Madonna - an admirable example of success

Madonna has come to Oslo today.

She continues to be a fascination for people all around the world. When one thinks of her one pretty much gets the meaning of self-discipline and hard work. I feel a special liking when it comes to Madonna and I usually don’t like celebrities, but in her case it’s not about the gossiping and rumors and trifle things usually people write and speak about famous persons. She’s all about models of behavior. I’ve worked out a short list of the remarkable qualities which make her a role model for me.

SELF-DISCIPLINE
One needs to take a look at the way she manages her life and can easily see what the major principle of her life is. If the purpose is to succeed, then discipline is the key. And it’s not just you have to get up really early in the morning and have a good run. It’s not just that: discipline of mind, order of thoughts, determination in actions.

NEVER-ENDING CHANGE
She never ceased to amaze us with her flexibility and handiness of understanding change. It is the nature of life, a condition which we tend to forget, out of reasons of convenience. She was always sharp to adjust herself to the wind of change and offer an evolved and better performance of herself.

MODERATION
Even though she has millions, Madonna is famous for her moderation in spending money. One can clearly say that moderation comes with intelligence, even wisdom. People who have the tendency to forget that they can afford to buy almost anything in the world have other priorities in life, which makes them special.

DISCRETION
Yes, that’s the thing I most admire about famous people, how they keep their personal lives away from the media. Being famous means being exposed to the public eye. Madonna has successfully managed to avoid that. The focus is only her work, which is absolutely admirable.

1984

Aseara TV2 a prezentat cartea si filmul lui George Orwell cu numele de 1984. O reprezentare mai veridica a situatiei din tara nu cred ca exista. Atmosfera filmului e infricosatoare, deprimanta.

Cartea (si filmul) reprezinta o viziune de viitor a modului de a trai intr-o societate totalitara. Cetatenii sint redusi la statutul de sclavi, sclavii unui sistem care are monopolul a tot ce exista, de la viata insasi pina la informatie asupra fiecarei miscari ce se produce in societate. Toti sint permanent supravegheati!

Partidul preia puterea absoluta, insusi gindurile oamenilor sint controlate "pentru a asigura puritatea sistemului oligarhic". Figura principala a sistemului este omniprezentul si omnipotentul Big Brother.

Versiunea ecranizata a cartii lui Orwell are o durata de 1 ora si 40 de minute. Dupa vizionarea filmului ramai cu o senzatie de amaraciune disperata in suflet. Winston, angajat de Partid ca sa reconstituie trecutul si sa-l ajusteze noilor sloganuri ale Partidului, isi propune sa demascheze frauda cinica a organizatiei de care e angajat.
"Cel care are control asupra trecutului are control asupra viitorului" este sloganul Partidului.

Cartea (si filmul) reveleaza personaje, teme si cuvinte care au devenit parte din viata cotidiana.

Puterea corupe, iar puterea absoluta corupe absolut.

Este trist si degradant sa realizezi ca faci parte din societatea prezisa de Orwell. Influenta nefasta a sistemului nu trece pe linga tine, ci prin tine.

citeva idei pentru meditatie

“Marile adevăruri – şi singurele care contează, dealtfel – sunt găsite la întâmplare. Moartea, dragostea, primăvara sau toamna lăuntrică, toate acestea le întâlnim şi le cunoaştem la întâmplare. Nu numai atât. Se întâmplă, chiar, că trece multă vreme până să înţelegem că le-am cunsocut. Sunt atât de cenuşii, de umile, de cotidiene – încât nici nu le băgăm în seamă. Conştiinţa noastră este atrasă mai mult de adevărurile catastrofice, violente, sumare, agonice – căci asemenea adevăruri siluesc şi se cer siluite, ele exaltă vertiginos ţi carnea şi duhul, ele sunt revelate prin experienţe dramatice, cu o dramaturgie bogată şi o punere în scenă meşteşugită.
Dimpotrivă, adevărurile găsite la întâmplare nu au nimic demonstrativ şi dramatic. Le descoperim deodată în suflet, fără să ştim cum au ajuns acolo. Ele sunt, şi nu poţi spune nimic altceva despre ele decât că sunt.”


Mircea Eliade, Despre adevărurile găsite la întâmplare

Ma liberté

Chaque fois qu'on s'en remet aux autres pour régler un problème, on renonce à sa liberté. Je ne suis pas de la race des perdants, et je ne demande pas aux autres de régler mes problèmes. Ma liberté, je la protège. Ma liberté, je l'aime.

learn about yourself

Life becomes so much easier and meaningful when one gets to know oneself, discovers what one wants to be and do in life. Even though it seems to be such a trite thing to accomplish, nonetheless it’s the most significant one when it comes to one’s success. It’s usually in the apparent commonplace things that lie the truth.

Most of the times we go through life without a clear image of what we would really like to do and be. Pragmatism is a very good trait. When one has very exact representations of things and the order they are supposed to be in and the way they have to be performed in order to turn out efficient are of paramount importance.

More often than not we live by what we think we should be or by what others expect us to be. And only when things get to hassle us so markedly that we stop and say: but this is not what I want! And then comes the more difficult part: but what is it exactly that I want?

I believe that this should be one of the first things we must think about when approaching personal happiness: the true self and its genuine desires and wishes and dreams. Nothing’s more important in life than knowing what you aim for, the moment you realize it is almost half way towards it.

can we escape mediocrity?

All humans are afraid of mediocrity. None wants to be invisible to others. It is only natural to feel that way. But how many of us escape mediocrity really?

Firstly, we never get to know how people perceive us and how many of those who we encounter throughout life remember us in the end. Someone once said that if only we could get the chance to see ourselves through the eyes of the others, we would instantly vanish from the surface of the earth. Even if it sounds too radical and harsh, it is the truth. We can take as an example the embarrassment we feel sometimes as a result of something which shouldn't have been said or done and sounded or looked wrong. It is because for a moment we get to see ourselves from the others' perspective. Nothing's more unbearable than the awareness of your own mistakes.

Secondly, there are so many of us in the world. And even if we all try to regard ourselves as unique and different from others, in the end one can find very little genuine distinctness out there. We fight our own battles, but deep down they are all the same battles. Love, suffering, happiness, loneliness, all follow the same pattern and all pertain to the humanness, which has been the same since ever.

And then again, what is mediocrity? Because it seems to be a condition of life, the sooner we realize and conform to it, the better for our peace of mind. Have you noticed how peaceful we become when we decide there's nothing we need more, that we have reached the point of due contentment? That we are no longer obliged to keep on proceeding with great efforts a distant target which is supposed to be our destination (even though we are not exactly sure what this destination is exactly)?

Yes, this eternal toil towards a not quite clear goal is no more than the getaway from mediocrity. But can we really run away from it?

despre modestie

Prima tendinta atunci cind ne gindim la modestie este sa consideram aspectul sau individual, o caracteristica specifica unei persoane, manifestata prin atitudinea sa fata de oameni si lucruri in general.

Dar originea modestiei se afla la un nivel mai adinc, este de fapt o reprezentare culturala si morala a unei natiuni,cu radacini adinci in evolutia culturala.
Care este criteriul pe care se bazeaza aparitia si existenta ei?
Sinonimele modestiei sint sfiala, reticenta, simplitate, lipsa de ingimfare.

Deci care sint originile simplitatii?
Inteligenta e una dintre ele, cea mai semnificativa. Nu are nevoie de laude, nici de constiinta superioritatii proprii, fiind prin natura sa evidenta, fara sa-si ia asupra-si povara unei permanente incercari de a-si releva importanta.

Setul de valori care ne determina sa avem respect sincer pentru ceilalti este un alt factor. El apartine unor culturi in care reusita personala nu domina relatiile sociale, desi fenomenul egalitatii oportunitatilor este regula societatii. Aceasta insa este doar un aspect al varietatii alternativelor existentei sociale.

Si desi uneori modestia poate fi mediocritate deghizata, modestia sincera apartine oamenilor mari, care ii lasa pe ceilalti sa le descopere calitatile, fara a insira ei insisi lista.

reprezentativ :)

Земфира - Во мне (Сон)

Сон
Странный сон
Я вижу отражение себя

Столько лет
Во мне
Все слова

Во мне
Тишина

Снова дождь
Стучит свои признания луне

Этот дождь
Наверное не знает обо мне

Во мне
Корабли
Во мне
Города
Во мне
Вся любовь
Во мне
Все что есть.

despre visuri

Azi in drum de la biblioteca, inapoi la munca, ma gindeam la visuri. In mare, toate visurile noastre devin realitate.

