franny and zooey, j. d. salinger

I had to take time to digest this book. I'm not sure why, or if I actually finished digesting it properly, but it felt kind of intense to me, this weird coming-of-age story that made no sense, yet all the sense in the world. I got introduced to the Glass family, and they are truly odd and weird and interesting. Mrs. Glass reminds me of my own mom -- her intrusiveness and her stubbornness and her inability to pay close attention while still paying close attention.

The weirdest, and maybe best, thing about this book, I think, is actually Franny and Zooey. We're introduced to Franny and well, she's strange. She waxes poetic philosophy about the world around her being unoriginal and lacking creativity and beauty. It's the weirdest thing (and it's kind of eerie how Zooey does the same thing, only with more cynicism), and when she breaks down in the bathroom after breaking out in cold sweats--

Abruptly, then, and very quickly, she went into the farthest and most anonymous-looking of the seven or eight enclosures -- which, by luck, didn't require a coin for entrance -- closed the door behind her, and, with some little difficulty, manipulated the bolt to a locked position. Without any apparent regard to the suchness of her environment, she sat down. She brought her knees together very firmly, as if to make herself a smaller, more compact unit. Then she placed her hands, vertically, over her eyes and pressed the heels hard, as though to paralyze the optic nerve and drown all images into a voidlike black. Her extended fingers, though trembling, or because they were trembling, looked oddly graceful and pretty. She held that tense, almost fetal position for a suspensory moment -- then broke down. She cried for fully five minutes.

--that was the most painful part, and even after the initial reading, it still hurts, it's still this breathing thing because that little intense bit is still physically painful and yet, so lovely, because I can imagine this girl, tucked away in a restaurant bathroom, pressing herself together and crying until she couldn't, or until she's forced to pull herself together. (Mostly it just reminds myself of me, and when I was in similar positions one too many times.)

It kind of picks up after that, without so much depressing excerpts (although, it dipped off some more), and came back with one of the coolest and most striking scenes I've read in a book (because I love the visceral feel to it, the grit, the depression, the attention to details, the only backstory you'll ever really need to get inside his head): Zooey emerged in his bathtub, fingers pimpled after spending so long in the water, reading his letter from Buddy while a cigarette sits in between his fingers. That image will probably stick with me for a while yet.

(I didn't have any particular feelings about the letter, to be honest, except for this part:

I was standing at the meat counter, waiting for some rib lamb chops to be cut. A young mother and her little girl were waiting around, too. The little girl was about four, and, to pass the time, she leaned her back against the glass showcase and stared up at my unshaven face. I told her she was about the prettiest little girl I'd seen all day. Which made sense to her; she nodded. I said I'd bet she had a lot of boy friends. I got the same nod again. I asked her how many boy friends she had. She held up two fingers. "Two!" I said. "That's a lot of boy friends. What are their names, sweetheart?" Said she, in a piercing voice, "Bobby and Dorothy." I grabbed my lamb chops and ran.

In his head, Buddy probably heard Zooey and Franny instead.)

There's so many little things that someone can write a paper on (Like a trufax literary paper explaining the juxtaposition of coming one with yourself and coming one with God, or what's the importance of all the little details, like describing what's in each rooms or what's with all the cigarette smoking anyways?, or even the similarities between the aforementioned scene with Buddy and the little girl and Zooey watching the other little girl underneath his window, playing with her dog) and I don't want to get into that -- or maybe I kind of do -- because there are so many things I have yet to really understand, like hmm, what was Salinger even trying to say. (I think I got it, but maybe I don't, and with books, as long as you take something from it, there really is no point to be taken.)

But this, this was beautiful--

Franny now lay sleeping on her side, facing into the back of the couch and the wall, her chin just grazing one of the several toss pillows all around her. Her mouth was closed, but only just. Her right hand, however, on the coverlet, was not merely closed but shut tight; the fingers were clenched, the thumb tucked in -- it was as though, at twenty, she had checked back into the mute, fisty defenses of the nursery. And here at the couch, it should be mentioned, the sun, for all its ungraciousness to the rest of the room, was behaving beautifully. It shone full on Franny's hair, which was jet-black and very prettily cut, and had been washed three times in as many days. Sunshine, in fact, bathed the entire afghan, and the play of warm, brilliant light in the pale-blue wool was in itself well worth beholding.

--and the phone call between them at the end made me realize what it truly means to be at peace with oneself and with the people you've loved and lost. (To say that this family, particularly Franny and Zooey, weren't taking the death of their brother Seymour pretty hard would be a lie, and I think that's the root of her breakdown and the bitterness in his heart.) So when Franny smiled at the end -- For some minutes, before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she just lay quiet, smiling at the ceiling. -- it made me feel good that she felt good.

I don't know if I particularly love this book -- I love so many parts of it, though -- but I definitely don't hate it. I'd like to read it again, to get into their heads one more time and better understand the mechanics of their thinking. And then maybe read about the Glass family some more.

the no. 1 ladies' detective agency, by alexander mccall smith.

