06. Favourite Novel

For someone that is an avid reader and studied English Language and Literature, asking me to pinpoint a favourite novel is like asking to pick the favourite out of my two children. In other words - impossible. I read so voraciously that keeping a list of what I've read is a no mean feat, let alone choosing books I like more than others. Certainly, there are some that stand out, and these have changed in different stages of my life.
As a kid, an impressionable, nerdy, nose in a book at all times kind of girl, I reached literary heights by way of William Saroyan's 'Mommy, I Love You', or any book by Jules Verne for that matter. In teenage years, angst and existentialism struck, so it was to Hesse and Mann and Tolstoy that I turned to, engrossed in and impressed by both 'Demian' and 'Anna Karenina' in equal measure.
My university years saw tonnes of Shakespeare with sprinkles of all else that English-speaking authors produced of note in the XVII, XVIII, XIX and XX centuries. Reading was a serious task back then, all my literature exams were huge in terms of books to read and accompanying interpretations and critical reviews, so some of it is indeed a blur due to the sheer volume I was to conquer in order to pass an exam - the point of all high-level education, right?
After university, though, I was back to reading for pleasure. I fiddled with literary translation for a while and enjoyed it immensely, but that is no way to make a living in Serbia, so I've forgone the trade. That also meant forgoing reading any translated literature for quite a while because I would get so hung up on mistakes that the poor translator in question made that I could not continue with the book.
I most predominantly read authors writing in English. These include Ian McEwan, Julian Barnes, Paul Auster, Kazuo Ishiguro, Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, Zadie Smith, Alan Hollinghurst, Hanif Kureishi. In addition, I enjoy Haruki Murakami greatly. I also have a soft spot for the Latin American writers such as the literary heavy-weights Marquez and Llosa, as well as the Portuguese Saramago.
There are a number of Serbian and regional writers that I love whose books have marked my childhood and youth mainly and who are so tightly woven into our identities here in the Balkans that there is no way you can skip them - Andric, Pekic, Selimovic, Copic, ...
Bottom line is - I'll read anything, any time, any where - just give me a book. I can plough through anything and I'll do it with dogged persistence and conviction. Books are to be felt, inhaled, chewed up, re-read, abandoned and then picked up again, savored, devoured, talked to, mad at, cried over, laughed about, shared with friends, kept selfishly for your eyes only - anything, as long as they are read and their spirit keeps going now having become integral part of their reader.
That is why I cannot pick out my favourite novel. No way!
I leave you with my current reading pile (on a stool by my bed posing as a nightstand, holding the inevitable moisturizers for assorted body parts - lips, feet, hands, you name it ;):
1. Quiet: The Power of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking, Susan Cane
2. Men Without Women, Haruki Murakami
3. Lying on The Couch, Irvin Yalom
4. The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri

It's Friday Tomorrow!

Gosh, it's tiring going to work every day at seven months pregnant . . . That's why I'm excited about Friday! Although, the weather is crap, no real summer this year, rain and hail mainly, interspersed with bouts of sunshine that cause horrible humidity, really not the best performance this year, Summer dear!

I took a long walk on my lunch break today, popping in and out of shops, looking at what's on sale, and trying to stay dry - rain was dripping intermittently every 5-10 minutes.

I mainly wear a uniform of capris, ballet flats and whatever top fits the growing bump these days. Exhibits 1 and 2 below:

Not the most revolutionary look style-wise, but hey - cut the preggo lady some slack, will ya?  These capris from H&M turned out to be life savers this time around as my previous preggo jeans do not fit me this time - somehow, they are just too big. The black jeggings I invested in from Mothercare are also pulling their weight, although the biggest problem are the humid and hot days - I seem to not want to wear anything then and that's not an option, at least in the office ;)

The sales revealed a few covetable items: 

1. a soft, unstructured jacket from Monsoon, in navy, with mustard and red accents, perfect for my style which tends to seer clear of too fitted anything (sadly I cannot find a picture on the net, it must be from some of the previous collections)

2. a ZARA necklace which wold go with just about anything in my wardrobe:

3. a red, faux leather skirt for my daughter, also from ZARA:

But what I really really really want are these shoes:

These are from a local designer and are just the top of the iceberg in fabulous overload that are the rest of the collection of loafers and oxford brogues I fell in love with about a month ago. You can have a look see for yourself here. Amazing, yes?

