If I Were A Book…

(Photo by delviking, Flickr.com, lifted from Mirage Bookmarks’ The Most Interesting Bookstores in the World)

…this is where I would want to be housed.

Even as a (very human) reader, the photo above makes me want to hop on a plane to Portugal. It’s of the Lello Bookstore in Portugal, regarded as one of the most beautiful bookstores in the world. The bookstore opened in 1906 for one of Portugal’s most influential publishing houses. The Livraria Lello has been selling books since the late 19th century. The building was designed by Francisco Xavier Esteves (the architect who introduced the use of reinforced concrete for civil buildings in Portugal), and with a design described as “neo gothic”.

What I am in love with is the curvaceous, sinewy staircase, and the view of books from the second floor….

(Photo by stukinha Flickr.com; lifted from Mirage Bookmarks’ The Most Interesting Bookstores in the World)

There is a reverential air to books, when housed in such a splendid building. In this day and age, where so many of what should be considered sacred are are maliciously brutalised, wilfully ignored or rudely trespassed, scenes like the Livrario Lello tell of order and beauty. That could be the appeal of libraries and bookstores: they are places where choice is abundant, but where order is enforced, rules and regulations comprehensible and obeyed, where peace is the norm not the exception, and everyone is highly respectful of other people’s rights and space. Idyllic, in other words.

If I do get to travel to Europe again, it would definitely include a tour of bookstores and libraries.

Filed under: At the Stores, Books, Personal Note , Books, bookstore

He Makes Me Want to Write

It is February the Fourteenth, at that hour of the morning when all the children have been taken to school and all the husbands have driven themselves to work or been dropped, steambreathing and greatcoated at the rail station at the edge of the town for the Great Commute, when I pin my heart on Missy’s front door. The heart is a deep dark red that is almost a brown, the colour of liver. Then I knock on the door, sharply, rat-a-tat-tat!, and I grasp my wand, and I grabbed my wand, my stick, my oh-so-thrustable and beribboned lance, and I vanish like cooling steam into the chilly air.. (Harlequin Valentine, Neil Gaiman in Fragile Things)

Here I am, having gone through Neil Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors for the second time and re-reading some stories from his Fragile Things. There’s no other author who inspires me to write quite like he does. There’s one particular story in Fragile Things that never fails to make writing seem like such a fun enterprise.  

That story’s “Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Secret House of the Night of Dread Desire”. The story’s as quirky as the title, and Gothic with a capital ‘G’. A clever tale where the worlds of fantasy and reality (ours, that is) are inverted; the protagonist is a wannabe writer (even in Gothland, they exist, apparently) who lives in a world of ghouls and shrieking women, but who yearns to write fantasy with fantasy being our boring world of toasters, work, strained relationships and hurried breakfasts. It’s humorous, whimsical and – for me, curiously inspiring. There’s also a lesson-nugget embedded, delivered by that fixture of gothic tales – the drawn, humourless, seemingly bloodless but always faithful butler.  

In the introduction, Gaiman (one of the few authors who seems to have a rollicking time conjuring up stories for the rest of us) remembers how the story – which he wrote twenty years ago – was rejected by publishers. It was only two decades later that it was rewritten and published, first in a gothic anthology, and subsequently included in “Best of” Anthology Collections. It was the Best Short Story in the 2005 Locus Award.  

Fiction is subjective….and writing it is never as much fun as it seems. Anyway, here’s a state of bliss towards which all writers strive, even without ghouls and monsters and a mad, shrieking Aunt Agatha in the attic.  

The quill went scritch scritch across the paper, and the young man was engrossed in what he was doing. His face was strangely content, and a smile flickered between his eyes and his lips.

