REVIEW: SOUTH OF THE BORDER, WEST OF THE SUN- Haruki Murakami

As you probably gathered from my last book review, I'm a little bit obsessed with the Japanese author Haruki Murakami. It does not surprise me that Murakami has translated many of F. Scott Fitzgerald's works into Japanese; the latter's influence is evident throughout Murakami's work. For me, he is the Fitzgerald of our times...creating characters with incredibly complex issues, all with a beautifully poetic writing style. I'm delighted that two of my favourite authors are linked in this way!

Hajime, an only child who loves reading and listening to records, finds a soul mate at his high school in Shimamoto, an enigmatic girl- also an only child- with a bad leg. The two are inseparable, up until Hajime has to move to a different area. As the years pass by, Hajime becomes a husband, father and jazz bar owner, a man who could want for nothing- until Shimamoto, who has only got more beautiful over time, comes back into his life, shoruded with mystery, and awakens memories of their special connection.

Though Hajime is clearly a very flawed character, his self-awareness is endearing. Hajime seems truly sorry to hurt those around him, and leaves it until he is at breaking point himself in order to be selfish. I ended the novel as frustrated as Hajime by Shimamoto, and still not knowing who she really was- or IF she really existed. I'm a romantic optimist at the best of times, but they way Hajime describes his feelings for Shimamoto makes you believe that they are truly destined to be together- life will just not let them. Forever thwarting cliches of 'perfect' love, Murakami certainly proves that love stories do not have to be cheesy, or need a 'happy ending' to have been a fulfilling experience- for the lovers, or for the reader.

Knowing that Murakami also owned a jazz bar makes me wonder what other similarities there may be between suthor and protagonist. From the small snippets I've read, Murakami seems to be a mixture of Hajime and Shimamoto- combining the needs to tell a story whilst remaining mysterious. Even if you are not as obsessed with language as I am, everybody can find a part of this novel clever, poignant, stunning- and unlike anything they will have read before. How to define what is good writing is always controversial, but in my opinion, it is when a writer can make you look at the world a little differently...something that Murakami certainly absolutely achieves with his amazing descriptions and incredible emotional insight. Am reading Norwegian Wood right now...can't seem to get enough of Murakami at the moment!...

Mastering Snow-Shoes On Mount Bogong...

I know it's cliched to say so, but time really does seem to be passing at lightning speed these days. Where did July go? Out of nowhere, August was just around the corner, and it was my last weekend in Melbourne. And what better way to spend it then camping on a snowy mountain?...
   Again, we have Nick and Wendy to thank for bringing a little exercise- and excitement- into our lives! They invited us on their weekend hiking/snowboarding trip to Mount Bogong, the highest mountain in Victoria at 1980m. It all started with a 2 hour hike on Friday night, with only our head torches to guide us up the steep, bushy dirt track. Poor Patrick had a massive snowboard to contend with as well! Miraculously, I managed to reach Michel Hut without tripping- unfortunately can't say the same about the way down on Sunday! Once we reached the hut, the hard work wasn't over; we still had to put our tents up, still only with the torches to guide us. With a little help...OK, a lot...OK, OK, Nick practically putting our tent up for us, we settled down for the night.
   Despite spending most of the night trying to figure out why I was so damn cold (and then finding the massive hole at 5.30am- fantastic), I was feeling pretty perky on Saturday morning. It was a beautifully clear morning, with panoramic mountain views and stark grey trees all around...the perfect Winter scene. We had 9 in our group- Derek, Sven, Emily and Sam all cross-country skiing, Patrick and Wendy snowboarding, and Nick and I hiking 5km with the skiers to Cleve Cole Hut. As the title suggests, I discovered the joy of snow-shoes- metal clamp-ons that look much more difficult to walk in than they are. Saying that, I had to fight my pigeon-toed walking instincts in order to not roll back down the mountain. The photos below show some of the stunning views along the way...a very different side to the Australia I've come to know.
   Though the snow-shoes seemed easy on the way up, they revealed their develish side on the way down; hiking downill is not my forte at the best of times with my poor balance! It's fair to say I was pretty knackered when I returned to Michel Hut that evening, which is why I lost- badly- the card game that Emily taught us (nothing to do with the rum of course...or the fact that I'm pretty bad at card games...). Having forgotten his tent, Sven built himself an epic igloo to sleep in for the night, complete with hallway and step up to the 'bedroom'. Unforunately, this then became neglected when he realised he had the warm hut to himself...and the sleet outside. See below for a picture of the igloo in all its unsung glory!
   Soon after sunset on Saturday, we had a little friend who wanted to join us in our tent, kind enough to poop in our doorway by way of greeting...a mountain rat! Not as gross as city rats, it has to be said, but that didn't stop me screaming like a banshee when it ran towards me from under our tent's outer cover. Though I was much warmer that night, I occasionally woke up uber-paranoid by the wind-induced rustles, turning my head-torch on, convinced our little ratty friend had somehow nibbled his way in.
   Despite optimistic weather forecasts, we woke up to fog on Sunday- which actually made for some cool, atmospheric snowboarding pictures (see below). So, after a little walk up the hill to watch Patrick and Wendy in snowboarding action, we decided to head back down to the car. It's funny how different a route can look in daylight; my imagined enclosed walking path was in fact quite exposed! I only have 3 bum bruises from slipping on ice on the way down, which I take as quite an achievement.
   Enjoy the pics below! Be warned, they're in a higgeldy piggeldy order..the ones in the dark are from Friday night, the ones with clear weather on Saturday, and the snowboarding foggy ones on Sunday!
 

