landscape

'I see this landscape at night, in darkness, through a window. Outside there are two white walls, as tall as the walls of a castle. Like two castles back to back! There is only one narrow passageway between them, which stretches into the distance like a road, and when i look down this road I am overcome with fear. The road where God does not exist is as snowy and muddy as the roads in Kars, but it's purple! There's something in the middle of the road that tells me, "Stop!" but I still can't keep myself from looking right down to the end of the road, to the place where this world ends. Right at the end of this world, I can see a tree, one last tree, and it's bare and leafless. Then, because I'm looking at it, it turns bright red and bursts into flames. It's at this point that I begin to feel very guilty for being curious about the land where God does not exist. So, just suddenly, the red tree turns back to black. So I tell myself I'd better not look again, but then I can't help it, I do look again, and the tree at the end of the world starts burning red once more. This goes on until morning.'

'What is it about this landscape that scares you so much?'

'I can't help thinking that it's the Devil making me think such a landscape could be of this world. But if I can make something come to life before my eyes, the source must be my own imagination. Because, if there really were a place like this on earth, then it would mean that God - God forbid - didn't exist. And since this can't be true, the only possible explanation is that I myself don't believe in God. And that could be worse than death.'

excerpt from Snow, by Orhan Pamuk, translated by Maureen Freely




words worth a thousand pictures.


finally khatam-ed the book. starts of very nicely. it loses a little ground somewhere around the middle, but the final pages make up for its flaws. i really never saw it as a political or a religious piece; sure there are some pretty heavy dialogue, but i don't take it too seriously ; i'm more interested on the characters anyway. i don't understand them at times (for instance how some see themselves as eastern, as opposed to being western. but i suppose there are a lot of people like that. perhaps.), but they are strong and determined nevertheless. i'm curious as to how much content is lost, and how much is gained, after the translation.

midnight prophecy

Yes, they will trample me underfoot they will trample my son who is not my son, and his son who will not be his, and his who will not be his, until the thousand and first generation, until thousand and one midnights have bestowed their terrible gifts and a thousand and one children have died, because it is the privilege an the curse of midnight's children to be both masters and victims of their times, to forsake privacy and be sucked into the annihilating whirlpool of the multitudes, and to be unable to live or die in peace.

quoted from midnight's children by salman rushdie


i've been away for a over a week now. the same old questions have been thrown at me, and now i'm tired and i won't bother talking about it anymore. it did however, gave me the time to finish up a book i've owned for over a year now. midnight's children by salman rushdie. what a book it was; vivid; funny; engaging; complicated. while i do not aspire to write like rushdie, with his lack of full-stops, and endless descriptions about a grandfather's magnificent olfactory organs and the tastiest chutney's as green as grasshoppers among others, i do admire his skills as author. okay, perhaps i am already writing like him. his vast imagination and poetic phrases takes control of the story, it unfolds a vast world where intertwined with the story of saleem sinai, is a generous sprinkling of history, politics, culture and fantasy. saleem, whose father is not his, borne on prophecies and on history. saleem, whose son is not his, who believed his path towards greatness. an overwhelming read for my standards, but very rewarding.

next book : snow by orhan pamuk. so far it's been brilliant.