Afflicting the Already Afflicted... and Other Things

I could get into where/when I discovered Laurell K Hamilton’s Anita Blake series, as well as the doldrums concerning why I keep reading.  But I won’t.  Wait.  Okay, I will say that I keep reading them because I am an Aquarius and we are known for our fierce loyalty and resolve to finish things that we've started.  Nonetheless, I could also share my many meditations on what I loath about the series; if there‘s room, maybe what I love (at least within the first nine books).  However, I've shared my wobbling opinions about this series time and time again with those who've listened and shared my troubled thoughts concerning this cast of puppets and caricatures.  And despite so, I try and try again to read the next book with a fresh pair of nerves.  It’s like a revolving door, I come close to saying “f this series”, yet follow through with the next book the proceeding year.  As more of what I dislike about the series repeats itself, without the slightest dawdle in concerns to readers' fatigue, I notice that I spend less and less time finishing any one particular book.  And it's this wave of Mary Sue nausea--among other things--that is probably why it took me five months and almost four weeks to finish Affliction.  Around the last third of the book is when I really began to clunk out and crash.  I spent more time engrossed in my Murder, She Wrote marathons than seeing whether Anita and company were going to get off their cranky, notional philosophizing asses and focus on the case at hand. 

And that's pretty much all I got.  So enough of the undercover conversations and spiels on misogyny, as well as themes concerning the accidental emasculation of men.  Even the gratuitous, ill-expressed sex scenes are now cake (although I totally skipped the third one out of exhaustion) as opposed to Hamilton's need to pound her readers in the head with whatever the hell her characters give a crap about randomly discussing at any--and I mean any--given moment.  Those subject matters are about as old as grunge music.  Only I like grunge music for being such.  This... is just plain beating--or flogging in this instance--a dead horse.

Where do we go from here?  Or do I really care to know now?

My Dream Maker Purchases

What’s up, everybody.  Listen, I wanted to share a couple of things I bought over the weekend at my favorite metaphysical gift shop located within the city.  The place is called The Dream Maker (here’s a link to their website: http://www.dreammakershop.com), and my best friend and I absolutely love this place.  We kind of discovered it over a year ago during a time where a few unexpected twists were happening in both our lives and relationships with others.  However, in a general sense, we've always loved and believed in stuff (I really don’t mean to use the term “stuff” lightly) like this.  Nevertheless, the Universe and its timing during periods of necessary growth and change is always on point.  Our Dream Maker visits helped “charge“ and motivate positivity into our lives.  Or at least helped point us in the direction of alignment with the positives.  It started with collecting crystals and gemstones (which I suppose I should share) and moved into collecting all sorts of other things, including this jade frog I keep near my door to attract money.  I adore the frog regardless, though.  

My intention on this weekend visit was to find a large quartz crystal point to help jump start my established crystal/gemstone/rock collection for the New Year.  However, I walked out with all Native American items, along with a bill that was shockingly less than $40.  I had a lot of assistance in making my decision; the shop keepers/employees are extremely friendly, helpful, and suggestive.  Every time my best friend and I leave the place we always smile about how good we feel.  We're always excited about carrying on that feeling with our new acquisitions.

It didn't take much convincing for me to purchase this shiny abalone shell.  I looked at many handcrafted boxes and bowls to see what would suit as a new bed for my crystals/gemstones to rest inside before deciding the shell might work and look cool at the same time.  As always, the shopkeepers and their little item description tags helped move my decision.  Apparently, abalone shells are known for providing growth and clarity within individuals, as well as assisting with smudging practices/ceremonies.  Considering we’re talking about metaphysics, this is vibrationally speaking.  So I went about picking me out a nice one, as you see here.  However, I didn't use it for gemstones after I floated around the shop catching my eye on something else I could use the shell for.

One of the shopkeepers was busy rearranging a shelf of new items while I was picking through other Native American products, and reading up on something called wishing paper.  As I am somewhat easily excitable and loud in places like this, the shopkeeper eased over to explain their new product called incense powder.  Ordered by a company called Anna Riva, they were new and selling really well in the shop--according to the shopkeeper.  Curious as I am, I saw that each bottle had a tag explaining what each mixture of power represented.  One simply titled “Job” was self-explanatory.  However, there were others like “Desire Me” and “Drive Away Evil” that really had my curious.  I decided to give this a go, asking the shopkeeper if it would be okay if I burned the powder incense in my new-found abalone shell.  He said it would work, but I just learned that heat transfers quickly through the shell.  I burn very little powder on a stable surface after nearly melting a hole into my PS3.  Anyway, after a short deliberation between choosing the “Five of Love” powder or the “Quick Money”, I chose the “Quick Money” powder.  Hey, I want to travel aboard some time this year.  Don’t judge me.  Besides, the “Quick Money” powder smells amazing.  Straight out of the bottle it has an airy lemon scent.

