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Fit for JoyValeria TELESAn inspirationally joyful journey toward the importance of love + kindness in the moment
5 STARS? |
Although, each of our journeys through life, are uniquely our own + the paths travelled may seem light years apart, “Fit for Joy” speaks volumes about how we are all connected, and how our stories provide a way for each of us to grow.
It takes a tremendous amount of courage to share a life story, warts, insecurities, fears, and all—Valeria gave the world a gift by sharing hers. Valeria’s life-dots cobbled together; a childhood infested with struggles. The need to escape. A burning desire for validation from both friends and love interests. And, finally, falling into the addiction often coming from within the shallowness of fitness. Bond us all. The only goal of fitness needs to be well-being, physically and emotionally, most importantly: emotionally. Valeria eloquently expounds another vital importance: after diving deeply into her core and extracting what lies profoundly inside her soul—our essence and responsibility to each other = love + kindness.
It takes a tremendous amount of courage to share a life story, warts, insecurities, fears, and all—Valeria gave the world a gift by sharing hers. Valeria’s life-dots cobbled together; a childhood infested with struggles. The need to escape. A burning desire for validation from both friends and love interests. And, finally, falling into the addiction often coming from within the shallowness of fitness. Bond us all. The only goal of fitness needs to be well-being, physically and emotionally, most importantly: emotionally. Valeria eloquently expounds another vital importance: after diving deeply into her core and extracting what lies profoundly inside her soul—our essence and responsibility to each other = love + kindness.
Whether you grew up on the flatlands of Saskatchewan, or in a rural town in Brazil; whether you come from wealth or poverty, it doesn’t matter. “Fit for Joy” will have you question the steps of your journey. It will compel you to look at your past in a different light, while at the same time questioning the value of the future if you forget to live in the now!
The beauty within each of us is waiting to be discovered and shared. Thank you, Valeria, for sharing your journey, I know you knew, you had no choice, it was an imperative part of you—and, I am certain everyone who reads your words, will grow!
Thank you.
I highly recommend!
april 16 - 2019
The beauty within each of us is waiting to be discovered and shared. Thank you, Valeria, for sharing your journey, I know you knew, you had no choice, it was an imperative part of you—and, I am certain everyone who reads your words, will grow!
Thank you.
I highly recommend!
april 16 - 2019
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GREEN BOOKthe movieWhat happens when a racist and the oppressed realise they are the same?
5 STARS |
Tony “Lip” Vallelonga, is a family man. Tony is part of a large immigrant Italian family and a massive immigrant Italian community in NYC. Tony is a loving husband and father. Tony works at the Copacabana Club as a customer relations expert/fixer. Tony Vallelonga is racist. When the club shuts down for renovations, Tony is forced to scramble to find a means to provide for his family. Scarfing down hot dogs may not be enough.
He has options: 1) work for someone in his community, likely more racist than he is—fixing, or; 2) work as a driver and personal assistant for Dr. Don Shirley for two months, a job he’s referred to because of his ability to handle conflict-filled situations.
Bear with me for a moment. When a baby is born, he or she is pure, innocent, a beautiful being who is pliable toward warmth and greatness—noise and hatred has yet to damage. But then, unfortunately, a coat of varnish, HATRED, is sometimes applied, planting a seed of divisiveness. The coat settles, another layer added, INTOLERANCE, and now what started as perfection, begins dripping in the confusion of not being able to see all humans need the same things. Moreover, then layer upon layer upon layer of varnish are applied, and soon the innocent child is so bleeping damaged, with the once unlimited potential of new becoming narrow, broken, distraught, with their minds clouded with the absurdity of difference. ME GOOD. EVERYONE NOT LIKE ME – DISEASED. REALITY CHECK: ME is becoming THE DISEASE—and when left unchecked it begins festering.
A black man drinks from a glass – throw the glass in the trash.
Decades slip by, with child-after-child lathered in the same varnishes, and as time creeps by even more, a whole community becomes infected. The only hope is if the ingrained hatred and intolerance have yet to seep into the core.
Dr. Don Shirley is a black man, something Tony discovers during his job interview. Dr. Shirley is a piano virtuoso. Dr. Shirley is brilliant. Dr. Shirley is about to embark on a two-month tour through the USA deep-south; a journey, where if black, you don’t get to play by the same rules, and a GREEN BOOK is your life map on how to navigate your way to hopefully; guarantee survival. Dr. Don, desperately needs Tony.
And, Tony, needs Dr. Don. He accepts the job offer, turning down options that would allow him to add more varnish and stay close to the perceived realities of his community.
GREEN BOOK is a brilliant, beautiful, compelling, extraordinary, gripping, hilarious and inspirational story, about what’s possible if we allow love and empathy to enter our souls. Although the story takes place in 1962, the timing of its release could not be better because of the onslaught of politicians who are currently trying to divide us all.
GREEN BOOK brought me to tears (happy), and it caused me to bust a gut in laughter. It delights in comedy, deeply laced in nuance.
If GREEN BOOK does not compel you to question the way you look at humanity and where we are today and why it is vitally important to replace intolerance and hatred with kindness—I’m afraid, the layers of varnish likely have seeped into your core, and the rest of us can only feel sorry for you.
In two months together, Tony “Lip” and Dr. Don Shirley began chipping and sanding away the decades of divisiveness instilled inside of them. Every stop, every mile of highway, brought them to a point where they finally came close to finding the purity of beginning once more; the message screamed out in breathtaking clarity: Deep down we are the same. We all want to belong. We all need to be loved to thrive!
The message also screamed out: The greatest gift we have is listening. If only we look, we'd finally conclude: A white man can never truly understand what a black man goes through, nor; can a black man possibly understand how devastating the decades infused with the disease of intolerance can be. If we do open our ears, then, and only then, together, we can bridge the gaps dividing us, in turn; allowing us to turn down the volume of noise.
I loved this movie.
I love the possibilities it provides!
He has options: 1) work for someone in his community, likely more racist than he is—fixing, or; 2) work as a driver and personal assistant for Dr. Don Shirley for two months, a job he’s referred to because of his ability to handle conflict-filled situations.
Bear with me for a moment. When a baby is born, he or she is pure, innocent, a beautiful being who is pliable toward warmth and greatness—noise and hatred has yet to damage. But then, unfortunately, a coat of varnish, HATRED, is sometimes applied, planting a seed of divisiveness. The coat settles, another layer added, INTOLERANCE, and now what started as perfection, begins dripping in the confusion of not being able to see all humans need the same things. Moreover, then layer upon layer upon layer of varnish are applied, and soon the innocent child is so bleeping damaged, with the once unlimited potential of new becoming narrow, broken, distraught, with their minds clouded with the absurdity of difference. ME GOOD. EVERYONE NOT LIKE ME – DISEASED. REALITY CHECK: ME is becoming THE DISEASE—and when left unchecked it begins festering.
A black man drinks from a glass – throw the glass in the trash.
Decades slip by, with child-after-child lathered in the same varnishes, and as time creeps by even more, a whole community becomes infected. The only hope is if the ingrained hatred and intolerance have yet to seep into the core.
Dr. Don Shirley is a black man, something Tony discovers during his job interview. Dr. Shirley is a piano virtuoso. Dr. Shirley is brilliant. Dr. Shirley is about to embark on a two-month tour through the USA deep-south; a journey, where if black, you don’t get to play by the same rules, and a GREEN BOOK is your life map on how to navigate your way to hopefully; guarantee survival. Dr. Don, desperately needs Tony.
And, Tony, needs Dr. Don. He accepts the job offer, turning down options that would allow him to add more varnish and stay close to the perceived realities of his community.
GREEN BOOK is a brilliant, beautiful, compelling, extraordinary, gripping, hilarious and inspirational story, about what’s possible if we allow love and empathy to enter our souls. Although the story takes place in 1962, the timing of its release could not be better because of the onslaught of politicians who are currently trying to divide us all.
GREEN BOOK brought me to tears (happy), and it caused me to bust a gut in laughter. It delights in comedy, deeply laced in nuance.
If GREEN BOOK does not compel you to question the way you look at humanity and where we are today and why it is vitally important to replace intolerance and hatred with kindness—I’m afraid, the layers of varnish likely have seeped into your core, and the rest of us can only feel sorry for you.
In two months together, Tony “Lip” and Dr. Don Shirley began chipping and sanding away the decades of divisiveness instilled inside of them. Every stop, every mile of highway, brought them to a point where they finally came close to finding the purity of beginning once more; the message screamed out in breathtaking clarity: Deep down we are the same. We all want to belong. We all need to be loved to thrive!
The message also screamed out: The greatest gift we have is listening. If only we look, we'd finally conclude: A white man can never truly understand what a black man goes through, nor; can a black man possibly understand how devastating the decades infused with the disease of intolerance can be. If we do open our ears, then, and only then, together, we can bridge the gaps dividing us, in turn; allowing us to turn down the volume of noise.
I loved this movie.
I love the possibilities it provides!
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BEARTOWNfredrik BACKMANBEARTOWN should be mandatory reading for all people involved in team sports.
5 STARS |
This is the 2608th review of this astonishingly relevant book, on Amazon. I hope in my thoughts I offer a fresh twist!
I loved this book. This is the second Backman book I’ve read, Backman’s innate ability to connect us to the tales he weaves is astounding. BEARTOWN!
Imagine a dying town in Sweden deriving its only sense of pride from a young man’s hockey team. Everything revolves around hockey. Hockey drips a dense fog into the minds of the citizens causing them to be able to look away from reality, shrouded in delusion.
The junior team is about to revive dying. If they can only win the championship the inevitable demise can be staved off. Much like a team trying to come back from insurmountable odds.
I loved this book. This is the second Backman book I’ve read, Backman’s innate ability to connect us to the tales he weaves is astounding. BEARTOWN!
Imagine a dying town in Sweden deriving its only sense of pride from a young man’s hockey team. Everything revolves around hockey. Hockey drips a dense fog into the minds of the citizens causing them to be able to look away from reality, shrouded in delusion.
The junior team is about to revive dying. If they can only win the championship the inevitable demise can be staved off. Much like a team trying to come back from insurmountable odds.
“BEARTOWN should be mandatory reading for all people involved in team sports.”
The story bounces violently between right and wrong, teamwork and deceit. BEARTOWN, sparks a moral debate on the ugly side of sports, especially in the heights of the higher tiers where entitlement is often masked by the secrecy of the pack. Sports believes it should be allowed to police itself. The only thing SPORTS cares about is the SPORT. If you perform at a high level, you can become immune to a fall because there are lesser players the powers that be are willing to sacrifice. What happens when a star player impacts the whole town by his involvement of alleged sexual assault?
BEARTOWN is a dying town, deriving all of its pride from young men playing hockey!
What do you think happens?
Sure, sports teach valuable lessons about teamwork and camaraderie. However, on the dark side, what good can ever come from running in a pack?
BEARTOWN needs to be mandatory reading for anyone who’s ever going to play a team sport!
WRITTEN: May 20th - 2019
BEARTOWN is a dying town, deriving all of its pride from young men playing hockey!
What do you think happens?
Sure, sports teach valuable lessons about teamwork and camaraderie. However, on the dark side, what good can ever come from running in a pack?
BEARTOWN needs to be mandatory reading for anyone who’s ever going to play a team sport!
WRITTEN: May 20th - 2019
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IGISTL. S. LARSONImagine High School being blasted into space, fuelled by chasing your dreams!
5 STARS? |
Imagine if your High School had been blasted into space filled with a diverse mixture of rich colourful characters who are vying to improve the Universe, instead of struggling with the crippling realities of who likes whom?
IGIST is not your run-of-the-mill YA Novel. It’s not about romance and petty crushes and feuds. What it is about is screaming out a powerful message of chasing your dreams + never giving up. It’s about overcoming the largest obstacles and the importance of learning to work together for a life much larger than self. It is a nuanced dive back into school teaching valuable lessons about love, family + friendship along the way. It is about taking accountability for who you are destined to be.
IGIST is not your run-of-the-mill YA Novel. It’s not about romance and petty crushes and feuds. What it is about is screaming out a powerful message of chasing your dreams + never giving up. It’s about overcoming the largest obstacles and the importance of learning to work together for a life much larger than self. It is a nuanced dive back into school teaching valuable lessons about love, family + friendship along the way. It is about taking accountability for who you are destined to be.
“It reads like the DaVinci Code.”
Because it tackles deeper issues, IGIST tackles the trials of adolescence with a rare authenticity—it is a YA novel challenging the obstacles of youth with something intelligent to say. It is chock-full of competition, deception, compassion, teamwork, and love. It is a story about what adversaries can accomplish when they come together in quest of a common goal. It is a nuanced coming of age story. It’s vibrant, moving, and at times beautiful.
I don’t fit the demographic for this book—I thoroughly enjoyed it regardless of that fact. IGIST builds to a crescendo with twists along the way. It reads like The DaVinci Code because of it’s fast-paced short chapters making it hard to stop turning the pages. The last 50 or-so pages are gripping, with the main character growing by leaps and bounds.
IGIST surprised me. I’m glad it did!
Highly recommended for anyone who craves escaping the mundane for a few hours!
I don’t fit the demographic for this book—I thoroughly enjoyed it regardless of that fact. IGIST builds to a crescendo with twists along the way. It reads like The DaVinci Code because of it’s fast-paced short chapters making it hard to stop turning the pages. The last 50 or-so pages are gripping, with the main character growing by leaps and bounds.
IGIST surprised me. I’m glad it did!
Highly recommended for anyone who craves escaping the mundane for a few hours!
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AMERICA, THE FAREWELL TOURChris HEDGESA book that may change the way you look at porn!
5 STARS |
In a galaxy far, far away, okay, this galaxy, the Empire lumbered along, bringing with it: great joy and prosperity to all.
Well, actually, the Empire may be fracturing, crumbling before our eyes, with all of us complicit and distracted by the noise filling our craniums daily.
It’s 5 AM. I’m riding the elevator down from my home on the tenth floor. My eyes are drawn to the video screen above the keypad. “A family home in a province 1,000 miles away caught on fire. The 3-children inside perished.” I don’t know them. They are the first thing pumped into my brain. Am I supposed to carry the grief of the parents of the children through the day—passing it along to everyone I meet?
I walk the last few blocks to work. I’m forced to stop on several occasions to avoid being walked into by pedestrians enamored by their phones. I don’t exist to them.
America: The Farewell Tour is a deep dive into the fracturing of an Empire that is losing its way. Could the end be nigh; shattered, left tattered for the next generations to suffer through the mess we’ve brought upon ourselves?
I think our heads, have collectively been buried in the sand for a long time.
America: The Farewell Tour is a terrifying, intimate, compelling, eye-popping, stimulating, deeply-upsetting, depression-inducing and; uplifting look, about how we got to where we are; and where we likely may be heading, with an olive branch stretching down to us, with a fragile path being offered to soften the unavoidable blow.
Where are we?
LET’S (the next word needs to be put to rest—the last time used, here) UNPACK.
“Some rich man came and raped the land. Nobody caught him.”
People, I have a dream to sell you. You can be whatever you want to be. Believe me. We are all created equal. I will show you the way. Just follow me.
Why are you snickering, rich man?
INDUSTRY
We industrialized. We began making things. Everything. The rich men sat at the top. Everyone else worked for them. Sure, the work sucked, but nobody (other countries) was making things. We didn’t mind the rich getting fat off our labour—we had good lives. Moreover, we could afford to buy the things we produced.
And then suddenly, as if by magic, the rich men wanted more. We did as well, but the wealthy resisted us reaching into their pockets, so, they looked for others to do labour for less. Why pay Timmy in Indiana $25 per hour + health benefits when I can pay (insert name of a worker from another country, here) 25-cents-per-hour, with horrid working conditions, to produce the same products?
You don’t have to answer.
Sure, Timmy might be pissed at the worker in the other country, but he sure likes buying the products for less. In the meantime, the rich build massive shopping centres for the Timmy’s of the world to consume foreign-made goods.
A decade slips by, another decade slips by; American wages stagnate. Sports + celebrity + drugs + booze + shiny things, distract us, numb us, dumb us down, we don’t want to look, the sand hole for our head becomes appealing.
For a few people, the distraction stops working. They look. They realize WTF—I think we’re being played. The dream starts to fracture. However, it is only a few who open their eyes—most people prefer to live in ignorant bliss.
The rich men get fatter.
Hey, you can keep your job if—if—we can shred your wages—and, who needs health benefits?
Industrialized America implodes.
Timmy’s outrage is misguidedly directed at (insert name of a worker from another country, here).
Religion gets involved. Without agenda. Snicker. The zealots want power. Some religions worship wealth, ignoring the “potentially” mortal sins of political leaders by justifying “God wouldn’t reward sinners with wealth.”
Communities collapse, we need more distractions.
DRUGS
Have a little taste, Timmy; this will numb your ills.
Timmy likes to be numbed. Timmy begins to chase numb. The pharmaceutical industry, sees opportunity. And, suddenly, America’s drug problem trips out of the ghettos into every town.
Build a wall, and we will be saved. The only reason I popped a pill in the first place is (insert name of a nefarious foreigner who handed me the glass of water to wash it down, here). I’m not responsible for…me. I like to blame.
And, with the building of the wall, the complexities of addiction flutter away into nevermore.
Timmy hurts his knee working his wage-decreasing, soon-to-be-eliminated job. A doctor prescribes painkillers. Timmy can’t afford the healthcare. That’s okay. An illegal immigrant is willing to sell him something to ease his pain. What’s that; the illegal immigrant is Caucasian, and he was born in Omaha. Crap.
The rich men have a solution. Toss as many people they can in prison. That will fix the problem. It will also serve another purpose: cheap American Labour. Not to mention, labour likely to show up daily because they have nowhere else to go.
If you are lucky enough to escape prison, pop another pill, and drown yourself in the realities of reality television + the release of cheering for your favourite teams.
A LITTLE SECRET
Drugs used to be a ghetto-related race problem, however; with the shattering of the industrialized American model, everyone can participate as more fall from middle class to poor. Oh yeah, the little secret: the rich men don’t care: the only colour they see is GREEN.
Another decade blasts by as the “American Dream” starts to splinter apart. For those of us who aren’t too addled in addiction, who can still find the strength to climb, we don't realize the rung we’re reaching for no longer exists because our brothers and sisters are desperately holding onto it as they spiral downward.
Don’t worry people. We’ve got your back. We’re increasing the military budget to protect you from those who’ve done this to you. Look over there—them.
WORK
In many cities, the cost of living indoors has skyrocketed. There may be work, for many (half of Americans), menial at best, and living close to where you work becomes increasingly unattainable. The next thing you know, if your poor, you face commuting most of your days away to serve the wealthy, too tired and beat down to resist, or ask (demand) for more, a more that doesn’t exist.
That’s okay, the costs of televisions have dropped significantly. What’s that, to have channels to watch, I must pay an astronomical amount, that’s okay, can’t miss the game.
Beaten down, you skip paying the transit fare. You get caught. You’re ticketed. You’re now in the system. If you don’t pay the fine, your menial job might turn into day labour in a special camp.
PORN
There is not a single performer in the porn (sex-for-pay) industry who entered the industry chasing the American Dream. Desperation for survival is the gateway.
Argue if you’d like?
The broken become more broken and desperate only to eventually be chewed up and spat out when the curtain on their “careers” slam shut.
The more consumption, the more extreme and violent porn becomes. Consumers become desensitised. Consumers risk becoming predators unable to give intimacy.
Food for thought?
And, the porn wheel keeps spinning, with curious American boys becoming exposed, and by the time they hit 12 or 13 years of age, normal to them…sorry girls, good luck.
The pimps of the industry profit, everyone else falls deeper into addiction.
As we pour more money into the military to protect us from the external enemies, with the opportunity of a good-paying job, guess what: walking lockstep with the pimps of porn are the recruiters of the military. Lucky for them, there is a gaggle of young men who are unable to see a future, ready to enlist. Even luckier, can you taste the sarcasm, these young men’s minds are filled with love and stability.
HATE
Now that we’re drug-addled, broke, unemployed, divorced, masturbating to… “ewe.”
Hey, Timmy, my cable’s been cut, can I watch the game at your place? Thanks. Look at those idiots kneeling. Respect the flag, you (insert profanity-laced racial slur here).
I need someone to blame. I need someone to blame. I know — anyone who doesn’t look like me. This land is my land.
I feel deep sorrow for any of us stumbling around on this rock who believe “others” are the problems plaguing the world today.
America: The Farewell Tour highlights the horrific realities of the sickness of hate in glowing clarity.
Haters, do you really believe if there were only a few drops of water left: your Caucasian neighbour wouldn’t off you, because you're Caucasian?
I don’t care where the root of racism or hatred originates; you don’t have to participate.
If that makes me naïve, so be it.
Hey, young unemployed guy with no prosperous future in sight: do you want to go mess up some people in a foreign land?
We’re we invited?
Silly question. Hey, what type of porn do you like?
In a boardroom (probably fictitious), the powers that be see opportunity, and determine the best way to keep the impoverished, impoverished; point at others, trying to convince us they're different, making them the ones to blame. And, oh yeah, make poverty a growing business. Desperation begets a fine, begets interest, begets another fine, begets more interest, begets--"hey, the people of colour did this to me," begets--
ESCAPE
If only there were a way out. A way to jump back on the dream train. I know. I can win the jackpot. What do I have to lose?
Spin, spin, spin, so close. Spin, spin, so close. Insert more money. This music is sure calming. I like it here. "Create heavy users. Was that subliminal?" Spin, spin, spin, so close. Insert more money.
Hey, Timmy, did you buy a ticket for the Powerball? You never know? What do I have to lose?
And, with another ticket purchased, the poorest of the poor, voluntarily pay the taxes corporations used to pay.
How’s the wall coming along? Why did the second floor of your bankrupted casino (#45), say 14 on the elevator keypad?
Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Let’s put more money in the military. "They’re" coming for our way of life. I’ll protect you.
Hey, Timmy, did you ever notice there are no right angles in casinos; why won’t they let us make decisions? And, Timmy, it’s the strangest thing, every time I’m breaking in the pain of loss, a cocktail server, magically appears.
SOLUTION
Check unfettered capitalism.
We are being played. The repetition of history suggests just before an Empire collapses it goes through a period of prosperity followed by stagnation and deindustrialization with new realities coming in the eroding of the middle class. Flailing Empires, become ripe for divisiveness and addiction. They are often laced with, at times, morally debunked excess, where many of the people are lost chasing their first highs brought on by the taste of money, sexual depravity, isolation, anger, a need to blame others; creating a fertile environment for those who have your “least interests” at heart, to gain control. Moreover, even though you fundamentally understand you’ve been grifted and divided for the sole purpose of feeding the addictions of the rich, you still slam another needle into your arm believing your next high will be the one allowing you to escape the madness.
If I had to pick one thing in this engrossing book that struck the chord the most for me, and I’ll paraphrase: Privatized Prisons: In many States, if the prisons don’t reach specific occupancy rates (90%) the State must pay the penalty to the Corporations that fund them.
“A rich man came and raped the land. Nobody caught him. Put up a bunch of ugly boxes, and Jesus people bought them.”
I almost forgot, I said the book is uplifting. It is! Chris suggests the importance of talking to each other, creating a sense of community. To stop hiding behind screens. To stop blaming.
America is a fantastic place, full of opportunity, and beauty. It’s up to us to soften the inevitability of change by merely talking to each other—if we do; if we say hi to our neighbours, then and only then, we might realise: there is no reason to hate.
Thank you, Chris, for painting the picture in such a concise way, humanizing the realities of what came before, and what may be on the horizon.
READ THIS BOOK!
Well, actually, the Empire may be fracturing, crumbling before our eyes, with all of us complicit and distracted by the noise filling our craniums daily.
It’s 5 AM. I’m riding the elevator down from my home on the tenth floor. My eyes are drawn to the video screen above the keypad. “A family home in a province 1,000 miles away caught on fire. The 3-children inside perished.” I don’t know them. They are the first thing pumped into my brain. Am I supposed to carry the grief of the parents of the children through the day—passing it along to everyone I meet?
I walk the last few blocks to work. I’m forced to stop on several occasions to avoid being walked into by pedestrians enamored by their phones. I don’t exist to them.
America: The Farewell Tour is a deep dive into the fracturing of an Empire that is losing its way. Could the end be nigh; shattered, left tattered for the next generations to suffer through the mess we’ve brought upon ourselves?
I think our heads, have collectively been buried in the sand for a long time.
America: The Farewell Tour is a terrifying, intimate, compelling, eye-popping, stimulating, deeply-upsetting, depression-inducing and; uplifting look, about how we got to where we are; and where we likely may be heading, with an olive branch stretching down to us, with a fragile path being offered to soften the unavoidable blow.
Where are we?
LET’S (the next word needs to be put to rest—the last time used, here) UNPACK.
“Some rich man came and raped the land. Nobody caught him.”
- The Last Resort: The Eagles
People, I have a dream to sell you. You can be whatever you want to be. Believe me. We are all created equal. I will show you the way. Just follow me.
Why are you snickering, rich man?
INDUSTRY
We industrialized. We began making things. Everything. The rich men sat at the top. Everyone else worked for them. Sure, the work sucked, but nobody (other countries) was making things. We didn’t mind the rich getting fat off our labour—we had good lives. Moreover, we could afford to buy the things we produced.
And then suddenly, as if by magic, the rich men wanted more. We did as well, but the wealthy resisted us reaching into their pockets, so, they looked for others to do labour for less. Why pay Timmy in Indiana $25 per hour + health benefits when I can pay (insert name of a worker from another country, here) 25-cents-per-hour, with horrid working conditions, to produce the same products?
You don’t have to answer.
Sure, Timmy might be pissed at the worker in the other country, but he sure likes buying the products for less. In the meantime, the rich build massive shopping centres for the Timmy’s of the world to consume foreign-made goods.
A decade slips by, another decade slips by; American wages stagnate. Sports + celebrity + drugs + booze + shiny things, distract us, numb us, dumb us down, we don’t want to look, the sand hole for our head becomes appealing.
For a few people, the distraction stops working. They look. They realize WTF—I think we’re being played. The dream starts to fracture. However, it is only a few who open their eyes—most people prefer to live in ignorant bliss.
The rich men get fatter.
Hey, you can keep your job if—if—we can shred your wages—and, who needs health benefits?
Industrialized America implodes.
Timmy’s outrage is misguidedly directed at (insert name of a worker from another country, here).
Religion gets involved. Without agenda. Snicker. The zealots want power. Some religions worship wealth, ignoring the “potentially” mortal sins of political leaders by justifying “God wouldn’t reward sinners with wealth.”
Communities collapse, we need more distractions.
DRUGS
Have a little taste, Timmy; this will numb your ills.
Timmy likes to be numbed. Timmy begins to chase numb. The pharmaceutical industry, sees opportunity. And, suddenly, America’s drug problem trips out of the ghettos into every town.
Build a wall, and we will be saved. The only reason I popped a pill in the first place is (insert name of a nefarious foreigner who handed me the glass of water to wash it down, here). I’m not responsible for…me. I like to blame.
And, with the building of the wall, the complexities of addiction flutter away into nevermore.
Timmy hurts his knee working his wage-decreasing, soon-to-be-eliminated job. A doctor prescribes painkillers. Timmy can’t afford the healthcare. That’s okay. An illegal immigrant is willing to sell him something to ease his pain. What’s that; the illegal immigrant is Caucasian, and he was born in Omaha. Crap.
The rich men have a solution. Toss as many people they can in prison. That will fix the problem. It will also serve another purpose: cheap American Labour. Not to mention, labour likely to show up daily because they have nowhere else to go.
If you are lucky enough to escape prison, pop another pill, and drown yourself in the realities of reality television + the release of cheering for your favourite teams.
A LITTLE SECRET
Drugs used to be a ghetto-related race problem, however; with the shattering of the industrialized American model, everyone can participate as more fall from middle class to poor. Oh yeah, the little secret: the rich men don’t care: the only colour they see is GREEN.
Another decade blasts by as the “American Dream” starts to splinter apart. For those of us who aren’t too addled in addiction, who can still find the strength to climb, we don't realize the rung we’re reaching for no longer exists because our brothers and sisters are desperately holding onto it as they spiral downward.
Don’t worry people. We’ve got your back. We’re increasing the military budget to protect you from those who’ve done this to you. Look over there—them.
WORK
In many cities, the cost of living indoors has skyrocketed. There may be work, for many (half of Americans), menial at best, and living close to where you work becomes increasingly unattainable. The next thing you know, if your poor, you face commuting most of your days away to serve the wealthy, too tired and beat down to resist, or ask (demand) for more, a more that doesn’t exist.
That’s okay, the costs of televisions have dropped significantly. What’s that, to have channels to watch, I must pay an astronomical amount, that’s okay, can’t miss the game.
Beaten down, you skip paying the transit fare. You get caught. You’re ticketed. You’re now in the system. If you don’t pay the fine, your menial job might turn into day labour in a special camp.
PORN
There is not a single performer in the porn (sex-for-pay) industry who entered the industry chasing the American Dream. Desperation for survival is the gateway.
Argue if you’d like?
The broken become more broken and desperate only to eventually be chewed up and spat out when the curtain on their “careers” slam shut.
The more consumption, the more extreme and violent porn becomes. Consumers become desensitised. Consumers risk becoming predators unable to give intimacy.
Food for thought?
And, the porn wheel keeps spinning, with curious American boys becoming exposed, and by the time they hit 12 or 13 years of age, normal to them…sorry girls, good luck.
The pimps of the industry profit, everyone else falls deeper into addiction.
As we pour more money into the military to protect us from the external enemies, with the opportunity of a good-paying job, guess what: walking lockstep with the pimps of porn are the recruiters of the military. Lucky for them, there is a gaggle of young men who are unable to see a future, ready to enlist. Even luckier, can you taste the sarcasm, these young men’s minds are filled with love and stability.
HATE
Now that we’re drug-addled, broke, unemployed, divorced, masturbating to… “ewe.”
Hey, Timmy, my cable’s been cut, can I watch the game at your place? Thanks. Look at those idiots kneeling. Respect the flag, you (insert profanity-laced racial slur here).
I need someone to blame. I need someone to blame. I know — anyone who doesn’t look like me. This land is my land.
I feel deep sorrow for any of us stumbling around on this rock who believe “others” are the problems plaguing the world today.
America: The Farewell Tour highlights the horrific realities of the sickness of hate in glowing clarity.
Haters, do you really believe if there were only a few drops of water left: your Caucasian neighbour wouldn’t off you, because you're Caucasian?
I don’t care where the root of racism or hatred originates; you don’t have to participate.
If that makes me naïve, so be it.
Hey, young unemployed guy with no prosperous future in sight: do you want to go mess up some people in a foreign land?
We’re we invited?
Silly question. Hey, what type of porn do you like?
In a boardroom (probably fictitious), the powers that be see opportunity, and determine the best way to keep the impoverished, impoverished; point at others, trying to convince us they're different, making them the ones to blame. And, oh yeah, make poverty a growing business. Desperation begets a fine, begets interest, begets another fine, begets more interest, begets--"hey, the people of colour did this to me," begets--
ESCAPE
If only there were a way out. A way to jump back on the dream train. I know. I can win the jackpot. What do I have to lose?
Spin, spin, spin, so close. Spin, spin, so close. Insert more money. This music is sure calming. I like it here. "Create heavy users. Was that subliminal?" Spin, spin, spin, so close. Insert more money.
Hey, Timmy, did you buy a ticket for the Powerball? You never know? What do I have to lose?
And, with another ticket purchased, the poorest of the poor, voluntarily pay the taxes corporations used to pay.
How’s the wall coming along? Why did the second floor of your bankrupted casino (#45), say 14 on the elevator keypad?
Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Let’s put more money in the military. "They’re" coming for our way of life. I’ll protect you.
Hey, Timmy, did you ever notice there are no right angles in casinos; why won’t they let us make decisions? And, Timmy, it’s the strangest thing, every time I’m breaking in the pain of loss, a cocktail server, magically appears.
SOLUTION
Check unfettered capitalism.
We are being played. The repetition of history suggests just before an Empire collapses it goes through a period of prosperity followed by stagnation and deindustrialization with new realities coming in the eroding of the middle class. Flailing Empires, become ripe for divisiveness and addiction. They are often laced with, at times, morally debunked excess, where many of the people are lost chasing their first highs brought on by the taste of money, sexual depravity, isolation, anger, a need to blame others; creating a fertile environment for those who have your “least interests” at heart, to gain control. Moreover, even though you fundamentally understand you’ve been grifted and divided for the sole purpose of feeding the addictions of the rich, you still slam another needle into your arm believing your next high will be the one allowing you to escape the madness.
If I had to pick one thing in this engrossing book that struck the chord the most for me, and I’ll paraphrase: Privatized Prisons: In many States, if the prisons don’t reach specific occupancy rates (90%) the State must pay the penalty to the Corporations that fund them.
“A rich man came and raped the land. Nobody caught him. Put up a bunch of ugly boxes, and Jesus people bought them.”
I almost forgot, I said the book is uplifting. It is! Chris suggests the importance of talking to each other, creating a sense of community. To stop hiding behind screens. To stop blaming.
America is a fantastic place, full of opportunity, and beauty. It’s up to us to soften the inevitability of change by merely talking to each other—if we do; if we say hi to our neighbours, then and only then, we might realise: there is no reason to hate.
Thank you, Chris, for painting the picture in such a concise way, humanizing the realities of what came before, and what may be on the horizon.
READ THIS BOOK!
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LAKE SUCCESSGary SHTEYNGARTA book that may change the way you look at porn!
5 STARS? |
Barry Cohen is a dick. His indolence for lot-in-life is palpable. He becomes exceptionally wealthy by bilking investors by gambling with hedge funds. He is married to a stunningly beautiful, highly intelligent immigrant named Seema. Their life together is a fallacy—a storybook—an illusion.
Barry lusts for exorbitantly expensive timepieces. He perpetuates the illusion of perfection until his and Seema’s lives begin to unravel because their son Shiva, is diagnosed with Autism—perfection busted—the shame of pretension. Moreover, with a shadow draped over the humiliation of being less than perfect + Barry’s hedge fund is a scam, their lives begin to unwind fracturing everything they thought once was. Drop in an all-to-real Presidential campaign and fiction with a sprinkling of “non” takes readers on a wild ride as Barry tries desperately to whisk away his plethora of shortcomings in search of something, anything, to make his life meaningful. Barry runs from his crumbling marriage by taking the Greyhound across America searching for a time where recapturing what he had, might offer him solace, that was likely never as it seemed, dismantling protected memories. While Seema, struggles with how, she, much like Barry’s investors, were grifted by greed.
Lake Success is a cutting dichotomy between the wealthy and the struggling. It with razor-sharp wit and delicate wordplay inserts readers into a story that despite the tag of fiction deposits them in the realities of today’s world: Wealth + Poverty aren’t so different. The characters Barry encounters in his search for self are colourful and can be found on every corner of American life. Some are deep. Some are extremely racist. All are flawed, and on the same undefinable life quest, most of us are pursuing in this delightfully messed up world filled with noise 24/7.
America is a diverse mixture of humanity that cannot all fit into the same hole.
Fiction or not, Lake Success is a gripping, compelling, page-turner about a country losing its way illustrating in nuance that the fall from the top to the bottom is closer than any of us may think. Nonetheless, with a quick wind of the watch, it highlights the climb upward is impossible for those of us who’ve never been at the top before.
Does Barry find himself in the end?
I won’t spoil it for you, but I will say: Barry Cohen is a dick. Moreover, much like his expensive watches eventually run out of time, Barry faces the same inevitability because of his glaring lack of depth. Finally, no matter how hard Barry tries to fool himself, he can’t.
Barry lusts for exorbitantly expensive timepieces. He perpetuates the illusion of perfection until his and Seema’s lives begin to unravel because their son Shiva, is diagnosed with Autism—perfection busted—the shame of pretension. Moreover, with a shadow draped over the humiliation of being less than perfect + Barry’s hedge fund is a scam, their lives begin to unwind fracturing everything they thought once was. Drop in an all-to-real Presidential campaign and fiction with a sprinkling of “non” takes readers on a wild ride as Barry tries desperately to whisk away his plethora of shortcomings in search of something, anything, to make his life meaningful. Barry runs from his crumbling marriage by taking the Greyhound across America searching for a time where recapturing what he had, might offer him solace, that was likely never as it seemed, dismantling protected memories. While Seema, struggles with how, she, much like Barry’s investors, were grifted by greed.
Lake Success is a cutting dichotomy between the wealthy and the struggling. It with razor-sharp wit and delicate wordplay inserts readers into a story that despite the tag of fiction deposits them in the realities of today’s world: Wealth + Poverty aren’t so different. The characters Barry encounters in his search for self are colourful and can be found on every corner of American life. Some are deep. Some are extremely racist. All are flawed, and on the same undefinable life quest, most of us are pursuing in this delightfully messed up world filled with noise 24/7.
America is a diverse mixture of humanity that cannot all fit into the same hole.
Fiction or not, Lake Success is a gripping, compelling, page-turner about a country losing its way illustrating in nuance that the fall from the top to the bottom is closer than any of us may think. Nonetheless, with a quick wind of the watch, it highlights the climb upward is impossible for those of us who’ve never been at the top before.
Does Barry find himself in the end?
I won’t spoil it for you, but I will say: Barry Cohen is a dick. Moreover, much like his expensive watches eventually run out of time, Barry faces the same inevitability because of his glaring lack of depth. Finally, no matter how hard Barry tries to fool himself, he can’t.
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LESSAndrew Sean GREERA wispy, captivating, solemnly hilarious, tale of woe.
5 STARS |
Arthur Less is a gay author on the brink of turning 50 —chasing a passion that has chewed him up and spit him out—successful, used up, mundane; cloaked in a feeling of mediocrity and a feeling of being spinning on the margins of the literary world. He want’s his life to pop. He finds it slipping away in gloominess; the white-middle-aged man’s mental prison.
He wants what was. He can’t have it. He laments without realizing he’s living a life far grander than those who judge him. Arthur Less attempts to cobble together his writing career in a hope to feel relevant. Instead, he laments. He fears he has been surpassed by his peers.
Fifty is a tough age for white guys. It’s a time when the clock keeps ticking and many of find it is all slipping away. It’s an age where if you haven’t found MONEY – POWER – FAME it is likely never coming and accepting you are no longer “IN” the crowd, can be debilitating.
In the end of this wispy, captivating, solemnly hilarious, tale of woe, what I loved the most is if you can summons the strength to drop the self-pity you might conclude: LESS is MORE — and you can get back to living whatever comes next!
A fantastic read!
He wants what was. He can’t have it. He laments without realizing he’s living a life far grander than those who judge him. Arthur Less attempts to cobble together his writing career in a hope to feel relevant. Instead, he laments. He fears he has been surpassed by his peers.
Fifty is a tough age for white guys. It’s a time when the clock keeps ticking and many of find it is all slipping away. It’s an age where if you haven’t found MONEY – POWER – FAME it is likely never coming and accepting you are no longer “IN” the crowd, can be debilitating.
In the end of this wispy, captivating, solemnly hilarious, tale of woe, what I loved the most is if you can summons the strength to drop the self-pity you might conclude: LESS is MORE — and you can get back to living whatever comes next!
A fantastic read!
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US AGAINST YOUFredrik BACKMANA thought-provokingly searing story about what happens when we try too hard to belong.
5 STARS |
US AGAINST YOU is the breathtakingly urgent follow-up to the gripping BEARTOWN. If you like to think, you will love this duo. If you are looking for fluff; you won’t.
I loved them. Backman is relentless in his tackling of social issues in these brilliantly narrated books about sports. However, they are not sports stories. However, they are hockey stories. However, they are not.
I loved them. Backman is relentless in his tackling of social issues in these brilliantly narrated books about sports. However, they are not sports stories. However, they are hockey stories. However, they are not.
…a jarringly evocative look at the struggles of life…
BEARTOWN + US AGAINST YOU are probably the best sports stories I have ever read. For anyone who has participated at a reasonable level, Backman does a masterful job of capturing the inner workings, the corruption, the realities of not being good enough, the entitlement dropped onto the stars; and the challenges of being different when the TEAM comes first, all of the time. Backman deftly navigates what it is like to be caught up in the chase of something fanatics layer immense importance on—when sports do not define who we are, and it is tragic when we think it does. We are not part of a tribe if we want to excel as an individual.
US AGAINST YOU is a story about learning to accept whom you are becoming. It is riveting. It is gripping. It is sad. It is honest. It is life. It is breathtaking.
US AGAINST YOU is a jarringly evocative look at the struggles of life through an unfiltered lens. I’ll repeat it: I loved it. I didn’t want it to end. I found myself choking back tears as I flipped the pages.
I believe this book should be mandatory reading for anyone involved in the (sporting) world! It might cause athletes to look deeply into their mirrors.
TOP 5 BOOK!
WRITTEN: July 29th - 2019
US AGAINST YOU is a story about learning to accept whom you are becoming. It is riveting. It is gripping. It is sad. It is honest. It is life. It is breathtaking.
US AGAINST YOU is a jarringly evocative look at the struggles of life through an unfiltered lens. I’ll repeat it: I loved it. I didn’t want it to end. I found myself choking back tears as I flipped the pages.
I believe this book should be mandatory reading for anyone involved in the (sporting) world! It might cause athletes to look deeply into their mirrors.
TOP 5 BOOK!
WRITTEN: July 29th - 2019
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QUEENIECandace CARTY-WILLIAMSHilarity cloaked in the nuances of sexuality, racism, and mental well-being.
5 STARS |
I am not a 25-year old black woman living in South London. I’m the exact opposite.
First off, because of my opening statement, I can’t possibly relate to the life of Queenie. I have no references for dealing with the vileness of systemic racism. It would be appalling for anyone in my demographic to pretend they can. I also, after reading, am baffled by the minds of anyone under 30. I question myself: did I carry the same sense of—when I was Queenie’s age.
Okay, I’ve gotten the un-relatable aspects out of the way.
Moreover, I don’t fit into the Queenie reader demographic, but I loved the book. I found it hilarious, in the way it made me feel uncomfortable—about everything: sexuality, racism, mental health issues, friendship; and the desperation merely is trying to be okay. Queenie’s jaunt through life opened my eyes to what surely must be challenging, to say the least, living in a world that is spinning out of control. Queenie made me feel grateful that I grew up in a time when life was far more connected than it is now in the 24/7 connected world. What I once thought of as youthful entitlement I’ve now come to understand life can be challenging for all. I must thank Queenie because when I wasn’t laughing or cringing, she helped me realize the importance of kindness.
WRITTEN: July 22nd - 2019
First off, because of my opening statement, I can’t possibly relate to the life of Queenie. I have no references for dealing with the vileness of systemic racism. It would be appalling for anyone in my demographic to pretend they can. I also, after reading, am baffled by the minds of anyone under 30. I question myself: did I carry the same sense of—when I was Queenie’s age.
Okay, I’ve gotten the un-relatable aspects out of the way.
Moreover, I don’t fit into the Queenie reader demographic, but I loved the book. I found it hilarious, in the way it made me feel uncomfortable—about everything: sexuality, racism, mental health issues, friendship; and the desperation merely is trying to be okay. Queenie’s jaunt through life opened my eyes to what surely must be challenging, to say the least, living in a world that is spinning out of control. Queenie made me feel grateful that I grew up in a time when life was far more connected than it is now in the 24/7 connected world. What I once thought of as youthful entitlement I’ve now come to understand life can be challenging for all. I must thank Queenie because when I wasn’t laughing or cringing, she helped me realize the importance of kindness.
WRITTEN: July 22nd - 2019
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AGES of ENTANGLEMENTR. L. JacksonIS HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF?
5 STARS? |
Ages of Entanglement.
How did this book make me feel?
First off, it made me feel we are entering the Age of Déjà vu.
Ages of Entanglement is an evocative romp through a world that once was, perhaps soon, coming, a dystopian look at the flaws of humanity and our predilection to destroy ourselves. Page after page, I felt like I had been dropped into the realities of Cast Away trudging towards Lost, challenged by a wall of immigration. We are racing. The Human Race that is—and if we are too stunned to reach the finish line, a reset may be in order.
Ages of Entanglement is a poetic journey touching on everything plaguing society today: greed, hatred, fear, insularity, the need for sports to turn to blood to stay relevant, and the pursuit of--
It eloquently highlights the realities staring at us today. And if we don’t find a way to slow down and accept that we all need to be connected on a much deeper level than technologically or economically, what may be coming our way may be inevitable, which will quickly subtract the fiction from this engrossing read.
WRITTEN: November 16, 2019
How did this book make me feel?
First off, it made me feel we are entering the Age of Déjà vu.
Ages of Entanglement is an evocative romp through a world that once was, perhaps soon, coming, a dystopian look at the flaws of humanity and our predilection to destroy ourselves. Page after page, I felt like I had been dropped into the realities of Cast Away trudging towards Lost, challenged by a wall of immigration. We are racing. The Human Race that is—and if we are too stunned to reach the finish line, a reset may be in order.
Ages of Entanglement is a poetic journey touching on everything plaguing society today: greed, hatred, fear, insularity, the need for sports to turn to blood to stay relevant, and the pursuit of--
It eloquently highlights the realities staring at us today. And if we don’t find a way to slow down and accept that we all need to be connected on a much deeper level than technologically or economically, what may be coming our way may be inevitable, which will quickly subtract the fiction from this engrossing read.
WRITTEN: November 16, 2019
5
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SUPERMARKETBobby HALLA wicked ride on a roller-coaster leaving my mouth agape at the end
5+ STARS |
Hey, look at the red book over there? I pick it up. Simple, interesting texture. I’m sold!
I crack it open. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what the story is about.
An elevator door opens. I get in. The attendant hands me a bag of pills. I resist taking one. We meet Flynn.
He’s quirky. He’s creative. He weaves his words in a unique formation. We rise to the second floor. The characters are colourful, vibrant, consistent, challenged—trapped working in one of the only going concerns in town, a supermarket—generic, like many-a-town, sprinkling the world.
The characters spring to life peculiarities and all, as Flynn writes them to life. Flynn is a writer. He’s signed a book deal. He needs to create fiction from non. He needs to make the boring life of a small town, vibrant. His challenge. He’s kind of messed up.
We reach another floor. The protagonist is antsy. He wants to push the proverbial envelope. He wants to live.
I crack it open. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know what the story is about.
An elevator door opens. I get in. The attendant hands me a bag of pills. I resist taking one. We meet Flynn.
He’s quirky. He’s creative. He weaves his words in a unique formation. We rise to the second floor. The characters are colourful, vibrant, consistent, challenged—trapped working in one of the only going concerns in town, a supermarket—generic, like many-a-town, sprinkling the world.
The characters spring to life peculiarities and all, as Flynn writes them to life. Flynn is a writer. He’s signed a book deal. He needs to create fiction from non. He needs to make the boring life of a small town, vibrant. His challenge. He’s kind of messed up.
We reach another floor. The protagonist is antsy. He wants to push the proverbial envelope. He wants to live.
--
“He could be any of us who struggle with belonging.”
--
“He could be any of us who struggle with belonging.”
--
We near the top floor. We’re handed another bag of pills. I resist popping again.
What’s happening? Am I hallucinating? Flynn’s life begins unravelling. He’s damaged. Lost. He could be any of us who struggle with belonging.
We start dropping at an unforgiving pace. I read another page. Reality has become skewed. I read more. Maybe a pill will help clear things up.
I CAN’T STOP READING!
