This is a very well put together book summary of Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.
I have the original book and have even started to read it. But I haven’t finished reading it yet, let alone putting the techniques into practice. When this summary caught my eye, I grabbed it.
It doesn’t take long to read the summary and the ebook version is cheap, like really cheap. On top of that, it gives you the main points or key takeaways in a very compact format.
A Pale View of the Hills is the very first Kazuo Ishiguro book I have ever read. Apparently, it was his first book, too!
I just wanted to read it before I read Never Let Me Go which I bought way before found A Pale View of Hills at a second hand shop. From the moment I started reading this book, I realised why Ishiguro won the Nobel Prize. Writing is so good you can hear the silence of Nagasaki.
Well, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. So much so that I forgot to highlight the bits like I normally do. I had to go over the book again and find a few.
As with a wound on one’s own body, it is possible to develop an intimacy with the most disturbing of things.
The English are fond of their idea that our race has an instinct for suicide, as if further explanations are unnecessary; for that was all they reported, that she was Japanese and that she had hung herself in her room.
Memory, I realise, can be an unreliable thing; often it is heavily coloured by the circumstances in which one remembers, and no doubt this applies to certain of the recollections I have gathered here.
I have made several attempts to read this book since it was first published in 2009. I tried Kindle version first; didn’t work. I tried my American first edition version; didn’t work. I bought a paperback version; didn’t work so I donated it to Salvation Army shop. And I’m thinking of doing the same thing with the first edition one even though Paul Harding is a Pulitzer Prize winning author and I actually collect first edition books!
Let me tell you, Paul Harding’s prose is one of a kind. It’s seriously good writing. Even though I loved the plot, I was so bored. In the end, I found it very difficult to get going. You know why? Because, Tinkers lacks spark, for Buddha’s sake! It’s dull. You feel like as if the story takes place in a sterile environment like a laboratory even though certain parts of the story happen in the countryside.
I think I should leave my review right here…
P. S.: If anyone wants an American first edition of this book (brand new), just let me know. Hurry up, though.
I picked up this book on the day I had my hair appointment. Even though I had Twyla Tharp’s The Creative Habit with me, it wasn’t what I felt like reading while some kind of horrible music Nathan would be playing in the background. So, I popped in to Salvation Army shop to check to find something more exciting and relevant to the story I am working on these days.
I was just about to give up, a book caught my eye: The Shaman in Stilettos by Anna Hunt. It’s about a high powered journalist woman who used to interview celebrities in London and working for a high calibre newspaper. It’s about her journey in Peru and meeting a shaman there. In this shaman’s retreat, she connects with her feminine wisdom.
The manageress of Salvation Army was at the cash register. I told her, pointing at the book: “Something to read at the hairdresser.” She handed me the receipt and told me “Here’s your bookmark, Darling. Now go and get beautiful!”
Ray Bradbury says that: “In quickness is truth. The faster you blurt, the more swiftly you write, the more honest you are. In hesitation is thought. In delay comes the effort for a style, instead of leaping upon truth which is the only style worth [having].” And, I am getting ready to blurt out fast during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) for the third time.
Sadako and The Thousand Paper Cranes was recommended by an author friend of mine whose recommendations are incredibly valuable for me. It’s such a sad story of a little girl, Sadako, who died of leukaemia in Japan years after the bombing of Hiroshima.
My highlights from the book:
At breakfast Sadako noisily gulped down her soup and rice. Masahiro began to talk about girls who ate like hungry dragons.
The two had been friends since kindergarten. Sadako was sure that they would always be as close as two pine needles on the same twig.
After speeches by Buddhist priests and the mayor, hundreds of white doves were freed from their cages. They circled the twisted, scarred Atomic Dome. Sadako thought the doves looked like spirits of the dead flying into the freedom of the sky.
When the candles were burning brightly, the lanterns were launched on the Ohta River. They floated out to sea like a swarm of fireflies against the dark water.
At midnight she was in her cosy bed quilts when the temple bells began to chime. They were ringing out all the evils of the old year so that the new one would have a fine beginning.
It’s supposed to live for a thousand years. If a sick person folds one thousand paper cranes, the gods will grant her wish and make her healthy again.