Chelsey Cosh's Blog: From Mind to Mouth, page 2

Do this. Don't do that. Can't you read the sign?

I'm a bit of an idiot. I decided to possibly add a fifth resolution to my already-a-bit-too-large list of New Year's resolutions. I was going to foolishly attempt a new fitness goal.

I am not in bad shape at all. I would argue I am in quite good shape. I do, however, have very little upper body strength and thought I may have more than my fair share of "arm days" as I think the gym speak goes. So I did some pathetically adjusted push-ups and planks. And I felt a bit exhausted, but all well and good.

And then, the next morning, I was in traction. I'm being a bit melodramatic, sure, but I could barely move them. It seriously hindered my working day. I kept a stiff upper lip about it, but right then, I threw that idea out of the window.

You see, I do high intensity interval training, so I can typically handle that whole "no pain, no gain" mantra. But this was something akin to trauma. So, no more of that business. Nuh-uh. Unsubscribe.

I know I'm like a dog with a bone, so I may still periodically have a crack at it, perhaps the day before a civic holiday so that I can lounge it off. But the reality is that a concentrated form of that level of arm routine daily is just not feasible right now. I'll have to forgo being Michelle Obama's body double for a little while longer.

Besides, I have some other things to focus on.

Resolution #1: Reach 65% fluency in French, Spanish, German, Italian, and Russian

I am pretty proud of myself. I can see my goal of 65% fluency peeking around the corner and waving at me. And look at that! It's wearing a beret. Yes, this month, I went from 48% to 54% fluency in the language of Madeline and Miss Clavel. My Spanish jumped even higher -- a whole seven percent! -- to leave me at 49% fluency. That's almost half! My Italian went up one to 18% and I learned another level of Russian, leaving me at 5 out of the 78. And my German held steady at 30%. How do you eat an elephant, my friends? One bite at a time.

And I've also veered a bit off course, in all honesty. I've caught some episodes of Signing Time, a children's program meant to teach toddlers and pre-schoolers how to sign. As in, American Sign Language. And I've been picking it up for some time now through other sources with roughly two years of ongoing practice, at least weekly if not more frequently. I now have a partner with which to practice this language. And make no mistake -- it is a language all its own, with its own rules for grammar, tenses, syntax, and the like. Every new "sign" I learn feels like a massive enrichment, possibly because of the frequency in which I use it. So, yes, add ASL to that yawningly long list of languages I'm gaining fluency in, but please, oh, please, don't set any goals. I'm following my own pace with this one.

Resolution #2: Raise guitar proficiency by at least 25% on six songs

I did practice, but I think I've hit a wall. Maybe it's the wall of sound? Frankly, I don't even know what that is, so that just might be the wall I've hit. I don't even know where I'm going wrong. I can feel "My Girl" getting easier to play, but the scores are not reflecting this change. "American Girl" also felt a little simpler until I learned some more notes, but still the scores showed a 1.5% increase in mastery. That's it. One point stinking five percent. Whoop-dee-doo. My goal is 55.8% for this particular song, so it's hard to not be defeatist. Not to betray the metaphor I lovingly conjured earlier, but this elephant here has a particularly fat ass.

Resolution #3: Clear my backlog of unwatched films and TV boxsets

I must declare it family sitcom month because, boy, did I fly through a few seasons of those. First, my husband and I finished off Mike and Molly, which petered out not with barely a rumble. For a show that started about two overweight people finding love and working through their issues together, I did notice the series diminish itself to merely a husband-and-wife-bickering motif more than a few times. The end was a quick wrap-up, certainly, with a shorter episode run than previous seasons. Oh, well. If nothing else, I can scratch it off my list.

My husband (then-boyfriend) bought me the first two seasons of The Middle because I raved about this one episode in which the family's slacker teenage son is tasked with taking care of a robotic baby for parenting class for a week and does an expectedly piss-poor job of it. But the lengths he goes to allegedly to sooth the baby is what made me laugh. And it still does today.

Anyway, I had those two seasons for an eternity. Really, four more seasons came out in the span of time from the lovely gift-giving gesture to me actually watching it. My husband joined me on the couch and, against all odds and protesting remarks that he won't like this show because it's got Patricia Heaton in it and he didn't like the yelling back and forth like they did on Raymond (another show he allegedly suffered through), he actually took to The Middle. He sees himself in Mike, the husband character, on the show. And I'm starting to see myself in Frankie.

This is a common theme I've noticed. At what point do we watch shows and movies and stop relating to the younger, hipper ones and realize we're the boring, middle-aged fogies? I'm not middle-aged yet, not for a stretch. I'm not even being delusional about this -- it's really math. But I've noticed that, with time, I rewatch those things I love and realize that I'm not so much Ferris Bueller as his parents or Molly Ringwald's parents or even the janitor and principal (ugh) in The Breakfast Club. Well, maybe not all that. But with sitcoms especially, I notice this phenomenon. I watched that debut season of Home Improvement this month, too. Instead of relating to Brad, Randy, or Mark, the ones whom I am closest to age with, being a child just on the later years of the cusp where the eighties met the nineties, I relate to Jill, Al, Wilson, and sometimes Tim. But when did this happen? This was not always the way. Is this the sign of growing up? And how did it happen so suddenly? It feels like an about-face, almost as if I unknowingly compromised my values. I wonder if everyone feels this way or if I'm just some crazy, sitcom-loving coot. Six of one, half a dozen of another.

Alas, that was all in terms of sitcoms for the month. In more of the dramatic territory, I watched a movie called Manchester By The Sea, which is only redeemed by Michelle Williams. As all painfully mediocre things are: My Week with Marilyn, Dawson's Creek (her and Grams made it all bearable), Oz the Great and Powerful, Dick, Halloween H20 (I'd argue that one was a touch worse than mediocre) . . .

I really can't fathom Casey Affleck's Oscar win. His performance was better in so many other things. The character that was written for him is a big part about a man who is suffering major loss that he never quite got over and being foisted into a position where he essentially has to return to the scene and face it all over again. It's a good part, no question, but it would have been so much better conveyed in more capable hands. What Casey emoted, what gave Casey gave, what Casey imbued the role with was nothing. It was a mumbling disaster; his facial expression remained relatively neutral and he burned just above zero calories. At least Michelle Williams seemed to care and, you know, realize she was acting in a movie. She put the effort in and it shows, but not in a giving too much of herself way. She put exactly in what was needed to get across what was written down on paper. And I appreciate that. I haven't much else to say about Manchester By The Sea other than it was not for me.

Oh, and dramatic television series! I almost forgot. I've tried rather desperately to get Hubby Dearest to watch Grey's Anatomy with me. It only took two years short of a decade, but I got him to watch the second episode. Of the entire series. The other day. First, I had him rewatch the pilot because, my goodness, it's been eight years. It's time for a refresher.

His main gripe back then was that he couldn't handle the gruesomeness and viscera of surgery, which is commonplace in a show set in a hospital that isn't Scrubs. And yet he didn't cringe when it happened this time. In fact, he didn't seem to notice it at all. With age and Game of Thrones, we all gain the stomach for the ol' scalpel play. But still, I think it's going to take another eight years to get him to watch the third episode. I swear he'll like it; I'm not trying to exercise some sort of mind control, maniacially pinning his eyelids open like that dude in A Clockwork Orange.

I genuinely believe he will enjoy the characters in this show and their respective arcs of development. I know how fond he is of Christina Ricci and think he will love the two-part bomb episode, too. Still, I think he has an aversion to all things Shonda Rimes. He finds the adoration of Olivia Pope laughable on Scandal; no, really, he has literally laughed at it. Speaking of which, I'm behind on Scandal; I haven't seen an episode since that pesky midseason finale. Hold on, Netflix, Mama's coming.

Resolution #4: The 2017 Super-Mega-Ultra-Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie Chelsey Cosh Reading Challenge™!

This month, I was spoiled. I had so many options, so many books to read, such a variety to choose from, that I could not settle on one and just get through it.

I'm chomping at the bit to read Bryan Cranston's memoir. I'm dying to know more about what happens in After You, the sequel to the freaking amazing novel Me Before You (please read the book and don't bother with the film; I'm not being a purist so much as I'm trying to save you from ruining a good thing). I've read a couple of Gordon Pape's finance books. But most importantly, I took a chance on something suggested for me on Goodreads: Jennifer Wright's It Ended Badly .

As the subtitle suggests, the novels move forward through history's worst romantic dissolutions, starting with the Romans and ending with Elizabeth Taylor's love triangle. The book is great, humourous and informative and just plain fun. I love it. And my husband who is quite taken with Anne Boleyn -- and has been for some time -- loved her chapter, along with the rest. It's a fascinating look at romance through the ages. History is many times not fun or funny, but looking at it through Jennifer's scope adds a touch of the droll.

This book fits none of the prompts for my reading challenge. So you can see the massive efforts I have made in rectifying that.

I read one for my reading challenge. One.

But I don't care. Reading is supposed to be fun and I don't give a hoot if it doesn't fit some prescribed list. This month, I deviated and I deviated badly. What of it?

Now you may be asking, what was the book you got through? I read Brokeback Mountain. I mostly focused on it because it was unbelievably short. Like, under fifty pages. Yes, I knew if I was going to make any short of breakthrough this month, I was going to have to drop that bar and aim low. Real low. Forty-four-pages low. But, boy, Annie Proulx can capture so much in so few words.

A beautiful and understated story, Brokeback Mountain is a great novella, no question. I saw the film first, which is a big no-no, forever altering my personal perception of the characters, the locations, the tone, and even the plot. The film was so moving. It touched my heart and soul deeply the first time I saw it and continues to with every viewing, deep enough that it's difficult to forget what I've seen and reimagine it all to appreciate Annie Proulx's source material.

Still, her writing is meaningful and her heart is pure. You can feel the nature around her characters, which I feel is a big part of her writing -- you know, the details of the trees blowing in the wind, the type of tree it was, and so forth. You also feel the nature of her characters, which I think is probably equally significant to her, especially in this case, and that is not to be ignored. Although I may not read this book again, I don't regret it for a second, and considering its brevity, I do recommend everyone give it a shot. You're not going to walk away from it unchanged.

So, despite that, what remains after that crappy showing, Chelsey?

Hmm? What does your book-reading struggle hold for you? As you can imagine, a heck of a lot.

