The illiterate Blogger Is Moving

iAm moving.


Now, now. Don't cry.



Click on the link below to reach my new blog.


This is iliterate

Whee.


Now Go Read Something.

iWas once a Child

"You enter. The smell of books invites you in, both musty and new. Newspaper and magazines rustle softly in one direction-- a dull little place that your father makes a beeline for. You inform him that you're going to look at the children books or the comics, unconscious of the lie you tell. Because now you're in a bookstore and all you see is row after row of stories; of possibilities and impossibilities and friends and ideas and places and dreams and adventures, and you don't know if you'll be able to stay in the same section for longer than a minute."

- Nuri Talib -

iThink that Courage is a child because it is only as children that we understand the sheer terror of knowing how much we do not know. How did we do it? How did we dare to dive into the pages of a tale that had as much a chance of disturbing the mind as it did of charming it?

We can't flatter ourselves as such in adulthood. We read reviews and 'test' the first few pages of an alluring little novel. Or we ask for a recommendation and wait for the shortlist of someoranother prize to be released. We avoid the genres that unnerve us and the ones we suspect may bore us. We dip our toes into the pool, afraid to make that frantic dash-- that heart pounding leap, that glorious splash. Jane Eyre is boring before we have met her, The Shining is scary before we have felt it.

There is nothing quite like reading a book as a child. iCan tell because The Famous Five are our friends but Othello, Hamlet, Ian Malcolm, Sethe-- they are protagonists. So in honour of the best friends we've ever had (on paper), iThought it would be nice to appreciate the spirit with which we befriended them. I'll raise a glass of orange juice to our former selves!

Speaking of old friends-- Asterix & Obelix, how you crack me up! It's interesting how many comics I read as a child and how parents nowadays don't think it's good for their little ones to pick up the habit. That's like denying us our Sunday funnies. What's a kid without some Charlie Brown or Calvin'n'Hobbes?

Imaginary tigers are surprisingly wise.



Write you later. Go read something.


- the illiterate Blogger -

The Tragedy, The Metaphysical, The Nutcases in Gowns.

Don't let my literature teacher hear about this-- I mean, that iReally do love the books we've been discussing in her class. Many of them are texts iWould not have picked up on my own initiative and iSuppose that's why I think exposing students to literature on some level of education is important. It opens doors, helps us to empathize and (most importantly) it can be an enjoyable experience.

However, the novel iWant to write about right now isn't something one would enjoy in the conventional sense of enjoyment. "Beloved" by Toni Morrison is set in Kentucky, 1800s... sometime towards the close of Slavery in the States. Our main characters are former slaves; the chronology of this story darts madly between the past and the present, sometimes forcing flashes of a reluctant history into our minds and sometimes painfully clawing its way into our tear ducts. It is not an easy story but it is one that everyone should read, iThink.

On that note-- although iHighly recommend this to y'all, it would be best if you knew a little about Slavery in the 1800s. A spot of knowledge may be all you need to deepen the meaning of a book. Ladies. You will cry. iCried. Morrison dedicates her work to "Sixty Million and more" and if you don't catch the meaning of that, I'll tell you: she wrote her novel for the sixty million people who died in the name of Slavery. Sixty million very real people. Keep that stored somewhere in the back of your head if you ever decide to dive into Beloved.


iAm sorry if you did not like my assaulting you with details of the Tragedy... may iSuppose that details of the Metaphysical will make up for so depressing a sin? "A Passage to India" by E.M. Forster focuses on a group of Indians and Englishmen living in Colonial India. But the novel is about so much more than that-- and while I am bursting to tell you what these things are, I'm afraid that the only person who could do such themes justice is the author himself. All I can really say with a clean conscience is that you ought to screw your head on before reading it but don't go over each page with a critical eye. Try to enjoy the book as you would enjoy a hot, stagnant afternoon. At leisure and with a mind willing to appreciate anything that breaks monotony. Oh. And please don't murder me if you don't like it. iGather that my classmates did not quite enjoy Forster's approach to the abstract; and what can I say? Some things cannot be grasped by the human mind, much less the written word.


As for the Nutcases in Gowns. All I can say is that iWill never, ever again switch to the MTV channel to cure my late night boredom. Watching Super Sweet Sixteen is like watching the world consume itself. I'm disappointed in the lack of class young women handle themselves with nowadays and disgusted by the media's exploitation of their inelegant personalities. I know that television doesn't neccesarily represent the general society (there's a horrifying thought) but it forces our eyes to stare into a very bleak future. I'm afraid that we've sold out, my friends. To whom I do not know-- the very moguls we claim to hate? iProbably sound kinda condascending as I reproach people from the little throne I've set up here in my blog. That doesn't make what I'm saying any less true, though. Obnoxious maybe. But these are, as a poet once said, "truths that lie too deep for taint."


Write you later. Go read something.


- the illiterate Blogger -

"...but sometimes, oh God, the Green Mile seems so long."

"Your name is John Coffey?"

"Yes sir boss. Like the drink, only not spelled the same."