Si asta pentru ca de obicei le privim de la distanta, atunci cind sint in faza lor de prima aparitie, ca mai apoi, inaintind prin viata, noi devenim mai mari si ele devin mai realizabile.

Un alt aspect este insa faptul ca noi uitam de multe ori la ce visam cind eram mai mici, mai tineri. In lupta noastra de a ajunge cit mai departe si de a depasi bariere, uitam sa ne oprim si sa examinam ce avem, sa realizam unde am ajuns si ca de fapt ne aflam inconjurati de visurile de alta data. Daca am tine minte sa facem asta din cind in cind, am savura viata prezenta cu un patos mai mare. Nu exista o satisfactie mai importanta in viata decit sentimentul ca esti pe drumul cel bun, ca viata ta buna de acum e meritul muncii depuse in cursul multor ani. Perseverenta este cheia.

Eu insa ma intrebam daca exista niste criterii dupa care visurile devin realitate, criterii de natura morala de exemplu. Obisnuiam sa gindesc ca se realizeaza doar acele visuri care au legitimitate, care sint menite sa fie in concordanta cu anumite reguli generale ale moralitatii. Dar moralitatea este atit de relativa. Nimic nu mai are un caracter absolut. Ceea ce este moral pentru mine, poate fi imoral pentru celalalt.

Probabil fiecare dintre noi, odata ce investeste tot arsenalul de bunatate si sinceritate in dorintele sale de viitor, se afla deja la jumatatea drumului spre succes.

women at liberty to decide

There’s a quite interesting article in Aftenposten today which examines the issue of children as women’s choice of life; because women that choose to bring other human beings in the world decide on a different direction of life than those who take advantage of the right not to. Both these choices are just alternatives we women now have, which was not the case in the past. But the prejudice is still present in the contemporary society: a woman is expected to give birth at one moment in life.

The title of the article is “When biology becomes destiny” (Når biologi blir skjebne) and it actually makes a point: most women choose having children as a validation of their biological fulfilment. A woman must give birth as early as possible in her life, so that to be able to reach the days of being the grandmother that gives a helping hand to her daughter’s child rearing.

Another point raised is the well-known quote of Simone de Beauvoir: “One is not born a woman, but becomes one.” That is to say society, with all its rules and expectations, shapes women’s minds and decisions they make in life. Which is not to say that women’s eagerness to have children is not genuine. It definitely is. But this is the result of so many years of role models women have had throughout history. It is a biological urge and it becomes destiny.

On the other hand, some women’s biological clock seems to be really quiet. Sometimes there are economic reasons for that, other times women just settle on some other fascinating things they find in life.

Either way, it is so great to finally have the equal right to men when it comes to the course of our own lives.

Oslo si frumusetile lui

Am fost ieri cu Viorica la o plimbare. Mmm, frumos a fost :)

Haruki Murakami

I decided to write about one of my very favourite authors: Haruki Murakami. My first reading was Kafka on the Shore and then followed all the others: Norwegian Wood, Hear the Wind Sing, the Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, After Dark and my favourite Sputnik Sweetheart.

Murakami is the sixth recipient of the Franz Kafka Prize for his novel Kafka on the Shore. He is considered by critics an important figure in post-modern literature, and was praised by The Guardian as one of the "world's greatest living novelists." His father was the son of a Buddhist priest. His mother was the daughter of an Osaka merchant. Both his parents taught Japanese literature. Murakami is often distinguished from other Japanese writers for his Western influences. In addition, Murakami is a keen marathon runner, although he did not start running until he was 33 years old; which increases my admiration even more.

Murakami's fiction, often criticized by Japan's literary establishment, is humorous and surreal, and at the same time digresses on themes of alienation and loneliness. Through his work, he was able to capture the spiritual emptiness of his generation and explore the negative effects of Japan's work-dominated mentality. His writing criticizes the decline in human values and a loss of connection among people in Japan's society. And as Larry Weissman puts it: “Murakami draws wonderfully nuanced, unforgettable female characters who are difficult not to fall in love with.” Precisely.

Though some reviews of Sputnik Sweetheart claim that this is not a representative novel of Murakami’s, it is the one that made me fall in love with his way of writing. He explores alienation, loneliness, dream aspirations, disappointment, suffering in a society where time runs wildly and where conformity comes in the way of great minds. It is also Murakami’s writing style which makes me admire the way he accurately expresses the nonconformity, youth, originality, burden of commonness in today’s society.

