He first came to the Iris one day just before the beginning of the summer season.
I was really excited when I received Hotel Iris from Picador in the mail. I hadn’t requested it, but because I loved The Housekeeper and the Professor so much last year, I knew I would want to read this one. The problem was, though, that I didn’t know what it was about. It has a very different ‘love story’ — one that didn’t appeal to me at all.
Mari is a seventeen year old girl working at the front desk of her mother’s hotel when she meets a middle aged man whose voice and manner intrigue her. As they get to know each other, it leads to a sexual relationship involving SM. It wasn’t extremely graphic, but still just not my cup of tea nonetheless.
I still enjoy Ogawa’s writing style and the translation was great, but I just didn’t like the subject matter so unfortunately I was extremely disappointed. However, I’d still read another Ogawa novel — I just would learn more about the storyline first.
“Listen well, my dear, listen well! The sinner, which I am and which you are, is a sinner, but in times to come he will be Brahma again, he will reach the Nirvana, will be Buddha—and now see: these ‘times to come’ are a deception, are only a parable! The sinner is not on his way to become a Buddha, he is not in the process of developing, though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things. No, within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha, his future is already all there, you have to worship in him, in you, in everyone the Buddha which is coming into being, the possible, the hidden Buddha. The world, my friend Govinda, is not imperfect, or on a slow path towards perfection: no, it is perfect in every moment, all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself, all small children already have the old person in themselves, all infants already have death, all dying people the eternal life. It is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path; in the robber and dice-gambler, the Buddha is waiting; in the Brahman, the robber is waiting. In deep meditation, there is the possibility to put time out of existence, to see all life which was, is, and will be as if it was simultaneous, and there everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman. Therefore, I see whatever exists as good, death is to me like life, sin like holiness, wisdom like foolishness, everything has to be as it is, everything only requires my consent, only my willingness, my loving agreement, to be good for me, to do nothing but work for my benefit, to be unable to ever harm me. I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin very much, I needed lust, the desire for possessions, vanity, and needed the most shameful despair, in order to learn how to give up all resistance, in order to learn how to love the world, in order to stop comparing it to some world I wished, I imagined, some kind of perfection I had made up, but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it.—These, oh Govinda, are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind.”
Ummm, no. I’m afraid I can’t quite agree with this philosophy. However, I am always glad I’ve read books like this so I can be knowledgeable about the ideas they espouse. I’ve long wanted to read more by German authors so that was a plus as well. In addition, I can also count it for the 1001 list. So although I did not care for the philosophy of the book, it did meet several of my goals.
When Cat returns home after a 10 year absence because of her mother’s suicide, this is the note she finds. There are several possible ‘he’s’ in Cat’s life that this note could refer to, so we are kept guessing until near the end who her mother means. As she stays for her mother’s funeral, several ghosts from her past come back to haunt her. Domestic violence and alcoholism are prominent themes in the book.
I didn’t really care for this one. There seemed to me to be some plot holes in the story, or at least some unexplained events. For instance, Cat had an extremely happy childhood until age 5 or 6, but we are never told why at age 7 everything changed. She remembers her parents as loving before that time, but definitely not afterwards. Also, I had a hard time believing that the older Jared was so beloved by both of Cat’s parents. The circumstances between he and the rest of the family didn’t seem to warrant this. I just didn’t understand it. I also wanted to feel more sorry for Cat than I did, and normally I would for a character that has suffered such tragic events. I wonder if I would have felt more sympathy for Cat if the book had been written in 3rd person instead of 1st. Her voice seemed to ‘tell and not ‘show’ throughout the book. Third person narration may have been able to correct this. For instance, although I know alcoholism was one of the themes of the book, it just got irritating to hear something to the effect of ”I need a drink’ on every other page when 3rd person narration could have shown her alcoholic side a little better. These are just my own thoughts, though. Several people on librarything and Amazon have loved the book, so be sure to check out their reviews for a balanced opinion.
I will keep this review short because I just didn’t like this book. At all. This book was just not my cup of tea. Plainly put, it was quite vulgar and crass and just not at all what I want in my reading. I’m not necessarily sorry that I read it, though, as I do have a commitment to reading all of the Pulitzers. I just wish the committee had chosen a different book.
There was a section in the middle that was quite interesting about the brutal reign of Trujillo in the Dominican Republic. If not for that section, the book would have only received a 1 star rating. It did have quite a few literary references that were somewhat enjoyable as well, but no, that does not make up for the rest of it I did not enjoy. I am just glad that I can now mark this one off my tbr list.
(By the way, the finalists in 2008 were Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson and Shakespeare’s Kitchen by Lore Segal. If you’ve read Oscar and one or both of the finalists, how did they compare?)
