Now that Netflix has finally arrived in the Netherlands, lots of newspaper commentators are going on and on about the 'new society' in which people no longer want to have certain things, they just want to have access to these things. They no longer want a rack full of CDs, they'll just listen to their music on Spotify. They no longer want row upon row of DVDs, they'll just watch whatever they feel like on services like Netflix. They no longer need a bookcase full of books, they'll just have one eReader/Kindle with thousands of copies, with more ready to be downloaded online. Homes will be come empty spaces, filled only with the devices needed to access the outside world.
I think this is true to a certain extend, namely the extend of the young and hasty, who do not have time to go out and buy books or other objects, but do want to have them ready and waiting at those sparse moments they actually have time to read a book/watch a film/etc. And as it is the young and hip we hear most about in the media today, this makes it seem as if everybody is living this way.
But there is one important factor that these enthusiastic article writers are forgetting: people who will just order a film on Netflix could just as easily have bought it. To them, there is no difference. They have enough money and means to buy both the object itself or access to that object. To those people who do not have the money to buy these things, the actual posession is still very important. When they loose access to Netflix when they are not able to pay their fees, they still want to have that DVD laying around. They need the security of knowing these things won't go away when the money tides turn against them.
Not needing to own things is a new way of saying; I am able to buy all these things, but I'm not, because I don't have to. In that way, it's falls in the same category as so many expressions of wealth and 'better than thou' actions over the centuries.
Moreover, all those young and hip people not buying books and films are the same young and hip queueing for the new iPhone or GTA V coming out. So the 'access is enough' thing only goes so far.
Finally, there are of course still many people who do want to own a certain novel, LP, or DVD, for whatever romantic reason (not wanting to live behind a screen the whole day is a good one for me). Only its those romantic 'lagging behind' types that you don't often read about in the media. Which does not mean they don't exist. Even stronger, I'd say most people belong to this latter category. And the fact that you're not reading about them all day is another clue that those 'not owners' are in it partly to show off their ability of not-possession. We don't need to tell everyone how well off we are not owning things: we'll just keep quiet about the stuff we (can) have.
Friday 27 September 2013
Thursday 19 September 2013
Apple cinnamon cake
Autumn has really arrived, in the shape of long, grey, rainy days and cold nights. Also, several colleagues mentioned their large apple crop this year, which made me think back to the year my parents had box upon box of apples, which we turned into all kinds of apple pies and tarts and cakes.
Having this afternoon off, I'd thought I'd do some apple baking. Instead of an apple pie I decided upon an apple cake, as featured in Mary Berry's recipes. We used to make this kind of cake at home, by just spreading out cake mixture on a baking tray, pressing in apple parts, dusting the whole with cinnamon and sugar and baking it. But Mary's apple and cinnamon cake is a bit more sophisticated:
225 g softened butter
225 g light muscavado sugar
225 g self-raising flour
3 eggs
baking powder
sultanas
400 g apples, diced
100 g walnuts, chopped small
loads of cinnamon
As I forgot to buy the walnuts, I replaced them by almond flakes I had laying around. Also, I added some mixed spice to the cake mixture, because mixed spice makes me think of autumn and Sinterklaas, and it's that kind of weather.
Pre-heat the oven at 180C and grease/baking parchment-line a baking tin.
Mix the butter, sugar, flour, baking powder and eggs together at high speed. Spoon in the sultanas and walnuts/almond flakes and spoon half the mixture into your baking tin. Spread the apples and cinnamon on top, and spoon the other half of the mixture over the apples. Sprinkle the top with the remaining walnuts, and some cinnamon and sugar.
Bake for 1.5 hours, leave to cool with the oven door open and then turn out on a wire rack.
For some reason I didn't really have enough mixture to fill my cake tin, so I had to press down on it quite hard to make it fit. This knocked most of the air out of it, and when I added the apples on top I was sure this cake was never going to rise. The top also proved difficult, with some apples still sticking out at the sides where I couldn't quite make the mixture reach. Nevertheless, about 10 minutes after I put it in the oven, the cake was already rising and spreading, with no apples visible anymore. It is amazing what the combination of self-raising flour, baking powder, and properly beaten eggs can do to the airiness of the cake.
As it is still baking at the moment, I can't really tell what the end result is, but the smells coming to greet you as you enter the kitchen promise nothing but autumny apple goodness.
Having this afternoon off, I'd thought I'd do some apple baking. Instead of an apple pie I decided upon an apple cake, as featured in Mary Berry's recipes. We used to make this kind of cake at home, by just spreading out cake mixture on a baking tray, pressing in apple parts, dusting the whole with cinnamon and sugar and baking it. But Mary's apple and cinnamon cake is a bit more sophisticated:
225 g softened butter
225 g light muscavado sugar
225 g self-raising flour
3 eggs
baking powder
sultanas
400 g apples, diced
100 g walnuts, chopped small
loads of cinnamon
As I forgot to buy the walnuts, I replaced them by almond flakes I had laying around. Also, I added some mixed spice to the cake mixture, because mixed spice makes me think of autumn and Sinterklaas, and it's that kind of weather.
Pre-heat the oven at 180C and grease/baking parchment-line a baking tin.
Mix the butter, sugar, flour, baking powder and eggs together at high speed. Spoon in the sultanas and walnuts/almond flakes and spoon half the mixture into your baking tin. Spread the apples and cinnamon on top, and spoon the other half of the mixture over the apples. Sprinkle the top with the remaining walnuts, and some cinnamon and sugar.
Bake for 1.5 hours, leave to cool with the oven door open and then turn out on a wire rack.
For some reason I didn't really have enough mixture to fill my cake tin, so I had to press down on it quite hard to make it fit. This knocked most of the air out of it, and when I added the apples on top I was sure this cake was never going to rise. The top also proved difficult, with some apples still sticking out at the sides where I couldn't quite make the mixture reach. Nevertheless, about 10 minutes after I put it in the oven, the cake was already rising and spreading, with no apples visible anymore. It is amazing what the combination of self-raising flour, baking powder, and properly beaten eggs can do to the airiness of the cake.
 |
| Slightly burned on top, but still more rise than expected! |
As it is still baking at the moment, I can't really tell what the end result is, but the smells coming to greet you as you enter the kitchen promise nothing but autumny apple goodness.
 |
| The end result, with a dash of icing sugar on the top. It tasted great! |
Sunday 15 September 2013
Writing in German
So my Postcrossing has been a bit on-off for the past few months, with me only sending out cards one or two days a week, 3-5 at most, and as a result I haven't really received many cards either. There were some spectacular ones, including my first postcard from New Zealand and a nice card from India, but on the whole, it's been a bit quiet.
But one strange thing I have been noticing that most of my cards from Germany (incidentally also the country most of my cards have been coming from) were written in German. Now this is no problem, I can read German perfectly and write an adequate response in return, but it's very typical that all of a sudden all German people are only writing in their own language. Is this a new trend? Have I missed something about going back to basics? Is this a new form of national pride springing up?
Probably it's just a coincidence, with several of the senders being between 8 and 14, and therefore probably unable to write in English. Also, yesterday I received another card from Germany in perfect English, although the text on the front was a German joke (which sounds like a contradiction in terms).
Also, I've received a card from Belgium that was written in English, Dutch, German and French, which was nice. Nicer at least than the people from Asian countries who include characters in their postcard that I simply can't read, or the Finnish girl that made a joke about calling her cat 'Humpuuki', which I thought was just a funny name but turns out to mean 'fake'. If I cannot understand what you're saying without opening Google Translate, it kinda takes away from the message.
So I'll take the German ones any day, at least those I can read.
But one strange thing I have been noticing that most of my cards from Germany (incidentally also the country most of my cards have been coming from) were written in German. Now this is no problem, I can read German perfectly and write an adequate response in return, but it's very typical that all of a sudden all German people are only writing in their own language. Is this a new trend? Have I missed something about going back to basics? Is this a new form of national pride springing up?
Probably it's just a coincidence, with several of the senders being between 8 and 14, and therefore probably unable to write in English. Also, yesterday I received another card from Germany in perfect English, although the text on the front was a German joke (which sounds like a contradiction in terms).
Also, I've received a card from Belgium that was written in English, Dutch, German and French, which was nice. Nicer at least than the people from Asian countries who include characters in their postcard that I simply can't read, or the Finnish girl that made a joke about calling her cat 'Humpuuki', which I thought was just a funny name but turns out to mean 'fake'. If I cannot understand what you're saying without opening Google Translate, it kinda takes away from the message.
So I'll take the German ones any day, at least those I can read.
Friday 13 September 2013
Revolutionary Road
For the past couple of days, I have been reading Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. I sort of came to it by chance: it was mentioned in the Nick Hornby columns and I was ordering something from Amazon and needed an extra thing to qualify for the free delivery (only starts from 25 pounds to the Netherlands), and then I thought: why not? I'd seen the film, so I already knew the story, and 92 5-star Amazon reviews should be enough, right?
Definitely right. In fact, I've started to slow down on my reading so I will be able to read this novel for longer. The depth of character, the smallness of their world and the experience of reading about their lives and seeing how very wrong they are, how very annoying and stupid and short-sighted, but still bewitching in their own way, is fascinating. Since I've seen the film I know how it's going to end, but still, the plot is not the most important thing in this novel, it's the way things are being said, the way the characters develop. That is of course part of what makes something a classic, but it has been a long long time (probably since reading Saturday*), that I've had this experience in a novel.
