Books for 2012

Many “good” books were written this year (as is the case every year) some I like and some, not so much. I enjoyed the process of selecting good reads and then delving into them with a great cup of coffee or glass of wine. They say books not only enrich your knowledge but also entertain and as I found with a majority of the books I read throughout the year not all books live up to the expected hype surrounding them.

Here are the top 3 books I think are mention worthy reads for the year;

1.            The 50 Shades Trilogy - E. L. James

This was probably one of the biggest Reads to come out of 2012. I personally am not a fan and this is based solely on the reviews I’ve read on these books. It has been said that the only thing that sells this book is its salacious content, “they” say it’s written really poorly and those two reasons alone are enough to make me not even want to bother.
I’ll probably see the movie if it ever comes out but, I will not bother on reading this trilogy.

2.            Eye bags and Dimples – Bonnie Henna

                I love Bonnie Henna but, upon hearing that she had made the time to sit and pen an        autobiography I was a heap of mixed feelings. I have to this day not read the book and I am honestly not sure I ever will.
When you write a tell all book about your life you need to ensure that there is enough “juice” to grace the pages and I fail to see – from an outsider looking in’s perception – how Bonnie’s life warrants an autobiography. Sure there are bits and pieces here and there and I’m sure personal triumphs and such things make for good reading but, I am really on the fence about this one.

3.            The Coldest Night – Robert Olmstead

                This another one that I never got the chance to read this year but, I have heard wonderful things about it, from its evocative storyline to the gracefully written narrative. This book has been described as a novel that boarders on being poetic.
It will without a doubt feature on my reading list and subsequently on the blog in the not so distant future.

Let’s Keep reading ya’ll!
Love, Light and prosperity. Catch you in the New Year. <3

Poetry: A Love Scene

Going through my laptop last night i found some stuff i had written in 2008 and this is one of them. Thoughts may be the same but, i think the words would be different if i were asked to re-write this poem... anywho, read and (hopefully) enjoy.

An angel derailed by a lonesome burden

Longs for life to meet a pleasure

On paths that wind

To long unheard of nevers

Her mind hoped for a passion unseen

But her misery faded

When in stolen moments her life bypassed meaning

In a shady ally

Where the holy never tread

She found her glory

Tall dark and handsome

Looking rather scary

But when he spoke

It was evidence of God making an attempt at poetry

 

Engraved on lust, a want for the flesh

It was on a street corner that they met

Where love intersected passion

Life met pleasure

Giving birth to a tale

The first scene had begun

When he took the bait the fantasy could not fall through

 

I would spell it out but I know you’re not dump so…

One two

Skip a few

Scene four began with a knock on her door

 

Fade to black

A lover’s moan

The lights return

They lay in a pool of touchy feely

My dad would kill me

Though I am not sorry

I love you

I love you

I do

 

Still he caressed her feelings

Though ripe with the sensuous healing

Felt only when you hear a woman gasping and breathing

I love you

I love you

I do

 

They had become a meaning

A word defined as a definition

Travelled to places where shooting stars shoot at ones will

And rosy cheeks are a felt feeling

He loved her

She loved him

They did

Rant & Rave: Was it a Disgrace

You know when you imagine what a character from a book looks like, when you see them, know how they smell, how they walk, their hand gestures, the way their eye lashes flap about when they blink, you know the sound of their voice and know all the intricacies of their persona. I feel I know a huge chunk of the characters in the books I have read, I even identify things I consider unique to them amongst real life human beings.
I remember once I saw a little girl with a messy blonde bob, lively and mischievous looking and I could not help but, think “oh my, she looks exactly like Scout from the book To Kill A Mockingbird.”

It is therefore always interesting to see movies based on those very familiar characters from one’s favourite books but, I imagine it must be the most daunting of tasks to attempt to make accurately visual all the detail contained within a book. You have to find the right setting, the right props, work with great precision on the dialogue and cast the right actors.
On countless occasions I have found that film buffs rely on their audiences to be stupid and inattentive, expecting to be spoon fed and do none of the thinking for themselves. I think sometimes they live in hope that we may not have read the book and that they can then make additions or subtractions or pointless modifications to a storyline that may have great as is.

