(book) Angelology by Danielle Trussoni

Synopsis

A thrilling epic about an ancient clash reignited in our time--between a hidden society and heaven's darkest creatures

There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. --Genesis 6:5

Sister Evangeline was just a girl when her father entrusted her to the Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration in upstate New York. Now, at twenty-three, her discovery of a 1943 letter from the famous philanthropist Abigail Rockefeller to the late mother superior of Saint Rose Convent plunges Evangeline into a secret history that stretches back a thousand years: an ancient conflict between the Society of Angelologists and the monstrously beautiful descendants of angels and humans, the Nephilim.

For the secrets these letters guard are desperately coveted by the once-powerful Nephilim, who aim to perpetuate war, subvert the good in humanity, and dominate mankind. Generations of angelologists have devoted their lives to stopping them, and their shared mission, which Evangeline has long been destined to join, reaches from her bucolic abbey on the Hudson to the apex of insular wealth in New York, to the Montparnasse cemetery in Paris and the mountains of Bulgaria.

Rich in history, full of mesmerizing characters, and wondrously conceived, Angelology blends biblical lore, the myth of Orpheus and the Miltonic visions of Paradise Lost into a riveting tale of ordinary people engaged in a battle that will determine the fate of the world.

Review

I never expected that this would read like a new Dan Brown novel, nor did I expect reading about angels to be so much fun. What a ride.

The story starts with a wonderful premise, rather simple but actually quite complicated. I agree with other reviews that state the book's too simple for such a complicated topic, but I also think most of the things that cover the ground are discussed quite thoroughly. I do believe there are some edges to be smoothed, but overall the author manages to capture a believable setting and world through altered history.

There are two things I don't like from the book: the excessive details (that can be both beneficial and detrimental to the book), and the main character. Details are lush and rich, I especially love the setting descriptions. It reads like poetry, and often I feel lulled to a sense of looking at beautiful paintings as I read. But they also get lengthy and detailed sometimes, even in dialogue, and it makes me want to skip to the action. Then the main character, Evangeline, is so bland I wish Celestine, Gabriella and Verlaine are the leads. I wish I could understand Evangeline's motivations better. I love it when the narration shifts to Celestine, who's a much, albeit more naive, interesting personality. And Gabriella is superb.

That being said, I enjoy Angelology, would love to see the movie, and also read Angelopolis.

Mo (bagian 3)

Setiap pagi, Mo merebus sebutir telur. Hard boiled, selama kurang lebih sepuluh menit, hingga rangka telur mengeras, diikuti dengan putih telur yang lembut, lalu pusat kuning kemerahan yang lengket itu.

"Aku melakukannya setiap hari, tanpa absen. Kemudian, aku membiarkannya mendingin di panci. Sebelum berangkat, aku mengupas kulitnya pelan-pelan, dan memakannya bulat-bulat."

"Itu aneh, Mo."

Aku berdiri di tengah-tengah dapurnya, menyaksikan gadis alien itu merebus telur kesekiannya. Tiba-tiba rasa penasaran menerpa.

"Itu telur keberapa?"

"Dua ratus tujuh puluh satu," jawabnya mantap, sambil nyengir ke arahku. "Kecuali beberapa yang pecah dan tak termakan pada awalnya. Merebus telur, seperti hidup, butuh pengalaman."

Aku sudah terlalu terbiasa dengan filosofi-filosofi janggalnya, sehingga tak lagi menanggapi.

Apartemen mungilnya terletak di pinggir kota, di sebuah bangunan tua yang tampaknya akan runtuh, tapi ternyata cukup kokoh, dilihat dari plafonnya yang masih padat dan tak bocor di sana-sini, lantainya yang tak berderak seiring dengan pijakan, dan dindingnya yang tebal. Rumah Mo, di sisi lain, adalah sesuatu yang tak terduga.

Sejujurnya, aku tak tahu apa yang kuharapkan. Apakah ruangan studio kecil dengan barang-barang unik dari pasar loak yang melengkapi koleksinya. Entah rumah super bersih yang menunjukkan sisi higienis yang tak terlihat. Aku tak tahu. Sungguh, aku tak dapat menebak Mo.