Sven and his igloo!

Our tent in front of Michel Hut.

Getting used to snow-shoes!

Wendy and Nick.

So, an awesome, unexpected weekend...my first experience of hiking up a snowy mountain. Huge thanks to Nick and Wendy for inviting us...and generally for their amazing hospitality over the last month. You've made us feel so welcome in your home...and introduced us to some great new activities!
   A hectic few weeks lie ahead- home on Thursday, Patrick arrives on Sunday, France next weekend for my cousin Sophie's wedding...then Fiji bound! I can't wait to show Patrick my homeland; I hope the pubs live up to his expectations! Also very, very exciting about Sophie's wedding...I haven't seen my cousins in the longest time, and it will be the best way to catch up! So, I'm signing off from Melbourne- though if last time is anything to go by, I'll probably be back here sooner than I think. See you back in Landan mate...

Norway's Tragedy: One Man, One Cruel 'Belief'...

A survivor. Photograph: Odd Andersen/AFP/Getty Images (The Guardian UK)

Anders Behring Brevik, the accused perpetrator of the Norway atrocities, said on his Twitter account: "One man with a belief is equal to the force of 100,000 with only interests."

If one has good intent in mind, I say this is a true statement. But I also say this:

"One man with a gun is more cowardly than the force of 100,000 with only interests."

 

One Man

One man, one bomb,

And seven dead,

One man, one gun,

A sea of red.

One man, one mind,

One cruel ‘belief’,

A hundred gone,

A sea of grief.

How can one man

Get it so wrong?

How can one man

Think he’s so strong?

One man, one goal,

A sea of pain,

One man, no force,

Just plain insane-

One hundred souls

Lost with no gain.

Norway’s gunfire and bombing victims, R.I.P.

REVIEW: VERONIKA DECIDES TO DIE- Paulo Coelho

I was recommended this book by Lucy, an ex co-worker of mine from the Melbourne restaurant I worked in last year. We had been talking about The Alchemist, and both felt that although it is inspirational in a lot of ways, it tends not to be subtle about it.

When you start reading Veronika Decides To Die, you expect a simple story on a 24-year-old suicidal Slovenian girl, focused on why she has chosen to end her life so young. While this is certainly addressed in the first few chapters, Coelho actually goes one step further- he allows Vernokia to survive her ordeal, and places her in 'Vilette', a mental hospital- where she learns about the irreparable damage to her heart. As Veronika absorbs and regrets the fact of her imminent death, she reflects on what her life should have been- along with her fellow patients, and of course the reader.

The imbecilic doctor, Dr. Igor, who is too wrapped up with his ridiculous theories to truly help anybody, is a fantastic creation by Coelho. The author's dry style allows the reader to see the doctor's true priorities, and leads to a sympathy for Vilette's patients. Every reader will be able to relate with the tribulations of at least one patient; I identified with a few. I loved the slow unveiling of Eduard, the silent schizophrenic- and could actually relate to some of the reasons behind his 'madness'. Throughout the novel, my opinion of Veronika changed. I started off by thinking she was weak for trying to take her own life, but as I got to know her- her passion for music, for history, for love- I realised she had always had the potential to be strong, she had just chosen not to be- to take the easy route in life rather than what made her happy.

