Books, books, books!

Music: "This is the Moment" from the Jekyll & Hyde OST

Last night, I found myself standing in front of my bookshelf for a whole two minutes, the pile of newly acquired books from the Manila International Book Fair in my arms, only to realize that I have barely any space left to put my newest babies.

I also realized I need to reorganize my shelf again . . . and soon. I have a feeling I'll discover books I've purchased a long time ago, hidden behind newer books, long forgotten. See those thick books in the third level and the not-so-thick books in the second? Yep, there are stacks of other books behind them. And I haven't even taken a picture of my other bookshelf yet (that one's way too disorganized for public viewing).

/coughs

Anyway, I think I overdid it with the children's books this year. Usually I buy three to six titles, most of them new releases from Adarna and OMF, but this year, I bought picture books from other publishers as well--Tahanan, Lampara, and, gasp!, yes, Vibal.

(And before anyone accuses me of being a traitor for not patronizing Anvil's books, let me just say that I do buy children's books from Anvil, but I usually buy them using my employee's discount because, err, well, it's bigger than the usual discount we offer during MIBF.)

And now, a show of titles. Cue in drum roll, please.

From Adarna House. 

A select few who know about my not-so-hidden obsession with a certain illustrator will notice that I bought one of his books again. Tee hee.

From Lampara. 

Yes, the he-who-must-not-be-named illustrator has a book here too.

From Vibal. 

I don't usually buy books from them, but there are three reasons for this purchase:

Lina Diaz de Rivera. Frances Alcaraz (a.k.a. favorite college teacher). Cats.

'nuff said.

From Hiyas.

Because I love Jason Moss books, and Tito Dok's titles are always fun to read.

(Speaking of which, a little shameless plugging on my part--Tito Dok recently, well, not so recently, released a picture book with us.

Props to Ray Sunga for the beautiful illustrations.

I really, really enjoyed working on this project, and no, I'm not just saying this in an attempt to encourage people to grab a copy, though of course I will shamelessly promote it to anyone who would care to listen.

But seriously, the story is heartwarming, the illustrations are lovely, and I promise it will be worth the money you spend on it. Scout's honor.)

I also bought a new series, without checking first what the story is about. (I rarely do this, but . . . what? It was on sale!) Here's hoping I'll have a new addiction soon (if I actually find time to read them in the near future).

One book from Ateneo Press (I was looking for Dean's Salamanca about two years back, but must have totally missed it when I passed the Ateneo booth both times), and one from UP Press (collection of YA short stories? sold!)

But my absolute favorite is the picture book I bought from Tahanan. Not only because I love Serj Bumatay's artwork (his illustrations for Anvil's Ang Prinsipeng Kuba still give me chills whenever I look at them), but because the story is so simple yet so engaging.

Plus, the kid's name is Botbot.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

So, yes, I think I overdid it with the children's books this year, but I don't really feel bad about it. Hey, if my dream of setting up a children's library is bound to come true, might as well start early with collecting materials for it, right?

And yes, I still need to figure out a way to make more room in my shelf. Or just buy a new one altogether.

Yosh.

One Day, Five Years From Now

Music: Ask Me How I Am by Snow Patrol

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice—

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

A friend asked me, "Where do you see yourself five years from now?"

The easiest answer is "I'll be five years older," but that's dry humor at its best, and probably not the most appropriate response to a serious (I think) question.

I guess I haven’t really thought about it a lot, which could either mean that a) I’ve been too busy with the present to pay attention to the future, or b) I don’t particularly care. Either reason is sad, and a little irresponsible, too.

And so, it got me thinking (which eventually led to a headache, but that’s a story for another day). My best friend Potch and used to talk about going into business—a café with a bookshoppe, or a bookshoppe with a café, or even without the café, really, just the bookshoppe will do—a couple of times. Except that we're both Literature majors, and although my mom is a superb businesswoman, I think I take after my dad more, and therefore will probably not be able to sustain the business without the help of people who know how to actually run it. But it's a thought that’s stayed in my mind for a while now, something I even discussed with my mom a few years back, and she’s supportive, really, so at least I’m sure we’ll have one regular customer?