Unsure of the practices of using incense powder, I researched Anna Riva’s website (I’ll link it here: https://www.annarivas.com) to get some facts.  According to the site, using “Quick Money” required the user to write the amount they wish to receive on a piece of paper.  Place the paper underneath the instrument housing the burning incense and repeat each day.  I’m on day three and I can say that after five months I finally made another sell in my Amazon Marketplace shop.  Not to mention Sunday I found a dollar on the ground at work and gave it to a customer who was short on change.

The last thing I’m listing was actually the first thing I picked up during the visit.  I was just attracted to this item right away.  It’s a brass chime if I’m not mistaken.  There really wasn't much discussion over this item while I was in the shop, only that I was interested in this particular color.  Nevertheless, my intentions was to use the chime as a means of musical meditation.  Something about the tinkering of the chimes exudes calmness.  If anyone has any information or suggestions for its use, please pass it on to me.

Toward the end of our visit, the shopkeeper and owner took out some of the flying wish paper that I mentioned earlier.  They were allowing some customers to try them out, seeing that this was a new in-store product.  Made mainly out of rice paper, the purpose of flying wish paper is to send your wishes out into Heaven/Universe where they can come true, or manifest into your life.  Needless to say, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to give it a try.  While it was difficult to write clearly on the paper itself, I let my intentions do most of the “writing” as I took an extra three minutes making my inner self clear.  After you write your wish on the paper, you roll the paper up into a tube then light a match to it.  The minute the flame touches the paper, the wish paper takes off.  Because we were inside we lit the paper and watched it lift, almost smoldering in the air.  The shopkeeper caught the burnt paper in plastic baggies and instructed us to take them home and release them there.  I did so the next morning before work, but hours before then, I walked out of The Dream Maker feeling both elated and comforted by the whole experience.

Can anyone guess what I asked for on my paper?  I'll hint that it was two things.

Liking Gaga

Have you ever told someone what album/artist you like listening to and them not having anything positive to add along with it?  This recently happened to me and now I feel fit to share why I like Lady Gaga--with a little splash of why I like Artpop.

Once upon a time I threw all my money away buying music.  I stayed in Best Buy buying whatever just came out--didn’t matter if they were new artist or not.  Actually, debut albums were probably my favorite thing to waste money on.  I could burn a whole $10 just to repeat one song, or that one single off an album.  I suppose you can say that I was hungry for something to relate too back then.  Then one day I grew up and saw that there were only a handful of artists left that I would buy from again without question.  That would have to be enough; sticking with what I knew.  Lady Gaga turned out to be one of them after I bumped around my old campus to her debut, The Fame.  Having marked itself as a keynote to a happy time, I turn to that album during those nostalgic needs to remind myself that I in fact did experience pieces of the college experience; stood on bar chairs at underwear modeling parties (myself fully dressed I might add); and spent late nights in the city park with friends and bags of Krystal's.  Many of those youthful occasions were achieved while the ringtone to my cell phone was “Poker Face”.

Now, I’m not one of those super, uber fans.  I don’t consider myself a “Little Monster”, per what Gaga addresses her fan base as.  And that's partly because I'm not good with up keeping labels that require up keeping.  My walls aren’t coated with Gaga posters, and my coffee table isn't decorated with art books dedicated to her style and fashion (though I do pay some small attention when gossip stirs on her attire).  Nevertheless, I’ve always loved and admired her panache, or reckless audacity.  I say that despite all the questionable labels and criticisms she receives.  As well as all of that other junk that spills onto her audience like a wobbling chalice after a heavy-handed pouring of the liquor.  There is just something so releasing about her, plus she writes some catchy-ass pop songs over some driving beats.  And people may contest this, but I do see her as an artist.  From my view she is most certainly attuned to her personal vision and creativity, even under taking risks.  Also, she comes across as musically intelligent, if even in her own right.  Other than that, I can hear her voice in her music, unlike a certain popstar who I finally gave up on because I’d rather hear an animatron howl than her squeak over a beat.