There are so many inspirational quotations to choose from in VDTD, but one in particular really hit home for me, from a Sufi master who comes to visit the 'Fraternity'- a group of 'mentally stable' people who choose incaceration over the unpredictability of life outside Vilette:

'You have two choices: to control your mind or to let your mind control you...allowing yourself to be swept away by fears, neuroses, insecurity, for we all have self-destructive tendencies.
   Don't confuse madness with a loss of control. Remember that in the sufi tradition, the master- Nasrudin- is the one everyone calls the madman. And it is precisely because his fellow citizens consider him mad that Nasrudin can say whatever he thinks and do whatever he wants. So it was with court jesters in the Middle Ages; they could alert the king to dangers that the ministers would not dare comment upon, because they were afraid of losing their positions.
   That's how it should be with you; stay mad, but behave like normal people. Run the risk of being different, but learn to do so without attracting attention.'

Through the foolish decision of one girl, Coelho aims to teach the reader a lesson about how life should be lived- about the true meaning of 'living'. This book certainly came at the right moment- when my life is particularly crazy and unpredictable. After reading Veronika Decides To Die, I feel as mad as Vilette's patients for pursuing my dreams- but somehow I believe Coelho would call it 'living'.

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I'm currently reading Haruki Murakami's 'South Of The Border,  West Of The Sun'. I LOVE Murakami; the wacky plotlines mixed with his beautiful language makes for compelling reading indeed. Just the thought of reading one of his next books excites me- that's how much of a book geek I am! Looking forward to reading 'Norwegian Wood' too, and seeing the recently released film (March in the UK, just a week ago in Canada).

Speaking of films, just have to say- the last Harry Potter was brilliant- shame about the '19 years later' bit. Note to David Yates, the director- a bit of stubble, a bad suit and a creepy smirk on your face does not automatically make an actor look 19 years older. Don't think people were meant to be laughing at the end.

The Only Way Is Up...

It's fair to say I haven't been myself lately. After seven months of traveling, I've actually been itching to get back to work and a routine. Crazy, I know...when I'm settled, I can't wait for the next adventure, and when I'm in limbo, I just want to stay put somewhere. Never happy, eh? Melbourne is a fantastic city- if blooming cold recently- but somehow it isn't quite the same without our friends here. People really do make a place. There was a poem I wrote sometime last year at one of my confused points that has somehow struck true with me once more this time around...

I thought I'd be quite witty
And write a little ditty
'Bout how I love this city,
'Bout how its parks are pretty,
Then I realized something gritty,
That a city is a city is a city-
What a pity.

Grim, eh? Too grim. This week, I decided I needed a serious change of attitude- worry is like a rocking chair, it will never get you anywhere (thanks to my great friend Miss Emma Ford for that quotation!). If there's one thing I've learned since traveling, it's that nothing shakes me up more than trying something new. So on Tuesday night, we took up the kind offer of Patrick's boss Nick and his wife Wendy to join them for one of their favourite past-times- rock climbing.
   I'm not going to lie- for half an hour before, and for the first hour climbing, I was bloody terrified. Of course, my fear was completely irrational; we were in an indoor climbing gym, not on the side of a mountain. The very enthusiastic Steve made it quite clear I'd be safe, after a quick lesson on 'be-laying' (keeping your partner safe from the ground by holding the rope's other end and making sure it is taut at all times). I soon got used to the hand rhythm for working the ropes- up, down, left, right, up, down, left, right, up up up 'cos Patrick went further than I thought.....down, left, right. Maybe I'd actually be alright at this climbing lark? Then it was my turn to actually climb- oooooh dear. So, here's how my first 3 climbs went... I'd rush up like a crazed monkey, freeze about 3 metres up, then freak and squeak to Patrick 'I want to come down now!'. Oh, when Patrick gave me the be-layers 'go-ahead', leaping off the wall backwards like it was fire, out of breath with fear and relief when I hit safe ground. Tragic, but all true, I'm afraid. But, after some useful instruction from Patrick (who proved he was a natural at climbing after mastering some tricky climbing walls) and the assurance that there was no way he'd let me fall, I actually made it to the top fourth time around without wimping out halfway! Success! All I kept thinking at the beginning was 'I am NOT coming back, I am NOT coming back', but by the end I realized- as with most fears- it was all in the mind. I actually ended the session with a smile on my face- which Steve seemed happy about- and keen to try again next week. The delicious lamb souvlaki pizza and cold Coopers beer enjoyed with Nick and Wendy's friends afterwards may also have worked as positive reinforcement! If I went from quivering flop to reaching the top in two hours, hopefully I can improve even more next week- although maybe I shouldn't talk too soon. Stay tuned, folks!
    So, lessons to be learned from this confession/experience?