And then I realize, I want to run a mini-library. No, seriously. For kids. Because although I'm technically bad with children, I want to give them youngsters a chance to experience the joys of reading while they’re still young. Especially in this day and age, when it’s so easy to be distracted with television, computer games, and the Internet. Because there’s a different kind of magic in holding an actual book and flipping through its pages, smelling the scent of paper and ink, that you can’t experience when reading an e-book using Kindle or an iPad (not that I’m against e-books, because I’m not). Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I’ve been hording children’s books and YA novels for the past, oh, say, seven years? Of course, a community library sounds cool and ambitious, but I will need a good spot (the rent has to be reasonable, of course), and people who share the same vision, more or less. And money. Maybe in a few years. Somewhere in Marikina, perhaps, near our church. Or in Pasig. Hmm.

And then something theater-related. I once had this thought, just a passing fancy, really, of setting up a community theater, or a small theater school, for kids. But then I have to take an MA on theater arts first, and I don’t think that’s happening in the near future. Well, my sister has a degree in Education, so I can bully her into handling the teaching/academic side of things. Or something. But I think this is a dream that I really would want to work on—to train kids, help them mold their skills not only in acting, but in different fields as well. Something that can help them later on in life. Oh, wouldn’t that be awesome?

But, I think, what I really want to do, wherever five years from now finds me, is to be able to give back to the Lord. Whether it be by providing the best service one can have in our bookshoppe/café, or by providing kids with books that inspire (or mentally scar them for life, although I sincerely hope this would not be the case), or by training children to better prepare themselves for whatever dream they wish to pursue (and hone their acting skills, to boot). If by doing these little things, I can give glory to God, well, wouldn’t that be the most amazing thing ever?

Well, we’ll see in five years’ time then J

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do—

determined to save

the only life you could save.

–“The Journey,” Mary Oliver

meet Dexter Morgan, polite wolf in sheep’s clothing

Music: I'll Be by Edwin McCain

This is my Darkly Dreaming Dexter review from way back March 2010. Here's hoping I can start writing the one for Dearly Devoted Dexter soon.

***

Finally finished Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay.

The back cover gives us a brief synopsis of the book:

He’s handsome and charming, but something in his past has made him abide by a different set of rules. He’s a serial killer whose one golden rule makes him immensely likeable: he only kills bad people.

His job as a blood splatter expert for the Miami police department puts him in the perfect position to identify his victims. But when a series of brutal murders bearing a striking similarity to his own style start turning up, Dexter is caught between being flattered and being frightened -- of himself or some other fiend.

Praises for the book includes:

"Demonology has a dastardly new darling." – The New York Times

"With chills like these, you can skip the air-conditioning." – Time

"Entertaining… Dexter is a fascinating character, though he’s not the kind of guy you’d like to invite to dinner." – Chicago Sun-Times

Personally, I’d invite him to dinner. I have nothing to worry about, I think. I mean, I’m not perfect and I sometimes border between meanness and insanity (wait, aren’t they from the same side of the fence?), but I highly doubt Dexter would care two cents about me. One: I don’t kill little kids. And as fans of the first book might notice (and I surely hope they did), Dexter is very fond of children (which is ironic, since he’s supposed to be void of human emotions). But he is, and most of his targets (Father Donovan, Jamie Jaworski) are kid-nappers and killers. So as long as I keep my kid-bullying to a minimum (not that I bully kids, I swear I don’t!), I think I’ll be safe. Two: Aside from the usual whacks and punches (and kicks and bites too, sometimes) I give my close friends, I dislike hurting people. No one has ever filed a complaint about me hitting them so badly they had to be sent to a hospital for a CT scan, and I haven’t pushed anyone, not even those people who irritate me, down the stairs. (Well, I threw a marble at a kid when I was in grade school, but I blame him and his constant stalking for that.) So I really doubt if Dexter will be interested in me. I’d be as boring to him as a sack of rotting potatoes… or something like that.

Now.

I guess one of the things I really like about our hero is his ability to engage in witty banter with other characters, even when the situation does not call for it. During breakfast with his foster sister Deborah, this conversation took place:

"How was your date last night?"

