Blog Makeover

I have my midsems on, and have decided that now's the best time for a change! And since writing anything is always a big part of that change for me, I'm going to be changing this blog.

Here's a little secret that I'm telling the whole wide world. I'm in my second year of a BA English.

No, you gasp. What happened to your perfectly nice Chemistry degree? Well, I'm in the fourth year of that, so two more years of each and I shall have an Integrated MSc Chemistry and a BA English. Feels nice to tell the world like this.

The important thing is, I've always scraped by in my Chem studies(more than just scraped by, I'd like to think) but without a significant change in my approach towards English, I don't know if I'll be able to manage a grade of Upper Second.(Do NOT ask my first year grades. I'm just thankful that they count a little less.)

So I'm turning my 'musing on life(and, more importantly, writing)' blog into a 'Second Year BA English studies(and, more importantly, writing)' blog. Will be putting up my reading lists, what I hope to accomplish, and also notes on texts and approaches as time goes by.

This will be a Saturday and Sunday blog from now on.(A lot of work? Hah, I scoff.)

This will officially launch on Saturday the 13th, since I'll be free of midsems by then.

K.

Bookbucket Challenge

I haven't read nearly as much as I should have, and not half as much as I must. So the books I list here are what have helped shape some part of my life, hopefully not a major part, as I hope to read many, many, many more. Note that none of them are particularly highbrow reading, in fact, more than half of this list comprises children's books, without which I wouldn't be here.

I attempt to go chronologically and figure out what each book taught me. This way, I can remove the ones that are irrelevant and say I tried if I go(inevitably) above the limit of 10. :P

1. The Mallory Towers series by Enid Blyton, particularly book 5(I think!) the one in which Darrell writes a play and everyone is so pleased and proud of her. I am not kidding. I've come to a conclusion that only an author can represent in words what it means to be an author, and to love the craft of writing. And each time I read another account, whether fictional or non-fictional, about writing, I'm buoyed up by it(See 'On Writing', below). I remember why I write. This was the original source of my infatuation with wordsmithy. (also, where I learnt the word 'idiot' :D )

2. Harry Potter, particularly the lulls between the publishing of book 4 and 5, 5 and 6, and 6 and 7. These periods almost beat out the actual readings of the books, on the day that they were published(or a few days later, if my too-slow-at-reading brother got them first), filled as they were with conjecture, speculation, and a memorable complete fanfiction that was way more imaginative than book 5, in my humble opinion. (also, where I learnt the word 'moron' :D :D )

3. The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke. I'm not sure why, but it meant a lot to me. Particularly the parts about escaping reality and imperfect lives with perfect endings. Also one of the first books I ever read which sympathised with both sides of an ongoing(although small-scale) war.

4. A Series of Unfortunate Events, mostly books 1-5. Because those are the ones that I read and re-read until I went crazy. And they taught me that it's okay to ask about things, like how something works, or what the meaning of that word is.

5.  Fairest by Gail Carson Levine, and, relatedly, First Test by Tamora Pierce. Kickass female pro tags rebelling against the world, magical realism, anyone? These are the good kind of book for a young girl, telling her the right things: you can do anything, be anything. You might have to push harder than anyone else, but you can do it.

6. The Princess Diaries series, particularly the third or fourth book. Actually, more or less the whole series. See what I mean about kickass female protags above. Also, the way that Mia grows throughout the series and, well, saying that caring about certain things like shoes or TV shows or silly books doesn't make you less smart or less useful to society really boosts someone who does care about these things but doesn't want to think she's just a, you know, fluffy-headed girl.

7. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Because this was the first time that I realised that books could be irresponsible and immoral and yet so good. (Oh, he gets his comeuppance, you say? Well, he lives for years before happens, in a kind of consequence-free zone, so there!)

8. War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Passionately in love with one of the characters. Engrossed in a different world from dawn till long after dusk. This is the power of a book.(And it taught me, without shoving it down my throat, about politics and war and all that jazz.)

9. Short stories by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Because he's the kind of writer I would give an arm and a leg to be. Who sees the dark side of humanity and presents it to us in a wry, what-can-you-do sort of way. I worship him and his writing.

10. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde. Putting the idea into my head that all books are related. And that  everything, everything: in fact, reality itself, exists to be played with in words, those magnificent things.