#1. A memoir published last year: The Princess Diarist, by Carrie Fisher

#2. A memoir published this year

#3. A book about or set in Scandinavia

#4. A book about or set in Australia

#5. A Black Quill Award winner

#6. A book about a mother-son relationship

#7. A Goodreads choice award winner

#8. A sequel to a book you loved

#9. A screenplay: When Harry Met Sally, by Nora Ephron

#10. A classic work of gay literature: Brokeback Mountain, by Annie Proulx

#11. A winner of an Edgar Award: The Grown-Up, by Gillian Flynn

#12. A book most people read in high school but you did not

#13. A work of Gothic horror

#14. A play written by Shakespeare

#15. A play not written by Shakespeare

#16. A book of essays

#17. A book based on a blog: Hyperbole and a Half, by Allie Brosh

#18. A book written about the future, but that future is now our past

#19. A graphic novel

#20. A classic romance novel

#21. A book with a transgender protagonist: Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides

#22. A book written by a woman of colour

#23. A book about a murder

#24. A banned book

#25. A book about science

I'll do better, my liege.

Until next time, happy reading!

I Made It Through The Wilderness

What a month. Let's get down to it.

Resolution #1: Reach 65% fluency in French, Spanish, German, Italian, and Russian

I don't know what to tell you. I put in the work, but French and Italian did not budge. Spanish moved one measly percent up; I am now 42% fluent. I learned a full level of Russian, so I'm sitting at 4 out of the 78 levels. Somehow German dropped to 30% -- a whole percent. Oh, whatever.

Resolution #2: Raise guitar proficiency by at least 25% on six songs

Ditto.

Resolution #3: Clear my backlog of unwatched films and TV boxsets

I did stray, as per usual, and borrow some stuff to watch, like the fifth season of Girls, which I enjoyed. Shosh has gotten so professional and Jessa seems to be trying now, at least, putting her best foot forward and getting her act together, which is more than you can say for Marnie and Hannah. I honestly think Hannah is a total mess and Marnie is a manipulative pain in the backside. But they also pose most of the conflict because they are equal parts neuroses and diva behaviour.

I also went from watching the dark comedy Nurse Jackie to the situational comedy Mom. In other words, more addicts overcoming their disease. (And in some cases, succumbing to it.)

In the third season of Mom, Christy is studying law and making something of herself, which is awesome. However, I do miss the close-knit family she had back in season one. For a moment or two, I longed for Violet to be in the show more, to reemerge from the shadowy margins, mentioned but not seen. And then I got my wish. And then I remembered all the whining and petulant behaviour and screaming and entitlement and selfishness. That's Violet. Distance made my heart grow fonder, but then I got a rude reality check when she entered from stage right.

And I watched Arrival. I can see why some people don't like it. It's much more slowly paced than, say, Alien, E.T., Transformers, or Independence Day, which I imagine are the alien sci-fi flicks that most people base their attitudes upon. No, this is a thinky film. It's about linguistics. I sense I've lost half of you. Okay, for those who remain, the alien language that Amy Adams is trying to interpret actually leads to a heck of a lot of symbolism in Arrival. Wait! Guys, symbolism can be fun! It adds layers of meaning and complexity! Oh, fine. Well, I liked it.

Anyway, I got back to the task at hand. I needed to watch stuff in my collection. So, first off, I watched The Parent Trap, the remake with Lindsay Lohan, which I grew up watching about three times a day. I loved that movie. No, scratch that. I still love that movie. I was always more of an Annie James than a Hallie Parker. I would be more inclined to have a packing checklist and a secret handshake with my butler than pierced ears and painted fingernails. My hair was always long, too, which physically puts me more along the lines of Annie. And I have English heritage and the accompanying British accent. And I even wore my hair in a perpetual braid for about the first decade of my life. But that's beside the point. The point is, I loved The Parent Trap as a child. It even gave me a massive appreciation of Nat King Cole with that opening scene. But that's the great thing about the rewatch. Some of the jokes that flew over my head as a wee tot are actually quite hilarious. For example, Hallie calls her friends Lucy and Ethel when they start getting carried away with the chatter. I get that now. That's pretty funny, but again, probably lost on the audience who would be watching this film.

I also finished up Practical Magic, which I had started watching Halloween last year and then paused for something or other and never returned to it in months. Story of my life. Anyway, here's another film I just adored as a teeny tiny Chelsey.

I loved lots of witchy stuff as a kid, especially the TV series Charmed. So it's no surprise that a film with the Stockard Channing and the Diane Wiest playing witches made me quite happy in my young age. I mean, that's Rizzo and Edward Scissorhand's adoptive mother, for goodness sake. Have some respect! Anyway, the film isn't all that spectacular in terms of story or anything like that, but I do love the tone of it. Even though it's dealing with the dark arts, it has a happy, lighthearted mood that is infectious and makes me endlessly gleeful. And when we're filled with glee, don't we all want to dance for midnight margaritas. The answer is yes. Yes, we do.

And Matilda. I almost forgot that I watched Matilda. The film that taught little second-grade me to punish my parents when they were bad. Good times.

Resolution #4: The 2017 Super-Mega-Ultra-Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie Chelsey Cosh Reading Challenge™!

This month, I got down to business. I managed to finish five books.

There was no question which screenplay I was going to read.

Let me preface. I love Nora Ephron. I love her books of essays, especially those later in life, like I Feel Bad About My Neck and I Remember Nothing . And I love the classic boy-meets-girl flick, When Harry Met Sally . It's one of the most expertly written films in terms of dialogue. And so, I decided what better screenplay to read than one where it's all words, all talk, all conversations at restaurants and parties and apartments and walking in the park. I read a screenplay where there are no action scenes to speak of and it's virtually all dialogue. I mean, sure, I think Harry runs once, but we're not going to ask for a Nike sponsorship or Tom Cruise's body double. Honestly, I was in heaven, reading When Harry Met Sally .

It filled me with joy, swept up in the film running in my head. True, I could not detach the images of Meg and Billy from Sally and Harry, but still, the story just works. The words float off the page. Nora mentions how she and her partner in crime for this particular endeavour, Rob Reiner, each got their own character. Nora is Sally, an optimist who I believe she describes as "chirpy," while Rob is Harry, the prince of darkness who revels in his depression and seeks to bring others down to his level while he's at it. Two people who don't want to be trapped in a car together. Let the witty banter begin.

My one complaint? I wish I'd read the original, the first draft, the one marked up and scrapped and picked apart. I suspect what I have must have been a rewrite because of the inclusion of that famous ad libbed line, "I'll have what she's having." What a great line. But not Nora's.

Still, a good read. And a good watch.

Then I set in on a winner of an Edgar Award, of which I went with The Grown-Up .

Now, we all know how I feel about Gillian Flynn. I'm willing to forgive her, then, for The Grownup. I didn't like it. It was too short, which is not a format that works for the kinds of twisted complexity that Flynn typically weaves into her tales.

Flynn is like one of those women at a loom who makes a massive quilt and adds a fiber of this and that along the way, so subtle that you miss it until you realize that a third of the quilt is made up of that certain fiber, but in order to make that sort of realization, that gasp of disbelief, then there has to be a massive quilt. This book is small, very small, too small, a mere swatch. It's a campside read at best. And that is too small for my Gillian.

But I'm willing to forgive and forget.

Then, I decided to read a book based on a blog, of which there are surprisingly many. I ended up reading Hyperbole and a Half , by Allie Brosh. I had never heard of Allie Brosh. It was a whim, truly random. And my husband freaked out.

"Oh, my God, you're reading that?" he said. With excitement. With glee. With unadulterated delight in his eyes. "Can we read it together?"

So, we did. He apparently knew Allie's work from before, particularly an image that said, "Clean all the things!"

Again, I didn't know anything about Allie. While the latter half of her book seemed to be weaker content than the former half, I still enjoyed it all. I laughed most of the time. I even related on a deeper, more serious level to when she spoke about mental illness. I especially liked her diatribe on the cognitive dissonance and identity conflict she experiences from thinking she is a good person without evidence. Or worse, evidence to the contrary. It is a great little book, but I recommend taking it in small quantities in lieu of the rather larger gulp I took. I hope that she puts together another compilation from her blog posts, something equally visual and entertaining as this one.

Last month, I mentioned reading Middlesex , but I hadn't actually finished it yet. I had a handful of pages left. And a lot happens in this book. But I can proudly say I finished it! And what did I think?

Middlesex is a once-in-a-lifetime book, a novel that spans generations in the style of Fried Green Tomatoes in the Whistle Stop Café but for good reason for it tells the story of a gene abnormality that can be traced back to a tiny village generations ago. This novel is an immigrant story, a Depression survival tale, a love-triangle romance, a triumphant rags-to-riches success yarn, a coming-of-age YA chronicle, a Kerouac-esque road read, and a gender-bending foray into sexual politics and gender identity. But, above all, Middlesex is about family, specifically the Stephanides clan and their rollercoaster trek through life.

Listen, whatever your views are, everybody has a family and can relate to the ties that bind and sometimes the bonds that break. It's a beautiful story about living honestly; with that honesty comes laughter, deep sorrow, and tender moments.

It's one of the best novels I've ever read, five-star literature, profound without pretension. It feels like nonfiction in moments, so raw that a reader is compelled to believe it must stem from reality.

I will not delve into the details so as not to ruin what is a spectacular read. Without question, I highly recommend reading this one.

Only four of the five books I read were actually part of the challenge. I just wouldn't be me if I didn't read random stuff randomly to the detriment of productivity. I read The Bedwetter , by Sarah Silverman, the comedienne and actress. It was the story of her life, and yes, she was a bedwetter for a very long time. I appreciated her honesty, which I can almost always count on Sarah for, and the humour, too, of course. It told the story of her life from youth to the success story she is today. You know, a typical memoir, but with an extra heaping of harsh language.

It was also a month of beginnings. I started reading The Almost Nearly Perfect People (a book about Scandinavia); The End of Your Life Book Club (a book about a mother-son relationship); and Brokeback Mountain (a classic work of gay literature). I'm on my way.

So, what remains?

#1. A memoir published last year: The Princess Diarist, by Carrie Fisher

#2. A memoir published this year

#3. A book about or set in Scandinavia

#4. A book about or set in Australia

#5. A Black Quill Award winner

#6. A book about a mother-son relationship

#7. A Goodreads choice award winner

#8. A sequel to a book you loved

#9. A screenplay: When Harry Met Sally, by Nora Ephron

#10. A classic work of gay literature

#11. A winner of an Edgar Award: The Grown-Up, by Gillian Flynn

#12. A book most people read in high school but you did not

#13. A work of Gothic horror

#14. A play written by Shakespeare

#15. A play not written by Shakespeare

#16. A book of essays

#17. A book based on a blog: Hyperbole and a Half, by Allie Brosh

#18. A book written about the future, but that future is now our past

#19. A graphic novel

#20. A classic romance novel

#21. A book with a transgender protagonist: Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides

#22. A book written by a woman of colour

#23. A book about a murder

#24. A banned book

#25. A book about science

Oh, no. Maybe I'm not out of the wilderness yet.

Until next time, happy reading!

But The Battle Wages On For Toy Soldiers

All right. Time to hold myself accountable.