"A lot of fun," I said. "You should try it sometime."

"Feh," said Deborah.

"You can’t spend all your nights standing on Tamiami Train in your underwear, Deb. You need a life."

"I need a transfer," she snarled at me. "To Homicide Bureau. Then we’ll see about a life."

"I understand," I said. "It would certainly sound better for the kids to say Mommie’s in homicide."

"Dexter, for Christ’s sake," she said.

"It’s a natural thought, Deborah. Nephews and nieces. More little Morgans. Why not?"

She blew out a long breath. "I thought Mom was dead," she said.

"I’m channeling her," I said. "Through the cherry Danish."

"Well, change the channel. What do you know about cell crystalization?"

I blinked. "Wow," I said. "You just blew away all the competition in the Subject Changing Tournament." (pp.83-84, 2004 paperback edition)

Note that the date they were talking about didn’t exactly end well. But I’ll let you guys read the book to find out why.

Dexter also likes entertaining his readers by way of narration coated with dark/dry humor. During one of his killing escapades (with Jamie Jaworski, this time):

"Let’s talk," we said in the Dark Passenger’s gentle, cold voice.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to speak, and the duct tape would have made it difficult in any case, so he stayed silent.

"Let’s talk about runaways," we said, ripping the duct tape from his mouth.

"Yaaaooww--Whu--whataya mean?" he said. But he was not very convincing.

"I think you know what I mean," we told him.

"Nuh-no," he said.

"Yuh-yes," we said.

Probably one word too clever. My timing was off, the whole evening was off. But he got brave. He looked up at me in my shiny face. "What are you, a cop or something?" he asked.

"No," we said, and sliced off his left ear. (pp.172-173)

In normal circumstances, it is not supposed to be funny. I mean, slicing off another person’s ear was nothing to laugh about. But by that point in the book, readers have already established the fact that Dexter is an unfeeling monster whose only delight is slicing up monsters worse than him. I guess this reason shouldn’t justify chuckling at his jokes or attempts at witty exclamations, but somehow it does.

My personal favorite line from the book is found in page 284. Dexter was having a long soliloquy about the possibility (or impossibility) of sleep murder and his involvement in it. And as such:

"Weren’t we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor’s children?"

Lovely, lovely. Good writing, is it not?

Darkly Dreaming Dexter is not your typical good-cop-bad-cop story, and it introduces a wide array of characters that you will either love or hate with utmost fervor (and I’m not talking about the children killers here). There’s even an interesting twist in the end as bonus. For people who are interested in crime/thriller/suspense/slasher fiction, I would like to recommend this book. For those who still believes in fairy tales and all that, I suggest you grab a copy of Snow White (Disney version) instead. Unless you want to be converted. Dexter just might show you the way.

Oh, and did I mention that this book inspired the hit Showtime series Dexter in TV? No? Well, there you go. Another reason to try it out then.

'tis the season to be generous...so gimme some books!

Music: Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap

Because I wasn't able to do this for my birthday, I'm doing this for Christmas instead. Although I am not under the delusion that people are going to give me gifts for the holidays, I'll still make this list in the event that people might actually remember me come Christmas day.

Here's a list of books I'd love to receive for Christmas. They are not in any particular order (I think):

1. A Series of Unfortunate Events Books 7-12 by Lemony Snicket (hardbound edition, if possible, since they're more of a collector's items now, because I've already read the e-books)

2. The Missing Piece Meets the Big O by Shel Silverstein (actually, any Shel Silverstein book will be much appreciated, but this title is my favorite)

3. 100 Cupboards by N.D. Wilson

4. Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeffrey Lindsay (the entire series would be ideal, but I'd settle for the second book for now) - removed from list (see entry #11 for replacement)

5. A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle

6. Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman

7. Mirror, Mirror by Gregory Maguire

8. A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire

9. The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon

10. In Odd We Trust by Dean Koontz (this is a graphic novel, but I'm cheating, because I really want a copy of this)

11. A Wolf at the Door (and other retold fairy tales) by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling

I've been trying to search for titles by Filipino authors to add to the list, but I think a "disadvantage" of working for the local publishing industry is that I get a sort of VIP access to books that are not off the press yet. I will certainly not mind getting copies of the books I've actually worked on, although they're not really a priority. I do want some new speculative fiction books though. Or horror books. Or crime and mystery, like Smaller and Smaller Circles. Any recommendations?

Aaaaaand I think it's a given that books given after the holidays will still be accepted. Cue in signal bells to all of my friends. Coughs included if less subtlety is permissible.

EDIT: About an hour after I posted this, my best friend sent me this text message:

please remove #4 from the list ... for obvious (bday) reasons :))

And because that will benefit me more than anyone else, I'll be more than happy to oblige. *runs off to scratch #4 from the list and change it with a new one*

names are not needed in the world of the blind

Music: background noise from the TV

I finished reading Jose Saramago's Blindness in roughly two weeks' time.

It may or may not be a feat, depending on which perspective I use. It is not, if I consider the fact that I can finish books of more or less the same number of pages as Blindness in less than a week's time--two days, even, depending on how interested/addicted I am with the plot/character/author. On the other hand, it is, if I take into consideration my earlier claim that I can only read a maximum of three chapters from that book per night, before my brain automatically shuts down from exhaustion.

I don't even know how to begin talking about Blindness.

I guess I could start by quoting The Washington Post:

"This is an important book, one that is unafraid to face all the horrors of the century."

And it is. The plot is intriguing enough: A city is hit by an epidemic of "white blindness" which spares no one. Authorities confine the blind to an empty mental hospital, but there the criminal element holds everyone captive, stealing food rations and assaulting women. There is one eyewitness to this nightmare who guides seven strangers--among them a boy with no mother, a girl with dark glasses, a dog of tears--through the barren streets, and the procession becomes as uncanny as the surroundings are harrowing.

That the book showcases man's worst appetites and weaknesses is evident the moment the man who helped the first blind man to his house steals the latter's car, and is further emphasized on as the inmates in the mental hospital increase in number. Saramago gives new definition to "dog-eat-dog"--the strong preying on the weak; hording the food and forcing others to pay for them by giving their valuables, and later, the women in the wards. Loss of morals and simple hygiene are shown in all chapters as well--urine and excrement in the hallways, and later, when the epidemic spread to the whole country, the streets and sidewalks; more hoarding and stealing of food; and the general deconstruction of what the modern-day world view as "proper."

But despite the hopelessness that comes with the milky blindness, Saramago shows proof that humanity is not all lost. He leaves evidences of these here and there--the women carrying the woman with insomia back to the ward after their brutal rape by the hoodlums; the blooming romance between a girl with dark glasses and an old man with a black eyepatch; the unity amongst the inmates against their abusive ward-neighbors. It is these little pockets of hope that keeps the reader's attention--that little funny feeling in the chest that, amidst the chaos and anarchy around, there is still some sense of humanity left, that not everyone who had gone blind has succumbed to the bases of animal's instincts (no offense meant to the animals).

One of my favorite parts of the book is the scene in the church, where the doctor's wife, the only person in the entire city who could still see, looks up from fainting, and sees that the saints, both sculpture and painting, are all blind. As in blindfolded (in case of the statues) and eyes painted over with white paint (for the paintings). It's symbolism in the most literal of terms, and still, still, I love it, love the hopelessness it depicts, love the reality and non-reality it presents, love the way the scene was told in the book:

She raised her head to the slender pillars, to the highest vaults, to confirm the security and stability of her blood circulation, then she said, I am feeling fine, but at that very moment she thought she had gone mad or that the lifting of the vertigo had given her hallucinations, it could not be true what her eyes revealed, that man nailed to the cross with a white bandage covering his eyes, and next to him a woman, her heart pierced by seven swords and her eyes also covered with a white bandage, and it was not only that man and that woman who were in that condition, all the images in the church had their eyes covered, statues with a white cloth tied around the head, paintings with a thick brushstroke of white paint, and there was a woman teaching her daughter how to read and both had their eyes covered, and a man with an open book on which a little child was sitting, and both had their eyes covered, and another man, his body spiked with arrows and he had his eyes covered, and a man with wounds on his hands and feet and his chest, and he had his eyes covered, and another man with a lion, and both had their eyes covered, and another man with a lamb, and both had their eyes covered, and another man with an eagle, and both had their eyes covered, and another man with a spear standing over a fallen man with horns and cloven feet, and both had their eyes covered, and another man carrying a set of scales, and he had his eyes covered, and an old bald man holding a white lily, and he had his eyes covered, and another old man leaning on an unsheathed sword, and he had his eyes covered, and a woman with a dove, and both had their eyes covered, and a man with two ravens, and all three had their eyes covered, there was only one woman who did not have her eyes covered, because she carried her gouged-out eyes on a silver tray. (pp.316-317)