SUPERMARKET is street-smart. It is an outrageous, insanity-laced, roller-coaster ride, with mind-bending realities around every corner. It profoundly tackles issues of mental health + will have you teetering on a line between clarity and fantasy + if you trip too far—you may never make it back.
SUPERMARKET has entered a 3-way tie for my favourite book. “A MAN CALLED OVE” “DRIVING IN REVERSE – THE LIFE I ALMOST MISSED” “SUPERMARKET”
What’s happening? Am I hallucinating? Flynn’s life begins unravelling. He’s damaged. Lost. He could be any of us who struggle with belonging.
We start dropping at an unforgiving pace. I read another page. Reality has become skewed. I read more. Maybe a pill will help clear things up.
I CAN’T STOP READING!
SUPERMARKET is street-smart. It is an outrageous, insanity-laced, roller-coaster ride, with mind-bending realities around every corner. It profoundly tackles issues of mental health + will have you teetering on a line between clarity and fantasy + if you trip too far—you may never make it back.
SUPERMARKET has entered a 3-way tie for my favourite book. “A MAN CALLED OVE” “DRIVING IN REVERSE – THE LIFE I ALMOST MISSED” “SUPERMARKET”
REVIEW WRITTEN: May 12, 2019
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CALYPSODavid SEDARISA darkly entertaining and intimate look at coming to terms with the inescapability of living
5 STARS |
In Calypso, David Sedaris, blast open the doors and windows into his life, inviting readers in for a darkly entertaining and intimate look into his coming to terms with the inescapability of living.
Once inside, I found Sedaris standing in front of the mirror with the image staring back at him attempting to come to terms with life slipping by—part reminiscing—part fear—laced with reality. On any given page, my emotions flipped between laughter, cringing, introspection, and profound sadness.
As David peered into the mirror, the book began to transform. The image looking back at his life morphed into me, you, our neighbours—and—every human being who has their eyes open to the trials and tribulations every one of us deals with at some point in time in our life journeys. David Sedaris is a gifted storyteller—did I just become Mr. Obvious? This collection of stories is a wonderful gift to each of us!
I found the chapters “Why Aren’t You Laughing” and “The Spirit World” tugged at my heartstrings in a painfully visceral way—providing warmth masked as pain—bringing tears to my eyes as the image in the mirror morphed back to me.
Sure, all our paths are uniquely our own, but if you open your heart and mind while reading Calypso, you may realise the threads that bind us altogether likely come from the same source.
Once inside, I found Sedaris standing in front of the mirror with the image staring back at him attempting to come to terms with life slipping by—part reminiscing—part fear—laced with reality. On any given page, my emotions flipped between laughter, cringing, introspection, and profound sadness.
As David peered into the mirror, the book began to transform. The image looking back at his life morphed into me, you, our neighbours—and—every human being who has their eyes open to the trials and tribulations every one of us deals with at some point in time in our life journeys. David Sedaris is a gifted storyteller—did I just become Mr. Obvious? This collection of stories is a wonderful gift to each of us!
I found the chapters “Why Aren’t You Laughing” and “The Spirit World” tugged at my heartstrings in a painfully visceral way—providing warmth masked as pain—bringing tears to my eyes as the image in the mirror morphed back to me.
Sure, all our paths are uniquely our own, but if you open your heart and mind while reading Calypso, you may realise the threads that bind us altogether likely come from the same source.
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A MAN CALLED OVEFredrik BACKMANI want Ove to be my best friend
5 STARS |
A Man Called Ove is my second favourite book— it is close, but still second.
Ove is a snarky old man, 59 years old, not old by any standard, but since he is from Sweden, perhaps old by Ikea standards.
Does Ikea furniture ever make it to antique?
Don’t take that as a slight against Ikea; I love Ikea.
Ove likes order, "rules are rules," they bring order to life.
He’s an awkward man whose deeply principled. When Ove finds a lost item, he turns it in, but at the same time, he will not rat out a lesser man who believes in finder’s keepers.
Ove’s world is black and white. He likes fixing things. He enjoys working with tools. He likes simplicity. He falls in love. He feels unworthy, but his heart fills with true—his love, Sonja, brings colour to Ove’s life. He falls deeply.
Tragedy strikes—his love never wavers through trauma—sadly, love eventually leaves as it succumbs to cancer and his world trips back to black and white.
The days begin darkly blending into the next, and without "pure love" walking lockstep, his will to live begins to evaporate. He plans his exit. He feels isolated despite the collection of unusual blundering characters who keep dropping into his life. He resists their presence. His time is up. Suicide is on the docket.
Ove is a snarky old man, 59 years old, not old by any standard, but since he is from Sweden, perhaps old by Ikea standards.
Does Ikea furniture ever make it to antique?
Don’t take that as a slight against Ikea; I love Ikea.
Ove likes order, "rules are rules," they bring order to life.
He’s an awkward man whose deeply principled. When Ove finds a lost item, he turns it in, but at the same time, he will not rat out a lesser man who believes in finder’s keepers.
Ove’s world is black and white. He likes fixing things. He enjoys working with tools. He likes simplicity. He falls in love. He feels unworthy, but his heart fills with true—his love, Sonja, brings colour to Ove’s life. He falls deeply.
Tragedy strikes—his love never wavers through trauma—sadly, love eventually leaves as it succumbs to cancer and his world trips back to black and white.
The days begin darkly blending into the next, and without "pure love" walking lockstep, his will to live begins to evaporate. He plans his exit. He feels isolated despite the collection of unusual blundering characters who keep dropping into his life. He resists their presence. His time is up. Suicide is on the docket.
He tries. He is interrupted. He tries again. He is interrupted once more. With each chapter read I feared he’d eventually succeed. The damaged blundering characters begin to transform from flawed, to flawed with a purpose. That purpose: to keep Ove busy fixing things broken in each of their lives.
Then, magically, as if a zipper appeared on the pages only to be pulled down allowing me to crawl fully into the story: I felt as if I was becoming a character in the story.
I read “Ove” while reading a memoir about a megalomaniac psychiatrist who was trying to cure the homosexuality of the main character—a light read—not—but a wonderful book nonetheless (more on it at another time). With each passage I finished, of the not so light read, I felt a need to read “Ove” to cheer myself up. Imagine a book about a crotchety old suicidal man being an elixir of hope!
It is time to wind my thoughts down; I feel the wind blowing long here. I never wanted “Ove” to end. I found myself becoming sad as the pages slipped by. Pardon the cliché; the book is a real page-turner—but I found myself only reading a chapter or two at a time in an effort to avoid the last page. As I paced along beside the beautiful cast of characters inside the book I imagined meeting with Ove each week to catch up. Ove became my friend. Ove made me want to be a better man. Ove turned black and white into a vibrant tapestry of colour.
A Man Called Ove is my second favourite book. My first favourite: my memoir—simply because, I did not write Ove!
Then, magically, as if a zipper appeared on the pages only to be pulled down allowing me to crawl fully into the story: I felt as if I was becoming a character in the story.
I read “Ove” while reading a memoir about a megalomaniac psychiatrist who was trying to cure the homosexuality of the main character—a light read—not—but a wonderful book nonetheless (more on it at another time). With each passage I finished, of the not so light read, I felt a need to read “Ove” to cheer myself up. Imagine a book about a crotchety old suicidal man being an elixir of hope!
It is time to wind my thoughts down; I feel the wind blowing long here. I never wanted “Ove” to end. I found myself becoming sad as the pages slipped by. Pardon the cliché; the book is a real page-turner—but I found myself only reading a chapter or two at a time in an effort to avoid the last page. As I paced along beside the beautiful cast of characters inside the book I imagined meeting with Ove each week to catch up. Ove became my friend. Ove made me want to be a better man. Ove turned black and white into a vibrant tapestry of colour.
A Man Called Ove is my second favourite book. My first favourite: my memoir—simply because, I did not write Ove!
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YOU THINK IT, I'LL SAY ITCurtis SITTENFELDPolitics – Unrequited Misguided-Love – Lust – Envy ++
5 STARS? |
Hello, Curtis, my name is Lindsay, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I like your outfit. I find the base to be calming, the subtle splashes of colour intriguing. You feel nice in my hands, firm, strong. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll crack you open and dive in head first.
Would you like to hang out for a few days; maybe a week?
You would - great!
Crap - can’t escape politics, you had to start our date with a Trump-themed story?
I guess that’s okay, in one of the first chapters of my memoir, even I, mention: Trump.
Curtis, you seem to like to write about female-based themes. A tad odd, but it works swimmingly. Story one, two, three - all female leads, what’s going on Curtis, do you wish you were a woman?
Better check the book jacket: Curtis, a woman, who knew? It makes sense now. I guess you knew, probably your mother, I’m guessing the fictitious cab driver the fictitious “you” had sex in the first chapter with – knew.
Lindsay, a man, who knew?
Keep sharing. Your stories flow effortlessly together. You got me. I’m in hook line and sinker. I want another page. I want another yarn. Your fictitious life keeps streaming forward. Middle age drops in a quagmire of “what if?” – it laments missed opportunities, denial, deceit, loneliness, revenge; all falling onto the delightfully weaved together stories you’ve dropped onto the pages in the form of "all of us."
YOU THINK IT, I’LL SAY IT is charmingly nuanced storytelling that by the end of its juicy pages you just might realize: as much as you’ve shared a book of fiction – the stories within are about all of us, regardless of gender, regardless of age – relatable to each of us whether we realize it or not.
Would you like to hang out for a few days; maybe a week?
You would - great!
Crap - can’t escape politics, you had to start our date with a Trump-themed story?
I guess that’s okay, in one of the first chapters of my memoir, even I, mention: Trump.
Curtis, you seem to like to write about female-based themes. A tad odd, but it works swimmingly. Story one, two, three - all female leads, what’s going on Curtis, do you wish you were a woman?
Better check the book jacket: Curtis, a woman, who knew? It makes sense now. I guess you knew, probably your mother, I’m guessing the fictitious cab driver the fictitious “you” had sex in the first chapter with – knew.
Lindsay, a man, who knew?
Keep sharing. Your stories flow effortlessly together. You got me. I’m in hook line and sinker. I want another page. I want another yarn. Your fictitious life keeps streaming forward. Middle age drops in a quagmire of “what if?” – it laments missed opportunities, denial, deceit, loneliness, revenge; all falling onto the delightfully weaved together stories you’ve dropped onto the pages in the form of "all of us."
YOU THINK IT, I’LL SAY IT is charmingly nuanced storytelling that by the end of its juicy pages you just might realize: as much as you’ve shared a book of fiction – the stories within are about all of us, regardless of gender, regardless of age – relatable to each of us whether we realize it or not.
Politics – Unrequited Misguided-Love – Lust – Envy – Deception
Loneliness – Humour – Sadness – Acceptance
Loneliness – Humour – Sadness – Acceptance
Thanks for the date. I wish you the best. I must let you go. I think your dance card may have an exceptionally long waiting list!
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I'LL GIVE YOU THE SUNJandy NELSONA deeply gripping story about finding out who you really are!
5 STARS |
Twins, Jude and Noah, one boy, one girl, inseparable in youth; both artistically gifted, both like boys take us on a compelling trip through their lives in search of meaning. Their mother dies in a tragic accident, leaving them alone with a single father. A father who struggles to provide the much-needed soft moments his children desperately need because of his infinite struggles with his realities.
I found myself struggling through my realities as the pages unfolded into a brilliant tapestry of what life is like when life-altering traumatic events drop into life. Jude and Noah both need the love of their father. They both need to be understood. They both need to matter. They both need love. Unfortunately, they're left to their own accord to cobble together the pieces of whom they are becoming to hopefully find a place of solace and a place where they can move forward in life.
Jandy weaves an incredible journey inviting us into the twin’s lives. Jude and Noah’s challenges tug at readers heart-strings alternating emotions between cheering and at times, jeering for the foolish decisions they make.
The book twists and turns in a soul-searching, at times violently, and is full of denial, leading down an exhilarating path ending when a bomb is dropped in the last few pages leaving readers, at least me, with my mouth agape.
I loved this book. I’m sure you will as well!
I found myself struggling through my realities as the pages unfolded into a brilliant tapestry of what life is like when life-altering traumatic events drop into life. Jude and Noah both need the love of their father. They both need to be understood. They both need to matter. They both need love. Unfortunately, they're left to their own accord to cobble together the pieces of whom they are becoming to hopefully find a place of solace and a place where they can move forward in life.
Jandy weaves an incredible journey inviting us into the twin’s lives. Jude and Noah’s challenges tug at readers heart-strings alternating emotions between cheering and at times, jeering for the foolish decisions they make.
The book twists and turns in a soul-searching, at times violently, and is full of denial, leading down an exhilarating path ending when a bomb is dropped in the last few pages leaving readers, at least me, with my mouth agape.
I loved this book. I’m sure you will as well!
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THE INHERITANCE OF SHAMEPeter GAJDICS (GUY - DITCH)An eloquently written + scorching tale of survival and understanding.
5 STARS? |
Peter Gajdics is (was?) a damaged man. His parents were deeply flawed, causing Peter to cloak whom he would inevitably become from the at times judgemental eyes of religion.
His mother escaped a post-WWII communist concentration camp—his father, an orphan, who never knew his parents. They both exiled to Vancouver where they found each other and started new lives.
Peter happens to be gay, raised in a time where gay was deep in the closet only to come out in the dark underbelly of many cities (Vancouver included). Peter faced a sexual assault at the age of six, throwing his life into confusion. He felt isolated and alone. Being raised by deeply religious parents who endured dark pasts, didn’t bring comfort, and stunted Peter’s growth in coming to terms with whom he was destined to be.
The Inheritance of Shame is a scorching, candid story, about finding oneself while navigating a quandary of near-impossible circumstances. Peter trips into the cult-like care of a megalomaniacal psychiatrist (Alfonso) who rips apart the identity of many lost, damaged, and flawed souls, warehousing them in a charade of caring—which is nothing more than psychotic control. In Peter’s case: Alfonso, while masking his torture as caring, tries to cure Peter’s homosexuality, a ploy used to manipulate for profit.
Peter eventually finds the strength to break free + the unwavering courage to fight for what’s right. In freedom he finds purpose. He understands that as much as he grappled with his realities—his parents also need to find solace in who they once were. Peter, patiently with great empathy helps his mother and father let go of some of the crippling secrets hidden in their pasts.
Gajdics tackles a complex dark subject matter with grace and brilliant prose. The subject matter is intense. As much as the book is a memoir with gay undertones, it will resonate with anyone who has ever struggled with finding their identity (everyone).
The Inheritance of Shame is a passionate story about love, understanding and acceptance. The subject matter is scathingly intense; it will linger with you long after consuming the last word. Even with the intensity cranked to eleven—if you scour the pages closely—there is the occasional moment of deliciously dark comedy—a slice of one sentence jumped off the pages for me, leaving me chortling and falling out of my chair. I will leave it for you to find!
Thank you, Peter, for having the courage to share your engagingly difficult story.
His mother escaped a post-WWII communist concentration camp—his father, an orphan, who never knew his parents. They both exiled to Vancouver where they found each other and started new lives.
Peter happens to be gay, raised in a time where gay was deep in the closet only to come out in the dark underbelly of many cities (Vancouver included). Peter faced a sexual assault at the age of six, throwing his life into confusion. He felt isolated and alone. Being raised by deeply religious parents who endured dark pasts, didn’t bring comfort, and stunted Peter’s growth in coming to terms with whom he was destined to be.
The Inheritance of Shame is a scorching, candid story, about finding oneself while navigating a quandary of near-impossible circumstances. Peter trips into the cult-like care of a megalomaniacal psychiatrist (Alfonso) who rips apart the identity of many lost, damaged, and flawed souls, warehousing them in a charade of caring—which is nothing more than psychotic control. In Peter’s case: Alfonso, while masking his torture as caring, tries to cure Peter’s homosexuality, a ploy used to manipulate for profit.
Peter eventually finds the strength to break free + the unwavering courage to fight for what’s right. In freedom he finds purpose. He understands that as much as he grappled with his realities—his parents also need to find solace in who they once were. Peter, patiently with great empathy helps his mother and father let go of some of the crippling secrets hidden in their pasts.
Gajdics tackles a complex dark subject matter with grace and brilliant prose. The subject matter is intense. As much as the book is a memoir with gay undertones, it will resonate with anyone who has ever struggled with finding their identity (everyone).
The Inheritance of Shame is a passionate story about love, understanding and acceptance. The subject matter is scathingly intense; it will linger with you long after consuming the last word. Even with the intensity cranked to eleven—if you scour the pages closely—there is the occasional moment of deliciously dark comedy—a slice of one sentence jumped off the pages for me, leaving me chortling and falling out of my chair. I will leave it for you to find!
Thank you, Peter, for having the courage to share your engagingly difficult story.
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TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRDHarper LEEA sad classic that highlights evolution has a long way to go.
5 STARS |
There is nothing to be said about this book that hasn’t been already said. However, I’ll still give it a go.
“It makes me want to be a better person.”
To Kill a Mockingbird exposes the ugly truths of America decades ago. America can be a dark place. Over time, of course, things have gotten better, much better for us Caucasians; who’ve at the very worst have been called a ‘cracker’ or ‘honky’ which in all honesty, have no bite. When I was called those things, I had to GOOGLE them to know what they mean. I’m still not sure about the origins of ‘honky?’ I do have a metallic white vehicle. I’ve named it Honky!
To Kill a Mockingbird saddened me because I believe if we open our eyes, we’ll realise that for other cultures the ‘things have gotten better’ is relative and as much as the book saddened me, it also made me open my eyes and not accept things the way they are. It makes me want to be a better person!
To Kill a Mockingbird saddened me because I believe if we open our eyes, we’ll realise that for other cultures the ‘things have gotten better’ is relative and as much as the book saddened me, it also made me open my eyes and not accept things the way they are. It makes me want to be a better person!
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BETWEEN THE WORLD AND METa-Nehisi COATESI will never be black.
5 STARS |
Racism is a learned sickness. Between the World and Me is an eloquently written captivating look at it from the inside. I thank Ta-Neshi Coates for sharing his story.
The book upset me. I don’t want to believe the world to be this way. I don’t bleeping understand what race is—I do—but I don’t. I think it is a creation impacting us from the depths of greed — a way to control.
Ta-Neshi weaves his realities by using the literary tool of a letter to his son. The letter speaks of the atrocities cloaking those of black skin. It navigates the truths of race being a creation of the rich to control the unrelenting challenges of the poor. White poor. Black poor. They’re all the same; however, greed needed to divide. They required one group to be below the other on the pecking order of living. Between the World and Me is a beautiful exposé, highlighting the ridiculousness and blind-sightedness of literally all of us who grew up in suburbia. It scorns the illusive DREAM, which is only allowed to be chased by those deemed to be white enough to participate.
NEWSFLASH: White doesn’t exist. It never has, and it never will. If White Supremacists were to hold a convention where all members took a DNA TEST—there would never be a second convention.
What I loved most about this book; it promotes the quest for critical thought. It challenges us to question everything. It is painful at times. In today’s (and always) climate, it is a vitally important read, to help us to look deeply into the mirror and query how we’ve arrived: HERE - TODAY.
The book upset me. I don’t want to believe the world to be this way. I don’t bleeping understand what race is—I do—but I don’t. I think it is a creation impacting us from the depths of greed — a way to control.
Ta-Neshi weaves his realities by using the literary tool of a letter to his son. The letter speaks of the atrocities cloaking those of black skin. It navigates the truths of race being a creation of the rich to control the unrelenting challenges of the poor. White poor. Black poor. They’re all the same; however, greed needed to divide. They required one group to be below the other on the pecking order of living. Between the World and Me is a beautiful exposé, highlighting the ridiculousness and blind-sightedness of literally all of us who grew up in suburbia. It scorns the illusive DREAM, which is only allowed to be chased by those deemed to be white enough to participate.
NEWSFLASH: White doesn’t exist. It never has, and it never will. If White Supremacists were to hold a convention where all members took a DNA TEST—there would never be a second convention.
What I loved most about this book; it promotes the quest for critical thought. It challenges us to question everything. It is painful at times. In today’s (and always) climate, it is a vitally important read, to help us to look deeply into the mirror and query how we’ve arrived: HERE - TODAY.
RACE WAS CREATED BY GR$$D
There is no Chinese race. There is no Korean race. There is no Muslim race. However, somehow, there is a WHITE RACE.
Isn’t that a ginormous load of BS?
What the bleep are we racing toward?
Ta-Neshi, in perfect clarity, highlights the struggle of being trampled for generations and then being punished for trying to rise. Slavery didn’t end when the so-called white elitists ended it—it just shifted into laws meant to control, leading to unrelenting violence swallowing the ghettoized poor. Prisons for profit continued to incarcerate those who’d already brought a bountiful of wealth to the ruling class by enslaving them in offensive numbers; and then, using the imprisoned labour to keep stuffing their pockets.
I don’t want to be racist. So, I won’t. I wish Ta-Neshi didn’t need to write this heart-wrenching letter to his son. However, he did.
Ta-Neshi’s letter, sadly, reminded me of a beautiful blog post a white musician left for his daughter when he was dying from the wrath of Cancer. In the letter, he explained to his daughter all the beautiful things in the world when he was still alive. Who the leader of his country was, what the number one song was, what his favourite food was—with nary a mention of the struggles of life? The letter contrasted Ta-Neshi’s daily struggles to stay alive, stay out of prison, and not to be destroyed by a created race that for centuries have treated everyone but themselves, as less than human.
I loved this book. For several hours after I completed reading, I tripped into a somber funk, only to snap out of it because I realized how offensive it is to feel sadness for something I can never possibly understand, because if I were to write a letter to a loved one, my struggles would never have to touch on who I am. I blend in with all the so-called-superior whites.
I don’t want this book to be real. I will keep asking questions. Maybe one day we can stop the bleeping race. If we don’t, I’m not sure if reaching the finish line is a good thing.
READ THIS BOOK.
Isn’t that a ginormous load of BS?
What the bleep are we racing toward?
Ta-Neshi, in perfect clarity, highlights the struggle of being trampled for generations and then being punished for trying to rise. Slavery didn’t end when the so-called white elitists ended it—it just shifted into laws meant to control, leading to unrelenting violence swallowing the ghettoized poor. Prisons for profit continued to incarcerate those who’d already brought a bountiful of wealth to the ruling class by enslaving them in offensive numbers; and then, using the imprisoned labour to keep stuffing their pockets.
I don’t want to be racist. So, I won’t. I wish Ta-Neshi didn’t need to write this heart-wrenching letter to his son. However, he did.
Ta-Neshi’s letter, sadly, reminded me of a beautiful blog post a white musician left for his daughter when he was dying from the wrath of Cancer. In the letter, he explained to his daughter all the beautiful things in the world when he was still alive. Who the leader of his country was, what the number one song was, what his favourite food was—with nary a mention of the struggles of life? The letter contrasted Ta-Neshi’s daily struggles to stay alive, stay out of prison, and not to be destroyed by a created race that for centuries have treated everyone but themselves, as less than human.
I loved this book. For several hours after I completed reading, I tripped into a somber funk, only to snap out of it because I realized how offensive it is to feel sadness for something I can never possibly understand, because if I were to write a letter to a loved one, my struggles would never have to touch on who I am. I blend in with all the so-called-superior whites.
I don’t want this book to be real. I will keep asking questions. Maybe one day we can stop the bleeping race. If we don’t, I’m not sure if reaching the finish line is a good thing.
READ THIS BOOK.
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THE SHOE ON THE ROOFWill FERGUSONWill the real Jesus please stand up?
5 STARS |
What happens when 3 Jesus(s) are forced to meet during an experiment to determine he doesn’t exist?
Thomas is troubled, demented, highly intelligent. He's messed up by the need to rise from the dysfunction of having been a scientific experiment in his youth; an experiment conducted by his brilliant maniacal psychiatrist father.
Thomas is troubled, demented, highly intelligent. He's messed up by the need to rise from the dysfunction of having been a scientific experiment in his youth; an experiment conducted by his brilliant maniacal psychiatrist father.
