Jay

That was more intriguing than the first!

Cute little mystery book! Can't say I didn't enjoy it and I did find myself very enthused at the direction in which the book entertains and frightens you with how the murders operate and such.

It’s really hard to appreciate in full unless you are a curious scholar of Kafka. But he does write with elegance and when the lines work, they do. Just as it does when the last letter appears and the story of a relationship in letters ends on a bittersweet one.

Not since Raymond Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" have I felt a surge inside of me after reading a collection of short stories. With SWWLYAYDG it is an intensely curated mishmash of stories built to rollercoaster your feelings in ways unimaginable. The type where you can't binge this in one go because every single story is made to hit you somewhere. It could be about firm lawyers, or bizarre wedding rituals, or scientists walking into doors, but the feelings are just the same.

It's a considerable flex that Raphael Bob-Waksberg can write prose like this that stands quite differently (or complimentary) to his work on Bojack Horseman. A clear display of talent and finesse at work.

The most majestic thing about the Dune series is how despite its cyclical conquests for power, deceit, and survival, the world Frank Herbert crafted is nothing short of spectacular. By Chapterhouse, the stakes are set while the worlds feel more immense with each page. Admittedly, it revels in the same boredoms that strike Heretics down but even in how it focuses and finishes chapters there is a lingering intrigue with each one.

Which, of course, concludes in one of the more unfortunate cliffhangers of the saga. Whether it could be definitively said where the book would go or not, Chapterhouse still ends on a high note and a deservedly choice one to end Frank Herbert's saga on.

It's a mighty fine undertaking for Frank Herbert to continue exploring Dune towards directions that just get weirder and weirder. Case in point: Heretics. While it essentially still centers around a character being the focus of everyone's agenda, Heretics takes Dune in places far more difficult to comprehend despite the fact that God Emperor and its 20-foot long worm. If anything is to go by this book in its most layman of descriptions: there's an interconnected series of conflicts between sex priests, eugenic-loving witches, and shapeshifters in the backdrop of a mass-exodus event where a whole spur of mysterious new bloodlines emerge.

There isn't any other way to mince that for a reader whose only awareness of Dune is from the first three books. Nevertheless, Heretics energizes the saga with such a degree of insanity that history's real-life philosophies are caked into it within the context of high sci-fi fantasy. God, who can really comprehend Frank Herbert's mind at this point?

What is so jarring about Heretics is how it speeds up as the book progresses, and operates at such a disruptive pace that the last few chapters feel like Frank Herbert rushed the book to release. Totally unfortunate because Heretics is also a damn entertaining action book whose continuation heavily relies on these fascinating stealth and combat sequences. Herbert takes his readers for surprises in places where one expects and least expects, and yet it also feels a little sad that he zips through the closing chapters in a bittersweet tone.

Don't let that sourness limit you from enjoying this book, because I sure did.

So dense I had to set the book aside multiple times out of sheer awe.

I do feel an immensely richer undertaking with Children of Dune. The way Herbert navigates the aftermath of Messiah and steers it towards an adventure wrought in suffering and constant dilemmas... it's really impressive to see that the book just takes on a weird life of its own, even moreso than Messiah ever had.

Dune Messiah explores in great detail the lengths of fated prophecy: at least, in its prideful pursuits and strict adherence. No other piece of fiction aside from Watchmen explores this concept as crucially to the story as it does here, and Frank Herbet even introduces his audience to a heavy dose of that idiosyncratic writing that fans describe as more prevalent in later works.

The conspiracy plot of Dune Messiah does provide some incredibly damning sequences: the orgasmic training room scene, a darkly comedic writing of Hayt/Duncan Idaho's presence, and the amazing stone-burner sequence. It leaves a lot of spectacle to the mind, whilst providing an interesting and curious foundation for the next books going forward.

But at least, we know this closes the first arc of the Atriedes saga.

"He strides through the long cavern of time, scattering the fool-self of his dream."

Dense, and rich. I admire its philosophical underpinnings that are justly tied in a lot of character choices as much as the worldbuilding. Ah-h-h-h-h really excellent piece of literary work.

Not sure why this is celebrated ravishly. Didn’t find it too sweet nor endearing, and I think its “philosophical underpinnings” feel as flat as such thoughts could be.

Half the book runs amuck, kind of stale and repetitive. Only kicks a little more into high gear towards the end, and a clarity welcome but pretty insufferable writing from Cormac McCarthy.

Dostoyevsky's The Gambler marks a first read into the delightful cultural exchange that captures the human condition. It is a relatively short story, in comparison to his more significant works, but nonetheless features a rather hilarious and pitiful scenario of gambling addicts beset by the nature of dice rolls and roulettes. With that in mind, The Gambler does a nice job in doling out an adventure for the character of Alexei Ivanovich, as Dostoyevsky develops him into a person whose own vices ultimately define his triumphs and failures.

It's rather funny in the way that he outlines his characters: by nationality, of which their tendency for greed is defined. It's really something to behold, as the story takes these turns and developments that feel partly engaged and partly detached. It's a fine undertaking, considering the circumstances in which Dostoyevsky wrote all of this in.

I'm not considerably keen on how Viajero juxtaposes its national confusion of the Philippines with essences of misogyny. Oh well, I feel that Viajero carries itself as something more insufferable than profound; lackadaisical than evocative. Such a piece is too eager for anyone's liking, and I suppose FSJ's style of projecting his worldview into a wandering traveler only proves potent when he finally winds up in the Philippines–a grueling 250 pages in!