And of course, it is a beautiful opening of exploring the Japanese spirit all throughout his works.

Haruki Murakami
Sputnik Sweetheart

Excerpt
It was about two weeks after the wedding reception when Sumire called me, a Sunday night, just before dawn. Naturally, I was asleep. As dead to the world as an old anvil. The week before I'd been in charge of arranging a meeting and could only snatch a few hours' sleep as I gathered together all the necessary (read pointless) documents we needed. Come the weekend, I wanted to sleep to my heart's content. So of course that's when the phone rang.
"Were you asleep?" Sumire asked, probingly.
"Um," I groaned and instinctively glanced at the alarm clock beside my bed. The clock had huge fluorescent hands, but I couldn't read the time. The image projected on my retina and the part of my brain that processed it were out of sync, like an old lady struggling, unsuccessfully, to thread a needle. What I could understand was that it was dark all around and close to Fitzgerald's "Dark Night of the Soul."
"It'll be dawn pretty soon."
"Um," I murmured listlessly.
"Right near where I live there's a man who raises roosters. Must have had them for years and years. In a half hour or so they'll be crowing up a storm. This is my favorite time of the day. The pitch-black night sky starting to glow in the east, the roosters crowing for all they're worth like it's their revenge on somebody. Any roosters near you?"
On this end of the telephone line I shook my head slightly.
"I'm calling from the phone booth near the park."
"Um," I said. There was a phone booth about two hundred yards from her apartment. Since Sumire didn't own a phone, she always had to walk over there to call. Just your average phone booth.
"I know I shouldn't be calling you this late. I'm really sorry. The time of night when the roosters haven't even started crowing. When this pitiful moon is hanging there in a corner of the eastern sky like a used-up kidney. But think of me--I had to trudge out in the pitch dark all the way over here. With this telephone card I got as a present at my cousin's wedding clutched in my hand. With a photo on it of the happy couple holding hands. Can you imagine how depressing that is? My socks don't even match, for gosh sake. One has a picture of Mickey Mouse; the other's plain wool. My room's a complete disaster area; I can't find anything. I don't want to say this too loudly, but you wouldn't believe how awful my underpants are. I doubt that even one of those pantie thieves would touch them. If some pervert killed me, I'd never live it down. I'm not asking for sympathy, but it would be nice if you could give me a bit more in the way of a response. Other than those cold interjections of yours--ohs and ums. How about a conjunction? A conjunction would be nice. A yet or a but."
"However," I said. I was exhausted and felt like I was still in the middle of a dream.
"'However,'" she repeated. "OK, I can live with that. One small step for man. One very small step, however."
"So, was there something you wanted?"
"Right, I wanted you to tell me something. That's why I called," Sumire said. She lightly cleared her throat. "What I want to know is what's the difference between a sign and symbol?"
I felt a weird sensation, like something was silently parading through my head. "Could you repeat the question?"
She did. What's the difference between a sign and a symbol?
I sat up in bed, switched the receiver from my left hand to my right. "Let me get this right--you're calling me because you want to find out the difference between a sign and a symbol. On Sunday morning, just before dawn. Um..."
"At four-fifteen, to be precise, she said. "It was bothering me. What could be the difference between a sign and a symbol? Somebody asked me that a couple of weeks ago, and I can't get it out of my mind. I was getting undressed for bed, and I suddenly remembered. I can't sleep until I find out. Can you explain it? The difference between a sign and a symbol?"
"Let me think," I said and gazed up at the ceiling. Even when I was fully conscious, explaining things logically to Sumire was never easy. "The emperor is a symbol of Japan. Do you follow that?"
"Sort of," she replied.
"'Sort of' won't cut it. That's what it says in the Japanese constitution," I said, as calmly as possible. "No room for discussion or doubts. You've got to accept that, or we won't get anywhere."
"Gotcha. I'll accept that."
"Thank you. So--the emperor is a symbol of Japan. But this doesn't mean that the emperor and Japan are equivalent. Do you follow?"
"I don't get it."
"OK, how about this--the arrow points in one direction. The emperor is a symbol of Japan, but Japan is not the symbol of the emperor. You understand that, right?"
"I guess."
"Say, for instance, you write 'The emperor is a sign of Japan.' That makes the two equivalent. So when we say 'Japan,' it would also mean 'the emperor,' and when we speak of the emperor, it would also mean 'Japan.' In other words, the two are interchangeable. Same as saying, 'A equals b, so b equals a.' That's what a sign is."
"So you're saying you can switch the emperor and Japan? Can you do that?"