I think that’s why I like Lady Gaga.  She gets her share of comparisons, but for the most part she showcases that seemingly unleash of  her own personal creativity.  And might I add with a nod to those who've inspired elements of it.  Along with that, I like the sort of devil may care attitude her music sometimes emanates.  That lack of inhibition to indulge in your own desires or ingenious (or what have you) force.

It's fair for people to pan her latest album, Artpop.  I’m not the type to go on a defensive rampage, considering I let people do/believe what they choose in general.  As for me I love the album.  No, it’s not all great.  On the surface I could do without maybe 4 out of 15 tracks.  And yes, upon my first listen all I understood was sex, fame, and drug-use.  Then left to internalize the music for myself, I saw something different.  I saw Gaga maybe trying to write her way out of something.  So I began to spoil myself by slipping into that catatonic state of Gaga "unleashing" to see what I could find.

While the message behind Artpop is probably a little more complex than I can address here (more as Gaga tackles fame and artistry), what reached me was the vulnerability that I found in many of the songs like "Aura," "Dope," "Swine," and "Gypsy".  From those few I got a sense that the way you’ll be where you wish to be is to sacrifice pieces of who you are, and then close off or separate the rest of yourself while you still can.  Leading to the question as to who lies “behind the aura”?  

Then at the end of the day I can always rely on Gaga to push being yourself instead of always being understood.

Many times, that's good enough for me.  So I keep listening. 

7 Favorite Reads of 2013

HAPPY NEW YEAR!  2014 IS HERE!

With each year comes one concrete, consistent thing that forever entertains, comforts, and enlightens me... that would be books.  According to Goodreads I read more in 2013 than 2012.  I felt a little surprised, certain that it was the other way around for some reason.  Still, I had a few decent books on that list that I cropped through to find my 7 Favorite Reads of 2013 that I wanted to share on the blog.  Some of the books I've never written about; this is the perfect time to do so.  I also have another list comprising of a few of the books I rather leave in 2013.  Neither list is necessarily numbered in order of greatness, flavor, or level of entertainment.  It’s just a list of the books I walked away from feeling mostly inspired (or uninspired) by.
Here goes…

1. The Goddess Chronicle by Natsuo Kirino

Natsuo Kirino is a Japanese crime writer best known outside of Japan for the English adaptation of her grizzly novel, Out.  I was introduced to her by that particular book, after a bored bookstore stroll for new titles to read.  Quickly put, Out is about four hard-up Japanese women working in a bento factory while disposing bodies for extra cash.  Their method of disposal?  Divide the bodies into pieces before each takes a part to an undisclosed location for dumping.  It doesn't take long before their trust with one another, concerning money and their nasty dealings, begin to unravel from within.  And true to its nature, some of these women don't make it till the end of the novel.  While Out may sound like some sort of ABC crime novel under the streets of Tokyo, the psychology Kirino goes through with each of the women places this book a whole step above.  That exploration into a character's dark psychology (and impulse) is familiar in Japanese crime novels.  You see it in authors Keigo Higashino and Miyuki Miyabe as well.  Nonetheless, I was sold by Out's synopsis and have been a fan of Kirino since.  

The next novel adapted into English was her book, Grotesque.  Just as dark as Out, Grotesque follows the story of two Japanese sisters weighted by the inferior treatment of women in Japan.  One sister has turned to prostitution underneath the weight.  When I say this story will take you down some dark and scary places--I mean it.  It is one ride that will keep you hanging on just to find some kind of resolution with these sisters.  If you can stomach it, of course.  In 2008 the English adaptation of Kirino’s Real World was released.  Here we had another dark story featuring a group of Japanese teens assisting a murderer-on-the-run within their group.  Naturally, Kirino’s dark stories reflect societal concerns, particularly bullying and the heavy amount of pressure placed on Japanese students and academics, so addressed in Real World.  

So what is Kirino’s fourth English adapted book about?  

