Monday, December 04, 2006

weekend death reads

It was still a long weekend, Friday being a holiday and so I found myself scurrying my growing collection of unread books bought in booksales. Booksales are one of the greatest things in this technology-ridden world. Laurels for businessmen who venture into booksales.

East of the Mountains is one of those road trip books. If you've watched Elizabethtown there are similar themes here, though the protagonist in the novel, Ben Givens is on the last days of his life due to colon cancer. In E-town, the main character is played by the unsympathetic Orlando Bloom, and his sudden road trip to self-rediscovery is prompted by the consequential failures in his life. East is contemplative while it touches on very similar themes given more depth in the perspective of death. Guterson displays his knack in descriptive narration, the setting ultimately becomes a main component in the storytelling. His renewed perspective is given substance by a string of encounters as he heads east. In the end, you expect Ben to come home to himself. I bought this for Php 65.

Chinua Achebe has been touted one of the prolific African writers of this generation. In Things Fall Apart, his narration of African culture, particularly the Ibo tribe of Nigeria is very rich and informative. There are accounts of the Ibo rituals on courtship, marriage, death, and leadership akin to human traits and experiences. Ultimately, it tells the destruction of one man and the death of a way of life brought about by Christianization. I bought this for Php 30.

No comments:

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting