Book Review 3: The Time Machine

The Time Machine, by HG Wells, is worlds apart from my usual read (I'm not a sci-fi kinda gal) but it was a nice little breather from the heavy reads I so love. Why, Silly Little Lady, what on earth made you choose such a book? I hear you ask. Well, my lovely inquisitive audience, I'll tell you why. One Christmas many moons ago, an even littler Silly Little Lady strayed away from her crowd of festive relatives in order to fetch something or other. She happened to glance at the TV, and found herself lost in the most enchanting tale of Eloi and Morlocks and the ever lovely Weena. She could hardly tear her eyes away from the Time Traveller's antics, and lost most of the afternoon engrossed, while her family was nearly about to file a missing persons ad. I do believe that a story that can tear a child away from her brand-spanking-new Santy presents on Christmas morning is one worth taking a little time to get to know. That, and I had a 'book set in the future' box just begging to be ticked off on my 2015 Book Challenge.

The Time Machine is simply about a unnamed time traveller (unless Time Traveller was a popular English name in the late 1800s) who begins to tell his sceptical acquaintances (can you blame them?) all about his awe-inspiring experiences in the year 802,701.

As a piece of literature, this is pretty basic. The writing style is simplistic, the characters undeveloped, but it's the plot that saves this classic. It's this novel that is alleged to have made the idea of time travel popular, and Wells even considers some interesting philosophies about future civilisations, and muses the purpose of intellect in nature: "It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change." It's thought-provoking ideas like this that many futuristic novels and movies today lack, and instead stick to the tried and tested. Y'see, time travel, I can take it or leave it, but when you turn time travel into a hypothesis of the future of humanity, count me in.

Overall, I did enjoy this novel, as silly and little as it is. As far as recommendations go, if you're looking for a nice little 2 hour read that'll give you a short break from tragedies and tearjerkers, and don't mind a kids book type read, go ahead and give The Time Machine a go.

Book Review 2: Tess of the d'Urbervilles

Book 2 of 50 ladies and gentlemen, and one I've been dying to read for quite some time now. Tess of the d'Urbervilles is by an English writer, Thomas Hardy, who was around in the 1800s. He's one of the greats, and he ticks off the 'book by an author you've never read before' box for me on my book challenge. Tess of the d'Urbervilles was quite unlike anything I've ever read before and has immediately become one of my favourite books of all time, if not my favourite book of all time (The Picture of Dorian Gray is pretty hard to top). The book is about a young lady by the name of Tess Durbeyfield, who lives in rural England, with her poor family who dabbles in agriculture. Mr Durbeyfield discovers that he is a direct descendant in a line of wealthy noblemen, the d'Urbervilles, and from this discovery, Tess's life and future is completely altered.

One of the first things I noticed about Thomas Hardy's writing style, was his ability to romanticise any seemingly mundane sight into such beauty and delicacy. An example of one such description was that of the deceptively simple shadows of cattle, "Thus it threw shadows of these obscure and homely figures every evening with as much care over each contour as if it had been the profile of a court beauty on a palace wall; copied them as diligently as it had copied Olympian shapes on marble façades long ago, or the outline of Alexander, Caesar, and the Pharaohs." To make such an observation, hinting at nature's neutrality, and suggest that in essence something so powerful as the sun should treat a cow with as much respect as it would a Pharaoh, is so inspiring and enlightening, and I praise Hardy highly for it.

Hardy's descriptions of nature and the sun, also seem to create a gap between his description and reality, the former seeing somehow embellished. It opened my eyes to the beauty around me. I was inspired to wake before dawn and witness what Hardy describes so vividly, yet somehow the muse doesn't compare to the artist's interpretation, "In the twilight of the morning, light seems active, darkness passive; in the twilight of evening it is the darkness which is active and crescent, and the light which is the drowsy reverse."

It is not only his descriptions of nature which appear to embellish reality, however. Hardy managed to add more beauty, wonder and character to that which is thought to be perfect and unparalleled: love and passion. On seeing "the desire of his eyes"  Clare cannot control himself and simply has to give passion its way and hold her in his arms, "Resolutions, reticences, prudences, fears, fell back like a defeated battalion." Looking at Tess through Clare's eyes: the women who has stolen his heart, was such a thrilling experience, and one so rare. It made me wonder about the extent of today's men's love and desire, which appear to dull in comparison to how Hardy envisions them, and begs the question: are their hearts lacking or merely their tongues? Do men feel this same level of passion, desire and love that Hardy did? Down through the ages women have maintained their interest in love, it's easy to see how much we hunger for it by merely taking a look around a bookshop or a DVD shop and seeing all the romances, but when did men stop writing about love? Did they stop feeling it the way we do?