Almost the same theme concerning the overthrow of women in Japanese society; however, it’s told underneath a retelling of an old Japanese kwaidan-like myth.  The Goddess Chronicle takes place on a Japanese island shaped like a teardrop (let’s go ahead and push the symbolism).  On this island we’re introduced to two sisters born and designed to fulfill a local prophesy.  One sister, Kamikuu, must be a representative of purity and light, whereas the other sister, Namima, resides in the shade.  Natural to Kirino’s characters and storytelling, Namima wishes to escape her position underneath her sister’s shadow.  This wish becomes increasing dire when Namima is ordered by tradition to serve the goddess of darkness.  To serve the goddess is to live in isolation without the island’s graveyard, attending to the dead.  However, Namima carries a secret that breaks her tabooed position as a servant of the darkness.  Namima devises a plan to escape the island.  Should the tradition-baring locals find out about her secret, the consequences could equal up to her life.  Where Namima's eventual escape leads her is to the Realm of the Dead, where she meets the goddess of darkness herself.  It's here that Namima realizes that she has a lot to relate to with the goddess herself.  They both share the pain of the betrayal.  Now to find absolve (or maybe revenge) within those betrayals are the women’s common goal.

2.  Night by Elie Wiesel

3.  Tar Baby by Toni Morrison

My post on Tar Baby.

4.  Linden Hills by Gloria Naylor

My post on Linden Hills.  

5.  The Shining by Stephen King

6.  Empress Dowager Cixi: The Concubine Who Launched Modern China by Jung Chang

My post on Empress Dowager Cixi. 

7.  Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan

My post on Crazy Rich Asians. 

Now the 3 books I'd probably leave in 2013 follows...

1.  Jazz by Toni Morrison

Seems a little off I'm sure.  It's not that I disliked the book, it just wasn't what I'd hoped for.  I've learned that much of Morrison's material post-80's has what I see as a distracting dip in vivid prose and language.  The problem for me is that that "distracting" sometimes lures me away from gathering some sense of the plot of the book, or even the order of the plot.  Add in the multiple themes and narratives in Jazz; I just didn't leave fully connected with overall story.  However, some of the individual narratives in the book stood so strongly that it was like reading an individual short story inside the book.  Glimpses of pieces of the past that made the two main characters was where I enjoyed the book the most.  In any regard, it's definitely a book that needs a second, focused read.

2.  The Shadow Reader by Sandy Williams

The Urban Fantasy genre has failed me over the years.  After Laurell K Hamilton's Anita Blake series set the tone for what to avoid while writing/reading in the genre, I've been sketchy on picking up anything that even distantly suggests a girl must sleep with vampires and werewolves for a plot.  Save for the authors who introduced me to the genre (sadly, Hamilton is one), I try to look carefully for new authors in the genre.  I'm afraid they'll try to pull me in with a ridiculous plot about sex and a she devil who thrives on it to survive.  Williams, luckily, isn't any of those things.  However, what did annoy me about this particular book was that the heroine spent a little too much time than I cared for ruminating on her affection between two guys.  One guys is labeled bad.  One guy is labeled good.  We got a love triangle and the whole time I just wished the main character, McKenzie, would give up the need for romantic stability and just start slaying heads.  Something tells me that's a personal taste of mine.  Nevertheless, I'm actually on the fence about continuing the series.  I'll let it get a few books in then see.

3.  Deadline by Sandra Brown

She has some good ones.  She has some boring ones.  This was a boring one.  I hate to say it, but many times Brown's characters are all the same.  Their careers are different, but their desires are not.  Predictable in many senses.  I saw a lot of that in Deadline.  Same as in 2012's Low Pressure.  Same as in 2011's Lethal (which I actually liked).  As I said before, Brown's books sometimes read like Lifetime movies--and that's not a bad thing.  But here's what I see too often that annoys me.  There's a guy.  He's often a suspect involved in the murder contained within the book.  He likes the girl.  She's often related to the victim in some way.  They're either on the run from cops or bad guys.  Between that running, she is a wall to his desperate sexual advances.  She cracks.  He makes way.  Together they become a force to smoke out the true killer.  That's been her last 3-4 books.

That's the end of my list folks!  Wish I could've written about them all, but trust and believe me when I say that the ones that I didn't write about would've required an entire post.  Any suggestions or comments?  Do you have a list 2013 book list of favorites?  Share and let's compare notes!

