I got curious as to whether there were others out there who blogs about reading. I shouldn't have been so surprised since everyone these days blogs about everything, but I nonetheless was shocked at how many blogs were out there dedicated solely to the reading experience. I looked through a few and I couldn't help myself but to mentally compare mine with theirs.
And theirs were really good and mine not so much. Other people actually write coherent entries about literature and reading. And the entries seem to offer some definite opinion to the world. Finally, the other blogs are not so personal.
Mine, on the other hand, is so egocentric. I... I... I... I... I. And my entries about are about too many things, none that should be of interest to anybody but me. My entries are personal and unfocused.
But I like my blog. The other blogs seem to address an audience; I address myself. My goal of this blog was to have a place to write out my obsession with books and reading.
30 October 2007
Found Bookmarks
I have actually designated a box for collecting my bookmarks. If I find any homeless bookmark in my house, it goes in the box. And I have found six so far. They are my favorites from different phases in my life all lost in a pile of stuff or placed in a book I vowed to read and then lost interest after 30 pages.
I do have too many books I have started and never finished. I don't believe I am ever obligated to finishing a book if the writer doesn't engage me. But there are some lovely books I like and want to finish but I get stuck at the last 100 pages. Maybe I should focus on finishing my three-fourth read books before starting anything new, no matter how tempting a new book.
I started a huge tome--the Quentin Bell biography of Virginia Woolf. The writing is so dry and so from another world that it's really difficult to get through the chapters. But I am determined to read through the first 200 or so page before making my final judgment. The beginning of any biography is dull and full of info on people I don't care about such as Virginia Woolf's great great grandfather. And I don't care too much about v. woolf's childhood either. So I'll wait it out and perhaps I'll discover interesting stuff. The Einstein book I've been intending to read for about a month now has won the Quill Award, an award I have never heard of. Well, the ceremony was on TV so the book must be good?
So right now, actively reading:
1. Virginia Woolf, a biography by Quentin Bell
2. The (in)famous The Craft of Research
I had this uncontrollable desire to read the Craft of Research. Unbelievable considering I had refused to read it so many times in college. How annoying it must've been to my professors when this science major asks for help on writing papers and then adamantly refuses the advice of starting with that book? I am not against reading books on writing; in fact, there are a few that I really like (s.a. writing for social scientists, reading like a writer, the elements of style, on writing well). But something about this book just makes me want to write a really crappy paper instead of learning the "craft." It's so textbook-ish and the tone kind of patronizing.
But these days, I do long for a clear explanation on constructing arguments. And I really appreciate the clear, organized, and, well, textbook-ish prose. So I started reading the craft of research. And I like it so far. I think after having struggled with papers, I appreciate this volume more. Kind of like how I understood the elements of style more now that I have actually made most of the mistakes in that book. I also think it's a good idea for me to read the book before entering graduate school (a real one as opposed to a professional school). I am sure I'll read it once more my first year in grad school.
I do have too many books I have started and never finished. I don't believe I am ever obligated to finishing a book if the writer doesn't engage me. But there are some lovely books I like and want to finish but I get stuck at the last 100 pages. Maybe I should focus on finishing my three-fourth read books before starting anything new, no matter how tempting a new book.
I started a huge tome--the Quentin Bell biography of Virginia Woolf. The writing is so dry and so from another world that it's really difficult to get through the chapters. But I am determined to read through the first 200 or so page before making my final judgment. The beginning of any biography is dull and full of info on people I don't care about such as Virginia Woolf's great great grandfather. And I don't care too much about v. woolf's childhood either. So I'll wait it out and perhaps I'll discover interesting stuff. The Einstein book I've been intending to read for about a month now has won the Quill Award, an award I have never heard of. Well, the ceremony was on TV so the book must be good?
So right now, actively reading:
1. Virginia Woolf, a biography by Quentin Bell
2. The (in)famous The Craft of Research
I had this uncontrollable desire to read the Craft of Research. Unbelievable considering I had refused to read it so many times in college. How annoying it must've been to my professors when this science major asks for help on writing papers and then adamantly refuses the advice of starting with that book? I am not against reading books on writing; in fact, there are a few that I really like (s.a. writing for social scientists, reading like a writer, the elements of style, on writing well). But something about this book just makes me want to write a really crappy paper instead of learning the "craft." It's so textbook-ish and the tone kind of patronizing.
