The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett

(In which later is better than never.)

***

Upon realizing one’s failure in a later time, one hurries to make up for all the time lost. And then another realization will appear – that the time remaining is still insufficient. What was gained is to be cherished and what was lost is lost.

This, I believe, is one of the many things the Queen found out after reviving her penchant for reading, which actually was triggered by an obligation. (She thought it was compulsory to borrow a book from the mobile library.) And she borrowed books after another, hired Norman (who used to work in the kitchen) to be her amanuensis, made lists of her to-be-read and practically urged everyone else to read. Not only is her sudden predilection for books deterred her fulfillment of her royal duties; it also became a reason for her social and personal (especially fashion-wise) skills as well as her sanity, to be questioned.

Humorous and reflective, The Uncommon Reader isn’t only a story of a literally and figuratively uncommon bookworm. Alan Bennett weaves a story showing what reading really is and what it’s not, what we look for in books and what we gained from reading and eventually, what we want to do with what we learned.

For a better post about this novel, please check out . . . Wait, and I have to remind you that I will actually know if you left this site for the link. Just kidding. Check out the review of The Uncommon Reader on Aldrin’s The Pollysyllabic Spree here.

Currently reading:

The Passion of Artemisia by Susan Vreeland

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The Passion of Artemisia

Zildjian

(In which arts and emotions fused in an instant.)

***

A tap and a crash and a strum reverberating slowly,
the feeling of the bristle and wet paint on my skin,
uttered poetry in my ears
and a surreal image.
A surreal feeling and a romance,
audible and invisible
but impossibly palpable and sweetly felt.
Whispers into the darkness and flesh
tightening and melting through promises.
What more can I ask for than the reality caused
by a glimpse
– an actual glimpse –
of you?

The Painted Kiss by Elizabeth Hickey

(In which the unsaid are all that matters.)

***

Hickey’s debut novel reimagines the relationship of Emilie Flöge with the Viennese artist Gustav Klimt. Since my acquaintance with Klimt’s life and works is embodied by (only) the knowledge of this painting The Kiss (which fortunately was the focus of this novel) I researched a little about Klimt and decided that the novel will be a little heavy to the heart.

It took me a long time to finish the book, the initial reason for which was work and the secondary, the depression. For a woman to read something about a woman and a martyr for a man who doesn’t seem to know what he wants is such a huge source of disappointment and melancholia.

To Emilie, Gustav was a teacher, a friend, a brother, a lover and a man she loves deeply – of that I am sure. But whether Emilie was more than a student, a friend, a sister and a lover to Gustav remains a historical enigma. Art lovers will know how their affair ends with Gustav’s death and how another blow of confusion mixed with regret shook Emilie after knowing that hers was the name Gustav uttered in his last breath.

Unlike any of Gustav’s women, Emilie didn’t demand (at least not in the book). She took what he gave her. She forgave without an explanation from him. She loved him when he’s present and missed him when he’s gone. She nursed him in his sickness and waited for his return. She knew his mistresses but didn’t fret in public. Basically she knew what to do when she’s with Gustav. She knows better than to plead or beg for love or marriage. So she never even asked nor confessed.

If there’s something I liked about Gustav, it’s his reticence. But unfortunately, it is also one of the reasons why I hate him (aside from him being a chronic womanizer). He didn’t write memoirs or even keep a diary. He believed that people will know him when they look at his paintings yet in an episode, he altered a painting to obscure what was not supposed to be known. How then, can an artwork be reliable? His reticence usually solved his problems and got him out of disputes with a woman. But this is also one big reason why he’s misunderstood.

And yet when he spoke, it seemed like it was all too late for assumptions and explanations. And Emilie must have regretted that she never asked.

Currently reading:

The Uncommon Reader by Alan Bennett

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The Uncommon Reader