March 2015 Reading Round Up

march reading round up

It really was March madness in terms of reading this month despite exams! Here’s the round-up of all the books I’ve devoured:

*The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time by Mark Haddon: This is a unique, brilliant book that I find emotionally investing yet humorous as well. I read it as part of the Re Read Challenge so do check out my re-read post here!

Verdict: Give this one a definite read!

* Re-Read Challenge

Literary Theory: A guide to the perplexed by Mary Klages: Given that this book would not have made my reading list but for an entire semester of slogging through the contents of literary theory, I have mixed feelings about this one (with the negative ones tending to dominate more often than not.) Having this book as a textbook made me want to tear my hair out by the roots. However, I suppose reading it for information would be a more pleasant experience particularly the chapters on deconstruction, feminism, psychoanalysis and postmodernism.

Verdict: Read at your own potential risk.

InuYasha Volumes 4-9 by Rumiko Takahashi: There’s quite a lot of interesting things that happen in these volumes! Now that Shippo is tagging along with InuYasha and Kagome it’s funny to see the love-hate relationship between him and InuYasha, sort of like two brothers always fighting with one another. When Kagome returns to the modern world, she saves a girl ghost wreaking havoc upon her family, from the brink of hell and InuYasha sees exactly what she’s capable of. We also discover that the night of the new moon strips InuYasha’s of all his demonic power turning him mortal till the sun rises.

I’m glad that InuYasha and Kikyo’s misunderstanding fifty years ago is revisited when Urasue revives Kikyo though it puts Kagome in an awkward position. InuYasha and Kikyo’s unrequited love is beautiful. Yet for me, the best part about these volumes is the introduction of Miroku, a lecherous monk and Sango, a demon slayer and her demon cat Kirara. Now it’s odd how I could have read the earlier volumes when they weren’t around.

Verdict: These volumes have the most interesting developments!

The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton: After having heard considerable praise for this book, I was interested to see what all the fuss was about. Immediately I understood.

Jessie Burton’s writing style is so refreshing to read, the likes of which are very rare. The book is written in a very poetic, lilting style that makes Nella’s strange world come alive and as a reader, I was always kept on the edge of my seat with the various plot twists interspersed in the narrative. I adore how the characters are complex and atypical. We have the protagonist, an 18-year-old mistress of the house Nella Brandt envious of the freedom and lax enjoyed by her maid named Cornelia. Nella’s husband Johannes and her sister-in-law Marin have odd ways of showing that they do in fact care about one another, something Nella always questions. The dynamics of the book are unique which is why I can understand as many as ten or so publishers fighting tooth and nail for the rights to it.

However, I did have certain issues with the book especially with a lack of closure or acceptance towards the end. There are some serious plot holes and I believe the back of the book misleads the reader into thinking it’s a mystery when it’s not actually quite so. That’s all I can say without spoiling the Miniaturist .

Verdict: Despite its flaws, I was so captivated by this book that I’d finish studying for my exams early just so I could curl up in bed and read it late into the night. Please grab a copy!


If you’d like, read the next paragraph of my thoughts on ‘The Miniaturist’ but be warned it has SPOILERS:

My main source of disappointment is that Nella never uncovers how the miniaturist  is able to foretell events in her life or how she possesses the gift to craft such exquisite and eerily accurate miniature pieces. She merely finds out the miniaturist is her name sake but that is the end of the road when it comes to this mysterious stranger whose intrigue was crucial to the books appeal. Sadly it isn’t about the miniaturist at all which makes me question why the book is titled in such a way.

The Sea

I was digging into some old poetry and came across this one I’d written in the fifth grade. It’s one of the few that built up my interest in writing poems.

Afar from the starboard it could only be

But a monster lost at sea

Its eyes gave a sudden glare

Only you and I could stare

Never had such a beast been seen

Now you’ve seen in between

An epic battle had begun

But sure enough, the men had won

Image courtesy of Google


The Kite Surfer

The Kitesurfer
Image courtesy of Google


Skies dotted with flicks of colour

Strings tied down to souls beneath

My eyes watch the heavens come alive

Hoping to find what I seek


You are standing not too far from me

Weaving kite strings like it’s fate’s design

A child like air lighting up your eyes

As if all worry and fear resign


The kite sails high above our heads

In a sea amongst its own

Like the mast of a ship held high

The most beautiful sight I’ve ever known


Wishing that the sands of time would stop

So we can come here everyday

And just let kites fly loose

Getting lost in the fray


Kites are like the ships of the sky

You and I, their captains

Sailing through thick and thin

Beyond shadows of the mountains


Yet time goes by and the moments all passed

You have gone and never to come back

But your kite still lies in the corner of my garage

Hurting like an incendiary heart attack


It looks sad, desperate for flight

I can’t bear to let it be stilled

So I do the only thing I can think of

And take it on over to a field


But when the kite flies, I see a quiver

And it looks a touch miserable

Until the wind picked up

And snapped the string formidable


And I watch the kite fly far away

And I know it’s flying right to you

It’s coming home after having missed you so

If only it could take me too

Image courtesy of Line Deco


*In loving memory of my father

Sweet Fiction

book shelves
Image courtesy of Google


In the late hours of the night

I thread between words left to right

My eyes wander in the dim light

Marvelling at the images in sight

My willing to sleep ever so slight

And this urge I do fight

Because if I do not I just might

Fall away to dreams in spite

But I am immersed in the pages tight

For I am…

Drinking in sweet fiction tonight

Sweet fiction tucks me into bed

Pretty lies expel ugly truths in my head

Sweet fiction protects me from dread

Making a pillow for me instead

Sweet fiction leaves a lot unsaid

But I needn’t know every shred

Sweet fiction dries the tears I shed

Lightens my heart made of lead

Sweet fictitious pages are a vast spread

And now I am…

Drunk on the sweet fiction I have read


Stripes of Separatism

Some are here

Some are there

But no matter

They’re everywhere

North is on the pedestal

South is catching up

What’s the point in racing

When it doesn’t add up to much?

What are we fighting for

Like Montagues and Capulets

When all we will end up with

Is a life full of regrets

Wearing stripes of uniform

Cross hatched behind bars of steel

WE build our own prison

Losing sight of what is real

Poison of the Mind

A desolate thought, sultry and aimless

Conceives no gratified purpose

Seeks to surface, in vain it drowns

No longer if it continues, perish it shall

Such is how evil is infinitely crushed

Such is the strength of an invincible mind


But when that thought extends its grasp, recurring

Simply not yielding to non- existence

Pangs of ill-conceived notions

Spread like wildfire, hastening

And slowly devour the cowardly mind

Devouring it like poison

La langue morte

C’est ma malédiction d’apprendre les langues que je ne peut jamais parler avec une autre.  Les langues commes les coeurs sont incomplets sans quelqu’un pour les partager avec. Si je parle les phrases avec tendresse qui peut me répondre aussi douce?

Alors les mots meurent sur me lèvres et le silence est plus forte que ma voix tremper dans la cadence de français. C’est pour cette raison que je tient ma langue et mon français devient inutile. Tristement, il n’y a personne qui peut comprendre cette perte. J’espere qu’un jour je vais la rencontrer encore mais maintenant je dois dire adieu.