..when no one's looking.

Wicked novel

Sometimes you pick up a book and think - I know the story, I've seen the Broadway musical, I'll just sit here and read about my old friends.

Dead souls cover

I put this book on a Christmas wish list a couple of years ago, seriously doubting that someone would actually find, much less give it to me. Although not my first Russian novel, "Dead Souls" is my real initiation to the uniquely colorful and morbidly humorous brand of Russian fiction. 

While far lesser-known than literary giants Dostoevsky and Tolstoy, Nikolai Gogol holds the distinction of being the father of Russian realism, all because of this short, barely finished, almost unpublished, and relatively obscure work of creative genius.

Set in the throes of Imperialist Russia, the story is more than the social satire of the period by which it is often labeled. The theme is timeless and universal: the antihero, Chichikov, is a "gentleman of the middling sort", who ventures to elevate himself from the status in which he was born by exploiting the very foundations of 19th century Russian society, serfdom. The first part of the novel unveils his plans to purchase from Russian landowners, "dead souls”, deceased slaves who have not been removed from the latest census, ergo, taxable, list. No one dares to ask questions at first, lest they lose the opportunity of getting respite from paying taxes for unproductive servants. However, as Chichikov continues on his mysterious quest, greed takes over the landowners, and they begin to demand for more compensation for the dead souls, although they had absolutely no use for them, and they still had no idea what our protagonist was up to. One by one the landowners reveal their individual nature, each one a caricature of the traits of ailing Russian society the author ascribes to his time.

This series of sadly familiar, yet often comical display of human nature is presented through the first-person narrative of an undisclosed observer, who tells the story in a matter-of-fact, almost Camusian manner. There is no great love story or epic act of heroism in "Dead Souls"; in this world, nothing is wrong with a group of educated Russian gentry members discussing human slaves as if they were chattel. Corruption is a way of life, and apathy, the way to deal with it. Yet amidst the criticism of society apparent in every paragraph, the background of Russia, its landscape, ideologies, and passions, reveal the author's devotion for his people and country. This is pure and unadulterated Russia in the eyes of a frustrated patriot and critical realist, making it the perfect Christmas gift to fans of Russian fiction who would like to be re-initiated into the genre.

**

Origin-of-consciousness-in-the-breakdown-of-the-bicameral-mind

If you think convincing people that we may have descended from apes is hard, try telling them that we may have also been of the schizophrenic monkey variety.

A mere 3000 years ago, the human brain was incapable of conscious thought. The pre-conscious human was an automaton, whose cognitive functions were divided between an executive or "commanding" portion, and a part that obeys auditory hallucinations without question. The very trait that sets humans apart from other animals - the ability to instrospect - was not observed until recent history. Conscious thought was only born out of the need for metaphorical language due to the increasing complexity of human civilization, as societies began to grow.

Such was the thesis of psychologist Julian Jaynes, which he set out to prove in this controversial 1976 book on the origin of human consciousness. He began with somewhat daunting chapters on the details of brain chemistry, but became more involving as he incorporated well-known ancient Greek, Roman, and Egyptian art into his argument. Using excerpts from no less than the Code of Hammurabi, the Iliad, Gilgamesh, and the Old Testament, the author attempted to answer one of the most pressing questions of our time: "Why have the gods stopped talking to us?".

Sigmund Freud once said that only the simple-minded does not possess a keen interest in his past. I therefore recommend this little-known piece of literature to receptive and open-minded readers who are fans of ancient art, history, and psychology. Whether you decide to take it seriously, take offense, or take it with a grain of salt, you would have to admit that the concept of schizophrenic apes is pretty darn funny.

Host

It is so easy to place Stephenie Meyer's latest on the shelf along with my prized copies of the 'The Stand', 'Time Machine', and 'War of the Worlds', but not the for the obvious reasons.

The genre of Apocalypse-inspired works of fiction is oddly crowded, but 'The Host' stands out as a prime jewel, even among the classics.

Amidst the overused setting of an Earth occupied by alien parasites, Meyer introduces Wanderer, an academic historian and traveler, living her sixth lifetime on our planet in the brain of 'host' Melanie Stryder. The unthinkable occurs when Melanie's entity fights for survival and control of her body, in order to track down the man that she loves. Wanderer narrates their story in the first person, and much of the struggle between host and parasite happens inside Wanderer's consciousness. The resulting sensation for readers is a feeling of complete and utter involvement, taking the term 'psychological thriller' to a whole new level.

Meyer may have been immortalized by the popularity of Edward Cullen and his vampiric lot, but she definitely deserves a place among fiction's greatest with this unique story showcasing how, in the struggle for survival, even the most hated of human instincts - fear - can be our greatest ally, and compassion, our ultimate weapon.