Tapi, yang kudapati pada pandangan pertama adalah ruangan yang hampir kosong. Telanjang, tanpa karpet rajut warna-warni di atas lantai, tanpa buku-buku yang berserakan, tanpa bantal empuk yang beradu warna di atas sofa kulit usang. Tidak ada aroma makanan maupun wewangian ruangan. Tidak ada bingkai-bingkai foto atau lukisan antik. Tidak ada apa pun di sana.

"Kamu hendak pindah?" Itulah respons pertamaku, yang disambutnya dengan gelengan.

"Aku suka segala sesuatunya sederhana," hanya itu jawabannya.

"Kurasa, kamu cuma takut terlalu terikat pada sesuatu." Atau orang. Atau benda mati. Atau hubungan. Apakah pertemanan kami - jika bisa disebut demikian - juga termasuk dalam ikatan yang dihindarinya?

Dia menatapku, sejurus kemudian tertawa. Mengambil panci, mengisinya dengan air, dan memasukkan sebutir telur berkulit mulus begitu airnya mendidih. "Berhentilah menilai segala sesuatu dari pandangan pertama."

"Tapi biasanya aku benar."

"Mungkin," jawabnya, cryptic.

Dan selanjutnya, kami duduk di tengah-tengah dapur mininya, di atas kursi plastik merah jambu yang tak sesuai dengan meja kuningnya, menikmati sebutir telur rebus yang terlalu matang. Lebih tepatnya, dia yang makan. Aku duduk melingkarkan jemari di sekeliling gelas usang bercap ayam di permukaannya, yang penuh-penuh diisi kopi panas.

"Aku melakukan ini sejak dia meninggalkanku," ujar Mo, mulutnya penuh oleh telur yang belum dikunyah. Ini. Aku menunggu penjelasannya, dan hal itu datang lebih cepat dari perkiraanku. "Dia seorang fotografer. Majalah-majalah internasional. Fauna, flora. Tapi, akhir-akhir ini dia tertarik pada peperangan."

Ah. Fotografer perang, rupanya.

"Akhir tahun lalu, dia sempat menghilang beberapa bulan lamanya. Kukira dia mati, jadi korban perang tak disengaja, apalah. Aku mencoba mencarinya ke sana kemari. Beberapa lama kemudian, fotonya masuk majalah Amerika. Dia memenangkan penghargaan." Mo bangkit, meraih segulung majalah dari dalam sebuah lemari berpintu dua, dan mengempaskannya di atas meja. Majalah itu sudah tergulung-gulung di ujung, seperti sudah lama diteliti dan dilihat. Salah satu fiturnya adalah tentang foto seorang gadis kecil - usianya mungkin tak lebih dari sebelas tahun, dengan baju compang-camping, telanjang kaki, dan tulang belulang yang tampak mencolok dari balik kain yang menyelimuti dirinya. Tatapan matanya hampa. Rambutnya awut-awutan. Mukanya cemong. Dia terlihat seperti anak kucing kelaparan.

Tanpa perlu bertanya, aku menyimpulkan dua hal. Satu, mantan pacar Mo sungguh berbakat. Dia dapat mengambil sudut yang tepat untuk menangkap keputusasaan dalam ekspresi objek fotonya. Kedua, Mo belum mampu melupakannya.

"Malam itu, dia pulang untuk mengambil barang-barangnya. Beberapa buku seni, pakaian lama, hal-hal yang tidak lagi dia butuhkan," sambung Mo, telurnya hampir habis. "Kurasa, dia datang hanya untuk mengucapkan selamat tinggal. Bukan untuk barang-barang itu. Itu hanya alasan." Dia tertawa getir, sesuatu yang tak pernah kudengar keluar dari mulutnya - suara yang aneh, dan kosong.

Kami terdiam. Yang terdengar hanya denting sendokku di bibir cangkir.

"Kau tahu hal bodoh yang masih kulakukan? Merebus telur ini, hari demi hari, hanya karena dia tidak bisa berfungsi tanpa sebutir telur rebus matang setiap paginya. Aku dulu membencinya - harus bangun pagi untuk memasak telur, bergegas ke mini market terdekat kalau stoknya habis, dan mengupas kulitnya satu demi satu, seperti orang tolol saja. Sungguh buang-buang waktu."

Tapi?