I did find myself pretty much detached from the overall story though. I mean, I read the lines, I understood how the characters feel, but somehow, it felt as if there's a wall separating me from their world. I'm not sure if it had something to do with the author's style of not giving them names--because you don't need names in a world where only the blind exists--or for some other reason I cannot quite explain.

Oh don't get me wrong. When I say I feel detached, it doesn't mean I don't sympathize with the characters, it just means I'm having a hard time empathizing with them. Even when the doctor's wife fainted from seeing the mass grave in the supermarket basement. Even when the first man hid under the blankets when his wife left with the other women to give turn themselves to the hoodlums in the third ward.

Still, I'm glad I finished the book. It's a tough read, all right, but worth it. It made me think of things, deep things, that I'd rather not discuss here so as not to sound weirder than I already do. Blindness sort of forces one to be on the philosophical/theological side of things for a bit, and if not, at least to reflect on certain things that people might not normally reflect on.

I just realized most of what I said didn't make sense, but maybe it's because I'm still reeling from the aftereffect of the novel. Maybe I can write something half-coherent next time, when my thoughts aren't so jumbled, my feelings aren't so messed up, and my understanding of what's right and what's wrong isn't so over the edge.

(Oh, and I just have to say this: MARK RUFFALO IS LOVE. Him, and Yusuke Iseya. If you don't want to read a 326-page book, just watch the movie. Seriously, watch it. I did not, could not, talk about the movie yet, because my brain is still trying not to explode from the awesomesauceness that is Mark Ruffalo and Yusuke Iseya.

Potch, I HAVE A COPY OF THE MOVIE. WATCH IT, FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING GOOD AND PROPER IN THE UNIVERSE, WATCH THE FILM!!!)

post-book fair fever

Music: Sick Cycle Carousel by Lifehouse

I'm officially broke until the end of September . . . and maybe a week or two after that. But I don't care, because I am now the proud owner of not one, not two, but five fiction, one non-fiction, and ten children's books, all bought during the Manila International Book Fair held at the SMEX Convention Center in MOA.

I think I deserve some bragging rights for having the guts to go without allowance for two weeks (or more) in exchange for these wonderful titles:

Fiction:

1. Son of a Witch (Gregory Maguire)

2. Perfume (Patrick Suskind)

3. I Am the Messenger (Markus Zusak) - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!

4. The Last Jihad (Joel Rosenberg)

5. The Last Days (Joel Rosenberg)

Non-fiction:

1. Epicenter: Why the Current Rumblings in the Middle East Will Change Your Future (Joel Rosenberg)

Children's Books:

1-5. Batang Historyador series (I already have the complete set way back in college, but Augie Rivera was at the Adarna booth that day and I just couldn't resist . . . I had to have him sign a new set for me.)

6. Just Add Dirt (Becky Bravo / Jason Moss)

7. Tiger on the Wall (Annette Flores Garcia / Joanne de Leon)

8. Naku, Nakuu, Nakuuu! (Nanoy Rafael / Serge Bumatay)

9. Xilef (Augie Rivera / Beth Parrocha-Doctolero)

10. The Book That Eats People (John Perry / Mark Fearing) - LOVE THIS!

Now I don't want to sound like a total nerd or geek or whatever, but I'm considering taking an "Internet break" so I can focus more on my to-read list, which, quite frankly, had gotten longer and longer over the years. So if you don't hear anything from me via the world wide web in the next, say, three months, do not fear. I am not dead (well, hopefully not). I am simply too busy reading something to go online.

Uh. Right.

Good luck on that.