"That's not what I mean," I said, shaking my head vigorously on my end of the line. "I'm just trying to explain the best I can. I'm not planning to switch the emperor and Japan. It's just a way of explaining it."
"Hmm," Sumire said. "I think I get it. As an image. It's the difference between a one-way street and a two-way street."
"For our purposes, that's close enough."
"I'm always amazed how good you are at explaining things."
"That's my job,' I said. My words seemed somehow flat and stale. "You should try being an elementary-school teacher sometime. You'd never hnagine the kind of questions I get. 'Why isn't the world square?' 'Why do squids have ten legs and not eight?' I've learned to come up with an answer to just about everything.
"You must be a great teacher."
"I wonder," I said. I really did wonder.
"By the way, why do squids have ten legs and not eight?"
"Can I go back to sleep now? I'm beat. Just holding this phone I feel like I'm holding up a crumbling stone wall."
"You know...," Sumire said. And let a delicate pause intervene--like an old gatekeeper closing the railroad crossing gate with a clatter just before the train bound for St. Petersburg passes by. "It's really silly to say this, but I'm in love."
"Um," I said, switching the receiver back to my left hand. I could hear her breathing through the phone. I had no idea how I should respond. And as often happens when I don't know what to say, I let slip some out-of-left-field comment. "Not with me, I assume."
"Not with you," Sumire answered. I heard the sound of a cheap lighter lighting a cigarette. "Are you free today? I'd like to talk more."
"You mean, about your falling in love with someone other than me?"
"Right," she said. "About my falling passionately in love with somebody other than you."
I clamped the phone between my head and shoulder and stretched. "I'm free in the evening."
"I'll be over at five," Sumire said. And then added, as if an afterthought: "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being nice enough to answer my question in the middle of the night."
I gave a vague response, hung up, and turned out the light. It was still pitch black out. Just before I fell asleep, I thought about her final thank you and whether I'd ever heard those words from her before. Maybe I had, once, but I couldn't recall.

Oslo - Gorgeous in Summer

Ce inseamna o viata frumoasa? Sau ce inseamna o viata plina?

Atunci cind definim niste lucruri, acestea apartin unor reguli si principii elaborate de o comunitate, avind un caracter general si altfel spus normal. Incadrarea in normal pare a fi o regula de supravietuire uneori, un criteriu dupa care stabilim nivelul de satisfactie cu noi insine. Reusita in viata e masurata prin prisma unor norme standard pentru toata lumea.

Atunci cind refuzi sa faci parte din normalitatea atit de convenabila majoritatii, nu te mai bucuri de anumite avantaje destinate normalitatii. Si de altfel nu ar exista nici o dilema daca ai fi total "anormal", daca ai respinge categoric regulile normalitatii, dar in cazul in care functionalitatea ta este dependenta de o anumita doza de implicare in caracterul comun al vietii, se nasc deseori indoieli in privinta caracterului existentei tale. Si daca ai fi ceva mai comun, te-ai multumi cu fragmentarile ambelor parti paralele ale aceleiasi realitati.

A trai insa inseamna in primul rind a te intreba la anumite intervale de timp daca mergi in directia corecta, dar mai inseamna si a arunca priviri introspective in jur si retrospective in urma ta. Iar daca ceea ce vezi nu pare a fi exact ce iti doresti, atunci munca abia incepe si trebuie sa fie si mai intensa, si mai insistenta.

Caci pina la urma toti noi, indiferent in ce categorie ne aflam, ne dorim un singur lucru: o viata plina, care implicit e si frumoasa.

azi e ziua vechilor mele lecturi, iar cind e vorba de asta, e vorba de marele Cioran...

