my christmas miracle

I hope everyone had nice holidays and happy 2009! I had my own little Christmas miracle this year and it was especially nice because it involved a book: I found myself a nice readable copy of Middlemarch by George Eliot.

I have been wanting to read Middlemarch since fall 2003. Every time I read a Middlemarch reference, I cringe and wonder why I still haven't read it. At first I thought the length of the book was the deterrant. Middlemarch sounds like a book I'd like, but can I commit to 800 or so pages? Well, I am not sure, but I would sure like to try because I REALLY WANT TO READ MIDDLEMARCH.

Still, I was not reading Middlemarch. And it soon became clear to me that the problem wasn't so much that the book was a tome. It's just that I could not find a nice copy of the book. And I suppose it IS tangentially related to the thickness of the book because if it were a shorter book, I might endure an ugly copy. However, given that it is a book that will accompany for many hours, I could not stand to read an ugly copy. You can perhaps go on a date with someone you are not in love with, but can you do the same with marriage? Same concept with books...

Anyway, Middlemarch soon became my White Whale. Every time I go to a bookstore, I sought out the book. I would find a copy, get excited and hopeful, approach it, pick it up, and subsequently realize that this is not the book I was looking for. Sure it was Middlemarch and all the words were there, but no, it was not the right book.

I was not looking for a nice literary academic copy. No no... what I wanted a pretty book because reading involves all senses. But alas the copies I found were usually paperback (not nice trade paperback, just paperback) with ugly newsprint quality paper with even an uglier font. Not only that, the ink was cheap and bleeding everywhere so the letters were collapsing on themselves. And the sound the paper made as I tried to turn the page was not pleasant. Don't even get me started on the smell.

Is it so much to ask to read great works for literature between nice sturdy covers? Can't the words be accompanied by classy cover and spine designs? I want off white, not gray, background and letters that are so thin and fit they look like they work out.

We don't read enough great novels. I believe the fact that the readily available classics are cheaply made these days contribute to this problem. Do people believe that because the words are so lovely that the physical manifestation of them are irrelevant? Can other readers ignore the awkwardly sized, newspaper quality papers that smell bad because the world depicted in the story are more beautiful? I certainly can't. If we make the classics even as nice as new chick lit novels, I am sure people will read more "Jane Eyre"s and "A Room with a View"s.

Going back to my White Whale, it all ended fabulously at the Strand. I have almost given up by this point but I felt compelled to check as to feed my obsession. So I go to the fiction section and under Eliot, amist ugly copies of Silas Miner, I see a promising looking copy of Middlemarch. It's not an academic edition, but it was beautiful! A nice hardcover elegant copy left there just for me. It was six dollars and arrived at the bookstore on Dec 13, 2008 for me to have a christmas miracle. Or at least that's what I'd like to believe.

My 2009 reading year kicks off with Middlemarch and all is well.

Hope all is well with you too, and happy reading!

signs of the Times...

There are many things that signal the end of the holiday season. The holiday lights on people's lawns go dark, the Rockefeller tree comes down, it becomes uncool to pay so much to go ice skating, and the stores sales that offer such a nice bargain don't come with the cheery holiday decorations.

But for me, what shakes me out of the holiday spirit is the shock of the Sunday Times that immediately follows the Christmas day. All of a sudden, for the four dollars you fork over, you get a very thin newspaper. I know the Sunday Times is still a tome compared to the weekday one, but today, as I picked up my copy at the local stationary, I couldn't believe how trimmed down it was.

I thought for a second that maybe some sections were missing. But I go to this particular store because the owner left out a section only once in the six months I've been going there... and it was a business section so all was well. I will never go to that one walgreens that left out the book review. So I knew all the sections were there.

And when I got home, I did confirm nothing was missing. But alas, gone are the glossy advertisements I throw out without reading. And every section was extremely thin, so thin that it was actually fold-able. The main news section didn't have page after page of Macy's ads. when i turn a page, i actually found an article. And yes it seems like all the articles are there. and the thin sections, as I've said, are not as unwieldy as before making the reading easier.

But I miss the advertisements with happy fashionable people wearing expensive things. The articles about Zimbabwe doesn't depress me as much when it is sandwiched in between an ad featuring santa and sweaters from Saks fifth ave. And while I know the ads will return (i hope) at the end of 2009, I am not so sure about the thinning job and real estate listings. I remember the time when there had to be a whole separate section-like-thingy for real estate listings. I was so annoyed at having another thing to recycle. but now it is attacheed to the real estate section almost like an afterthought.

Growing up is all about realizing that nothing can be counted on and everything is only for now. I do hope though that I can for years to come count on thick sunday times to unpack every december.

a link

From a very lazy blogger, a link to an excellent essay about book collecting:

The Well-tended Bookshelf

preserved thoughts

When this book is mould,
And a book of many
Waiting to be sold
For a casual penny,
In a little open case,
In a street unclean and cluttered,
Where a heavy mud is spattered
From the passing drays,

Stranger, pause and look;
From the dust of ages
Lift this little book,
Turn the tattered pages,
Read me, do not let me die!
Search the fading letters, finding
Steadfast in the broken binding
All that once was I!

From "The Poet and His Book"
Edna St. Vincent Millay

This poem I found in a book that was actually falling apart with tattered pages and a broken binding. I salvaged the tiny poetry volume in a pile of free books outside the Reg. As expected the selection there was poor but I was a first year and did not yet know that. But the search yielded me a couple of quaint books that I honestly took only because they were pretty, not too heavy and written by a poet I wanted to read.

After years of neglect, I picked up the two volumes again. I Read the book of sonnets first because it was shorter. And now this tiny blue book of lyrics have become a close friend. It's almost too scary to read the book though. It was a cheap volume even back when it was published: a 50 cent volume in the 50s for the masses. The paper is beyond yellow, the beginning few pages have already broken off, and the little pieces of papers from the cover peels off into my hands every time I read the book. I am not particularly kind to books. I like to "break them in" as to make them unique. But this time I've been careful. I don't even carry it around with me anymore on the buses and trains with my metrocard and things. but still, the book feels like it's disintegrating in my hands and that reminds me I unfortunately cannot do what the poet asks me forever: Read me, do not let me die!

Yes, I am reading it now, but I can't commit to its preservation. The poems that touch my young idealistic and naive soul may be repulsive in a few years. and even if I let this book, salvaged for less than a penny, be my companion for life, I will die. And if I can't prevent my own death, how can I prevent hers?

It brings me joy to own books. I like books... the paper, the font, the smell, and how it feels on my hands. But am I secretly enjoying keeping a cemetery of ideas? Because after all, writing is a way of preserving a thought, a way of mummifying an idea in the hopes that the product of the moment will outlive the creator.

So I am a memory keeper and my job is to let the writers live.

But I am not the first. Some books I buy from a bookstore and I am their first parent. But I tend to also inherit books because the previous owners who can no longer do the job. I have inherited books from strangers and friends, from people alive and dead.

The burden of a bookowner is a onerous and grave: keep ephemeral thoughts alive and bound. So I wonder, who will inherit my books? Will my granddaughter knit a pair of gloves from my knitting book and think how old fashioned and cool the designs are? If some young person inherits my books, is the memory of a college course a book and I took together, and the memory of our despair as a book and I comforted each other going to live beyond me?

If I want to not die, must I write or own books?

For now, I will continue to stare at my bookshelves, a display of no longer existing thoughts. Last weekend, I was out by the sea with my dad and saw the many stars. Though the sparkles came from long ago, perhaps from stars no longer alive, they were present fascinations for me. So the thoughts that occurred in virginia woolf decades ago, or a poem bought but not yet read are waiting to be discovered by me, the stargazer. Having those potential discoveries is what it means to be alive.

the world of woolf

Ah.. it seems there is another book out about Virginia Woolf--this one about her relationship with her maids:

Mrs. Woolf and the Servants by Alison Light

Virginia Woolf's turbulent relationships with Nellie and other servants were hinted to me by the movie, The Hours, and The Writer's Diary, a diary of Virginia Woolf edited by Leonard. So I guess it was common knowledge that Virginia Woolf was awkward with her servants. And to find out more, I want so very much want to read this new book.

But alas, it's 30 dollars. So I will wait for the trade paperback edition.

Ah, but the biography of Leonard Woolf by Victoria Glendinning is now on paperback:

Leonard Woolf: a Biography

so perhaps I should go and get the book. I have a great interest in reading up on the husband because I shall not marry until I find my Leonard.

Oh but before getting more deep into the life of my favorite writer, I feel I should first finish the Quentin Bell biography of Virginia Woolf*:

Virginia Woolf: a biography

But it's such a long book... but yes, I vow to read the Bell biography first then the Leonard book then the one about v. woolf and her servants. Ah, by the time I get to "Mrs. Woolf and her Servants," it may be out in paperback!

How it all works out. But so many books to read!

*If anybody is actually reading this blog, you might be interested to know that the Quentin Bell biography of Virginia Woolf was a book I bought from the cool philosophy grad student! It's a really pretty book too!

The Little Prince

I saw one of my students reading "The Little Prince" and I got disproportionately emotional. I was so excited for her. The journey she is about to take is so wonderful. What I would give to go back to read "The Little Prince" for the first time again.

I undoubtedly spooked her out with my enthusiasm... or maybe she's used to her slightly odd teacher by now. But in any case, she consented to me telling her my story which goes like this:

The first time I read "The Little Prince" was back in kindergarten. It was back in the day when my mom would take me to the bookstore and we'd spend the afternoon there. She had only one rule: pick ONE book to buy. And it was a great rule. I would spend what to a child seems like forever picking out the book that I'd REALLY want, a book I had already fallen in love with. And I would devour that book and my mom would take me back to the bookstore for another book. I am sure my mom nudged me in certain directions while narrowing down the choice because I read everything from science fiction to poetry and I am sure I wasn't that interdisciplinary as a child.

Anyway, I think what I picked "The Little Prince" because it was such a pretty book with interesting and intriguing pictures. And I loved reading it. I remember it impressed the adults too. For me though it was a fantastic adventure story and with the little prince as my companion, I flew through the galaxy. It was a happy and exciting book... funny too with its tiny star and the gigantic baobobs.

I then read it again at the suggestion of a junior high friend in the seventh grade. And this time, the book had transformed itself. No longer was it an adventure story. I think I didn't even notice that I was traveling from one star to another. What interested me this time were the characters. And it made me ponder about the different adults in the world and if I wanted to be like any of them. It made me wonder about the different lives people lead and why we do nonsensical things. The little prince this time introduced me to myriad of people and gave me a lot to consider as I started my adolescence.

The third time I read the book was about a year ago. I missed my little companion and so I picked up the copy at the Strand. Finally, I saw that this was a sad book. The book was about, above all else, love and relationships. The love between the prince and the rose, the friendship between the prince and the pilot, and the asymmetrical, perhaps therapeutic, relationship between the prince and the fox. Attaching to someone, or "taming" as they say in the book, leads inevitably to pain because all relationships are transient. But when we are finally consoled, because as is told in the book we are all eventually consoled, we will be glad to have had the intimacy. A love profoundly changes you and your relationship to the world.

So my student heard me go on like this. And I hope I motivated her to read easy and hard books because the books have a lot to offer us independent of our capacity for understanding. I wonder what she will get from the book having grown up in different surroundings, and having different heartbreaks and challenges than me.

being young and buying a book

when I buy a book at the age of 25, I think about spending decades with it. It's exciting this marriage, beginning of a relationship. maybe i'll carry it with me when i travel. maybe i'll snuggle up with it when i am in despair. but what will i think when i am 65? is that why there are so many old people at the library: because they can't bear to buy a book knowing there isn't a lifetime together?

Reading log

I have just finished reading through "Stitch 'N Bitch: The Knitter's Handbook." And without thinking too much about it, I added it to my list of books read. I have been keeping a list like this religiously and voluntarily since the seventh grade. My list of books read has been on a piece of looseleaf, back of a planner, and in a separate notebook designated for the purpose of keeping a list of books read. I have finally organized my disparate lists into a nice notebook laura got me years back so now I have a (note)book for the list of books read.

I had lists that had just the author and the title to book reviews, but now I just list the date finished, title, author, publisher, isbn, and a star rating (from 1 star to 5 starts).

I realize of course that this is just another one of my obsessive lists that is of no interest to anybody other than me... but it's a very important list to me nonetheless. The book sits prominently on my desk and just as much as I enjoy starring at my bookshelves, I enjoy flipping through this neat and organized list of books I read. This is my personal history; my literary photo album. I reminisce about a book, about the transient love-affair, and about the disappointments and the heartbreak. I reminisce about what I was thinking about and what I was doing when I read certain books because every book I read is inevitably tied to a point in personal development.

When I read a book, I feel a great desire to finish it so that I can add it to my book. I constantly think about how many stars the book deserves and when I can't make up my mind, I feel distressed. But I always take for granted that I will add the book to the list, no matter how short, and how disappointing.

My recent introduction to knitting books, however, presented me with a very disturbing issue: can I add knitting books to my list of books read? For that matter, what about any instruction books, work books, or picture books?

I have long since known that books don't exist just to be read. They were my toys, my unhealthy obsession, and, for some people, art. Yet why is it so distressing to think that there are books sitting on my bookshelf, books I spent time with that may not belong in my list of books read? I have long ago decided that workbooks don't count as books read (although I have a tendency to hoard them and love them in my own way). And I guess I subconsciously decided not to include knitting pattern books because I haven't so far. But with the stitch and bitch book, I have added it without thinking too much about it... which makes me wonder if I should add my other knitting books.