If anything, this is how the book reveals itself to be: a displaced Filipino whose curiosities in various parts of the world can be amounted to escapades with women, of whom the plot is materially driven forward without end, and then sloppily inserts sentiments about the fragmented Filipino identity somewhere. (That quibble against Lino Brocka was not cool, btw!)

It's quite creepy to consider that the words of Osamu Dazai reek of an ongoing behavior within Japan–he wrote this shortly before his death in 1948!–that is defined by a contradictory form of servitude (emotionally torn, functionally obedient) and a penchant for vices. No Longer Human evokes the kind of self-awareness that should be alarming, even as it packages itself as a fictional reading of three notebooks from a character named Oba Yozo.

The quickest way I can describe reading this is that it evokes itself so nonchalantly that any form of Japanese media that comes before or after makes a lot of sense. It's astounding to consider that this is all compressed into such a story. Wow.

The first (of many more) Eric Gamalinda read introduces itself as a forlorn, mystical undertaking that effectively is a compressed revision of Rizal's Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo in a manner that is much more spiritual, and intensely sexual (read: the sex here is astoundingly graphic, but not boyishly employed without reason.)

If anything, its freewheeling adaptation of a true-to-life spiritual leader in the Negros Revolution sheds light on Philippine History and its future in a manner so damningly strong that one can't help but be impressed. The final act of this film really turns things up, where the intensities that the war builds up just spills over and begins to be something so enchanting and tragic.

Summatively, this book is an enrapturing story of holy prophets who were born to deliver salvation at a time when everything doesn't make sense.

Seems quite cheesy to be frank, but still a nice and light read that is rather emboldening and earnest in its ways.

Reading “The Plague” at the post-pandemic period feels... so resonant. One cannot understate how much of a punch the book feels especially at its tail end: when the story mellows out and provides itself with very surprising one-liners or musings that linger even after the book's conclusion.

First Fukuyama means having the exposure towards authors whose centrism gives way to reasonable skepticism and implied biases surfacing in spurts.

To that end, I feel that the style in which he interrogates facets of humanity that are linked to future effects of biotechnology is so long-winded. It easily drifts away from the thesis of the book because of how extensively he expositions a concept in whichever possible. It leaves me with a conclusion that... I guess feels way too underwhelming?

That isn't to say he offers premises or ideas that occasionally strike a chord. I think the thing with these types of authors is that they are compelling insofar as you don't view the context behind what they're saying.

But I could also be wrong and be dumb, this thing took me way too long to read.

Partly smut, honestly just high-art wattpad in its core, but I would be lying if I didn't resonate with it regardless. I just think that for a Sally Rooney writing, I feel very underwhelmed by her confinement of thoughts; poignant human ruminations developed in moments of smutty sex and intense relationships that don't resurface cohesively, discoveries and reveals that are so befuddling especially in a story that is so slow in its development.

Ah well, still enchanting but its fine.

My first reading of Montaigne's selection of essays ends with me having some clarity that Montaigne is a very apt writer for people looking to get out of the “prescriptive” sleaze of self-help literature. I say this with the understanding that Montaigne does tell, through his own introspection, specks of advice that may be contradictory if understood in isolation.

But the meat of Montaigne's work based on these selections is one that is highly doubtful (but also faithful) of the self and its many capabilities. It's the type of work that challenges the fickleness of experience, appreciating the knowledge shared by humble tutors, or challenging the definition of what makes a person willing.

Of course, I think I am pretending to know everything of this man through a sample of works, but the Selections chosen by Crofts Classics are quite earnest and still applicable today. Its ability to provide some kind of clarity will never elude me.

I think in the realm of IT this is quite a nice starter kit to understanding the ins-and-outs of IT as a business environment and quite applicable regardless of where you are on the corporate ladder of IT.

The Alchemist is so adorned with optimism, one can't help but think of how it feels so quintessentially... adult adventure? I digress in the course of understanding that this is really just relatable to people of all ages.

I think as an adult, what The Alchemist does beyond strongly evoking a fable later repeated in parts in self-help books is to simply invite people to trust in themselves—their hearts. The ethos of Alchemist seems easily mistaken for essentialism or privilege, when it is more about existence and determinism.

Much of the story isn't so strong as much as it ridiculous, but its a ridiculousness rooted in childlike adventurism, the type of stuff that teeters on escapism yet finagling its way into meaning and value. The ending is quite interesting to think about in this regard, in comparison to the stuff that happens before it.

There's a bunch of light and interesting anecdotes here about very, very obscure things in the world. But the good chunk of essays here don't really seem like they hold a strong candle in any discourse–arguments in favor of renewable marriages, the reangling of Judas as a person seeking a hero only to be barely explored–because the thought within this is quite flimsy.

(also not sure why Antonio Allego's authorship is not credited here)

Thoroughly enjoyed going through the assortment of essays Resil Mojares compiled in this collection. I think what strikes me the most about his approach in writing his thoughts, arguments, and personal qualms is that apart from shedding light on perspectives unexplored, it is often rooted in compelling argumentation.

That is to say, he understandably discusses, albeit in short detail, about the importance of “critical globalization”, of what could possibly qualify as Philippine Noir, of the inclusion of informal authors in the historiography of the Philippines. What I find with his approach, and at least with his intellectual rigor, is that it constantly looks for areas in which the discussion can be leveled. Shortness aside, I don't think I felt any circular going through the entire book's collection.