I was excited to come across the movie adaptation of J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace, a book I have come to hold in very high regard. The book tells the story of a Middle-aged divorcee whose life takes a detour after he is found to have been sleeping with a student at the Collage where he works as a lecturer. He moves to his daughter’s farm and for a time he finds calm in being there, this till a brutal attack by three young men on him and Lucy (his daughter).
The narrative deals competently with issues of aging, sex and power shifts all the while being smart and real. The movie attempts this and although on some counts they manage to do a good job or replicating or rather adapting the book to the movie, there are things I think are vital to the story that the movie does not deliver on. They sourced the location beautifully but, this could not have been easier for them since the books author went into great detail describing the scene. The characters were a bit hit and miss for me, for one; I think the casting director did a great job of casting for the characters of Lucy, Soraya and Bev Shaw but, missed the mark with regards to the protagonist David Lurie (played by John Malkovich), playing the part of the tall, handsome man (as described in the book) is a shabby looking, scrawny and not at all handsome boy, Patrick who is described as having a weathered face and shrewd eyes is played by a man who looks timeworn as opposed to weathered and no wisdom can be found in his eyes in any form.

Some of the story’s peaks are lost in the movie, due to minute inconsistencies and a failure to mind the detail.

I understand that a movie is limited by time and sometimes even budget and that an author can afford to be as detailed as they wish without having to pay these two factors much consideration but, when taking an original work and replicating it, I think it is always best to either go big or not go at all. I think turning a book into a movie can sometimes be like putting a beautiful Amel Lerrieux or Adele song over some mundane and futile house beat all so someone else can reap the benefits of somebody else’s hard work.

Never the less, here are some movies that were adapted from books that I think were done pretty well:

 

Rant&Rave: We do have the good stuff!!!

Do we as South Africans believe the literary hype around our South African authors? I recently saw a tweet that read, “Kids at a rural school laughed their teacher off as a liar when he introduced me. A writer they studied could not be living.” Posted by  Zakes Mda and this got me thinking, we as the reading public are quick to dismiss the vast quantities of highly skilled writers that walk amongst us on a daily. We are always seeking literary genius in faraway places (the west in particular) on a regular and always proclaim the stuff we brew here at home is sub-standard. I, as well, am as guilty of this as the next person. I sing the praises of the world’s James Frey’s, Toni Morrison’s  and Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ and yes, I will stake my life on the talent held by authors such as these but, I am dumbstruck at just how little we know of or credit the writers of this country or even of this continent.  Majority of us “readers” would sooner slit their wrists than attempt to name, just name, ten African authors.

It is for this reason that I immensely appreciate my chosen field of study because more often than not my set-work is made up of predominantly South African literature and it is due to this that I can confidently say my knowledge of South Africa’s literary landscape has grown massively. I am able to speak of the Andre Brink’s and Wally Serote’s of this here South Africa with as much familiarity as I would about Margaret Atwood or Harper Lee.

It however would do our writers no favour to have us sing their praises just because… In order to grow our literary industries, open but, fair criticism has to be granted a platform of existence.  Readers have to be able to speak out when they feel the stuff they are reading is not up to scratch and writers in turn need to be tuned in to the needs and wants, likes and dislikes of their audiences. 

I appreciate the art contained within the process of creating literature and I also appreciate the ability to be read great works, whether they are produced nationally or elsewhere. I’m a regular old “book Whore” and I suppose all I’m trying to say is it’s all good and well to recognise the efforts of those who stand further than an arm’s length way (this pertains to not just literature but also music, film, art, technology, fashion, cuisine and a host of other things) but, can we also take a minute to enjoy those who tell our stories through our eyes.

Poetry - I asked God to help me forget you

I asked God to help me forget you
The clouds luminous fray and boastful
Can we speak to the bad times
Insist on them
and term them defining moments

I spoke to the creator about you
Validated your existence
For the love you gave spoke rapture
Living love and running ferociously into forever

This is a little something I have been working on for a while now, it is still far from completion (I think) but I really wanted to share it as is echoes the going-ons of my heart and my head so profusely.
I won’t get all self-explanatory or whatever… Read and hopefully enjoy, also, let me kno what you think.  

The Alchemist - The Review

My anticipations were of a deeply prolific and spiritual journey that my mind was going to feast on when I thought of this book. I fantasised about the life changing effect this self-help-book-come-novel would have on me. My experience differed from this in that I found a very mild comfort and my interests had vaguely dwindled to a luke warm sensation.

The Alchemist does not tell of anything we (or rather I) do not already know and that is, in order to achieve anything real and substantial one must be prepared to not only put in the time and effort but, also push aside all deterrents and feelings of self-doubt and pursue your heart’s true calling.

Don’t get me wrong, I liked the book. It was an easy read with a simple story told simply. The author did not attempt to dazzle the reader with a complicated narrative discourse or whatever. He just simply wanted to tell his readers to go after what was rightfully theirs and by that mandate it is safe to say the author achieved his objective. I also think the one overall trick pulled out of the hat by Paulo was his “novel like” writing style, this helped what could have been a fully-fledged self-help book, that I would have failed to read to completion, become a lot more.

Although not the greatest book ever written, The Alchemist is endearing and is a worthy read to anyone who is unsure about their abilities and where to begin to find a starting point for realising their aspirations.

Current Read

The internet says that this "A Thousand Splendid Suns" is Khaled Hosseini's second novel and has huge foot steps to fill.

A review I read said the following; "In case you were wondering whether A Thousand Spendid Suns is as good as "The Kite Runner" , here is the answer: No! It is better.

When i hear such, my mind goes insane crazy until i get my hands on the item/s refered to, so with great anticipation and eagerness like one could never imagine, I peal back the cover and start on what I am hoping will be a great freaken read.

Artist of the month - JM Coetzee

The first ever novel I read by JM Coetzee was courtesy of my Languages and Literature degree and I must say I am thankful to the person that makes my prescribed reading list because once again I discovered a brilliant South African Author. Although he now lives in Australia, Coetzee manages to tell honestly South African stories and this I attribute to this land being his birth place.

 Born John Maxwell Coetzee to School teacher mother and Lawyer father, JM Coetzee grew up in an English speaking Afrikaans home and I think this was a great basis and beginning for a young man’s love affair with the English language and the lustrous writing career that came as a result.

Coetzee’s work is critically acclaimed and he has received numerous literary awards including winning the booker prize, twice as well as the prestigious Nobel Prize for literature.

Some of his greatest novels include the above mentioned “Disgrace”, “In The Heart of The Country”, “Elizabeth Castello” and “Foe” amongst many others.  

Five Books i'm dying to read

"Wear the old coat and buy the new book"
    - Austin Phelps


No 5:     Jesus’ Son – Dennis Johnson

from the reviews I’ve read on this book it is one of those where you feel as though the author could not have done a better job even if his life depended on it and when I hear things like that my interests are immediately sparked.
I am hoping this book lives up to all the hype I have attached to it as a result of the reviews.  Some of the things I have heard being said about this book and its author include phrases like; “Johnson writes like a slummin angel” and “The writing made my heart ache”. I can’t wait to get myself a copy of this book and once I again, I hope it lives p to the hype I have constructed around it.

No 4:     I Know why the caged bird sings – Maya Angelo

 I actually find it hard to believe that I haven’t read this book. Maya Angelou is a fantastic writer and is counted amongst my favourites. One rewiever on Khalahari.net  named  James Baldwin had this to say about the book “This testimony from a black sister marks the beginning of a new era in the minds and hearts of all black men and women... I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, liberates the reader into life simply because Maya Angelou confronts her own life with such a moving wonder, such a luminous dignity. I have no words for this achievement, but I know that not since the days of my childhood, when the people in books were more real than the people one saw every day, have I found myself so moved... Her portrait is a biblical study in life in the midst of death.“ After reading such a heartfelt testimonial, I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to pick this up and delve head first into it.

No 3:     1984 – George Orwell

I, like many others have read Goerge orwell’s Animal Farm either as prescribed reading in school or of our own accord and if 1984 is as beautifully written then I am sure to have a splendid time reading this book. Published in 1949, this book is acclaimed for its futurist tellings (well not literally a view of things in the future, but…)

No2:      Metamorphosis – Franz Kafka

 Dubbed on of the 20^th century’s seminal reads, Metamorphosis tells the tale of a travelling salesman who wakes up one morning to find that he has gone through a change in his physical appearance. This is just one example of the word “Kafkaesque” which has been used to describe surreal situations reminiscent of those found in his writing
 Kafka has penned countless other books including The Great Wall of China, Description of a Struggle, Amerika and Letter to His Father all of which were thought to be highly influential books and has thus been hailed as one of the greatest authors of the 20^th century.
I personally cannot wait to see what all the hype is about.

No 1:     A Thousand Splendid Suns – Khaled Hosseini

 I have intended to read this book for the longest time and I keep letting myself down in that I never get around to it. What with all the James Frey obsessions I have, it is a miracle I have the time to read anything else. I have however made a vow that it is most definitely going to be my next read.
 The book’s title is taken from a line in the Josephine Davis translation of the poem "Kabul", by the 17th-century Iranian poet Saib Tabrizi which reads as follows;

        Every street of Kabul is enthralling to the eye
        Through the bazaars, caravans of Egypt pass
        One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs
        And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.

Let’s get to reading!!!

When You Come by Maya Angelou

When You Come

When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.

Offering me, as to a child, an attic,

Gatherings of days too few.

Baubles of stolen kisses.

Trinkets of borrowed loves.

Trunks of secret words.

I CRY.

Artist of the month - Napo Masheane

 

I remember the first time I heard a Napo Masheane poem, I may not remember the contents of said poem but, I remember her. Boisterous and proud, this woman spoke real, tackling with great ease issues that live constantly within every woman’s realm of thought. She penned some of my favourite stage performances, with titles such as “My Bum is Genetic, Deal with It”, “Hair and Comb” and “Fat Lady Sings” being amongst my all-time favourites. Her work speaks in an easily understandable, gravely familiar voice and sings the praises of women all the while shouting the importance of self-love and self-appreciation all these wrapped neatly in a humorous tone.
Her poetry does the very same thing and some of my favourites include “Fat Love” a beautiful love song to the odd one out my favourite verse reads;



The girls of Mollo: The woman in me

    
 

Napo and the Fat Black girls



This is the Genetic bum you've heard may a story of



The cast of Hair and comb



"They named you fat to own your pride
And lied
So that you can die
To break your stride
And called you not good enough"

She has penned two Anthologies titled “The Caves Speak in Metaphors” and “Fat Songs for my Girlfriends”

This phenomenal playwright, poet, director, producer and performer is not only a tremendous talent but, also a genuinely great person, I am of cause highly bias when it come to her, seeing as she was my boss for just over a year and as far as bosses go, she was the best.

For more on Napo follow this link http://www.iwebserv.net/#!__napo-masheane



In My Craft or Sullen Art - Dylan Thomas

Writen by Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, In My Craft or Sullen Art is amongst my all time
favourite poems list. It speaks of more than just a poet seeking praise or recognition for his
work but, communicates the wants and needs for acknowledgement by humans in general.
I hope ya'll can draw from it what you need.

In my craft or sullen art   

Exercised in the still night   

When only the moon rages   

And the lovers lie abed

With all their griefs in their arms,

I labour by singing light   

Not for ambition or bread

Or the strut and trade of charms   

On the ivory stages

But for the common wages   

Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart   

From the raging moon I write   

On these spindrift pages   

Nor for the towering dead

With their nightingales and psalms   

But for the lovers, their arms   

Round the griefs of the ages,   

Who pay no praise or wages   

Nor heed my craft or art.

Current Read

I am finally reading the Alchemist. So excited!!!