Well, the difference between the stitch n bitch book and my other knitting books is that there is substantial amount of writing in the s and b book. But then the second half of that book is patterns and photos and I certainly didn't read through them! And what about "Fitted Knits," a book I "read" even though there isn't a lot of writing and spent way more time with while struggling through its sweater patterns?

I guess I need a way to define a book read. Is it defined by how much time I spent with it, what percentage of the book is writing, or what I learned from it? All three of those criteria are flowed in some ways... so I am going a bit crazy.

Of course I can start a new list of knitting books "read," but then I know I'll resort to that solution too many times and will end up with another set of disparate lists. I am into simplifying now, organizing my life, and cutting down on the number of ongoing notebooks. Besides, I want to have a LOOOOONG list of books read... but I would feel uneasy if the list had books that weren't really read. I'd feel like a fraud.

So no answers. No resolutions. what to do?? well, until a better solution comes along, I guess I'll add only the books I feel have been read into my notebook, and pattern books only in my online list of books. I suppose that will work.

Getting rid of books? Impossible!

Maybe a little creepy without meaning to be, I sometimes think about this philosophy grad student who sold me a few of his books. The circumstances were: I was finishing up my second year in the college and it being finals week, I procrastinated by going online and checking out what the other students were selling online. That's when I found this guy's posting. He was selling A LOT of his books. I went through the spreadsheet listing the books being sold and was amazed at the similarities in our taste in books. I already owned a lot of the books on his list but I also took down a list of books I wanted. I called him up and went over right away to purchase the books because after all, I had nothing better to do than to prepare for my finals.

I was on a high with my new books; I got the books I had always wanted really cheap. I found the grad student dude really cool, but couldn't stop wondering why he was parting ways with his books. Who does that? Isn't everyone's life goal to have a personal library filled with all the books they love? Isn't the library a visual collage of one's personal history? and therefore, aren't you really ridding yourself of your past, the essence of who you are, and all that if you are selling your books? And even if you are willing to sell your history, how can you put a price on that?

So I did ask him. I could've been very polite, of course, but me being me, I said something like: "Are you nuts? Why are you selling your books?" He explained that he was graduating that quarter, planned on traveling the world, and couldn't bring his books along with him... I let it go at that, but all these years, when I look at my bookshelf and think about that cool grad student who helped me add to it, I still wonder why he did something I can't ever fathom doing. The answer he gave was surely not enough. He could've stored them at a friend's house, a parent's house, a paid for storage place, etc etc. He would want them back eventually, and maybe this very day, he's regretting selling his "Being and Nothingness." Yes, I know he can buy another copy... but will he really replace every book he sold? Well, maybe he will... and maybe that's why he kept such a meticulous inventory with a spreadsheet and all... but even if you repurchase every single book, they are not the ones he went to grad school with and thus less valuable.

Admittedly it's been awhile since I obsessed over why someone who obviously loves books would sell them. But a few months ago, I thought of him again. I was moving and I had to pack my books. And it was hard. The books are insanely hard to pack. There is no not standard size... and because they are rectangular prism-y and rigid, you can only fit so many into a box while having all this left over space. And and and, they are HEAVY! I guess not carrying more than a few books at a time, I didn't realize that they have a formidable combined strength. I ran out of boxes, then I ran out of my bags, then then... I just wanted to throw them away. I reasoned with myself, 'forget personal history. It's not that great anyway. Start anew moo, start anew.'

Yes, that was it! I was going to buy myself brand new books, get rid of the books I secretly hate (such as 'the elementary forms of religious life'), and this time, I'll be smart about committing to a book. I'll buy only the books I'll truly love and will love me back. No math or marx books ever. no lame books...

But I couldn't do it. Just couldn't. Even the books from way back that I don't particularly feel sad about saying good bye to. I don't know why. Some books I truly love too much, some books too pricey, and I couldn't bear the thought of going down in the number of books I own. So somehow (I don't know how) I dragged them all to my new place. The first thing I unpacked, of course, were my books. I put them into the shelves and felt complete. Since then I have reorganized my shelves and now I feel complete and organized.

Wow, what a close call! Now I understand the grad student dude and his impulse to unburden himself, but I also know that he regrets selling me his books. If he finds me, I'll give his books back... no wait, I can't. It's already mine. My personal history I can't part with.

knitting books

My summer knitting is sweater knitting. I would start a cardigan, discard the project for awhile, and return to it. There would be a hat or a scarf here and there but I eased myself into unhurried and meditative knitting.

Now that it's fall, my knitting is beginning to reflect the anxiety I feel about my life and adulthood. It's time for neurotic knitting of the gloves, scarves, and hats so that I can wear it right away and feel like a productive human being. Well, I am not really complaining. I do love the fall despite the anxieties. One of the permanent remnants of my schoolgirl days is that fall feels like a beginning with so many possibilities.

So I never find myself missing the summer (except for the beach). I am neurotic at heart and prefer the cold to the heat. As for knitting, I am definitely not a sweater knitter and glad to be done with that for now.

My favorites are gloves and mittens. Since I know very little about yarns, and cannot buy skeins of cashmere yarn, I like to just buy myself a craft store quality skein of wool and be able to finish a project with it. Gloves let me do that and they are pretty and complex without being too difficult.

I envision my life being filled with hundreds of knitted gloves... some funky, some practical. And since I now consider myself an intermediate knitter, I want a bit of a challenge too. And after a bit of fretting and searching, I found the perfect book:

Knitting New Mittens and Gloves: Warm and Adorn your Hand in 28 Innovative Ways

The patterns there seem fun, the pictures are gorgeous, and the finished products actually seem wearable. And and and.... the paper is shiny, the cover is pretty, the font nice, and the book smells really good.

I didn't know when I started to knit, that this craft would open up a whole new section of the bookstore to me. I guess I should have known when I went searching for a knitting instruction book and saw an overwhelming selection of pretty books. I honestly thought then that I would teach myself to knit from one book and then get all my patterns elsewhere. But how to resist knitting books esp when they are pretty art books for people who can't afford 100 dollar Matisse books?

So before I know it, I realized, in my last reconfiguration of the bookshelves, that I have a tiny but a growing selection of knitting book. So along with a virginia woolf section and an ethnography section, I have a knitting section. And for me, one way to define education is: opening up new sections in the bookstore, and creating more distinct sections in one's own library.

Arrrgh! I was so close to purchasing this book:

SO CLOSE. Was about to walk to the cashier at b and n.... then I reasoned with myself. I have enough knitting patterns for now to keep myself inspired. And I am not a sweater knitter. Besides, I should not be buying stuff right now as I need to pack.

So didn't buy it and now regrets it. The patterns are really beautiful; they are sweaters worth knitting. And they require very little of sewing up the seam. I hate to sew so it would've been perfect.

This book is definitely on my must-get list.

the cheapest teachers

In an effort to make this blog less whiny and more useful, I have decided to share how I taught myself some things with books. I am completely credulous when it comes to print material. I think I got this from my mom who will believe anything if it's in a bound book. And that has served us both well given that the print media is one of the more reliable forms of information these days. It is still important to have a discerning eye for a good book vs. trash, but that comes with practice and dictated very much by personal taste.

Anyway, when there is something I want to teach myself, a skill I want to acquire, I naturally turn to books. As mentioned, I believe in the power of books, but there were practical aspects too. Books are really the cheapest teachers.

So I've never went to cram school. And now own way too many test prep books. And I've taught myself how to knit from a book or two and still prefer my patterns from a book than an internet source. I started off with some frustrating books, but now have found the books just right for me (and I think for many others) in teaching myself how to play the guitar. I don't sound so horrible anymore (woohoo!).

I have also failed with books. I tried to teach myself how to cook from books, but alas, I just have absolutely no interest or talent in the kitchen. Of course if I were to invest more time in this endeavor, I may succeed. I've also had partial success teaching myself to draw and paint from books. I've learned a lot from the books and instructional art books are wonderful to look at (and to smell--oh the paper is so good)... but I find that for fine arts, I like to learn in a classroom setting.

Other odds and ends: I've taught myself the little bit of logic I need for the LSAT, as well as the LSAT, from a books (and thus can go on forever expounding my opinions on that matter). I have taught myself the English grammar never taught in my secondary school from a workbook. And one of my hobbies is to do workbooks (because I like to fill out forms)... so I have a physiology coloring book (with really good content) and a couple of Spanish grammar books I am chugging through for fun. Because I like getting and doing the workbooks so much, I like to sign up for standardized tests. Okay, this is where I stop leaking the crazy info.

But well, I think I am ready to share now more specifically how some of those skills were acquired through books--an idea that hit me while I was writing an email to Laura about knitting. So wait for it... I will give out completely unsolicited opinions and advice on how to learn skills from books. It will have to be personal in nature--I can only write about the books I have encountered and not ones I've never seen or read no matter how wonderful they may be.

i heart ny

Reference: The World in a City: Traveling the Globe Through the Neighborhoods of New New York. By Joseph Berger

I started reading the above book and I am really excited. The book reads like a NY Times feature article (maybe it's a placebo effect--the author writes for the Times). And I am enjoying comparing how many of my observations match his.

