Five months in, my surprise of having done so well consistently month after month made me realize I did not have enough faith in this project. But hey, better to be pleasantly surprised than bitterly disappointed, right?
((1/Classic)) A Month in the Country — J.L. Carr
This is one of those quiet novellas that you enjoy just fine for the most part, but then when it ends you realize you've gone through a strangely moving experience. It's about a young man who goes to uncover an old mural at a church in a small village after serving in WWI. There he finds peace and love, and tries to hold on to it as best he can, even when he knows nothing lasts forever.
((2/Contemporary Fiction)) Perfume: The Story of a Murderer — Patrick Süskind
Although I consider this a (contemporary) classic, I think most people would classify it under plain literary fiction so here we are. Set in France in the 1700s, this is the story of Grenouille, a man who was born with the most extraordinary smelling abilities, but who lacks a scent himself. It is fantastically narrated, very sinister and gothic but never gratuitously shocking. It was everything I was craving and more. I urge you all to give it a go! Although I have a hard time picturing how such an intricate narrative style (an omniscient narrator with skillful FIS) would translate into film, I'm told the movie is fantastic, so I shall have to see for myself.
((3/In translation/in Spanish)) The Sailor who Fell from Grace with the Sea — Yukio Mishima
I was that angsty teen who loved tales of broody smartass protagonists (I hadn't yet caught on to the fact that all these pseudo-geniuses were men, but oh well), so when I first read Confessions of a Mask I was floored with Mishima's exquisite descriptions and exhausting introspection. This is like that, too, with pubescent Noboru becoming disenchanted with his mom's new lover, a navy officer who abandons this path to settle down with them and form a family. It features vouyerism, discussions of masculine honor, twisted notions about heroism, and existential shenanigans. What's not to love?
I was that angsty teen who loved tales of broody smartass protagonists (I hadn't yet caught on to the fact that all these pseudo-geniuses were men, but oh well), so when I first read Confessions of a Mask I was floored with Mishima's exquisite descriptions and exhausting introspection. This is like that, too, with pubescent Noboru becoming disenchanted with his mom's new lover, a navy officer who abandons this path to settle down with them and form a family. It features vouyerism, discussions of masculine honor, twisted notions about heroism, and existential shenanigans. What's not to love?
((4/Essay Collection/Bio/Memoir)) Upstream — Mary Oliver
I'm pretty easy when it comes to personal essays—as long as they don't suck, I'll read them. But every once in a while there comes a writer whose work is so deceivingly effortless and profound I'll both want to cry with envy and send them long pointless emails about how much they have touched me and thank you thank you thank you. This is one of those collections. Oliver is a poet I became aware of only recently, and the tools of her craft are present in these superbly written essays. I picked up this book without being that familiar with her work because it promised literary essays on writers and landscape—and it delivered that brilliantly, plus musings on existence and art and everything essential, and even some poems! Can't recommend enough.
This was... not what I expected out of my first Ted Hughes. Although that was my bad for not reading the back of the book before purchasing it—this was meant to be geared towards children. Who knew? Still, I enjoyed this narrative poem of a conversation between God and his son about the notion of Truth and simple life on Earth. It was humorous, slightly dark in places, and skillfully put together.
Rereading a book you loved and found at exactly the right time in your life can be extremely intimidating—what if it's not the same this time around? What if it sucks and your memory is now forever tainted? Luckily, Boland's travel essay collection/memoir is every bit as insightful and fascinating as it was in 2019. Boland is not only a wonderful narrator and adventurous traveller, but also extremely open and full of perspective, which partly stems from the fact that she is revisiting the journals she kept through years of traveling and this distance leaves plenty of space for reflection. An absolute favorite still!
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