"Tapi aku melakukannya setiap hari, bahkan setelah dia pergi. Ini rutinitas, dan lama-lama justru aku yang tak bisa berfungsi tanpa telur rebus sialan ini. Padahal aku membencinya. MEMBENCINYA. Telur berbau tengik yang terlalu keras, terlalu memuakkan. Setiap orang seharusnya memakan telur mereka setengah matang - di situlah letak tantangannya." Dia berceloteh tentang jumlah menit untuk mencapai hasil sempurna - tiga setengah menit - dan taburan garam serta lada, juga tekstur telur yang disukainya. Apa pun kecuali telur matang yang dicintai fotografer itu.

"Mo...."

"Tapi cukup sudah." Dia membanting sendoknya di atas meja, yang terpelanting jatuh ke lantai, tepat di samping kakiku. Bulir-bulir kuning telur berserakan di lantai. Mo bergerak menuju tong sampah, dan dengan satu gerakan cepat, membuang sisa sarapannya ke dalam plastik sampah. Punggungnya berguncang selagi dia membelakangiku, kepalanya naik dan turun dalam gerakan samar seolah sedang menangis. Aku kebingungan di tempat dudukku, tak lagi berniat menyeruput kopi yang juga sudah dingin.

Kemudian, dia berbalik. Di wajahnya terdapat sebuah ekspresi yang sangat bertolak belakang. Damai. Dia tersenyum kepadaku, senyum yang kukenal selama beberapa bulan belakangan.

"Mulai besok, aku akan memasak telur setengah matang."

Belum sempat aku menyadari maksud perkataannya, dia tertawa. "Kau mau melakukannya bersamaku?"

Aku sudah tahu jawabannya selagi aku membalas senyumnya.

"Ya."

**

Behind the Scenes: Film Remember When

Nantikan filmnya bulan Agustus 2014 nanti :-) sementara puas-puasin lihat BTS-nya dulu ya..

Jakarta Book Fair 2014

Kemarin adalah hari yang sangat menyenangkan, bertemu kembali dengan keluarga Gagas dan teman-teman pembaca. Tak lupa berborong buku murah di penjuru area pameran :-)

Pulang membawa senyum, segudang buku, hadiah dari kalian semua, dan kenangan manis.

Terima kasih banyak, semuanya! Sampai ketemu lagi di acara selanjutnya.

Terima kasih kepada Michan selaku MC yang keren, tim Gagas Media: Resita, mas Dimas, mas Em, dan teman-teman yang hadir, juga Fei yang menemani talkshow.

Ini hadiah dari Emily, dan Winnaddict. Thank you Emily for the Melbourne fanart, terima kasih Mudita dan Yovita yang memberikan kejutan khusus :)

(giveaway) 2 buku Remember When & 3 buku Melbourne di Jakarta Book Fair

Dear teman-teman, nggak terasa sudah tiba waktunya untuk Jakarta Book Fair lagi nih. Tahun ini diadakan di Istora Senayan, dari tanggal 23 Mei sampai 1 Juni 2014.

Aku akan hadir di Jakarta Book Fair tanggal 1 Juni 2014 jam 11-12 siang, membicarakan novel, penulisan, adaptasi novel ke film, dan booksigning serta bincang santai dengan pembaca.

Berikut jadwalnya.

Gagas Media juga mau membagikan 2 buku Remember When dan 3 buku Melbourne. Syaratnya, kamu harus bisa mengambil langsung bukunya selama Jakarta Book Fair tersebut, jadi hadiahnya harus diambil langsung.

Caranya?

Cukup pasang kover novel Remember When, atau selfie kamu bersama buku tersebut sebagai avatar socmed seperti Twitter dan Facebook kamu.

Kemudian, posting status tentang kenapa kamu pengin nonton film Remember When. Jangan lupa mention @WinnaEfendi dan hashtag #FilmRemember When

Contoh: Aku pengin nonton #FilmRememberWhen karena penasaran melihat karakter-karakternya di layar lebar. CC: @WinnaEfendi

Mudah, kan?

Giveaway dibuka dari 23 Mei sampai 28 Mei 2014. Mulai besok, setiap hari akan diumumkan 1 pemenang yang akan dikontak via Twitter.

Sampai ketemu di Jakarta Book Fair!

Mo (bagian 2)

Hari itu, kami pergi ke tempat selain kedai buku tua di pinggir jalan.

Hari itu, kami kehujanan.

