Infinite Zest

Disclaimer: This is not a review. Probably a tribute.

Warning: Very long winded, meandering, totally unfunny post. Unintentional hilarity not ruled out though.

...

It's a book that's a thousand and seventy nine pages long, exhausting, engaging, irritating, funny, heavy, deep, casual, brilliant, non linear, madly extravagant and freakishly intelligent. But most importantly, it is genuine, sincere and does not suffer from cleveritis (David Foster Wallace's {henceforth referred to as DFW} own neologism for smart superficiality). Reading Infinite Jest is like falling in love with a difficult person - an experience that's frustrating, endearing, annoying, heart-tugging and so totally worth it.

The wide variety of topics it touches on include dysfunctional families, substance abuse, terrorism, depression, avant garde film theory, loneliness, game theory and mathematics, prodigies, pop culture, black humor and science fictional parody (among others that NF must've failed to notice). DFW was a former tennis prodigy who wrote an undergraduate thesis on Modal Logic, studied creative writing in grad school before enrolling in Harvard for a PhD in Philosophy (Mathematical Logic) only to drop out later (a later non fiction bit by him is called Everything and More: A Compact History of ∞ - apparently a highly technical piece not for the casual reader). Among those who know NF would've guessed by now that such a writer bio is sufficient for NF to go ga ga even before having read the book. But herein comes the important bit - even though it is somewhat easy (?) to write deep books which turn out to be great but are soul deadeningly boring, the truly non trivial task is to write a deep book that turns out to be great and is hugely entertaining - in fact is uproariously funny. DFW accomplishes that and more.

The word most used to describe DFW's style is maximalism - the exact opposite of minimalism - the use of multi-clause, page long (in fact sometimes 200 word long) sentences that use sesquipedalian (a NewsWagon 'in' joke; polysyllabic) jargon-laden words in the same breath as street slang, acronyms and plentiful word play [example: O.N.A.N. - Organization of North American Nations - a megastate described in the book and referred to by the abbreviation throughout. Onanism in English means masturbation.] with generous use of end notes and footnotes throughout the text (NB: this paragraph is made up of a single (multi-clause) sentence with multiple use of brackets making up for the effect of end/foot notes and pays tribute to DFW's preferred style of sentence formation - an example of maximalism in action).

In particular, the manner in which his highly erudite, bombastic linguistic calisthenics are interrupted by very lowbrow street language reminded NF of Manohar Shyam Joshi's idiosyncratic, cult book Kuru Kuru Swaahaa - another book that is great, deep and laugh-out-loud funny. Consider Wallace's description of his previous work The Broom of the System and its "covertly autobiographical" nature:

the sensitive tale of a sensitive young WASP who’s just had this midlife crisis that’s moved him from coldly cerebral analytic math to a coldly cerebral take on fiction . . . which also shifted his existential dread from a fear that he was just a 98.6°F calculating machine to a fear that he was nothing but a linguistic construct

A flip side, however, of this florid, lexically obsessed, often taxing flamboyance of style is that his one-time girlfriend gave up reading his 67 page break up letter (Caution: The Onion reports). There's irony for you, another of Wallace's themes.

The main concern for our Tarantino of fiction was to help readers “become less alone inside”. He was against the idea of smart, cold writers withholding themselves and wallowing in ironic, clever, superficial, detached cynicism. And this is what is so compelling about Infinite Jest - an immersion into storytelling that is totally committed and extremely passionate. The emphasis on the heart, more than the head is what finally won NF over. This is also evident in his praise of St Paul, Rousseau and Dostoyevsky - his favorite writers:

“what are envied and coveted here seem to me to be qualities of human beings—capacities of spirit—rather than technical abilities or special talents.”

and

"I’m not saying I’m able to work consistently out of the premise, but it seems like the big distinction between good art and so-so art lies somewhere in the art’s heart’s purpose, the agenda of the consciousness behind the text. It’s got something to do with love."

A more appropriate title of the book would've been A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius - something that the book definitely is. Perhaps equally appropriately, Dave Eggers (the actual author of A Heartbreaking Work...) penned the Foreword to this book.

Nanga Fakir recommends his friends and readers of the blog to fall on their feet and mourn the passing away of this mental titan. For those who can tolerate a huge, fat, highbrow work of art - this is it - the most compelling, ultimate experience. The probability that you'll be changed by the time you end this book is high (including the possibility that it takes you years to finish the book abandoning it midway n number of times and coming out a changed person merely having been bludgeoned by Time).