My first New Year's resolution was something about learning five languages. You know, something simple.

Let's start with French, the language with which I already have a very strong foundation. I am currently at 48%, which means, throughout January and the beginning week or so of February, I eked forward a measly two percent in fluency. I'm not going to give myself a hard time over this because gaining one percent is a far more difficult task to accomplish at this stage of the game. It's like with exercise: a person can get fit very quickly when they are going from being completely inactive, but it is a far more difficult task to keep gaining muscle tone and strength and whatever else once you're already at the gym on the regular. That's when even the slightest change is a triumph against inconceivable odds.

Then let's say hola to Spanish. Throughout all of January, there were no discernable improvements there, holding steady at 38%, until -- ay caramba -- I jumped in February up to 41%.

German is up three whole percent, making me 31% fluent. I loved German from the start, which amazed me. I didn't think I would fall in love with it the way I did. So, going back to it, I fell right back into the groove, proving it wasn't merely a lusty infatuation but something true. But like all great love stories, there are some lows to accompany the highs, and for me that came in the form of wily grammar. I continued as always to struggle with the daunting task of so many verb cases and with a whopping three genders to classify nouns -- der for the masculine, die for the feminine, and das for the neutral -- which, did I mention, further broke down as I learned the other cases. Inevitably I put the words in the wrong order. I think it's time I learn all the good German cuss words for those moments.

Then, there's Italian, also experiencing a healthy jump. (See what I mean about the great gains made with the lower level of fluency?) At 17% fluency, I doubt I could do as the Romans do without being detected as an impostore, but at least I'm having a good time, especially considering I'm brushing up on my food vocabulary. It just makes me drool thinking about it. Yes, I have been strengthening up those bits and bobs that had started to grow dusty in the recesses of my mind, words I am glad to say that I still recall despite the lack of recent practice. Like the true pig I am, I always remember il mio formaggio.

And last but not least, mother Russia. Well, not my mother. But somebody's. I know that most people struggle with the Cyrillic, but that's a non-issue. I took to that like me taking to cheese -- that is, quickly devouring it and licking my lips, ever so pleased with myself. No, with me, the struggle is with pronunciation. No matter how many seasons of Dancing with the Stars I have enjoyed with the company of Karina and Val, I cannot quite figure out where the accent lies. I can't help it. But, still, baby steps. So I lie at a despicably low 3 out of 78 vocabulary and grammar levels solidly learned (remember, no fluency percentages here, unfortunately). Even if that is a pretty shitty showing, I can say with utmost confidence that those three levels are a pristine gold. Only 47 more levels to go. Oh, God.

Now for my second New Year's resolution because my overachieving ass can't be satisfied: guitar.

Well, to put it as quick and brutal as possible, I suck.

But to go into detail, I suck at almost all the songs I am attempting to improve upon. You can't fault me for dishonesty.

I've improved only on a single song: the awesome Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' tune "American Girl" is up to 45.2% mastery, which is a 15% jump in the right direction. With only ten more percent onward-and-upward, I would reach my goal. Go, me!

But before I get all cocky about it, I must acknowledge that everything else has shown no signs of improvement, or, in some cases, I've actually gotten worse. Perhaps this resolution was poorly thought out, with unrealistic goals abound.

My third resolution, to watch all the movies and TV on DVD collections that I had stashed away like some kind of hoarder, should be bloody easy, but suffice it to say I botched that one, too. It doesn't take long to get side-tracked, does it?

I got hypnotized by Netflix this month. I've been a longtime loyal devotee, back when the pickings were slim, but now that everybody's a subscriber, the ball's really gotten rolling in terms of original programming. So, I watched the entire first season of The Crown at the beginning of the month, desperate to be done it before the Golden Globes aired. I'm not much for period pieces and neither is my husband, but together we delighted in watching this acclaimed series about Queen Elizabeth II's ascension to the throne at age 25 -- 25! -- and the handful of years that followed. It was truly fascinating. Then, I started watching the second season of Jane the Virgin and two-thirds of Eddie the Eagle.

I borrowed, season by season, the entirety of Nurse Jackie and, just yesterday, I finished the final season. I love Edie Falco. For most people, she's Carmella from The Sopranos, but I think she could play anything. As a drug-addicted trauma nurse who is no saint but definitely goes out of her way to improve the well being of others, Nurse Jackie is a walking, talking contradiction. She feels real, flesh and blood, because her own moral code can flex so easily to let bad things in sometimes. My main complaint would be the children. Fi is okay, but basically window dressing throughout the series, while Grace goes from being a neurotic little girl to a downright menace. Ugh. On the other hand, my favourite characters were easily Zoey Barkow and the delightful Dr. O'Hara, lovely and consistent, and, while the major lack of them in the final season disappointed me, it was still a great show.

As for actually getting the job done, the only thing I chipped away at was my complete series collection of the sitcom Cheers, finishing up to the second season and a quarter of the third. Now, don't get too excited. That sounds like a job well done until you realize that Cheers ran for -- sigh -- eleven seasons. We'll toast later.

Finally, we have the the 2017 Super-Mega-Ultra-Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie Chelsey Cosh Reading Challenge™!

Here, at least, I am probably on track, although not in front. Let's have the rundown, shall we?

#1. A memoir published last year: The Princess Diarist , by Carrie Fisher

I read this one to my husband who grew up with Star Wars. I am a late-in-life convert to the ways of the Force, but there's some Jedi in me yet. I love Carrie Fisher and her passing really choked me up. It was one of the reasons that I decided not to add this book to a long 'will read later' list, but rather to get my hands on it now and really experience what she had to say in the days of the millions mourning her. Unfortunately, I wasn't blown away by the book because I don't really care about Harrison Ford and her having an affair and -- oh, my God -- Carrie Fisher really, really does. She obviously felt something great for him and he ... well, he did not reciprocate. I always thought him a bit of an ass. Ally McBeal could do better. Still, I liked reading what Carrie had to say. I just wish it wasn't in the stream-of-consciousness style that feels frustratingly disconnected to my ear.I loved her poetry, though, which constituted a surprisingly large portion of the book. I could read an entire book of her poems.

For my next book, I flew to the bottom of the list and found a prompt that holds a great deal more impact now in the face of -- ahem -- recent political events.

#21. A book with a transgender protagonist: Middlesex , by Jeffrey Eugenides

Again, I am reading this book to my husband. It's like storytime back in kindergarten, only this time with swears! And, oh, what a long storytime it is, a fact which made me a little bit uneasy about diving in in the first place without testing the waters a little. But, screw vetting my book choices! No, Geronimo, I say, as I cannon-balled with a flourish into this tome and I am so glad for it. It is a fantastic read, one that admittedly I am not done yet but am well on the way to finishing. (Just give me two more days, maybe three, I promise.) It's an epic story that spans three generations -- at least, three, from the point I've reached in the book. It speaks of a century of life, a gene mutation passed down from one couple to the next, and a confused teenage girl realizing that something is a bit different in her own body.

My husband's major complaint was with the fact that the book is sort of divided into two parts, with the initial pages devoted to Lefty and Desdemona, ancestors to our narrating protagonist Cal Stephanides, and the second half to Cal himself. Dear ol' hubby fell in love too much with Lefty and Des and didn't want to move onto anybody else. He wanted the book to be about Lefty and Desdemona only, strictly their lives, and it was, to a certain extent, but only in the abstract before we reached Cal's story in part two.

Sure, I can see what he's talking about, but frankly I don't care. Jeffrey Eugenides writes so well that it doesn't matter the subject matter. It's all fantastic. It flows like water. It makes you laugh; it makes you cry. It says something deep about the human experience without any sort of pretension hovering above like smoke in the air. I really love this book.

And, of course, what kind of Goodreads author would I be if I didn't join in the celebration that is Romance Week at Goodreads! In honour of the occasion, I am cracking the spine on Brokeback Mountain . I should be able to finish it in less than a week -- it is such a wee thing to behold at only fifty-five pages -- and, fingers crossed, I'll enjoy it as much as I loved the film. (I know, I'm a cretin for not reading the book first. So sue me.) I'm rife with ulterior motive as it will knock another title off my reading challenge. Oh, goody-goody gummy-drops! I'll share some of my thoughts on it next time.

Until then, happy reading!

Baby, Let's Make Promises That We Can Keep and Call It a New Year's Resolution.

With a new year comes resolutions.

I have a few. Last year (in November 2015, not January 2016, as it turned out) I vowed not to eat sugar. I got my fair share of laughs because I loved me some chocolate and ice cream. But as time went on, it got significantly easier. Fruit and those deliciously sugar-free potato chips are good desserts and have fared me well.

So, in 2017, I've decided to push myself with a new set of resolutions.

First, as a huge fan of languages, I have been learning a handful over the past year or two. I have been a long-time French-speaker, over a decade or two at least. (It started with Madeline .) But I have also been learning Spanish, German, Italian, and, in a much smaller capacity, Arabic, Russian, and Mandarin. I am a big advocate of using Duolingo to sharpen and maintain your reading, writing, and listening skills, specifically for French, Spanish, German, Italian, and Russian. That's why my resolution stems from using that fantastic -- and did I mention free? -- online learning tool to become more multi-lingual this year. Although imperfect sometimes, Duolingo tries to give you measures of your fluency as best as it can muster. Since I let it all go to pot when I got busy with last year's PopSugar Reading Challenge, all of my fluency scores have dropped dramatically. They are currently sitting at 46% for French, 38% for Spanish, 28% for German, and 14% for Italian. (There are currently no percentage-based fluency metrics for Russian. However, I can tell you there are 78 levels of vocabulary and grammar; I have completed eight.) Pretty embarrassing, I know. So, my resolution is for 65% fluency across the board. And, in the case of Russian, 50 fully completed levels should suffice as an equivalent. For some languages, that benchmark'll be easy-peasy. (I'm looking at you, French.) For others, it's going to be a steep climb. (Russian, you are my Everest.) Regardless, I've got to hold myself accountable, so each month, I will keep y'all updated, mi amigos.

Now for my second resolution! As you may know from back in August, I have been learning how to play the guitar using Rocksmith. It has been hugely fun and, now that I have a second Real Tone cable, my husband and I have been able to play together, which is very nice since he plays rhythm and I play lead. Very harmonious!