11. On Writing, by Stephen King. Is it weird that I began reading his actual fiction, the books he's known for, The Shining, It, Carrie and Under the Dome, after I read his treatise on putting words together? But this is the one book, which, for me, encapsulates a writer's life.(Yes, alcoholism included.) Over the years that I've read and re-read it, I've begun snapping off screenshots of the most useful writing advice I've found, and collecting them all in a folder titled 'Writing'. I fondly presume that I'll end up making a scrapbook out of these gems someday, to refer to when I'm complacent or (much more likely) disillusioned.



These are by no means my favourite books. That would require another list, which would definitely not be limited to 10 or 11. They are the books that I grew up with, the ones I tip my chin to, the ones that, embarrassingly or otherwise, made me who I am.
Also, others I was considering but didn't mention: The Liar by Stephen Fry, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery, things by Sir Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Diana Wynne Jones(who are all inspirations just by having existed in this place and time), LOTR, and many, many more.

A long-winded Confession.

I must admit something, and I must do it now.

I’ve been on a Diana Wynne Jones spree. 

It’s true. 

I’m slightly ashamed. And it’s not over yet.

It’s been so long, so long, since a book made me laugh or cry like a maniac (sometimes both at the same time). What can I say, when I’m bowled over like this? Absolutely nothing. But I can type a whole lot.

Let’s see. It started with:

1. Charmed Life: When I fell in love with Cat and hated Gwendolen and was thankful for Janet and didn’t know quite what to make of Christopher and Millie.

You know what, I happen to be wrong. I read another, but separately, and sometime before the fever really caught me properly. I suppose it won’t hurt to do what that old robot did in Asimov and create the Zeroth Law(or Zeroth book, I suppose):

0. Witch Week: This was Before Cat, of course, and I found the children in this book most unpleasant and Chrestomanci most odd. But I read it through, and the end gave me that feeling of exultation and pleasure that’s been missing in most of the books I’ve been reading intellectually recently.

Anyway, after Charmed Life there was no looking back for the Chrestomanci series. I managed to read in some sort of order:

2. The Lives of Christopher Chant: I want to write more about this book, but there’s this massive lump in my throat that prevents me from doing so. All I can say is, I got really attached to Christopher, and can’t believe Ms. Wynne Jones didn’t write any more about him-- I could cry when I realised--

3. Conrad’s Fate: had him playing a major role, at 15, and sort of different, but plugging in the gaps from the end of The Lives of Christopher Chant until we meet him again in Charmed Life. Oh, and at this time, I noticed something about Conrad. I’ll mention it later down the list, because I made a little detour to read--

4. The Magicians of Caprona: And there really wasn’t anything to say. This book would have been better off as a stand-alone, because while I enjoyed reading it, I never did get the point of my hanging around waiting for Christopher to appear/re-appear. But I did like Tonino a lot. And Benvenuto.(Wow, I got the cat’s name right. I haven’t been able to pronounce it yet.)

5. The Pinhoe Egg: This one really rounded off the set for me, wrapping up lots and lots of things neatly, even while introducing new, awesome characters like Marianne. Unfortunately, I feel somewhat that there was so much meshing of Cat and Janet and Marianne and Chrestomanci that the whole lovely brooding atmosphere of what-bad-thing-happens-next that was present in good quantities in Charmed Life and Christopher Chant, or even the amounts of worry at the characters and what would happen to them in Conrad’s Fate and The Magicians of Caprona was kind of off in this book. And here’s my note. ((Spoiler, spoiler)) Does anyone else think there are way too many downtrodden children doing all the work and getting their respective rewards in the form of adults who understand and take care of them at the end of the book? Marianne, Cat(although he’s just too obedient), Conrad, and, a little later in--

6. Dogsbody: Kathleen made me feel like crying, constantly and continuously. So did Sirius, honestly, because he’s such a nice guy dog star-thingy and doesn’t deserve all that trouble and (slight spoiler) that ending. But the book has me mystified for most of it, and crying for the next part. And oh, I just know Kathleen and Miss Smith are going to be alright.

7. Hexwood: For some reason, the way that Ms. Wynne Jones has knit together everything in this book, confusing temporality and making sure to blame the bannus, giving fantastic explanations for everything that was confusing in the beginning of the book and generally playing out a tale of revenge and poetic justice of epic proportions-- um, what was I saying again? Well, it bowled me completely over. It was just ...awesome.

