Atonement

I've just finished reading Atonement by Ian McEwan, and I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it at the moment. Perhaps I should be taking longer to do a little bit of reflecting, but I also feel like I just need to write it down, to sort out what I'm thinking. I'll do my best to avoid spoiling things.

The book was written in absolutely fabulous prose, full of sweeping descriptions as well as a kind of chracterization that his highly reminescent of Austen and Elliot. The younger Briony is melancholy in the best kind of sense; McEwan is able to put in to words the thoughts of a young child as they face the change from the innocence of childhood to the disillusionment and reality of adulthood. The scenes where Briony realizes that perhaps there is more to life than the black-and-white definitions she's so used to finding in her fairy tales are some of the saddest in the book. When she witnesses a moment between her older sister, Cecelia, and Robbie, the son of the woman that cleans their house, Briony is yet again forced to come to the realization that things might not be as simple as her childhood has led her to believe. The second half of the book, however, is where things begin to loose a little bit of steam, at least as far as I'm concerned. I can only read so many pages and pages of scenes of war. My biggest problem was that, after a while, the scenes of Robbie at war began to meld in to one another, forming pages and pages of endless description of war-torn villages, pain, death, destruction. There are certain touching moments - moments where Robbie talks about his love for Cecelia, when he talks about the life he wants them to build when the war is over. However, on the whole the middle of the book became, for me, the part to push through. The third part of the book puts the reader back with Briony as she becomes a nurse faced with realizing the horrors of war for herself. The book picked up a little bit more here, and the descriptions of the injuries Briony was made to deal with were disgustingly haunting, making me feel uncomfortable in possibly the best ways. The book wraps up the story line of Cecelia, Robbie, Briony, and the family memebers surrounding them, but there weren't quite as many moments of shock and surprise - something I was kind of hoping for.

All in all, I thing Atonement is a fabulous book, but not necessarily living up to the rave reviews that made me read it in the first place. I would reccommend it again, mostly because McEwan writes simply beautiful prose, prose that I could only wish to emulate. The love he portrays between Robbie and Cecelia is beautifully crafted, beautifully and hauntingly familiar. But the story itself, however, wouldn't stand as strong if someone else had written it.

Next on the list is Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind. This is a book reccommended to me by a good friend, and I've seen the movie, so I figured that this break would be as good as any to crack it open. The books is about a boy, born in France, who has a sense of smell so sharp that he is able to smell literally everything that makes up a person. He uses this sense of smell to apprentice and become a fantastic perfume maker. The best scent he has ever smelled, however, is that of a young woman, and the quest to repicate this scent is what makes the tale a tale of murder. Hopefully the book is as good as my friend as told me it is. I'm a little wary to follow a historically-based fiction novel with another historically-based fiction novel, but I'm going to cross my fingers and hope for the best. Thank God for break - uninterrupted reading time, at last!

BookMaven

Winnie the Pooh and Christmas, Too

Yet again, it has been entirely too long since the last time I wrote. I sense that to be somewhat of a recurring theme. However, back I am, and back with a vengance.

Right now, at this very moment, I am sitting on my soon to be ex-roomates couch, surrounded by purses, boxes, and one very stuffed 60-gallon trashbag full of all the clothes I brought with me way back in August. My finals are over, my classes are completely out of my hands, and the ensuing feeling of relief fills me to the brim every time I think about it. Thats right, I am offically done with my first semester of college. It's an interesting feeling, mostly one of disbelief. There are some times that I wake up and still feel like I'm at a sleep away camp. It's a good feeling to be done, but I'm wondering if I truly lived it up to the extent that I could have. I went to my classes, I went to parties, I even fell in to deep crush and was brutally rebuked, Elizabeth-to-Darcy style, by the boy next door. And now I'm headed home for 31 days of dull, boring, familial bliss. And I couldn't be more excited.

Over break, I plan on reading nothing but all of those things that I've been wanting to read but haven't had time to between all of the afore-mentioned studying and partying. This inclues Atonement by Ian McEwan, the rest of The Other Boelyn Girl by Philippa Gregory, Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. All of the above have been on the list for quite some time, and I'm finally ready to get around to them, seeing as how I'll have 31 uninterrupted, unemployed days for doing so. I've heard nothing but wonderful things about Atonement, and am really excited to crack it open. It's about time I finish The Other Boelyn Girl, seeing as how I've had it in my possession for over a month now and am still only about half way through it. The Garcia Marquez is because I've been interested in getting in to some Marquez since we talked about him in my Latin American Studies class, and the Tao of Pooh is because I've decided, yet again, to try and refocus myself back to myself. I want to make sure that, next semester, I've living the best life I can live for me.

I'm not going to lie, the whole encounter with the boy next door threw me for a loop I wasn't quite prepared for. It shook me, who I was as me and what I wanted. I've decided that its time to get back to me, back to what I really want and who I really want to me. Drew, my Army might-as-well-be-my-brother, bought me beautiful Mala beads for Christmas, and its about time I got back to meditation, back to thinking about who and what I am. I've made some goals for the next year, but I'm choosing to make them now as opposed to New Years, because New Years just seems like far to cliche a time to make new goals. So, consider these my new goals for the same-but-better-me:

* I want to learn to play guitar
* I want to get better at meditating and yoga
* I want to look in to the religions of the East, learning more about other spiritual paths
* I'm going to begin reading the Pulitzer prize winners, beginning with 2007 and working my way back
* I'm going begin to organize my reading/keeping better track of it, as well as to get back in to journaling
* I want to be happy. Which means I want to be around people and places, listening to the music, watching the movies, reading the books and experimenting with art forms that make me happy.

Most importantly, I want to do all of this for me. Because its Christmas, and at Christmas you tell the truth. Especially to yourself.

And now, a closing word of wisdom from The Tao of Pooh: "When you discard arrogance, complexity, and a few other things that get in the way, sooner or later you will discover that simple, childlike, and mysterious secret known to those of the Uncarved Block: Life is Fun."

BookMaven