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MANHATTAN BEACHJENNIFER EganBeautiful prose transporting readers onto the pages
5.01 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 – (Tim 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!
5.01 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... on all 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 of these stories are true, with the exception of 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 of these stories are true, with the exception of 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.
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...
5.01 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 WhittallSoon come...
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!