Hardy does address the idea that time will bring a loss of feeling and emotion, echoing my musing that men in today's society may not feel love in the same extremity, or perhaps it has adapted. In the line "It was probable that, in the lapse of ages, improved systems of moral and intellectual training would appreciably, perhaps considerably, elevate the involuntary and even the unconscious instincts of human nature."  I am reminded of HG Wells' futuristic society in The Time Machine, which I shall be reviewing next.

On the final note of Hardy's philosophising, I particularly enjoyed his touching on the idea of a contained universe and personal reality: "The universe itself only came into being for Tess on the particular day in the particular year in which she was born."  This emphasises Tess's tendency not to over-analyse or muse about the abstract, and reinforces her character as a homely, stubbornly simple country girl, who desires to be nothing more.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles touches on the hypocrisy of men in society, and their demeaning, belittling attitude towards women, and women's pitiful devotion to their male counterparts. Tess takes on the role of a self-sacrificing, self-loathing woman, stereotypical of her era. Hardy portrays Tess as both an embarrassment to the female sex, and yet one so lovable. He paints a picture of a woman severely lacking self respect and perspective as the main character in his novel, yet I do not feel offended, as I often do when a man tries to use a female protagonist (often without success). This to me is a unique talent of Hardy's, and one that I do not myself pretend to fathom, but can appreciate its brilliance.

In relation to his characters, Hardy makes them alive with faults. Tess lacks pride and self respect, while Clare lacks compassion and has a narrow-minded, hypocritical mindset, typical of the time. Faults in general make a character human, but these faults are so drastic, that it makes the characters seem dramatically more human than we are today. Perhaps this is why this novel is so successfully tragic. It is so bittersweet and heart-wrenching, yet somehow I am left with a sense of peace, amongst all the warped justice.

What more can I say but: read it. Just read it, and reread it if you have some more time on your hands. I can praise Hardy no more; instead I sit, and bask in his brilliance.

Dear Extroverts... A message from us ever illusive Introverts

Dear Extroverts, 

 

As an Introvert, with close friends, family members and even a boif who are Extroverts, there are some things I feel you should know about us. 

1. We need time to refuel.

The nature of an Introvert is one who gets their energy from their alone time, and that baby is vital for us to function in everyday life. Don't get us wrong, we love spending time with you guys, but we just can't function on socialising alone. For example, last summer I spent 2 weeks in London with le boif. During the lead up the the holiday, I was super excited. 2 weeks of boif-time? Bring it on. However, I did have to warn my charming Extrovert of a boif beforehand that as excited as I was about spending time with him, I was going to need some alone time. A weekend without refuelling, we can do, but 2 whole weeks... could you go without sleep, food or water for 2 weeks? Umm... no way José. Anyway, I loved my holiday, but le boif had to understand that I needed space sometimes, and I read 2 whole books during those 2 weeks to keep me sane. Conclusion: we love you, but don't be offended or hurt when we tell you to give us time to ourselves. 

2. We think, a lot. Seriously. 

We're perpetual ponderers. If we go quiet, we're not upset, we are thinking. We don't feel the need to talk constantly, or fill all of those 'awkward' silences. In fact, we often don't notice them at all. So next time you see one of us staring into space, or closing our eyes for a moment, take a breather, we're fine, I promise!

3. We like to party, just not with strangers...

I love dancing, and I love parties, but I cannot even consider attending a party without asking the famous question: "who else is going?" It's not that you, Mr/Ms Extrovert aren't entertaining enough for us, we just know that you like to mix, and socialise, and we don't share the same passion for strangers. We have our friends, and we love them dearly, and we aren't constantly on the lookout for potential new ones. We're happy with our lot, and we don't particularly enjoy the whole meeting new people thing. 

4. We feel super bad about holding you back.

When we actually do go to that party with you, we want you all to ourselves, and we feel über guilty for stopping you from doing your thing and making new friends. But we only came here to be with you, and our other besties. We're sorry!

5. We like to listen.

Y'know that thing you were going to tell us but stopped because you thought you'd bore us, or that we wouldn't understand? Please tell us. We're avid listeners, and we care. Not to mention, one of the perks of being an Intro, is that our empathy skills are pretty brag-tastic. We don't have many close friends, but the ones we do have we take care of, and we have time for. So feel free to lighten your load and share. 