The first chapter makes me want to get Kebabs and hummus and lentil soup. yummy. I don't think I had any Mediterranean food in NYC! So I started thinking about Hyde Park food. Ceders and The Nile for Mediterranean food.... but my sensory nostalgia also drifted to the Edwardo's wings, and the Pocket's bread. I miss my comfort food (Soupy Meal... hold the green onions please + Thai iced tea) from Noodles, etc.

Well anyway, I am really excited about the book... I was worried it'd be a very corny one dimensional cheer for multi-cultural-ism. But so far, it's quite sophisticated and lovely. Now is it accurate? I think so... but I don't think I will know for sure until I read about Flushing. If his white person observation comes close for northern queens, I will trust him about the other neighborhoods.

_________________

Reading too much was much warned against in the 18th century... which we today find so silly since reading too little is the epidemic of the day. However, I do wonder if I read too much at times. It's a way to escape and I do often vow to read my sorrows away. Well, to be completely honest, I don't read too much... it's that I spend too much time with books. I just love books. The binding, the paper, the font, the weight, the possibilities.

I was absolutely ecstatic today when I saw, waiting for me on the library shelf, Predictably Irrational. I have been wanting to read that book ever since I read that NYTimes article about keeping too many options open. But I was just waiting for the paperback to come out so that I wouldn't have to pay 20-25 dollars. I do much rather prefer (trade) paperback books. And now I won't buy the book at all. I mean it's probably a fun book, but not something I'd buy to read again. Aww...

Still, I am looking forward to reading the book... but should I read it now or should I wait to finish one of the four books I am currently reading? What do I do when I'd rather read that book more than the four I am currently reading? No no, I'll be disciplined and wait since I know too well that I feel uneasy when I have five actively reading books.

I. am. so. neurotic. Will I always be? Or will I grow old, dull, and, well, stable?

really long books

I have an ongoing list of books I want to read. Some books have been on the list for years, some dating back to high school. The reason why those lovely books can't get off the waitlist? They are too long. I want to read, for example:

Gone with the Wind
Middlemarch
War and Peace

Korea's place in the sun
A people's history of the United States

The interpretation of dreams
Being and nothingness

and

The Einstein and Virginia Woolf biographies.


Well, when I think of a book, I think 300 pages +/- 50 pages. So I am just not sure if I can get involved with a 500+ pg book. That is a huge commitment, and I know it won't be a monogamous relationship. If I want to finally get to the longer tomes, I need to either learn to read faster or work on my commitment issues. Both seem very challenging.

But I am dying to read some of the books listed above. So I've trying out a system where I am simultaneously reading 3-4 books at a time, making one of those 3 or 4 books a really long one. And it's sorta working for now, but I still feel some books get neglected.

Why is nothing in life easy, automatic, etc? The most basic skills, maybe especially those, need a lot of work. What to eat... when to sleep... how to talk to people... how to get things done efficiently... how to stay healthy... how to love... hard hard hard.

Reference: Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger

I read about 1/3 of this book back in the tenth grade when I was very much in love with Franny and Zooey. But for some reason, I did not remember a single detail as I read Nine Stories last week. Even I am guilty of advising students who don't like to sit still and read to try short stories, but I must say it's a pretty dumb advice. I have trouble with short fiction and I suspect I never finished this book in high school because I was just not getting it. Short stories are dense. They are usually bizarre. And I have to admit, sometimes I get to the end and feel nothing. And being as vain as I am, I don't feel a sense of accomplishment that I feel when finished with a book. No no... maybe it's not because I am vain, but because I am so neurotic. I collect and hog. So finishing a book lets me add it to my list, a collection of books read. But I currently don't have an ongoing collection of short stories. If I were to start one, I'd probably like short stories a lot more.

Well, so I liked the book. Some stories I liked more than others. The ones I especially liked were:

A Perfect Day for Bananafish
For Esme--with Love and Squalor
De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period
Teddy


Wow, that's half the book.

Well, my favorite was De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period. I guess I can relate to it the most, this taking detour, having a quarterlife crisis, coming of age story. It helped me indulge both my fantasies about getting an absolutely brand new life, and being an artist. And I absolutely loved the letter he wrote to the nun.... because it was so stupid, so immature, so inappropriate. And because I know the impulse to write a letter like that when I feel very much connected to someone I barely knew. And I am afraid, oh so embarrassed, that I probably have written and email or two like that. I have also received and email or two like that. And of course it made me feel uncomfortable and it's the kind of letter you don't reply to and feel slightly guilty about. I'd say when the guy decides to let the nun go, he became an adult. But that's just me, trying to turn everything into a coming-of-age story.