I had the wonderful opportunity tonight of watching Stephen King's 'The Green Mile' on television with my siblings. To be honest, I am not a fan of the author... he's one of my least liked authors. iDislike, perhaps? Unsurprisingly, films based on his works have not left good impressions on me either, excepting Kubrick's 'The Shining' (which any sane person will recognize as a timeless masterpiece of the silver screen). So it came as a bit of a surprise to me when my brother announced that the Green Mile was based on a story written by Stephen King. If all surprises came in as good a package as this film, then I would gladly welcome them.

Alright, so I'm a little behind with the movies these days. A lot of people have praised Hank and Duncan for their excellent performances-- even King for this touching but haunting tale of a man condemned by his own gift. So iWon't take that beaten path. I want to talk about this movie as more than just a movie but as an actual effect on one's perspective on life. You see, prior to watching the Green Mile, I was thinking to myself (philosophically) about what justifies a life. And iDon't mean our purpose on this planet or why God put us here. I mean, when you're dying and death is a strange man knocking at your door: what do you have to say for yourself? As Tom Hank's character put it, "When I die and stand before God..."

Hedonism is a lifestyle that I find has always come to odds with this question. I mean nothing serious against the pleasure-seekers of this world but it does occur to me that they may not have anything to say before God. Or if you do not believe in Him, then before their end (for is not Death a force of its own, making all men answerable to it?). So there it is. I watched this movie and I thought to myself, in reference to the character of John Coffey, there was a man who knew what to say. Well, to be specific, there was a man. Sometimes iThink that few people truly die as men. I am no authority on death or on what it takes to be a real man but this is simply a thought you must read slowly-- that if you have given to this world some good despite any amount of suffering it has given you, then maybe you can die a man. Maybe you'll have something to say.

If you think this is rubbish then I have been reading too many books lately and watching too many movies. But I hope my words mean something or it'd be a terrible waste of my hurting brain. Nonetheless, iWill write again about some of those books I've been reading. Heart of Darkness, A Passage to India and Ender's Game. Goods ones. A couple of them are even on my iLove list.



Write you later. Go read something.


-The illiterate Blogger-

iAdmit that iLike Comics.

Alright, I'm not sure if iHave talked about this before. But I'll admit it now-- iLike comics.

I ain't just talking about the charming little Sandman you see here on the left. Superman, Batman, Spider-man, X-men. I've read 'em and iHave (mostly) liked 'em.

There seems to be a prejudice or a sort of snobbishness in certain breeds of adults that causes them to snub comic-reading. I'm talking 'bout all you people out there who snort at the mention of Kal-El or Peter Parker. The Sunday funnies seem to be about the only sort of comics you lot can take. Anyhow: as you can tell, this isn't your sort of entry if you're not open-minded enough to the realm of graphic novels and fantasical themes.



Rewind (<<) a decade back. As a child, iRead a decent number of books. Children's books. Abridged classics. Poetry. Short stories. Comics. Putting aside the many days spent laughing at Calvin 'n' Hobbes or the hours that have slipped by grinning with Garfield, iWas an avid intruder of my brother's more "hard-core" comic collection. Thor, Warlock, Superman (plus his many variations), Spawn. They were as interesting to me as any other book I had read. You could find intricate plots-- fleshed out characters -- wit -- little notes from the editor, even. And there was a good deal of art.

Perhaps it takes a mind tempered with childishness and utter youth to disregard the flippancy of superpowers or planet-eating Giants.

So there's my opinion, I suppose. That somewhere between the flying-people and occasionally banal lines, comics hide a dream of impossibility. Not everyone can find it and maybe novels make us understand it using different terms. iDon't want to put down those people who don't like comics-- as long as they don't put down comics. It's one thing to say you don't like something and another thing to devalue its existence.

On that note: I highly recommend Neil Gaiman's "The Sandman" comics to anyone who has a fundamental understanding comic types. "Fables" is also a newfound favourite of mine. Those of you who can't tell Marvel apart from DC (poor souls...), I'm sure your novel-isque ways would affirm to...let's see... "Pride of Baghdad", perhaps?

If you were wondering why the illiterate blogger has brought up this subject of comics on her unfortunately neglected blog, then take a look at this year's movie listings. That's right. Iron Man. Hellboy. The Incredible Hulk. The Dark Knight. The movie-goer in me has been most pleasurably engaged to my affinity for comic books. The latest Batman film was an intense, entertaining experience... the only thing keeping me from telling you to STOP READING THIS BLOG and go out to WATCH THE DARK KNIGHT is my polished sense of vanity.


Now. How many of you have attended or dreamt of attending an Oxbridge University? iWas watching the History Boys with some of my college friends recently and it is a decidedly controversial movie. Homophobics and not-very-bright people are warned against watching it as there are strong themes of homosexuality as well as some rather learnt wittiness that could or could not offend various audiences. The movie revolves around a group of intelligent (but nonetheless juvenile) boys who are intent on studying History at Oxford University. Their endeavors are coupled with the other confusing pains of growing up in British society. iWould not consider this as one of the films iLove but I did enjoy it and I can imagine that many people in their late teens would also enjoy the History Boys.