1) When you're feeling frustrated and impatient, keep your body- and mind- busy. Exercise. Read. Don't allow time for a grey cloud of negative thoughts to accumulate over your head.
2) If you're feeling stale, anxious or just in need of a change, try something different. Allow somebody you love and trust to gently push you into something new once in a while, even if you're stubborn like me and convinced you won't like it. It's likely you'll be pleasantly surprised. Overcoming a challenge is far more rewarding than continuing on a well-trodden track; I'm sure there's a philosopher out there who's put it into words far more eloquently than I have.
3) Fear is all in the mind; you're the only person that can ever get over it. No-one's going to come along and do it for you. They can encourage you, but you have to take that first step.
4) It's pretty difficult to hurt yourself while rock climbing (in a climbing gym, anyway), unless you deliberately try to do so. Just repeat the mantra: you are in a harness, you are in a harness. You are not about to fall into an abyss.
5) Charity shops have more inter-house politics than first imagined. OK, so that's completely irrelevant- but just a little extra thing I've learned.
  
  This is all very nice, but aren't you in Fiji yet? I hear you cry. Errr....no. Long story. BUT Patrick's flight to London and back to Fiji has been booked, my return flight from London to Fiji has been booked, both in August, so it's all beginning to happen....slowly. It's taken me a while, but I've learned to keep happy, keep smiling, keep positive, be patient, and embrace the slow pace of life at the moment. Slow and steady wins the race, etc etc. How many philosophical cliches can I fit into one blog post? One more, it would seem- which brings us nicely to the sixth and final lesson, from none other than the legendary philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau...

6) Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.

Introducing A Very Talented Illustrator...

.....Miss Alexandra Prince, who has produced a fantastic illustration for my 'Dream Snatcher' poem! Very talented lady- thank you so much Alex! Maybe one day we could publish a children's book together...it's always nice to dream...

REVIEW: THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES by Sue Monk Kidd

I've been wanting to read this book for a while, even before it was made into a film. I'm glad to say it was worth the wait.

Based in the late 1950s, a time of fraught racial inequality, the story is told by Lily Evans, a white fourteen-year-old girl who is haunted by a guilty secret: she is accidentally responsible for her mother's death. Mistreated by her father for most of her life, one day she finally has enough and runs away, along with her black fugitive housekeeper, Rosaleen. Unsure of where to go, she decides to follow the clues given by a curious picture that belonged to her late mother. As a result, she ends up at the bright pink house of the black Boatwright bee-keeping sisters- May, June and August- whose tenderness and life lessons help her to slowly reveal her inner demons, and finally discover her own true identity. She particularly takes comfort in 'Our Lady In Chains', a black female wooden statue passed down from slavery times under remarkable circumstances. Worshiped by the Catholic Boatwright sisters as a 'Black Mary' figure, she represents what Lily craves most- motherly protection and freedom.

Although the slow unveiling of Lily's secret keeps you hooked, the novel's joy lies in its kooky, colourful characters. August, the oldest Boatwright sister, seems to have unlimited wisdom and warmth; along with Lily, I felt comforted every time she entered the page. The Daughters of Mary, fellow worshipers of 'Our Lady In Chains', were incredibly vivid and always made me smile, with their crazy hats and sparkly personalities. Although at times showing typical teenage angst and selfishness, on the whole Lily is aware of her own shortcomings. Choosing her as a narrator allows us to see beyond her bratty behaviour, and realise that beyond her anguish, she is a good person with a deep desire to change. This begins with her acknowledging the innate racist impressions she- and many of her time- has of black people, which is soon contradicted and overturned by the kindness of both the Boatwright sisters and Zach, August's handsome black teenage helper and Lily's crush. June's prickly behaviour towards Lily allows us to see racism from the other side, while May's deep grief allows an insight into the troubled history of the Boatwright sisters.

Just like one of August's honey-wax candles, this book is slow-burning, but emits a warm, comforting glow. Bees are an appropriate symbol to permeate the novel- the sting of August's home truths will be buzzing in your ears for a while after you put the book down. Lily's struggle to better herself in spite of what life has thrown at her is truly inspiring, and something that everybody, in every walk-of-life, can relate to. 

Right now I am reading Paulo Coelho's Veronika Decides To Die, which so far seems like quite a departure from The Alchemist. Will be back to review that in the near future!