People--mostly adults, maybe only adults--told me I'd know when I become an adult with no longer a trace left over from adolescence. And well, it had happened. I don't remember the details of it anymore... but maybe it happened a couple of years ago. I distinctly felt adult one day. That childhood was no more. The very air I was breathing felt different. But now I think we never grow up because I don't feel adult anymore. I am just pretending... and reminding myself constantly that I am an adult, independent, responsible for all the mess I make, but none-the-less have to make my own decisions adult. Did people--mostly adults, only the adults--lie to me?

Today, I helped a student write the lamest essay about how a book makes you experience a world different from your own. It was so lame because it is so true. Says Virginia Woolf (to me today):

"The library's always the nicest room in the house," she quoted, and ran her eyes along the books. "the mirror of the soul" books were. ... she considered: Keats and Shelley; Yeats and Donne. Or perhaps not a poem; a life. The life of Garibaldi. The life of Lord Palmerston. Or perhaps not a person's life; a county's. The Antiquities of Durham; The Proceedings of the Archaeological Society of Nottingham. Or not a life at all, but science--Eddington, Darwin, or Jeans.

Between the Acts

Of course she notes that none of these books helps with a toothache, but books are nonetheless magical.

I have finished reading A Writer's Diary today and it feels like I've lost a friend. I started reading that book my second year in college. I still remember sitting in my immunology class feeling out of place in the sea of premeds. I don't know why I read that book waiting for the lecture to begin instead of talking to the people around me. I just distinctly remember reading it and feeling comforted.

It was sad when I was nearing the end of a page because I already knew the denouement so well: the end of her diary means the end of her days. I thought when someone decides to take one's life, it's after years of wanting death. But it seems v. woolf was concerned more with preserving life in her old age than with dying. Of course I am sure the diary has been heavily edited out by Leonard... but I do still try to piece together the psychological world of hers. I think that's exactly what Leonard wanted to prevent. He wanted to put together entries that show her as a writer only.

And well, I was surprised (I don't know why I should be) that writing was such a struggle for her. And I felt that towards the end, it was becoming too hard and labored. Writing is hard but it's wonderful to have a job where you create. I think people work for someone (office job), be a technician (doctor, lawyer), or create (artist, writer). I think we all want to be a creator, but settle for the other two. I think the perfect solution is to become a professor. You get paid, you don't have to be the best writer, and you can surround yourself with intelligent people.

Well I digress. So I do miss the book very much. I don't know why I read it so slowly. I finally made up my mind to finish it a few days ago and I felt a great resistance to that idea. Well, I think I should read Between the Acts now. I think that book is really the end of A Writer's Diary for some reason.

copycat

It's probably a safe guess that Michael Cunningham is a Virginia Woolf fan. But I was so ecstatic when I found out that Virginia Woolf had initially titled Mrs. Dalloway, The Hours. I thought I had found some great literary gem, a gem I mostly wanted to share with Ken. But anyway, yesterday, I found the phrase, specimen days, in Virginia Woolf's published journal, A Writer's Diary. Okay, maybe I am too ignorant, or this is a sign that English is not my native language... but I honestly have not seen the phrase "specimen days" anywhere else but as the title of Michael Cunningham's book. Is it possible that he got it from v. woolf's diary? I mean it's such a poetic phrase. It certainly stands out. He probably read woolf's A Writer's Diary when he was researching for The Hours...Well, it's high plausible that he has read A Writer's Diary way before writing The Hours because he admires v. woolf. Would anyone correct me if I am wrong and that the phrase, specimen days, is actually a really common term?

Well whatever the verdict, I am always glad to think about how there are other v. woolf fans out there. It makes me feel connected to humanity or something.

things are not what they seem

I have this desire for the last couple of weeks to resurrect this blog. So here goes. I don't know why I don't write here more frequently. I guess in general I am trapped in a state of inaction. But other than that, I think I'd feel incredibly guilty writing here when I can use my time online to catch up with my emails and facebook messages. But I think the emails are never going to disappear and if I keep putting up the fight, I'll just go insane. So well, I think I need a break from email (not)writing for now.

I've been reading a couple of books in transactional analysis, a concept I have never encountered before. The two books are:

Games People Play by Eric Berne
I'm OK - You're OK by Thomas A. Harris.