You see, Ubisoft, the developer of Rocksmith, has their 60-day challenge where you play an hour a day for two whole months to become a proficient guitar player, learning techniques and chords, just by playing songs and arcade games. There are no dull-as-dirt theory lessons or anything like that. It's a great learning tool and I really believe in it, but I don't know if I can commit an hour a day every single day. Most days, sure, but some days I have absolutely no time to spare, so I figured issuing myself a 365-day challenge gives me some much-needed leniency. Currently, my top five songs in terms of mastery are "Blitzkrieg Bop" by the Ramones, "Funeral March" by Chopin, "My Girl" by The Temptations, "The Final Countdown" by Europe, and "Stuck On a Wire Out on a Fence" by The Dear Hunter, in that order, with "Blitzkrieg" at a 73% mastery, thank you very much. However, I am far more interested in improving the songs I actually enjoy playing, namely "My Girl" by The Temptations, "American Girl" and "Refugee" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "Addicted to Love" by Robert Palmer, "Don't Speak" by No Doubt, and "Go Your Own Way" by Fleetwood Mac. My goal is to raise those statistics by at least 25% each, which, in the matters of full disclosure, would bring "My Girl" up from 53% to 78%, "American Girl" from 30.8% to 55.8%, "Refugee" from 17.8% to 42.8%, "Addicted to Love" from 23.3% to 48.3%, "Don't Speak" from 30.6% to 55.6%, and "Go Your Own Way" from 19.8% to 44.8%. I realize I am only hoping to attain 78% mastery, but playing these songs is hard, you guys! Baby steps, baby steps.

Third, and perhaps the most ridiculous and least likely to succeed of these resolutions, I resolve to clear my own backlog of unwatched films and TV boxsets by actually watching the ... well, who knows however many titles I have purchased as dust collectors. I know how unrealistic this resolution is. It's probably not going to happen, but I'll give it a shot. After all, how many people can make a resolution to sit on their ass and watch TV like it's some kind of major achievement? The world's tiniest violin plays for me.

Lastly, and most importantly for all you readers out there, I have decided not to do the PopSugar Reading Challenge for 2017, but rather to create my own reading challenge, pushing myself to read a variety of books under a variety of prompts in a similar fashion. I will write down my current choices now for what I think I may read to fulfill each prompt, but I am easily swayed. If I am bombarded with suggestions for a particular book, I will read that instead -- unless, of course, I have already it. I may even issue a poll from time to time. And please, if the mood strikes, join the challenge!

So, announcing for the first time ever (and in no particular order), the 2017 Super-Mega-Ultra-Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie Chelsey Cosh Reading Challenge™!

#1. A memoir published last year: Talking as Fast as I Can: From Gilmore Girls to Gilmore Girls, and Everything in Between , by Lauren Graham, or Scrappy Little Nobody , by Anna Kendrick, or A Life in Parts , by Bryan Cranston (This is a toughie. So many to choose from!)

#2. A memoir published this year: I will have to wait and see what's released later on this year.

#3. A book about or set in Scandinavia: The Almost Nearly Perfect People , by Michael Booth, or Britt-Marie Was Here , by Fredrik Backman

#4. A book about or set in Australia: The Light Between Oceans , by M. L. Stedman

#5. A Black Quill Award winner: Dark Places , by Gillian Flynn

#6. A book about a mother-son relationship: The End of Your Life Book Club , by Will Schwalbe, or The Rainbow Comes and Goes , by Anderson Cooper & Gloria Vanderbilt

#7. A Goodreads choice award winner: Room , by Emma Donoghue (it won for fiction in 2010), or The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks , by Rebecca Skloot (it won the same year for non-fiction)

#8. A sequel to a book you loved: After You , by Jojo Moyes

#9. A screenplay: When Harry Met Sally , by Nora Ephron, or Good Will Hunting , by Matt Damon & Ben Affleck, or Almost Famous , by Cameron Crowe

#10. A classic work of gay literature: Brokeback Mountain , by Annie Proulx

#11. A winner of an Edgar Award: The Grown-Up , by Gillian Flynn

#12. A book most people read in high school but you did not: The House on Mango Street , by Sandra Cisneros

#13. A work of Gothic horror: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

#14. A play written by Shakespeare: I really want to read Hamlet . I can't believe I haven't read it yet.

#15. A play not written by Shakespeare: I have such a selection. My short list includes The Glass Menagerie , Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? , Barefoot in the Park , A Doll's House , Waiting for Godot , The Cherry Orchard , Long Day's Journey Into Night , The Crucible , and Tartuffe . Spoiled for choice, I am.

#16. A book of essays: Me Talk Pretty One Day , by David Sedaris

#17. A book based on a blog: Hyperbole and a Half , by Allie Brosh

#18. A book written about the future, but that future is now our past: 1984 , by George Orwell, or 2001: A Space Odyssey , by Arthur C. Clarke

#19. A graphic novel: I've heard good things about Fun Home , Maus , The Walking Dead , Blankets , and V for Vendetta . Again, like picking a non-Shakespearean play, my largest struggle will be to pick which one I want to read most.

#20. A classic romance novel: Pride and Prejudice , by Jane Austen

#21. A book with a transgender protagonist: Middlesex , by Jeffrey Eugenides

#22. A book written by a woman of colour: Beloved , by Toni Morrison, or Their Eyes Were Watching God , by Zora Neale Hurston

#23. A book about a murder: In Cold Blood , by Truman Capote

#24. A banned book: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn , by Mark Twain, or maybe, if I don't read it for prompt #22, Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston

#25. A book about science: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot (if I don't read it for prompt #7), Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? , by Frans de Waal, or Moonwalking with Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything , by Joshua Foer


Now, let's get to checking some boxes, shall we? Here's to putting your best foot forward. Bring it on, 2017!

What I've Learned From Doing the PopSugar Reading Challenge

Reading is supposed to bring something out of you. It's supposed to teach you, enhance you, and inspire you.

So, when I committed myself to doing the PopSugar Reading Challenge last January, I knew it would be tough, but I would gain something from it at the end.

I decided to recap what I read and what I learned as concisely as possible.

Book #1: A book written by a comedian
Paddle Your Own Canoe, by Nick Offerman

Lesson learned: The old-fashioned ways are still good and should not be forgotten.

Book #2: A New York Times Bestseller
Why Not Me?, by Mindy Kaling

Lesson learned: Those scary thoughts just before you go to sleep can happen to even the best and brightest.

Book #3: A self-improvement book
That Sugar Book, by Damon Ganneau

Lesson learned: Don't eat sugar.

Book #4: A book from the library
Pawnee, by Leslie Knope

Lesson learned: Small-town life is far more fascinating than big-city life.

Book #5: A book about an unfamiliar culture
Yes, My Accent Is Real, by Kunal Nayyar

Lesson learned: No matter how brave you are, no matter how old you are, you will always miss your mommy and daddy.

Book #6: A book that's under 150 pages
The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Lesson learned: Don't lose your child-like exuberance for the world.

Book #7: An autobiography
You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost), by Felicia Day

Lesson learned: Be you, one-hundred percent.

Book #8: A book you can finish in a day
Ten Things I'd Wish I'd Known Before I Went Out into the Real World, by Maria Shriver

Lesson learned: You can have it all -- just not at the same time.

Book #9: The first book you see in a bookstore
Modern Romance, by Aziz Ansari

Lessons learned: Love was easier in the fifties because you weren't given so much choice, but you were also so limited geographically that you might not find your soul mate. So I'm very lucky to have found mine. And also, Japanese people aren't having much sex.

Book #10: A book of poetry
Pop Sonnets: Shakespearean Spins on Your Favourite Songs, by Erik Didreksen

Lesson learned: You can class up even the dirtiest words.

Book #11: A book recommended by a family member
The DUFF, by Kody Keplinger

Lesson learned: My sister knows me better than I thought.

Book #12: A murder mystery
Sharp Objects, by Gillian Flynn

Lesson learned: Trust your instinct. If someone seems shady, they probably are.

Book #13: A YA Bestseller
The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green

Lesson learned: Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

Book #14: A book written by a celebrity
So THAT Happened, by Jon Cryer

Lesson learned: Flamboyancy does not always equal homosexuality. And never have sex after surgery.

Book #15: A book that's set on an island
The Old Man and The Sea, by Ernest Hemingway

Lesson learned: You're never too old.

Book #16: A book that's becoming a movie this year
The Taliban Shuffle, by Kim Barker

Lesson learned: If you don't have to be in a wartorn country, don't be in one.

Book #17: A satirical book
Animal Farm, by George Orwell

Lesson learned: Don't be a pig. Treat everyone with equal amounts of respect and kindness.

Book #18: A graphic novel
The Umbrella Academy, by Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba

Lesson learned: Being a superhero is not all it's cracked up to be.

Book #19: A classic from the twentieth century
Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck

Lesson learned: Sometimes the ones you love hold you back from seeing your full potential. Sometimes that makes you do crazy things.

Book #20: A book based on a fairy tale
Leaping Beauty, by Gregory Maguire

Lesson learned: Animals are delightful.

Book #21: A book that's guaranteed to bring you joy
How To Be An Explorer of the World: Portable Museum, by Keri Smith

Lesson learned: Take a little time to get to know you.

Book #22: A book set in your hometown
Skim, by Mariko and Jillian Tamaki

Lesson learned: Distance yourself from those who make you feel bad about yourself. They are not worth your time or energy.

Book #23: A book about a road trip
Paper Towns, by John Green

Lesson learned: You can never really know a person. There's too much going on behind their eyes.

Book #24: A dystopian novel
Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury

Lesson learned: For Pete's sake, don't burn books or art because you personally don't like it. Censorship is stupid.

Book #25: A book that's set in summertime
A Midsummer Night's Dream, by William Shakespeare

Lesson learned: Love who you love, not who your parents tell you to love.

Book #26: A book from Oprah's Book Club
What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day, by Pearl Cleage

Lesson learned: Sleep when you're dead. Don't shrivel and wither before you expire. Live now. Live a full life with love, laughter, and dancing up until that moment.

Book #27: A book set in Europe
Me Before You, by Jojo Moyes

Lesson learned: Let every person have their dignity.

Book #28: A book translated to English
Spark Joy, by Marie Kondo and translated by Cathy Hirano

Lesson learned: Keep the things you like. Toss the things you don't. Now find a place for everything that works for you and keep it there.

Book #29: A National Book Award winner
The Color Purple, by Alice Walker

Lesson learned: Don't give up and resign yourself to a miserable existence. Strive. Find a way, and while doing so, remember to appreciate the little things along the way.

Book #30: A book that's published in 2016
The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo, by Amy Schumer

Lesson learned: Don't vote for people who take money from the gun lobby.

Book #31: A book with a blue cover
The Happiness Equation, by Neil Pasricha

Lesson learned: Do it for your own self-fulfillment and don't ever listen to other people's advice.

Book #32:
The Taming of the Shrew, by William Shakespeare

Lesson learned: If you can help it, try not to marry a misogynist who thinks he can "tame" you by starving you into being his obedient slave.

Book #33: A science fiction novel
Mermaids in Paradise, by Lydia Millet

Lesson learned: The earth is precious. Let's try to stop screwing it up.

Book #34:A book with a protagonist who has your occupation
The Body, by Stephen King

Lesson learned: All life has value. Don't give up on it.

Book #35:
A Call to Action, by Jimmy Carter

Lesson learned: We've got a long way to go, girlfriend.

Book #36: A book (but not so much its prequel)
Prince Caspian, by C.S. Lewis

Lesson learned: Don't trust your uncle if he took your dad's throne. While you're at it, don't trust anyone who has to steal things rather than earn them.

Book #37: A book recommended by someone you just met
The Girl On The Train, by Paula Hawkins

Lesson learned: If you wake up with a massive wound on the back of your head, investigate. Also, corkscrews and alcoholics mix surprisingly well.

Book #38: A book you haven't read since high school
Ghost World, by Daniel Clowes

Lesson learned: Never let your inner child die completely, but don't let feeling small determine who you will become.

Book #39: A romance set in the future
Ready Player One, by Ernest Cline

Lesson learned: To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with. (To be fair, Mark Twain said this first in Following the Equator, but the lesson holds true.)



Not bad for a year.

I Guess We Know The Score.

It's the most wonderful time of the year: the end of the Popsugar Reading Challenge. Man, was that a brutal goal or what?

It's difficult to fit reading seven books -- seven! -- in along with the usual holiday hustle-and-bustle. So difficult in fact that this is what happened:

Book #35: A political memoir

I wasn't too sure if Jimmy Carter's book A Call to Action actually qualified as a political memoir, seeing as it didn't do the typical biographical slant the way other memoirs do. However, since most of Jimmy Carter's post-presidential career (and pre-presidential, to some degree) dealt with his actions in trying to improve human rights, then I suppose it is a memoir, after all, detailing his life outside of the Oval Office. It still remains political, though, dealing with international efforts to improve women's rights on many fronts. He talks at length about how sex-selective abortions performed extensively in China and India to ensure that they have only sons and no daughters is, while a problem in and of itself, the trigger for sexual and physical abuse on women through child marriages, human trafficking, and prostitution, seeing as the disproportionately great number of males born in these environments demand women that just aren't there. The line of causation is easily drawn, but not so easily altered to improve conditions.

He talks about his life growing up in Georgia and how, although he works extensively with his wife through the Carter Center to improve women's lives around the world, his home is just as guilty of injustice towards women as Atlanta is "one of the preeminent human trafficking centers in the United States." He discusses the Bible and the Koran and how they support the idea of women's rights. He covers a wide range of topics, including "honour" killings, sexual assault, rape, spousal abuse, war, slavery, human trafficking, child marriage, dowry deaths, genital mutilation, maternal health, the pay gap, and political participation. Some of what he has observed in his life, we already know, but some of his findings surprised me, such as the great steps made forward in Morocco for women's rights.

The book is a bit saddening to read all in one sitting, which is what I was trying to do, because we -- and I mean, we, the people, all of humanity, population planet Earth, that we -- have so much further to go. That being said, Jimmy and his wife Rosalyn have made a difference by allowing people far and wide to empower themselves. In many countries, it is best to allow the community to do the work, as they are not seen as outsiders trying to foist their ideology upon others. It also gives them transferable skills that they can use in their many endeavours. It's the "teach a woman to fish" approach.

While it was not easy to digest some of the atrocities occurring miles away and equally right next door, it was easy to understand. The former president writes with eloquence and style and, as a skilled orator and the author of twenty-plus books, I expected nothing less from the 39th POTUS. I can understand from the overseas work he writes about (and surely, all the work he doesn't mention, too) why he deserved the Nobel Peace Prize. He truly cares about women, considering it a human and civil rights struggle worth the fight. Ultimately, I feel that he believes that, by making us equal and together, the world can, will, and should be better.

No question, I can get behind that.


Book #36: A book and its prequel

I'll be honest. This was not my first choice.

I recall, a long time ago, reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe at eight years old and being totally bored. I don't remember anything I read. I only remember snippets from the movie that was released. So I don't know what possessed me to delve into the Chronicles of Narnia full-force, signing on to read not one but two instalments in the series.

I originally wanted to read Wide Sargasso Sea , by Jean Rhys, which is a prequel to the classic Brontë novel, Jane Eyre . Alas it was not to be. I knew I would never get through Jane in time, rendering Sargasso a no-go, too. (I vow to read them both one day. I'm fairly sure I'll enjoy them.)

So, here we are.

I started with Prince Caspian . I can't remember exactly why I picked this book as the starting point. It's been such a toil reading it that I couldn't recall when I first broke the spine. I faintly remember doing some light research on books and their prequels; I believe the pairing of two Narnia books was listed. I figured, it's children's literature; if nothing else it will be a fast read.

As anyone who has read Heart of Darkness will know, the page count does not determine how quickly you will finish the book. Your own enthuasiasm is the only factor that matters. And I was tepid about the Narnians and the Telmarines, let me tell you. It took me an eternity to get to that final battle between Prince Caspian (or, as it was, High King Peter acting on Prince Caspian's behalf, which I found oddly coward-like of Caspian, the young man who we as readers should be cheering on to be king choosing to not fight the foe himself, but oh, well, I didn't write the damn thing) and the usurper King Miraz. Not much else happened. I feel it was what we were building to in the end. However, the most interesting part of the book for me came early. I was drawn in by the Dwarf's retelling of Caspian's childhood, growing up in a castle as an orphaned son, his father killed by his uncle, the new King Miraz -- a total Hamlet scenario, if I ever saw one. The community has been mostly eradicated of Narnian magic, like the dwarves, the dryads, the centaurs, the giants, the talking animals, and so on and so forth. King Miraz disapproves of them so much that he hopes his nephew, Caspian, never learns of them, dismissing anyone who brings word of it into the castle, especially if it goes to the boy's ears. Still, Caspian will be king one day. That is, until King Miraz has a son of his own, an heir to his stolen throne, which means only one thing: Caspian must go. Not go, as in on a sojourn to the Alps where he happily lives the rest of his days as a sheep herder. No, he means go, as in on a permanant vacation, never coming back again, one-way ticket to corpseville.

So Caspian flees and bands together all the Narnians in hiding that King Miraz doesn't wish to talk about to take down his nefarious uncle.

And that is, in essence, the story. Yet so much of it is tied up in long-winded descriptions of the lake scum floating on the water and the cliffs conveniently located on your left. None of it matters and, in my opinion, doesn't provide atmospheric qualities so much as it bogs down the flow of the narrative and inflates the word count unnecessarily.

But I'm not done yet. After all, the prompt calls for a book and its prequel.

And that prequel is The Magician's Nephew . Now, based on having read Prince Caspian at this point, I assumed that somehow the uncle-nephew relationship between Miraz and Caspian would reemerge in this book, but I'm not quite sure about the magician part. Miraz was not a big fan of the ol' bibbity-bobbity-boo, but this story is a prequel, so maybe he did say his fair share of shazams back in the day. Who knows, right? It's Narnia. Anything can occur.

And yet nothing occurred. I picked it up. And I read about a quarter of it. And then I asked myself what I was doing with my life.

As much as I found Prince Caspian to be a bit of the dull side, I found that The Magician's Nephew was a sleeping aid. Reading should not pain you. It's recreational, not a root canal. I was reminded why, as a child, I never dove into the Chronicles of Narnia like so many had before. It's just not for me. And I couldn't read any more of it. I tried -- oh, how I tried -- but alas, no prequel was read.


Book #37: A book recommended by someone you just met

I put far too much time and thought into this prompt. First, I started to read a Noam Chomsky book, since a colleague mentioned how much he loved him. Even though it was a slim volume, I didn't care much for the subject matter.

Moving on, a client mentioned reading Maeve Binchy, specifically Chestnut Street . I think I would have enjoyed reading it. I like accounts of small-town life, what with my childhood growing up in a particularly small one. Frankly, it made Stars Hollow look like a bustling metropolis. However, I couldn't read Binchy's book because I had waited too long and there was a mountain of holds for it at the library. I wouldn't get to read it until next year.

Alas, I started to scrounge though time and recalled a book recommended to me by a librarian I am well acquainted with now but, at the time of the recommendation, I had only just met her. I figured that kind of fits, and I was all geared up to start reading In Cold Blood , by Truman Capote. I liked Breakfast at Tiffany's , so I figured I wouldn't mind reading another Capote book, especially one that is so iconic in the literary world.

And then another client mentioned The Couple Next Door , which sounded all right. It didn't register with me the way reading In Cold Blood did, but I felt it was more true to the prompt.

But finally, another client -- the customer base includes a heck of a lot of readers, clearly -- she mentioned reading The Girl On The Train . I was already chomping at the bit to read this book and her recommendation was just an excuse to do now what I was going to do anyway.

I devoured that book. The snow fell and I just ate up every word. I think it took me three days, in between working, to finish it. My bookmark was a transient, that's for sure, never quite finding a home at the end of this chapter or that.

I loved the suspense, the thrills, the twists, and the ambiguity. Even if I saw some of it coming, it was still fun to get there.

And I know the film has already come and gone out of the theatres. And I have to assume that the lithe and gorgeous Emily Blunt is probably playing Rachel -- at a guess, I haven't actually seen it yet -- and that should have sat in my head as a physical qualifier as I was reading, but no, I don't picture her at all. The writing is so vivid that I was able to concoct and preserve my own mental image of each character, the pointy cheekbones on Megan's face, the turned-up nose on Anna's. I saw Kamal in my mind's eye looking something like Naz from The Night Of, only a little taller, a little older.

It's really quite remarkable that my brain was able to transcend the Hollywood casting because trailers and ads often gets rammed down your throat so much that the actor is the character, in all sense of the world. The book cover changes to the film poster and the work is supposedly done for you, but you lose a little something in the process. Julia Roberts was never Elizabeth Gilbert to me when I read the book a year earlier, but after watching the same ad on TV ad nauseum, she was. I never pictured Cameron Diaz as Sara Fitzgerald, the mother of the girls from My Sister's Keeper , but after a mighty marketing campaign, they were one and the same. I'll never be able to reread that book and it not be Natalie from Charlie's Angels. Emilia Clarke stopped being the Khaleesi and was irreparably Lou from Me Before You. And Kristen Stewart is in a bit of a pickle, in love with a vampire and a werewolf, don't you think? (To be fair, I never read any of the Twilight books, but still, I can't imagine anyone reading them afterwards and picturing anyone but her.)

But not this time. The Girl On The Train was all mine. No studio bigwig was able to compromise it, which was a nice change.

And what a book it was. To me, it read like Gillian Flynn. And everybody already knows how I feel about Gillian Flynn. Yes, undoubtedly, The Girl On The Train has moments that scream Gone Girl, dark and twisted and incomplete tales with an unreliable narrator. To be fair, Gone Girl left me in the lurch much longer, trying to predict the moves before they occur. Still, while I figured out the whodunnit mystery in The Girl On The Train a touch too early, it's not so much about who did it, but why and how.

Books like these only crop up once a year, maybe twice if you're lucky, and often much less frequently than that. Like Gone Girl and The Millennium Trilogy, The Girl On The Train earns a top place on my bookshelf for encouraging me to gnaw my fingernails off and having the audacity to push me to the edge of my seat. And then shove me onto the tracks. She's just that kind of lady.


Book #38: A book you haven't read since high school

I never realized how many books I read in high school. And worse, I never realized how many I re-read. And that became a problem.

You see, the books I read in high school that I chose to read again at some other point were good reads. I liked them. That's why I read them again. One of my favourites was The Perks of Being A Wallflower , a book I hold near and dear to my heart. I also liked The Lovely Bones . There's some Shakespeare in there, like Othello , The Tempest , and Romeo and Juliet . I read The Poisonwood Bible , a massive and wonderful story of a missionary family in Africa that spans over decades. (If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. As Ferris Bueller says, it is "so choice.") I have re-read these books since high school, so they don't count for the challenge. I own all of these books for a reason.

There are a few I haven't re-read, but these are the ones I didn't like in the first place. For example, I wasn't a fan of Frankenstein . I absolutely hated Heart of Darkness ; reading it felt like a trek through a shitty racist jungle that ended off with a whole lot of pointless death, so I guess it accomplished its goal (?). Needless to say, I wasn't picking that up again.

After much debate, I decided to go with something unconventional. In twelfth grade, I had to do a comparative essay, in which I looked at the common themes in Perks (because, as aforementioned, I loved that book already) and Ghost World . You see, my English teacher at the time was big on graphic novels. He believed they were the next art form or the future of literature, something to that effect. So, to appease him, I picked -- gasp! -- a graphic novel. Since that time, I've read quite a few graphic novels and found some of them to be particularly great. Of course, there's Watchmen , which is wonderful, but I also liked the Scott Pilgrim series, especially with its Canadian roots. In fact, I even read a few graphic novels for this challenge. So maybe my teacher had a lasting impact after all.

Now all I can recall from Ghost World is that it was a bit angsty. But upon re-reading, I realized that it tells the story of the hipster movement and the psychology of those who subscribe to it. I didn't know that back in twelfth grade, but hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Ghost World is a melancholy coming-of-age tale, one very different to The Body, which, as you may recall, I read last month. Too cool to genuinely like anything, best friends Enid and Becky live their life with frowns upon their face interrupted with the occasional sarcastic smirk, their existences rife with ironic detachment. Ultimately, they're betrayed by the fact that they feel lost, alone, and scared by the big bad world; they are children acting like adults or what they think adults act like, while they delay the inevitable experience of growing up. In many ways, it is very sad because they want love and acceptance, but lean the other way just because it seems cooler in that light.

There's a natural flow to the conversation, and that casual, borderline stream-of-consciousness style makes the dialogue between Enid and Becky memorable, a remarkable quality that shines through despite the ambling plot. Although there isn't very much by way of story, you almost want to cry at the concealed emotions and the Peter-Pan-esque reluctance to accept that we can't stay children forever. Forced to leave behind those childhood playthings and happy-go-lucky records, Enid and Becky put their best foot forward and enter the real world, however frightening it may be.

I know that what I got out of Ghost World may not be what you will, but that's what makes it interesting. Just because I'm not fanatical about it doesn't mean it's not a good piece of literature. In fact, considering its brevity, I'd recommend everyone try it at least once.


Book #39: A romance set in the future

Someone told me that Ready Player One was a romance set in the future. So, I believed them.

What I got instead was a book so full and rich and whole, a completely different world within our own, which happened to also have a romance in it. I started raving about this book when I was only a third of the way through it. My sister bought it based upon my recommendation. My husband said it might just be his favourite book of all time. When I find something awesome, I want to share it with everyone.

There was bubble of hype enveloping Ready Player One, which gave those often unattainably sky-high expectations. This book could never be the book I anticipated. It just couldn't. It was an impossibility. And yet it did. In fact, it surpassed all of the bars I set. To say I liked the book is to put it mildly.

It's arguably science fiction, but as someone who isn't a fan of the genre, it never feels quite like that. Ernest Cline managed to paint a vivid world, starting from the Stacks and moving into the OASIS and beyond, a world that bonded with its readers through a bounty of relatable references and allusions to beloved works that ignite the genuine fandom in all of us. It's a world so richly detailed and defined that you believe it's real. It's a world that seems possible. In a way, it's its own kind of oasis for us readers.

It would be impossible to replicate a book of this magnitude. Sure, it is reminiscent of the scavenger-hunt-style plotlines in other books, such as the Triwizard Tournament in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, but that world is a fabricated world of fantasy. Ready Player One taps into reality and shows us something uniquely possible in our world, the one we live in catapulted forward a handful of decades. And Cline found a way to give meaning to the predominantly seventies- and eighties-set nostalgia reel that ties everything together in a beautiful bow.

I don't think I can go on and on about the book because I may let something slip. To describe this novel too intricately would betray readers, robbing them of a chance to indulge themselves in what has to be one of my favourite books of all time. I couldn't recommend it more.

Thank you, Ernest, for letting us play with you.


Book #40: A book that's more than 600 pages

I wanted to read Anna Karenina , but I had started that before January 2016. So, instead, I went with the first of the long-ass volumes of the Harry Potter series: the fifth instalment, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince .

This was a bad idea. I recall finding the Harry Potter series riveting as a child. I tore through the first four, especially adoring the fourth and its Tri-Wizard Tournament. But when the fifth book came out and I got about two to three chapters in, the magic was gone. I found it too slow, not matching in pace, mood, or tone of the others. Something was missing. And I learned that I wasn't the only one to feel this way. My husband -- same thing. Friends of mine -- same deal. We all dropped off at the fifth book. Now, I know that's not true for everyone, that they demolished that book in a day and loved it just as dearly as all that came before it, but I just wasn't one of them.

So, why would I try to speed-read this mountain of a book in a short period of time, knowing I didn't like it the first time? Because I am an idiot.

After trying again and feeling the need for some No-Doze, I tumbled upon this blog, courtesy of Hilary Goldstein. She said: "[B]asing a book on its length is about the dumbest thing you can do. If I read 40 great 200-page novels this year, that's better than reading one stinker just because it's 600+ pages."

Hilary's attitude toward reading a book purely because of its page count is spot-on. The prompt is ridiculous. Why read a book just because it's long? What can be gained from that? You're not being pushed into something varied, something you wouldn't normally read. You'd just pick up the longest book that you think you could get through in time. You know, like what I was trying to do. Sure, I didn't get through it, proof that I didn't really evaluate all that well, but that's beside the point.

Then I did some thinking and a little math. If a page count is all you want, I've got that in spades. I read, outside of the challenge, Think Like A Freak at 288 pages, Bad Feminist at 320 pages, The Sense of Style at 368 pages, X vs. Y: A Culture War, A Love Story at 192 pages, The Beast from the East at 144 pages, and Rich Dad, Poor Dad at 195 pages. That's more than 1500 pages of reading. And that's just a small selection from the massive number of times I went astray during this challenge, wandering away from the prompts to simply read for the sake of reading. I would say I have more than accumulated six hundred pages' worth of additional reading, wouldn't you? I feel like this prompt was fulfilled, regardless of the fact that I did it across many books, rather than one. I'm going to audaciously say I deserve a checkmark on that elusive Book #40 (and probably #41, too).

Because, in the end, isn't the point of this challenge to get you to read a lot, especially things you wouldn't normally read? I think I have had quite the diverse year of reading. I've read about American presidents, mermaids, rich dads, poor dads, the joys of farming, the dangers of sugar consumption, the global scope of women's rights, the generation gap and overlap between those born in the mid-seventies and those born in the late-eighties, casual home decor, care-free home organization, tech-heavy dating scenes, Indian weddings, Cuban fishermen, Canadian schoolgirls, teen cancer patients, teen Lotharios, teen actors, suicidal princes on interplanetary travels, brave princes in magical battles, animals running farms, reporters running home, and reporters avoiding home. I read books where an unemployed drunk, a gang of twelve-year-olds, and a tight-knit group of twelfth graders each solved their own missing persons case. I read how you can have it all, just not all at once. I read about two different Indian comedians (one born in America) who are successful TV comedians and how they still miss their parents. Those moments stuck with me. Those are the moments that allow you to learn about how we, human beings, are all universally connected in some ways.

Sure, some would say that's cheating. (Well, burn me at the stake.) I believe most would say I failed the PopSugar Reading Challenge. (More like a success struck down in its prime.) But let's consider that, purely in the name of this challenge, I managed to read thirty-nine books in one year -- and that's not counting all those books not included under some prompt on this list or even the dozens that I started but put down for one reason or another. For me, that is a win.

Until next time, happy reading!

The Time Is Precious, I Know. In Time, It Could Have Been So Much More.

Time is a cruel mistress.

Needless to say, this month flew by. It feels like Halloween was only yesterday. And now I can really feel the impending tick-tick-ticking of that ball being dropped. Can you hear the ringing already, the ringing in of a new year? I feel no sympathy for what has been a year of questionable occurrences and a helluva lot of loss. Other than getting married, 2016 has been a sour one. But I will discuss that next month. For now, I'm simply looking forward to The Big Fat Quiz of the Year to squeeze some laughs out of a year that surely produced a cabernet that merely consists of spit and tears.

With November whizzing by like an errant Frisbee, my disappointment should be apparent as to how little I was able to read in that stint of time. It's going to be a hard-won battle, this challenge.


Book #33: A science fiction novel

The Internet, how glorious a thing. I was not looking forward to this prompt. I'm not a big sci-fi reader, although I love me some sci-fi film and television.

But when it comes to reading, I never thought I'd find something human, something more akin to Orphan Black than Star Trek.

So, I went looking and found this. And thus I picked up Mermaids in Paradise .

This book reads like chick lit at first, focused on a woman that prattles on about getting married and where her honeymoon shall take place and what her friends think and keeping up appearances and blatty-bla-bla. On her trip to a beach resort in the British Virgin Islands, she becomes acquainted with a bunch of people that she thinks about purely in the negative as too-this, too-that, and simply not cool enough to be her friends. Keeping everyone at a safe distance, she is pulled toward this clan of alleged misfits by her husband Chip who is all-too-friendly. One of these people is a woman named Nancy, a marine biology expert who is obsessed with parrotfish. And one day, she becomes entranced by something else: mermaids. She's seen them, of course, which seems like poppycock to everyone else. But buoyant on the paradise of the island, they decide to venture out and look for these mermaids, this time with a camera. And they see them, too. They even get footage. Unfortunately, the resort catches wind of this sighting and decides to take advantage of these marvels, these people of the deep, and therein lies our conflict. The resort vs. this rag-tag team of tourists. It can be quite thrilling at times.