But these days, I do long for a clear explanation on constructing arguments. And I really appreciate the clear, organized, and, well, textbook-ish prose. So I started reading the craft of research. And I like it so far. I think after having struggled with papers, I appreciate this volume more. Kind of like how I understood the elements of style more now that I have actually made most of the mistakes in that book. I also think it's a good idea for me to read the book before entering graduate school (a real one as opposed to a professional school). I am sure I'll read it once more my first year in grad school.
29 October 2007
to craft or to read
ARRRRRGH...... I. want. this. book. so. so. much.
One Skein Wonder
I realize that I like to knit cute and quick stuff. I am not a sweater or a bedspread knitter. And I like to knit easy mellow patterns because I knit to think and relax in front of the TV. Finally, I am poor so I can't buy more than one ball of a really nice or even a moderately nice yarn. So I am always looking for cute worthwhile and easy patterns that will make something small.
I was searching through amazon and I really want that book. I wanna knit the little cupcakes and the felted bag. But I feel I should buy yarn if I have the money to buy a knitting book. Hmm...
One Skein Wonder
I realize that I like to knit cute and quick stuff. I am not a sweater or a bedspread knitter. And I like to knit easy mellow patterns because I knit to think and relax in front of the TV. Finally, I am poor so I can't buy more than one ball of a really nice or even a moderately nice yarn. So I am always looking for cute worthwhile and easy patterns that will make something small.
I was searching through amazon and I really want that book. I wanna knit the little cupcakes and the felted bag. But I feel I should buy yarn if I have the money to buy a knitting book. Hmm...
Learning to Look
Reference: Learning to Look: A Handbook for the Visual Arts, Joshua C. Taylor
Finally finished reading the above-mentioned book. It's a short (about 100 pages) introduction to the visual arts and I did really like it for the most part. I kept thinking how wonderful it would've been to have read this books years back, maybe in high school. The book doesn't go into anything in depth but was enough to get one started in appreciating a work of art. But it took me a whole week to get through this short volume and I was getting tired toward the end. The chapter on the technical aspects of art was tedious and uninteresting. I did not want to know about the various printing techniques and sculpture tools. The books is also a bit dated--there's hardly any information on photography and installations. But other than that, I thought it was a good read.
I can see why others might not like it. The pictures are black and white (except for the first two) and all in the front of the book, making the reader flip back and forth. I actually liked that since the author guides the reader through the point he is trying to make with the art example and the color was often irrelevant. Also, having to flip back and forth affords the reader the opportunity to look just at the picture. I hate it when a science textbook has all these pretty pictures embedded in the text; I simply can't manage my splitting attention.
The other potential criticism is that there's breadth but no depth. The information on color and perspective is basic, the art terminologies only superficially introduced, and there are no details on art history. But adding those details would detract from the point of the book which is, I think, trying to get someone to realize that one must learn to look just like one had to learn to read. Without learning to read and practicing the skill, one cannot appreciate a work of literature. Similarly, one must learn to look and learn to analyze the different aspects of what one sees to truly appreciate art. This small volume doesn't pretend to be a book on color theory, or art history, or philosophy of art.
Finally finished reading the above-mentioned book. It's a short (about 100 pages) introduction to the visual arts and I did really like it for the most part. I kept thinking how wonderful it would've been to have read this books years back, maybe in high school. The book doesn't go into anything in depth but was enough to get one started in appreciating a work of art. But it took me a whole week to get through this short volume and I was getting tired toward the end. The chapter on the technical aspects of art was tedious and uninteresting. I did not want to know about the various printing techniques and sculpture tools. The books is also a bit dated--there's hardly any information on photography and installations. But other than that, I thought it was a good read.
I can see why others might not like it. The pictures are black and white (except for the first two) and all in the front of the book, making the reader flip back and forth. I actually liked that since the author guides the reader through the point he is trying to make with the art example and the color was often irrelevant. Also, having to flip back and forth affords the reader the opportunity to look just at the picture. I hate it when a science textbook has all these pretty pictures embedded in the text; I simply can't manage my splitting attention.
