Game of Thrones: part 3

     


     

     So, these books just keep getting bigger and bigger. But I must admit, it took me a little over two weeks to read it and it's still the fastest I've read 900+ pages, even if they were spread over two or three books, not just one.

     A Storm of Swords is the third instalment in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. As you probably know, the fifth season of the TV show Game of Thrones which is based on these books has aired and finished already a little over a month ago. I decided to boycott the show until I read all the books because for me it's better to get the surprises and shocks on paper rather than on screen; a joy I am still deprived of because I had watched up to season four already which ran parallel up to book three.

     So now, I have read what I watched and watched what I have read. I thought that I could read book four, A Feast for Crows, then watch the new season, however, it turns out that book four AND five actually are parallel, where book four shows things from the perspective of a few characters, then book five goes back to show the same time period from the perspective of the other characters. The TV show showed a combination of books four and five which means I still have to postpone watching season five a bit longer.

     This book was much lighter on scenes with Tyrion Lannister, which was the downside for me. Other than that, I could safely say it's the best of the three books so far. The plot is thickening and most of the characters are getting new twists in their stories and we start to understand a little more about the Lord of Light and Dorne and some of those things we only heard of remotely in the first two books.

     The next book in the series for me, number four, A Feast for Crows, is about two hundred pages shorter than book three, so I hope to get through it faster and also, since all the action will be new to me, I am hoping for an even more enjoyable experience than the three books I have got through.

     I have a few books on my TBR list to get through then I will be jumping back into the world of Westeros and Essos and I'll be reporting back right here, so stay tuned for the updates and pick up your copies and join me and get in on the action. You will not regret it.

Until then, Valar Dohaeris.

Project Ulysses Part 2: Dubliners & Portrait of the Artist

     It's been almost a year since my last post on Project Ulysses. That is a long time and I think I should feel ashamed of that. But I won't let that hold me back because what matters is that the project did not stop; it's just slow. Knowing how slow Joyce wrote and how long it took him to finish his books, one might say that taking so much time to get on with Project Ulysses is only appropriate and an ode to the author himself. (I guess we all need to tell ourselves things to make us feel better)

     Well, not to dwell too much on the speed of progress, I shall focus instead on the progress itself. I have finished the second step in the journey towards Ulysses; I have reread Dubliners.


     In fact it took me so long to finish writing this post, that I have actually also finished stage three of Project Ulysses which is reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. It seems that admitting this delay, not only in reading but also in the act of updating this blog, is counterproductive, but I will go ahead and keep it so that whoever reads this will get to join me on my journey, with all its setbacks and road bumps; this is simply what a regular person trying to juggle work, reading and writing and whole lot of other stuff together at once.

     Enough of that since I am not here to act the martyr, I am here to talk about Project Ulysses. Unfortunately, at this point I don't have much to say. It's still the same for me with Joyce, I enjoy his writing,but I don't really get it, there's something about his pace and choice of words and the music of it all that entrances me and keeps me turning pages and coming back for more, but the intention, the meaning, the lessons that I should get out of his writing continue to elude me. I think now about this choice of words (lessons that I should get out of his writing) and I wonder if I or any other reader SHOULD get anything out of anyone's writing? SHOULDN'T we just enjoy and go along for the ride and take away whatever we take away? Sometimes what we get on a reread is different than the first time but it's still up to us and fate.

     Anyway, this is how it's been for me with these two books, although I must say that there were parts in Portrait that did resonate with me and that being a novel I was able to follow it better than some of the stories in Dubliners. But if you ask me, I'd say that as a whole, I enjoyed Dubliners more.

   

     That being said, there's something alluring about Joyce himself or his writing that keeps me excited about going ahead and reading Ulysses and I have been fired up lately about it and I have decided to tackle it within 2015. Seeing my history with this project who knows if that will in fact happen. But it's the plan and I promise to come back to you with more details on that when I do get around to it.

   I will be reading Ulysses accompanied by Harry Blamires's New Bloomsday Book (on Amazon here, although I suggest checking eBay for better prices), reading, according to advice found online, one chapter from Ulysses and one chapter from Bloomsday to keep everything in focus and such. I also think that with the magnitude of Ulysses it might be more enjoyable for me and useful for you if you are following to post here regularly about it as I go and not just wait till it ends. It does feel exciting to have built up to this step and to actually be ready to enter the world of Leopold Bloom's Dublin on 16th June 1904.

     Let me know if you will be following and if you would like to join me in reading Ulysses as we go step by step.

     Thank you and see you back here again soon.

All The Light We Cannot See

I woke up this morning, it’s a Friday, and I read through the last one hundred pages of All The Light We Cannot See. I finished it an hour ago. Although it feels it’s been more than an hour, because I have been walking around the flat more slowly, responding to questions only when necessary, and all the while thinking about the story I have just finished.

I’ve written several reviews before but none of them was written at this desk; a desk that faces a corner of our living room, with everything else going on behind me. The TV is on, Sofia the First singing her signature opening theme and my daughter singing along. That was usually the setting to which I wrote all the reviews before; facing the TV and watching my daughter. Today, this time, I am keeping them behind me, in the background, with the smell of fresh baking coming from the kitchen where my wife is probably wondering why I have been a little cranky over the past hour. Maybe she will know if she reads the same story I have read.

I think I read somewhere lately that no two people ever read the same story; that our experiences and perspective and personal histories are as much a part of the story as the words themselves. So, I guess this review is more about me than you; more about my journey with Marie-Laure, Werner, Frederick and Volkheimer, than the book itself.

Countless before me and countless after will speak of books they read and loved and how they were transformed or mesmerized or a dozen other adjectives that we all wear out as we try to convey and share our feelings with the world. I’ve done it and will do it again. But this time, I just want to let it flow, hoping that my rationalization and logic will not kick in and ruin it. This is probably more about me than you. But I hope you continue reading.

Right before I sit down and type away, this image flashed before me that to an extent explained why I have been treading lightly around the house for the past hour and avoiding conversation with my wife. The image is of this dark space, ghosts and phantoms swirling around, some of them peaceful and quiet and others menacing and loud; like the dementors in Harry Potter. And at the center of this dark space, among all these flying phantoms, is a sphere, bright and glowing, inside it, the memories, feelings and images that have been created in my mind by reading this story; the city of Saint-Malo, Marie-Laure’s house, Werner and Jutta crouching in the attic listening to the radio. The sphere protects them, but with every step, with every word, with every thought, the sphere grows smaller. That’s why I’ve been trying to stay quiet and calm. To preserve it. But it still grows smaller. From experience, I know that at some point later today or probably when I crack open the next book on my To-Be-Read list, the sphere will break, and whatever is inside will spill out into the dark space surrounding it and join the phantoms. And hopefully from time to time the spectres will coalesce and I will be able to see them for some fleeting moments and remember how I felt that first time I read the story.

I believe since I’m writing a review and you are reading it for that purpose that I owe you the courtesy of at least touching on some points about the book itself. But as I said, I am afraid of ruining it with worn out clichés. This book has been rated on Amazon over 9000 times. I’m sure somewhere in there someone has written a review that is technically more worthy than mine. For me, I am hoping that I can convey to you how you would probably feel after turning that last page of the book. My story will differ slightly from yours, but I don’t think that will make a big difference.

I will give you some points to explain why this book is great, even though I know I might tint it.

The book is about a blind girl, and without you noticing how or when, the author will bring to life all your other senses, just like Marie-Laure needed to do. You will hear, and listen, you will taste, you will smell and you will feel. You will feel with your skin, and with your heart.

The last thing I will mention, for it is the most important, are the people in the story; the children. For a very long time I had forgotten what it’s like to feel so strongly for fictional characters in a book. And in this story, I am grateful to the author for not giving me just one memorable protagonist, but a whole bunch of them. They are children and their innocence just seeped out from the pages and settled down over me. I will not speak of them in the past tense like I usually do when speaking about books. They are children; they will always be children and they will always be innocent and their innocence will always find someone to touch as long as someone reads their story.

I could keep going on and on, feeling the sphere grow smaller, trying to slow down the process as much as I can. But it is inevitable, and you have probably tired of reading. I’ll end this now and enjoy whatever minutes or hours or hopefully days I have left with the remnants of this reading. And as for you, I hope, for your sake, that you go read this story too.