**

Lamb

First, a word of warning: Do not read this book while sipping on any form of liquid, unless you don't mind having iced tea come out of your nose from all the LOLs you'd be doing.

This irreverent, delightfully risqué account of the Messiah's lost years, as chronicled by the 13th apostle, Biff, takes you to Christopher Moore's unique world of absurdist fiction, where elephants can be taught Yoga, and yetis can sing.

Biff, the Savior's best pal, was resurrected, kidnapped, and forced under threat of eternal damnation by a brain-damaged seraph, to write a gospel on Christ's "missing" years. Although staying true to its original intent as a work of comedy, the book attempts to answer such serious questions as, "Who was the Son of Man's first kiss?", "Does the Lord know kung fu?", and of course, the universal, "What DID Jesus do?".

Prepare to laugh, prepare to cry while laughing, and for Christ's sake, prepare to buy this book. And some piping hot coffee. :-)

Found this really cool application in Facebook called Visual Bookshelf, and I got to play book blurb-maker / mini-critic for a little while. (The following entry was copied directly from my Visual Bookshelf dashboard - please pardon the messy htm format.)
_______________________

Meet the new men in my life - Stephen, Jared, and Julian.

All courtesy of the lovely Chases of Redmond, WA, and BORDERS. *sighs with contentment.

What a great day to be alive and healthy! I'm in the spare bedroom of my sister's house in Redmond, WA, happily typing on my fabulous new laptop (Merry Christmas, Ate!!!), pondering on whether I should go to the patio to enjoy the cold morning air. Probably not a good idea, as it's currently a lovely 6 degrees celsius out there. In a few hours I'll be meeting up with Noel and Yvette at the oldest Starbucks in the world, so we can all go to the Space Needle, and maybe do a bit of shopping at Pike Place. I slept like the dead for a good eight hours last night, so jet lag is a distant memory. I'm refreshed, re-charged, and ready to conquer Seattle on this gorgeous Sunday.

In the meantime, while waiting for my sister and her husband to come back from their morning run, I'll just be sitting here, looking at the trees change colors in preparation for wintertime...

What do these books have in common?

These are my latest book sale acquisitions! Well ok, so I had to pay full price for the Big Art book and Tolstoy, but I did manage to get great deals for the Hawking and other art book at a mall sale. Score!!! I'd have to give special thanks to my friend cel324 for pushing me to buy On the Shoulders.. even if I was looking for another Hawking book (A Brief History of Time - not available). It turned out to be an excellent companion to another astronomy book I already own, Blind Watchers of the Sky by Prof. Kolb. 

I promised myself that I will not buy another book until I have finished reading my new buys, but just as an incentive, here's what will be gracing my shelves soon:

Maybe a Christmas gift to myself? I hear sleigh bells ringing...

The Big C has penetrated my tight circle of close friends, and things will never be the same again.

Yesterday I received news that an old, close friend has just been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. He is 26 years old, at the prime of his life, and just beginning to start a family. The prognosis is not good, but the family is hoping for a miracle. 

I went to visit him at the hospital where the doctors had just recently performed a surgical resection to remove a portion of the diseased organ. Arriving earlier than the rest of our friends, I caught the patient just before his morning sponge bath. I was greeted outside the hospital room by his young wife, who informed me, with sad, pleading eyes, that her husband did not know about the results of the biopsy yet. His family decided to let him finish recovering from the operation first before they break the bad news. 

The hardest part of the visit for me was greeting my friend for the first time that day, knowing that I possess a secret that he should have every right to know. That, and the shock of seeing my usually ebullient brother-figure on a hospital bed, looking at me with the hooded eyes of somebody dreading an impending doom. That day I saw many pairs of eyes filled with a myriad of emotions, but my ill friend's will haunt me forever.

If I were to pinpoint one positive revelation, it would have to be witnessing how my wife's friend faced this adversity. I remember reading a passage in the book of Proverbs:  A virtuous wife is worth more than rubies. I always thought that this sentence was a bit sexist without its masoteric context, but seeing Ria in action made be appreciate the wisdom behind it. There she was, barely my age, a mother and a wife - signing papers and talking with doctors and giving nurses specific instructions to make sure that everything was done with full regard to her husband's comfort, giving my friend his sponge bath, changing his clothes, encouraging him to try to swallow that last bite - all with the energy and tenderness that women reserve for people they completely and selfishly love. Before I left, she told me how she planned to break the news to her husband, and I could see just how much determination she had behind those tired eyes. I knew then that no matter what happens, my friend will always be in good hands with Ria by his side, and I left the hospital feeling a little bit lighter, believing that somewhere out there, an infinitely wise and loving God has a great plan for all of us.

**