6. We can get pretty intense. 

We have so many feels. Honestly, we have feels all over the place. We Introverts are sensitive, and I, personally, can hardly go through a week without crying at least once over a piece of music, a book, a thought, that thing you texted us, anything. We remember most of the things you tell us, and can be easily hurt. We also love having deep, intimate conversations with you, and always want to get closer to you. But we're always that little bit scared of scaring our friends away with our feelings for you guys, or not being light-hearted enough for your taste, so we try not to let ourselves open up too much. 

7. We're secretly affectionate.

Most introverts are shy, and often guarded. But often what we can't say, we'll find some way to show it. We love you guys, you are our closest friends, and super dear to us, but instead of sounding over the top, like we feel, we'll share this by being physically close to you, smiling at you, reading that book you recommended or remembering to wish you luck the day of your exam. We don't want to frighten you guys away, but we just wanna give you all giant bear hugs.

8. We love one on one.

As much as we love hanging out with all our friends, in one bundle, we kinda like some alone time with you all. There are certain things we wouldn't share with everyone at the same time, or with all of our friends in general, and also, we like it when you open up to us, which usually happens in one on one time. We especially hate society's view on male-female friendships, and how one on one is nearly synonymous with a date, and we disagree with it strongly. We like our mates, and we want you all to ourselves every now and again.

9. We need to be handled with care.

Please don't push us into socialising because it's 'good for us'. Yes, we do appreciate your help in reaching out to someone new, and we are glad that you can bridge that gap for us. But at the same time, we don't need to socialise as much as you do, and we don't want that. Don't make us feel bad if we turn down that invite, or don't go overboard trying to befriend that person you introduced us to. 

10. We happy being who we are.

While we do envy you Extroverts from time to time in your ease of making friends, your way of breezing through social situations and your confidence in the matter, we actually don't want to be you. We're happy being the ever illusive Introverts, for the most part. We don't need pity, or help to become more like you. We enjoy your bubbly, outgoing nature, and we wouldn't change it for the world, but we love that we are what we are. 

So Extroverts, you've heard it, straight from the horse's mouth. I can only speak from personal experience of course, and we Introverts are by no means identical, but this has been my interaction with Extroverts over the years, and these are the things I feel you should know about us, in order to fully understand and accept us. 

Love, 

A Silly Little Introvert.

P.S: Disagree with me? Have anything to add? Feel free to leave me a comment.

A Typical Day, Sleepiness, Chores, and Messy Rooms

Well, after an exhausting but amazing yesterday, today arrived too soon. As my mother flitted off to her computer-y course (only after giving me a mini chore list), and I drifted back to sleep, all too soon I was violently forced to stumble reluctantly out of my bed to answer the home phone I so seldom touch for fear of having to talk to strangers, or anyone I know for that matter. But alas, stumble and groggily answer I did, managing to show off my skill of sounding refreshed and awake even when I hate everything but bed and can't yet fully open my freshly baked eyes. I have developed such a useful skill from years of pretending I'm awake for school, while sneakily catching 3 more Zs. Anyway, I did my moral duty to take a message for my mother, while sounding perky and pleasant, and I ran back to bed for some more dozy moments before having to arise again, one final time.

All too soon that time did come, and my enjoyable but slightly mundane dreaming ended, as I was obligated to vacuum up non-existent dirt, whilst wrestling with irritating cables, and trying to balance the vacuum on each stair, and to dispose of all the fresh, warm clothes to their appropriate places of residence. (I promise I'm finished describing boring things soon.) After all these duties were finished, only a handful remained: 

Packing

Tidy My Room

Blog

Now I have mentioned my mother in this post once before, briefly, and I shall do so again. This morning she was flitting off to her course, and tomorrow she'll be flitting off to Prague, for a weekend away, like the lucky duckling she is. I say "flitting" because that's what she does. My mummy flits. She's always in a busy busy rush, hence the quickness, and she's also a little lady, like myself, hence the littleness. Quick+little=flit, like a little birdy flitting from branch to branch, singing his songlings. As I was saying, she's flitting off to Prague, so I must pack, for I shall be residing at le boif's family home for the weekend, thanks to a kindly invite. 

Usually packing is a tremendous difficulty for a silly little lady who never knows what she'll want to wear a day in advance, always has a messy room and can't find any of the clothes she wants to wear. Today's episode was different. It's summer! And along came the warm weather! And with the warm weather, out comes bright colours, skirts and long socks! I'm so accustomed to cold Irish weather that if it's sunny, I must dress nicely, I feel it's an insult to the day if I wear jeans. 