This book had a very unique storytelling presence that I quite enjoyed. (A good friend sent it to me back in August, and I have finally sat down and read it. I feel really bad since it wasn't her book to begin with. Uh, I at least didn't damage it? :D?) When Precious talked about Africa, it reminded me of Haiti, the way she described the land and her feelings toward it. It made me stop and think, about what Haiti means to me, about the people and the culture. It was blunt in a way that made the narrative's affirmations clear, and I liked that. For example, this passage--

But why would I want to go to Zululand? Why should I ever want anything but to live in Botswana, and to marry a Tswana girl? I said to him that Zululand sounded fine, but that every man has a map in his heart of his own country and that the heart will never allow you for forget this map. I told him that in Botswana we did not have the green hills that he had in his place, nor the sea, but we had the Kalahari and land that stretched farther than one could imagine. I told him that if man is born in a dry place, then although he may dream of rain, he does not want too much, and that he will not mind the sun that beats down and down. So I never went with him to Zululand and I never saw the sea, ever. But that has not made me unhappy, not once.

(The entire chapter surrounding Obed's -- Precious' father -- history and life was kind of interesting to read. It's like listening to your grandfather's tale of yonder, his endless stories of how he got here, the pain and suffering he went through, and that small beacon of hope that got him through it and how He Made It, basically. My own parents have a ton of those stories.)

I also really loved how this book asserted women, for the most part. Of course, most Africans have a different culture than ours and women are still seen to have a distinct role in society, but it was really awesome to see people, especially Precious, breaking those boundaries and going into territory specifically designed for men.

I really liked this proverb--

"We are the ones who first ploughed the earth when Mother (God) made it," ran an old Setswana poem. "We were the ones who made the food. We are the ones who look after the men when they are little boys, when they are young men, and when they are old and about to die. We are always there. But we are just women, and nobody sees us."

--because it's something that's happening even today, and I think people forget just how important and vital women are sometimes, doing "thankless" jobs and the such.

Besides that, it's a kind of awesome book where Precious Ramotswe is a lady detective, the first of her kind, and sells her late father's cattle to buy a house and a business and becomes quite successful despite some people's discomfort at her being in that sort of position. Oh, I loved how she kept bringing up Agatha Christie every time someone was like, "But that makes no sense! You are a woman!" Like this--

"Women are the ones who know what's going on," she said quietly. "They are the ones with eyes. Have you not heard of Agatha Christie?"

The lawyer looked taken aback. "Agatha Christie? Of course I know her. Yes, that is true. A woman sees more than a man sees. That is well-known."

"So," said Mma Ramotswe, "when people see a sign saying NO. 1 LADIES' DETECTIVE AGENCY, what will they think? They'll think those ladies will know what's going on. They're the ones."

The lawyer stroked his chin. "Maybe."

"Yes," said Mma Ramotswe. "Maybe." Adding, "Your zip, Rra. I think you may not have noticed..."

SHE'S SO SASSY! I love it. And the whole story with Nandira was the the sweetest thing. She found her real Jack after all! I can't wait to read the rest of the books from this series, just to see if Precious gets her own happily ever after.

harry potter and the sorcerer's stone, by j.k. rowling

Okay, let's get this out of the way: I've never read the Harry Potter books in my life. I know, I know. I'm trying to correct this great grievance! It's never too late!

The best part of books, for me, isn't the characters -- which is actually a major, major plus because I can't read an entire novel about an irredeemable asshole --, but instead the worldbuilding and setup for the universe. And this one was awesome. She made up a sport for it! That is so neat.

Ron Weasley might be my favorite. He's terribly adorable and endearing and so cute. I just wanted to hug him! And he made me laugh sometimes! I kind of saw myself lol projecting on Harry some at the beginning when he was at the Dursley's (so predictable, self!) because it was kind of horrible how they were treating him, and I found Harry's general obliviousness kind of charming. Hermione is so sassy; she's such a nerd, but she saves them, and they make such a kickass little team.

I loved this part--

Ron, at the next table, wasn't having much luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwich, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

Ron was UPSET and then he MADE HER CRY and then--

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

THEY SAVE HER FROM A TROLL. THAT IS SO ADORABLE, OH MY GOD. *_____* (Am I supposed to be shipping Ron/Hermione? Because I totally ship it.) I'm so excited to read the rest, yessss.

interpreter of maladies, by jhumpa lahiri.

The best part about this book, and there are many best parts, is the simple and clear language that Lahiri writes her stories, a story that tells one thing, but it can be translated into so many other little things because it's just so sharp. I love that all of her themes in the stories are about love, friendships, and relationships with people you love -- or are supposed to love -- or just people you meet.