The Tao and Limitlessness

A couple of years ago I was sitting alone in the computer lab at school looking at a big, less-than-20%-grade-achievement on a line of math assignments that would surely reroute me back into the course the proceeding semester.  I was struck with panic.  I was tired and wasted with the idea that I could somehow conquer my math anxiety as well as other complications with the generality of arithmetic.  I was just about ready to let my defeat wash over me, turning into a wave of hate and resentment for life as I hit another block.  Somehow I managed to swallow a scream.  Then I simply... quietly... just sat still.  That stillness was silent enough for me to recall a video featuring Louise Hay and her philosophies on life.  Right then and there I managed to calm myself by stating the affirmation she shared in the video.  "All is well," she'd said.  "From this experience only good will come and I am safe.  For the Universe is on my side now and forevermore.  All is well."

That was all I had; I left out of that lab smiling.  While I didn't pass the course, a few months later I was redirected toward another school where I got all of the help I needed in math.  I left their prerequisite math course with a solid B.  Needless to say, I learned to use that affirmation often.  Whether a problem arises or I need to calm my thoughts down from over-obsessing about the future, I hang on to the truth that all is well.

After that experience I decided to seriously focus closer on the changes I wanted to make in my life through healthier thinking.  And while there were plenty, one of the old patterns of thinking gave me a little more resistance than others.  I found it difficult to squelch the idea that what was necessary and good in my life felt limited by my unconscious need to create time limits or expirations on them.  From money, to friendships, to my ability to accept grace and new found creative freedom, everything had a frustrating time limitation on it.  From the ability to be receptive to allowing certain dreams that I’d dreamed up to be, or to at least staple them down to becoming possible through some general actions toward their direction, had a time limit.  It was as if things had to change at a certain time in my life because I was always trying to escape the possibility of being tied down to a worthless existence.  I couldn't trust the process and there seemed to never be enough to work with.

Reversing that form of limited thinking required me to put forth the ever true concept that whatever I needed from God/Universe is forever in a state of endless abundance and assistance.  There is no limit to what God/Universe can do and provide.  Therefore, there is no need to limit my thinking about money because money would always be available to get me where I desired.  There was no need to think about my lack of friendships because friendships were always available and ready for creation (though most of that issue resided in my reclusive ways toward others).  There was no need to believe that my creativity had a limit, because God/Universe would always provide avenues to explore my creativity and share it further.  Inspired by change, I realized that all things are possible if I let go and put trust where it belongs.

Relating the Tao’s translation by Derek Lin to Wayne Dyer’s made me realization that the purpose of Chapter/Verse 4 is to recognize that bottomless abundance provided by God/Universe, and that we have to trust in how endless such a resource is.  Much of that realization can be achieved by reading the first four lines.  Nevertheless, let’s start with Lin’s translation stating:

The Tao is empty

When utilized, it is not filled up

So deep!  It seems to be the source of all things

It blunts the sharpness

Unravels the knots

Dims the glare

Mixes the dusts

So indistinct!  It seems to exist

I do not know whose offspring it is

Its image is the predecessor of the Emperor

Whereas Dyer’s translation reads:

The Tao is empty

But inexhaustible,

Bottomless,

The ancestor of it all.

Within it, the sharp edges become smooth;

The twisted knots loosen;

The sun is softened by a cloud;

The dust settles into place.

It is hidden but always present.

I do not know who gave birth to it.

It seems to be the common ancestor of all, the father of things.

Amazing, right?  Probably the shortest and clearest verse I’ve come across so far.  I find myself drawn to the comfort of words--between the two translations--like “empty”, “inexhaustible”, and “bottomless.”

So how do we shut our minds down long enough to let God/Universe/Tao do what it does and provide for us with its bottomless edge of abundance and assistance?  Or how do we allow these “forces” to bring abundance through ourselves?  It takes practice, but I believe the key within all of this is to quickly affirm that all is well.  This allows our mind enough calm to let God/Universe/Tao to provide us clear answers, or even deliver us the solution.  As I shared in my little mathematics story, I learned to quickly shut my mind up when problems arise.  Instead of jumping up to resist the issue, I tell myself that all is well.  This gives me time to chill, reorganize my thoughts, and put aside all of the thoughts that only make the situation worst.  Doing so at least gives me enough time to think up a solution or allow a solution to come.  Sometimes those solutions don't show up until days down the road, but I have to trust that that's okay too.  I'm not saying I always get it right, but I am always aware of the potential behind the tool of simply stating that "all is well".  From there, I begin to trust the process when the resources surrounding me are abundant.

