations and what binds us together, what makes us happy.
Bel Canto- Ann Patchett
People get taken hostage in a big ball room.
Films to see
Good night, and good luck
Blue skies posted by Assidua @ 4:34 PM
Sat July 9th 2005 12:40pm,
Today I woke when his alarm went off. That phone that scares me. Because i don’t know what it contains. posted by Assidua @ 5:40 PM