Mo menyambar tanganku yang terbungkus jaket hitam – jaket lusuh almamaterku, lalu menarikku mengikuti langkahnya yang tergesa. “Cepat!” desisnya, dan sambil menangkupi kepala dengan kedua tangan, kami berdua berlari mencari tempat berteduh.

Padahal, kami bisa saja memasuki kedai buku tua, yang hanya beberapa langkah menuju arah yang berlawanan. Padahal, kami bisa saja berdiri menunggu hujan reda dari balik genting warung yang separuh kosong di tikungan jalan.

Tetapi, Mo membawaku menuju halte bus, dan ketika menemukan satu bus yang kebetulan lewat, tanpa banyak omong ia mengajakku masuk. Kami berdua berdesakan menuju dua kursi kosong di belakang, dan sambil mengibaskan pakaian serta tas yang basah, dia menoleh ke arahku dan tersenyum lebar.

“Kita mau ke mana?”

Dia mengangkat bahu. Ternyata, dia juga tak sempat melihat jurusan yang tertulis di punggung bus. “Bukankah ada sesuatu yang menyenangkan dari bepergian tanpa tahu harus ke mana?”

Antusiasmenya mau tak mau menular padaku, membuat pundakku rileks. Aku menyandarkan badan pada kursi. “Yaah... aku hanya nggak suka perasaan tersesat.” Tersesat di jalan saat sedang mengantar dokumen penting untuk klien, nyasar saat mencari alamat teman lama yang mendadak ingin mengembalikan barang, perasaan kacau yang timbul kala kebingungan. Tersesat dalam hidup adalah pengalaman yang serupa.

“Setiap petualangan hebat dimulai dari tersesat, lho,” sambungnya riang. Dia menawarkan selembar tisu yang sudah hampir seluruhnya basah, namun aku menerimanya tanpa banyak komentar. “Aku menemukan toko buku kita pun karena tersesat.”

Toko buku kita. Aneh, untuk dua orang yang hampir tak saling mengenal, tak berbagi apa pun kecuali sebuah tempat kecil di tepi jalan. Tapi aku menyukai penggunaan kata kita dalam kalimatnya. Rasanya seperti mempunyai rahasia.

“Oh, ya?”

Dia mengangguk. “Aku salah menaiki bus. Dibawa keliling Jakarta. Uang kecilku habis untuk pengamen yang tak henti-hentinya menyanyikan lagu kesukaanku.” Dia terkekeh. “Dan aku berhenti di pinggir jalan itu, nggak sengaja tertarik dengan buku-buku yang dipajang di depan toko. Buku pertama yang kubeli di sana adalah The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Judulnya aneh, untuk buku yang aneh juga.”

Semua ini aneh, aku ingin menambahkan.

“Mo?”

“Ya?” Dia menjawab tanpa menoleh, asyik menatap guliran gerimis di permukaan kaca jendela yang kotor.

“Kamu pernah merasa sedih?” Sedih yang benar-benar sedih, seperti ditonjok dan kaurasakan pukulan itu sampai ke ulu hati. Rasa yang tak kunjung punah, berlama-lama sampai kau terbiasa hidup dengan pahit itu.

Dia malah tertawa, mengkontradiksi jawabannya sendiri. “Tentu saja pernah.”

“Benar?”

Seseorang pernah berkata padaku, ia membenci orang-orang yang selalu tampak bahagia. Orang-orang yang selalu berkata, semuanya akan baik-baik saja! Jangan khawatir! Teruslah berharap! Menurutnya, orang-orang itu hipokrit. Mengapa harus tertawa saat merasakan sakit? Mengapa tidak melengos, membuang muka, memasang tampang kesal, seperti seharusnya?

Saat itu, aku tak punya jawabannya.

Tapi Mo punya.

Dia kini termenung, memainkan ujung jemarinya pada kiasan embun, membentuk uliran yang tak kupahami. Lama dia melakukannya, sampai bus tiba-tiba berhenti dan sopirnya memaki dengan kata-kata kotor.

“Sedih itu ya, sama saja seperti perasaan yang lain. Lama atau tidaknya ia tinggal, tergantung pilihan kita.”

Aku menoleh, menatapnya yang kini sibuk mendekap tas di pangkuannya erat-erat dengan pandangan menerawang.

