10K + Eugenides, Coppola

I just hit 10,000+ views today. So...exciting!

Meanwhile, here is the trailer for Sophia Coppola's 1999 film rendition of Jeffrey Eugenides' The Virgin Suicides. It's one hell of a good book; so good that I can't even begin to think of how to write a good review. The Lisbon girls are some of the most interesting characters I've ever come across (Lux and Cecilia, especially) and I particularly like how Eugenides decided to render the story through the neighborhood boys' perspective. Although the book was published in 1993, it still feels like a fresh read. (So much love for Jeffrey Eugenides! I'm definitely buying more of his books.)



On the other hand, the movie made me feel a bit dizzy. It's not bad. I just feel like it could have been better without those cheesy dreamy scenes of Lux moving around, which makes Kirsten Dunst look awkward.

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I am Productive

I was feeling horribly crappy this morning (still am, but my awesome immune system is starting to get things back in shape) -- runny nose, sore throat and all -- so I decided to move a bit so evil fluids can exit my body.

That sounds wrong.

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Murakami after Dark

I have a friend who is very much into books, just like me. One time, as we were walking between shelves in the local bookstore, I pointed out a Murakami book and told him about the Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

“It’s the first Murakami I’ve read—probably the last. The story is too dragging. It takes Murakami five pages to start the chapter,” I said, to which he deftly replied with scorn, “Why did you buy the book, then?”

Of course, there was an obvious answer to that: “Because Murakami is Japanese.”

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St. Clair and France

Yesterday, I spent my waking hours musing about having a foreign implant among my current course classmates and earning a trip to Europe from charity. Oddly enough, I wrote in an essay I did for one of last semester's classes that I didn't want to live anywhere else aside from Iloilo City. I can be so shallow sometimes.

I finished reading Stephanie Perkins' Anna and the French Kiss last night and I'm really disappointed by how weak my resolve to stay in the Philippines for the rest of my life is. That (and my guilt, though I really think I'll get over this) aside, reading the book made me realize that I'm still the Western groupie kid I was five years ago.

While the story is painfully mainstream and predictable, and the characters are not as profound as I want them to be, the book is a refreshing break from academic selections. Consider this: it's like the water you  drink between spoonfuls of heavy meat during dinner. I enjoyed it because it made me feel less compelled to read perfectly-written novels (at least for the day.) It's the simple, neuro-friendly book we all once enjoyed in earlier youth. Besides, the characters are "tragic" enough; I guess that counts for being literally-capable.

Then again, I won't recommend this to you if you're looking for romance novels akin to Love in the Time of Cholera.

And because my heart was (and still is) aching for big doses of Paris and the book's male protagonist, Etienne St. Clair, I bought a copy (and the only one left, lucky me!) of Schaum's Outlines French Grammar. Self-taught French, I shall accomplish you before the year ends!

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Mischief Finally Managed

I believe that someday, when I turn wrinkly and my skin starts to sag at all the wrong places, I  will remember only one person when I hear the name "Harry"--  neither Harry Dresden nor Harry Truman, and not even Harry Shum Jr. Only one Harry ever mattered, matters and will matter to me: the scrawny bespectacled son of James and Lily, the famous half-blood, the boy who lived. Today, however painfully I had to do it, I wept for him for the last time.

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Maktub: It is Written

"When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."


You can't profess your absolute love for books if you don't know where this quote comes from. Yes, Paulo Coelho's allegorical novel The Alchemist, which has received  a lot of love from all over the world, including my tiny puffing heart. It was first published in 1988 in Portuguese, then translated into English in 1993. The Guinness Book of World Records regards this as "the most translated book by a living author" and has sold over 65 million copies worldwide. Actually, once you've read the book, you keep wondering why it hasn't gone higher than a hundred million sold copies.

One of my most beloved.
Image (c) avaxhome.ws

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Jacob, Jacob and Hans Asperger

Currently my insane fixation. Thank you, Vanessa!
Image (c) jodipicoult.com

Right now I'm reading a book I lent from a friend, Jodi Picoult's House Rules. I'm on page 131 as of now, which is about one-fifth of the book.

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I Call Them "Classics"

I must have eaten a unicorn leg or something yesterday because I suddenly had urges for anything and everything related to what people term as "classic." I bought a copy of Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye and while it isn't exactly as ancient as Grandma's schnoz (it's a real world! I'm quite surprised) nor was it written in fluttery English sentences, I figured it is still a classic. It is a welter of unsophisticated yet widely-acknowledged themes, mostly focusing on teenage angst, something I am evidently familiar with but simultaneously heedless of. I'm only until the eighth chapter as of now, since I don't like reading books in one go. It gives me a headache.

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Quote from the Small World

I was reading the Sunday paper-- I am loyal to being the breadwinner of the family when it comes to Philippine Star-- searching for the column I habitually read, Emotional Weather Report, when I chanced upon an entry to Philippine Star and National Bookstore's My Favorite Book contest. The book at center stage is Jonathan Lethem's The Disappointment Artist, an anthology of autobiographical essays centered on the influences that have sculpted his current persona. It wasn't the book that caught my attention though.

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Really, Malese for Katniss?

Does anyone remember the Nick show Unfabulous? (Yes, I admit it was one of my favorite hormone-topping social hierarchy shows because Emma Roberts is just fabulous and Tadhg Kelly is cute.) Recall Addie Singer's best friend, Geena Fabiano, the tanned brunette who spends most of her free time designing clothes.

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51 Days Until Christmas

...and I've already started making my wishlist that so brashly includes a little more than ten books (and counting). I've pegged The Millennium Trilogy into that too.

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May the Odds Be in Your Favor

Addiction is an understatement.

When I first caught sight of Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games on the display shelf of National Bookstore, I assessed it as just another terrifyingly eventful science-fiction novel written to somehow entertain, but ends up not making much of an impression instead.

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