The other potential criticism is that there's breadth but no depth. The information on color and perspective is basic, the art terminologies only superficially introduced, and there are no details on art history. But adding those details would detract from the point of the book which is, I think, trying to get someone to realize that one must learn to look just like one had to learn to read. Without learning to read and practicing the skill, one cannot appreciate a work of literature. Similarly, one must learn to look and learn to analyze the different aspects of what one sees to truly appreciate art. This small volume doesn't pretend to be a book on color theory, or art history, or philosophy of art.
random musings about books
One thing I miss about college is having the world's best excuse to buy expensive and obscure books. The sane thing to do, of course, is to check out the professor and the syllabus before signing up for a class. I do that, but I also look through the required books for that course at the seminary coop. That by itself, isn't odd; it's a good idea to go through the reading list to see if it's inviting. But I don't look so much at the content as the physical feel of the books I'd be getting. I look at the size, the cover, the weight. Then I open up the books and check out the font, how the paper feels, how thick the pages are. And then I try to envision the books on my bookshelf in my dorm and wonder if they go with my other books. Of course the books aren't the sole deciding factor for taking a class and the look and feel of the books are completely irrelevant in a science class (because those books are all so very pretty and expensive anyway), but it does seriously distress me if I decide not to take a class that has such a pretty set of books.
Well, I think I have acquired a nice set of books from college. I've never been rich but I'd never consider selling my books. When in my life will I have an excuse to buy such obscure philosophy or history books? The books record my life and my choices so much better than my many half-filled diaries. Sometimes I open up my books and check out the marking and the notes I left. I love to just stare at my bookshelves and it seems to speak back to me and tell me who I am: the core curriculum I've endured, the topics I love enough to read about, the books that made me cry, and the interests I've abandoned years back.
I always wanted to devote on wall of my bedroom as a library and it always bothered me that my books were scattered everywhere with my bookshelves spread out in random places. It was a revolution last weekend; my room now finally looks and feels different from the room I had in high school. Now I have all my bookshelves on one wall and I even moved my bed so that I sleep perpendicular to my bookshelves. The rearrangement makes the starring at books so much easier and I sleep better with books on my side.
I still have to rearrange my bookshelves. Because of the move, I just took out all the books and put them randomly back into the shelves. I have been arranging my books by subject, size, and side cover. But I actually like the current chaotic arrangement of books. The variations in size and colors, and the juxtaposition of two entirely different subjects seem to represent me better than the orderly arrangements I spend too much energy maintaining. Perhaps I will leave arrangement of books to chance for now.
Well, I think I have acquired a nice set of books from college. I've never been rich but I'd never consider selling my books. When in my life will I have an excuse to buy such obscure philosophy or history books? The books record my life and my choices so much better than my many half-filled diaries. Sometimes I open up my books and check out the marking and the notes I left. I love to just stare at my bookshelves and it seems to speak back to me and tell me who I am: the core curriculum I've endured, the topics I love enough to read about, the books that made me cry, and the interests I've abandoned years back.
I always wanted to devote on wall of my bedroom as a library and it always bothered me that my books were scattered everywhere with my bookshelves spread out in random places. It was a revolution last weekend; my room now finally looks and feels different from the room I had in high school. Now I have all my bookshelves on one wall and I even moved my bed so that I sleep perpendicular to my bookshelves. The rearrangement makes the starring at books so much easier and I sleep better with books on my side.
I still have to rearrange my bookshelves. Because of the move, I just took out all the books and put them randomly back into the shelves. I have been arranging my books by subject, size, and side cover. But I actually like the current chaotic arrangement of books. The variations in size and colors, and the juxtaposition of two entirely different subjects seem to represent me better than the orderly arrangements I spend too much energy maintaining. Perhaps I will leave arrangement of books to chance for now.
02 October 2007
To thine own self be true
Reference: All Men Are Mortal, Simone de Beauvoir.
Fosca is incapable of looking past death. He sees it everywhere and in everyone. How painful must it be to see the transient nature of life in loved ones? Al once said that people are productive because they must distract themselves from the inevitability death. But in de Beauvoir's book, death is a prepossessing concept to the immortal one. Oddly, the ones who shall die after so few summers do not think about death. They think about purpose and meaning. Life, however, loses all its meaning when it becomes infinite. So does it naturally follow that we give meaning to what we do because we can't do it all? Perhaps the choices we make become who we are not because of what we picked but because of the possibilities we left behind. So if we don't make our own choices then we are not facing up to the limits of life. Is that denying authenticity, living in bad faith as the existentialist would say?
Time limits the number of books I can read. Time necessitates that I make a choice about my career. The choices always sacrifice the possibilities. But if I can have all the time in the world and can claim all possibilities, I am everything and nothing. I no longer exist.