“Sedih buat setiap orang juga beda-beda, iya kan? Sedih versiku adalah menenggelamkan diri dalam film komedi demi film komedi, bukannya tertawa malah tersedu-sedu. Makan mi instan berhari-hari, hidup dalam timbunan sampah karena terlalu malas untuk bergerak. Tapi lalu ada jenis-jenis sedih yang lain. Jenis sedih yang muncul saat melewati padang bunga matahari, begitu indahnya sampai terharu, tapi ada sebersit sedih di balik bahagia itu. Melihat pelangi pertama sehabis hujan berkepanjangan di bulan Desember, tapi berharap dapat berbaginya dengan seseorang yang tidak ada di sana. Tertidur nyenyak setelah seharian bekerja keras, tapi terbangun dan merasa ada sesuatu yang hilang. Begitu setiap hari, kebahagiaan yang bercampur dengan rasa itu, apa pun yang kauperbuat.”

Aku termenung, memikirkan jawabannya. Mungkin aku salah. Mungkin dia mengerti – hanya saja, jenis kesedihan yang lain.

“Kamu sendiri, pasti punya kesedihanmu sendiri, bukan?” Dia bertanya dengan kerlingan penuh pengertian dalam binar matanya.

Untuk sesaat, yang dapat kulakukan hanya menatapnya, hati-hati agar wajahku tak menampakkan emosi apa pun, namun kutahu usaha itu gagal tanpa ampun. Mo sepertinya dapat memahami setiap pikiran yang terbersit, karena senyumnya memudar, dan di dalam bus itu, di dua tempat duduk di sudut, di tengah hujan dan pikiran kami sendiri, dia menyentuh tanganku.

Sejurus kemudian, mendadak bus berhenti dan kenek meneriakkan nama perhentian terakhir, dan momen itu lepas begitu saja.

**

(book) Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt

Synopsis:

In this striking literary debut, Carol Rifka Brunt unfolds a moving story of love, grief, and renewal as two lonely people become the unlikeliest of friends and find that sometimes you don't know you've lost someone until you've found them.

1987. There's only one person who has ever truly understood fourteen-year-old June Elbus, and that's her uncle, the renowned painter Finn Weiss. Shy at school and distant from her older sister, June can only be herself in Finn's company; he is her godfather, confidant, and best friend. So when he dies, far too young, of a mysterious illness her mother can barely speak about, June's world is turned upside down. But Finn's death brings a surprise acquaintance into June's life--someone who will help her to heal, and to question what she thinks she knows about Finn, her family, and even her own heart.

At Finn's funeral, June notices a strange man lingering just beyond the crowd. A few days later, she receives a package in the mail. Inside is a beautiful teapot she recognizes from Finn's apartment, and a note from Toby, the stranger, asking for an opportunity to meet. As the two begin to spend time together, June realizes she's not the only one who misses Finn, and if she can bring herself to trust this unexpected friend, he just might be the one she needs the most. 

An emotionally charged coming-of-age novel, "Tell the Wolves I'm Home" is a tender story of love lost and found, an unforgettable portrait of the way compassion can make us whole again.

Review:

I haven't had the pleasure of reading a book that's this emotional and raw for such a long time. After the pages closed, all I wanted to do was bask in silence and let the tears flow. It was expected that I'd encounter a sad story about death, what I did not expect was how much I'd love the story, and how heartbreaking it all was.

I love all the characters. I like being in June's shoes, seeing everything through her eyes, feel the raw emotions she does, and loves as much as she does. I get to know Finn through her understanding, grow fond of Toby just as she does, and never feels like I know more than she does, just flowing in her pace. I like that the feelings are all honestly told - the good, the bad, even those demons within our hearts that we often hide away just so people won't know how horrible we can be.

Even though some characters - Greta, Danni, are at first exasperating, I'm glad I get to know their stories, and that they react in a humane way, and that makes me understand.

There are pages that make me teary-eyed or smile, because they're that kind of stories; the wonderful, the bittersweet, a story about love in the purest sense of wanting the other to be happy, a story about family, getting lost, getting found, and the discoveries along the way. It's about secrets, but it's also about setting them free. It's about acceptance and friendship and memories and art and finding ourselves.

I love everything about this book. It can get slow and choppy at times but I accept that as how the author wanted to construct this book, and possibly how her style really is. It's definitely a beautiful debut, and I look forward to more of Carol Rifka Brunt's books.

Five stars out of five.

(book) The Ghost Bride by Yangsze Choo

Synopsis

"One evening, my father asked me if I would like to become a ghost bride..."