He was rapt.
(Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Secret House of the Night of Dread Desire, Neil Gaiman in Fragile Things)

Filed under: Books, Personal Note, Writing , authors, Books, fantasy, neil gaiman, reading, Writing

Just An Update

President Obama

So, you know, America has a new President who was ushered into the White House with celebration, anticipation and fervent hope. Around 1.8m people attended his inauguration, a record, I understand, and tens of millions more watched around the globe. I missed most of it, with regret, but am more keen to know what he is going to do about Palestine and Iraq. His ordering the closure of Guantanamo as well as his call to halt brutal interrogation techniques (but not all of them – just the “most severe” ones) is welcome but he has also green lighted missile strikes on tribal areas in Pakistan. Will Islam still be equated with terrorism under President Barack Obama, who spent part of his childhood in a village in predominantly Muslim Indonesia?

This list of his first 100 hours gives me some hope still that the new President will inject compassion, objectivity and humanity into the US’s foreign policy, although his silence over the deaths of Palestinians (many more over a thousand) has been deeply disappointing.

The Year of the Ox

Over on our shores, it’s holiday season again as we welcome the Chinese New Year. It’s the Year of the Ox this time around, the animal being quite a fitting icon for the stoicism and perseverance necessary to weather the tough economic climate. I’m realising that more of my Chinese friends have less reverence for this time of year, with a few even working through the holidays instead of returning for the traditional family feast. Wherever you choose to greet the New Year, Gong Xi Fa Cai, to all who celebrate. Here’s a very short tale where an ox “saved” the Austrian town of Salzburg from invaders, not by heroics but simply by being present:

To say that the humble “ox” played a pivotal role in European history might to some appear rather strange, but to the people of Salzberg, this beast is a symbol of courage in the face of adversity.

In the 1500s, an enemy army took over the city of Salzburg, Austria depriving the inhabitants of food and drink. Their cupboards bare with nary a bit of food left, the people were practically ready to surrender until they found a lone ox roaming the streets. They paraded the beast in front of the invaders to prove that they were not hungry. Then, during the night, they painted it black to show that they had more than enough livestock for the people to survive. Completely befuddled, the army retreated, leaving the people of Salzberg in peace.
(from Squidoo)

 

And click here for another story, this time from the Arabian Nights, of The Ox and The Donkey.

My Reading

At the individual level, I’ve done quite a bit of reading over the past month, and am glad for it though I wish the writing will catch up. I’ve completed Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book (a creative delight!), Stephen King’s Just After Sunset (too mild), Clare Wigfall’s The Loudest Sound and Nothing (beautifully written), David Sedaris’s  When You Are Engulfed in Flames (hilarious), Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist (second reading – it resonates more this time around), Jonathan Kellerman’s Gone (you know, I believe my reading tastes have changed; the story wasn’t as engrossing as I had expected it to be) and William Zinsser’s On Writing Well (I recommend this highly).

Right now, in my book “basket” are: Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father (so far, he is proving to be as eloquent in writing as he is in speech), Francine Prose’s Reading Like a Writer (I could not resist this beautifully matt paperback and what it promises for the reader and writer), Aravind Adiga’s The White Tiger (for its anticipated irreverence and humour), Robert Schlessinger’s White House Ghosts (am honestly stuck on “W”, however hard I try to move on), and John Pilger’s Freedom Next Time (it gets too depressing in one continuous dose but it provides the necessary reminder that we world citizens need of the injustices wrought by governments). I have also stuffed an old book (I realise that I have a whole shelf of writing books, actually, populated since my teens), The Writer’s Digest Handbook of Short Story Writing, which – ahem – is supposed to get me to write better short stories. But I’ve to sit down and complete my tales first. Particularly before the 31st March closing date for the MPH-Alliance Bank Short Story Writing Contest, which I, uh, intend to, sort of, I think, perhaps, enter.

And ps, one of my goals this year is to read the late Roberto Bolano’s mammoth “2666“ though goodness knows if I’ll get to finish it before 2010 rolls around. Here’s a link to the The New Yorker’s 2666 Reading Challenge.

Filed under: Books, Personal Note, Reads, World, Writing , barack, Books, library, reading, US, Writing, year of the Ox

Good Yarns at Great Prices

I grew up on popular fiction; the words of Stephen King, Agatha Christie, Tom Clancy, Patricia Cornwell and Jeffrey Deaver paved my reading journey for years before I stumbled into the avenues of more “literary” works where words are not just conveyor belts for stories but are artistic details in their own right. I still, though, love a Very Good Yarn, and more times than not, popular fiction serves the shot more immediately than its literary sister.