“Memory is the hotel curtain that never completely closes…"
The Shoe on the Roof dives deeply into Thomas’s psyche as Thomas is forced to face his mental health issues while desperately trying to find a place of belonging. Thomas is not a less than likeable entitlement damaged protagonist. He stumbles across the 3 Jesus(s) who happen to be wandering around Boston, taking guardianship over them. At the same time he's facing his insecurities and a need to manipulate; stemming from his upbringing. The book is, at times hilarious, cut from large swaths of darkness. We are all damaged. We all need to find a place of belonging. We all...
Read this book!
Read this book!
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PURSUIT OF FREEDOMLaxmi PARASURAMWhat's the difference between caste and the 1% elites?
5 STARS |
Maya is 12 years old, living in India. Maya is ripe for an arranged marriage. She resists her planned destiny, findings the courage to want more. Her own life. To quenching her thirst for knowledge + fulfill a burning desire to be more.
The Pursuit of Freedom is an eye-opening journey into another world. A world most people have never been subjected to—the caste system of South East Asia; or the arranged marriages of many parts of the world. The story is set in the 1940s, and winds through Maya’s rising from the depths of a flawed norm—resisting—fighting for change. The books ending is in the 1960s.
Maya shows tremendous courage in fighting for her life. For a better way. She escapes the crippling captivity of caste, and arranged, and risks her being to strive for understanding. The Pursuit of Freedom simmers in the beginning chapters, to the point it caused me to cringe at a reality far from mine. As Maya escapes and travels to the United States, the story begins to boil at a rollicking pace where she examines the essence of her soul.
I’d like to thank Laxmi Parasuraman for sharing this beautifully eloquent, multi-layered story about the toxic realities of this existence that likely is still brewing today. My mind sprung to the realities of her journey. How do you rewire something that has been the norm for centuries? How do you break a cycle of control and ownership when it is ingrained deep into the souls of men? Are cultures really that different? Is America’s elite (the world elite) any different from those cultures we label misogynistic? Do the rich really mingle with poor or do they only need the poor to fatten their wallets?
The content of this gripping book without hesitation provides food for thought + highlights, at least to me, if we tear off our rose-coloured glasses, the first world has come a long way towards equality, but in reality, the large part of the road, has yet to have been travelled.
Maybe it is time for the next phase of evolution to begin, and more women need to be in charge to wipe clean the mess created by a patriarchal world.
WRITTEN: NOVEMBER 4, 2019
The Pursuit of Freedom is an eye-opening journey into another world. A world most people have never been subjected to—the caste system of South East Asia; or the arranged marriages of many parts of the world. The story is set in the 1940s, and winds through Maya’s rising from the depths of a flawed norm—resisting—fighting for change. The books ending is in the 1960s.
Maya shows tremendous courage in fighting for her life. For a better way. She escapes the crippling captivity of caste, and arranged, and risks her being to strive for understanding. The Pursuit of Freedom simmers in the beginning chapters, to the point it caused me to cringe at a reality far from mine. As Maya escapes and travels to the United States, the story begins to boil at a rollicking pace where she examines the essence of her soul.
I’d like to thank Laxmi Parasuraman for sharing this beautifully eloquent, multi-layered story about the toxic realities of this existence that likely is still brewing today. My mind sprung to the realities of her journey. How do you rewire something that has been the norm for centuries? How do you break a cycle of control and ownership when it is ingrained deep into the souls of men? Are cultures really that different? Is America’s elite (the world elite) any different from those cultures we label misogynistic? Do the rich really mingle with poor or do they only need the poor to fatten their wallets?
The content of this gripping book without hesitation provides food for thought + highlights, at least to me, if we tear off our rose-coloured glasses, the first world has come a long way towards equality, but in reality, the large part of the road, has yet to have been travelled.
Maybe it is time for the next phase of evolution to begin, and more women need to be in charge to wipe clean the mess created by a patriarchal world.
WRITTEN: NOVEMBER 4, 2019
4
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MOSTLY DEAD THINGSKristen ARNETTI highly recommend reading this book while eating!
5 STARS |
INGREDIENTS
And, away we go!
Strange doesn’t do MOSTLY DEAD THINGS justice. The book cuts delicately, screw that; rips open every emotion in a viscerally beautiful; way. A family broke by conditioning tear into their beings; slicing deep, exposing every fibre of being. So, they can find a way to move forward and find comfort in whom each of them is meant to become.
MOSTLY DEAD THINGS is jarringly funny, emotionally laced, dripping in a breathtaking need to find similarity in the lives of a family too immersed in beautifying the living past to realize they are stuck in denial.
Parts of the last 100 pages were so incredibly gripping the words lifted off the page, coming to life, and delivering, at least to this reader; to the beautiful pains found in trying to figure out whom you are supposed to be! Parts of the last 100 pages, just might have been, the most powerfully beautiful writing I have ever read.
I read most of this book during lunch breaks. In hindsight, maybe not the best way to learn about taxidermy!
- A father who’s a taxidermist.
- A loving lesbian daughter, Jess, working at his side.
- A semi-lost son, trying to find out who he is.
- The daughter and son love the same girl.
- A mother trying to make the best of the cards dealt.
- Dad commits suicide.
- Jessa discovers the body in the room where she and her father used to bring dead animals back to life, almost ready to return to the wild.
- Mom starts creating pieces of art with the animals, posing them in compromising positions.
And, away we go!
Strange doesn’t do MOSTLY DEAD THINGS justice. The book cuts delicately, screw that; rips open every emotion in a viscerally beautiful; way. A family broke by conditioning tear into their beings; slicing deep, exposing every fibre of being. So, they can find a way to move forward and find comfort in whom each of them is meant to become.
MOSTLY DEAD THINGS is jarringly funny, emotionally laced, dripping in a breathtaking need to find similarity in the lives of a family too immersed in beautifying the living past to realize they are stuck in denial.
Parts of the last 100 pages were so incredibly gripping the words lifted off the page, coming to life, and delivering, at least to this reader; to the beautiful pains found in trying to figure out whom you are supposed to be! Parts of the last 100 pages, just might have been, the most powerfully beautiful writing I have ever read.
I read most of this book during lunch breaks. In hindsight, maybe not the best way to learn about taxidermy!
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HITS & MISSESSIMON RichI laughed so hard at times I peed a little bit...
5.01 STARS |
Simon Rich was an ordinary boy, born to an ordinary family, in New York City. That is if ordinary translates into being raised in a family of academics gifted with a love of the quill.
Little did little Simon know, his destiny included entertaining by spinning twisted yarns derived from deep inside his brain, fueled by the hamsters ferociously rotating the creativity wheels of the absurd. Rumour has it: Simon was born with pen and pad in hand.
Another rumour suggests Simon’s first words were, “Horsey” and “The British Are Coming” – which oddly enough, in Hits & Misses, he writes a story from the perspective of a horse ending with the horse’s fate being determined to be: glue?
Experts question the roots of his scattered-genius-creativity, often asking: How could an ordinary boy born into an ordinary family be so mentally (insert your descriptive word here)?
There have been suggestions he fell off his imaginary horse, Louis, often; tapping his head on the floor each time he fell—and after each tap, his whack-creativity poured from his clouded-mind freely—in turn, producing a series of comedic gems found in the stories of his laugh-out-really (a “really” bad and unimaginative adjective)-loud book, Hits & Misses.
Whether any of my above thoughts are true-facts, or fake, we are lucky for the traumatic events that certainly must have occurred in Simon’s ordinary boy life, to allow him to mess with our minds with such hilarity—begging the question: Is there something wrong with me when I guffaw while reading, or did I hit my head as well, allowing me to get it? In this case, “it’ – being Simon.
Thanks, Simon, because of you, I finally can accept, I’m not normal.
Read: Hits & Misses – if you don’t find it side-splittingly hilarious, oh well, it must suck to be…
Little did little Simon know, his destiny included entertaining by spinning twisted yarns derived from deep inside his brain, fueled by the hamsters ferociously rotating the creativity wheels of the absurd. Rumour has it: Simon was born with pen and pad in hand.
Another rumour suggests Simon’s first words were, “Horsey” and “The British Are Coming” – which oddly enough, in Hits & Misses, he writes a story from the perspective of a horse ending with the horse’s fate being determined to be: glue?
Experts question the roots of his scattered-genius-creativity, often asking: How could an ordinary boy born into an ordinary family be so mentally (insert your descriptive word here)?
There have been suggestions he fell off his imaginary horse, Louis, often; tapping his head on the floor each time he fell—and after each tap, his whack-creativity poured from his clouded-mind freely—in turn, producing a series of comedic gems found in the stories of his laugh-out-really (a “really” bad and unimaginative adjective)-loud book, Hits & Misses.
Whether any of my above thoughts are true-facts, or fake, we are lucky for the traumatic events that certainly must have occurred in Simon’s ordinary boy life, to allow him to mess with our minds with such hilarity—begging the question: Is there something wrong with me when I guffaw while reading, or did I hit my head as well, allowing me to get it? In this case, “it’ – being Simon.
Thanks, Simon, because of you, I finally can accept, I’m not normal.
Read: Hits & Misses – if you don’t find it side-splittingly hilarious, oh well, it must suck to be…
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1984George ORWELLIf you don’t understand Trump or Social Media – you will after you read this!
5 STARS |
I came to a crossroads after reading 1984.
1984 is a riveting story written several decades ago which highlights with a laser focus of where we might (?) be heading as a species. Moreover, it’s troublesome; two-nights worth of insomnia; troublesome.
For me, it has helped me understand the perplexities of living and how we allow ourselves to let others guide us to where we don’t want to go. Oh yeah, the two main perplexities:
That’s what I took from reading 1984—humanities need to be controlled because the more noise we’re bombarded with; eventually, develop less capacity to think for ourselves.
George Orwell wasn’t foreshadowing what he saw coming; but instead, he was diving deep into the evil capacities of man.
- Turn on every light in my home, including opening the fridge and leaving it open to try to eradicate the darkness consuming my soul.
- Turn off all the lights in my house, cover the window, crawl into a closet draped in a blanket, close my eyes; and shake.
1984 is a riveting story written several decades ago which highlights with a laser focus of where we might (?) be heading as a species. Moreover, it’s troublesome; two-nights worth of insomnia; troublesome.
For me, it has helped me understand the perplexities of living and how we allow ourselves to let others guide us to where we don’t want to go. Oh yeah, the two main perplexities:
- Electing politicians who only have their own best interests at heart because we’ve all become floundering addicts in a world swallowed by the noise of living. Too beaten down to realise our next fix might kill us – but we still take it any way expecting a different outcome.
- How social (?) media has made us all needy broken souls in constant need of validation. Seriously. Why are you on social media?
That’s what I took from reading 1984—humanities need to be controlled because the more noise we’re bombarded with; eventually, develop less capacity to think for ourselves.
George Orwell wasn’t foreshadowing what he saw coming; but instead, he was diving deep into the evil capacities of man.
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educatedTARA WestoverUpsetting + Courageous + Disturbing + Harrowing + Gross + Enlightening
5 STARS? |
I hated this book—I loved this book—that was only three chapters in.
Tara Westover is a ridiculously courageous individual who endured what must be as close to an unendurable upbringing possible. It’s hard to fathom what she went through as a child and still be okay. I don’t believe she’s okay. Could she possibly be okay?
This book upset me. Mostly because, I didn’t laugh once, how could I?
I thank her for sharing. As much as her story is about brainwashing by family and religion, I found it to mirror everyday realities for all of us: facts are taught to us by those who are spewing the facts, when gone unchecked and delivered with delusion or manipulation reality becomes skewed and what we believe to be true may be so far from the truth it becomes crippling. That was Tara’s upbringing, Mormonism and family (father mostly) shaded her from the world and until she escaped its clutches (which she likely never truly did, or has done), did the realities of the world outside of upbringing become clear.
I wanted to scream at her to open her eyes. You must escape your family. They are disgusting and toxic. They are flawed, ill, destructive—demented. Her descriptions of violence and trauma, accidents, explosions, etcetera—had me cringing, borderline projectile vomiting—and wondering: how anyone could possibly survive?
Family is a powerful sickness at times. We all want to belong. We all want a home. A place of beginning. A place of safety. The education I received and what I think many readers will struggle with: No matter how messed up your family history may be, no matter how damaged the core is; I don’t think there is a single person on this spinning rock that doesn’t want it to be their safe place.
In Tara’s case it is not, and as much as her shrouded education came from her father, and his likely came from his father before, and his—breeding generations of sickness, I do understand her need to find forgiveness and her burning desire for it not to be what it is!
I hope one day: she laughs.
Tara Westover is a ridiculously courageous individual who endured what must be as close to an unendurable upbringing possible. It’s hard to fathom what she went through as a child and still be okay. I don’t believe she’s okay. Could she possibly be okay?
This book upset me. Mostly because, I didn’t laugh once, how could I?
I thank her for sharing. As much as her story is about brainwashing by family and religion, I found it to mirror everyday realities for all of us: facts are taught to us by those who are spewing the facts, when gone unchecked and delivered with delusion or manipulation reality becomes skewed and what we believe to be true may be so far from the truth it becomes crippling. That was Tara’s upbringing, Mormonism and family (father mostly) shaded her from the world and until she escaped its clutches (which she likely never truly did, or has done), did the realities of the world outside of upbringing become clear.
I wanted to scream at her to open her eyes. You must escape your family. They are disgusting and toxic. They are flawed, ill, destructive—demented. Her descriptions of violence and trauma, accidents, explosions, etcetera—had me cringing, borderline projectile vomiting—and wondering: how anyone could possibly survive?
Family is a powerful sickness at times. We all want to belong. We all want a home. A place of beginning. A place of safety. The education I received and what I think many readers will struggle with: No matter how messed up your family history may be, no matter how damaged the core is; I don’t think there is a single person on this spinning rock that doesn’t want it to be their safe place.
In Tara’s case it is not, and as much as her shrouded education came from her father, and his likely came from his father before, and his—breeding generations of sickness, I do understand her need to find forgiveness and her burning desire for it not to be what it is!
I hope one day: she laughs.
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BUFFERINGHANNAH HartFamily despair + Coming to Terms with Identity—Delivered with heaping helpings of empathy!
5 STARS? |
What if your mother was mentally disorganized—unable to take care of herself—how could she possibly take care of her children?
Of course: your older sister is living the same reality as you—your norms—all you know. A second father arrives, riding in on a broken horse—not your father—he is attracted to dysfunction—attempting to save a floundering soul—confusing life more—a baby sister arrives.
How the bleep do you survive and become a light when your world is draped in darkness?
When I read Buffering, I had no idea who Hannah Hart is—one of the few—I think. Hannah’s story may be disruptively unique—smeared with neglect—usually leading to misery and despair—however; with insurmountable hurdles stacked in front of her, and her sisters—she finds a way to share without burdening the readers with sadness and pain. She has endured a reality few could comprehend—but one many may use avoidance to hide from—we all have layers of dysfunction in our lives.
What makes Buffering outstanding, and a must-read: it is not Hannah’s struggles with sexuality, family dysfunction, etcetera—what makes it outstanding: she intuitively writes about her experiences, while at the same time have them be about something much more substantial than self. Hannah is a talented narrator—entertainer. Thankfully, she found the courage to share her challenges—she has survived. She seems to understand her voice may help others, those less fortunate, to find strength as well!
Of course: your older sister is living the same reality as you—your norms—all you know. A second father arrives, riding in on a broken horse—not your father—he is attracted to dysfunction—attempting to save a floundering soul—confusing life more—a baby sister arrives.
How the bleep do you survive and become a light when your world is draped in darkness?
When I read Buffering, I had no idea who Hannah Hart is—one of the few—I think. Hannah’s story may be disruptively unique—smeared with neglect—usually leading to misery and despair—however; with insurmountable hurdles stacked in front of her, and her sisters—she finds a way to share without burdening the readers with sadness and pain. She has endured a reality few could comprehend—but one many may use avoidance to hide from—we all have layers of dysfunction in our lives.
What makes Buffering outstanding, and a must-read: it is not Hannah’s struggles with sexuality, family dysfunction, etcetera—what makes it outstanding: she intuitively writes about her experiences, while at the same time have them be about something much more substantial than self. Hannah is a talented narrator—entertainer. Thankfully, she found the courage to share her challenges—she has survived. She seems to understand her voice may help others, those less fortunate, to find strength as well!
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we are never meeting in real life.Samantha IRBYA disruptive collection of dysfunction + insecurity that will have you guffawing about life
5 STARS? |
Samantha Irby is a full-figured, somewhat-introverted, black woman. She has stories to share. Moreover, with biting candour: she shares. Irby highlights the heartfelt realities of her life struggles mostly learning to accept whom she has become. She seems to want to hide from the world while at the same time screaming out: LOOK AT ME! At least--README!
As much as her collection of stories are wit-filled diatribes on the perils of living in one's own skin, what makes the book standout is her courage to allow vulnerability to sneak onto the pages—and when it does, Irby turns the awkward pain into a slightly up-turned smirk. Only slightly. Laughter comes from pain. An abusive, manipulative, alcoholic father may provide a plethora of comedy necessary to survive. I’m not a full-figured black woman. Also, this life is hers, not mine—but, as much as humour allows us to cope—I would be surprised if before the laughter grew roots, it drowned in tears.
In the end: I’m glad I heard her screaming: README.
It might have been the dishevelled cat on the cover doing the screaming!
I guffawed, cringed, a tear almost made it into my left eye, a couple of times I considered puking—but mostly: I enjoyed escaping into her life.
If you enjoy a witty take on such shallow topics as racism, alcoholism, mental health issues, isolation, sex, lesbianism—you will love this book! Mainly, if you are an alcoholic who is suffering from problems mental-health while being isolated from the world, as you struggle with sexuality + the health issues that arise—from not the best eating plan, well, this book might be about you (us), or someone we know, READ IT!
I apologise for yelling: read it!
As much as her collection of stories are wit-filled diatribes on the perils of living in one's own skin, what makes the book standout is her courage to allow vulnerability to sneak onto the pages—and when it does, Irby turns the awkward pain into a slightly up-turned smirk. Only slightly. Laughter comes from pain. An abusive, manipulative, alcoholic father may provide a plethora of comedy necessary to survive. I’m not a full-figured black woman. Also, this life is hers, not mine—but, as much as humour allows us to cope—I would be surprised if before the laughter grew roots, it drowned in tears.
In the end: I’m glad I heard her screaming: README.
It might have been the dishevelled cat on the cover doing the screaming!
I guffawed, cringed, a tear almost made it into my left eye, a couple of times I considered puking—but mostly: I enjoyed escaping into her life.
If you enjoy a witty take on such shallow topics as racism, alcoholism, mental health issues, isolation, sex, lesbianism—you will love this book! Mainly, if you are an alcoholic who is suffering from problems mental-health while being isolated from the world, as you struggle with sexuality + the health issues that arise—from not the best eating plan, well, this book might be about you (us), or someone we know, READ IT!
I apologise for yelling: read it!
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BEST DAY EVERKAIRA RoudaA unique voice narrating a story in a riveting, gripping way, questioning self with every page turned
5 STARS? |
Best Day Ever reads like a world-class DJ dropping beats—slowly elevating the reader to a crescendo—then sending them into a whirlwind ride racing toward a gripping, compelling, at a relentless pace, flashing twists and horror, until the end: leaves you gasping.
Love the ending?
Hate the ending?
There is no doubt Kaira’s prose is deft at drawing readers in—and guessing what may come next—with the last words opening up to debate.
The characters: We know them. As much as this is a work of fiction, I could not help but examine my life—wondering: have I ever behaved abhorrently like the main character? Have I ever placed, or do I know anyone who has; put a “loved” one in a place where love does not exist, where control disgusts?
Love the ending?
Hate the ending?
There is no doubt Kaira’s prose is deft at drawing readers in—and guessing what may come next—with the last words opening up to debate.
The characters: We know them. As much as this is a work of fiction, I could not help but examine my life—wondering: have I ever behaved abhorrently like the main character? Have I ever placed, or do I know anyone who has; put a “loved” one in a place where love does not exist, where control disgusts?
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GOD: A HUMAN HISTORYReza ASLANA light read that may mess with your mind while shining a different light on your GOD.
5 STARS? |
I picked up GOD because I figured it would be a light-spirited informative read.
Before I share my thoughts, I’d like to get my exaltations out of the way: Reza Aslan is a gifted writer—an intellect who makes my head spin—I’ve watched him dismantle talking heads on television. He scares me into wanting to be smart.
That’s enough sunshine. The real reason I picked up the book is that I’m God uninformed. My beliefs are simplistic: I believe we are supposed to trip toward kindness and that most other things we endure in life are just divisive noise. Do we need a God to tell us light is better than darkness?
Maybe, I’m naïve.
Before I share my thoughts, I’d like to get my exaltations out of the way: Reza Aslan is a gifted writer—an intellect who makes my head spin—I’ve watched him dismantle talking heads on television. He scares me into wanting to be smart.
That’s enough sunshine. The real reason I picked up the book is that I’m God uninformed. My beliefs are simplistic: I believe we are supposed to trip toward kindness and that most other things we endure in life are just divisive noise. Do we need a God to tell us light is better than darkness?
Maybe, I’m naïve.
GOD, a beautifully written book that for me highlighted the perilous nature of humanity as some of us desperately try to control others because of egos left unchecked. The book resonated loudly, helping me to understand we are all the same flawed creatures—losing ourselves in an unquenchable thirst for power.
If GOD does exist: could someone please explain politics (pmurt)?
Pick up this book. If you have a background in theology, it may provide a different view—maybe not. If religious studies passed you by as you struggled through life, like me, GOD is a nice light way to mess with your mind—maybe on a Sunday.
I do not fear GOD, but at the same time, any book with GOD in the title, just for divinity sake, warrants 5 STARS.
I enjoyed GOD. How could I not, “he watches the sun forever chase the moon across the vault of heaven.”
Thanks, Reza.
If GOD does exist: could someone please explain politics (pmurt)?
Pick up this book. If you have a background in theology, it may provide a different view—maybe not. If religious studies passed you by as you struggled through life, like me, GOD is a nice light way to mess with your mind—maybe on a Sunday.
I do not fear GOD, but at the same time, any book with GOD in the title, just for divinity sake, warrants 5 STARS.
I enjoyed GOD. How could I not, “he watches the sun forever chase the moon across the vault of heaven.”
Thanks, Reza.
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WOMEN TALKINGMiriam TOEWSIs the oppression of women in religion; really the norm?
5 STARS? |
A gripping story about the oppression (rape) of women in an archaic religious colony. Women Talking can be challenging at times because it blasts our eyes wide-open, making it impossible not to compare the atrocities of the community to the horrors of mainstream society, a society not immune to similar behaviour.
The book is a timely piece with the current state of the world and the desires of the “old boys” club to keep women subservient and in their place.
This book warrants the maximum number of stars despite tackling the upsetting subject matter. If there is one thing I take away from this book: I think Women Talking is a SHOUT OUT to all men, to look in the mirror, and examine their behaviour, to make sure you’re not guilty of being archaic yourself.
The book is a timely piece with the current state of the world and the desires of the “old boys” club to keep women subservient and in their place.
This book warrants the maximum number of stars despite tackling the upsetting subject matter. If there is one thing I take away from this book: I think Women Talking is a SHOUT OUT to all men, to look in the mirror, and examine their behaviour, to make sure you’re not guilty of being archaic yourself.
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ONE OF US IS LYINGKaren M. McMANUSA jock. An outsider. A beauty-queen. An overachiever. Social media. A murder.
5 STARS |
A jock. An outsider. A beauty-queen. An overachiever. Social media. A murder.
What happens when you mix these all together into a simmering broth?
The Breakfast Club goes viral!