8. Enchanted Glass: Did I mention the annoying way the characters in all these books have of clinging like limpets to your heart so even when the tale is nicely tied up in satin ribbon, you still want it to go on? You don’t mind even if the villain comes swooping back down a year or so later just so that they can go on having adventures and you can go on spying on them while they’re at it.

I must admit that after Andrew and Aidan I felt bold enough to go pick up--

9. Dark Lord of Derkholm: and I really gave up. I couldn’t actually finish, and I figured that there was just something that unsettled me about how human the griffins were. So I left it halfway, and I don’t plan to read its sequel in the near future.

Most recently, I read a book twice, going back to the start immediately after I finished it. This was:

10. Fire and Hemlock: Strangely, both novels ‘for older readers’, Hexwood and Fire and Hemlock made me feel slightly bored at the beginning, when I couldn’t exactly understand what was going on and why it was important: but then they both got really interesting in the middle. And alright, I thought I saw where this book was going when Polly writes that epic of hers at 14, but then I sort of didn’t, and then... and then... everything makes sense now? So, to clarify, I re-read the book because it was awesome and very, very cute and also because I couldn’t understand a word of the ending. The second reading helped me not one bit.

Polly is another one of those put-upon children, but frankly, she takes herself out of it and she does it quite well. I think she’s my favourite character now-- and when I say it, I have to somehow expand the space in my heart to fit in Christopher and Cat and Aidan and Andrew and Benvenuto and Polly and... alright, even Tom, I guess.

11. The Game: Enjoyable. Greek roots. Quite Good.

12. A Tale of Time City: Thoroughly enjoyable. Laughed at myself when I realised how badly I wanted Vivian to be the Time Lady and Jonathan to be her husband. Sad that it’s over now.

13. Wild Robert: A cute tale, but oh, how I wish for romance!(Even though it would just be creepy.)

Well. If you've read till here(which I doubt), know that I haven't, in fact, been screwing up my Mid-Semester exam just to read Diana Wynne Jones novels. I read them all about a week or so ago, and had this written up and decided to publish it on a whim.

Also, the bibliophile in me went *squeeeee* with the Chrestomanci series book covers, because they're awesome. I was lucky enough that the one paperback I picked up, Charmed Life, had one of those awesome covers and not the uncool, non-sparkly ones.

Also also, Enchanted Glass had the most awesome cover ever! No, really. You can see faces in the glass and everything.

Katze

Book Cravings: Rose in Bloom

I need this book so badly that I'd sell my soul for it, if I believed in the concept of a soul somehow inhabiting a body, etc etc.

Louisa May Alcott's Rose in Bloom, a sequel to Eight Cousins, which I also loved, but not half as much again as I love this book. And, dear god, I do love it.

Mac is, as I reiterate, my favourite fictional character(male), and quite, quite a perfect specimen of his race. Rose is also an amazing character, and this book has taught me so much about growing up and taking decisions, even though it was written well over a hundred years ago. Little Women can get preachy sometimes, and I never really forgave Jo for giving up Laurie to Amy, whom I disliked tremendously.[Um, spoiler for whoever hasn't read Little Women and/or Good Wives]

The edition above is a 1929 edition published by Grosset and Dunlap; it's available on ebay for approximately 2000 bucks, including shipping. That's 2000 bucks that I can't, in good conscience spend on what is technically a second-hand book, not in particularly great condition. But we wantss it, don't we preciousss?

Oh my. Maybe I should sell a kidney. Who needs two, anyway?

Katze.

P.S. See? You get this book for free on kindle, but I'd much rather sell a kidney to get a delicious, illustrated, old hardback edition. Because it's more than the owning of it or the reading of it: it's the book itself-

How to Read a Book

Let's see.

I used to think I had no clue, and yet, as I trawl the internet for the 'right' way, I realise no one else does, either. In fact, most people have even less of a clue than I do.

At least, after years and years of reading, I've figured out how to pick books I might want to read, and then actually get down to reading them. I don't need a blog somewhere on the shores of the vast ocean that is the web telling me to find a nice, quiet place. I can read pretty much anywhere, but certain times and weathers inspire me more than others. Like late at night, with nothing else to do, or during the rains, when the weather is special and amazing and cool. I know what kind of books I can read(well-written ones) and which ones I shouldn't touch with a 10-foot pole.(It's taken me precious reading time and money to identify those, anyway)

But the real question is, how does one get the most out of a really good book? I rarely ever think about what I'm reading while I'm reading it, and I'm sure this isn't correct. One should, in theory, immerse oneself, and yet be able to talk about it later.

