Currently listening to:Waka Waka by Shakira


A few things before i launch into today’s post.

1. VERY PLEASED photobucked reinstated my account, everything’s restored now! I no longer have to deal with the BANDWITH EXCEEDED sign glaring at me and accusing me of not signing up for a forty dollar pro account..

2. There is yakult at home :’)

3. I am Extremely tired/sleepy and i smell a little bit of tuna… ok too much information

4. It suddenly struck me today, the aptness of Independence Day

5. I am pretty sure i screwed up my first roll of film

I’m done with Invisible by Paul Auster.

I enjoyed it, but it inspires detached curiosity rather than intense engagement despite the concept of violence and experimentation explored in the novel. Personally felt as though the storyline was alright, slightly.. queer, odd, unbelievable, but what was memorable about the book was the narrative style.

The book is divided into four parts, and it’s told differently each time: the first, an attempt to recount/write chapter one by the main character, the second from the perspective of an old friend Jim, the third the attempt of the aforementioned friend to convey the story of the late protagonist from the bullet pointed notes he left behind and the last, a journal entry from a woman who used to have a crush on him as a girl.

In the third part especially, you feel as though the book is tied to the life force of the protagonist Adam Walker- he seems to be running out of energy, knowing that he’s probably dying, and the words become shorter, simpler, more urgent. And then it hits you as the reader that Adam is already dead when this is written, this is his friend’s attempt to reconstruct the story.

The language used is crisp and short, ie

“This is the kind of room poets are supposed to work in, the kind of room that threatens to break your spirit and forces you into constant battle with yourself.”

“He has consumed the rest of the daylight hours by walking aimlessly around the city, browsing in bookstores, reading on park benches, alive to the world around him but not yet immersed in it, still feeling his way, not unhappy, no, but wilting a little from the constant solitude.”

“He wonders if words aren’t an essential element of sex, if talking isn’t finally a more subtle form of touching, and if the images dancing in our heads aren’t just as important as the bodies we hold in our arms.”

and the title above

“She believes you’re too good for this world, and because of that, the world will eventually crush you.”

The storyline is rather (imho) absurd, and it becomes even more so when Jim starts to try and verify the recounts of the now dead Adam, talking to Gwyn (adam’s sister), Cécile and so on. You start to wonder if anything you’ve read is true, especially when Jim says

I have already described how i revamped Walker’s notes for Fall. As for the names, they have been invented according to Gwyn’s instructions, and the reader can therefore be assured that Adam Walker is not Adam Walker. Gwyn Walker Tedesco is not Gwyn Walker Tedesco. Margot Jouffroy is not Margot Jouffroy.
(…) Last of all, I dont suppose it is necessary for me to add that my name is not Jim.

It is rare that a book turns around, looks you in the eye and acknowledges the presence of a reader before stating in a just-so-you-know tone oh by the way nothing here is real, you cant trust anything ive said so far. Its wonderfully disconcerting.

Another thing i liked about the narrative style was it’s matter of fact-ness. Below, an excerpt describing the death of Adam’s ten year old brother:

Andy got it into his head to go for an unchaperoned swim. Before leaving, the seven-year old adventurer sat down to write this short, semi-literate message—”Deare Mom, Ime in the lake Lov Andy”—then tiptoed out of the bungalow, jumped into the water, and drowned. “Ime in the lake.”

tiptoed out of the bungalow, jumped into the water, and drowned.
“Ime in the lake”

You blink slightly when you’re reading it (did someone just die?) go back, look at the line again before it finally hits you.
There is a lot of death in the novel.
Most of the people appearing in the novel are already dead and this is established midway through the book and it makes the entire book/words/conversation more surreal.

I liked this:

By writing about myself in the first person, I had smothered myself and made myself invisible. … I needed to separate myself from myself, to step back and carve out some space between myself and my subject (which was myself).

I am doing a terribly bad job of describing the book, really, not doing it justice at all. The writing style reminded me of Haruki Murakami and Margaret Atwood.

Recommended: Yes, if only for the writing style.

apparently Auster has won quite a few book awards, something i knew nothing about.. It was a pretty fortunate coincidence, me stumbling around determined to buy a book before the closing time and my eyes alighting on the robin-egg-blue hardcover of this book. I’m glad it turned out to be something i enjoyed reading.

Personal friends of mine: you can borrow it from me if you’re interested!
Everyone else: I got mine at Borders, you can try times/kino as well i’m sure if borders has it they’ll stock too.


finally watched the Callisto Cheerleading video this year and ITS SO GOOD!! i’m so proud of them :’)
Champions well deserved, bluebirds

I miss the rah-rah-ness of school life.

That’s all i really had to say. Sorry for the dryness/wordiness of this post, i’ve been so sleepy lately it should be illegal. It results in high levels of incoherence, VERY DANGEROUS for someone who makes her living off writing. Even the african-esque beats of Shakira’s Waka Waka on repeat cant seem to rouse me.. I need to find a way to inject caffeine directly into my bloodstream.

loljk im scared of needles.

k nights.