And so it is that on a recent excursion to MPH in Bangsar Village 2 over the weekend, the racks of some older but good quality fiction titles caught my eye and tugged me back to my reading roots. At RM10 for three, they proved irresistible, and will tide me over until the wallet allows for the latest Jeffrey Deaver and Patricia Cornwell.

Now, I am once again on Alex Delaware’s couch (and car and lonely apartment) as he solves an LA murder of a beautiful young actress wannabe (did I mention LA?) by getting into the minds and lives of some twisted souls (“Gone“, Jonathan Kellerman, 2006). I shall also be revisiting James Patterson and getting introduced to someone other than the brilliant and famous Alex Cross (“Step on a Crack“, James Patterson, 2007), and will find out for the first time if Jack Higgins can equal Tom Clancy or John LeCarre in international intrigue and conspiracies (“The Killing Ground“, Jack Higgins, 2007). At RM10 for all three works from these famous authors, I walked away with a fantastic deal.

All I have to do now is to find a way to get by on more Story and less Sleep.

Filed under: Books, Personal Note, Reads , Books, jack higgins, james patterson, jonathan kellerman, popular fiction, reading, Reads

Reading as Refuge

I did not plan to write this but Kenny’s piece and this article have converged with my own thoughts, and now they overflow.

What gets me there each day passing each day doesn’t change though, no. Words. They kept me sane and they’ll save you too.

Words. Just words.

Kenny Mah, A Deconstruction of Daisies

Over the past few months, I’ve looked forward more and more to quiet times with good coffee and a good book. There is relief from the cruelty and malignancy of the world found in the pages of the books, in the words crafted by other people, and the worlds conjured by them. Through the rows and rows of black type, meaning seeps back into life, bringing with it reminders of beauty and worth and goodness.

It is no surprise that I should turn to reading for refuge. As an only child, books were my constant companions. I did not mind being by myself (contrary to the belief of those around me that only children must crave the company of other kids) as long as the space I was in included books. Growing up, and finding unexpected - and fragile – pleasure in friendships, books became sources of inspiration, ambition and adventure. Growing older, books frequently restore my faith in humanity.

Billy Thompson, in his essay “Soulbroken“, claims books to represent still unopened doors and windows that real life may have shut forever:

Growing up is eliminating possibilities. Who I am is as much what I am not and what I will not be. That’s not meant to be a dour take on things; growing up, I mean really growing up, acting the part and filling the role, is an accomplishment, its own reward. But with it comes mortgage payments and home repairs and a car note with car repairs and insurance and gas and not-yet-born-but-planned-for children and their braces, tuition, etc., and so on. I was going to live in a one-stoplight town and then in New York City and on an island where I would lead snorkeling trips. I was going to live in a western city and a foreign one; and I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to live in Tornado Alley. I was going to join a band and the NBA and go teach English to kids in the Far West. I was going to drink more and drink less. I was going to be an actor. I was going to do nothing but do it somewhere else where it’d be something. Etc., and so on. As it is, I am a technical writer, by which those aforementioned bills, with the help of my wife’s salary, are paid. So, a technical writer I’ll remain. Because once amongst your responsibilities, there is no going back to being tether-free. You can always start again, as it were, but you can never really start over.

That’s what creates the void books fill. In them all possibilities still exist and I can live with them and in them.

Me, I find comfort in words – some more than others. The world may be at war around me and deliberate malice may abound, but as long as I can still find pleasure in the beautifully crafted phrase and humour in elegant plays of words against one another, living can still, somehow, go on.

Filed under: Books, Personal Note , Books, reading, words, Writing

Selamat Awal Muharram

It’s the last day of 1429Hijrah today, with sunset marking the start of the first day in the new year in the Islamic calendar, 1,430 years approximately after The Prophet’s and his followers’ migration (the hijrah) from the increasingly hostile city of Mecca to the more welcoming Medina.