Right?

I tried to read Tolstoy, experimentally, while thinking about and appreciating word usage, characterization and the like. And found myself here, in the present, instead of turn-of-the-century Russia, going to war against Napoleon Bonaparte. More importantly, Andrushka, my longtime fictional crush, stopped being a real person and became just another character fleshed out on paper. I felt like crying.

*sniff*

I give up. Now, unless someone makes me read a book in that way again, I never will. It shatters the soul, really. And ruins all the books that made my life worth living.

Then, I tried to read The Lord of the Flies while thinking about what was happening every chapter or so. I was safe from disconnection, since I thought about everyone, Piggy and Ralph and Jack, as real people, stuck on an island somewhere. But here, while I loathed Piggy initially, I started becoming as scared of the other boys as he was, eventually. And what happened in the end created an emotion in me, a deep root of self-hatred for a race that could become like this in practically no time at all, with no self-control and no ultimate feeling of responsibility when they are away from the eyes of civilization. And that terrified me, too.

So I stick, for the time being, to reading books like I always have, dissolving into nothingness for a while, and coming back with only the vague impression that I have witnessed, not been a part of, something great.

It's safer that way.

Katze

Deadhouse Gates

...Because some book titles are just too cool to believe.

Life is cruel, they say. That's why George R.R. Martin, while writing Game of Thrones, maimed an 8-year-old within the first few chapters.

Of course I hated it when that happened, because I like life to be sunny and happy and joyful and all that jazz. Not that it is, ever. But it's nice to pretend--and even believe--that it is. And that is the kind of feeling I get from the Malazan Book of the Fallen. There's a lot of sadness and bitterness in it, and a lot of death. But at the end, I kind of feel like the people in the story changed lives, their own or those of others, in some way. Mostly for the better. And, possibly, that's all one could ever want in life.

Basically I liked Coltaine. I really liked him. He had a useful way of dealing with people--ignore their whining and then enforce martial law to make sure they toe the line. Yup, something special, all right. Highlight for spoilers: And he's dead, nothing can change that, really. But his sacrifice wasn't in vain, and that's what matters in the end. 

End spoiler. Something I learnt from TV tropes and idioms, a rather useful if slightly flame-y site.

Go on: Linky, linky

Hum. Anyway, Coltaine. Here's the most romanticised version of him I've seen so far:

.

.

And here is a book cover with him on it:

Yeah. Sliight difference. As a matter of fact, that cover is more art than cover, almost. It depicts the feeling so well, you feel like crying when you see it. (*sniff* No, that is not a tear there in my eye.) Beautiful, wonderful special edition. Now, why can't more people gift me stuff like this?? People in my life, take heed.

Signing off, and wondering why life, while alright in the theoretical, is such a pain to actually live.

Katze.

P.S. Is a bit mortified, because just realised have been pronouncing it wrong myself, and have recently corrected someone else's(correct) pronunciation. Sorry. >.<

Bibliophilia

Hi,

It's been so long since I last wrote a blog post that I've almost forgotten how.

This one is, as ever, for myself.

I've been reading like a maniac, and I've come to several conclusions:

1. I don't like Raymond E. Feist, though his name is rather ...inspiring. Just the right amount of mysteriousness with the 'E' and a hint of magic with the last name. But I was un-awed by his first book, Magician, in spite of which I ended up reading the whole thing(Thank you, Mr. Feist, for giving me Arutha conDoin, though. He was the first--and possibly only--character I really, really loved in Magician.) Silverthorn, his second offering, hurt my brain, and not in the o-m-g-this-is-fantastic kind of way. I left it halfway. I-I!  had to leave a book halfway. Imagine my pain.(Though I'm yet to complete A Tale of Two Cities, I'm afraid.)

2. I am still in love with Terry Pratchett, and the girl who is Aching all over. ;) I recently came across this amazing book:

And, once again, I am in love. It's a fantastic book, going far beyond the usual funny, witty fare, with loveable characters and strange, yet oddly familiar devices and settings. No, this one has got an amazing sort-of whodunit and whathehellisgoingon vibe that really just kills it, you know, no disrespect to the surfer dudes or whoever that I've stolen that phrase from. I can't wait to read the sequel, Making Money.

