Wednesday, 15 February 2017

Tinkers by Paul Harding

First of all, it seems that as time goes by, current priorities will be taken over by future or upcoming priorities. Promises made on grammatical reviews were de-prioritised/cast aside/forgotten/rejected/thrown into junk/trashed.. "Note to self: select whichever applicable".

Whatever it is, I’ve taken such a long hiatus from blogging about books that my wittiness has lost its edge. Or perhaps I lost it due to other reasons but then I shall save that for another round of blog entry, can’t compress too much info into one entry lest I lose the attention and the context of what I’m supposed to write in the first place. :-P

Anyway, without further ado… I present to you a book called “Tinkers by Paul Harding”.

What can I say about the book? The cover and the synopsis at the back said pretty much everything but nothing at all at the same time. It’s a winner of Pulitzer Prize for fiction.. it won rave reviews… it was the book meant to reignite my passion in reading and blogging. It was a book that caused emptiness within my being and brought tears to my eyes. Actually the last sentence is something I added on and DOES NOT describe the book at all; so don’t be deceived :-P

To tell the truth, the book is a major let-down; at least for me. I will tell you why.. I love to talk with reasons/excuses; or facts if I fancy with people who relish in facts and not fiction J

Let’s just think for a moment, when you’re lying on the bed, dying or in the midst of walking towards the bright white light, what would cross your mind? I’m sure you’ll be thinking about your life. Things that happened from the day your brain started storing all the precious memories (however limited that space can be) which you’ll remember till the day you die and even beyond that (though still not proven by science).

So what’s wrong with this book then? This book is wrong on so many levels that I can’t comprehend how it won Pulitzer Prize in the first place (in my humble opinion). Here are the list of reasons:

1.       The dying old man did not only reflect on his own life but his father’s life and his grandpa’s life! I mean, come on… you’ll know SLIGHTLY about your own father’s life but you would NEVER know anything more than what he told you.. you wouldn’t know a hoot about your grandpa’s life so this is a big BS to me (pardon my language).

2.       I have this aversion towards repeated reference(s). Just like the book entitled “OneHundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez” which is basically as repetitive as an old senile grandma. This book? Let me quote oft used reference; “The reasonable horologist. By the Rev. Kenner Davenport, 1783”. It was used so many times that I even dreamed about it.. just joking… :-P

3.       Usage of bombastic words. Literally peppered with so many words that I don’t see much use except in a pretentiously pretentious book written about pretentious dying old man; pun intended.

4.       Finally, I don’t know what this book’s ultimate “direction”. Is it about the dying old man? His dad? His grandpa? His dad’s first wife? His dad’s second wife? His mother? The hunting party? It is so confusing to me because the storyline coagulated together like wet lumpy flour instead of a well beaten egg white for the mouth-watering orange chiffon cake. Heck, even the multi-layered, multi-faceted book entitled “The Death of Vishnu by Manil Suri” is a MUCH MUCH better read than this one. Nuff said!

Personal rating: 1 out of 10 (I wish I can give it a 0 though)

1) Too many cons that I had to eat corn to coax myself out of the never-ending dystopia.

1) Engagement on personal level related to this book? No affinity towards the book or the story line.

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

My Valentine by Martina McBride

My Valentine by Martina McBride
Lyrics from:

If there were no words, no way to speak
I would still hear you
If there were no tears, no way to feel inside
I'd still feel for you

And even if the sun refused to shine
Even if romance ran out of rhyme
You would still have my heart until the end of time
You're all I need my love, my valentine

All of my life
I have been waiting for all you give to me
You've opened my eyes
And shown me how to love unselfishly

I've dreamed of this a thousand times before
In my dreams I couldn't love you more
I will give you my heart until the end of time
You're all I need my love, my valentine

La a la la la

And even if the sun refused to shine
Even if romance ran out of rhyme
You would still have my heart until the end of time
'Cause all I need is you, my valentine oh...
You're all I need my love, my valentine ohhh.

James Brickman;Jack David Kugell

Published by

Read more: Martina McBride - My Valentine Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Monday, 23 January 2017

Return of The Ankh

Ankh, also called the Egyptian cross was a symbol of life itself.

The Ankh represented eternal life. 

It signified wisdom and insight on the highest level and it was also a fertility symbol.

Whatever it is, this Ankh has been with me for a really long time and it symbolises everything that I've hoped and still hoping for. 

Saturday, 14 January 2017

Ember in the Darkness (Draft)

Birds chirped happily, skipping from one branch to the next. Sun shines on his face, giving his skin the otherworldly glow as cold wind billows slowly, rustling his short mass of hair, tinged with grey streaks, stark evidence that no one is immune from the ravages of time. 
He sat alone, dolent and forlorn in the midst of the humanity, lost in thought, lost in his own reverie, his world, supposedly untouched and unblemished by anyone until the eventful day.
His life is now just a hull of a hulking ship. Empty of its haul, its commodity in life. Life is never the same anymore. His life is like a ticking clockwork, devoid of purpose and direction. Just the tick-tock which moves like his beating heart. Involuntary muscle spasm that works regardless of emotional or spiritual agony that permeates his whole being. 
He peers around the almost empty park, trying to calm himself. Teary eyes blurred his vision, as rivulets streamed down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe his tears away. There's no need to do that anymore in this foreign land. He tried to hold back but waves upon waves of emotion flooded through his consciousness. He chocked, alternating between snorting and gasping for breath as tears grew from drops to gushing stream. 
He thought he had the determination to numb the pain that went beyond layers of human comprehension. He thought he was well crenellated against all the onslaught of emotional roller coaster, but he should have known that there's no bulwark that can withstand the tsunami. 
He felt helpless being so weak emotionally, he felt the emptiness at the core of his being, like a black hole with their immense gravitational pull into pure nothingness.