Fosca is incapable of looking past death. He sees it everywhere and in everyone. How painful must it be to see the transient nature of life in loved ones? Al once said that people are productive because they must distract themselves from the inevitability death. But in de Beauvoir's book, death is a prepossessing concept to the immortal one. Oddly, the ones who shall die after so few summers do not think about death. They think about purpose and meaning. Life, however, loses all its meaning when it becomes infinite. So does it naturally follow that we give meaning to what we do because we can't do it all? Perhaps the choices we make become who we are not because of what we picked but because of the possibilities we left behind. So if we don't make our own choices then we are not facing up to the limits of life. Is that denying authenticity, living in bad faith as the existentialist would say?
Time limits the number of books I can read. Time necessitates that I make a choice about my career. The choices always sacrifice the possibilities. But if I can have all the time in the world and can claim all possibilities, I am everything and nothing. I no longer exist.
too many and too few
References: All Men Are Mortal, Simone de Beauvoir; Virginia Woolf, Quentin Bell; Einstein: His Life and Universe, Walter Issacson
"Haven't you done enough reading for today?"
...
"But there are so many books to read," she replied.
"Too many and too few."
p. 113
All Men are Mortal
I was informing Bry last night that I want to find and marry my Leonard. The conversation made me want to read Quentin Bell's biography of Virginia Woolf. I've had that tome since my second year and attempted to read it a few times. But it's an overwhelming volume. I do wonder how people get through biographies. Other than for a junior high English class assignment, why do people read biographies? Can anyone be THAT interested in another person?
Well, apparently so. I am dying to read the biography of v. woolf as well as that of Einstein. They are both about 500 pages but I guess I see the reading experience as a treasure hunt. I would search for some answers from those biographies. I read in Luhrmann's aims of education speech that we read Marx, Weber, and Freud in our core curriculum courses so that we can see how others decided which questions are worth asking. But those writings aren't personal. You can only infer what personal circumstances and logic brought those great thinkers to choose the subject matter they did. I want more definite answers. I want more help, in my early twenties, from the people I admire and am attracted to in making my important decisions.
I want to know how one becomes a writer, how one doesn't get discouraged, and how one copes with the uncertainties of life. How does one pick the path one is solely responsible for. And in reading virginia woolf's biography, I do want to know how she found her Leonard. I also want to search for traces of her madness. Was it visible since she was a child or did it suddenly creep up on her and engulfed her being? How did she work with such an insidious disorder and will I be able to produce as well...
Well, I guess I want to read biographies to find the answers for myself. Sometimes I think I read to survive.
I am at a phase of my reading cycle when there are too many books I want to read. I am basking in my anticipation. But there are times when there seems to be nothing left to read in the entire world. There are books out there I know, but nothing attracts me. I sleep with books piled on my bedside table. It makes me feel safe knowing there's so much to read. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I compulsively buy books: I have a fear of running out of things to read.
"Haven't you done enough reading for today?"
...
"But there are so many books to read," she replied.
"Too many and too few."
p. 113
All Men are Mortal
I was informing Bry last night that I want to find and marry my Leonard. The conversation made me want to read Quentin Bell's biography of Virginia Woolf. I've had that tome since my second year and attempted to read it a few times. But it's an overwhelming volume. I do wonder how people get through biographies. Other than for a junior high English class assignment, why do people read biographies? Can anyone be THAT interested in another person?
Well, apparently so. I am dying to read the biography of v. woolf as well as that of Einstein. They are both about 500 pages but I guess I see the reading experience as a treasure hunt. I would search for some answers from those biographies. I read in Luhrmann's aims of education speech that we read Marx, Weber, and Freud in our core curriculum courses so that we can see how others decided which questions are worth asking. But those writings aren't personal. You can only infer what personal circumstances and logic brought those great thinkers to choose the subject matter they did. I want more definite answers. I want more help, in my early twenties, from the people I admire and am attracted to in making my important decisions.
I want to know how one becomes a writer, how one doesn't get discouraged, and how one copes with the uncertainties of life. How does one pick the path one is solely responsible for. And in reading virginia woolf's biography, I do want to know how she found her Leonard. I also want to search for traces of her madness. Was it visible since she was a child or did it suddenly creep up on her and engulfed her being? How did she work with such an insidious disorder and will I be able to produce as well...
Well, I guess I want to read biographies to find the answers for myself. Sometimes I think I read to survive.