-No really. Let me leave this blog post to go read it right this instant.-

3. I also am awed and amazed by the master storyteller who is Neil Gaiman. Respect. Nothing else can be said. I read Coraline recently, and I wonder how something about a child's seemingly perfectly harmless imaginary adventures could be made to be so creepy. But I think that might be it: what is harmless for a child, in its dreams, can inspire much more creeping-up-your-spine terror than anything an adult can ever come up with. Coraline is one of the few books whose movie I've seen before I read the book, but I loved the movie(Henry Selick classic that it is :D) and so I was enthusiastic about picking up the book.

This is the scariest thing. Ever:

And now I really think I should finish up this post, since I have places to be and things to do, and one absent team member, and one pissed-off one. Cheerio!

Fiction is a Lie...

...but beautiful fiction is the truth hidden in the lie.

A Great Man

Or, Someone I Haven't Written About Before.

This time, I'm talking about Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

The Name Of The Wind and Up

So, once again, you think, this silly's going to put up a post detailing her (let's face it) unwanted opinion on books. Well, it's true. I've been reading what's called the Kingkiller Chronicles, which is slowly and spellbindingly leading up to(one must assume) the killing of the king. I don't know why I love Kvothe so much, but it's probably because he's a character whom so much has been put into. So much life, so much love. So much intelligence and charisma, that he never fails to impress. And so much ambition that half the time he falls flat on his face. Well, anyway, I love him. And it's his bir 


Ahem. So anyway... Kvothe is good. No other character is as fleshed out as him. Denna sort of aggravates me by the end of book two, but she's got up wound tightly on her little finger, and he doesn't seem to get her yet, so for that I should be grateful. Devi I like. Devi should probably have been the interest, but I can see why that   wouldn't be feasible. Sim and Will, too, are very sound, very very good characters. The world hasn't been explained, though, since the premise of the book is that he's telling the story to someone who already knows the place well. We don't, but our meagre knowledge of faeries can get us through easily.

I also watched Up. Up is good. Very good. Almost too good, some may say. I don't. I've watched it like three times and I totally adore it each time. Russell is still delightfully gullible, Mr. Fredrichson is still funny, Kevin serves as comic relief, and Doug makes me want to cry.

"I will have the bird and I will bring it back to camp. And you will like me."

*sniff* every darn time.

Oh, and-

"I was hiding under your porch because I love you."

and-

...

...

and-



"I do not like the cone of shame."

Leaving you with this awesome photo, goodbye!

BdK

PS. In other news, I am alive and kicking, after two totally-awesome-staying-up-all-night-helping-people-all-day fests, our college cultural fest, better known as Mood Indigo, and technical fest, known as... well, Techfest. They were super cool, and I learnt all sorts of new things and met all these great people and *is singing though you can't hear her* was. just. great. Love you, IITB. Can't wait for next year. Wooh. College is really as fun as it's supposed to be.

Christopher Paolini: Copycat! Copycat!

Eragon and Star Wars.

What have they got in common?

Oh, nothing. EXCEPT THE WHOLE PLOT.

I'm not actually kidding.

ASOIAF sjdhg

Yeah, I know. What the hell is up with that title?

Actually, it's the abbrev. of A Song Of Ice and Fire, by George R.R. Martin.

Anti-Feminist Feminist? Or ..not.

Ohayou!

(It's not actually morning but that is the only Japanese greeting I remember, so... I'm pretty sure it's morning somewhere in the world!)

When I was a kid-scratch that, even now, I still read Tamora Pierce's books with the same fascination with which I picked up the first book of hers I ever read. They're well written, I truly enjoy seeing a slightly different view of knights and their training-I think the worlds she creates are perfect in their medievalness, but there is the nitty-gritty side to the whole world which most people who write for say, teens, forget to mention. Research never seems to play a part in their writings, it being more important to show the relationships between the characters. But Tamora Pierce was different. She was special. More importantly, her protagonists were all female.