This year, the new Islamic year coincides with the Gregorian New Year (2009), with Chinese New Year barely a month after. So it seems like a good time for fresh starts and new beginnings, for wiping slates clean, bringing closures to festering issues, discarding negatives and bringing forward only the good and beautiful.

New Year’s Day is every man’s birthday. 
Charles Lamb, an English essayist who lived in the 18th century and died in the 19th, and so could be forgiven for using the masculine to mean men and women
(Quote lifted from quotegarden.com)

Unfortunately, this new year is marred by violent attacks by Israel on the hapless Palestinians, on the heels of an inhumane siege. Hundreds of Palestinians will not be able to greet the New Year with their families while scores of others will be spending the new year in overcrowded hospitals where medical supplies are never enough. The reports from the newswires claim most of the dead and wounded are uniformed security officers of Hamas, but that’s impossible to believe, given that a hundred tonnes of bombs were dropped.

It’s a cruel end to 1429H/2008 and a ruthless start to 1430H/2009. Given that the international community did nothing to end the siege and have done nothing these past years, I don’t expect much but verbal protests. I shouldn’t be too surprised, after what I’ve observed in 2008, at unfortunately closer range. A lot of seemingly decent people perversely enjoy, or are indifferent to, other people’s sufferings (see Roman Holiday).

Let’s see how the New Hope of America (and the World, Mr. Obama, the World), Barack Obama, will deal with the latest development in Gaza.

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in.  A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves. 
Bill Vaughan, American columnist (lifted from quotegarden, again)

The Muslims greet the end of one year with a prayer and welcome the new year with another prayer. The prayer for the end of the year seeks forgiveness and blessings for actions and deeds of the past, while the prayer for the new year seeks protection from all that is bad in the next twelve months.

That seems to be a good way to say Adios to the old and to seek help for what is coming.

So, Salam Maal Hijrah to all Muslims, and a Good New Year to all. 

God bless, to all the good people I know are still out there.

Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right.
Oprah Winfrey (ibid)

Filed under: Collectibles, Islam, Newsprint, Personal Note, World , doa, Islam, muharram, new year, palestine, World

An Unexpectedly Painless Process (Changing Schools)

We have moved so the kids need to be transferred to a new school for 2009.

Given our work commitments, neither Hubs nor I could take time off earlier to see to the paperwork and processes involved. As such, it was left to the eleventh hour (this week) for us to attend to the matter.

I expected it to be an arduous process, filled with a lot of waiting and paperwork. What happened has been pleasantly the opposite.

Last week, my sons’ present school efficiently handled my forms, typing them up and having the headmistress sign off on them on the same day itself, instead of the usual two to three working days.

This morning, I went to the District Education Office in Shah Alam to get the application approved. There where long queues of parents waiting with forms in hand. Apparently, we weren’t the only last-minute ones. I had around 25 people ahead of me, with only three counters open and one hour before Friday prayers and lunch break. When 12.30 rolled around, there were ten people still to go, and I half expected to be told to come back after the customary two-hour Friday lunch breaks. Instead, the Assistant Registrar himself came to the counter and called all parents of primary schoolkids to come forward with our papers. Having checked that all the necessary documents were in order, he told us to wait. Fifteen minutes later, he re-appeared, and I received my application to change my sons’ schools chopped, signed and approved. All I had to do was to deal with the new school itself now.

I said thank you, but it’s hardly an adequate expression, given how much bureaucracy and waiting time I was expecting. To have that slashed to less than two hours seem quite miraculous. Either this is a normal turnaround time for applications of this sort, or the Assistant Registrar had the sense (and initiative) to realise that with a week to go before the new term starts and three working days only next week, an express solution is needed or some children will not be going to school in time for the new term. Whatever the motivation, this is one very grateful parent. It would be wonderful if all other parts of the Malaysian civil service could be as efficient.

Well, all that remains now is for me to bring the kids’ files (obtained within fifteen minutes today as well) to their new school and hope they will get into the best classes with the best students and that the new environment will be as conducive for learning as the old one has been.

Filed under: Malaysiana, Personal Note, government , civil service, education, education system, kids, malaysia, public school