Lesson number 125 titled, In Quiet I Receive God’s Word Today, in A Course of Miracles kind of expands on the idea of silencing ourselves to grasp what many refer to as that inner voice (I leave that open to personal interpretation; some say it's angelic, God, Christ, etc.).  A passage from the lesson reads:

“Today He speaks to you.  His Voice awaits your silence, for His Word can not be heard until your mind is quiet for a while, and meaningless desires have been stilled.  Await His Word in quiet.  There is peace within you to be called upon today, to help make ready your most holy mind to hear the Voice for its Creator speak.”

A Course in Miracle: Text, Workbook, Manual for Teachers: The Advent of a Great Awakening. [United States]: Barnes & Noble, 2007. Print.

Dyer, Wayne W. Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life: Living the Wisdom of the Tao. Carlsbad, CA: Hay House, 2007.

Lin, Derek.  “Accurate Translation of the Tao Te Ching.”  Accurate Translation of the Tao Te Ching.  N.p. http://www.taoism.net/ttc/complete.htm.

Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan

I can not write a post on Chinese biographer, Jung Chang, and Chinese-American author, Amy Tan, without mentioning Singapore born and raised, Kevin Kwan, and his take on satiric romp-literature in the form of his first novel, Crazy Rich Asians.  Now that was a mouthful of a sentence.  In any regard, I’ve wanted to read this book since I ran across it this past summer at my local bookstore.  The glittery gold cover and downy pink-colored lettering just screamed DRAMA LIKE NO OTHER.  Top that with the title itself and your forever-fettered Kdrama (Korean drama) obsessor was ready to peel open its pages to absorb all of the melodrama, fashion, money, and behind-closed-doors corruption of Asian millionaires and their spoiled heirs/esses.  Quite simply, I was ready to get my Kdrama fix in literary form, despite Kwan's cast being Chinese as opposed to Korean.  Should something that insignificant even matter.

This juicy piece of amusing fiction delivered just what it intended to, with the exception of a slap-across-the-face scene served by an overprotective, old money mother to her low-income son’s girlfriend.  That, unfortunately, didn’t happen.  And in many ways the devious antics displayed in the book were soft, as opposed to the cruel and downright trifling excursions played out by rivals in Kdramas.  But you know what, that’s not what this book is about.  Hardly.

I like to think that Crazy Rich Asians is a percussion strike between Kwan’s insider view of elite Asians and Jackie Collins's Western glitzy glam.  And to be honestly, while I love Collins, Kwan’s writing is far less diarist and cliché.  Which brings me to another point as to why I liked this book.  Crazy Rich Asians moved away from those stereotypical/cliché numbers we’ve become accustomed to by Asian-enthused novels.  This isn’t a book about an immigrant experience or a pro-democratic movement over China.  Matter-of-fact, it doesn’t even take place in China--specifically.

Aside from the opening character introduction taking place in 1980s London, Crazy Rich Asians starts in New York.  It's here that our main couple, Rachel Chu and Nicholas Young, share a quiet moment over tea in their favorite spot.  They are professional educators, matched by a mutual associate.  Nevertheless, the discussion over tea seems simple: Nick’s best friend’s wedding will take place in Singapore and he would like Rachel to attend and meet his family.  Rachel comes from a modest family/background, and is not even partially aware of Nick’s wealthy background and family.  She might’ve picked up on small, curious bits concerning Nick’s "resources", but the majority of her perception of him is that he is frugal and hardworking (besides being sweet to her).  Therefore, there is nothing for Rachel to assume, regarding Nick’s family.  Yet, she is tentative about meeting them and Nick's friends for the summer.

And for good reason.  Minutes after Rachel and Nick share a closing kiss, their conversation is captured by a nosy patron who recognized Nick.  Said patron emails her sister, who in turn calls her best friend in Singapore, who then texts eight different friends.  Eventually the news of Nick bringing a girl home to Singapore spreads like a virus across powerful social circles.

