Hello Again! Books, books, books, Garp!

Me, greeting you all:

Well everyone, I'm back! I've been back ages now but I've been on blogging holiday as well as actual holliers.

Now, where did I leave off...

No idea. Anybody? Oh well.

Books! I've not been writing, but I can't say the same about reading. I've been devouring lumps of books at home and away, and struggling to make myself stop staring at paperbacks all day. In England I read The World According To Garp by John Irving, which definitely goes on my top fave books of all time. Not to mention inspiration for wanting to write! It's about Garp, who has always wanted to be a writer, his life and such, so a lot of the text talks about churning out novels, short stories, and a writer's life in general. I have never really read a novel about writing novels, but what better book for silly little me? The little lassie who buries her head in books all day and wants to write for living (yes I know I need a steady job mom, yes, yes, I will, I promise... *sigh*). Anyway, after reading Garp and never wanting to put it down, but having to reluctantly because it's time to go see Big Ben or something, I want a typewriter so bad. No kidding, I really want one. I used to have one when I was little but I foolishly gave it away. Now I wanna write novels on a typewriter all the time.

There was one line in Garp that had an impact on me. He was talking about a character who is one of those people who just don't finish things. Y'know, they start loads of new projects, but never ever persevere until the end. We all know someone like that (some silly little ladies are like that too...). So Garp comes out with this: "You only grow by coming to the end of something and by beginning something else." His point is, if you wanna be a novelist, you have to strive for an ending, as much as you enjoy the process, the middle, the start, you have to live for the end, and let that drive you. Novelists want to finish, so they can finish their next. For someone who has a nasty little habit of being interested in everything, therefore starting everything, not having enough time, and finishing nothing, it made me think. If you restart and restart, each time coming up with a better beginning, what happens after that? Say you have the ultimate start, after so much practise, and then what? You never practised the middle, maintaining the plot, developing the characters, tying up the plot, and the most important bit, the end. Isn't it better to churn out a non-masterpiece novel so you can grow and learn from it, rather than never coming to an end?

Aaaaaanyway, in conclusion, The World According To Garp has definitely been my favourite book this summer. As much as I loved Wild Swans, and as much as I enjoyed English Passengers. Not that I'm finished reading for the summer, or anything. I'm nearing the end of the Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell trilogy by Susanna Clarke, and I have enjoyed it but I really think they are dragging their feet nearer the end. I mean I just want the plot to wrap up already, it's getting stale. Clarke could have easily, and should have ended the book at least 100 pages earlier than she did.

In other news:

I'm still trying to find the balance between reading, portfolio (to get into an animation course), bass, chores, teaching my little sis piano, and y'know, seeing people. There really aren't enough hours. Please. Please increase the hours. I beg.

And I'm gone vegan, so there's quick and easy meals out the window. It's not half as hard as I expected though, I only am very apologetic to, and sorry for, anybody who has me over on a regular basis... Pizza without cheese here I come, even if it is an abominable idea, it'd probably still be tasty. I'll never touch raisins though, that'd be criminal. I had to touch one the other day to remove it from the top of the toaster (cinnamon and raisin bagels, yuck) and I nearly died. It was horrif.

Over and out.

P.S. Back to my normal every other day blogging routine, until school starts... ugh... school...

I'm Off To England, and a Review of English Passengers!

Last post before England! As le boif keeps reminding me. I'm still struggling to heal myself of this fun-filled cough, before I away, but time is running slim. And yes, I'll be a good girl and do as granddad tells me: "be careful of pickpockets, they're rampant there" (in London). It's such a hassle changing currency. "That's why we have the Euro" yeah, I know, I know. But I'm just moaning, I'm not for us little Irish having Euro really. Being a part of the EU, sure, but the Euro is a bit much. Saying that, do they make wallets bigger in the UK? The feckin' £20 notes barely fit in mine. Pickpockets, come at me bro. Even before my granddad's warning, I was already expecting thieving folk, I mean, I've seen Oliver. It's not like England has changed since then or anything... In fairness, the accent hasn't. As I've said before though, I'm a sucker for an English accent, so I'm not complaining. As long as my Irish little self doesn't go around bursting into fits of giggles every time anyone speaks... It's such a funny accent like... Le boif will have to control me, if I can't manage to restrain. That, or make some sort of excuse that I've got an illness, or a mental disorder or something. You can't blame me like. For a silly little lady who thinks accents are hilarious to go somewhere foreign, what do you expect me to do?

Anyway, I finished reading English Passengers by Matthew Kneale today (I was determined to get it done before England). I have to say I thoroughly enjoyed it. I loved the mixed narrative and hearing all the different accounts of things; it kept it interesting, even past the plot, as the book, in my opinion, is all about the characters. Whether you love them or hate them (mostly the latter), it's very entertaining to read. The plot was interesting itself, what with its close association to the truth, but what I probably enjoyed the most, apart from the very unique, polarised characters, was the way in which Kneale connected everything. You know from the beginning it's gonna happen, but it's just the way he ties it all up in a ribbon, the perfect linking up of characters, plots etc. It actually made me say "aahhhhhh!" out loud a couple of time, in a 'that's how it relates' type of way. The story unfolds very neatly, no strings left untied, and by the time you're finished, you're at peace with it all, everything making perfect sense. All in all it was a very cleverly written novel. Very quick and witty. There were a couple of small parts where I lost enthusiasm slightly, and read less, but these were very slight, and towards the end, after reading 50 pages, you barely notice and you want more.

I'd say my favourite character was Renshaw, which I felt I sadly didn't get to hear enough of. However, my favourite narrator would have to be (after a lot of thought) Reverend Wilson, because (no spoilers, I promise) the way he put things is just fantastic. Not the English he used, just his way of looking at and thinking of things. He has an amazing talent for making something so ordinary out as something extraordinary (you could argue it's a religious thing, but to a point; Wilson is way past that point). For anyone reading this, who hasn't read English Passengers, I'm flattered, but I'd strongly advise you to read it.

Mainly, to summarise, I'd have to say it's a story about a journey, while there is a more exact plot, it's the journey that steals the show, and within the journey, the mixing of characters, that often would usually never mix by both choice and lack of opportunity shines though. I'm a sucker for good solid characters, even more so than for a good solid plot, and this book didn't fail to deliver. I may sing praises, but trust me. Or don't. Either way, read the book.

Packing Dilemmas, Holiday Excitement and English Boys

Packing is hard. It's not natural. How is a silly little lady like myself supposed to know what she'll feel like wearing every day for the next more than two weeks? C'est impossible! Nílim ábalta! I know some humans out there get their clothes ready days in advance, or at least the night before, and some of those inhuman humans can somehow pack confident in the knowledge that they aren't forgetting anything and have everything they need, but I'm not of these people. Yes, occasionally I know what I'll wear in advance, for an occasion! Not a whole fortnight... But usually I spend at least 20 minutes staring blankly into my wardrobe, completely dazed and incapable of choosing. There's never anything to wear. As a female, the words "I have nothing to wear!" being screamed every time I look for an outfit, are acceptable, and it is my right, as a lady, to have a mini tantrum or breakdown every time alongside this exclamation. Saying all this, le boif seems to think he's a lady in the clothes choosing department too... But no matter how many "should I bring a shirt and tie"s or "I don't know what shoes to bring"s he gives me, I have enough of my own packing dilemmas, I cannot play mummy and pack for him too! I don't mind his little clothes interjections every few minutes though, he is le boif after all, and a lovable one at that.

So, how about I help all you packing people out there with a few tips I came up with all on my own?

1. If you're going on a plane, pack at least 3 big bottles of nail polish remover, shampoo and conditioner, along with your machine gun, hand grenade and blades, just in case customs start giving you any trouble.
2. Also if you're going on a plane, don't bring your passport, nobody cares about them anymore, I mean technology has taken over, your iPhone will suffice.
3. Bring as many suitcases as you want, it's not like they charge you extra to bring another.

That's how aeroplane packing works, right?

Anyway, as you might have guessed, I'm not going on an aeroplane - oh, and the destination is England by the way - because ferries all the way. My favourite bit will be the 5 hour car journey in the Nissan Micra with us three kids in the back. It'll be so roomy. I can't complain though, le boif's family are pretty much treating me to a holiday, and even surprised me by extending the holiday so we can go to a Japanese festival (wannabe Japanese nut over here). Aren't they so cute?

Even if it's only across the water, to England, we're all still very excited. I have never been, believe it or not, and my fears of going are trying to remember which side of the escalator you're supposed to stand on, and which side to walk on (Ireland doesn't have any of these silly little rules that make sense, we don't like social unspoken rules, we like Guinness), that I'll get extremely lost and accidentally die, and that I'll fall in love with every single person there with an English accent. I'm a sucker for a cute English boy, ask le boif, and even he is worried about silly little me cooing, giggling and fangirling every time I meet a young fellow with a cute accent, especially his silly little friends! I'll try to restrain myself but I am a girl after all, you can't blame me. I will end up with an English accent after being there for a while though. Camouflage and all that jazz. Gotta be careful so I won't get the "no dogs or Irish" response my granddad did... I kid, it's not the 60s anymore. But I do tend to develop an English accent when chatting undilutedly to English people (and by undilutedly I mean only). My Japanese friend has ordered me to Skype her when my accent reaches its peak. Even Japanese girls love an English accent... I'd say le boif will get a top up on his little London-Irish accent (the Irish part obviously, I jest, I jest) and that'll keep me entertained for at least the rest of the summer. He'll just be stuck saying the words dance, France, girl and bad-ass for my giggles, but he's aware of these terms and conditions.

Just as I'm aware of the terms and conditions relating to le boif's clothes shopping, and over-excitement. I will be playing in suit shops all day, and I will be given at least one headache from rapid loud nonsense speak. But such is love, eh? I put up with his silliness, while he puts up with mine. Happy out.