Now reading: O. Henry: Short Stories

.
This is hardly a book, because it only has 66 pages altogether. It consists of three short stories, named The Gift of The Magi, The Cop And The Anthem and The Ransom For A Red Chief.
Cannot say anything about it - YET, because the reading has just begun. :)

James Finn Garner: Politically Correct Bedtime Stories

Well... Nothing special about this one. Funny reading for when you hit the pillow. Best fairytales from all times in a modern, mostly political clothing. It's worth reading but otherwise has no literally value whatsoever.

Gaetan Soucy: The Little Girl Who Was Too Fond of Matches

.
I had quite a struggle with myself about writing a review of this book. Did I like it? All in all -yes. Did I understand it? I guess so. But it was the most annoying and horrible read I've had in quite some time.



At the beginning I thought: "Crap, so my english really does suck." I had a hard time reading the lines at first untill I found out that the narrator had it's own logic of speaking, thinking and understanding things. I knew almost right away that it was a girl who was narrating the story although she addressed herself as a boy, but I didn't expect everything that went with that fact untill the end. I'm not sure if revealing the plot is a good thing for any potential readers, so just a quick glance at it. A family lives in a secluded estate in the country, their nearest neighbours far away, the town even further. Father dies, leaving two of his children alone. As they have no mother, they have no knowledge what to do on their own, so one of the "brothers" heads to town to purchase a coffin. Their world is indeed shattered, because they know nothing of the world, except of quite a generous amount of knowledge they have learned reading encyclopedias, philosophical and theological books which they've been using according to their own translations and explanations. Or she has, anyway, because her brother is a bit limited in that area. So their story is slowly unfolded to us through the girl's diary and from feeling a surprised amusement and dreading what will happen next we become horror stricken as we learn exactly what happened and what sick life has their father condemned them to by raising them the way he did.

I finished the book about two months ago and I still can't get over it. Recommended!!

And here's the beginning.

Metod Pevec: An Evening In Dubrovnik

I think I might have some problems describing this book in english because, as far as I know, there hasn't been a translation to any foreign language. Yet. Which is a shame, actually, because this is a good book. I guess all smaller and unimportant nations face the same problem considering translations. It's not that our books are not good enough, it's not that we don't have great, excellent writers, we are just not interesting enought for greater countries. And by greater I mean size, not quality. It must be true that we, after all, have some kind of a national character, which is also shown in literature we produce. Our past experiences differ from experiences of big western countries, we have different values, different traditions, different thoughts, we love differently, live differently, know the world and ourselves differently. Hence, we can relate to stories we write but they may seem somehow odd and foreign to people from elsewhere. If an american will read a story, coming from a small nation, he will never understand how someone'd choose love over career or tranquillity of having nothing over what money can buy. I am exaggerating a little to prove my point, but basically that's how it works. If they don't understand they don't like and if they don't like they don't buy. So all chances and attempts of bringing one nation closer to another will fail when it comes to money. Literature could be a great bond between the east and the west, what little effort would it be to try to understand eachother through written word, to get to know eachother and let them be. But the west is not interested because it doesn't understand so it (can I reffer to the west as it? :)) will only accept something foreign when it'll transform it into familiar, into western, but then it'll no longer be foreing. I hope I'm making any sense? :)
The point was - noone will translate us if we don't sell. And obviously we don't.

And now to the book. I'd say it's a very slovenian one. The main character is a tired middle aged cop, who is trying to solve his last case before retirement. What he doesn't predict is that this case will leave a mark and bring light back to his dull life. It's a criminal story that takes place in Ljubljana, Slovenia's capital where a television diva dies due to an overdose. As the events unfold we find out she was indeed murdered and every little discovery leads Kajetan (the cop) back to the television house where she'd worked. This is a very blunt description because what makes the story good isn't resolving the murder but all the happenings that surround this main theme. Kajetan has a mistress, who is always just there, but in the course of time he grows closer to her. He also finds a connection with the dead woman's daughter and becomes a closest thing to a friend to her murderer. The story is very lifelike and it teaches us there's no black or white, just infinite shadows of gray. And a quick read. :)

Nora Ephron: I Feel Bad About My Neck

(And Other Thoughts On Being A Woman)

Last August I saw this book in a bookshop in London and I wanted to buy it but as usual something came up and I ended up empty handed. So I purchased it a couple of months ago in Slovenia and was disappointed. I don't know if it's the translation but you know how you can read some books as smoothly as spreading butter on toast, well this isn't one of them. It's fun, I guess, but I can't say it's written especially good.

The writer is the same woman who wrote screenplays for "When Harry Met Sally" and "Sleepless In Seattle" so maybe I expected too much. There's a series of essays, starting with "I feel bad about my neck" in which she discovers the ups and downs of ageing. Of womanly ageing, that is. In some places genuinely amusing, in others bitter sweet, she reveals some undeniable life truths that you come to know as the years pass. The book is written in such a manner that readers could identify themselves with the writer, but fails a bit, because after all she is a celebrity and some of those life truths are simply unknown to us, ordinary mortals. I couldn't care less if she can't find the new Prada bag anywhere and she's depressed over it.

So, it's a decent entertainment for a rainy Saturday afternoon, but not much more. In my opinion, of course. ;)

Reading

I've decided to make a new blog. I didn't post much in the old one, and I don't promise I'll post much in this one either, but I've decided I'll try something different.

This is a blog about books. Books I've read, books I wanted to read, books I couldn't finish, books that left a mark. Simply, books.
And I am going to write it in english, because I have quite some english speaking friends who read and only few slovenian ones that do. So.. you are welcome to join in with your thoughts ind reviews. Enough said.