For those who've been sufficiently intrigued, see the following:

Roger Federer as a religious experience

The Unfinished

The lost years and last days of David Foster Wallace

and

Wallace reading a passage from his book:


Let's end the post by reading a little something on assignment plagiarism from the endnotes of Infinite Jest:

...the congenital plagiarists put so much work into camouflaging their plagiarism than it would take just to write up an assignment from conceptual scratch. It usually seems like plagiarists aren't so much lazy as kind of navigationally insecure. They have trouble navigating without a detailed map's assurance that somebody has been this way before them. About this incredible painstaking care to hide and camouflage the plagiarism - whether it's dishonesty or a kind of kleptomaniacal thrill-seeking or what - Hal hasn't developed much of any sort of take.

<*Sigh*> So true!

The Road (Part Four): Blues, Booze, Schmooze, Snooze

Being in Chicago and missing out on Blues is like being in Bihar and not getting kidnapped. From June 12-14th was the '09 Chicago Blues Festival. It was fun and it was free. And yes before I forget to mention, they allowed Nanga Fakir in!

Those who know him well, see through his carefully cultivated, fake, sophisticated exterior and smile (perhaps fondly?) at the country bumpkin that NF essentially is. They see a little kid from a sleepy B grade township who takes himself a bit too seriously for his own good (and has no sense of humour to boot) with fingers rammed deep in his nostrils observing carnivals, freak shows and big ass concerts with practised nonchalance. Don't let his noir-ish-Humphrey Bogartsy-sick-of-the-same-old-thing world weary attitude fool you though. The kid inside isn't dead yet. Sometimes he makes a sort of guest appearance. And each time this happens, he's snubbed hard and sternly told to go back to his room to study for the upcoming exams. Every now and then however, he sneaks out for an ice cream or something and has a blast. The Blues Festival is a case in point.

Grant Park overflowed with freeloaders and blues aficionados of all shapes and sizes. Just being in their midst and glancing at people whose names were stuffs of legends in wannabe lit circles back there in S'kal was reason enough for NF to wear a smug grin for the next few weeks and look down upon other normal people with the kind of patient disdain that benevolent Kung-fu masters reserve for their apprentices.

Usually NF is quiet, introspective, silent and keeps-to-himself kind of a guy. But then sometimes he gets pleased with himself for no apparent reason and if presented with a suitable opportunity, jumps on the beer-is-good-for-health bandwagon. And then those unfortunate enough to be around, witness what NF's roommate (henceforth referred to as Mota) refers to as "awakening of the inner mausi" phenomenon. There is an explosion of garrulousness and subsequent metamorphosis of NF into a pain-in-the-ass chatterbox.

And so it was that NF met AB (a closet smoker for 37 years), CD (a black dude who somehow reminded NF of Curtis Loew and kept muttering every few minutes or so "...the music man...the music" with an incredibly serious air that probably had more to do with ganja than with any serious guitar work), EF (a run-of-the-mill Obamaniac - they're so many of them!) among others.

He still thinks however, that Rudy Wallang and his Shillong based blues band Soulmate would've kicked some serious ass and are better than most of (nay, make that all) the local blues bands in the festival (which were a jarring note in an otherwise pleasant symphony). (For the uninitiated, Rudy Wallang's "Not Those Funking Blues Again" is the best Blues instrumental song NF's listened to...Okay, maybe not the best, but you should get the picture now.)

Other memorable encounters include the one with Lisa [the fat Blues singer in Bill's bar who so floored NF with her cover of Sinner's Prayer (Ray Charles original?) that he walked up to her (slightly tipsy one might add) and shamelessly announced that this was the best cover of the song he's heard {seriously, how many covers of the song had he heard?} and that she's better than many of those who performed at the Blues Festival a couple of days earlier. I think NF saw a slight amusement in her eyes as she smiled and took the compliment graciously.] and with the Unknown Philologist who was an expert in Indian languages and thought that Tams were a chauvinistic group. As someone with a good many close Tam friends, NF fought with the guy tooth and nail so much so that the Philologist asked "You don't seem to be a Tam. Or are you?"

The previous week has been spent listening to John Lee Hooker, Susan Tedeschi, Etta James, Duane Allman, Buddy Guy, Clapton and other serious badass musicians.

<*Wonders if all this Blues should make this post entitled to be labeled under 'Blues'*>
.
.
.
<*Nah, not really*>

...

The End

The Road (Part Three)

Good books cost money. Which people who have time don't have.