And the sci-fi aspects don't seem so apparent, but when I get past the surface, I find that this novel tells the tale of environmental disaster, frankly. Deb, our barely likeable protagonist, waxes on about technology, asteroids, evolution, climate change, and the future. These topics are typical sci-fi fare, but her Valley Girl tone distracts from it.

So, there it is. I read some sci-fi. I think I may have even liked it. Although I'm not so sure I liked Deb.



Book #34: A book with a protagonist who has your occupation

I have three jobs, so I had to pick one. I chose writer. That brings me the most joy and is the most authentic representation of me.

Luckily, there are tons of books about writers: Atonement , The Help , Misery , The Hours , The World According to Garp , Wonder Boys , The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. , The Shining , The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay , ... and the list goes on.

If you'll notice, two of those books on there are written by Stephen King.

Stephen King is the consummate writer, the kind of iconic figure known by all, including people who don't read. His reputation precedes him, so I figured, there's a writer who writes about writers.

I thought I could check off the box, but no, the question is, which novel of his vast collection to read?

I first considered Misery, but I don't feel that I am that kind of writer, the world-famous but overly private type who writes out best-selling manuscripts on a typewriter in the woods. Sure, I'd love to be that cliche, but I'm just not that caliber. Instead, I saw myself more as a sentimentalist with a somewhat disturbed undercurrent.

What could be better than his novella The Body ?

That speaks more to me: the family-oriented writer who looks back as a framing device to narrate the book. To be fair, I didn't know if this was how the book was, but I presumed based on the wonderful coming-of-age film Stand By Me , which is an adaptation of King's The Body. I think I write about the past and wax nostalgic, so I definitely leaned toward that.

Plus, The Body is a quick read, which meant I had more opportunity to dig into another book for this challenge. I gotta keep that pace to cross the finish line.

Now, The Body is, without a doubt, a good book, but as I read (instead of watched Stand By Me), I actually felt sad. There's a lot of sorrow in nostalgia, just as much bitter as there is sweet. And in the case of the four boys in this book, it cuts like a knife to hear about their fates, about their limited prospects, about the society that gave up on them before they gave up on themselves. It truly hurts.

The author captures something unique when he says (and this is just as much Stephen as it is our protagonist) that "the only reason anyone writes stories is so they can understand the past and get ready for some future mortality." Death is a big part of The Body, sometimes not taken seriously enough, but brutal in its face-to-face reckoning. When they see Ray Brower's corpse, it's no longer giggles with the boys. It's real. And it sticks with them forever.

I myself remember the first time I saw an open coffin. I was too young to really appreciate the concept of death, to really understand the finality of it, and so, I wasn't upset the way older individuals would be. But it carried some weight because the image sticks in my mind. Perverse as it is to describe it like a movie scene, that's what it is. A tiny videoclip that plays on and on for about five seconds that left me with something, although I cannot be sure exactly as to what that was.

There are many great lines in The Body, but none are as vitally important as this one:

"At an age when all four of us would be considered too young and immature to be President, three of us are dead."

Although the boys are walking across town to see a boy's dead body, the book is far more about the passing of his friends, his three dear childhood friends, that he cannot shake after decades of not quite being buddy-buddy anymore. They all went their separate ways, and that, for many of us, is its own kind of death, a finality of something that, no matter how hard we try, we can't seem to get back. But there are also literal deaths, and although I can't imagine what that is like, since I am fortunate to not have suffered the death of a close childhood friend in my life, I can understand the weight. That would stay with you. I feel the weight thinking about my pets that have passed, how wonderful and unique each one is, and how I will never get that back. As I'm writing this, I am verklempt. I can't imagine what losing a person would be like, someone who spoke to you and shared their thoughts and passions and dreams and jokes and disappointments and regrets and everything else that filled their body.

It is hard to talk about these kinds of things. But, like King writes in this very book, "the most important things are the hardest things to say."




That leaves me with seven books to read in a month. Seven! That's a lot of pages, especially since I foolishly left the prompt for the chunkster book of more than six hundred pages to this point in the game. Oh, well. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. I am well on my way to finishing two of them this week with any luck.

Until then, happy reading!

I've Paid Some Dues, Getting Through Tangled Up in Blue.

October has come and gone. Soon, the snow will fall. I know -- depressing. I am trying desperately not to get the winter blues with the lack of sunlight and the biting cold creeping in.

No, I will remain excited. After all, the holidays are coming soon, full of jubilation and times spent with our loved ones.

And let's not let the spooktacular Halloween celebrations wear off too soon. After all, I did look like this:



Despite this ennui, I managed to keep reading. There's no time to spare if I ever hope to complete this challenge. This is what I mustered this month.

Book #31: A book with a blue cover

Don't think for a second I didn't consider rereading The Cat in the Hat .



For some unknown reason, I really struggled with this one. I could not find a book with a blue cover that I really wanted to read.

I thought I had finally come to a decision when I started reading The Light Between Oceans . Unfortunately, I was borrowing the book and had to return it before I had a chance to really get into it. I do intend to go back to it, but as for its fate to be the book with a blue cover? Sadly, not to be.

Which brings me to Neil.

Neil Pasricha has devoted many years and many pages to helping others find happiness. He is probably best known for his Book of Awesome , but now he is trying to approach happiness as an equation.

I have read The Book of Awesome, which, to me, is a coffee table book, not meant to be consumed all in one seating like a novel but rather perused to bring a little dose of joy into your life at regular intervals or when you need it the most.

I liked the approach of his new book, too, The Happiness Equation , with its scribbles and sketches. It was cute, more like a conversation with graphics drawn on a napkin to illustrate the point.

However, I would not find it to be the most mind-blowing of investigations. Most of what Neil points out is a retread. In fact, I would argue that a significant portion of this book is quoting others. Buddha said this. Newton said that. Richard Feynman points this out. Tom Hanks points that out. It's a game of he-said, she-said, at times, and that is a touch grating. I did like the anecdotes, but endlessly quoting others didn't really help me get anywhere. It just felt like padding.

The gist is as follows:

"Always remember there are only three goals. To want nothing. That's contentment. To do anything. That's freedom. To have everything. That's happiness. What are the nine secrets to get us there? Be happy first. Do it for you. Remember the lottery. Never retire. Overvalue you. Create space. Just do it. Be you. Don't take advice."

I find it rather hilarious that the last piece of advice in this book is to not take advice, but nonetheless, it is probably good advice at that.

The other lessons throughout the book are ones we already know. I think the most interesting was to "do it for you". We already know we should aim for self-fulfillment, but the controlled studies of different groups and how their performance is affected by outside motivators, like money or fame or what have you, is fascinating. That is probably my favourite part.

As a minimalist, I was already on board with the lesson advising us to "create space" by streamlining and automating those decisions that don't matter but take forever.

I'm also a big believer in "just do it" because the second-guessing is the killer. The cyclic nature of doing to create the self-confidence is obvious, but having it pointed out and illustrated is great. I appreciated that one a lot, too.

I suppose, by already being a fairly happy person, most of these lessons were already understood by me and that's why I didn't get quite so much out of the book. For someone who is looking to be perked up, this book is a great set of beginning resources, a course of action for you to follow, but, in the end, while I enjoyed reading it because of Pasricha's writing style, The Happiness Equation needed to dive a little deeper to discover a bit more.

Book #32: A book at least 100 years older than you

What can I say that hasn't been said? This play may be by Shakespeare and it may have that lovely turn of phrase, but if you're getting the message at all, you'll realize that it's a horribly sexist one about how women should be beaten into submission and basically sit underneath the boots of their husbands. Women are property to be owned and should be at their beck and call at any given moment.

I came to this play mostly because I knew it was the source material for the film Ten Things I Hate About You. I love that film, the way it plays the basic premise of this play for laughs, making Baptista, the father of two very different daughters, a doctor who delivers babies and can't bear the thought of finding his baby girl knocked up. As a result, he concocts a plan: his youngest daughter Bianca can date once her elder sister Kat does, and Kat couldn't give less of a hoot for the slobbering idiots surrounding her. Much better than the actual source material, this film has reasons and motivations for the women to act the way they do. Unlike Shakespeare, the screenwriters realized that women act not on whims but because of reasons and this film doesn't shy away from them. I can't believe I'm saying these words, but the film is better, you guys.

Anyway, the play left me feeling disgusted. I'm a feminist and a human being. This shit would not fly in today's society. Frankly, if this is what it was like to live in the 1590s, they can keep it.



In terms of October, that's all I managed to get through. Although I am in the midst of several books, those measly two are the only ones I finished in time for this blog. Next month, I'm hoping to be well on my way, completing a handful at least. That better not be wishful thinking on my part -- this year and thus this challenge has almost come to an end!

Until next month, happy reading!

Hey, Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone.

The last week of September is typically celebrated by the ALA as Banned Books Week, in which readers exercise their right to read whatever they please, free from censorship. As someone who wholeheartedly supports freedom of expression, I really felt the need to mark this occasion. I already read Animal Farm this year, which is still banned in North Korea and has been banned, at some point, in the UAE and in many communist countries. As a child, I read many banned books, including Green Eggs and Ham , And Tango Makes Three , and the entire Harry Potter series. In fact, when I tried to put on a school play for The Philosopher's Stone, I faced a huge amount of censorship. While my music teacher wholly supported our endeavours as little 'uns running around, putting on a show, painting cardboard for sets and scrambling to come up with costumes while one of us learned to play the film score on piano, our principal waited until the day before the big event to tear down our beautifully hand-painted posters for the play clear off of the school walls and throw them in the trash. It was, for two seconds, heartbreaking. And then I was pissed. I still remember how furious that asshole of a principal made me feel to this day.

So, needless to say, I don't like the idea of censoring children. If children aren't ready for something, they often can decide for themselves. That's why they close their eyes and look away when they're not ready. They put down the books they're not ready to read yet. You don't need to legislate or rip apart a library.

And it's really counterproductive because, in the end, kids are most intrigued by the things they're told they can't have. "You can't read that" sparks a desire for a book that wasn't even on their radar. So, joke's on you, censorship.

Like I said, this month, I needed to read something to mark this occasion. Book #28 was my nod to freedom, in more ways than one.

So, let's begin.



Book #28: A book translated to English

I started this prompt by reading Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist , which would've marked the second book that I read with a protagonist named Santiago, the first being The Old Man and the Sea. However, my interest waned pretty hard with that one, despite its meagre page count.

Instead, I moved onto Marie Kondo's Spark Joy . I had read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, which was not life-changing as promised, but still doled out a little bit of advice in regards to how to properly organize a home.