One of Us is Lying is an enthralling, comedy-laced, deliciously original take on what it is like to be growing up in the NOW. Author Karen McManus weaves a masterful, nuanced tale. Karen chops her personality into four to tackle the lives of the four protagonists; who've all become the prime suspects in the murder misfit, Simon. Simon's misguided sense of entitlement most certainly led to his death.
One of Us is Lying wrestles with the challenges of youth, depression, vanity—in a world that makes unrelenting changes with each blink of an eye!
What happens when you mix these all together into a simmering broth?
The Breakfast Club goes viral!
One of Us is Lying is an enthralling, comedy-laced, deliciously original take on what it is like to be growing up in the NOW. Author Karen McManus weaves a masterful, nuanced tale. Karen chops her personality into four to tackle the lives of the four protagonists; who've all become the prime suspects in the murder misfit, Simon. Simon's misguided sense of entitlement most certainly led to his death.
One of Us is Lying wrestles with the challenges of youth, depression, vanity—in a world that makes unrelenting changes with each blink of an eye!
3
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MANHATTAN BEACHJENNIFER EganBeautiful prose transporting readers onto the pages
5 STARS? |
Jennifer Egan’s command of language is gracefully decadent, enthralling—transporting readers into a new-fiction you can almost touch. In fact: while reading a chapter of Manhattan Beach in a coffee joint (a section about building warships) Sink the Bismarck – (Johnny Horton)* tickled my auditory senses (I kid you not) through the shop’s speakers—dropping me directly onto the pages.
Egan’s writing is like attending a Master Class in how to create richly-descriptive, compelling prose—a talent most narrators would benefit by aspiring to emulate.
Egan’s writing is like attending a Master Class in how to create richly-descriptive, compelling prose—a talent most narrators would benefit by aspiring to emulate.
* When was the last or only time you heard: Sink the Bismarck
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WHEN BREATH BECOMES AIRPAUL KalanithiUplifting - Engrossing - Heartbreaking - Heartwarming - Timeless - Beautiful!
5 STARS |
I finished reading the last 60 pages of this breathtaking book at GIGI BLIN Market Cafe in Vancouver—the final 40 pages tears poured from my eyes—I did not care.
When Breath Becomes Air—is an uplifting, compelling memoir about searching for what matters in life. Paul Kalanithi was a neurosurgery resident. He was a thoughtful man. He tried to understand the differences between the science of medicine and the needs and fears of his patients. He desperately attempted to bridge the gap between the sufferings patients feel before and after invasive surgeries—and the medical teachings which cannot possibly allow doctors to understand what patients face. That is the first half of this book: Spiritual, understanding, science and compassion are mixed into a pot in search of deeper meaning.
I’ve had 17+ adult surgeries. Some left me in excruciating pain—far greater than pre-surgery. I often questioned if the doctors understood what patients endure. No book could serve justice. I also thought: maybe surgeons should have to experience the surgeries themselves, as ridiculous as the thought is.
Luckily, except for being put under, most of my operations were routine—serious only in the administering of the anaesthetic. (Note: I am ecstatic when I searched anesthesiologist—I spelt it correctly)
In the second half of the book, Dr Kalanithi becomes the patient. Terminal cancer attacks him. His time left: questionable. Throughout his journey to his demise, he becomes a real hero as he grapples with what is most important in life while his slips away. He becomes intuitive—focusing his remaining time on finding meaning in living despite being ravaged by disease. His wife became a rock with their love growing stronger each day. He fathers a child—barely holding onto life in the delivery room when his daughter arrives into the world. My waterworks begin.
How can a book with such a devastating finality be uplifting?
I will leave it for you to read to find out. A must read!
Paul’s writing is spectacular, gifted, and poetic. He without question: will touch the hearts of every reader.
Whether you have experienced grave illnesses of a loved one, family member, or you—or have never faced the horrific cards of disease, yet — When Breath Becomes Air is a read everyone would grow from reading. Paul’s loss was not a tragedy. He gave so much of himself, leaving behind for all of us: warmth and understanding the world so desperately needs. Crying is therapeutic—my session was brilliant—maybe a tad troubling for the other patrons of GIGI'S—but brilliant nonetheless!
Thank you for your gift.
When Breath Becomes Air—is an uplifting, compelling memoir about searching for what matters in life. Paul Kalanithi was a neurosurgery resident. He was a thoughtful man. He tried to understand the differences between the science of medicine and the needs and fears of his patients. He desperately attempted to bridge the gap between the sufferings patients feel before and after invasive surgeries—and the medical teachings which cannot possibly allow doctors to understand what patients face. That is the first half of this book: Spiritual, understanding, science and compassion are mixed into a pot in search of deeper meaning.
I’ve had 17+ adult surgeries. Some left me in excruciating pain—far greater than pre-surgery. I often questioned if the doctors understood what patients endure. No book could serve justice. I also thought: maybe surgeons should have to experience the surgeries themselves, as ridiculous as the thought is.
Luckily, except for being put under, most of my operations were routine—serious only in the administering of the anaesthetic. (Note: I am ecstatic when I searched anesthesiologist—I spelt it correctly)
In the second half of the book, Dr Kalanithi becomes the patient. Terminal cancer attacks him. His time left: questionable. Throughout his journey to his demise, he becomes a real hero as he grapples with what is most important in life while his slips away. He becomes intuitive—focusing his remaining time on finding meaning in living despite being ravaged by disease. His wife became a rock with their love growing stronger each day. He fathers a child—barely holding onto life in the delivery room when his daughter arrives into the world. My waterworks begin.
How can a book with such a devastating finality be uplifting?
I will leave it for you to read to find out. A must read!
Paul’s writing is spectacular, gifted, and poetic. He without question: will touch the hearts of every reader.
Whether you have experienced grave illnesses of a loved one, family member, or you—or have never faced the horrific cards of disease, yet — When Breath Becomes Air is a read everyone would grow from reading. Paul’s loss was not a tragedy. He gave so much of himself, leaving behind for all of us: warmth and understanding the world so desperately needs. Crying is therapeutic—my session was brilliant—maybe a tad troubling for the other patrons of GIGI'S—but brilliant nonetheless!
Thank you for your gift.
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THE ART OF MEMOIRMary KarrA righteously delicious writer's bible, for writers, and readers, alike!
5 STARS |
If you read, write, or simply love the collisions memoirists face sharing their delusions as they battle with who they are, or who they are discovering - this book is the definitive bible for the craft; plus much more, as if “plus?” can be added to “bible.” With each page turn you’ll want to learn, while at the same time be amazed by the lives of those who’ve found the courage to share theirs – great writers, often troubled, who Mary highlights for us to study.
I found this book to be a free-flowing gem. It helped me immensely, in various ways:
Whether you write, enjoy reading, or simply have a thirst for knowledge, this book will not disappoint; and for those struggling with the life cards they’ve been dealt, it provides a reminder: The stories we live, are worthy of introspection.
I found this book to be a free-flowing gem. It helped me immensely, in various ways:
- I’m a memoirist, my memoir Driving in Reverse – The Life I Almost Missed - will be released soon. THE ART OF MEMOIR helped solidify my hunch that my own clarity seeking delusions are important, and the years of reliving painful life events have an end point worthy of sharing.
- It led me to the river where knowledge could be drunk up, with Mary’s ease of language I found a thirst needing to be quenched. It helped me discover words I have been using incorrectly, fuelling a desire to become a better writer; amazingly, not in annoying way, as I kept reaching for the dictionary, in this instance: Google.
- And, not only did this book provide me with inspiration, it was a delightful read, filled with humour and drama with each page-turn a note-takers dream.
Whether you write, enjoy reading, or simply have a thirst for knowledge, this book will not disappoint; and for those struggling with the life cards they’ve been dealt, it provides a reminder: The stories we live, are worthy of introspection.
More books by Mary Karr: Liars Club – Lit – Cherry +++
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THE GIRL WITH THE LOWER BACK TATTOOAMY SCHUMERCringe, swear, worry, cry, laugh-out-loud...all on the same page
5 STARS |
THE REVIEW YOU are about to digest contains a collection of stories from my life cobbled together into a wonderful collage that may or may not have anything to do with the book. I’m a storyteller. I like telling stories. So, grab your favourite bevvy and a comfy chair and, hopefully, enjoy.
The stories I am about to share, much like the hit TV show 24 Legacy occur in real time. Whatever the bleep, that means.
I guarantee you that all these stories are true, apart from the occasional dusting of alternative.
I love Amy Schumer. I think it takes a whack of courage to invite an audience into the dysfunctional world of daily life. In her case—I’m glad she has survived, and her destiny is to turn her absurd buckets of familial pain into therapeutic doses of comedy.
I was first exposed to her comedic brilliance at the Colossal Megaplex Theatre on a dismal Saturday afternoon. To escape the day's deluge a friend and I decided a day movie would fit the bill nicely.
Tickets paid for. Ticket-taker in front of us – the ticket-taker handed us 3D glasses. I happen to be blind in one eye, for story sake, my blind eye. Because of my visual challenges, 3D is kind of pointless.
It was looking as if our rain avoidance was going to be a failure. Luckily, my friend happens to be thoughtful. My friend informed the clerk of the situation. And, being that we were at a Megaplex—a different movie was selected: Amy Schumer’s smash hit comedy Trainwreck.
We entered the theatre. The theatre was empty—at the end of the trailers, still empty. Five minutes into the movie, empty. So, we decided to do what any sane movie-goers would do, we had to take advantage of this delightful oddity. We--
The stories I am about to share, much like the hit TV show 24 Legacy occur in real time. Whatever the bleep, that means.
I guarantee you that all these stories are true, apart from the occasional dusting of alternative.
I love Amy Schumer. I think it takes a whack of courage to invite an audience into the dysfunctional world of daily life. In her case—I’m glad she has survived, and her destiny is to turn her absurd buckets of familial pain into therapeutic doses of comedy.
I was first exposed to her comedic brilliance at the Colossal Megaplex Theatre on a dismal Saturday afternoon. To escape the day's deluge a friend and I decided a day movie would fit the bill nicely.
Tickets paid for. Ticket-taker in front of us – the ticket-taker handed us 3D glasses. I happen to be blind in one eye, for story sake, my blind eye. Because of my visual challenges, 3D is kind of pointless.
It was looking as if our rain avoidance was going to be a failure. Luckily, my friend happens to be thoughtful. My friend informed the clerk of the situation. And, being that we were at a Megaplex—a different movie was selected: Amy Schumer’s smash hit comedy Trainwreck.
We entered the theatre. The theatre was empty—at the end of the trailers, still empty. Five minutes into the movie, empty. So, we decided to do what any sane movie-goers would do, we had to take advantage of this delightful oddity. We--
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—flashback to the past, past happens to be the only thing you can flashback to. Different theatre complex, me alone, a movie was on the docket. I couldn’t recall the name of the movie so I Googled: 2006 British movie about University with songs by New Order.
Google told me I went to see History Boys. Damn, Google, you’re good!
I entered the theatre. It was empty. Five minutes in, empty. So, I took off my clothes and watched the movie naked.
Flash-forward back to Trainwreck, my friend and I took off our clothes. Later that day I found popcorn in my special place. Mmm—buttery!
Trainwreck was side-splittingly funny. I laughed hard.
Wow. I’m a good reviewer. I came up with the above description all by myself.
Google told me I went to see History Boys. Damn, Google, you’re good!
I entered the theatre. It was empty. Five minutes in, empty. So, I took off my clothes and watched the movie naked.
Flash-forward back to Trainwreck, my friend and I took off our clothes. Later that day I found popcorn in my special place. Mmm—buttery!
Trainwreck was side-splittingly funny. I laughed hard.
Wow. I’m a good reviewer. I came up with the above description all by myself.
Before I get to the Tattoo book, it has come to my attention there is a chance I may be fat.
My fucking mirror has been lying to me for quite some time. I was in denial.
Then one day, a Friday, I think, I dropped off swag to a client that I hadn’t seen in several months. When he saw me, he excitedly asked, “What happened to your head?”
I didn’t understand the question.
A week later, another friend, patted my belly, and asked, “What month?”
I didn’t understand.
The next day, I glanced at my reflection in a car window, I definitely need to split some side. I had a choice to make: either smash out all car windows I pass; or, begin walking sideways. I chose walking sideways.
Another week passed. Another client visit, another pat on my belly.
Fuckers--
My fucking mirror has been lying to me for quite some time. I was in denial.
Then one day, a Friday, I think, I dropped off swag to a client that I hadn’t seen in several months. When he saw me, he excitedly asked, “What happened to your head?”
I didn’t understand the question.
A week later, another friend, patted my belly, and asked, “What month?”
I didn’t understand.
The next day, I glanced at my reflection in a car window, I definitely need to split some side. I had a choice to make: either smash out all car windows I pass; or, begin walking sideways. I chose walking sideways.
Another week passed. Another client visit, another pat on my belly.
Fuckers--
(March 10 - 2017) Am I fat?
I’m frustrated. I work out hard, much like I laughed at the movie. What’s going on; I'm down to the final belt hole - if I pass it my belt will be useless.
There was no more denying my expanding girth. Sucking-in was no longer viable.
Sadly, I tried to drown my sorrows in beer. A different friend noticed my despondent state. He offered me a gummy bear. I like gummy bears.
For whatever reason, I didn’t think a friend pulling out warm soft gummy bears that had been in his pocket all day as anything but normal.
Maybe, I should have. This same friend once offered me a cookie he had just baked. I ate the cookie. When I woke up the next morning I found 14-litres of chocolate milk in my fridge.
The gummy bear was sure tasty.
There was no more denying my expanding girth. Sucking-in was no longer viable.
Sadly, I tried to drown my sorrows in beer. A different friend noticed my despondent state. He offered me a gummy bear. I like gummy bears.
For whatever reason, I didn’t think a friend pulling out warm soft gummy bears that had been in his pocket all day as anything but normal.
Maybe, I should have. This same friend once offered me a cookie he had just baked. I ate the cookie. When I woke up the next morning I found 14-litres of chocolate milk in my fridge.
The gummy bear was sure tasty.
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Time passed. What else does time do?
I was no longer at the pub. I was sitting on my couch. My friend from the movie was with me. The air was filled with letters of the alphabet flying by. Cool, the letters of my name. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t rearrange them in the correct order.
My cat jumped onto the couch. Disturbingly, she was no longer a cat. She had morphed into a thousand two-headed-rats, bad kitties.
Hundreds of parking garage gates started slamming all around me. I looked at my friend who was wearing some space-age-police-garb. My friend’s job description was to detain anyone who was invading anyone else’s space. I tried to sit still.
Wow, this music video is 63-minutes long. Funny, the TV isn’t on.
Sharp claws busted out of my knuckles. I better use my claws for good, I thought. Fortunately, my Space Cop was baking a perpetual number of bread loaves.
I gleefully sliced away.
Bakery work complete I figured sex would be nice.
Sex would be nice... man, I can write, nicely.
With sex on my mind and the mouth-watering scent of fresh baked bread wafting through my apartment--hmm—maybe a Bone Broth diet would alleviate my gut growth, I thought. The previous sentence, well, crap... that’s what it was.
I was no longer at the pub. I was sitting on my couch. My friend from the movie was with me. The air was filled with letters of the alphabet flying by. Cool, the letters of my name. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t rearrange them in the correct order.
My cat jumped onto the couch. Disturbingly, she was no longer a cat. She had morphed into a thousand two-headed-rats, bad kitties.
Hundreds of parking garage gates started slamming all around me. I looked at my friend who was wearing some space-age-police-garb. My friend’s job description was to detain anyone who was invading anyone else’s space. I tried to sit still.
Wow, this music video is 63-minutes long. Funny, the TV isn’t on.
Sharp claws busted out of my knuckles. I better use my claws for good, I thought. Fortunately, my Space Cop was baking a perpetual number of bread loaves.
I gleefully sliced away.
Bakery work complete I figured sex would be nice.
Sex would be nice... man, I can write, nicely.
With sex on my mind and the mouth-watering scent of fresh baked bread wafting through my apartment--hmm—maybe a Bone Broth diet would alleviate my gut growth, I thought. The previous sentence, well, crap... that’s what it was.
The next day it was time to stockpile broth. On the way to the Broth shop, my friend asked me if I was still gummied.
I didn’t understand the question.
We stood in front of the Broth cooler. One minute, two minutes, three minutes... ten minutes.
“Turkey, chicken, lamb, beef— turkey, chicken, lamb, beef—”
The clerk approached.
“Can I help you?”
To which my friend replied, “Does the chicken broth come in any other flavour?”
Broth in hand, it was time to get healthy. Before the health kick, it was time for another movie, Patterson.
We entered the theatre. It was three-quarters full. Everyone was naked. Weird
I didn’t understand the question.
We stood in front of the Broth cooler. One minute, two minutes, three minutes... ten minutes.
“Turkey, chicken, lamb, beef— turkey, chicken, lamb, beef—”
The clerk approached.
“Can I help you?”
To which my friend replied, “Does the chicken broth come in any other flavour?”
Broth in hand, it was time to get healthy. Before the health kick, it was time for another movie, Patterson.
We entered the theatre. It was three-quarters full. Everyone was naked. Weird
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PATTERSON REVIEW
As for the movie: good, kind of deep. I like movies about writers. The movie has a writing premise!
I hope you enjoyed the review.
I hope you enjoyed the review.
I hopped on the scale at the gym. 200.7 lbs – WTF – I covered my mirrors at home.
Jump forward 10-days. The Broth fuel has been a success. I’ve dropped 10 lbs. I decided to celebrate with more liquids, Ale. I was about to go home, happy with my results, when a friend, 63-years-of-age approached. Harry, a biker at heart, shaved head, like me, loves my writing, therefore; I like him.
Harry is a caricature. He is almost life like. There isn’t a person he’s met that he hasn’t offended. He likes to shadow box in the sauna naked. I’ll take his word for it.
He’s loud, belligerent—lovable. He once told me he invented a sex toy called the Suckutron 9000 (use your imagination). He says the perfect weekend is lining up an 8-ball, packets of Viagra, a couple dozen Pomegranate Coolers, mood lighting, and then strap on the Suckutron. Disturbing
Anyway, Harry patted my belly and said, “What’s this?”
In that moment I came to the conclusion that most people may be getting the whole fitness quest wrong: We’re all striving for something that doesn’t exist, the after picture. In reality, isn’t the before picture our ultimate goal?
Unless of course, you started out fat.
Pretty deep, don’t you think
Jump forward 10-days. The Broth fuel has been a success. I’ve dropped 10 lbs. I decided to celebrate with more liquids, Ale. I was about to go home, happy with my results, when a friend, 63-years-of-age approached. Harry, a biker at heart, shaved head, like me, loves my writing, therefore; I like him.
Harry is a caricature. He is almost life like. There isn’t a person he’s met that he hasn’t offended. He likes to shadow box in the sauna naked. I’ll take his word for it.
He’s loud, belligerent—lovable. He once told me he invented a sex toy called the Suckutron 9000 (use your imagination). He says the perfect weekend is lining up an 8-ball, packets of Viagra, a couple dozen Pomegranate Coolers, mood lighting, and then strap on the Suckutron. Disturbing
Anyway, Harry patted my belly and said, “What’s this?”
In that moment I came to the conclusion that most people may be getting the whole fitness quest wrong: We’re all striving for something that doesn’t exist, the after picture. In reality, isn’t the before picture our ultimate goal?
Unless of course, you started out fat.
Pretty deep, don’t you think
I hope you are enjoying the cobbling. I bet you can almost hear the horse hooves.
Maybe, I will hop on the horse and take a pair of my damaged shoes to the cobbler. On the way I will stop at the convenience store for some chocolate milk.
I think along the way, I may find the elusive, before!
Work beckons. A worker asks Jeffer a co-worker, if he knows where his cheque is?
Jeffer says, “It may be at the corner store.”
I politely inform Jeffer the corner store is actually a middle store.
Jeffer, flashed me a frustrated glance.
Time for broth...
The Tattoo review is coming soon.
One more mini-review: Sans gummies and fully dressed, my Friend, and I (I only have one friend and luckily my one friend’s name is, Friend), headed to the Cinemaplex.
The movie: Logan.
I’m not sure a movie can be more violent. A couple next to us left because they couldn’t handle the violence.
It’s been a few weeks since the gummy bears, interesting, Logan, has claws.
In the movie Logan’s daughter also has claws. Together they skewer hundreds of people, gruesomely, disgustingly—no blood is left to be spilt.
Logan’s daughter doesn’t speak—until—in one scene she watches Logan squirm as he sleeps. When he wakes she looks at him and calmly says, “You were having a nightmare.”
Later in the movie, they arrive at a retreat for young mutants that have escaped from Mexico all the way to North Dakota with the eventual plan to make it into Canada.
Evil chases them. They run. One of the young mutants, maybe 10-years-old, he’s black; he’s fat, fatter than me. He cutely dangles and jiggles when he runs.
Maybe, I will hop on the horse and take a pair of my damaged shoes to the cobbler. On the way I will stop at the convenience store for some chocolate milk.
I think along the way, I may find the elusive, before!
Work beckons. A worker asks Jeffer a co-worker, if he knows where his cheque is?
Jeffer says, “It may be at the corner store.”
I politely inform Jeffer the corner store is actually a middle store.
Jeffer, flashed me a frustrated glance.
Time for broth...
The Tattoo review is coming soon.
One more mini-review: Sans gummies and fully dressed, my Friend, and I (I only have one friend and luckily my one friend’s name is, Friend), headed to the Cinemaplex.
The movie: Logan.
I’m not sure a movie can be more violent. A couple next to us left because they couldn’t handle the violence.
It’s been a few weeks since the gummy bears, interesting, Logan, has claws.
In the movie Logan’s daughter also has claws. Together they skewer hundreds of people, gruesomely, disgustingly—no blood is left to be spilt.
Logan’s daughter doesn’t speak—until—in one scene she watches Logan squirm as he sleeps. When he wakes she looks at him and calmly says, “You were having a nightmare.”
Later in the movie, they arrive at a retreat for young mutants that have escaped from Mexico all the way to North Dakota with the eventual plan to make it into Canada.
Evil chases them. They run. One of the young mutants, maybe 10-years-old, he’s black; he’s fat, fatter than me. He cutely dangles and jiggles when he runs.
LOGAN REVIEW
What could Logan possibly have a nightmare about; kittens?
And, in the casting call: did they really have a call for a fat black child?
I give the movie 4-freshly-sliced bread loaves.
And, in the casting call: did they really have a call for a fat black child?
I give the movie 4-freshly-sliced bread loaves.
THE GIRL WITH THE LOWER BACK TATTOO
Thank You, Miss Schumer, for cobbling the tattered chunks of your life together and helping us realize no matter how much dysfunction life throws at each of us we can always find a way to laugh at the quagmire of our personal non-fiction.
Amy is a beautiful woman, who, fortunately for us, invited us in for a therapeutic look at her life, and deftly, on any given page can have us cringing, swearing, crying, worrying about her, and most of all; laughing-out-loud at dysfunction.
Stories told: I wonder if gummy bears come in chicken flavour.
Amy is a beautiful woman, who, fortunately for us, invited us in for a therapeutic look at her life, and deftly, on any given page can have us cringing, swearing, crying, worrying about her, and most of all; laughing-out-loud at dysfunction.
Stories told: I wonder if gummy bears come in chicken flavour.
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THE ORPHAN MASTER'S SONAdam JohnsonComedy meets tragedy and shares strands with the realities of life and death in a North Korean gulag...
5 STARS |
This book drew me to it for three reasons:
1) I have (had) a dear friend at war with North Korea;
2) It was on somebody’s (can’t remember) books of the year list;
3) In a sense, I am an orphan myself.
The story is about Pak Jun Do. He is an orphan in the secretive totalitarian nation of North Korea. He refuses to accept whom he is—claiming to have a lost mother—she was a singer. The book takes readers on a voyeuristic trip highlighting with an excellent description the horrors of living in a hermit state where worshipping the “Dear Leader” is paramount for survival.