After packing, I helped my mummy fill out a form, so we can hopefully (cross your damn fingers for us) be a host family for an exchange student. Within the form however, we had to give brief descriptions of each family member... I was summed up in a few words, one of which being the unfitting term 'outgoing', which I'm far from. Chatty and talkative I may be in the company of loved ones, but only when I have something to say, and usually, in that scenario, I'm silent up until I deliver a speech, or participate in a debate, and then resume my quiet state. The task got me to thinking about how difficult it is to sum up a loved one in a few words. The usual positive words such as 'caring', 'kind', 'funny', 'chatty' and 'honest' are thrown around very often in this context, but they never do much justice. They can't possibly paint a picture of the person, the way we know them to be, in all their uniqueness, because no word is unique. We'd need to make up a whole new word for each quality they possess in order to get it right. Words are too universal for changeable, sensitive creatures like humans.

The only obstacle left in my day was my disgracefully messy room. Clothes were strewn all over the floor and I had been avoiding properly tidying my wardrobe for a number of years. I proudly say 'had' in that sentence, as opposed to 'have', as I have finally tackled the outstanding issue. 2 black sacks, a cloakroom full of coats, and much hanging and folding later, I found my bedroom floor and could breathe again. 

After a shower, and after trimming my fringe terribly as usual, here I am, completing my checklist. 

Blog=done.

Morrissey, Oscar Wilde, Irishness and Books!

Today, within my reminiscent fangirlings, I stumbled upon something that made me very happy indeed. Doesn't it feel marvelous when two things you adore associate with each other, all on their own?
Look at my Morrissey getting all cozy with my Osky! I'm so proud of him! Getting in touch with his Irish roots! As Osky once said "If one could only teach the English how to talk, and the Irish how to listen, society here would be quite civilised." Now I know my Morrissey hasn't been the best boy in his outright denying his Irishness, despite his ma and da, and I don't forgive him for that, I'd give him a right telling off if I got the chance. But he entertains me, and at least he can appreciate a lovely Irish writer like my Osky. I know I may sound like a crazy patriotic Irish lassie, but I guess I am.

Apart from crazy Irishness, forgetfulness is a trait I carry at present, as I forgot all about my intention to blog, like a silly little lady. But we sillies get distracted with books, chats, and horribly sweet white wine. Also, due to the late hour (1am), we sillies apparently happen to lose our ability to ramble. So when all else fails, books!

Earlier this evening, my mother and I were engaged in the age-long debate of books: to break the spine, or not to break the spine. Having gone through phases of both, I am partial to being very gentle with my books, and under no circumstances creasing any part of the head-wrecking flimsy covers. Especially if the book isn't mine! I understand the argument that a book is for enjoyment, and that people like to use their books, and dominate by way of marking their territory, so to speak. I however, am of a different view:

             If I were a book, would I want to be used and abused? Certainly not. I would want to be treasured, stroked, and caressed as if I was the most precious thing to that reader, who craves every word in my sea of sentences. I would like to be taken care of with the utmost respect and care, and would not stand for being ravished or visibly used to the point where everyone can see I've been violated, and that I will never be my lovely perfect self again. I would want to remain forever young and beautiful (as I do in reality), while being secretly devoured with relish by a reader hungry for my knowledge. 

Such is my reasoning of my peculiar reading style.
Such is why you may see me peeking into my favourite book.
Such is why I miss the normality of hardcovers.
Such is why I could empathise with the narrator's laboured, pained fingers in Wild Swans, as my fingers began to ache also from the awkward position I had to assume in order to preserve the youth of the lovely chubby book's spine.

Such suches mark my goodnight.

It's Summer! Books! Wild Swans Review! China! But oh... storms...

Yes, it's here at last folks! And no more whining about school bothers shall I partake in, at least for 2 months. Although the weather in Ireland hasn't fully copped on to the fact that it's actually summer for the next couple months, I am enjoying the surprising (but not surprising for Ireland) contrast between blue skies, warm sunny days, and crazy rain-thunderstorm days in between. And now that it's summer, I have time to do everything! So you'd think anyway...

In reality, all I want to do is have mo shrón sáite sa leabhair i gcónaí (or have my nose stuck in books permanently, for the 99% who don't speak Irish). Yep, books, cuddles, and food take up most of my time, but I'm not complaining. Going abroad would also be lovely, but in time, in time. Last night I finished Wild Swans by Jung Chang (FINALLY-it's a big book) and I felt utterly lost and helpless without it. I'll miss the tales of woe, love and determination that permeate the three generations of little Chinese ladies. Despite the long amount of time it took me to read the middle section of that book (when the politics really kicked in), I adored every second of it, even though it deeply saddened and shocked me to hear about the horrific conditions of olden day China. I'll even miss the ridiculous political slogans, all the 'capitalist roaders', 'class enemies', and 'bourgeois' this, that and the other, that were so off the wall and just insane that in the end I couldn't help but laugh at the hypocrisy and mangled logic and sense that a whole country could 'function' under for so many years. That book has brought me many smiles, a handful of tears, and given me a huge insight into China's past, in particular, the first few decades of Communism.

