Hux

This book took me by surprise. It's stunningly original, especially given that it was published in 1890. I kept having to check that particular date because it felt so contemporary and modern. I'm genuinely curious to know if this book might qualify as the first truly 'modernist' novel. There might be other candidates out there but this is certainly a contender. There is no plot (a marker for many modernist novels), and the book is a first person narration filled with inner dialogue and occasional stream of consciousness writing. Hamsun also has a curious habit of switching tenses (which I don't ever recall seeing before). He starts a sentence in past tense then concludes it in present tense and so on -- and it all works rather beautifully. There's also a rather blunt expression of sexual thoughts and images which most 19th century literature wouldn't touch and which, again, seems very modern. In fact, the two earlier translations both removed them (the translation by Sverre Lyngstad is the one you want).The basic plot is a young writer struggling to find work, food, and somewhere to sleep in Oslo. On one occasion, he sleeps in the woods, on another he volunteers to spend the night in the local prison as his only option. He's so hungry that he picks up a handful of wood chippings and eats them across the course of the day. And when he finally has some food, his body has become so accustomed to not having any that he vomits. All this is occurring as he is desperately tries to come up with articles which he might sell to the newspaper and his mind is slowly crumbling.There are times when he speaks to himself, when the internal monologue is vocalised, and there are moments when he seems unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy. As the book goes along, he appears to be falling apart and gradually losing his mind. And there is a woman named Ylajali whom he fixates on and eventually has a rendezvous with which quickly escalates into something sexually aggressive and confused. Again, this is not something I'd expect to see in a 19th century novel. This is a book about poverty and hunger at a time when it wasn't uncommon for most people to experience those things.This was such a superb read. Magnificent. 9/10

Hunger (1890) Knut Hamsun This book took me by surprise. It's stunningly original, especially given that it was published in 1890. I kept having to check that particular date because it felt so contemporary and modern. I'm genuinely curious to know if this book might qualify as the first truly 'modernist' novel. There might be other candidates out there but this is certainly a contender. There is no plot (a marker for many modernist novels), and the book is a first person narration filled with inner dialogue and occasional stream of consciousness writing. Hamsun also has a curious habit of switching tenses (which I don't ever recall seeing before). He starts a sentence in past tense then concludes it in present tense and so on -- and it all works rather beautifully. There's also a rather blunt expression of sexual thoughts and images which most 19th century literature wouldn't touch and which, again, seems very modern. In fact, the two earlier translations both removed them (the translation by Sverre Lyngstad is the one you want).The basic plot is a young writer struggling to find work, food, and somewhere to sleep in Oslo. On one occasion, he sleeps in the woods, on another he volunteers to spend the night in the local prison as his only option. He's so hungry that he picks up a handful of wood chippings and eats them across the course of the day. And when he finally has some food, his body has become so accustomed to not having any that he vomits. All this is occurring as he is desperately tries to come up with articles which he might sell to the newspaper and his mind is slowly crumbling.There are times when he speaks to himself, when the internal monologue is vocalised, and there are moments when he seems unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy. As the book goes along, he appears to be falling apart and gradually losing his mind. And there is a woman named Ylajali whom he fixates on and eventually has a rendezvous with which quickly escalates into something sexually aggressive and confused. Again, this is not something I'd expect to see in a 19th century novel. This is a book about poverty and hunger at a time when it wasn't uncommon for most people to experience those things.This was such a superb read. Magnificent. 9/10

The Invention of Morel (1940) Adolfo Bioy Casares This was a fun read. I won't go into too many details regarding the plot because the book is very much dependent upon its plot as it moves along. Suffice it to say a man (a fugitive) on the run from the Venezuelan authorities hears of an isolated island in the Pacific that has a reputation for being a place that is uninhabitable for people and he chooses to hide there. On the abandoned island there is a large dilapidated building (referred to as a museum), a Chapel, a swimming pool and a small mill, and the man lives in the museum alone. That is until, one day, a group of strangers suddenly arrive on the island.The fugitive runs away from the museum and hides from the newcomers in the marshlands but becomes obsessed with a woman among their group named Faustine who sits in the same spot each day to read and watch the sunsets. He then notices that there are two suns and two moons. He listens to the conversations these people have and they seem odd and disconnected. Then, finally, he reveals himself to Faustine but she doesn't appear to acknowledge him.Anyway, that's where the plot thickens.This book is an old school mystery adventure yarn, the likes of which you see rarely these days. In fact, it was pretty rare even when it was published (1940). It's short and perfectly plotted, and all the clues laid out for the reader as they go along. Jorge Luis Borges said that the book's plot was perfection and I'd have to agree. But the book's shortness is the very thing which allows for such concise and neat storytelling.Anyway, I'm gonna go watch 'Lost.' 8/10

When butter goes rancid these days.... Beneath hot beams of summer sun rays The puddles of oil Really do spoil

When butter goes rancid these days.... Beneath hot beams of summer sun rays

There once was a man called Ben Siller Whose movie career was a thriller

There once was a man from Botswana His name was Cedric Agana On a trip to Gabon

A young elephant, name of Jumbo.. Loved to eat filé gumbo When he switched on the hob He knocked off a knob And relaxed with an episode of Columbo There once was a man from Botswana

This book is sublime. That much is clear but how much of it is fiction and how much is simply Dazai's final thoughts on the world (he committed suicide after this book was completed) is hard to tell. Actually, that's not true. At no point did I ever feel I was reading about the fictional Yozo. I always felt that I was reading Dazai's thoughts. And yet fact and fiction are sometimes the same thing.The book is presented to us as an epistolary novel. A series of notebooks that have been found and explore the mind of a character called Yozo. As a boy he quickly fails to grasp human beings and learns that he must pretend to be one of them to fit in. He smiles when he knows your supposed to. He claims to be hungry when he isn't because he doesn't know what hunger feels like. He acts the clown because he knows it will make people laugh. Even when he is sexually abused by the servants he does not speak out because what would it accomplish?As an adult he begins a series of affairs but never once truly connects or feels any meaningful emotion towards these women. And yet he pretends (even to himself) that he does feel something. Soon, he and his latest companion make a suicide pact but where she succeeds, Yozo fails. He now has to live with those circumstances and yet, as before, thinks only of himself. Her death is no more important to him that his next drink.His final relationship is with a woman named Yoshiko and includes a curious (and very confusing) moment. She is essentially raped (a thing Yozo witnesses) but Yozo describes this in such a vague manner that it's hard to know if she was simply having consensual sex or being raped. It is written as though it is the latter and yet when Yozo witnesses it, he walks away as though he is the victim. It's quite an unnerving moment in the book and I'm not sure if it's a deliberate blurring of issues or simply a cultural aspect to Japanese morality. Then again, perhaps it was a call back to his own experience of sexual assault. It certainly left me with a strange feeling in my bones. Like a lot of the book in fact. Soon after, another suicide is attempted and his alcoholism is replaced by a methadone addiction. It's only a matter of time before his family commit him to an asylum. It is here that he discovers that his father has died.Three years later, he is living alone in an old house with an elderly female servant. He requests some sleeping pills and takes ten of them only to discover that the servant actually gave him laxatives. And thus, he finishes the book pathetic... failed... alone... and shitting himself.The book ends with someone finding his notebook and querying what happened to the protagonist. But to this we never have an answer.The book is a staggering work of genius. And I would recommend it to everyone. It is painfully sad and yet (for me, at least) has so many excruciatingly relevant moments that I could relate to. Things which are hard to put into words but which Dazai very brilliantly succeeds in achieving. It strongly triggered memories of reading Camus' The Stranger in the sense that the main character does not... cannot... function as a proper human being. I would say that this book was actually a better exploration of that same theme:How does one know if they're human? 9/10

No Longer Human (1948) Osamu Dazai This book is sublime. That much is clear but how much of it is fiction and how much is simply Dazai's final thoughts on the world (he committed suicide after this book was completed) is hard to tell. Actually, that's not true. At no point did I ever feel I was reading about the fictional Yozo. I always felt that I was reading Dazai's thoughts. And yet fact and fiction are sometimes the same thing.The book is presented to us as an epistolary novel. A series of notebooks that have been found and explore the mind of a character called Yozo. As a boy he quickly fails to grasp human beings and learns that he must pretend to be one of them to fit in. He smiles when he knows your supposed to. He claims to be hungry when he isn't because he doesn't know what hunger feels like. He acts the clown because he knows it will make people laugh. Even when he is sexually abused by the servants he does not speak out because what would it accomplish?As an adult he begins a series of affairs but never once truly connects or feels any meaningful emotion towards these women. And yet he pretends (even to himself) that he does feel something. Soon, he and his latest companion make a suicide pact but where she succeeds, Yozo fails. He now has to live with those circumstances and yet, as before, thinks only of himself. Her death is no more important to him that his next drink.His final relationship is with a woman named Yoshiko and includes a curious (and very confusing) moment. She is essentially raped (a thing Yozo witnesses) but Yozo describes this in such a vague manner that it's hard to know if she was simply having consensual sex or being raped. It is written as though it is the latter and yet when Yozo witnesses it, he walks away as though he is the victim. It's quite an unnerving moment in the book and I'm not sure if it's a deliberate blurring of issues or simply a cultural aspect to Japanese morality. Then again, perhaps it was a call back to his own experience of sexual assault. It certainly left me with a strange feeling in my bones. Like a lot of the book in fact. Soon after, another suicide is attempted and his alcoholism is replaced by a methadone addiction. It's only a matter of time before his family commit him to an asylum. It is here that he discovers that his father has died.Three years later, he is living alone in an old house with an elderly female servant. He requests some sleeping pills and takes ten of them only to discover that the servant actually gave him laxatives. And thus, he finishes the book pathetic... failed... alone... and shitting himself.The book ends with someone finding his notebook and querying what happened to the protagonist. But to this we never have an answer.The book is a staggering work of genius. And I would recommend it to everyone. It is painfully sad and yet (for me, at least) has so many excruciatingly relevant moments that I could relate to. Things which are hard to put into words but which Dazai very brilliantly succeeds in achieving. It strongly triggered memories of reading Camus' The Stranger in the sense that the main character does not... cannot... function as a proper human being. I would say that this book was actually a better exploration of that same theme:How does one know if they're human? 9/10

There once was a kitten called Merlin Whose human was called Rita Girling.... With a catnip addiction And a hearty conviction

England get a win under their belt. Re: Christian Eriksen - Confirmed cardiac arrest - https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/57458630

Young Bert took a dip in the river Yet once in there his bones started to shiver... To remedy such chills

Young Myrtle had a pet ferret Who won every prize going, on merit... A polecat once said The ferret was bred

Game literally restarted now. On BBC1. Quite surprised but they clearly feel Eriksen is going to be okay.

Christian Eriksen collapsing of what appears to be a heart attack is not the start for the tournament we needed. Literally doing CPR on the pitch. Game abandoned. Reports saying he was conscious when taken off the pitch though.

Robotic narrators (especially in first person narratives). I get that a narrator with too much personality or with too many opinions can alienate or annoy readers but it seems so ubiquitous in writing. I read so few books where people actually sound like real people. That being said, I get why they do it and often enjoy the books regardless. The narrator of Norwegian Wood was very blank but I loved the book. Atwood's female characters are always utterly devoid of opinion (though I get they're often deliberately voiceless women). But anyway...

Kicks off tonight. I fancy Italy to win and the Netherlands to do well. Fingers crossed for the home nations.

After reading the first 15 pages, I wanted to put this book down and quit. The narration was all over the place and had a style reminiscent of stream of consciousness without ever quite being stream of consciousness. I hated it. But I continued regardless and gradually the narrative style started to pull me in. The writing is lyrical and disjointed but flows in a way that mesmerises. I've never really liked stream of consciousness writing but this was wonderful to read with a strong sense of the characters and the world they inhabit without ever describing anything in the traditional sense. It was like hearing someone's thoughts but without the gibberish you so often get with the stream of consciousness style (in my opinion, a lot of mediocre writing is hidden behind that particular genre).This was elevated by more poetic and fluid writing. Some of it was broken up by images and thoughts that left you uncertain about what was happening. Other times, it flowed beautifully and wouldn't let you go. Some of the images and ideas expressed were really wonderful. Two that stood out for me were when she described her grandmother's dementia without ever using the word; she simply referenced her grandmother 'outliving her own reason by six years.' Then there was also the wonderful (and worrying) idea that whenever someone dies, we all move up in the pecking order. That made me laugh because it's literally true. Next time you hear about a celebrity dying, take a moment to contemplate the fact that you just moved up one slot.Anyway, the plot is a biographical story about the narrator growing up in communist Romania and dealing with a state that daily interferes in their lives. She and her college friends have to write secret letters to each other and will often sing banned songs, all while dealing with a state officer (and his dog) who regularly interrogates them. Suffice it to say, they all dream of escaping the socialist utopia and regularly take comfort from the many rumours regarding the dictators poor health.I absolutely loved this book. It was rich and human and beautiful. There was even a touch of magical realism and poetry to it. I wouldn't recommend it lightly because the style might not be to everyone's tastes but for me, it was a wonderful piece of literature. You can see why Müller won the Nobel prize. 8/10