Adam Johnson turns fiction into reality. Comedy meets tragedy and shares strands with the realities of life and death in a North Korean gulag—and ultimately exposes the beauty found in the innocence of love. This magnificent story grabs the reader. Once immersed you will not be able to put it down.
On a personal note: I have researched the gulags. Johnson’s descriptions, though gruesome, may not do the realities of the tortures dished out to hundreds-of-thousands North Koreans whose only crime, where they were born, justice. Having a friend stationed just outside their border—frankly, scares me. The reality of the atrocities taking place, today—would shock most!
It is important for the world to see. It is time for us to change course—if that is possible.
I highly recommend this book.
1) I have (had) a dear friend at war with North Korea;
2) It was on somebody’s (can’t remember) books of the year list;
3) In a sense, I am an orphan myself.
The story is about Pak Jun Do. He is an orphan in the secretive totalitarian nation of North Korea. He refuses to accept whom he is—claiming to have a lost mother—she was a singer. The book takes readers on a voyeuristic trip highlighting with an excellent description the horrors of living in a hermit state where worshipping the “Dear Leader” is paramount for survival.
Adam Johnson turns fiction into reality. Comedy meets tragedy and shares strands with the realities of life and death in a North Korean gulag—and ultimately exposes the beauty found in the innocence of love. This magnificent story grabs the reader. Once immersed you will not be able to put it down.
On a personal note: I have researched the gulags. Johnson’s descriptions, though gruesome, may not do the realities of the tortures dished out to hundreds-of-thousands North Koreans whose only crime, where they were born, justice. Having a friend stationed just outside their border—frankly, scares me. The reality of the atrocities taking place, today—would shock most!
It is important for the world to see. It is time for us to change course—if that is possible.
I highly recommend this book.
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THE CROSSROADS OF SHOULD AND MUSTELLE LUNAA one hour read that should MUST be part of school curriculum starting in grade 4 or 5 and revisited every year all the way into adult life until each of us arrive at MUST!
5 STARS |
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“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day when you find out why.”
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THE CROSSROADS OF SHOULD AND MUST may be the last book one needs to read if they are looking for direction (a route to their passion); or, simply need to know if they are on the right path. This is an amazing book. It’s not as much a self-help book about living life to the fullest as it is a pep talk for all of us who dare to dream!
There are numerous books out there that are long reads which attempt to help readers identify the colour of a flying contraption that will supposedly help with the direction their life is supposed to take. Or books that after reading assign a series of letters to the individual like ETFSIGSOSGIESW. I may have exaggerated the number of letters – I’m sure you get the gist.
Anyway, I’ve read some of those books, and sure they may be helpful, but honestly, I think life is simpler than those books. THE CROSSROADS OF... simplifies the process, it suggests keep learning, trying new things and then just maybe, one day, you will come across whatever it is that floats-your-boat, and when you do, you MUST find a way to go for it.
Just imagine if kids were to read this book every year starting in grade school all the way into adulthood they would have their dreams reinforced annually and the chances of finding happiness and passion would increase dramatically. At least that is what I think.
Wouldn’t the world be a better place if kids were taught to chase their passions instead of being a well-rounded generically-educated spoke in society’s wheel?
Sure, there are things we need to do along the way, like earn a living, participate in the world, I don’t necessarily call these things should, but instead part of the path. I find should to be a guilt-inducing word that we MUST get past.
I’m lucky, I have found my MUST. Like said above, the book reinforced it. Thanks to the book I’ve quit my job to pursue my MUST.
There are numerous books out there that are long reads which attempt to help readers identify the colour of a flying contraption that will supposedly help with the direction their life is supposed to take. Or books that after reading assign a series of letters to the individual like ETFSIGSOSGIESW. I may have exaggerated the number of letters – I’m sure you get the gist.
Anyway, I’ve read some of those books, and sure they may be helpful, but honestly, I think life is simpler than those books. THE CROSSROADS OF... simplifies the process, it suggests keep learning, trying new things and then just maybe, one day, you will come across whatever it is that floats-your-boat, and when you do, you MUST find a way to go for it.
Just imagine if kids were to read this book every year starting in grade school all the way into adulthood they would have their dreams reinforced annually and the chances of finding happiness and passion would increase dramatically. At least that is what I think.
Wouldn’t the world be a better place if kids were taught to chase their passions instead of being a well-rounded generically-educated spoke in society’s wheel?
Sure, there are things we need to do along the way, like earn a living, participate in the world, I don’t necessarily call these things should, but instead part of the path. I find should to be a guilt-inducing word that we MUST get past.
I’m lucky, I have found my MUST. Like said above, the book reinforced it. Thanks to the book I’ve quit my job to pursue my MUST.
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Oops, I quit prematurely, I needed my income to pay rent and eat.
Oh well, how bad could it get? Living outdoors won’t be so bad. Luckily, I found 10 pallets, some re bar, 4 filing cabinets, 8 milk crates, shrink wrap, heavy duty plastic, sheets of packing material (bubble wrap), 1 table, 2 discarded chairs, 8 wheels; and super strong large cardboard boxes. After painstakingly tying the re bar and pallets together, placing the filing cabinets together hollowing them out so that they are like one big filing cabinet; fastening the boxes to the pallets, placing the milk crates in sequence to create a staircase, positioning the bubble wrap on the top of the filing cabinets to create a loft space, placing the table and chairs inside the filing cabinets; reinforcing the boxes with sheets of plastic and shrink wrapping the whole unit; oh yeah and cutting windows and a door...wella: my new home! |
FRESHLY LISTED ON AIRBNB: $325 per night
Don’t quit your income producing endeavours until your MUST is ready to support your needs and your family. The book HIGHLIGHTS this reality. Follow it.
Just keep moving upward:
Just keep moving upward:
Your happiness depends on it!
Thank you ELLE LUNA for writing this wonderful book. I’ve read it twice. I will read it again and again and again... my MUST is upon me, hopefully, others read this book and find theirs!
One last thought: I was drawn to this book because of the cover. Beautiful!
Don’t worry, I haven’t quit my career.
Thank you ELLE LUNA for writing this wonderful book. I’ve read it twice. I will read it again and again and again... my MUST is upon me, hopefully, others read this book and find theirs!
One last thought: I was drawn to this book because of the cover. Beautiful!
Don’t worry, I haven’t quit my career.
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The Tenth of DecemberGeorge SaundersEach story made me think... sometimes hard...
5 STARS |
George Saunders is a New York Times bestselling American writer of short stories, essays, novellas and children's books. His writing has appeared in The New Yorker, Harper's, McSweeney's and GQ, among other publications. Wikipedia
Mr. Saunders, you are one smart dude.
Your book was bleeping fantastic. Come on; stories about class, sex, war, loss, trauma---begging moral questions with every stroke of the key. You’ve managed to mask non-with fiction. You must’ve derived your stories from observation of the conditions/direction of humanity and dropped creative to a new level.
I don’t know, maybe it is your constant level. I loved your book, mostly. I found some stories gripped me; like, the tormented individual being subjected to pharmaceutical experiments for the betterment of mankind, or the boy whose choices appeared to be: act or not---a decision that could possibly lead to the demise of a young neighbour. Was it really a story about love?
I guess you’ve left the interpretation in the mind of the reader.
What I loved the most: Each story made me think… sometimes hard… as I became lost in your intelligence. I like to think I’m reasonably smart; however, at times I felt I needed to go sit in the corner and pout about what I was not getting.
That would quickly pass… not quickly… about a day after reading the book when I figured, actually, thought; “Oh…I get it.”
Anyway, I did love it, for the most part. I write. I strive to write better. I think I write well now. At least story-tell. Due to your outrageous creativity---I’m frightened, I don’t, write well that is.
I dropped a chunk of your book (typed) into a WORD document. WORD, suggested: it was mistake riddled.
Thank you for bringing me to the realization: WORD is not always, infallible.
My Verdict: Buy this book. Learn – Read – Share – Think – Write. Thank you Mr. Saunders; you’ve helped me to be a wee-bit smarter.
One question: Do you write on caffeine, or something with a tad more kick?
Mr. Saunders, you are one smart dude.
Your book was bleeping fantastic. Come on; stories about class, sex, war, loss, trauma---begging moral questions with every stroke of the key. You’ve managed to mask non-with fiction. You must’ve derived your stories from observation of the conditions/direction of humanity and dropped creative to a new level.
I don’t know, maybe it is your constant level. I loved your book, mostly. I found some stories gripped me; like, the tormented individual being subjected to pharmaceutical experiments for the betterment of mankind, or the boy whose choices appeared to be: act or not---a decision that could possibly lead to the demise of a young neighbour. Was it really a story about love?
I guess you’ve left the interpretation in the mind of the reader.
What I loved the most: Each story made me think… sometimes hard… as I became lost in your intelligence. I like to think I’m reasonably smart; however, at times I felt I needed to go sit in the corner and pout about what I was not getting.
That would quickly pass… not quickly… about a day after reading the book when I figured, actually, thought; “Oh…I get it.”
Anyway, I did love it, for the most part. I write. I strive to write better. I think I write well now. At least story-tell. Due to your outrageous creativity---I’m frightened, I don’t, write well that is.
I dropped a chunk of your book (typed) into a WORD document. WORD, suggested: it was mistake riddled.
Thank you for bringing me to the realization: WORD is not always, infallible.
My Verdict: Buy this book. Learn – Read – Share – Think – Write. Thank you Mr. Saunders; you’ve helped me to be a wee-bit smarter.
One question: Do you write on caffeine, or something with a tad more kick?
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SUBMARINEJOE DunthorneSoon come...
5 STARS? |
Oliver Tate is fifteen. He is beyond awkward; he is mean-spirited, his friends; few—are somewhat mentally-disorganized. He does not fit in. The mundane repetitiveness of life is breaking his parents. Oliver fights to hold them together. Oliver finds love. He desperately tries to understand life while at the same time sabotaging his with his delightful weirdness. His girlfriend's (Jordana’s) mum is sick—a tumour. Jordana's dog becomes critically ill. Oliver figures if he euthanises the dog, he will have prepared Jordana for loss—it is better the dog go first.
He writes stories in his diary-turned log- turned back to a diary. She reads the stories.
His love begins to falter.
“Oliver — I’m breaking up with you.”
“No, you’re not. Look, trust me, you’re just having a nonage.”
“What?!”
Submarine is about coming of age. It has garnered comparisons to Catcher in the Rye. It really has.
I loved Submarine a tipple more.
Oliver’s twisted-bizarreness may be crass—but without question: at times, it is smashingly-brilliantly-side-splittingly-funny.
I think: there may be a little Oliver in each of us!
Moreover, there happens to be a movie to boot. I will watch it. I really will!
He writes stories in his diary-turned log- turned back to a diary. She reads the stories.
His love begins to falter.
“Oliver — I’m breaking up with you.”
“No, you’re not. Look, trust me, you’re just having a nonage.”
“What?!”
Submarine is about coming of age. It has garnered comparisons to Catcher in the Rye. It really has.
I loved Submarine a tipple more.
Oliver’s twisted-bizarreness may be crass—but without question: at times, it is smashingly-brilliantly-side-splittingly-funny.
I think: there may be a little Oliver in each of us!
Moreover, there happens to be a movie to boot. I will watch it. I really will!
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THE BEST KIND OF PEOPLEZOE Whittall...an original take on a complicated subject...
5 STARS? |
THE SETTING
Avalon, a lily-white town filled with the affluent, privileged people; bringing up what some might call: entitled youth—born with silver spoons in their mouths. A community shrouded in the darkness of “have.”
THE CAST
George: Born into wealth, filthy rich. A hero who thwarts a school shooting—in life he settles for becoming a teacher. He is beloved. He is the teacher-of-the-year, year-after-year—until charged with four counts of sexual assault on young students.
Joan: A dotting loving wife + a sharp-as-a-tack nurse.
Sadie: A near genius, athletically gifted, beautiful daughter.
Andrew: A gay (of course) son who escaped the shadows of Avalon for the openness and bright lights of New York.
Clara: Sadie’s at times heartless sister.
Elaine + Jimmy + Kevin: Elaine: a woman who wanted a child—chose to go it on her own. Jimmy: her son, a product of insemination + Sadie’s boyfriend. Kevin: A struggling past-relevant author, Elaine’s partner.
THE STORY
I wanted to love this novel. For the most part, I did. At times I had to keep reminding myself it was fiction.
The story starts with George saving the day by stopping an active shooting situation, by risking his life. He instantly becomes a hero. Has he the perfect family—the perfect wife—the perfect life?
His life crumbles. George faces four counts of sexual deviance of young students on a ski trip.
What I loved about The Best Kind of People is that it took an original take on a complicated subject matter by for the most part: taking the main character out of the plot. He is incarcerated with no chance for parole, and with limited interaction with family.
Whittall tackles: sexual assault, deception, darkness, secrecy, and the fight for understanding + the survival of the main characters as their lives are ripped apart by the judgement. Is the judgment misdirected?
Community support amongst adults, although most of them sit in silence—skews toward George, with devastating results for his accusers.
Whereas, Sadie, is shunned by classmates; as youth crawl over each other in battles for popularity. Joan becomes an emotional waste, barely holding onto reality. Andrew returns to support his family—reliving his past and what it was like to be gay in a community with deep closets. He reveals a secret love of his own—a moral question between gay and straight, hidden in the past.
The characters are not lovable. Somehow, I found myself pulling for them. Without George, in the forefront, each of them took the stage, flaws and all.
What would you do if a member of your family committed a sexual crime; would you stand with them in support; would you believe innocent until proving guilty?
Alternatively, would you assume the worst and fall into a world where you try to piece life together without fully knowing whether it is going to fall apart or not?
I struggled with the assumption of guilt.
With George in prison + limited communication with his family, he said, “I am being set up,” the lack of story-line addressing his innocence—didn’t seem real. Surely, his wife, daughter, or son, would’ve been giving more of a story than “I am being set up.”
Without question; they would have stood by—after all, he had been a hero, a perfect husband, and father.
The lack of addressing guilt or innocence in more detail led to an assumption of guilt. Page-after-page his story was not entirely told.
How could it not have been?
The back stories are fascinating. The struggles, although part of the fiction, mostly translate in a fictitious way: had the family reduced to defeat—there appeared to be no fight—no real support—a perfect life became a secret life draped in darkness before the light was to reveal t
he truth.
Would you assume guilt?
Before I go, Kevin, the once-relevant-writer, and Sadie...provide a twist amongst the twisting and turning story-lines where with her father lost, she..?
The Best Kind of People bounces between George's family members as they try to navigate murky dark truths they do not know. It is a gripping emotional roller coaster that tugs at every ounce of readers’ moral fibres with every turned page as they ask themselves: how would I feel, what would I do; and can love survive, the dark depths of unfaithful, on a level rarely seen?
The main character, in the background, not having a voice; missed an opportunity—that is okay—the moral questions are important—I remind myself: this story is fiction.
Avalon, a lily-white town filled with the affluent, privileged people; bringing up what some might call: entitled youth—born with silver spoons in their mouths. A community shrouded in the darkness of “have.”
THE CAST
George: Born into wealth, filthy rich. A hero who thwarts a school shooting—in life he settles for becoming a teacher. He is beloved. He is the teacher-of-the-year, year-after-year—until charged with four counts of sexual assault on young students.
Joan: A dotting loving wife + a sharp-as-a-tack nurse.
Sadie: A near genius, athletically gifted, beautiful daughter.
Andrew: A gay (of course) son who escaped the shadows of Avalon for the openness and bright lights of New York.
Clara: Sadie’s at times heartless sister.
Elaine + Jimmy + Kevin: Elaine: a woman who wanted a child—chose to go it on her own. Jimmy: her son, a product of insemination + Sadie’s boyfriend. Kevin: A struggling past-relevant author, Elaine’s partner.
THE STORY
I wanted to love this novel. For the most part, I did. At times I had to keep reminding myself it was fiction.
The story starts with George saving the day by stopping an active shooting situation, by risking his life. He instantly becomes a hero. Has he the perfect family—the perfect wife—the perfect life?
His life crumbles. George faces four counts of sexual deviance of young students on a ski trip.
What I loved about The Best Kind of People is that it took an original take on a complicated subject matter by for the most part: taking the main character out of the plot. He is incarcerated with no chance for parole, and with limited interaction with family.
Whittall tackles: sexual assault, deception, darkness, secrecy, and the fight for understanding + the survival of the main characters as their lives are ripped apart by the judgement. Is the judgment misdirected?
Community support amongst adults, although most of them sit in silence—skews toward George, with devastating results for his accusers.
Whereas, Sadie, is shunned by classmates; as youth crawl over each other in battles for popularity. Joan becomes an emotional waste, barely holding onto reality. Andrew returns to support his family—reliving his past and what it was like to be gay in a community with deep closets. He reveals a secret love of his own—a moral question between gay and straight, hidden in the past.
The characters are not lovable. Somehow, I found myself pulling for them. Without George, in the forefront, each of them took the stage, flaws and all.
What would you do if a member of your family committed a sexual crime; would you stand with them in support; would you believe innocent until proving guilty?
Alternatively, would you assume the worst and fall into a world where you try to piece life together without fully knowing whether it is going to fall apart or not?
I struggled with the assumption of guilt.
With George in prison + limited communication with his family, he said, “I am being set up,” the lack of story-line addressing his innocence—didn’t seem real. Surely, his wife, daughter, or son, would’ve been giving more of a story than “I am being set up.”
Without question; they would have stood by—after all, he had been a hero, a perfect husband, and father.
The lack of addressing guilt or innocence in more detail led to an assumption of guilt. Page-after-page his story was not entirely told.
How could it not have been?
The back stories are fascinating. The struggles, although part of the fiction, mostly translate in a fictitious way: had the family reduced to defeat—there appeared to be no fight—no real support—a perfect life became a secret life draped in darkness before the light was to reveal t
he truth.
Would you assume guilt?
Before I go, Kevin, the once-relevant-writer, and Sadie...provide a twist amongst the twisting and turning story-lines where with her father lost, she..?
The Best Kind of People bounces between George's family members as they try to navigate murky dark truths they do not know. It is a gripping emotional roller coaster that tugs at every ounce of readers’ moral fibres with every turned page as they ask themselves: how would I feel, what would I do; and can love survive, the dark depths of unfaithful, on a level rarely seen?
The main character, in the background, not having a voice; missed an opportunity—that is okay—the moral questions are important—I remind myself: this story is fiction.
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THE NEW ASIAN HOMEKENDRA LangeteigBeautiful Homes + Asian Influences + Harmony between Life & Nature + Dazzling Photograph
5 STARS |
The New Asian Home is a wonderfully illustrated book about combining Asian influences and nature to create amazing homes in-tune with nature. This book is a perfect complement to your coffee table. Whether you are an architect; carpenter; looking to build your dream home or; just like to dream--The New Asian Home is an insightful addition to your collection. Dare to dream!
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THE GLORIOUS HERESIESLISA McINERNEYA riveting story about people who think they matter more than they do. Dazzling!
5 STARS |
Bloody hell, The Glorious Heresies, is like coming across mangled wreckage, un-survivable—on a dreary night, on a rain-smeared highway. Somehow, the occupants of both vehicles, broken lives in tow, claw + scratch their way out of the depths of destruction to willingly, while draped in denial, fuck each other over just because they are fucked themselves.
The characters are dark, flawed, and un-salvageable—I hated each of them. I turned another page and then another with layers of destruction being pounded and laid onto the streets lining Cork’s (Ireland) underbelly—pages leaving behind terrible sadness, an emptiness that feels violent, a dark void. A twist comes. Your hatred seeps away. You find something, someone, a reason to cheer. The city folds itself upon the characters—characters lost in a world where they are too stunned to realise: they do not matter. Their lives are only as big as they are. Another page turns, you search for hope. The book ends. You are left gasping.
The characters are dark, flawed, and un-salvageable—I hated each of them. I turned another page and then another with layers of destruction being pounded and laid onto the streets lining Cork’s (Ireland) underbelly—pages leaving behind terrible sadness, an emptiness that feels violent, a dark void. A twist comes. Your hatred seeps away. You find something, someone, a reason to cheer. The city folds itself upon the characters—characters lost in a world where they are too stunned to realise: they do not matter. Their lives are only as big as they are. Another page turns, you search for hope. The book ends. You are left gasping.
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LUST & WONDERAUGUSTEN BURROUGHSDeliciously, heart-warmingly-heart-wrenchingly honest..
5 STARS |
Augusten Burroughs could write his way out of a sopping wet gunny sack secured with zap straps; whatever the hell that means. I read RUNNING WITH SCISSORS (1st memoir): loved it--laughed so hysterically my room shook--by room I mean: car seat--I read most of it while I was working overnight security on a construction site, much of the time sitting in my vehicle staring at a building's entrance waiting for the bad guys to show up. When they did, they were usually high on crack, so, I just pretended to be a hallucination--which strangely, seemed to work.
I read DRY (2nd memoir): loved it. After reading: I went out and slammed back a flight of fine scotches. That's right: scotch is served by the flight.
However, something was missing. Burroughs comes from the definition of dysfunction, smothering dysfunction--yet; he survived, thankfully for us. What was missing, for me at least, he seemed to be hiding behind his indisputable wit and literary brilliance, although, his life oddities were laid out for all to see, laugh, cringe and cry along with, his mad comedic skills didn't allow me fully in.
As much as I loved those two books, I was hesitant to read another by this amazing, famous author, whose fame arrived by sharing his life. Then, one day, I was shopping, in a drug store, for... I'm not sure what for when I glanced over at the magazine rack, spotted the cover for LUST & WONDER (3rd) - I impulse bought it. I'm ecstatic I did. The book is...searching for the right adjectives...deliciously, heart-warmingly-heart-wrenchingly honest. Augusten not only shares his life's dysfunctions in this compelling memoir, he opens his heart, laying himself bare, allowing readers to fully dive in. The wit and literary brilliance are still there, as strong as ever, the last 60 pages may have been the most engrossing I've ever read. The ending...
I read DRY (2nd memoir): loved it. After reading: I went out and slammed back a flight of fine scotches. That's right: scotch is served by the flight.
However, something was missing. Burroughs comes from the definition of dysfunction, smothering dysfunction--yet; he survived, thankfully for us. What was missing, for me at least, he seemed to be hiding behind his indisputable wit and literary brilliance, although, his life oddities were laid out for all to see, laugh, cringe and cry along with, his mad comedic skills didn't allow me fully in.
As much as I loved those two books, I was hesitant to read another by this amazing, famous author, whose fame arrived by sharing his life. Then, one day, I was shopping, in a drug store, for... I'm not sure what for when I glanced over at the magazine rack, spotted the cover for LUST & WONDER (3rd) - I impulse bought it. I'm ecstatic I did. The book is...searching for the right adjectives...deliciously, heart-warmingly-heart-wrenchingly honest. Augusten not only shares his life's dysfunctions in this compelling memoir, he opens his heart, laying himself bare, allowing readers to fully dive in. The wit and literary brilliance are still there, as strong as ever, the last 60 pages may have been the most engrossing I've ever read. The ending...
AB - LUST & WONDER
Reading LUST & WONDER succeeded magnificently in not only bringing awareness for Austen, I think. I also think: it accomplished a rare thing: it brought self-awareness for anyone who dove into the pages of this wonderful book.
I can't wait for his next book. I think during the process of reading these three, I may have grown alongside of him.
Augusten, thank you, for surviving!
And, Christopher, thank you: for driving the jeep!
I can't wait for his next book. I think during the process of reading these three, I may have grown alongside of him.
Augusten, thank you, for surviving!
And, Christopher, thank you: for driving the jeep!
Lindsay,
Thanks so much. Very kind of you.
Christopher / Agent/ Selectric Artists/Augusten Burroughs
Thanks so much. Very kind of you.
Christopher / Agent/ Selectric Artists/Augusten Burroughs
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Me Talk Pretty One DayDavid SedarisDavid Sedaris slices through cultural norms with precision leaving readers gasping for air as they laugh out loud.