The proceeding chapter showers us with Nick’s uppity mother, Eleanor Young, receiving some unsettling information that Nick is heading to Singapore with a Taiwanese-American gold-digger (that‘s how far Rachel‘s “dossier” has stretched from the truth).  That’s three demeaning strikes and two lies already against Rachel before she even sets foot on a plane to Australia.  The only truth is that she is American.  She is later coined an ABC which means American Born Chinese.  However, this does not make Rachel’s situation any better as Eleanor use every available force of power that she has to put an end to Rachel and Nick’s relationship (the snubs begin with Eleanor leaving Singapore before their arrival).  The inventive cohorts that support Eleanor’s cause do most of her dirty work.  Of course she couldn't be bothered to roll around in the mud.  However, she is very present as a villainesque mother, drenched in her obsession with maintaining control, wealth, and her definition of the Young family image.

While Rachel and Nick's A plot takes up the ground of the book, Kwan gifts us with several B plots that increases the book‘s focus on wealth and the personal turmoil and baggage it creates.  One B plot consists of Nick’s fashionista cousin, Astrid, and her martial woes.  While another focuses on Nick’s other cousin, Eddie, and the strife he puts his children through as he struggles with his desire to appear seamless before his family and peers.

And believe me when I say that there is more to be had from this book.  Much, much more.

Alexis Rodriguez-Duarte

Crazy Rich Asians was just an entertaining read all around.  I enjoyed it a lot more than I anticipated, considering how I had a hard time establishing the multitude of side characters with their names, families, and purposes.  I probably struggled the most here, whereas some reviewers didn’t exactly like Kwan’s use of dropping big brand fashion names.  Nonetheless, after their fifth appearance, I started to understand who side characters like Daisy Foo and Ling Cheh represented in the scheme of the novel.  I also sputtered along with Kwan’s mixture of English and Romanized Chinese.  Not because they were present, but because they were footnoted.  This usually meant I had to cut myself from the narrative to spot the translation.  In nonfiction this doesn’t seem to bother me, but in fiction I realized that it did.  I would’ve preferred if he integrated the translations into the text by means of simply having the characters translate it themselves as a form of emphasis, or have characters respond accordingly so that it translates clearly to the reader.  

Nonetheless, nothings takes away how absorbing and fun Kwan’s novel is.  His writing didn’t slow down as he switched between revolving plots on the fly.  Each main character he employed drove me with a smile through their stories, as well as hot moments of rage (even the genuine Rachel drove me crazy at moments).  I don’t recall being able to put the book down after my initial adjustment to his style.  While it’s too late to label this a beach read, I still encourage anyone interested in peeking into the screwball lives of elite and powerful Asian families to pick up this book.  That way Kwan can present us with another book because Crazy Rich Asians will leave you wanting more.

ENJOY!

Cornwell's Dust

It took me longer than I expected, but I finally wrapped up reading Patricia Cornwell’s latest Kay Scarpetta novel, Dust.  Did I love it?  Yes.  It was okay.  Meh.  I thought it was a bump up from The Bone Bed (2012); however, not as arresting as Cornwell attempt in Red Mist (2011) or even Port Mortuary (2010).  Dust did capture my attention enough to push through it, but it didn't stir me like the books I just mentioned.  I believe what threw me off more than anything, or was more noticeable in this entry to the series than ever before, was the goddamn stoical pacing of the book/plot/mystery.  

I have to gush about why I love Patricia Cornwell and kept reading her even when she spent six books serving me cold material, after leaving her readers out of the exclusivity of Scarpetta‘s first person narrative.  I am a loyal reader so I think I can say that about that awful third person, omniscient narrative she took on through books 12-17 in the series.  However, I digress.  Some years ago I wanted to know and education myself a little more on forensic science.  At one time I dreamed of writing something similar.  I knew I could never touch it like the experts, but I wanted to be in the know all the same.  I found a lot of non-fiction books during that period (particularly Bill Bass‘s books on forensic anthropology), but I needed something with story, and of course a female lead to guide me through it.  While I heard of Cornwell, and stocked plenty of her books back in my Borders days, I never read her.  Then I was recommended Cornwell’s The Body Farm (1994) and it sat on my shelf for damn near a year before one summer I finally picked it up.  Let’s just say the doors blew off the hinges.  Suddenly I was reading one book a day in the Kay Scarpetta series.  Even denying school work just to escape into another of Kay Scarpetta's forensic mysteries.  I was addicted from then forward and I never gave up on Scarpetta, Benton, Marino, and Lucy--Cornwell's cast.  Even when Cornwell's characters were getting understandably butchered (yes, I understood why people hated them) by reviews and readers, I kept reading.  I never gave up.  Never, never, never.  Until The Scarpetta Factor (2009) came out.  That book was HO-RI-BLE!  To this day I’ve never managed to finish it.  

