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I just finished reading "The Door to December" by Dean Koontz. It's an older book of his that I would rate average.
 
I have just completed Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. It was an English assignment due last year and I genuinely enjoyed it. I picked up a copy of it a few weeks ago at Barnes & Noble, so I figured I would bequeath another read.
I love reading Shakespeare's works--I will definitely accumulate more of his plays over the next several weeks.
 
The Sense of an Ending - Julian Barnes :star4:

Really enjoyable - I'm a big fan of loose endings.

Hi MonkeyCatcher, good to see you back. :flowers:

Sounds like I'll have to catch up with the book and make it my next read.

(Oddly, there's a lit crit book by Frank Kermode with the same title, which first came to mind and which I should also get around to reading.)
 
Just finished 'Hunter' by Robert Binidotto - a thriller - and a thoroughly satisfying read. Vigilante justice is the theme and there is action, suspense and romance (I don't mean the sugary sweet kind) and Mr. Binidotto keeps the pace moving. While it may not be legal to take justice into your own hands the ones who do get taken out are really vicious characters and it's hard to like the so-called do gooders imo. :star4:
 
The Children of First Man by James Alexander Thom

A historical "What if?" involving a group of Welsh settlers landing in America in the 1100's. Follows them from the 12th to the mid-19th century. Over time most of the vestiges of their past are forgotten, as they are assimilated into a Native American tribe.
After awhile it becomes repetitive (meet person, something happens to person, they reproduce, die, rinse and repeat). Also verges on "Noble Savage, Inhumane Europeans." cliche. :star3:

The Death of The Necromancer by Martha Wells

Scifi set in 19th century alternative reality Austria. Follows conman, his friends and his girlfriend/partner, as they search for the powerful sorcerer who is trying to kill them.

Good if plodding. Gets overly descriptive and repetitive at times. :star4:
 
I recently finished reading Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding. Despite lavish praises laid on this novel, I found it just okay.
 
Tomas Tranströmer, 17 Poems (1954). Yep, Tranströmer knew what he was doing right from the start. Walks out among the windblown trees on the coast, seeing life and history shot through everything, the buzzard in the sky the one fixed point around which the cliffs and the ocean move, the constellations stamping in their stalls in the sky, ancient myths galloping across the waves. Simple, short, bare-bones, endless. Beautiful.
 
Tomas Tranströmer, 17 Poems (1954). Yep, Tranströmer knew what he was doing right from the start. Walks out among the windblown trees on the coast, seeing life and history shot through everything, the buzzard in the sky the one fixed point around which the cliffs and the ocean move, the constellations stamping in their stalls in the sky, ancient myths galloping across the waves. Simple, short, bare-bones, endless. Beautiful.

Were there any particular ones you found more beautiful than the rest?
I love how his poetry doesn't really feel like poetry in the traditional sense, the poems come across (imo) as slight stories, thoughtful pondering, and the spur of the moment observations that strike us when we see something exceptionally beautiful/sad/noteworthy.
 
Small Memories, by José Saramago :star4:

I didn't think I'd like someone's childhood memories as much but it is so brilliantly written I found myself emersed in them.
 
Were there any particular ones you found more beautiful than the rest?
I love how his poetry doesn't really feel like poetry in the traditional sense, the poems come across (imo) as slight stories, thoughtful pondering, and the spur of the moment observations that strike us when we see something exceptionally beautiful/sad/noteworthy.
Exactly. Storm and The Stones, which I posted here, are both from 17 Poems. Another favourite is Epilogue, especially when you read it on a grey early winter's day - "December. Sweden is a beached, unrigged ship against a twilight sky. Its masts are sharp. And twilight lasts longer than day. The roads here are stony. Not till midday does the light arrive, and winter's colosseum rises, lit by unreal clouds..."
 
Stunning, thank you. I'd been reading The Sorrow Gondola collection. It was written after his stroke, which left him paralysed and took away his powers of speech. The poems are partly about his near death and the general brevity of life, and partly about the speechlessness. Looked, at times, through a lens of music.

Midwinter
A blue light
radiates from my clothing.
Midwinter.
Clattering tambourines of ice.
I close my eyes.
There is a silent world
there is a crack
where the dead
are smuggled across the border.


April and Silence
All that shines
are yellow flowers.
I’m carried in my shadow
like a violin in its black case.
The only thing I want to say
gleams out of reach
like the silver
in a pawnshop.
 
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