Good books cost time. Which people who have money don't have.

Nanga Fakir falls into the first category. That is why he has to resort to extreme measures in order to recover money invested in good books. Time - that's something he has in plenty.

Reading books in well mannered reading establishments on couches that ingest you partially, dragging you into quicksands of serious, hardcore comfort is Nanga Fakir's idea of bliss. Every time he walked the isles, the sexual tension in the atmosphere became unbearable and he felt that his balls would explode. And so NF prepared himself for some serious reading spread over the course of a week or two and finished the following:

1) 100% - Paul Pope
2) Ghost World - Daniel Clowes
3)-9) Sin City - Frank Miller
10) I Saw You - Edited by Julia Wertz
11) The White Tiger - Aravind Adiga

Sin City has got to be the most awesome comic book ever. And yes, this includes giants like Watchmen and V for Vendetta. The neo-noir style, the exaggerated contrasts of black and white, the minimal, pithy text, the multiple POV manner of story telling and the absolutely killer story lines make it the most marvelous comic book NF has read. (In particular, That Yellow Bastard is hard to beat as the best comic ever.)

Somnath, you were so damn right.

I Saw You is an anthology of various strips drawn by many comic book writers with the common theme of missed connections - stories inspired from real life encounters between people who thought they caught brief glimpses of their true loves.

Overall, it was a nice, routinely good read. As again, Julia's strips were among the best. Example:



Some more can be seen here.

The White Tiger was a really fast, terrific read. Adiga's witty, smart, sometimes angst ridden sense of humour really comes out well and nothing seems forced or contrived. And yes, there is seriousness in the book too. Loads of it.

...

Another part and then he thinks he'll let go.

The Road (Part Two)

Being bookless while traveling can be a harrowing experience. A real nightmare. Totally.

A walking distance away (which for NF is anything within a one/two mile radius) from his place in Evanston was Barnes and Noble. It is common knowledge among those who know him that Nanga Fakir is drawn to bookstores as pigs are drawn to feces. The analogy extends even further. Both NF and the pigs then like to drown themselves uninhibitedly into the arms of their objects of desire, squeaking with delight and producing the legendary "Oink, Oink" sound.

And so it was that a pig named Nanga Fakir was let loose in a cultured, sophisticated and well mannered reading establishment.

He wanted to treat himself to a good book. It became even more important because he'd forgotten about his own birthday a few days ago. And so he began his search, sifting through the pile of books that lay in a sort of majestic arrogance in front of him.

There were (are) many books on his list. Michael Chabon has been one of the writers on the list for quite some time now (especially his books The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and The Yiddish Policeman's Union). Also on the list has been Thomas Pynchon and his magnum opus Gravity's Rainbow (legend (perhaps apocryphal) has it that Pynchon wrote the first draft of this book on an engineering blueprint after his application for graduate work in Mathematics was rejected by UC Berkeley). Truman Capote, Cormac McCarthy, William Gibson's Spook Country and Ernest Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises (which came with very high recommendations from AK) were also given serious consideration.

The list also consisted of other giants whose names NF drops casually in mundane day-to-day conversations (unfortunately) to people with no lit propensities thereby making a fool of himself with appreciable frequency.

The book he finally settled on however, was David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest. The writer had come to his notice when the lit establishment was shaken by his suicide last year. Apparently the writer was afflicted with a particularly severe form of unipolar depression for a long time. However, the thing that intrigued NF most was the obvious awe with which lit giants wrote his obituary. Plus the description of Infinite Jest as a massive work on multiple, disparate themes set in the future with an underlying bizarre sense of humor that accompanies the narrative, decided the question. Currently however, Nanga Fakir is struggling with the difficult to read thousand plus page tome at the rate of twenty odd pages an hour.

Difficult books can sometimes end up a lot of fun he thinks (think of difficult children sometimes turning out to be brilliant adults or Kurosawa's boring period pieces turning out to be thought provoking experiences after a never ending couple of hours). The examples of Neuromancer and War and Peace come straight to mind. That is why Nanga Fakir hasn't given up on fat works and intends to complete Gravity's Rainbow and Dhalgren someday.

The sly dog NF also managed to filch the Pulitzer prize winner Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond and India: A Million Mutinies Now by V S Naipaul from his brother's rather modest book collection.

Being so heavily loaded on books, one might think Nanga Fakir decided to call it a day.

"Not really", he says.

...

To be followed by Part Three.

The Road (Part One)

He was bored, down and confused. His birthday was coming up and his ass was about to be totally whipped. So Nanga Fakir decided to travel.

It's funny how despite the fact that he is more interested in books than in people, traveling always cheers him up and clears up his mind. It probably makes him think that something is happening. Other things remain the same however. He does the exact same things on the road as he does off of it (reads books and comics, checks email, sleeps for twelve hours, coordinates with governments for world peace etc etc).

In particular, walking around new places aimlessly excites him the most. Does he observe the beauty (or the lack of it) of the new surroundings he's walking through? Not really. He's so self engrossed that all he can pay attention to is the pleasure of thinking the same things over and over again in an area that has a different shade of background noise than his usual haunts'. So is it the destination that holds his interest? No, it's the clichéd journey.

I bet if you deprive him of books, he'll get bored to death even on the sets of The Jerry Springer Show (which by the way, he totally hearts); and so it only made sense to see him pack Inside Mr Enderby and The Road as he decided to visit Chicago for pointless rides in the subway, pleasant and shivery random walks around Evanston and most importantly - free beers (for the sake of which he had to endure the company of an old woman who leaked mustard farts in fifteen minute cycles on the airplane).

The city welcomed him with open arms in the guise of a black beast-of-a-woman twice his size and thrice his age who promised to show him "a good time" (NF has never been more frightened).

Soon enough, putting the aforementioned traumatic experience behind him, he decided to visit an old schoolfriend who he considers to be among the few select humans in the epsilon neighborhood of his own smartness (Nanga Fakir thinks he's awesome but we know better, don't we?). The promise of free beers and a sailing expedition in Lake Michigan removed remnant hardwired traces of laziness and set his focus straight. He didn't yet know (he'd totally forgotten) that it was his birthday that very day and would be reminded of this late in the night well into his nth beer. Very characteristically, it would come across as a dumb shock as he would realize that he'd wasted one more year having learned nothing from life (or as some would say, the lack of it). Had it not been for the beer and the company, it would've meant one more pointless bout of bitter introspection.

The biggest discovery of the trip however (which has obviously got nothing to do with the trip per se) was Julia Wertz and her Fart Party. Nanga Fakir is always taken by surprise when he finds autobiographical accounts of insignificant humans totally engrossing. It was not for the artwork that he read Julia's comic. She didn't claim to offer any deep insights into the nature of things either. She was her usual, bitchy, whiny self with no pretenses and no illusions about what she was setting out to do. It must take an enormous amount of presumptuousness to post details about your life and expect junta to take an interest in it. It must take an obscene amount of courage also.

Here's NF's favorite post from the Fart Party - a terrific piece about cravings for solitude. Go Julia!



Part Two to follow up shortly.

Another Webcomic

A nice, cute webcomic by Julia Wertz - The Fart Party.











The subject matter centers mostly around little autobiographical details of a short, skinny, often foul-mouthed artist who cribs a lot. You'll sort of like her.

In which he takes a Resolution

Nanga Fakir is going to drown himself in Mathematics, Philosophy, Films, Reading, Writing and Travel.

He will read like a madman, with the fury and mad intensity of one who is consumed by the burning fever of knowing everything about everything.

And yes, he will write. Oh yes, he will. I will make sure he does so.

"[N]othing is as surprising as life. Except for writing. Except for writing. Yes, of course, except for writing, the only consolation."

Orhan Pamuk (The Black Book)

Babel Fish

Question: What is "Testicular Cancer" in Hindi?

Answer: आँडू कैंसर.

TeeVee

Sometimes life feels like a scene out of a bad sitcom. Sans the canned laughter.

Enforced Nostalghia

What S'kal gave me was the company of some absolutely brilliant people whom I love with all the testosterone that can be packed in a couple of (battle fatigued?) testicles. Some of them will rise up and be successful tomorrow. Some of them will give up and wallow in their laziness. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that whenever I will meet them over a cup of coffee or a mug of beer and listen to what they have to say, I will grin in approval, chuckle in satisfaction, think in earnest, bite with sarcasm, mock with a coldly calculated cynicism, even seethe with anger but never ever, oh thank god, never shrug with indifference or nod with boredom.

PS: To be taken with a pinch of salt (read composed while high).

Webcomic 2.0

If the sample below does not compel you to follow The Perry Bible Fellowship, you are a lost cause.

(Click on image for larger size).