I now need to think long and hard as to what to order as birthday presents from mum and the hubby - sure some of these will find their way to me neatly tied with a ribbon? ;)

Just finished reading one of Orhan Pamuk's books - The Museum of Innocence - not overly impressed, I give it 3 out f 5 stars. I'm now tackling the New York Post short stories collection available online here and planning the next big read. Also, eagerly awaiting to at least hear the news that the next season of Sherlock started filming (supposedly around New Year's time) and before that I hope we get the chance to see Benedict in 'The Imitation Game' and hear him in 'The Hobbit: The Battle of Five Armies' soon enough. 

These days

Other than silently observing the torrential rain that just will not let up for the past three days from the safety and comfort of my office/home, I just don't know what else  I could do. Sure, there are the help lines and care centers where you can drop clothes, food, blankest for over 6000 people who had to flee their homes throughout Serbia in the face of floods that obliterate your whole life in seconds. But even that seems insufficient, nothing, compared to the magnitude of destruction and desolation. We are truly helpless compared to the force of nature and devastation it can bring. This reminds me of a summer some 20 years ago when we stayed at a friend's vacation home in one of the most beautiful parts of Serbia and having visited the neighbors who supplied us with milk, cheese and eggs, we witnessed all their year's worth of agricultural works destroyed in minutes by rain and hail. That left me as speechless and numb as I feel these days . . .
On the other hand, there is me and someone else to take care of. This second pregnancy definitely does not feel that good as the first one. I'm six years older, gee, that may be it ;) I just don't feel energetic enough. I feel tired, sapped of energy, lacking of will, wanting to stay in bed most mornings, no good hormones kicking in in the second trimester. Everything seems a cause of worry. Just thinking about the family dynamics after the baby comes out is enough to make me want to go hide in a dark corner and not come out.
But the baby is growing and moving, It's there, it's alive, a part of me and it;s an incredible feeling. Another tiny little thing fighting to survive and face the world. Miraculous and scary, all at the same time.
My favorite part of the day lately is having a shower in the evening and then going to bed and to a good book.

I loved the 'Remains of the Day' and this promises another thrilling read, with elements of suspense and hints of detective work together with intricate character development.

I devoured this one, McEwan is really one of my favorites. His language is testament to his genius and his plots are unpredictable.










At least I don't have a case of baby brains and I can read and write. Small things make a life, just have to keep reminding myself of those.

Sherlockian

It's this one's birthday today so here's a take on holmesian English ;)

Keep Calm and Carry On

Life's too busy and complicated at this moment for me able to think straight let alone write.Or rather, I have to think straight a lot. Work's busy, home's busy, important events occurring every weekend with more looming ahead - a cousin's wedding, visit to my husband's grandparents and most importantly and sadly the second anniversary of my father's death. October was hectic, November even more so and then comes the New Year and the new cycle of this race called life.

My stress coping mechanisms go on and off from day to day, I feel as if I am about to have a complete melt down more than once every day but somehow I keep it together. Trying to enjoy life in the process seems more of a chore than the way it should be because at times I am also overburdened with this never ending quest for happiness and the 'you have to be happy' imperative that we seem to impose on ourselves. It's ok not to be happy all the time, methinks. That takes so much energy and effort.

What I long for the most is the balance. The balance in thoughts, feelings, actions. That is the state I'm after and for the life of me I cannot vouch that it will be attainable ever in my case. But I'm working on it.

For all those who enjoy heightened emotions and drama in life, love and espionage, have a go at 'Moskva kva-kva' ('Moscow ow ow', as translated in English) by Vasily Aksyonov. A somewhat ridiculous spy thriller describing how Tito and Stalin plotted against each other back in the 50s is sprinkled with a proper amount of romance and makes for a good weekend read.







I leave you with a few images of Belgrade in autumn that I love and that make me feel like I'm in Paris . . . Minus the flashy, improperly parked cars, that just scream 'Belgrade baby' ;-)

 

XOXO
Mimi

p.s. edited to add:

 I want the cute rain boots ;-)

Murakami

Love him, hate him, Murakami is one of my favorite writers. I've read almost all of his books, of course translated to English, and the latest 19Q4 in one of the rare excellent Serbian translations. His plot lines and characters are somewhat quaint and sometimes terrifying or overly sentimental as well, but I relish each and every one of them. You get all caught up in the story or remarkable descriptions of scenery and then there are gems like this one:

“Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s what part of it means to be alive. But inside our heads — at least that’s where I imagine it — there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let fresh air in, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live for ever in your own private library.”
 

— Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore