It’s already Monday and I don’t know if any time zone is still stuck on Sunday but please, let me tag this as a Sunday Salon post. I meant to write it on a Sunday; it’s just that … I was asleep most of the day.
If you’ve noticed, I haven’t posted anything for the whole week. This alarms me because I haven’t been that inactive until now. It depresses me at the same time because I feel deprived of the pleasure that I experience when I post something. Also, I want to get rid of my review backlog before the year ends. Sorry, I can’t not think about it so this inactivity disturbs me.
When I think of what caused this week-long hiatus, I came up with three. First, my work is taking over me. I am overwhelmed with tons of things to write that I no longer have the energy to write for pleasure at the end of the day. Second, there’s my new toy (wink, wink). You know how it is when you have a new thing to keep your fingers busy. Good thing that the novelty is now starting to fade little by little.
And third, it bothers me that some literary snobs see book bloggers as potential dangers to literature. As much as I’d like to ignore the comment about every opinion not as good as anyone else’s, it still gets to me. Yes, there is some weight to it. There is the examined and the crude opinion. I do not know where mine falls. I am aware that I sometimes hack away on my keyboard, typing whatever thought that first comes to mind. In this manner, I received a couple of months ago the ire of another blogger plus his unsolicited advice on how to frame a post. He’s of the opinion that I have unexamined thoughts. Ugh.
But does blogging always have to be a studied criticism on the books that we read? Is fangirling too lethal to literature? Can’t blogging be just a journal of one’s reading life?
And now I remember the disclaimer on my About page: This blog does not seek to be a blog about professional book criticism. Rereading that makes me wonder if I am just merely washing the blogger’s responsibilities off my hands, but on the other hand, it makes sense. Get a broadsheet for the “proper” book review, or better yet, you can always get out of here if you feel that I’m too crude for your lofty taste.
And as far as I’m concerned, I am keeping literature alive by the mere act of reading. And I’ll continue to blog about what I read, no matter what. That is, as long as my body is in the right capacity to do so.
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Last Saturday, my bookish friends and I attended the first joint book discussion among two book clubs. We talked about (drum roll) Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. The ongoing hype over the film adaptation (it used to be an impossible undertaking) made us pick the book for the bookish gathering.
However, I have to say that the faces I saw were mostly from our book club. Not that I am tired of them, but I was hoping to see a lot of new people. Anyway, there’s always a next time, no?
It was a casual discussion with only a handful of guide questions. From these questions are topics that sprang forth and meandered into insightful opinions, both crude and examined. We talked about the “gimmick” of the novel, the implication of its structure, its themes, and just about any tidbit that we find worthy of fangirling.
So yes, it was fun fun fun.
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To cap the weekend, we watched the film adaptation of The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I have not read it yet, but I don’t mind. After seeing it, I just want to make the world stop spinning so that I could linger and live vicariously. I want to read it.
And I want a typewriter.