The Final Testament - The review

Upon first picking up this book I expected the same rush of emotion and instant connection I felt when I read my first James Frey novel, A million little pieces. I soon figured that this was a gravely different experience. My first encounter with the book left me feeling as though James had maybe missed the mark on this one (although I would never have said this to anyone) but, like all his other novels I came to find that brilliance I have come to love about Mr. Frey.

I found myself seeking out the protagonist, Ben, amongst the people I come across on a daily basis and this was not only fun but, it brought me to the realisation that we all have the capability to create love and loving situations in our existences and that no matter who you are or what you do, we all have deep insecurities and a desperate want for love and bliss in our lives. I also came to learn from this book that the burdens we carry on our shoulders are often self-imposed and can thus be alleviated by only ourselves.

I did have moments where I failed to believe or buy into this narrative as at times I felt as though James was trying to sell me a view on religion (not sure if this his view but, a view none the less), as a firm believer in the concept of God as prescribed to by traditional Christians I found the book a tad blasphemous but, then I made a decision to interpret it solely on the bases that it is a novel and I allowed the story to carry my interpretations moving on as opposed to giving the beliefs written in the text to carry any weight. Once I had done this I found it extremely difficult to put the book down even if just for a smoke or toilet break. I loved the tiny bits of horror, suspense and sometimes even humour I found capsuled within all the salacious content and captivating drama.

James always manages to kill me, dead, with his endings and this book’s ending was no different. I sat in a taxi on the verge of an emotional breakdown, halfway in tears. This is however, one of the main reasons I love this man’s work, he has the ability to make me feel. The Final Testament is more than just a good read this, it is a journey that allows the reader to question one’s self and purpose.

I love this book almost as much as I loved A Million Little Pieces and I would recommend it to any and every one looking to enrich their state of being.

James Frey forever!!!

Poetry - A thousand Men

Men Lay over me like a thousand skies
Leaving solemn my soul
A restitution, void
no love 
just skies laying over me like a thousand men

This short piece speaks to the loneliness felt by a woman, her feelings of near worthlessness as men use her up and eat away from her self worth and giving nothing in return. 

Sizwe Bansi is Dead

Sizwe Bansi is Dead written by three of South Africa's greatest theatre gurus, John Kani, Athol Fugard and Winston Ntshona is one of my all time favorite scripts to read. It tackles with ease and humor issues of personal identity as well as apartheid.

to read the script which is published in the book 'Statements - Three Plays' together with "Statements After an Arrest Under the Immorality Act" and "The Island" follow this link http://books.google.co.za/books?id=_PlLONSxX7QC&pg=PA153&lpg=PA153&dq=sizwe+bansi+is+dead+the+script&source=bl&ots=ICQVX-MWlr&sig=oiXXd28kqUVeLRO6LZrjcliDaWw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=-bwkU 

I found it immensely amusing and have gone on to re-read it several times. 

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8YGqgezaf8

Poetry - These Relationships

The metaphors contained within the poem are seen from the first line which speaks of eyes crawling and in the sixth line another metaphor is found telling of a dying that is dangling. The poem is ambiguous in that it provides double meaning to aspects of the poem such as the scorched womanhood, this could mean either that this ‘womanhood’ is used up and dry or that it has nothing to offer these people that are devouring it. Line four which reads ‘these eyes growing in my thighs’ serves two purposes; one to change the tone of the poem and two to introduce an intrusion that the poem’s narrative voice finds foreign, maybe alluding to her virginity and it’s being taken. 

These Relationships

Eyes crawling up on me

I glistened

Honestly delighted, I am desired

What are these eyes growing in my thighs?

Devouring with the greatest of ease, my scorched womanhood

This dying dangling between my legs

Weaving on the framework of my existence, a burdened smile

It was always in the words of these God-forsaken men

I based the value of my self worth

Narrative writing - The Loft

 