5 STARS |
Me Talk Pretty One Day is a humour-filled gem scorching new grounds casting political correctness to the side as Sedaris tackles cringe worthy subjects ranging from speech impediments to mania and addiction, somehow, turning them into sardonically hysterical anecdotes taken from his life. His ease of weaving language together takes the reader meandering through his delightfully bizarre life filled with colourful familial characters makes reading an enjoyable breeze.
Stories that include his cat named Neal and a vacuum cleaner may leave you crying with glee: as will the story about his sister, Amy, after being named one the most influential woman in NYC, professing to a stranger, “I’m in love...”
As a writer, I can only hope to find my inner Sedaris and one day reach his level of respect.
Stories that include his cat named Neal and a vacuum cleaner may leave you crying with glee: as will the story about his sister, Amy, after being named one the most influential woman in NYC, professing to a stranger, “I’m in love...”
As a writer, I can only hope to find my inner Sedaris and one day reach his level of respect.
Me Talk Pretty One Day may not be everyone’s cup of tea. And, perhaps, some people may not find it to be funny. If you fall into either of those categories, I suggest, try harder!
I loved this book. 5 Stars are not high enough.
I loved this book. 5 Stars are not high enough.
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BORN A CRIMETrevor NoahAllowing many to be woke on the disease that is racism... laughter included.
5 STARS |
I love Trevor Noah, in an entertainingly brotherly way!
He kicks it on the Daily Show--something, many thought he wouldn’t be able to do. How could a little known coloured person possibly replace the legendary Jon Stewart?
He’s not only replaced him, he’s made the show his own, bringing light to the racism that plagues America, and much of the world today; despite efforts, especially in America, to convince otherwise.
Not only do I love him as a comic, he’s also a staunch humanitarian, not afraid to share beliefs. Sure, 45, becoming president has helped – but Trevor came from Apartheid--if anyone has an understanding of how screwed things can be, he certainly would have an idea. African dictatorship--45... Ugh.
I was lucky he came to Vancouver for a comedy fest (2017). I caught his show. I cried in laughter for 90-minutes. So did my friend next to me. As a live performer, he is impressively charismatic and intensely likable.
BORN A CRIME--I loved it. It subtlety cracks open what growing up in the perfect racist society was like. He shares tales of what it was like being an “illegal baby” of colour--not black or white--but simply, different, born to mixed parents, a crime that was punishable by prison.
He shares stories of how the man, whomever the bleep the man was, worked at keeping racial divides--leaving little opportunity for ladders to be climbed. Many are born where they die.
He often sings out a big-hearted paean to his unbreakable love for his mother (deeply religious), who chose to have him, wanting the best for him, helping him navigate his way through a hatred bestowed upon all in the class system the South African caste system forced everyone to participate in. Her love at times was manifested in harshness--she wanted him to realize she was punishing out of love--a punishment love likely doesn’t condone.
His story, although Apartheid makes it glowingly unique for us in North America, share common threads with the human experiment in general. It is hard to write thoughts on Trevor’s memoir because thoughts can sometimes be misconstrued and show a tremendous lack of empathy for something impossible to relate to for most.
Saying you relate may sound ignorant. But does it?
For me his story is relatable. It reminds me of growing up in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan--bear with me. Saskatoon is not Africa.
Thank you, Mr Obvious.
Total black population in Saskatoon when I was growing up--I knew five. I’m sure there were a few more. Three were friends. I thought it was cool to have black friends.
Was that racist?
The remainder of the 150,000 people were mostly White, with a smattering of natives in the bad part of town, to be looked down upon. Much like Africa, second or third class, their identity ripped from them, sent to reserves, barely considered human.
Native friends = not cool.
It was the times.
Screw the times.
We all participated. Little do you know when you are part of the majority, you may be sick.
Amazingly, under Apartheid in SA, black was the majority.
Our family wasn’t immune to judgment. We lived on the wrong side of the tracks. A dark family secret led me to not belonging anywhere--but somehow: fitting-in, everywhere. Turning dark moments into comedy became a survival tool. Like Trevor, not black or white, but somehow grey was a blessing. Survival came in the nuance of life.
He kicks it on the Daily Show--something, many thought he wouldn’t be able to do. How could a little known coloured person possibly replace the legendary Jon Stewart?
He’s not only replaced him, he’s made the show his own, bringing light to the racism that plagues America, and much of the world today; despite efforts, especially in America, to convince otherwise.
Not only do I love him as a comic, he’s also a staunch humanitarian, not afraid to share beliefs. Sure, 45, becoming president has helped – but Trevor came from Apartheid--if anyone has an understanding of how screwed things can be, he certainly would have an idea. African dictatorship--45... Ugh.
I was lucky he came to Vancouver for a comedy fest (2017). I caught his show. I cried in laughter for 90-minutes. So did my friend next to me. As a live performer, he is impressively charismatic and intensely likable.
BORN A CRIME--I loved it. It subtlety cracks open what growing up in the perfect racist society was like. He shares tales of what it was like being an “illegal baby” of colour--not black or white--but simply, different, born to mixed parents, a crime that was punishable by prison.
He shares stories of how the man, whomever the bleep the man was, worked at keeping racial divides--leaving little opportunity for ladders to be climbed. Many are born where they die.
He often sings out a big-hearted paean to his unbreakable love for his mother (deeply religious), who chose to have him, wanting the best for him, helping him navigate his way through a hatred bestowed upon all in the class system the South African caste system forced everyone to participate in. Her love at times was manifested in harshness--she wanted him to realize she was punishing out of love--a punishment love likely doesn’t condone.
His story, although Apartheid makes it glowingly unique for us in North America, share common threads with the human experiment in general. It is hard to write thoughts on Trevor’s memoir because thoughts can sometimes be misconstrued and show a tremendous lack of empathy for something impossible to relate to for most.
Saying you relate may sound ignorant. But does it?
For me his story is relatable. It reminds me of growing up in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan--bear with me. Saskatoon is not Africa.
Thank you, Mr Obvious.
Total black population in Saskatoon when I was growing up--I knew five. I’m sure there were a few more. Three were friends. I thought it was cool to have black friends.
Was that racist?
The remainder of the 150,000 people were mostly White, with a smattering of natives in the bad part of town, to be looked down upon. Much like Africa, second or third class, their identity ripped from them, sent to reserves, barely considered human.
Native friends = not cool.
It was the times.
Screw the times.
We all participated. Little do you know when you are part of the majority, you may be sick.
Amazingly, under Apartheid in SA, black was the majority.
Our family wasn’t immune to judgment. We lived on the wrong side of the tracks. A dark family secret led me to not belonging anywhere--but somehow: fitting-in, everywhere. Turning dark moments into comedy became a survival tool. Like Trevor, not black or white, but somehow grey was a blessing. Survival came in the nuance of life.
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LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENEDJENNY LAWSONKitty, quit being such an asshole!
5 STARS? |
Jenny Lawson is a brilliantly disturbed comedic genius whose life gifted her disruptive tales from her collection of life parameters she had to navigate through, around, over, and even under. She is a delightful mess who has taught me cats can be assholes from time-to-to-time, and if a bull snake pretends to be a rattlesnake in front of a gun-toting mother, she has no choice but to shoot.
FULL STOP
I have absolutely no qualifications in diagnosing whether anyone, including the mess that I am, as, a mess; delightful, good, mess... no.
The only exception to this rule: If and only if, before I diagnose, I announce: “If you want my medical opinion--” which I don’t have.
The only exception to this rule: If and only if, before I diagnose, I announce: “If you want my medical opinion--” which I don’t have.
LET'S PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED could quite honestly, if you’d like me to share my honest comedy reading expertise, I’m guessing: if you read the next word (I’m), there is a chance you were okay with it, anyway, this may have been the FUNNIEST book I’ve ever read!
Jenny shares. Thank you, Jenny. You're a good sharer.
Too many of us look at the cards we’ve been dealt and spend our lives hiding or trying to fit in, without much fanfare, or, a fucking pulse.
Or, perhaps, don’t how to share.
Or, have been bombarded by... I don’t even know... I do know, in each of our beginnings we’re all thrown to the wolves or foxen, so to speak, except of course if we are born somewhere wolves aren’t plentiful, if you are growing up wolves-less, select another predatory animal, perhaps lobsters.
Jenny shares. Thank you, Jenny. You're a good sharer.
Too many of us look at the cards we’ve been dealt and spend our lives hiding or trying to fit in, without much fanfare, or, a fucking pulse.
Or, perhaps, don’t how to share.
Or, have been bombarded by... I don’t even know... I do know, in each of our beginnings we’re all thrown to the wolves or foxen, so to speak, except of course if we are born somewhere wolves aren’t plentiful, if you are growing up wolves-less, select another predatory animal, perhaps lobsters.
We were all thrown to the chomping lobsters.
Some of us just look away oblivious to the life gems being dropped our way.
How can anyone look away when lobsters are chasing them?
How slow are you, they’re lobsters, for bleeps sake.
Back to Jenny: Whereas, the likes* of Jenny can’t help but look, process, ingest the pain and absurdity, develop coping mechanisms, maybe some anxiety, look for someone to blame, try to think of a way out of this sentence, and before the page turns, find a way to turn it into comedic genius... not knowing, comedy may be the only option.
Some of us just look away oblivious to the life gems being dropped our way.
How can anyone look away when lobsters are chasing them?
How slow are you, they’re lobsters, for bleeps sake.
Back to Jenny: Whereas, the likes* of Jenny can’t help but look, process, ingest the pain and absurdity, develop coping mechanisms, maybe some anxiety, look for someone to blame, try to think of a way out of this sentence, and before the page turns, find a way to turn it into comedic genius... not knowing, comedy may be the only option.
*After typing “likes” I realized how disgusting the wording is—I don’t even know what the F it implies—I just know it is douchey (I don’t care if douchey is a word or not—I just don’t want to become douchey or be douchey). All good now, I added douchey to my dictionary so no more red squiggly line!
Anyway, the only reason I had a douchey moment was because my cat was acting like an asshole and distracted me.
Douchey has now been used 7-times.
Anyway, the only reason I had a douchey moment was because my cat was acting like an asshole and distracted me.
Douchey has now been used 7-times.
Back to her book:
I moved in for a couple of days. I literally took up residence inside of her book, figuratively. Maybe three days. I had no idea who Jenny was. I moved in to find out.
It’s a strange book to move into because it has a dead stuffed mouse on the cover; somehow, appealing to me, what does that say about me?
Don’t answer.
Come to think about it, I moved into a book—sounds normal.
Thankfully, Jenny welcomed me in and then weaved me through her at time shoe-less-childhood. She introduced me to a magical squirrel. She took me swimming in the cistern at a local pig rendering plant, something about a cow’s vagina... I can’t imagine where her anxiety issues may have come from. +++
At times, while reading her fucked-up, inappropriate anecdotes, I busted my gut so hard, I fell out of the book, quivering in a comedic comma. After complete strangers digested seeing a full-grown man fall out of a book, they either; shot me a glance of concern or; helped me to my feet.
“Thanks...” I would whisper, and then promptly crawl back inside, blowing the kind civilians, civilian minds.
Back inside, I am incredibly happy for us Jenny’s normal was anything but - I think there may be a wee bit of each of us in the insanity. I’m just glad she was gifted with an innate ability to brilliantly share her disturbingly convoluted rambling stories in a concise readable fashion transforming it into the irreverently hilarious gem that it is.
With each page my concern for her sanity waned (not a doctor), until one day, her loving Husband, Victor (hero of sorts), their miracle child Hailey (heart-wrenching story about childbirth), and her (brutal sentence structure—by moi—I'm leaving it as is—if you don't like it, you fix it), were trying to find normalcy living on the outskirts of Houston. They enrolled Hailey in a Private School where she participated in dance, music, and gymnastics. Then one day, more than one of the gymnastic mothers, put their 4-year-old daughters on diets--
Anyway, WTF is normal?
Jenny is a hero for sharing with us her version.
Could you imagine?
I moved in for a couple of days. I literally took up residence inside of her book, figuratively. Maybe three days. I had no idea who Jenny was. I moved in to find out.
It’s a strange book to move into because it has a dead stuffed mouse on the cover; somehow, appealing to me, what does that say about me?
Don’t answer.
Come to think about it, I moved into a book—sounds normal.
Thankfully, Jenny welcomed me in and then weaved me through her at time shoe-less-childhood. She introduced me to a magical squirrel. She took me swimming in the cistern at a local pig rendering plant, something about a cow’s vagina... I can’t imagine where her anxiety issues may have come from. +++
At times, while reading her fucked-up, inappropriate anecdotes, I busted my gut so hard, I fell out of the book, quivering in a comedic comma. After complete strangers digested seeing a full-grown man fall out of a book, they either; shot me a glance of concern or; helped me to my feet.
“Thanks...” I would whisper, and then promptly crawl back inside, blowing the kind civilians, civilian minds.
Back inside, I am incredibly happy for us Jenny’s normal was anything but - I think there may be a wee bit of each of us in the insanity. I’m just glad she was gifted with an innate ability to brilliantly share her disturbingly convoluted rambling stories in a concise readable fashion transforming it into the irreverently hilarious gem that it is.
With each page my concern for her sanity waned (not a doctor), until one day, her loving Husband, Victor (hero of sorts), their miracle child Hailey (heart-wrenching story about childbirth), and her (brutal sentence structure—by moi—I'm leaving it as is—if you don't like it, you fix it), were trying to find normalcy living on the outskirts of Houston. They enrolled Hailey in a Private School where she participated in dance, music, and gymnastics. Then one day, more than one of the gymnastic mothers, put their 4-year-old daughters on diets--
Anyway, WTF is normal?
Jenny is a hero for sharing with us her version.
Could you imagine?
That concludes my thoughts on this side-splitting book. I hope you enjoyed.
Please share your stories. They make the world a much kinder place. Don’t worry about what your normal is, because, how could any of us be normal, after all; a bunch of douchey politicians may be watching us through our microwaves!
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DRYAugusten BurroughsI loved Dry. Upon closing it: I went out for drinks
5 STARS |
Augusten, Augusten, Augusten, you have lived thus far such a tragic fascinating life.
How could your descriptive prose be so intoxicating after years of dousing yourself in the toxicity of substance as you escape reality?
Thank you for surviving. I read Running with Scissors, his first delectably disturbing memoir. It left me wanting to wet myself on more than one occasion. I didn’t love it. I liked it much. Went to the movie… came away slightly disappointed.
I found the prurient trip---draped in your incredible wit---and the self-deprecating style leaving me wishing you’d have stripped away the effort, and shown pain. I don’t want you to suffer---I want you to celebrate, be vulnerable. "Dry" brings precisely that, coupled with razor-sharp wit.
How could your descriptive prose be so intoxicating after years of dousing yourself in the toxicity of substance as you escape reality?
Thank you for surviving. I read Running with Scissors, his first delectably disturbing memoir. It left me wanting to wet myself on more than one occasion. I didn’t love it. I liked it much. Went to the movie… came away slightly disappointed.
I found the prurient trip---draped in your incredible wit---and the self-deprecating style leaving me wishing you’d have stripped away the effort, and shown pain. I don’t want you to suffer---I want you to celebrate, be vulnerable. "Dry" brings precisely that, coupled with razor-sharp wit.
The descriptive narrative allowed me, walk lockstep with Augusten every step of the way on the road from intoxication to recovery and back. "Dry" is real. If we allow ourselves to be honest, most, if not all; have experienced the tragedies within. Most important: It teaches us all that it is okay to be who you become. If you fall, try to realize you are not alone---and vitally important; never give up.
Life drowns in calamity---it finds us all. Don’t judge. Don’t hate. Extend a hand, offer support, hug, and love!
I loved Dry. Upon closing it: I went out for drinks!
Life drowns in calamity---it finds us all. Don’t judge. Don’t hate. Extend a hand, offer support, hug, and love!
I loved Dry. Upon closing it: I went out for drinks!
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HOW TO RUIN EVERYTHINGGeorge Watsky“I support a person’s freedom to orally pleasure themself in the privacy of a dorm room. ...I also support a person’s right to share that private moment with the entire world...”
– George W 5 STARS |
I’ve been binge-reading lately. Everything from: Sedaris, Coupland, Kafka, Lindsay Wincherauk (me), Elle Luna, the "Freakonomics" guys, a guy from "The Onion" who wrote a parody-about-the-parody-that-is-Donald Trump, Liddell; and the somewhat hilariously “Sick in the Head” – Apatow.
Mr. Watsky’s HOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING is a free flowing wordsmith’s gem. I picked up this book because of the cover. It was simple. I am certain I could design it. It was somehow magnetic. I love it. I had no idea who George Watsky is?
A week after my purchase, August 14, I cracked it open while chilling on Third Beach, in Vancouver, on a beautiful summer day. In the first few pages, I became aware of who George may be.
A few pages later, with the sun scorching down on me, George, and his friend, Jackson, were on their way to Vancouver to attempt to smuggle a whale’s tusk into the States, that Jackson’s aunt (celebrating her 100th birthday several pages later), had purchased in the Canadian Arctic. They were risking a criminal offense.
Mr. Watsky’s HOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING is a free flowing wordsmith’s gem. I picked up this book because of the cover. It was simple. I am certain I could design it. It was somehow magnetic. I love it. I had no idea who George Watsky is?
A week after my purchase, August 14, I cracked it open while chilling on Third Beach, in Vancouver, on a beautiful summer day. In the first few pages, I became aware of who George may be.
A few pages later, with the sun scorching down on me, George, and his friend, Jackson, were on their way to Vancouver to attempt to smuggle a whale’s tusk into the States, that Jackson’s aunt (celebrating her 100th birthday several pages later), had purchased in the Canadian Arctic. They were risking a criminal offense.
They crossed the border into Canada. Like many border crossings – the interrogation they faced: felt familiar.
Why is it when we cross the border we are made to feel like criminals?
Anyway, they arrived in Vancouver. I turned the page. The section I came to was Aug 14-15. It made me ponder how he could be writing the book in real time. Even more fascinating, they went to scale a mountain only miles from where I was relaxing. I pondered once more: Do I try to join them?
The friend I was with called me nuts.
I turned a page and entered the future: August 16.
As for my review: The book’s title is misleading (George, suggests this, in the introduction).
The book is about a young man’s life experiences, mostly up to the age of 21. He’s now 29 – I’m well aware he wasn’t penning what I was reading in real time. The title suggests screwing up. What I discovered on the pages was a young man living life; not screwing up, just living life.
My August 17
I Googled: George Watsky. I listened to his music. I loved it. Much like the book is offbeat, quirky, and voyeuristic, with an economy in the usage of words; his storytelling is compelling and gripping. The flow is engrossing.
He takes readers on a road trip through several states, and Canada; risking criminality along the way.
He shares beautifully, what it is like coming to terms with being an outsider in the various schools he attended pecking orders; experiences which so aptly brought him to the mindset: We are all in this ball game of life, together.
He opens up the microphone, guiding us delicately through his battles with epileptic seizures.
And, he shares a beautifully compelling story about bonding with his father, with baseball becoming the conduit between them that cemented their bond.
The essays just mentioned, were worth the read on their own.
As I read on, I was waiting for the life changing event, an event that would have made the book more than just a collection of stories, a moment where we all cheer for the author’s great transformation or his strength to overcome a profound life obstacle that challenged him to become a better person during the manuscripts final pages; something larger than self.
It never came.
That was the one minuscule missing plot twist I had hoped for.
It made me think: This book that I was thoroughly enjoying, it may be a generational norm to BRAND everything you do - in order to flow with the crowd.
Write a song. Write a book. Next... a cologne?
Don’t get me wrong, this is one of the most-well-written slices of literature I’ve read in a while. It drips with lyrical genius in the ease of his prose.
His writing brilliance deflected me away from the fact that he is a 29-year-old successful rapper, intriguing writer; that has yet (not diminishing epilepsy) to have faced tremendous life obstacles. For the most part his life seems to be blessed. I’m certain most people in his demographic haven’t been lucky enough (not to discount his hard work at his crafts) to be able travel the world and experience what he has.
What he, without question delivers, is a fly-on-the-wall view of what it is like to come of age; partially in the spotlight of fame.
What makes the read so refreshing, fame is coming his way – and it doesn’t seem as if he is chasing it!
HOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING is a gem. With the gift of writing, he has been given, I’m glad he chose to share.
I look forward to his next stories!
Why is it when we cross the border we are made to feel like criminals?
Anyway, they arrived in Vancouver. I turned the page. The section I came to was Aug 14-15. It made me ponder how he could be writing the book in real time. Even more fascinating, they went to scale a mountain only miles from where I was relaxing. I pondered once more: Do I try to join them?
The friend I was with called me nuts.
I turned a page and entered the future: August 16.
As for my review: The book’s title is misleading (George, suggests this, in the introduction).
The book is about a young man’s life experiences, mostly up to the age of 21. He’s now 29 – I’m well aware he wasn’t penning what I was reading in real time. The title suggests screwing up. What I discovered on the pages was a young man living life; not screwing up, just living life.
My August 17
I Googled: George Watsky. I listened to his music. I loved it. Much like the book is offbeat, quirky, and voyeuristic, with an economy in the usage of words; his storytelling is compelling and gripping. The flow is engrossing.
He takes readers on a road trip through several states, and Canada; risking criminality along the way.
He shares beautifully, what it is like coming to terms with being an outsider in the various schools he attended pecking orders; experiences which so aptly brought him to the mindset: We are all in this ball game of life, together.
He opens up the microphone, guiding us delicately through his battles with epileptic seizures.
And, he shares a beautifully compelling story about bonding with his father, with baseball becoming the conduit between them that cemented their bond.
The essays just mentioned, were worth the read on their own.
As I read on, I was waiting for the life changing event, an event that would have made the book more than just a collection of stories, a moment where we all cheer for the author’s great transformation or his strength to overcome a profound life obstacle that challenged him to become a better person during the manuscripts final pages; something larger than self.
It never came.
That was the one minuscule missing plot twist I had hoped for.
It made me think: This book that I was thoroughly enjoying, it may be a generational norm to BRAND everything you do - in order to flow with the crowd.
Write a song. Write a book. Next... a cologne?
Don’t get me wrong, this is one of the most-well-written slices of literature I’ve read in a while. It drips with lyrical genius in the ease of his prose.
His writing brilliance deflected me away from the fact that he is a 29-year-old successful rapper, intriguing writer; that has yet (not diminishing epilepsy) to have faced tremendous life obstacles. For the most part his life seems to be blessed. I’m certain most people in his demographic haven’t been lucky enough (not to discount his hard work at his crafts) to be able travel the world and experience what he has.
What he, without question delivers, is a fly-on-the-wall view of what it is like to come of age; partially in the spotlight of fame.
What makes the read so refreshing, fame is coming his way – and it doesn’t seem as if he is chasing it!
HOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING is a gem. With the gift of writing, he has been given, I’m glad he chose to share.
I look forward to his next stories!
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OFF TO SEARichard StineA beautiful story about losing love + learning to truly love for the first time...
5 STARS |
This book was recommended to me by an ebullient regular at a pub I was bartending at in the nineties. I had just been dumped by the love of my life* —drowning in misery.
I picked up a copy OFF TO SEA —the very next day. A children book, I thought. I cracked it open. Three minutes later I was done. I read it over and over and over and over again. I repeated the reading cycle for the next hour.
I love this book. The story it shares is beautiful. It may be the only relationship book anyone ever needs. With great ease, the story weaves through the pain of failing relationships. It is a breathtaking story about finding yourself + assuring you’ll embrace who you are when you do.
I resisted the books wise guidance. Instead, I rented a Video Recorder (VHS) and recorded me narrating the book with Extreme’s More Than Words playing in the background. I had the tape dropped off to the love of my life. My astonishing gesture won her back.
After being rejected again: I had a GIANT P tattooed on my forehead.