Even after reading it all though, I'm still extremely shocked, and quite outraged that the book is banned in mainland China, even to the present day. I mean, even for a country that has been riddled and ravished with messed up politics, I assumed that in the 21st centrury (nearly 38 years after the death of Mao), complete freedom of speech would be allowed. Especially one so important when it comes to world trade and business. But perhaps my shock is due to lackadaisy Ireland, where practically no books have been banned since 1998. That's one of the reasons I'm glad I live in Ireland, as much as I'd love to see the rest of the world, and one of the reasons I'm so proud to be Irish. I mean Salinger's Catcher In The Rye was banned in 1951, and has since appeared on the Leaving Certificate curriculum, we've developed that much. Now I know it's different with China, because political parties everywhere hate to accept their past mistakes, and Communism is still a thing there, but I am still quite disappointed with the world. So if the banning of one book in China irks me, you can imagine how I feel about North Korea. It vexes me. I'm terribly vexed. [If you didn't get that quote, I shake my head, sigh and strongly advise you to rewatch Gladiator]

As I type, thunder is rumbling so loudly, that some theoretical god must be rearranging whole houses up there, not just the furniture. I've always enjoyed the gentle, boomy lullaby of thunder rolling across the sky, but that loud bout was more like a growl or a full blown roar rather than a lullaby. No doubt my poor grandmother is hiding underneath the sofa or something at this stage, or managed to squeeze herself between the cracks in the floorboards, or has built some sort of makeshift cellar in the past few hours, for urgent shelter safety needs of course. And my mother decided that today of all days she would go for a drive in the countryside, it's not like we live in the countryside already or anything... Anyway, the rain is so bad my internet is flickering, and even the static in the air that calms me during a thunderstorm isn't fully cancelling out my slight nervousness from the violent bursts of sound of electrostatic discharge.

Scrap all that, it's all escalated so quickly that if I didn't know better, I would be completely convinced that multiple explosions had gone off in my back garden. I'm serious! I've never heard or seen anything like this before! I generally love thunderstorms! They actually relax me! And I've only ever seen lightning a handful of times before, all off in the distance, that I had to strain to see, followed minutes later by soft thunder; I mean Ireland is a very safe, uneventful place. But a few minutes ago, my small window was lit up with bright light, which I saw accidentally even while looking at my computer screen, and then the explosion occurred outdoors, making me feel like I'm in a badly written book by the name of How Many Miles To Babylon, or in an even worse film adaptation with a mentally and accent-ly challenged Alec who apparently watches too much Napoleon Dynamite  and was severely influenced by Napoleon's brother Kip.
Link to a clip of Kip (in Napoleon Dynamite)
Link of a clip of Daniel Day-Lewis (in How Many Miles To Babylon) [Even from the first few lines...]

Anyway, I got a bit shaky, and nervy, and went downstairs. I looked out my back window just to check that it was thunder and lightning and not some bloody atomic bomb going off outside. I didn't anticipate to be blinded by a bright light, that must be nearly directly over my house, and at the most 2 seconds later another deafening roll to assault my eardrums. I'm very surprised my electricity is still working, and has only gone off once or twice for a few seconds.

I haven't heard anything in the past few minutes, perhaps it's clearing, or it's the calm before a bigger storm. I hope it's the former, but I'm really enjoying the storm on another level, don't ask me why.

I was planning on learning some French in a little while but after all this commotion perhaps I'll just curl up with another book...

Snoofles, sniffles and silly sickness

Day 3 of a bad immune system, and I fear I won't make it out with my nose intact. So much sniffly coldness. So much watery dopey eyes. So much constant desire for bed. 

    

       It's also the day before my end of the year exams, and I think if I crammed any harder I'd get lost inside my head along with all the formulae and phenolphthalein indicator. 

Cramming < structured studying, but cramming > failing. Such is maths in effect. The funny thing is, I've only studied for one of my 9ish exams (religion doesn't count), so I have much more cram to look forward to! 

*At present, my left thumb won't quit twitching, so typing is a heavy task to say the least*

Probably due to my sickness, back/shoulder/neck pain and stress of exams I have very little to say, unless it involves expressing how many I'd injure for a massage right now.

If only school exams consisted of my snuggling up in bed with my cuddlym'n and reading books all day, feasting on meringue and cheesecake... 

Mmm... Cheesecake...