2007, 339 pp.
[Disclaimer: This copy was obtained from my public library.]
Do you always read what you know you will like, or do you sometimes try to stretch yourself to see ‘what’s out there’? I go in cycles. Sometimes I have no patience for something that doesn’t fit my personality, and other times I do like to be exposed to books or other art that is far from my own personal norm.
Skim is not something I probably would have picked up if not for the Canadian Challenge or the Graphic Novel Challenge. It was also a quick read. While I very much sympathize with the typical teenage angst in the book, with themes of suicide, w*tchcr*ft, and hom*s*xual*ty, Skim just wasn’t for me. I do give the author credit, though, for writing the characters in such a way that the reader does feel their emotional pain. That alone, though, just wasn’t enough for me to enjoy the book.
Ugh. I thought this was about a teen boy surfing in Australia. I wanted it to be about a teen boy surfing in Australia. And it was, for about 150 pages, then it goes off into a weird and extreme area that I will not mention here. I feel ripped off because I enjoyed the first 3/4 of the book, but then to have to be subjected to…blech.
Pikelet and Loonie are two teenage boys obsessed with surfing. They meet up with Sando, a guy in his mid 30′s who coaches them in the sport and sometimes encourages them to go a little too far with it. Sando’s wife, Eva, was an extreme skier but now has a blown knee. Consequently, she’s bitter because her husband still gets to do what he loves and because he’s not spending any time with her. Breath is about pushing everything in life to the extreme to see how far one can go.
I’m giving it 2 stars because Tim Winton is a good writer and I enjoyed all but the last fourth (which totally ruined the whole thing for me.)
Here’s an example of a passage I did enjoy:
I will always remember my first wave that morning. The smells of paraffin wax and brine and peppy scrub. The way the swell rose beneath me like a body drawing in air. How the wave drew me forward and I sprang to my feet, skating with the wind of momentum in my ears. I leant across the wall of upstanding water and the board came with me as though it was part of my body and mind. The blur of spray. The billion shards of light. I remember the solitary watching figure on the beach and the flash of Loonie’s smile as I flew by; I was intoxicated. And though I’ve lived to be an old man with my own share of happiness for all the mess I made, I still judge every joyous moment, every victory and revelation against those few seconds of living.
"For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their prayer. But the face of the Lord is against those who do evil." Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good? (1 Peter 3:12-13, ESV)
“Listen well, my dear, listen well! The sinner, which I am and which you are, is a sinner, but in times to come he will be Brahma again, he will reach the Nirvana, will be Buddha—and now see: these ‘times to come’ are a deception, are only a parable! The sinner is not on his way to become a Buddha, he is not in the process of developing, though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things. No, within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha, his future is already all there, you have to worship in him, in you, in everyone the Buddha which is coming into being, the possible, the hidden Buddha. The world, my friend Govinda, is not imperfect, or on a slow path towards perfection: no, it is perfect in every moment, all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself, all small children already have the old person in themselves, all infants already have death, all dying people the eternal life. It is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path; in the robber and dice-gambler, the Buddha is waiting; in the Brahman, the robber is waiting. In deep meditation, there is the possibility to put time out of existence, to see all life which was, is, and will be as if it was simultaneous, and there everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman. Therefore, I see whatever exists as good, death is to me like life, sin like holiness, wisdom like foolishness, everything has to be as it is, everything only requires my consent, only my willingness, my loving agreement, to be good for me, to do nothing but work for my benefit, to be unable to ever harm me. I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin very much, I needed lust, the desire for possessions, vanity, and needed the most shameful despair, in order to learn how to give up all resistance, in order to learn how to love the world, in order to stop comparing it to some world I wished, I imagined, some kind of perfection I had made up, but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it.—These, oh Govinda, are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind.”
Cat,
I will keep this review short because I just didn’t like this book. At all. This book was just not my cup of tea. Plainly put, it was quite vulgar and crass and just not at all what I want in my reading. I’m not necessarily sorry that I read it, though, as I do have a commitment to reading all of the Pulitzers. I just wish the committee had chosen a different book.
Do you always read what you know you will like, or do you sometimes try to stretch yourself to see ‘what’s out there’? I go in cycles. Sometimes I have no patience for something that doesn’t fit my personality, and other times I do like to be exposed to books or other art that is far from my own personal norm.
Ugh. I thought this was about a teen boy surfing in Australia. I wanted it to be about a teen boy surfing in Australia. And it was, for about 150 pages, then it goes off into a weird and extreme area that I will not mention here. I feel ripped off because I enjoyed the first 3/4 of the book, but then to have to be subjected to…blech.