Link

DD : Dental Disappointment

Quoted from a recent email (without permission of course). Don't let the typos get in your way!

dear instructor,

this is your student, XYZ. i had gotten involved with something serious over the weekend, 10 unknown attackers jumped me and knocked out one of my tooth. i was no present for monday's class due to serious dental pain and dental appointment. i was prescribed a high dosage of codein which has rendered me unfit to attend class for this week. please excuse me missing today's quiz as i would like to make up monday's class and the quiz at a later time. i do have a doctor's note for the date of tues as well as the presciption notice. thank you.

Sounds like a Cartman gang ambush to me.

More Additions (Part 2)

1) 3-Iron (Korean): Kim ki Duk's fixation with minimalism continues with this baap of all romance movies. The director takes a love story, rips it down to its barest essentials, sucks off all dialogue (between the main two leads, there is only one dialogue - the clichéd "I love you" at the very end), adds a touch or two of quiet, meditative humour here and there and manages to produce probably the greatest romance movie I've seen.

You don't know the meaning of 'shock and awe' until you've seen this film.

Since it is such a bloody brilliant film (it merits a place in the "Beyond AA" part of my list), let me post a picture.



2) Stardust Memories (English): A 1980 Woody Allen classic. With many scenes filched (as tribute? as parody?) directly from 8½, the usual staple of failed romances and Woody Allen's role as the famous film director more known for his "earlier, funny movies" (a running joke throughout the film), it is easily my favourite Allen movie beating even the impossible to beat Deconstructing Harry, Annie Hall and September.

Quite a feat!

3) Bad Guy (Korean): Hint 1: Kim ki Duk, Hint 2: Romance.

Another warped. twisted, demented love story as can be conceived only by Kim ki Duk. Seasoned, hardened veterans of the twisted/extreme cinema movement are also in for a shock by the climax.

Enough said. Go watch.

4) In the Mood for Love (Cantonese): For some great films, you use words like "brilliant", "powerful", "beautiful" etc. For some others you can use "kickass", "unbelievable" and "stunning". For some great cinema however, you're simply stumped for words. It is difficult to pinpoint the exact emotion that washes over you by the time the movie ends. Perhaps it is awe, perhaps it is an urge to kneel down and wonder what hit you.

Welcome to the cinema of Wang-Kar-wai!

I think his movies merit a separate post by themselves in which I rant, rave, kneel, worship and grovel at the fragmented, labile and madly, madly stylish romances of the Hong Kong auteur. So here I will stick to a short account of the awesomeness that this film is.

But first, a still.



Tony Leung (the Shahrukh Khan of Hong Kong) is brilliant. Maggie Cheung is a dream in a cheongsam. The last time (before In the mood...) I felt so moved after witnessing an overpowering more-than-your-mortal-ass-can-conceive-ness was when as a thirteen year old I read The Idiot and hated Dostoyevsky for the book's climax.

And I'd thought I was jaded! What a pleasant surprise!

And you know what the best part is? It is only a prelude to the final installment of the trilogy - 2046 which is even more brilliant than In the mood...

<*is exhausted after singing so many hosannas*>

2046 and others will be covered in the next installment.

Billu'ed

He refused to budge, stuck it out for eleven long months and continued to show The Man his middle finger.

Nanga Fakir's long, dark tresses were mowed down mercilessly last night. He now sports an ex Auschwitz inmate look. He knows it'll be the latest in thing on the Seventh Avenue soon.

Further Cinematic Adventures

नंगे फ़कीर की अगली दो फिल्मों (बतौर लेखक और निर्देशक) के टाइटल हैं:

1) नाची नाची बहुत नाची, फिबोनाची, फिबोनाची

गणित, नृत्य, संगीत और आइटम नंबरों से भरपूर पारिवारिक मनोरंजन.

एक मेधावी गणितज्ञ का किरदार निभाते हुए शक्ति कपूर और उनकी ममतामयी माँ के रोल में राखी सावंत आपका मन मोह लेंगे.

2) फुर्तीला अजगर

कहानी एक तिरस्कृत, पिटे हुए अजगर की, जो पेड़ की शाखाओं पे सोते सोते अपना जीवन व्यतीत करता है. लेकिन एक दिन देवी माँ की अपरिमित कृपा से वह अपने अन्दर के सोये हुए संगीतकार को जगाता है और शीघ्र ही विश्व का सबसे फुर्तीला पिआनोवादक बन जाता है.

अजगर के किरदार में अदनान सामी अपने पहले रोल में! देवी माँ का रोल एक बार फिर राखी सावंत के ज़िम्मे.

...

आशा है की दर्शकों को पसंद आएगी.

जय राखी माता !!!

Further Adventures

Discovered two new, totally ass-kicking film Directors - Lee Chang-Dong (Korean) and Takeshi Kitano (Japan) (of Takeshi's Castle fame!).

Oasis is an ultra non standard romance. Brilliant through and through, it features some of the most dazzling acting performances you'll get to see.

Kitano's deadpan humour, casual violence and minimalism (in Hana-bi) are remarkably refreshing.

Also finished The Motion of Light in Water - a brief autobiography by Samuel R Delany.

Currently on the playlist among movies are Dolls and Achilles and the Tortoise by Kitano. Among books, Accelarando (Charles Stross) and Cat's Cradle (Kurt Vonnegut) compete for my attention.

Mood: Quiet contentment!

Bullet with Butterfly Wings

The idea is the following. There is a bullet which hurtles down at breakneck speed towards a wall (say). As a cruel joke, the bullet's been provided with butterfly wings. So as not to smash head on to the wall, the bullet tries its best to flap its teeny-weeny pellucid little worthless excuse of a wing to save itself from inevitable destruction. Unfortunately for the bullet, the laws of physics, the eternal party poopers, guide it towards its imminent doom.

With or without the wings - butterfly or otherwise.

And then comes the chorus:

Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage

...

Heh, I love big, fat, rich rock bands making infinite money off their own suffering, getting richer and doing it all over again.

Dirt

Some dude in Russia beat me to this.

World's dirtiest appartment (sic)

Impressive!

Insanely Funny

A white, American gay guy looking at Indian men (aka Briyanshu's Bollywood Butt Blog)

Has to be seen to be believed. One of the genuine laugh-out-loud-till-you-rip-your-guts-apart moments you will have. Promise!

Link

Reading List (part two)

9) The Brothers Karamzov: Fifth (?) re-read. Plenty more to follow.

10) The Insulted and the Humiliated: This was my second Dostoyevsky book overall. I think I read it first in 10th/11th standard. AK once mentioned (I think in final year) that this book in particular brought him close to tears before he pulled himself together. I'd like to imagine him shedding a couple of tears but the image doesn't quite gel up. How sad!

11) The Difference Engine: The two biggest stalwarts of Science Fiction - William Gibson and Bruce Sterling come together to invent a new sub-genre of Science Fiction - Steampunk. Imagine an alternative past in which Charles Babbage has managed to make his Difference Engine and Ada Lovelace has managed to program the machine. Throw in conspiracies and political intrigue and set up the great London smog of '52 in Victorian times, Lord Byron as the Prime Minister and what follows is a riveting experiment in alternative history telling by two of the most brilliant thinkers of our times.

12) Snow: Orhan Pamuk is a fashionable writer to follow. Especially if you move around in lit circles. So it's not without reason that I came to read him filled with a lot of prejudices. However, having read two of his books - The Black Book and Snow, I must concede that he's won me over. In particular, I think that The Black Book is a stunning read. Snow is awesome too. Very, very highbrow stuff. Recommended to lit junta.

13) Joker: I had blogged about the much anticipated book by Brian Azzarello before also. The book however, is a big let down. A very ordinary story with some stunning artwork in patches. Disappointing overall.

14) Notes from Underground: The most intense hundred page book I keep coming back to. Dostoyevsky kicks ass. Totally.

15) Still Life with Woodpecker: Tom Robbins is currently my favourite writer. This is a terrific book, an enchantingly bizarre love story full of obscure little details with a sardonic, witty, earth shattering explosion of an author. I'll quote the blurb

Still Life with Woodpecker is sort of a love story that takes place inside a pack of Camel cigarettes. It reveals the purpose of the moon, explains the difference between criminals and outlaws, examines the conflict between social activism and romantic individualism, and paints a portrait of contemporary society that include powerful Arabs, exiled royalty and pregnant cheerleaders. It also deals with the problem of redheads.

Another excerpt that I just have to post.

Albert Camus wrote that the only serious question is whether to kill yourself or not.
Tom Robbins wrote that the only serious question is whether time has a beginning and an end.
Camus clearly got up on the wrong side of bed, and Robbins must have forgotten to set the alarm.
There is only one serious question. And that is:
Who knows how to make love stay?
Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself.
Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and the end of time.
Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon.

Terrific, heady stuff. I gave this book to AK to carry away to Stanford. I want it back!

Part three of the reading list to follow. Let's see when that happens.