This made my heart ache--

But the more I tried to distract myself, the more I began to convince myself that Mr. Pirzada's family was in all likelihood dead. Eventually I took a square of white chocolate out of the box, and unwrapped it, and then I did something I had never done before. I put the chocolate in my mouth, letting it soften until the last possible moment, and then as I chewed it slowly, I prayed that Mr. Pirzada's family was safe and sound. I had never prayed for anything before, had never been taught or told to, but I decided, given the circumstances, that it was something I should do. That night when I went to the bathroom I only pretended to brush my teeth, for I feared that I would somehow rinse the prayer out as well. I wet the bursh and rearranged the rube of paste to prevent my parents from asking questions, and fell asleep with sugar on my tongue.

--because it's such a child thing to do, to pray with chocolate, but just the nature of it is so clear-cut and real.

"Sexy" left me unsettled, left me feeling too much -- if that was possible -- because there were way too many people getting hurt, way too much unsettled emotions being spoken and unspoken. "A Real Durwan" made me terribly sad because all I can think about is how the residents of the apartment building cast out Boori Ma when she did nothing wrong, an old lady just trying to do her duties as she sees fit.

"The Third And Final Continent" though, was the perfect way to end the book, left on the hopeful tale that things can actually work out in the end.

I love how it went from this--

For five nights we shared a bed. Each of those nights, after applying cold cream and braiding her hair, which she tied up at the end with a black cotton string, she turned from me and wept; she missed her parents. Although I would be leaving the country in a few days, custom dictated that she was now a part of my household, and for the next six weeks she was to live with my brother and his wife, cooking, cleaning, serving tea and sweets to guest. I did nothing to console her.

--to this--

"She is a perfect lady!"

Now it was I who laughed. I did so quietly, and Mrs. Croft did not hear me. But Mala heard, and, for the first time, we looked at each other and smiled.

--and ended the book with this--

In my son's eyes I see the ambition that had first hurled me across the world. In a few years he will graduate and pave his way, alone and unprotected. But I remind myself that he has a father who is still living, a mother who is happy and strong. Whenever he is discouraged, I tell him that if I can survive on three continents, then there is no obstacle he cannot conquer. While the astronauts, heroes forever, spent mere hours on the moon, I have remained in this new world for nearly thirty years. I know that my achievement is quite ordinary. I am not the only man to seek his fortune far from home, and certainly not the first. Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.

♥

the secret garden, by frances hodgson burnett.

After softlyforgotten wrote her book review, I told myself that I HAVE to buy this book and read it again. That was months ago! But yesterday I pulled it out and read it all in one day.

Oh, you guys. I forgot how much this book meant to me. ♥ Mary is this foul-tempered thing with a sour attitude and seeing her become this lovely little person, it was amazing. *___* Especially when she interacts with the robin--

Mary began to laugh, and as he hopped and took little flights along the wall she ran after him. Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Mary--she actually looked almost pretty for a moment.

"I like you! I like you!" she cried out, pattering down the walk; and she chirped and tried to whistle, which last she did not know how to do in the least. But the robin seemed to be quite satisfied and chirped and whistled back at her. At last he spread his wings and made a darting flight to the top of the tree, where he perched and sang loudly.

--it's so darling because here comes this tiny, beautiful, red-breasted bird and HE CHANGES EVERYTHING. (Oh, and when the robin and his mate start watching them and describes Colin as a bird trying to fly, that humans were always more clumsy and slow than Eggs, I actually cooed in real life.)

And Mary thinks Dickon is an ANGEL and BEAUTIFUL, and--

"He's gone," she said woefully. "Oh! was he--was he--was he only a wood fairy?"

Something white fastened to the standard rose-bush caught her eye. It was a piece of paper, in fact, it was a piece of the letter she printed for Martha to send to Dickon. It was fastened on the bush with a long thorn, and in a minute she knew Dickon had left it there. There were some roughly printed letters on it and a sort of picture. At first she could not tell what it was. Then she saw it was meant for a nest with a bird sitting on it. Underneath were the printed letters and they said:

"I will cum bak."

--HE WILL COME BACK, YOU GUYS. HOW ARE THEY PRECIOUS. Also, all the talk about Magic makes me so damn positive and happy, that I think this book will cheer up even the most foul of moods. ♥

timeline, by michael crichton.

This book is the closest thing to my favorite book -- mostly because I can't really remember anything else I've read -- but I've read it countless number of times and so I'm really glad I reread it again.

It's a tale that weaves physics and 14th century history together into one story with action and knights and squires and ladies of the court and all of those awesome things that I love with historical stories into one.

I guess the most difficult concept in this book is that time travel is essentially impossible, that because time is continuous, it cannot move and you can't travel to a different time as if it's a location. The physics was kind of difficult to swallow because I know nothing about quantum mechanics, but oh god, it was so interesting. *____* I don't want to spoil anything because it's kind of important to the story, but there's so much adventure and imagery and it's the best thing.

read read read

I've decided to sign up for the POC Reading Challenge this year -- level 4 -- and I'm really excited. Reviews will go up whenever I remember to do them.