*Love of My Life much like True Love are fantasy terms, they must be—because you’d never be dumped by either. Unless of course...
I picked up a copy OFF TO SEA —the very next day. A children book, I thought. I cracked it open. Three minutes later I was done. I read it over and over and over and over again. I repeated the reading cycle for the next hour.
I love this book. The story it shares is beautiful. It may be the only relationship book anyone ever needs. With great ease, the story weaves through the pain of failing relationships. It is a breathtaking story about finding yourself + assuring you’ll embrace who you are when you do.
I resisted the books wise guidance. Instead, I rented a Video Recorder (VHS) and recorded me narrating the book with Extreme’s More Than Words playing in the background. I had the tape dropped off to the love of my life. My astonishing gesture won her back.
After being rejected again: I had a GIANT P tattooed on my forehead.
*Love of My Life much like True Love are fantasy terms, they must be—because you’d never be dumped by either. Unless of course...
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METAMORPHOSIS & OTHER STORIESFranz KafkaA literary gem; or so we are told, the next time I read it, beforehand, I’m going to lick some bufo alvarius.
5 STARS |
I loved METAMORPHOSIS, I think. I found it to be tiresome at times with my mind wandering off the page. It’s not an easy read, for me at least. It is definitely challenging with my understanding of the words I’ve consumed often coming a day or two after putting the book down.
I must love METAMORPHOSIS because both my brilliant editor of my soon-to-be-released meta-memoir: DRIVING IN REVERSE - THE LIFE I ALMOST MISSED, and a well-read intellectual homeless man, who happens to be a friend, have compared my writing to Kafka - they are the reasons I decided to read this book.
I must love METAMORPHOSIS because both my brilliant editor of my soon-to-be-released meta-memoir: DRIVING IN REVERSE - THE LIFE I ALMOST MISSED, and a well-read intellectual homeless man, who happens to be a friend, have compared my writing to Kafka - they are the reasons I decided to read this book.
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“Your writing reminds me of Kafka, John Barth, Jorge Borges; and Alcott; plus others. Reading your story reminds me of "Lost in the Funhouse" and other experimental nonlinear stories in the anti-novel genre. Wild ride! I see genuine literary merit in your ‘memoir.’”
“This innocent inquiry opens a window into a surreal Kafkaesque past, a past rife with bizarre characters, spectral entities, and devastating family betrayal. Wincherauk, with radiant clarity, invites the reader into his life. A life, replete with tragedy, immersed in hilarity, and garnished with the intoxicating destructiveness of vice.” |
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That’s enough about why I had to read this. I will be reading LOST IN THE FUNHOUSE soon.
Back to Kafka: Let’s see, the book contains stories about three men walking on the street --- are they in peril; a two page story that contains only two sentences, the first over a page in length; a man who wakes up to find he’s turned into a cockroach, only to be shunned by his family - pause to lick a toad; a visit to a penal colony to inspect the machine used for executions; surprisingly, not a happy ending; a story about an apes perspective of being taken into captivity to become a circus performer; and; a circus performer, whose skill is starvation; plus many more.
Back to Kafka: Let’s see, the book contains stories about three men walking on the street --- are they in peril; a two page story that contains only two sentences, the first over a page in length; a man who wakes up to find he’s turned into a cockroach, only to be shunned by his family - pause to lick a toad; a visit to a penal colony to inspect the machine used for executions; surprisingly, not a happy ending; a story about an apes perspective of being taken into captivity to become a circus performer; and; a circus performer, whose skill is starvation; plus many more.
HAPPY ENDINGS ARE A RARITY
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His use of language is ridiculously amazing, “radiant with intent” “wagging index finger,” simple, at times drawn out, but intoxicating nonetheless.
He is a must read for anyone who studies writing. As the back cover states: “What Dante and Shakespeare were to their ages, Kafka is for ours.” I’m happy to have been mentioned in the same breath. Maybe one day... What I’m considering doing now is picking up a mixed bag of hallucinogenics, mixing them again, in a bowl, and then reading METAMORPHOSIS again! I think that’s the way he’d like us to read it, after all, he wrote: “The Judgement” in a single night of frenzied creativity." |
I have also been compared to Hunter S. Thompson. I tried to read one of his books. I made it half way through and fortunately my car was broken into and the book was stolen.
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NEW BOYTRACY ChevalierA beautifully written, timeless + poignant story, about the pain life often brings when you’re an outsider.
5 STARS? |
I am not black. I have never been a “new” boy. I am not an outsider (except, for my own family—a complicated tale you may read about in my memoir). I am not oppressed. I was once called a “honky”—a word lacking bite.
Many reviewers of New Boy seem to be wrapped up in Othello + Shakespearean comparisons. For me: Shakespeare is eons away, forgotten in the past, along with school days long gone. I read the New Boy as a standalone; I am glad I did.
Osei, the main character, of Ghanaian descent, is dropped into his 4th new school in 6 years in a white suburb of Washington DC, in 1974. At each school, he was the solo-black, ostracized, viewed as more animal than human. His father was a diplomat, rich, moved around the world, family in tow. His children paid an enormous price for the moves. In school #4, Osei + his classmates, in Grade 6, were mostly 11 years of age—and for the most part: sporting the racist parental attitudes pushed into them by the ignorance of the times. The kids were not innocent; they were growing into being the same as their parents. Worse: the teachers did little to rise above the times and grow, instead, perpetuating the same disgusting views.
Even though the story is about children in a setting long ago—with each page I read, I could not help but think: this is NOW (2017). We may have moved toward a diverse society living in harmony throughout the decades—but I think: we would be lying. Look at the divisiveness in the USA right now: we are attempting to build walls and trying to ban humans based on origin, and colour of skin, or religious beliefs. New Boy is not YA. It is not a period piece. It is a compelling story about what it is like to be an outsider—something most people can relate to, whether that being: a NEW job, watering hole, school, city, team...I think you know where I am going?
Chevalier brilliantly places race front and center in this story. No white person can (maybe one) possibly imagine what it would be like to be NEW and anything but—white.
What I took from this riveting novel: maybe, just maybe, this book was not about the plight of Osei as he tries desperately to weave his way through the thorny thickets of racism, love, betrayal, despair, and--
Perhaps, what New Boy does shout out is for humanity to come together. For each of us to stand above whom we are, looking deep inside ourselves and then begin to open our arms and hearts to NEW + if we only talked to one another with kindness; we would realize: we are all trying to make it through each day—mostly unscathed!
Many reviewers of New Boy seem to be wrapped up in Othello + Shakespearean comparisons. For me: Shakespeare is eons away, forgotten in the past, along with school days long gone. I read the New Boy as a standalone; I am glad I did.
Osei, the main character, of Ghanaian descent, is dropped into his 4th new school in 6 years in a white suburb of Washington DC, in 1974. At each school, he was the solo-black, ostracized, viewed as more animal than human. His father was a diplomat, rich, moved around the world, family in tow. His children paid an enormous price for the moves. In school #4, Osei + his classmates, in Grade 6, were mostly 11 years of age—and for the most part: sporting the racist parental attitudes pushed into them by the ignorance of the times. The kids were not innocent; they were growing into being the same as their parents. Worse: the teachers did little to rise above the times and grow, instead, perpetuating the same disgusting views.
Even though the story is about children in a setting long ago—with each page I read, I could not help but think: this is NOW (2017). We may have moved toward a diverse society living in harmony throughout the decades—but I think: we would be lying. Look at the divisiveness in the USA right now: we are attempting to build walls and trying to ban humans based on origin, and colour of skin, or religious beliefs. New Boy is not YA. It is not a period piece. It is a compelling story about what it is like to be an outsider—something most people can relate to, whether that being: a NEW job, watering hole, school, city, team...I think you know where I am going?
Chevalier brilliantly places race front and center in this story. No white person can (maybe one) possibly imagine what it would be like to be NEW and anything but—white.
What I took from this riveting novel: maybe, just maybe, this book was not about the plight of Osei as he tries desperately to weave his way through the thorny thickets of racism, love, betrayal, despair, and--
Perhaps, what New Boy does shout out is for humanity to come together. For each of us to stand above whom we are, looking deep inside ourselves and then begin to open our arms and hearts to NEW + if we only talked to one another with kindness; we would realize: we are all trying to make it through each day—mostly unscathed!
1
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A COMPLICATED KINDNESSMIRIAM ToewsA poignantly bittersweet, sardonic, dark and side-splittingly funny; trip into life in a religious backwater.
5 STARS |
Miriam created Nomi, a damaged 14-year-old girl, to help us understand life in the tragedy of misguided faith. A Complicated Kindness will have you fall out of your seat laughing while at the same time cringing as you think about the insanity of life in a Mennonite community: a place where grooving to the music is condemned—but it is somehow okay for a brother be a cousin.
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EVERYBODY'S SONTHRITY UmrigarA look into what happens to people when a broken, powerful, rich white family with good intentions (?) tries to resurrect a black child whose mother is trapped in the throes of addiction.
5 STARS? |
Anton, a nine-year-old black child is locked in his home alone for seven days as his mother chases her crack addiction. So we think. He is saved by a white knight—a State Governor who lost his son in an accident. Everybody’s Son is a riveting look at what may happen when race, good intention, and politics; are thrown into a simmering pot together—leading to questionable decisions as a fine line between unconditional love, projections, and ownership, are cloaked together in the shadows. What’s right or wrong get’s smashed to pieces as identity is slowly stripped from the young boy—missing pieces from his life become lost in misguided love. In the end, the boy who belongs to everyone finds he truly only belongs to--
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ONE MORE THING - STORIES AND OTHER STORIESB.J. NovakLuckily for us: B.J. Novak is delightfully bleeped up. I don’t want to be Kate Moss but thanks to him—I now know how
5 STARS |
One More Thing invites the reader into Novak’s twisted mind. I accepted the invite. I crawled in. Thoughts were flashing past me at an unrelenting pace. A car began to honk doggedly at the car in front of it (actually the driver was doing the honking), the front car couldn’t go—unless the driver decided to mow down several pedestrians. A man next to me began screaming for the honking driver to stop. His voice was piercing. I looked his way and said, “You know you’re not helping.” He turned to me and said with a perplexed look adorning his face, “What?” “You screaming isn't making things quieter,” I said. “Oh,” he mumbled back at me, meekly. He stopped screaming.
B.J. gives us 280 pages of observations that will have you pissing, maybe not pissing, but wetting yourself with powdered laughter as you try to figure out how he’s made it this far in life. Gotta run, or cycle: A friend of mine is going to give me valuable lessons on EVERYTHING in the world—my personal Wikipedia Brown!
READ THIS BOOK. Why am I yelling?
B.J. gives us 280 pages of observations that will have you pissing, maybe not pissing, but wetting yourself with powdered laughter as you try to figure out how he’s made it this far in life. Gotta run, or cycle: A friend of mine is going to give me valuable lessons on EVERYTHING in the world—my personal Wikipedia Brown!
READ THIS BOOK. Why am I yelling?
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A VISIT FROM THE GOON SQUADJENNIFER EganA PUNCHY, SALACIOUS, SEX-FILLED, SCANDALOUS, DELICIOUSLY EXHILARATING RIDE!
5 STARS |
This book's prose explodes in flavourful descriptive bursts like perfectly ripened cherry tomatoes popping in the readers’ mouths bringing life to every page.
Toxic characters—fucked up—reality struggles—living-large—barely-surviving. You cheer. They survive. They grow. You crave another delicious page.
Toxic characters—fucked up—reality struggles—living-large—barely-surviving. You cheer. They survive. They grow. You crave another delicious page.
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SQUIRREL SEEKS CHIPMUNKDAVID SedarisHow can one not love a book in which: An owl, hippopotamus, and gerbil become good friends?
5 STARS |
David Sedaris is sick. I love him—in the proper reader/writer sort of way—completely. I have just been told: I do not have the credentials to diagnose: just about, anything. What I do know: I think his mind may be on a different plane than the rest of us. I think: he may be perfectly damaged by life. Moreover, that damage is a blessing to readers. How he goes from weaving personal stories to writing perhaps the most hilariously disturbing series of fairy/nursery/demented children’s stories, cannot be described as anything, but: GENIUS.
Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is beautifully (albeit disturbingly) illustrated. Pick it up. I am certain you will read it in one sitting.
Here’s a taste: In one story a mouse adopts a baby corn snake “— “A rescue snake—“and in another: Christmas is coming—and a cow draws a turkey and becomes the turkey’s secret Santa. Queue the guffaws.
Oh, by the way, the gerbil volunteers to help evict leeches from the hippopotamus’s—
Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is beautifully (albeit disturbingly) illustrated. Pick it up. I am certain you will read it in one sitting.
Here’s a taste: In one story a mouse adopts a baby corn snake “— “A rescue snake—“and in another: Christmas is coming—and a cow draws a turkey and becomes the turkey’s secret Santa. Queue the guffaws.
Oh, by the way, the gerbil volunteers to help evict leeches from the hippopotamus’s—
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THE AUDACITY OF HOPEBARACK ObamaWhether you are a Democrat, Republican, or anything else...who cares, when hope has seemingly been replaced by...
5 STARS |
Without question: Barack Obama is a brilliant, eloquent, incredibly well-spoken man—apparently education in Kenya has far surpassed schooling in the USA. The last sentence may contain a hint of sarcasm laced in absurdity. The Audacity of Hope is a beautifully written and moving look into the possibilities of a better world if the world’s great democracies come together and embrace the voices of all citizens, who for most, are just trying to get through life, hopefully with love, health, and a serving of happiness.
Barack delicately touches on the importance and complexities of race, faith, and family—and of how we may all be created equal—but few, are cut from the same cloth, and how the difference in fabric impacts political discourse.
HOPE—is a key word in the title—especially in today’s day when hope seems to be being ravaged by the sickness of divisiveness.
Love your family. Be a champion to your friends. Treat all other’s with respect. Don’t accept hatred and racism. Moreover, if you screw up—do not be too hard on yourself—simple lessons that know no political bounds.
Barack delicately touches on the importance and complexities of race, faith, and family—and of how we may all be created equal—but few, are cut from the same cloth, and how the difference in fabric impacts political discourse.
HOPE—is a key word in the title—especially in today’s day when hope seems to be being ravaged by the sickness of divisiveness.
Love your family. Be a champion to your friends. Treat all other’s with respect. Don’t accept hatred and racism. Moreover, if you screw up—do not be too hard on yourself—simple lessons that know no political bounds.
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HILLBILLY ELEGYJ.D. VanceThe end result of chasing, a perhaps, flawed American Dream, when you are a product of generations of dysfunction.
5 STARS? |
Hillbilly Elegy, first off: I now know what elegy, means. I am not sure if most, or any, maybe a few of the people Mr. Vance speaks of in this book, do—or have the wherewithal or interest to learn the meaning of the word.
The book is mind-opening. However, logically, especially for a Yale-educated lawyer (the author), who without question overcame the greatest of odds—it maybe is not as mind-opening as it first appears.
What's the story about: well, what happens to the population in towns where industries have been dying for decades that happen to be products of a failing education system? Mix in substance abuse. Throw in generations of crippling family dysfunction, where the children of the dysfunction are subjected to yelling matches, nightly—erasing ambition and normalcy with every raised voice—and in J.D.’s case, a revolving door of male father figures as his mother struggles with her existence. Violence and the rule of the land (hillbilly honor) are commonplace. To screw up matters more: sell the American Dream of home ownership. Furthermore, as towns die in one state, and manufacturers set up shop in another, forcing those who are not too broken to emigrate to new lives—never truly feeling like they belong—well—the forgotten people, become broken more, differently.
The dream becomes a reality. A house is purchased—trapping the purchasers. Months later the local manufacturer shuts down. The jobs leave—as do the wealthy, and the educated. After all, they brought hope in the form of jobs—and then took hope away when the world moved on. Coal died. What’s left behind: no jobs, worthless-homes, and generations of poorly educated unemployed (“I love the poorly educated”) people—many of which haven’t wanted to work in decades as blame replaced motivation. However, many need to blame someone or something for their demise. Maybe the book is not mind-opening, but in reality, it just highlights the rules between rich and poor?
I enjoyed this book, especially the parts about overcoming life’s hurdles. I find anytime an author has the courage to share their pain—it is breathtaking. Escaping into another person’s life often opens windows into your own. I believe J.D. is lucky. Without question: he knows it. I also believe this compelling work is a foreshadowing of his political aspirations (?)
Is this a white poverty issue?
That is the way the book is sold. I think that is a little naive. I believe it is a matter of “have and have-not”—“rich and poor.” Wouldn’t the world be a grander place if we could get past race and culture to accept many of the rich only care about the color of money—and maybe, just maybe, dividing the rest of us,
As towns spiral into poverty when the industries leave—there is not a government on the planet immune to corruption and greed. It seems politics has tripped into career survival more so than representing the constituents--tell voters what they want to hear. The world is changing every moment of life. If trapped in a cycle of dysfunction no politician or company is going to ride in on a horse and save you. If stuck in a town with a dying industry and a worthless-home, and drunk; or worse: role models—one day, you may just give up and blame others for your plight. The world owes us nothing. It never has. It never will. If you do not summons the strength to fight through your quagmire of dysfunction—then maybe one day, you will take a seat on the sidewalks of life, begging every passerby for spare change.
I am certain Appalachia is a beautiful place—but without a transformation—the world seems to be leaving it behind, in a time; that is never coming back. Hillbilly Elegy may simply be reinforcing things we already know—if only we stopped pretending a saviour is coming to fix something that no longer exists, maybe, just maybe, we could all move on and learn to be kinder to each other! At least understand: we are not all born equal in opportunity. This book yells that out LOUD AND CLEAR.
The book is mind-opening. However, logically, especially for a Yale-educated lawyer (the author), who without question overcame the greatest of odds—it maybe is not as mind-opening as it first appears.
What's the story about: well, what happens to the population in towns where industries have been dying for decades that happen to be products of a failing education system? Mix in substance abuse. Throw in generations of crippling family dysfunction, where the children of the dysfunction are subjected to yelling matches, nightly—erasing ambition and normalcy with every raised voice—and in J.D.’s case, a revolving door of male father figures as his mother struggles with her existence. Violence and the rule of the land (hillbilly honor) are commonplace. To screw up matters more: sell the American Dream of home ownership. Furthermore, as towns die in one state, and manufacturers set up shop in another, forcing those who are not too broken to emigrate to new lives—never truly feeling like they belong—well—the forgotten people, become broken more, differently.
The dream becomes a reality. A house is purchased—trapping the purchasers. Months later the local manufacturer shuts down. The jobs leave—as do the wealthy, and the educated. After all, they brought hope in the form of jobs—and then took hope away when the world moved on. Coal died. What’s left behind: no jobs, worthless-homes, and generations of poorly educated unemployed (“I love the poorly educated”) people—many of which haven’t wanted to work in decades as blame replaced motivation. However, many need to blame someone or something for their demise. Maybe the book is not mind-opening, but in reality, it just highlights the rules between rich and poor?
I enjoyed this book, especially the parts about overcoming life’s hurdles. I find anytime an author has the courage to share their pain—it is breathtaking. Escaping into another person’s life often opens windows into your own. I believe J.D. is lucky. Without question: he knows it. I also believe this compelling work is a foreshadowing of his political aspirations (?)
Is this a white poverty issue?
That is the way the book is sold. I think that is a little naive. I believe it is a matter of “have and have-not”—“rich and poor.” Wouldn’t the world be a grander place if we could get past race and culture to accept many of the rich only care about the color of money—and maybe, just maybe, dividing the rest of us,
As towns spiral into poverty when the industries leave—there is not a government on the planet immune to corruption and greed. It seems politics has tripped into career survival more so than representing the constituents--tell voters what they want to hear. The world is changing every moment of life. If trapped in a cycle of dysfunction no politician or company is going to ride in on a horse and save you. If stuck in a town with a dying industry and a worthless-home, and drunk; or worse: role models—one day, you may just give up and blame others for your plight. The world owes us nothing. It never has. It never will. If you do not summons the strength to fight through your quagmire of dysfunction—then maybe one day, you will take a seat on the sidewalks of life, begging every passerby for spare change.
I am certain Appalachia is a beautiful place—but without a transformation—the world seems to be leaving it behind, in a time; that is never coming back. Hillbilly Elegy may simply be reinforcing things we already know—if only we stopped pretending a saviour is coming to fix something that no longer exists, maybe, just maybe, we could all move on and learn to be kinder to each other! At least understand: we are not all born equal in opportunity. This book yells that out LOUD AND CLEAR.
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WHAT BELONGS TO YOUGARTH GreenwellDesire + Lust + Bulgaria + Loneliness + Drugs + A Street Hooker = Neediness + Good Decisions?
5 STARS |
A richly unforgettable novel about what happens when a lonely teacher, in a foreign land, meets Mitko, a street hooker, and allows desire, lust, and loneliness (to) lead him precariously close to self-destruction as the combination mixed into a toxic broth delivers him to pathetic and needy. WHAT BELONGS TO YOU is a breathtakingly well-written story depicting the overwhelming need for love and acceptance—and the unshakable belief that if you save someone else, you will save yourself?
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THE CATCHER IN THE RYEJD SALINGERA classic coming-of-age story about a lonely introverted boy desperately trying to become an extrovert
5 STARS |
Holden Caulfield is screwing up. He really is. He’s failing at school, hiding his realities from his parents; and desperately searching for acceptance—when in fact, he’s not likeable. He really isn’t. He’s an introvert trying hard to be an extrovert. He fails for the most part because his troubled teenage mind is laced with judgement—the root of his unlikeability. Holden is challenged, perhaps autistic. Just perhaps—I do not have the credentials to diagnose. For 277 pages he takes readers on a long conversation. Like said, I did not much care for him. I really didn’t. But, somehow, by the end of his journey, I found myself cheering for him, maybe because, throughout his travels, he taught me: it’s best not to judge when listening is a grander option.
Catcher in the Rye is a classic. I enjoyed it. I really did!
Catcher in the Rye is a classic. I enjoyed it. I really did!
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THE ALCHEMISTPAULO CoelhoI think I’d burn in Hell if I don’t give this book 5 Stars...
5 STARS |
I don’t want to go to hell. I don’t think I’d like it.
I COULD JUST IMAGINE:
“Sir, we’re sentencing you to an eternity in Hell.”
“Oh crap, I better bring a big book.”
I read THE ALCHEMIST because I think we’re supposed to. I liked (loved) it. It’s chalk-full of valuable lessons on how to navigate life. It’s AWESOME having these lessons painted in such a compelling way, as Paulo does in this classic work.
The story is riveting. The lessons are gospel. It’s hard to write thoughts on this book without giving the story away. What’s so beautiful about this story is it is a UNIVERSAL one that we have a tendency to forget as we struggle our way through the constant bombardment of noise filling our souls every day.
Although the lesson is simple — I believe: Anyone going through struggles would do them self a solid, by reading for the first time, or the tenth; resulting in their eyes being cracked wide open allowing life to turn struggles into dreams.
I think by reading THE ALCHEMIST: you may be able to avoid a trip to Hell.
I COULD JUST IMAGINE:
“Sir, we’re sentencing you to an eternity in Hell.”
“Oh crap, I better bring a big book.”
I read THE ALCHEMIST because I think we’re supposed to. I liked (loved) it. It’s chalk-full of valuable lessons on how to navigate life. It’s AWESOME having these lessons painted in such a compelling way, as Paulo does in this classic work.
The story is riveting. The lessons are gospel. It’s hard to write thoughts on this book without giving the story away. What’s so beautiful about this story is it is a UNIVERSAL one that we have a tendency to forget as we struggle our way through the constant bombardment of noise filling our souls every day.
Although the lesson is simple — I believe: Anyone going through struggles would do them self a solid, by reading for the first time, or the tenth; resulting in their eyes being cracked wide open allowing life to turn struggles into dreams.
I think by reading THE ALCHEMIST: you may be able to avoid a trip to Hell.