I thought it was odd I had never heard of transactional analysis before given that I tried to familiarize myself with psychoanalytic literature in college. Okay, I am not particularly well read in that field, but still... I wouldn't have salvaged those books from a box at the Hyde Park book fair if it weren't for my high school psychology teacher mentioning those books.

And they are great! Of course given that psychoanalysis is not the hippest thing anymore in psychiatry, those books are a bit dated. The situations elucidated by Eric Berne seem a bit archaic. But the books are nonetheless irresistible. You read about each game and immediately recognize it.

I think we must be careful though. The worse thing that a reader can do is to look for the pathological game play in every social transaction, especially in the loved ones. That's why I fear recommending these books to certain people who are prone to victimize themselves in every relationship. After all, Berne clearly states not all relationships are games.

The frustrating thing about psychoanalytic literature always is that you can't prove the validity of its claims. So it's hard to know for sure if the brain before the age of 5 has recorded every parental action, words, and attitudes to create a "parent" personality in each of us. But all of the claims are so completely feasible.

Well, I don't think we should fret too much about the validity of these claims though. The take home message really is that we often play these games, which are most of the time innocuous, to fill up social time. I find that very compelling. We don't have the time and the energy to create an intimate relationship with everyone we meet. We also can't ignore the other human being who come into our social space. Hence the games. Some of the more serious and pathological games, I think, are not lost to history--a lot of the underlying issues are easily recognized, I think, by mental health professionals today. But even the pathological games end up not causing too much mess in a person's life. They more often than not get weaved into the fabric of someone's life because we are so good at finding others who will play the games we prefer.

The other take home message is of course that things are not always what they seem. Our words and deeds may have ulterior motives, which aren't always sinister. It's just that we are not always totally self-aware. So correct interpretation of intentions are always elusive.

The copies I have of these books are incredibly old. And as I read them, I often think about the previous owner. I wonder if that person also thought what I was thinking. I wonder if that person gained insight from these books. I wonder if that person ever finished these books or bought them because they were really popular in the 70s and wanted to sound smart. I like the yellowed used books. I like the history that comes with it. But it's also a bit gruesome, like digging up a grave.

I wonder if I never came across these books because they are not academic. Eric Berne and his students would be very upset, but I do think they are derivatives of Freud. I think in that I'm Ok- you're ok book, it specifically says the parent-adult-child is not a watered down version of the superego-ego-id model. But the similarities are hard to ignore. And the explicit goal in these books was to make psychoanalysis popular and easy to understand for the layman. I am not saying the books aren't profound because they aren't academic. I actually really appreciate reading these self-help books from the 70s that aren't so watered down, cheesy and flashy like the ones that are published today.

And I find it fascinating that people in the 70s read these books for fun. It's like time travel. Today, the popular sellers are the approachable cognitive neuroscience books like Stumbling on Happiness and The Tipping Point. Back then, I suppose the people were just as fascinated with the mind, but the best sellers were the approachable psychanalysis books. A couple of decades from today, people would find the experiment based cognitive psychology best sellers dated. I hope we have made some real breakthroughs about the brain and the mind by then.

a plan

With so much stuff to read, I've been having a hard time reading everything I want to read. I am currently very interested in organizing my life (maybe it's the new year's thing). And in the spirit of actively and consciously making room for everything I want in life, I have tried to make at least a bit of time everyday reading a book. My goal was to read at least 50 pages/day. It's been working okay, but some books are REALLY long, and I am not very faithful to the book I have wed. I vow in sickness and in the presence other more fascinating things in my life, but I invariably end up cheating or at least flirting with another book, or two, or three.

Hence a new plan. I will read 4 books at a time. I know some people think reading too many books at once never ends well. But I think it works for me and I get to indulge myself in reading up on my diverse interests.

Roughly, the four books are chosen from the following categories:

1. a really long book that I wanna chip away at.
2. a science non fiction.
3. a social science non fiction.
4. fiction/memoir.

And the actual selected books are:

1. Einstein
2. The Living Clock
3. Culture Theory
4. The Accidental Asian

Oh and I gotta go read those Asian books that Sheenae lent me 1.5 years ago. She's coming back from Japan in a few months and I'd feel horribly guilty if I don't read those books she lent me. I have a history of not reading books Shee recommends me... but I finally read Madame Bovary, a book she recommended when we were seniors in high school, and I liked it a lot. Besides, the books do look interesting so yea, I will be reading Shee's Asian Studies book in the next few months. Now as for how I'll reconcile that with my cultural crisis and wanting to escape the Asian culture, I don't know.