The Land of Green Plums (1994) Herta Müller After reading the first 15 pages, I wanted to put this book down and quit. The narration was all over the place and had a style reminiscent of stream of consciousness without ever quite being stream of consciousness. I hated it. But I continued regardless and gradually the narrative style started to pull me in. The writing is lyrical and disjointed but flows in a way that mesmerises. I've never really liked stream of consciousness writing but this was wonderful to read with a strong sense of the characters and the world they inhabit without ever describing anything in the traditional sense. It was like hearing someone's thoughts but without the gibberish you so often get with the stream of consciousness style (in my opinion, a lot of mediocre writing is hidden behind that particular genre).This was elevated by more poetic and fluid writing. Some of it was broken up by images and thoughts that left you uncertain about what was happening. Other times, it flowed beautifully and wouldn't let you go. Some of the images and ideas expressed were really wonderful. Two that stood out for me were when she described her grandmother's dementia without ever using the word; she simply referenced her grandmother 'outliving her own reason by six years.' Then there was also the wonderful (and worrying) idea that whenever someone dies, we all move up in the pecking order. That made me laugh because it's literally true. Next time you hear about a celebrity dying, take a moment to contemplate the fact that you just moved up one slot.Anyway, the plot is a biographical story about the narrator growing up in communist Romania and dealing with a state that daily interferes in their lives. She and her college friends have to write secret letters to each other and will often sing banned songs, all while dealing with a state officer (and his dog) who regularly interrogates them. Suffice it to say, they all dream of escaping the socialist utopia and regularly take comfort from the many rumours regarding the dictators poor health.I absolutely loved this book. It was rich and human and beautiful. There was even a touch of magical realism and poetry to it. I wouldn't recommend it lightly because the style might not be to everyone's tastes but for me, it was a wonderful piece of literature. You can see why Müller won the Nobel prize. 8/10

Man City 0 - 1 Chelsea Good final. City were poor.

A book critic once tried to write, In despondecy he gave up the fight His mind was a blank His prose truly stank

Black Beauty (1877) Anna Sewell I decided to read this because it was free on Kindle.My only real knowledge of Black Beauty came from snippets of the Thames TV show of the mid-70s which made it seem like Black Beauty had various weekly adventures (essentially a horse version of the Littlest Hobo). But actually, the book is a life story, one narrated by none other than the horse (very original for 1877) and has short pithy chapters which presumably explains why it became so popular with children. It's essentially the tale of all the people that own Black Beauty through his life and the various jobs he has as a working horse.Most of the book is rather tame and there's some obvious moralising about the ill-treatment of horses during the Victorian era. Apparently, the descriptions of cruelty caused by 'bearing rein' (keeping the horses head up) enraged readers so much that it was quickly made illegal as a result of the book.I enjoyed the chapters where Black Beauty becomes a London cab horse and dashes around the various streets from station to station or picks up drunken revelers at 1am. And obviously the cruelty is not nice to read but it's generally kept to a minimum without ever getting too dark. But more than once Sewell has a bad human character get his comeuppance for such behavior. Oh, and there seems to be a great deal of criticism regarding the over consumption of alcohol. And one thing I didn't like was how each new owner gave Black Beauty a new name; perfectly understandable why they would but it occasionally meant hearing a name (Jack for example) and thinking... who the hell is Jack? before realising it was Black Beauty's newest name. But the book has a happy ending. And Black Beauty even ends the book with his original name.The book wasn't anything spectacular but it was perfectly fine. And suffice it to say, it's difficult to read without hearing that damn 70s theme tune constantly playing in your head. 7/10

I decided to read this because it was free on Kindle.My only real knowledge of Black Beauty came from snippets of the Thames TV show of the mid-70s which made it seem like Black Beauty had various weekly adventures (essentially a horse version of the Littlest Hobo). But actually, the book is a life story, one narrated by none other than the horse (very original for 1877) and has short pithy chapters which presumably explains why it became so popular with children. It's essentially the tale of all the people that own Black Beauty through his life and the various jobs he has as a working horse.Most of the book is rather tame and there's some obvious moralising about the ill-treatment of horses during the Victorian era. Apparently, the descriptions of cruelty caused by 'bearing rein' (keeping the horses head up) enraged readers so much that it was quickly made illegal as a result of the book.I enjoyed the chapters where Black Beauty becomes a London cab horse and dashes around the various streets from station to station or picks up drunken revelers at 1am. And obviously the cruelty is not nice to read but it's generally kept to a minimum without ever getting too dark. But more than once Sewell has a bad human character get his comeuppance for such behavior. Oh, and there seems to be a great deal of criticism regarding the over consumption of alcohol. And one thing I didn't like was how each new owner gave Black Beauty a new name; perfectly understandable why they would but it occasionally meant hearing a name (Jack for example) and thinking... who the hell is Jack? before realising it was Black Beauty's newest name. But the book has a happy ending. And Black Beauty even ends the book with his original name.The book wasn't anything spectacular but it was perfectly fine. And suffice it to say, it's difficult to read without hearing that damn 70s theme tune constantly playing in your head 7/10

"He made it a rule never to touch a book by any author who had not been dead at least 30 years. "That's the only kind of book I can trust", he said. "It's not that I don't believe in contemporary literature," he added, "but I don't want to waste valuable time reading any book that has not had the baptism of time. Life is too short." Nagasawa - Norwegian Wood