Girls out there, don't you get tired of reading fantasy or historical novels in which the cool sword-swinging/magic is done by guys, while girls have to use their cunning(whatever that is) and special skills to get anywhere? Even then, I've never seen a standalone girl protagonist whom society respects, even as she swings a sword around, and never minds the boys. So I love Kel. Kel, short for Keladry of Mindelan, is the kind of girl/woman I would love to be. She has no gift(unlike Alanna, whose books were a disappointment after reading Kel's 'Protector of the Small' quartet), she's afraid of heights, and doesn't go out of the way to break society's rules. She's polite, restrained-maybe too restrained, and most importantly--she doesn't ever try to hide the fact that she's a girl. She flaunts it, even. And this is what I think puts her above Alanna in my 'Feminist' book. Alanna has paved the way for Lady Knights, she has brought the dominion Jewel back to the Kingdom and faced off a supervillian who possesses the power to return from the dead. But she has done all this slightly ashamed of being a girl. Not Kel. She wears dresses to dinner and ribbons in her hair. Kel allows thoughts of boys to flit through her mind--but not when she has work ahead of her. Kel has no place for heroics and riding off alone, though she entertains those fantasies now and again. Though her job may be small and seemingly unimportant-to protect a refugee camp-she does right by it till the end.

Thus ends my 'Kel' rant. :)

I was excited to read the 'Circle of Magic' series after the success of 'Protector of the Small' but unfortunately, have been doomed to disappointment. The first book I ever read from the series raised my hopes high, but I found out, too late, that the others didn't compare. The Circle of Magic consists of three girls and a boy, all of them mages.(Yes, once again the girls outnumber the boys in a Tamora Pierce book!) But the only one whom I really liked was, unfortunately, the only boy in the group. Briar is fun to read, and seems to be given a great deal of affection by the authoress herself, simply because he has no faults. No major ones, unlike Sandry, who can be thoughtless in her nobility, Tris who is stubborn and wilful, not a good thing when she can control storms and lightning, and Daja who can be... I wouldn't know, actually. Daja seems as two-dimensional as the metal she is perpetually in love with. Briar and his interactions with Rosethorn, his strict, wise and secretly loving teacher are the most fun I had, but they should not be missed. I may be being too harsh on this set of books, not having read all of them yet-there are twelve, and I've read five-and if that has happened, I have no problem coming back and editing my post. If this post remains as is, then my opinion hasn't changed.

Once again, Ms. Pierce, I do love your books! I just wish there were more Kels and Briars, and less Alannas and Tris's, that's all. :)

Tschus! Bis dann,

Bdk

Move over, commercial nonsense. The Liars are here!

Guten Tag!

I recently finished reading Stephen Fry's 'The Liar' and came to the conclusion that it was a very good book. Not that I recommend it to anyone who knows me--they'd be very surprised, and it wouldn't be pleasant.

Most people my age and in the same location tend to struggle through some boring old morality tale-like Chetan Bhagat's Five Point Someone, or Two States, or any of his other books-with some humour interspersed with it, just enough that someone with more than a couple of braincells won't be bored reading it. They then turn around and recommend it to another blithering idiot and come off feeling superior and well-read. That is the kind of book that drives me insane. And not the good kind of insanity, the kind that possessed me while reading Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture Of Dorian Grey' the first time. Or possibly the fifth. But more about that later. The kind of books that most people tend to read, the ones with a moral and a happy ending, seem to me about taking the least amount of effort, both to read and to write. The reader, quite obviously, doesn't think once throughout the process, and the writer doesn't feel the need to make the reader think. On the whole, it's a good system for just one kind of person. The one who doesn't really want to read, but does, anyway. Because it's the educated thing to do, and because they want to feel superior. But not me. Those books literally leave me with a sick feeling inside, which has nothing to do with what my stomach has digested and everything to do with what my mind has.

Stephen Fry's book is a bit confusing, and I'll admit I don't like to be confused as much as the next person, but it makes me happy. I identify with Adrian, the protagonist, though I'm not a chronic liar.(I do sometimes feel like I'm the only person I know who is truly living life) At the end of the book, I'm left with admiration for Professor Trefusis and a grudging respect for Adrian's whoppers. While this is just one example of a book that is truly good, for me, I was introduced to the genre of morally ambiguous, but oh-so-interesting books-by Oscar Wilde's only novel, 'The Picture Of Dorian Grey'. I read this book twice the first time I read it. Or would that be the second time? I loved it so much on the first reading--so much of it escaped me on the first reading--that I had to read it all over again, just as soon as I'd finished.(The advantages of being a speed-reader, anyone?;))

These sort of books don't just interest me because of the premise, or the plot, or even the characters. It's everything. Everything in the book, wrapped up in a neat little bundle that doesn't leave me wanting more, like some of those trilogies, or quartets or whatever. But it leaves me glad to have gone through the effort. And given half a chance, I would do it all over again.

Tschus! Bis nächste Monate. Velleicht. :)