The Loft

On a mildly warm autumn morning, the sun shone through the large bare wood panelled windows that wrapped themselves immodestly around two of the four walls that made up his large open plan loft apartment. The white walls wore black and white framed pictures of different sizes which portrayed New York skylines, Johannesburg streets, Spanish matadors, Kenyan Masai and a host of other things I didn’t know much about. A few dramatically abstract canvass paintings sat loud and proud on the floor and leaned nonchalantly against the windows. I threw a glance at the expansive ceilings that had three big medieval light fixtures stuck onto them, drew two deep breaths and decided to get up. I lifted myself off of the bed and the cold grey concrete floor jumped up to meet my feet. Standing up, I walked about the space taking in the furnishings that adorned the place. Sporadic and clean and white with tiny throws of colour in the form of cushions, vases, pashminas tossed casually on the sofa and of cause the paintings on the floor. Just off the entrance lay the kitchen area, all stainless steel appliances, lacquered white cupboards, black painted wooden open shelving which carried on it teal, orange and white mismatched bowls and cups and plates and canisters and other things required for the functionality of a kitchen. Just off the kitchen was the only door inside this big room, I concluded that beyond it lay the bathroom and decided not to go through it.

I stopped for a moment and looked aimlessly around, when I noticed the balcony on the other side of one of the windows. I steadied myself towards it and on my way lost focus when I found a hand written note placed on a small study desk weighed down by a heavy pearl coloured rock which served as a paper weight, “make yourself at home,” it read “I’m just meeting a client, please don’t leave. I’ll bring some coffee back with me. Xoxo.” I sat on the chair beside of desk and took it all in and a smile grew slowly on my face. 

With the steady rise of the sun the balcony beckoned for my presence and I ran out onto it. Opening the wide glass doors that made up part of the windows, the noise of people and cars going about their business in the street below was a harsh invasion of the silence on the inside. Although I was some way away from the ground level, on the eighth floor to be exact, I heard people’s laughter and small bits of their conversations. There was a distant sound made by sort of heavy machinery, taxi’s hooting, loud kwaito music coming from the building that stood in front of me and on it, three men on scaffolding were putting black and grey stripes onto that building and although it would ordinarily have not been possible, the heavy wind that blew encouraged my nostrils to take in the paint fumes. These combined with the smell of the sun presented a unique sensation to my senses.

Having adequately absorbed the balcony and all it had to offer I walked back into the flat and for the first time since my arrival I saw his personal pictures in wooden frames placed in a cluster on a small coffee table just of the door that took me out onto the veranda. These were pictures of himself with others, himself with two young girls, a dog, a woman with the two young girls, the woman on her own, two other women, a man with an older lady and a few others. My mind got to thinking about who these people could be, I gave them names and provided them each with a role they played in his life then resolved to pay it no further mind. I was getting bored and mind restless so I walked back to the bed and lay back down when all of a sudden I heard a key turn in the door, I got up and stared impatiently to see who it would be. The key was yanked out the key hole and the door knob turned slowly and then the door flung open and there he was in all his awkward, sophisticated self. He smiled and I smiled back.    

James Frey: The Last Testament

I (fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it) bought another James Frey book yesterday, this time it's The Last Testament of the Holy Bible. The fortunate and unfortunate bit of this is that fortunately for me I get to go on yet another amazing literary journey with this phenomenal writer, but unfortunately everything else that i have been busy with, be it writing, watching or reading has to take the back seat for a little while as i go on this "journey". 

I'm so excited about this book I could literally die.  

Current Read

Yes! It's very different from anything i have read recently, but I must admit to being a little bit excited about reading something that is sure to take me outside of my comfort zone. The book handles, as its subject matter, the inner workings of the cosmos. 
I begin reading tonight and I hope and Pray it's as good as i'm making it out to be in my mind because i really cannot deal with another let down of a read. Fingers crossed!!!

Toni Morrison Receives The Presidential Medal Of Freedom

how cool is this. http://www.yourtowntube.com/video/5579/Toni-Morrison-Receives-The-Presidential-Medal-Of-Freedom

William Blake's London

This poem, vivid and stinky and dirty in its narrative, does more than tell of the over-crowded London streets, prostitution and the bitter sadness contained within Blake’s hometown, it also speaks with marred passion provides the reader insight into the economical, political and human relation aspects of a life lived in the 1700s

Enjoy!!!

London

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
 
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear. 
 
How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every black'ning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.
 
But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new-born Infant’s tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.