So I was ready to call it quits until Cornwell did the smart thing (yeah, I said it) and returned to first person narrative in the proceeding book to The Scarpetta Factor, Port Mortuary.  See, the whole point of me loving the series was because I liked Scarpetta‘s voice.  I trusted her intelligence and felt associated with her and her world through her.  She was my connection, even when I spent six books teetering to the side.  I got my grounding fiction and my forensics lesson all in one drop, so to speak.  So what drove me to finish Dust even though I thought it was dusty and dry itself?  Scarpetta’s voice.  That was probably the singular thing that kept me in locomotion.  While some think she is self-absorbed and abrasive, I seem to somehow never notice it as I remain tapped into her well of information and dedication to bring about justice.  Her diagnosing gruesome situations, examining forensic details, and using simple deduction to solve cases just seems to hold my attention.  Even if I’m slogging through a book with some bad pacing.

Dust takes place in a single day, with the exception of a flashback scene from Scarpetta’s earlier years and a Five-Days-Later final chapter that closes off the book’s case in Florida.  Nonetheless, the book starts with Massachusetts Chief Medical Examiner, Kay Scarpetta, ill at home in bed after tending to the bodies of victims related to a large-scale spectacle killing.  Cornwell used an actual, recent national tragedy to postmark the reason behind Scarpetta’s burst of stress-induced flu.  Many readers/reviewers argue that Cornwell exploited this tragedy in her book; I’ll do like Cornwell did and not mention the tragedy by name.  Nevertheless, to me she really only spent two or three small moments in Scarpetta’s musings on the incident.  That was all.  Nothing forwardly advertised.  I understood what Cornwell was attempting to do and did not find it exploitative.

The prime vehicle driving any Scarpetta forensic thriller is a body.  In Dust one shows up as the former Gail Shipman, a computer engineer amidst a $100 million dollar lawsuit which very much reflected Cornwell‘s recently personal courtroom activities.  Gail was last seen exiting a bar before landing dead-cold in the middle of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Brigg Fields, draped in a white cloth.  With the local police department on the case, Scarpetta is pulled in by her historically-steep off and on friend/associate, Detective Pete Marino.  This interaction comes in the form of a 4am phone call that awakens a sick Scarpetta on page one.  However, Scarpetta never actually attends to the body of Gail till page 100.  Which makes you wonder what happened in 100 pages?  Besides Scarpetta and Marino finally leaving her home 62 pages into the book?

I have the answer: nothing really significant but painfully uneventful set-up surrounding the case.

There’s a stream of ruminations and verbal putt-putting between Marino and Scarpetta.  There’s that flashback chapter that I still haven’t made sense of its purpose.  I anticipated a series of flashbacks throughout the book, each meant to provide a revelation of some sort.  But no.  It was that singular flashback that I can’t recall presenting me anything toward the plot.  What it did do was stress more on how much of a flake Marino is consistently painted out to be by the author.  Now we do get small hints surrounding the story behind Gail’s murder, hints that eventually lead to the FBI’s role in this investigation as well as Scarpetta’s FBI profiler husband, Benton, and super smart techno niece, Lucy.  But that’s just it; those 100 pages are filled with rumbling thoughts, hints, and conversations.

And that's pretty much the pacing of the book.  You're introduced to a new location/scene and for about 100 pages or so the characters stand around and ruminate on the crime, victims, modus operandi, and potential suspects.  I've gotten used to how multi-layered and contrive (sometimes unbelievable) the mystery aspects are in some books within the series.  Sometimes many of the elements that make up the psychopathic killer and his means of murder are so stretched out that I'm mostly left confused up to his/her final unveiling.  However, it doesn't help that there is no action or hard movement leading to a story's end.  No clever suspect interviews or trips to unknown places--considering Scarpetta once donned diving gear to work an underwater crime scene.  Just details and dialogue on the details mostly makes up Dust.

Yet that voice of Scarpetta sharing those details kept me going.  It kept me loving the slogging pacing which really translated to "simply spending time with one of my favorite book characters."  Things like this is so hard to explain.  But I would imagine that I'm not the only Scarpetta fan who was both bored with most of the book, yet in love with the whole damn thing.