Though ruled by British overlords, the Chinese of colonial Malaya still cling to ancient customs. And in the sleepy port town of Malacca, ghosts and superstitions abound.

Li Lan, the daughter of a genteel but bankrupt family, has few prospects. But fate intervenes when she receives an unusual proposal from the wealthy and powerful Lim family. They want her to become a ghost bride for the family's only son, who recently died under mysterious circumstances. Rarely practiced, a traditional ghost marriage is used to placate a restless spirit. Such a union would guarantee Li Lan a home for the rest of her days, but at a terrible price.

After an ominous visit to the opulent Lim mansion, Li Lan finds herself haunted not only by her ghostly would-be suitor, but also by her desire for the Lim's handsome new heir, Tian Bai. Night after night, she is drawn into the shadowy parallel world of the Chinese afterlife, with its ghost cities, paper funeral offerings, vengeful spirits and monstrous bureaucracy—including the mysterious Er Lang, a charming but unpredictable guardian spirit. Li Lan must uncover the Lim family's darkest secrets—and the truth about her own family—before she is trapped in this ghostly world forever.

Review

I was intrigued by the interesting premise. Having spent part of my childhood in Malaysia, and visited Malacca a few times, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of familiarity I felt as I read the book.

The myth and the air of mystery were also a surprise to me. I wasn't expecting such an elaborate journey on the main character's part, thinking it would just be a mysterious story about a wedding with a ghost. But then Li Lan, the main character, got swept away in the afterworld, met a few wonderful and repulsive characters, and in essence, it was an adventure I loved to tag along on.

Story wise, it was full of elements of surprise. The pacing was not that fast, exacerbated by the fact that it was full of historical facts and descriptions. Long passages and narration after narration got boring sometimes, but I soldiered on and it was worth it.

The romance took a back seat, but I was so glad to see it resurface near the ending, unexpectedly at that. The characters were flawed and vivid to the point that they portrayed what humanity was, and even the antagonists did make me shiver. When Lim Tian Ching first haunted Li Lan's dreams, I was afraid for her as well for myself - for it was in essence, a ghost story, and I was bracing for scary stories.

Li Lan was a heroine I loved to root for. At the beginning she was spoiled and selfish, but as the story progressed, I found out how resourceful she was, witty and stubborn. She was also pretty - something I was not expecting because she was not described as so, but then it coincided with the fact that she did not consider herself beautiful. This was a nice example of showing rather than telling; the author showed us how smart she was, and how attractive, instead of describing it in irrelevant details. The rest of the descriptions were vivid, and helped set the setting nicely.

In the end, I did not want this story to end. I reread some parts I loved, and would like a sequel although that does not seem possible at the moment

Commercial vs High Fashion

The countless hours spent watching rerun after rerun of modelling reality programs such as America's Next Top Model, the Face and Supermodel Me means I get to not only distinguish between a good makeover and a bad one, the importance of a portfolio, the need for your eyes to communicate as well as the flow and connection of your whole body and face, and also the difference between a commercial and a high fashion model.

In the programs, girls are always quickly divided and labeled into 'commercial models', whose looks are common and conventionally beautiful enough to book jobs for commercial advertisements and magazines, and those who fall into the category of 'high fashion models', who have a striking look and certain quirkiness to themselves that attribute them to high-end fashion magazines such as Vogue. The latter are the models that walk through the runways of high-end brands, those whose looks are unforgettable and have the traits of a future supermodel. You will see commercial models on buses, when you flip through a teen magazine, or have them featured in a beauty how-to editorial segment online. They will model clothes for your local mall, clad in the brands they represent - be it jeans, daily cosmetics, anti-acne products.

But the high fashion models are the ones you will remember. They will pose in unnatural angles and have their make up done in such a way that screams unconventional, but everyone of great power in the fashion industry will love it. They will strut down Fashion Week runways in see-through couture dresses, wearing nude make ups or looking as though they've just stepped out of bed, but so, so gorgeous. They are the faces you will see and think inwardly, oh, she's not that pretty, but there's something about her...

I've begun to think that this applies to writing as well.

There are the so-called commercial writers, and high fashion writers. The former can easily have bestsellers in modest to good quantities, publish more books than we think possible, and attend seminars, be in public workshops or talk-show, and have their faces in the interview segments of most magazines. Their success is wow-inducing, based on the amount of books in a specific genre that resonates with its target readers, and might even have a cult following who won't miss a single book once it hits the shelves. Their books have hits and lows - some are great to cuddle in bed with or you can't take your eyes off it during a holiday break, some are snoozers that you only read because you used to like the author.

Then there's another type of writer entirely. The literary prize winner. The one whose debut shoots up straight to the bestselling charts, where it stays for weeks, possibly months. The writing style is genius. The idea is mind-blowing. Awards after awards swoop in and carry the author's name to become a household name. Every home must have that book on their shelves. Movie producers are making deals one after another for that book, along with a string of equally famous actors to represent the adaptations. The author that makes you think, she definitely writes flawlessly, as if it took her no effort at all, though we all know it's not true... but I'm just so in awe! (and so jealous).

Deep down, I do think that is true.

I also believe that while 'high fashion' writers are born out of sheer talent (as well as hard work), it takes a genius and a rare gem of a talent to achieve that. While 'commercial' writers probably possess more luck, find a niche, or simply work harder than everyone else, and do enjoy quite a nice amount of success, often being a 'high fashion' writer is more desirable. I certainly wish I am one, though I am grateful to be where I am :)

It might take ages and lots of hard work to be that, but I also believe it is entirely possible.

It can also be that my musings are wholeheartedly wrong. After all, every writer is unique.

But deep down, I close my eyes and imagine the quirky girl on the Vogue cover, and smile.

Photo taken from ashleeholmes.buzznet.com

(book) Garden of Stones by Sophie Littlefield

Synopis:

In the dark days of war, a mother makes the ultimate sacrifice.

Lucy Takeda is just fourteen years old, living in Los Angeles, when the bombs rain down on Pearl Harbor. Within weeks, she and her mother, Miyako, are ripped from their home, rounded up-along with thousands of other innocent Japanese-Americans-and taken to the Manzanar prison camp. 

Buffeted by blistering heat and choking dust, Lucy and Miyako must endure the harsh living conditions of the camp. Corruption and abuse creep into every corner of Manzanar, eventually ensnaring beautiful, vulnerable Miyako. Ruined and unwilling to surrender her daughter to the same fate, Miyako soon breaks. Her final act of desperation will stay with Lucy forever...and spur her to sins of her own. 

Bestselling author Sophie Littlefield weaves a powerful tale of stolen innocence and survival that echoes through generations, reverberating between mothers and daughters. It is a moving chronicle of injustice, triumph and the unspeakable acts we commit in the name of love. 

Review:

I've never read anything written by Sophie Littlefield, but was intrigued by the story and rave reviews it's getting, so I decided to buy the book. I've always been drawn to war stories, especially victims of enslavement and concentration camps. It is also my first time knowing and reading about the Japanese eviction from their homes post-Pearl Harbour bombing, and there is something very tragic about leaving the only home you've ever known.

The story starts with Reg, who's bland and uninteresting, until the next chapter proves otherwise. I'm not a fan of flashbacks interwoven with the current present because I usually find the flashbacks more satisfying. This reminds me of Jodi Picoult's the Storyteller. But then I keep going, and am enthralled by Miyako and Lucy's world, how it begins and how it falls apart.

Sophie Littlefield's description is so vivid I can imagine what she's writing. Even though some descriptions are overdone that I want to skip them, they do help in building the setting and momentum. I can feel myself walking beside Lucy, or be in her shoes. The best and worst part is the explanation of the latrine in their new shelter - it makes me cringe and want to turn away just by reading the passages. She's that good, and that's one pleasure I take from reading this book.

The characters are flawed, often excessively so, and the author makes no excuses for what they do or why. I especially find Lucy's change a little jarring, if not excusable, but so far she's my favorite character in the book. The rest can be horrifying, but they're also facing their own demons, scarred in their own ways. I don't need to accept them, I just have to understand them.

The book makes me feel so many different emotions at once. The first two thirds of the book is amazing, and pages just flow by despite early hesitation. The last part is a little slow, and I almost lose interest after the climax, but I barrel through. There are twists at the end that I appreciate and do not see coming, but overall, although it tells a harrowing journey splendidly, I wish it's packed more punch. I'm not sure what's missing, but I lose my ability to connect with Lucy or any of the other characters as the story progresses.

However, I'll still recommend this book - it's quite amazing.