Monday, December 29, 2008
basically, this whole book, is a letter to a chinese premier, wen jiabao. having known that he would be visiting India, balram halwai, writes a letter to him. explaining the corruptions in India. calling himself a self-made entrepeneur, he tells his side of story, where he grew up, his job (driver), the murder he had committed, and how (the heck) he managed to twiddle his way out of the crime.
this book surprised me a lot. seriously, i actually bought this book for a friend of mine, but i started flipping through the front few pages. the reviews for this book was three pages full and they were (in my mind, at that time) quite exaggerated (now i know they were the truth). yes, as you have guessed it, i was curious to know the reason for this book to be a favourite of the critics. i was shocked by the plot and everything in the book. (i kept the book and gave another book i already had)
you would not believe it, (i don't really care whether you do or not), i finished this book in three days time. very, very satisfied with it. i kept laughing like a mad fool at some parts (seriously, this book is funny). the language is amazing. the sentence structure, the comparisons, the WORDS, oh my gosh. they were all so perfect.
aravind adiga (yes, this amazing writer has half of my name(oooo, i am so proud) ), is my new favourite in the literary scene.
i am currently reading Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult, trying hard not to finish it very fast (yes, i am quite a fast reader), letting each sentence to seep into my soul (muahahahahahahaha). i am at page 270,and so far i am LOVING it.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
the reason i say that this book has a special place in my heart is because, this book showed (and proved) to me that you don't need BIG words to express meanings. i mean seriously, the author uses very simple words but it manages to touch the heart. i reread this book right after finishing it in one sitting. UNPUTDOWNABLE. of course most of you would have watched the movie by now, (i haven't....hehehehe) but if you get a chance, you should read this book.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
here is a short synopsis:
Jack St. Bride was once a beloved teacher and soccer coach at a girls' prep school - until a student's crush sparked a powder keg of accusation and robbed him of his career and reputation. Now, after a devastatingly public ordeal that left him with an eight-month jail sentence and no job, Jack resolves to pick up the pieces of his life. He takes a job washing dishes at Addie Peabody's diner and slowly starts to form a relationship with her in the quiet New England village of Salem Falls. But just when Jack thinks he has outrun his past, a quartet of teenage girls with a secret turn his world upside down once again, triggering a modern-day witch hunt in a town haunted by its own history.
Jodi Picoult has this magic in her writing that makes you want to keep reading this book. imagine, i read finish this book at 3.00am and it was worth choosing this book over sleep. it took me two days. and for that two days all i did was read read and read (except eat and bathe....heehehe). this book is unputdownable.seriously, if you are going to start reading this book make sure you don't have any paperwork or assignment due in a couple of days.
the character Jack St. Bride is my favourite. OK, jack is a little too-good-to-be-true sometimes. the author (i don't know how she does it) paints a vivid picture of the small quite town, Salem Falls, in our mind which makes you really want to live a simple life there. the antagonist Gillian Duncan makes us want to smother her to death with a pillow (a thought that came to me at 2.30am, that day)
overall, this was a great read and i recommend everyone out there to read this book.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
i stumbled upon this book ,DAVID COPPERFIELD, on my book shelf recently ,and decided that i would flip through the pages. then, i started to read the About the Author section. it got me interested as they said most of the events in this book were based on his life experiences.
to tell you the truth, i was just being nosey. you know busybody.....hehehehe. i wanted to know what made this man to become the famous author of all times.
and guess what? the book was great. i loved the way he twisted the plot so cunningly. the characters were ( a lot of them) very meticulously detailed. the male characters obviously dominated the book (of course, the author is male). the narration was simple yet touch-heart worthy.
it got me thinking. classics will always be classics. enjoyed all around the world by book lovers everywhere, it will never lose its grace to mesmerize and comfort readers. that's why it is called classic, right?
anyways, to this former-classics-ignorant fool David Copperfield really opened eyes. maybe next time, I'll try one of Mark Twain's, huh? any other classics that i should try?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
if you are going to tell me that this branding is going to give it more womanly appeal that will make screaming girls want to buy that particular book, i say BULLSHIT.
lady1 :chicklit? (in a very high, girly, girly (errrgh) tone)that is my favourite.
lady2: yeah. look at that book's cover. a gorgeous woman isn't she?
lady1: yeah. i am sure that book is fabulous.
lady2: yeah. this book is going to be great. the shirtless man beside her is quite hot too.
lady1: giggle, giggle,giggle
lady2: giggle giggle giggle.
HELLO. ever heard of the saying NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY IT'S COVER (in this case literally). if it is about a depressed woman , it is chicklit. then what's next? if its about a guy playing footbal then it's guylit. (A GREAT BIG SIGH).
i am just trying to say that by creating a sub-genre like chicklit, it is only going to stop many others from reading the book (other than squeaky little girly girls). from the public's eye, if you are reading a chicklit, then you are a chick.(that sounded funny). of course chicklits are not as literary as some other books. but this kind of books might trigger some switch (in that clouded mind) to actually think more about LIFE , while giving you a laugh.
so people of the world, don't cage yourselves into one type of genre. read a lot type of books. guys don't be shy to read a chicklit because truly they are not only for chicks, they are stories about chicks. (you might even get hints on how to win a chick yourself, *wink* *wink*)
thats all people, bye.
Monday, November 10, 2008
her novel, Evening is the Whole Day, is set in Malaysia. her style is reminiscent of other Indian authors like Salman Rushdie and Arundhati Roy but still manages to bring out some very interesting ways of expressing situations and surroundings. her prose is really really really amazing. she is a master storyteller.
Samarasan represents the quiet emergence of new Malaysian writing in books such
as Rani Manicka's The Rice Mother and Touching Earth, Tash Aw's The Harmony Silk Factory, and Tan Twan Eng's Booker-longlisted The Gift of Rain last year.
These writers have significantly broadened our understanding of the region earlier
seen largely through the gin-soaked, misty eyes of Somerset Maugham, the
Tiger-beer induced nostalgia of Anthony Burgess*, or the laconic fiction of Paul
He discusses the socio-political background of the novel : Malaysia permeates Samarasan's novel without didacticism about the country's identity politics. It shows the symbiotic and separate relationship between Malays, Chinese and Indians. Jo Kukathas, the gifted satirist, once joked that in Malaysia "the Chinese do the work, the Malays take the credit, the Indians get the blame". Buried within the quip is a stark divide, explaining the consequences of the May 1969 riots which formed the basis of Lloyd Fernando's 1993 novel, Green is the Colour. ... Those riots led to Malaysia's preferential policies, which benefited Malays over Chinese and Indians, so forcing many non-Malays to seek educational and employment opportunities abroad. and calls the story multi-layered, but feels that the plot gets rather complicated.
Francesca Segal in The Observer yesterday found the novel :
Vibrant, descriptive, and peppered with colourful Indian-Malaysian
dialogue, this is an epic that's informative without being worthy, and
engrossing but not frivolous.Indian reviewers seem perplexed by the novel - you
can almost hear them thinking How come this novelist of Indian heritage, clearly
influenced by Indian authors, isn't writing the kind of Indian novel we expect?
Check out Amardeep's review and the interesting debate in the comments at Sepia Mutiny.
You can find other reviews on Preeta's websiteanyways, guys. i am not going to discuss the plot here. i am just going to leave you with all these information. i am hoping that you will go out and buy this amazingly awesome book which i love so much. this is a must read for every Malaysian. I'll be posting more about this book later. (but seriously go get this book)
Friday, October 31, 2008
A Thousand Splendid Suns is a breathtaking story set against the volatile events of Afghanistan’s last thirty years—from the Soviet invasion to the reign of the Taliban to the post-Taliban rebuilding—that puts the violence, fear, hope, and faith of this country in intimate, human terms. It is a tale of two generations of characters brought jarringly together by the tragic sweep of war, where personal lives—the struggle to survive, raise a family, find happiness—are inextricable from the history playing out around them.Propelled by the same storytelling instinct that made The Kite Runner a beloved classic, A Thousand Splendid Suns is at once a remarkable chronicle of three decades of Afghan history and a deeply moving account of family and friendship. It is a striking, heart-wrenching novel of an unforgiving time, an unlikely friendship, and an indestructible love—a stunning accomplishment
what are you guys and girls waiting for? go out today and get this book. ITS FREAKING GOOD.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
here's an excerpt from chapter 1. enjoy.
The snow started to fall several hours before her labor began. A few flakes first, in the dull gray late-afternoon sky, and then wind-driven swirls and eddies around the edges of their wide front porch. He stood by her side at the window, watching sharp gusts of snow billow, then swirl and drift to the ground. All around the neighborhood, lights came on, and the naked branches of the trees turned white.
After dinner he built a fire, venturing out into the weather for wood he had piled against the garage the previous autumn. The air was bright and cold against his face, and the snow in the driveway was already halfway to his knees. He gathered logs, shaking off their soft white caps and carrying them inside. The kindling in the iron grate caught fire immediately, and he sat for at time on the hearth, cross-legged, adding logs and watching the flames leap, blue-edged and hypnotic. Outside, snow continued to fall quietly through the darkness, as bright and thick as static in the cones of light cast by the streetlights. By the time he rose and looked out the window, their car had become a soft white hill on the edge of the street. Already his footprints in the driveway had filled and disappeared.
He brushed ashes from his hands and sat on the sofa beside his wife, her feet propped on pillows, her swollen ankles crossed, a copy of Dr. Spock balanced on her belly. Absorbed, she licked her index finger absently each time she turned a page. Her hands were slender, her fingers short and sturdy, and she bit her bottom lip lightly, intently, as she read. Watching her, he felt a surge of love and wonder: that she was his wife, that their baby, due in just three weeks, would soon be born. Their first child, this would be. They had been married just a year.
She looked up, smiling, when he tucked the blanket around her legs.
“You know, I’ve been wondering what it’s like,” she said. “Before we’re born, I mean. It’s too bad we can’t remember.” She opened her robe and pulled up the sweater she wore underneath, revealing a belly as round and hard as a melon. She ran her hand across its smooth surface, firelight playing across her skin, casting reddish gold onto her hair. “Do you suppose it’s like being inside a great lantern? The book says light permeates my skin, that the baby can already see.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
She laughed. “Why not?” she asked. “You’re the doctor.”
“I’m just an orthopedic surgeon,” he reminded her. “I could tell you the ossification pattern for fetal bones, but that’s about it.”
He lifted her foot, both delicate and swollen inside the light blue sock, and began to massage it gently: the powerful tarsal bone of her heel, the metatarsals and the phalanges, hidden beneath skin and densely layered muscles like a fan about to open.
Copyright 2006 Kim Edwards
Friday, October 17, 2008
There are a few things Jeremy Marsh was sure he'd never do: he'd never
leave New York City; never give his heart away again after barely surviving one
failed marriage; and most of all, never become a parent. Now, Jeremy is living
in the tiny town of Boone Creek, North Carolina, married to Lexie Darnell, the
love of his life, and anticipating the birth of their daughter. But just as his
life seems to be settling into a blissful pattern, an unsettling and mysterious
message re-opens old wounds and sets off a chain of events that will forever
change the course of this young couple's marriage.