A FI LIRIC

De ce nu putem rămîne închişi în noi înşine? De ce umblăm după expresie şi după formă, încercînd să ne golim de conţinuturi şi să sistematizăm un proces haotic şi rebel? N-ar fi mai fecundă o abandonare în fluiditatea noastră interioară, fără gîndul unei obiectivări, sorbind doar cu o voluptate intimă toate fierberile şi agitaţiile lăuntrice? În acest caz am trăi cu o intensitate infinit bogată întreagă acea creştere interioară pe care experienţele spirituale o dilată pînă la plenitudine. Trăiri multiple şi diferenţiate se contopesc şi se dezvoltă într-o efervescenţă din cele mai fecunde. O senzaţie de actualitate, de prezenţă complexă a conţinuturilor sufleteşti se naşte ca un rezultat al acestei creşteri, asemănătoare unei înălţări de valuri sau unui paroxism muzical. A fi plin de tine însuţi, nu în sens de orgoliu, ci de bogăţie, a fi chinuit de o infinitate internă şi de o tensiune extremă înseamnă a trăi cu atîta intensitate, încît simţi cum mori din cauza vieţii. Este atît de rar acest sentiment şi atît de ciudat, încît ar trebui să-l trăim cu strigăte. Simt cum ar trebui să mor din cauza vieţii şi mă întreb dacă are vreun sens căutarea unei explicaţii. Cînd tot ce ai tu ca trecut sufletesc palpită în tine într-un moment de nemărginită încordare, cînd o prezenţă totală actualizează experienţe închise şi cînd un ritm îşi pierde echilibrul şi uniformitatea, atunci din culmile vieţii eşti prins în moarte fără a avea acea groază în faţa ei care însoţeşte obsesia chinuitoare a morţii. Este un sentiment analog cu acela pe care-l au amanţii cînd, în culmea fericirii, le apare trecător, dar intens, imaginea morţii, sau cu momentele de nesiguranţă cînd într-o iubire născîndă apare presentimentul unui sfîrşit sau al unei părăsiri.

Emil Cioran, Pe Culmile Disperarii

a remarkable book

I was trying to remember my very most favorite book of all and I finally managed to. I remember who said that even before me, it was my English teacher, Mrs. Anna Gorea, one of the best teachers I have ever had. She told us one day in class, before giving us the task of naming our favorite books, which was hers. And then she borrowed it to me. It was the most overwhelming of all the readings I have done until and since then.

weekend around the corner

And here’s weekend again. I love weekends; you come to feel freedom so intensely, that you get the chance of finding out things about yourself almost every time. What you like to do, who you prefer to be with, whether you are the adventurous type or the couch potato.
This weekend will be no different from others, it’s cloudy and rainy in Oslo, so all I want to do is sleep and then read and then sleep again. I will probably try to watch all over again one of the seasons from my favorite TV shows, though I doubt I’ll have time for that, as there’s a really big book waiting for me, Marcel Proust: A Biography, which is an old book with that yellow paper that bears a lot of years of countless avid readers leafing it like myself, trying to tap into the writer’s life and mind, which makes it even more valuable.

Does this sound like a lot of dullness? Well, not to me, it doesn't :)

Despre ţara din care venim

Hai să vorbim
Despre ţara din care venim.
Eu vin din vară,
E o patrie fragilă
Pe care orice frunză,
Căzând, o poate stinge,
Dar cerul e atât de greu de stele
C-atârnă uneori pân' la pământ
Şi dacă te apropii-auzi cum iarba
Gâdilă stelele râzând,
Şi florile-s atât de multe
Că te dor
Orbitele uscate ca de soare,
Şi sori rotunzi atârnă
Din fiecare pom;
De unde vin eu
Nu lipseşte decât moartea,
E-atâta fericire
C-aproape că ţi-e somn.

Ana Blandiana

Of Human Bondage, W.S. Maugham

Philip had few friends. His habit of reading isolated him: it became such a need that after being in company for some time he grew tired and restless; he was vain of the wider knowledge he had acquired from the perusal of so many books, his mind was alert, and he had not the skill to hide his contempt for his companions' stupidity. They complained that he was conceited; and, since he excelled only in matters which to them were unimportant, they asked satirically what he had to be conceited about. He was developing a sense of humour, and found that he had a knack of saying bitter things, which caught people on the raw; he said them because they amused him, hardly realising how much they hurt, and was much offended when he found that his victims regarded him with active dislike. The humiliations he suffered when first he went to school had caused in him a shrinking from his fellows which he could never entirely overcome; he remained shy and silent. But though he did everything to alienate the sympathy of other boys he longed with all his heart for the popularity which to some was so easily accorded. These from his distance he admired extravagantly; and though he was inclined to be more sarcastic with them than with others, though he made little jokes at their expense, he would have given anything to change places with them. Indeed he would gladly have changed places with the dullest boy in the school who was whole of limb. He took to a singular habit. He would imagine that he was some boy whom he had a particular fancy for; he would throw his soul, as it were, into the other's body, talk with his voice and laugh with his heart; he would imagine himself doing all the things the other did. It was so vivid that he seemed for a moment really to be no longer himself. In this way he enjoyed many intervals of fantastic happiness.

What I Loved

One of the books I have recently enjoyed is “What I Loved” by Siri Hustvedt. It’s a book about art, love and loss. Firstly, what I find appealing in the lives of the characters is the tone of balance and harmony with what life has to offer in general. What’s important in life is not the surprises it offers, but how we manage to react to them. And most of the times we deal with distasteful surprises.

Violet is the character I believe represents the ideal woman. Very intelligent, beautiful, a source of inspiration, admiration, respect and optimism for her man, a task even harder to deal with when that man is an artist. She's able to display profound understanding of his inner struggles; she manages to be the wise woman all men are looking for, especially men that do not live ordinary lives.

Powell's review: A powerful and heartbreaking novel that chronicles the epic story of two families, two sons, and two marriages. What I Loved begins in New York in 1975, when art historian Leo Hertzberg discovers an extraordinary painting by an unknown artist in a SoHo gallery. He buys the work; tracks down the artist, Bill Wechsler; and the two men embark on a life-long friendship.

Leo's story, which spans twenty-five years, follows the evolution of the growing involvement between his family and Bill's — an intricate constellation of attachments that includes the two men; their wives, Erica and Violet; and their children, Matthew and Mark. The families live in the same building in New York, share a house in Vermont during the summer, keep up a lively exchange of thoughts and ideas, and find themselves permanently altered by one another. Over the years, they not only enjoy love but endure loss-in one case sudden, incapacitating loss; in another, a different kind, one that is hidden and slow-growing, and which insidiously erodes the fabric of their lives.

Intimate in tone and seductive in its complexity, the novel moves seamlessly from inner worlds to outer worlds, from the deeply private to the public, from physical infirmity to cultural illness. Part family novel, part psychological thriller, What I Loved is a beautifully written exploration of love, loss, and betrayal — and of a man's attempt to make sense of the world and go on living.

thoughts on a book

My most recent read book, which I actually read during my two days on the plane, on the way home and back to Oslo, made me realize that my genuine interest is not towards famous lives, but towards those which have no obvious intensity and yet are fascinating. Maybe this is because I don’t like to find myself in the spotlight, I actually resent it. And when I find lives which are kept away from the “famousness”, I automatically tend to fall for them. It’s always admiration I feel whenever famous people keep their personal lives out of the public eye. There’s this feeling of solidarity I seem to possess in abundance.

I have recently grown an interest in the Canadian literature and it was by accident that I took Barbara Gowdy’s “The Romantic” from the library. It made me think of how life’s perspectives can be so confusing and exciting at the same time. What is significant for me has no value for someone else, and what’s more important for me is to find people who actually show understanding when it comes to accepting so many different perspectives from their own. It teaches me the lessons of tolerance and I need a lot of them. Growing in a country where tolerance is almost a notion pertaining to the world of fiction makes it hard to adjust to a totally different reality, where broad-mindedness and acceptance rule.

On the other hand, I found in the book a more optimistic expression of my claim that life has no such great significance as others assign to it. And I don’t say it with a morbid tone of regret; I just make a statement that I believe reflects one of many perspectives of life. Whenever I meet someone I deem worthy of me bothering to express my opinion on the “huge importance” of life, I get the same reaction: what a sad thing to say! And it is only natural that people are in love with life, the first thing that comes to my mind is that it makes you healthy, mentally and physically, which I consider important. Nevertheless, I am inclined to adopt Louise’s perspective. Self-destruction is not on my favorite list of activities.

If one comes to this world, then one must try to reach greatness before it’s time to leave it.

blogs as a form of conceitedness

I was reading the other day an article about how Twitter and blogs and such express one thing: our cry for showing off and competing in the battle who manages better to embellish one's presentation of a supposedly reality of oneself. Which is of course an art in itself. But it is an easy one. No responsibilities, no real efforts and no need to look at yourself as a reality that could be painful at times.

But it is such a tremendous achievement. To come to live a virtual life where you get to call the shots in absolutely any way you want. Well, we could all fall under the category of fiction writers, some very bad, others worse and very few just brilliant.

And what’s the point of life anyway? It is the great pleasure of having a remarkable image of yourself in front of your eyes, a pleasure transmitted to your other senses as well…