I am at a phase of my reading cycle when there are too many books I want to read. I am basking in my anticipation. But there are times when there seems to be nothing left to read in the entire world. There are books out there I know, but nothing attracts me. I sleep with books piled on my bedside table. It makes me feel safe knowing there's so much to read. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I compulsively buy books: I have a fear of running out of things to read.
All Men are Mortal
Reference: All Men Are Mortal, Simone de Beauvoir; The Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir; Camus & Sartre: the story of a friendship and the quarrel that ended it, Ronald Aronson; Being and Nothingness, Sartre
This book is a Tuck Everlasting for adults though I am pretty sure de Beauvoir wrote her book first. I wanted to know what she can say as an existentialist rather than as a feminist (The Second Sex). After all, she did tie Sartre in some philosophy exam.
Anyway, the book is fascinating. It's not literary and the sentences are abruptly put forth one after another. The characters are also so unlikable. Regina, for example, is so infuriating. I can totally understand her, but I hate her because I am afraid to be her. I was really enjoying the interaction between Regina and Forsa... so it was a huge disappointment when I realized that the rest of the book will be only about Fosca and his centuries of immoral actions derived from immortality. yuck.
But Forsa's story is fascinating too. It's so historical. I've just finished the medieval part and I can't wait to see how we'll zoom past history.
This book reminds me of albert. He'd love this book. He annoyed me with his talk about how life is all about distracting ourselves from the inevitability of death. He'll eat this up.
Some quotes:
"There'll be plenty of sign," Roger said gayly.
"But none of them will really be certain. You're lucky not to be ambitious."
He laughed. "What's to top you from imitating me?"
Regina laughed, too, but mirthlessly. "Myself," she replied.
p. 4
"He did exactly what he wanted and he hoped for nothing."
"Is that what's important, then--to do what you want to do?"
"It was important for him."
"And for you?'
"He didn't worry about me."
"But was he right or wrong?"
"I can't answer for him."
p. 58
I have a sudden urge now to read the existentialists. I want to finish that Camus and Sartre friendship book from my humanities class. I want to finish The Second Sex from my sosc class. I want to read being and nothingness.
Can I really read being and nothingness all by myself? Is it possible to read a 800 pg book like that outside of a philosophy class? Will I appreciate it? Will I be THAT interested in reading about bad faith?
well, that was my first real entry. it was so choppy. random. boring. hopefully the blog will get better.
This book is a Tuck Everlasting for adults though I am pretty sure de Beauvoir wrote her book first. I wanted to know what she can say as an existentialist rather than as a feminist (The Second Sex). After all, she did tie Sartre in some philosophy exam.
Anyway, the book is fascinating. It's not literary and the sentences are abruptly put forth one after another. The characters are also so unlikable. Regina, for example, is so infuriating. I can totally understand her, but I hate her because I am afraid to be her. I was really enjoying the interaction between Regina and Forsa... so it was a huge disappointment when I realized that the rest of the book will be only about Fosca and his centuries of immoral actions derived from immortality. yuck.
But Forsa's story is fascinating too. It's so historical. I've just finished the medieval part and I can't wait to see how we'll zoom past history.
This book reminds me of albert. He'd love this book. He annoyed me with his talk about how life is all about distracting ourselves from the inevitability of death. He'll eat this up.
Some quotes:
"There'll be plenty of sign," Roger said gayly.
"But none of them will really be certain. You're lucky not to be ambitious."
He laughed. "What's to top you from imitating me?"
Regina laughed, too, but mirthlessly. "Myself," she replied.
p. 4
"He did exactly what he wanted and he hoped for nothing."
"Is that what's important, then--to do what you want to do?"
"It was important for him."
"And for you?'
"He didn't worry about me."
"But was he right or wrong?"
"I can't answer for him."
p. 58
I have a sudden urge now to read the existentialists. I want to finish that Camus and Sartre friendship book from my humanities class. I want to finish The Second Sex from my sosc class. I want to read being and nothingness.
Can I really read being and nothingness all by myself? Is it possible to read a 800 pg book like that outside of a philosophy class? Will I appreciate it? Will I be THAT interested in reading about bad faith?
well, that was my first real entry. it was so choppy. random. boring. hopefully the blog will get better.
A new beginning
This is a test entry. This is nonetheless my first entry in this blog.
Currently obsessed with: "All Men are Mortal" by Simone de Beauvoir.
Currently obsessed with: "All Men are Mortal" by Simone de Beauvoir.
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