Marie Kondo is Japanese and doesn't speak English, as far as I know, and thus this book was translated. To be fair, I am basing this on an episode of Ellen that Marie was on, so I could be wrong.

Either way, she has a unique style of getting organized, in that she believes her objects can feel things. Socks must breathe; balling them up is cruel. It's a very emotional process, she claims, to clean up, but it is beneficial because it can restore so many wanting aspects of your life. That's why she asks her clients and now her readers to evaluate every object in their home and decide if it "sparks joy." If it doesn't, you thank it for its time and toss it. If it does, you keep it and display it properly in its own place.

Some of her method is too wishy-washy for me. I have no trouble keeping things tidy. If anything, papers are my weakness, but even then, they're categorized and kept in neat folders or binders with appropriate labeling. I do love when life is neat and organized and I appreciate that Marie Kondo does, too, but some of her tips are either arbitrary with no evidence of their effectiveness (other than her telling us how no one rebounds from her wonderful method, which is a touch biased at best and arrogant at worst) or practically obvious (for example, don't keep unnecessary crap you don't like). Ultimately, Spark Joy retread the same ground that her first success walked on. I expected more in depth advice or a greater visual aspect to this so-called "illustrated master class", but alas, it was not to be. Overall, I wasn't too impressed with this one.


Book #29: A National Book Award winner

First of all, what is the National Book Award winner? It turns out it isn't one award to win but several, handed out by the non-profit National Book Foundation who aim to celebrate the best of American literature and have been doing so since 1950. It's a collection of awards given to writers by writers and once included awards for fiction, nonfiction, poetry, science, religion and philosophy, history, children's lit, and a bunch of other categories. Now it has been narrowed back down to fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and, recently, YA lit.

I then did a little research into what books had won this esteemed label and it turned out Alice Walker's The Color Purple earned this honour. The Colour Purple is one of those books that I have meant to read because I saw the film at a young age and knew the book was out there but never got around to reading. So, you can imagine my delight in finally finding a reason to read it that was a touch greater than the fact that I really, really, really wanted to.

I found that The Color Purple is largely plotless, but in a good way. I don't mean that nothing happens. In fact, a lot of things happen. It's hard to recount all the things that happen. But since this book is about a life and life is largely plotless, it feels like that, each event occurring because it happened to, and not because someone wrote it to be so. The novel revolves around the miserable existence that our protagonist, Celie, ekes out while married to an abusive husband who openly courts another woman right in front of Celie's eyes. She raises his disrespectful children and feels the oppression of being an African-American farmwife in the early decades of the twentieth century. I won't say too much because I don't want to ruin the novel (I never want to ruin a novel for anyone who hasn't read it), but I must say that watching Celie become more and more liberated is wonderful. An independent woman is a beautiful thing, a woman who realizes she needs love but that sometimes it comes in weird and unexpected forms.

And, above all, this is a book about sorority. The relationship between Celie and her sister Nettie is intensely vital. Without it, the book lacks that golden thread to tie all its parts together. It's a solidly written tale of Celie's life. And, of course, I appreciate the title. I may not speak the same words as they do or share the same belief system, but I too believe in the power of the colour purple.


Book #30: A book that's published in 2016

This one was a no-brainer for me. I am glad I waited long enough for this book to come out.

A play on words of one of my favourite novels of all time, The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo is the writing debut for comedienne Amy Schumer.

Schumer is, of course, hilarious, but not everything she has to say is funny. No, sometimes it's heartbreaking, like dealing at a too-young age with the humiliating limitations of her father's MS, and other times, it's cautionary, like her encounters with emotional, physical, and sexual abusers.

Taken as a whole, Amy's biography is a full story, one that ranges the emotions of a real-life being. It is funny most of the time because she is funny most of the time, but it also realizes pain, beauty, yearning, misguidance, outrage, and fear, too.

It is nice to read an autobiography that seems like even the author herself is surprised at what she finds. She really digs in. I have to applaud Amy for that. I wish more were like her.


This month marked book number thirty, so, if all goes well, I will be solidly into the thirties by Halloween. As I sit now, I have eleven more to go and exactly three months to do it. I truly think it will be a travesty if I don't make it through and hit that end goal. They don't call it a challenge for nothing. Needless to say, it's going to be a bumpy ride, but I'm ready to buckle in and buckle down.

Until next month, happy reading!

Hot Summer Streets And The Pavements Are Burning, I Sit Around.

August is a good month for family. My mother and sister both celebrated their birthdays (and then, today happens to be my birthday, but that's September, so that's a story for next time). My parents celebrated their wedding anniversary in August (31 years and counting). And with the bright sunny days, we all just want to hang out on the patio together and eat barbecue. Life is good. So, what did I do? Bury my nose in a book. In fact, I buried my nose in a lot of them.

This reading challenge is going to give me a Vitamin D deficiency.


Book #25: A book that's set in summertime

For this prompt, I went to a classic: A Midsummer Night's Dream . I mean, "summer" is in the title, so I can't be wrong.

This is the second of Shakespeare's comedies that I have read. (Although I was given a copy of Much Ado About Nothing by my special education resource teacher as a child, I never got around to reading it and instead read The Tempest first as part of my high school syllabus.) As far as Shakespearean comedies go, it's not my favourite (The Tempest, by default, is); Midsummer seems too much about the folly of love and doesn't say too much here or there about anything, really. Everything's just done for shits and giggles. I appreciated The Tempest's motivations behind its actions and, frankly, I'd rather read any of Shakespeare's tragedies over his comedies. Still, if I can deduce anything from Midsummer, then the principal point is that true love and happiness are made-up, a fallacy concocted up from magic and trickery. So, the happy ending and marital bliss and all the joyous laughter are merely . . . nothing? Ultimately, I don't know and I don't care. The sourness of that message, as that is all I can extract from what is ultimately a huge farce, is far more pessimistic than anything in the tragic downfalls of King Lear, Othello and Desdemona, Romeo and Juliet, or any of the like. Sorry, Willy, this one's just not for me.


Book #26: A book from Oprah's Book Club

When I was a kid (because, during her heyday, I certainly was a young 'un), I loved Oprah. She was this magical entity of smiles and giggles. She did some very serious episodes, which at the time I didn't fully understand, but for the most part, it was animals, information, celebrities, and laughs. And, as it turns out, books. I loved to read as a kid, so you would have thought I would have been much more aware of her book club.

That was not the case. I only really took note in light of the James Frey incident. I bought his book because of Oprah, further evidence of the Oprah effect. I was shocked when I found out that some of this so-called true story was, in fact, fabricated. Now, I feel like that's not such a big deal, considering it doesn't make the story and the experience it conveys any less true in theory. For the same reason, I feel that the Orange is the New Black television program, which has veered far from the original source material, Piper Kerman's memoir of the same name, is still true. Now, the names may be different, the locations, and any other number of details, but the experiences are much the same and the injustices even more so. The essence is real, and sometimes that's good enough.

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, I didn't know a great deal about Oprah's book club until her show was off the air. I had read White Oleander not because Miz Winfrey had declared it so, but rather simply because I wanted to. It wasn't until later that I noticed her stamp of approval on the cover.

So, I had nothing in mind and had to look up a list for this prompt. I was oscillating between Paradise and the book I eventually chose. I determined that, considering its popularity, I would most certainly read Paradise in the future. It would not disappear like a faded memory from the public conscious, so I went with Option B.

I had never heard of What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day . Written by Pearl Cleage, What Looks Like Crazy tells the story of Ava Johnson, a successful Atlanta stylist, recently diagnosed with HIV, who returns home to Michigan to spend some time with her sister before leaving for San Francisco. She slowly gets wrapped up in the details of her sister's life until she finds not one but many reasons to stay put. But can she really live her life there? Or is she just being delusional? Coping with the shock of an incurable illness must be terrifying, but, while Ava does address her fears surrounding her diagnosis and the social stigma she faces now, the book mostly skims past all of the darkness and depression and god-knows-what-else that one would probably succumb to after that, trading it all in for Ava's composure and strength. As nice as it is to have a poised protagonist, that part feels less than realistic.

Otherwise, I absolutely freaking loved this novel. Pearl Cleage writes so well in Ava's voice, an ongoing trickle of thoughts that never feel contrived or constructed. Everything feels natural and respects the character's best and worst parts without sugarcoating or demonizing. She thinks what she thinks, completely uninhibited. She doesn't act on every thought. That's what makes her real. We sometimes have fleeting flashes of darkness, happiness, idiocy, prejudice, and everything else under the sun. We, as humankind, only act on a very small fraction of those ideas.

Lastly, I found Ava's quest for self-improvement inspiring. I'm sure Oprah did, too, and that's why Pearl Cleage's book landed itself a coveted spot on her Book Club list. Forever canonized as Lady O's lit of choice, I am glad that this novel got some attention -- not just by the world but by me. It was a fun experience to read and I am glad I found it.


Book #27: A book set in Europe

This is my favourite book so far. (It gets the edge on Sharp Objects, a vastly different novel.) It more than fulfilled its prompt as a book set in Europe with discussion of places like Italy, Greece, and Iceland, and settings like Switzerland, England (currently the country most on Europe's bad side), and a cafe in Le Marais and other parts of Paris. That book was Me Before You .

If I cried once, I cried a dozen times. Although I'm sure Me Before You is categorized as a romance novel, that's dealing with it in far too basic terms.

For one, it has a greater depth of subject matter than your average generic bodice ripper. There's an intense heaviness there you can't shake nor can you find in a Harlequin paperback. It transcends the genre in that way, but author Jojo Moyes is the real reason why Me Before You is so damn spectacular.

Her writing style rubs us raw and holds the bare skin to the flame. We feel it. We don't want it to hurt, but it does. We're invested despite ourselves.

In one of the more tearful moments, I concluded that Louisa Clark, the fictional protagonist, must be speaking to me. I couldn't stop flipping the pages, hearing the next thing and the next thing. Louisa’s voice (really, Jojo Moyes’s voice) beckons. Having experienced some of the same things this character has, I felt a closeness to her that I haven't felt since Lisbeth Salander (for the record, anything I might have in common with Lisbeth doesn't make me even remotely similar to her). In ways I like and in a few ways I don't (I too can tell you the exact day I stopped being fearless), I am like Louisa. Her story is ridiculously unique and individual and yet, in its tenderest moments, it engages everyone with the ubiquity of its emotion.

I absolutely loved this book and I don't think I'm alone in my fascination with it. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend Me Before You.


And that is it for August. A mere count of three for this month seems too small in my mind, though. Fingers crossed I can make some serious headway sooner rather than later. I am not looking forward to reading a 600-plus-page chunkster, but this is what the PopSugar gods have decreed. This challenge is, like, totally hard, guys.

Until then, happy reading!