Alright. iThink that I'll leave it here. All this talk of comics and movies-- iHave forgotten to speak of books. Fear not, intrepid reader! iShall soon write of my latest illiterate exploits and then some more.


Write you later. Go read something.



-The illiterate Blogger-

iMiss that little thing we call sleep.

iMiss that little thing we call sleep.

To those of you intimate with the ways of the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme, you know what I'm talking about. Unless you're *really* devoid of a social life (or studying is your social life).

iAm drawing close to the end of my second term of the IB programme here in England-- it's been one hell of a ride, across borders and cultures.


But let's not get into the tedious process of describing my life changes. I'd like to talk about sleep. Anyone reading this, iWould like you to know that if you get more than 5 hours of sleep on an average weekday, you're definitely getting more sleep than 40-50% percent of the students at this college (self-included). Am I exaggerating? iKid you not, readers! Over the last four nights, slumber in the land of rolling countrysides has been brief or at least interrupted. No fear however-- the IB student population makes it all up by sleeping for 8 to 10 hours straight on Saturday nights.

iBet you're wondering: "Why is the illiterate blogger telling me about sleep deprivation?" Well, the illiterate blogger tends to ramble about silly things when she's not feeling so awake. Silliness aside, let's talk theater. Show of hands, those of you who have seen "Wicked: The Musical" or a production of Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure"!

Yes, you saw this coming. I'm about to tell you to get off your comfortable reading couch/armchair/bed and go watch one or the other. Or read the book(s), which I've done with the latter and plan to do with the former, in good time. Strong, masculine men may want to sit out on "Wicked" unless they're looking to impress lovely lady friends. Make sure you know your Wizard of Oz before checking it out, however.

"Measure for Measure" is something I'm more interested in on an intellectual level. My classmates and I watched a modern production of the play in Oxford-- it was, to say the least, entertaining. Not a boring moment (some of the bits were cut out) to be seen and lots to ponder afterwards. This is probably the first of Shakespeare's plays iHave read that has caused me to ask myself: where is the line between black humour and mere bleakness? In the audience, we laughed and joked and smirked... yet at the end, there is this strange thought that lingers, wondering if you should have laughed or cried.

In case you were wondering (though iKnow you weren't), these two productions definitely go under the "iLike" category.

Alright, time to hit the sack! iWant to get some of that sleep people have been talking about. God help the person who wakes me up anytime before 9 in the morning.

iHate and iLove London.

It's half-term break for us poor saps studying the IBDP in Oxford. Ten whole days of nothing to do-- the lucky ones go home to their relatively nearby countries and the unlucky ones (iMean me) do what I did. Go to London.

London is possibly one of the most annoying places to go once you've gotten used to student life in Oxford. It's loud, crowded and depressing. iAin't putting down the world's city-- it's a great place for shopping and the food is a hell lot better (pardon my french) than Brown-Sauced-British-Stuff Oxford. It's just not the city iWould want to live in. Give me warm and friendly KL anyday.



Okay, enough about my adjustment issues. We all know how boring those can be. iThink that I'll fill you in on something more interesting today. Tintin. You heard me right. Let's hear you say it: A THOUSAND BLISTERING BARNACLES! If iEver grow to love London, blame the Tintin store in Covent Garden. The Adventures of Tintin have been with me since I could put words together so if you haven't guessed it already, this is supposed to be an iLove entry.

As per usual, iAm going to tell you to get up, get out and buy a copy of any Tintin adventure out there. Because iTend to tell you to read kickass books (or in this case, graphic novels) you've never read before. Odds are however, that you do know Tintin through his comics and cartoons. If so, well done! iHope that you will continue to spread the awesomeness of Tintin, Captain Haddock and Professor Calculus. Oh. On that note, if you know where I can get a copy of the first 3-in-1 volume of Tintin's Adventures, leave me a message please.

On to the more serious side of our favourite reporter and snow-white dog. Racism. It was brought up earlier this year that Tintin's adventures -- those in the Congo, specifically -- have shown signs of racism. I'm no expert but iBelieve that this was a legitimate claim and I'm not going to play the part of the diehard fangirl, trying to defend Herge's work. iWould like to state for the record however, that I have been reading Tintin since the tender age of seven or eight (or nine? Mum should know) and have not in anyway been influenced by these racist sentiments.

It's daft that parents don't want their kids reading Tintin anymore because they think it has racist values. If they raised their kids properly instead of plopping them infront of the idiot box or playstation 24/7, then maybe the children would have some chance at independent thought. So here's my message to parents of today and soon-to-be parents. Get off your lazy asses and do some parenting. School teachers aren't going to do it for you, the television isn't going to do it for you and neither is the internet. Don't go around protesting about how violent or racist comics/games/tv shows are making your kids horrible brats when you're the one buying them all that stuff instead of teaching them the basic human values that are supposed to help them withstand negative influences. You can't make 'em better people by taking all the bad out of the world. The world will always have bad stuff in it.


Alright then, iThink that's about it for today. Have a nice day people. Hope I didn't offend or depress you.


Write you later. Go read something.



-The illiterate Blogger-