Also, I've been spending several minutes before falling asleep at night pondering how on earth this could be someone's debut novel. I mean, if this is the first thing he ever published, then I can't really wrap my mind around what he will have written after that. I must definitely read more by this author.
Also, reading this novel has made me put some of the other things I've read into new perspective. The scenes from The Hours that are set in the fifties somehow make more sense after reading this. Same is true for On the Road. It is so interesting to see the widely divergent ways that the fifties were experienced in the US, and it makes me wonder which (if any) of the novels that are written today will make the 50-year mark, shaping the ideas of future people about the time we're living in now.
* I never do these little asterisk thingies but this time what I'm going to say is so widely different from the rest that I can't really help it: a fellow student of English wrote his MA dissertation on post-9/11 literature, and he included Saturday in the lot. This made me very confused at first, because in my mind, the novel is about almost everything but 9/11. But then I talked about it with him, and he explained some points, and now I feel like there is this whole layer to my favourite novel that I'd never noticed or knew about before, and I will definitely have to re-read Saturday some time really soon, but first I have to come to terms with the fact that there is still more to be found in something I've already read and loved 5 times over. Literature is hard work, sometimes.
Definitely right. In fact, I've started to slow down on my reading so I will be able to read this novel for longer. The depth of character, the smallness of their world and the experience of reading about their lives and seeing how very wrong they are, how very annoying and stupid and short-sighted, but still bewitching in their own way, is fascinating. Since I've seen the film I know how it's going to end, but still, the plot is not the most important thing in this novel, it's the way things are being said, the way the characters develop. That is of course part of what makes something a classic, but it has been a long long time (probably since reading Saturday*), that I've had this experience in a novel.
Also, I've been spending several minutes before falling asleep at night pondering how on earth this could be someone's debut novel. I mean, if this is the first thing he ever published, then I can't really wrap my mind around what he will have written after that. I must definitely read more by this author.
Also, reading this novel has made me put some of the other things I've read into new perspective. The scenes from The Hours that are set in the fifties somehow make more sense after reading this. Same is true for On the Road. It is so interesting to see the widely divergent ways that the fifties were experienced in the US, and it makes me wonder which (if any) of the novels that are written today will make the 50-year mark, shaping the ideas of future people about the time we're living in now.
* I never do these little asterisk thingies but this time what I'm going to say is so widely different from the rest that I can't really help it: a fellow student of English wrote his MA dissertation on post-9/11 literature, and he included Saturday in the lot. This made me very confused at first, because in my mind, the novel is about almost everything but 9/11. But then I talked about it with him, and he explained some points, and now I feel like there is this whole layer to my favourite novel that I'd never noticed or knew about before, and I will definitely have to re-read Saturday some time really soon, but first I have to come to terms with the fact that there is still more to be found in something I've already read and loved 5 times over. Literature is hard work, sometimes.
Tuesday 10 September 2013
Millionaires and chocolate chips
Apart from finishing a book in one day (note: not the magical 'one sitting' that Nick Hornby keeps going on about), I did something else last Wednesday that I hadn't done for a long time: baking!
I had promised to bring some baked goods to work that day, as a colleague and I have been swapping baking recipes, and she has brought both rhubarb cake and zucchine bread to work, whereas I had brought nothing to show for my baking skills. Of course, the next day I forgot to actually bring my baked goods to work, so we (alas!) had to eat all of them ourselves during the following weekend, but I've got pictures to proof I actually made something.
Also, the fact that The Great British Bake-off has started again may have had something to do with my baking, as I of course used Mary Berry's Baking Bible.
Firstly, I decided to make millionaires' shortbread, because I love millionares' shortbread. Mary lists the following ingredients:
250 g plain flour
75 g caster sugar
175 g softened butter
100 g butter
100 g light muscovado sugar
2 tins of condensed milk
200 g plain or milk chocolate
She wants you to make the shortbread in a 33 x 23 baking tin. I happen to have only a 25 x 25 baking tin, and I felt this meant that my shortbread would become quite high (which would be a bad thing for something called 'shortbread'). So I halved all the quantities, and still ended up with a massive amount of shortbread (2 of the squares are still sitting in the fridge wrapped in cling film). Mary says the recipe will make about 24 squares, and even with half the amounts I still could make 24 pretty stomach-filling squares, so unless you need to fatten up for some reason, I'd suggest half the amount anytime.
Anyway, you make shortbread by rubbing the butter through the sugar and flour mixture. I've mentioned this before, I'll mention it again, I have a mighty loathing of this kind of dough, but surprisingly, it went quite okay this time.
When you have the magical 'fine breadcrumbs' stadium, somehow gather up the whole and press down into the baking tin (which you have either greased or lined with baking parchment). Prick with a fork so the air can escape and bake in a pre-heated oven (180 C) for 20 minutes, and layer one is done.
Layer two is a bit more of a challenge, as it involves boiling sugar without burning the pan. I did not manage to do this. I did burn the pan. Luckily, the resulting caramel magically did not have a burnt taste (only some burnt bits in it, which I scooped out as best I could).
Also, you'll notice that it says 'light muscovado sugar', and not 'white muscovado sugar' in the ingredients. I also managed to use white instead of the yellowish sugar, with the result that my caramel came out white rather than caramel-coloured. It still tasted good, though.
You put the butter, sugar, and condensed milk into a pan which you heat until the sugar has dissolved. You then bring it to the boil, and then reduce the heat and simmer "for about 5 minutes or until the mixture has thickened slightly. It is important to stir the caramel mixture continuously - if you leave it for even a second it will catch on the bottom of the pan and burn". You see, Mary did warn me, and I still managed to burn it. Anyway, once it's thickened, pour over the shortbread and leave to cool, before you pour over the melted chocolate for layer three. This cooling time will give you plenty of time to make the second thing I made: chocolate chip cookies.
Mary warns the reader that the cookies are not "as crisp as traditional biscuits", which is the tip of a whole American cookie vs. English biscuit divide that I won't go into right now, but which made me smile when I read it. Incidentally, did you know that the word 'cookie' comes from the Dutch 'koekje' (which is pronounced 'cookye', so pretty similar despite the (for English speakers) baffling spelling).
To make these, you need:
100 g softened butter
75 g caster sugar
50 g light muscovado sugar
1 egg
150 g self-raising flour
1 packet of baking powder
100 g chocolate chips
I altered the recipe somewhat, as it also calls for 'vanilla extract', but I have never used that in anything and won't start now. Also, I don't really trust my self-raising flour to still be self-raising after sitting on the shelf for half a year, so I added some baking powder. This may or may not have been a good idea, as you will see later on.
Pre-heat the oven to 200 C and grease or baking parchmentize your baking tray.
Beat the butter and two sugars together, then add the egg and beat well. Finally mix in the flour and stir in the chocolate chips.
Resist from eating the whole of the dough in one go (Ben and Jerry's ice cream flashbacks!) and spoon dollops of the mixture onto the baking trays, "leaving room for the cookies to spread". Sadly, Mary does not tell you how much room you should leave, only that the recipe "makes about 20 cookies". That means I put half of my mixture into 10 dollops on a baking sheet, and do the same for the other half. The result you can see below.
Yup, that's basically one big cookie.
It may have been the extra baking powder I added, or it may have been the fact that Mary probably expects people to have normal-sized ovens and normal-sized baking trays whereas we're still living with a small-sized oven and an even smaller-sized baking tray.
Anyway, you bake the cookie dollops for 8-10 minutes, while you "watch them like a hawk, as the will turn dark brown very quickly". As a result, I probably took mine out a bit too early, so they are not really as golden as you'd like them to be.
Leave to cool on the baking tray until they are a bit firmed up and then leave to cool some more on wire racks ('wire racks' always has a hint of medieval torture instruments to me, but maybe I've been reading too many Hillary Mantel novels lately).
So that was my re-entry into the baking world. If the cold and rainy weather continues much longer, I will probably bake some more, although I do not have as much time for it anymore as I used to have. Ah well, we first need to finish the millionares' shortbread anyway.
I had promised to bring some baked goods to work that day, as a colleague and I have been swapping baking recipes, and she has brought both rhubarb cake and zucchine bread to work, whereas I had brought nothing to show for my baking skills. Of course, the next day I forgot to actually bring my baked goods to work, so we (alas!) had to eat all of them ourselves during the following weekend, but I've got pictures to proof I actually made something.
Also, the fact that The Great British Bake-off has started again may have had something to do with my baking, as I of course used Mary Berry's Baking Bible.
Firstly, I decided to make millionaires' shortbread, because I love millionares' shortbread. Mary lists the following ingredients:
250 g plain flour
75 g caster sugar
175 g softened butter
100 g butter
100 g light muscovado sugar
2 tins of condensed milk
200 g plain or milk chocolate
She wants you to make the shortbread in a 33 x 23 baking tin. I happen to have only a 25 x 25 baking tin, and I felt this meant that my shortbread would become quite high (which would be a bad thing for something called 'shortbread'). So I halved all the quantities, and still ended up with a massive amount of shortbread (2 of the squares are still sitting in the fridge wrapped in cling film). Mary says the recipe will make about 24 squares, and even with half the amounts I still could make 24 pretty stomach-filling squares, so unless you need to fatten up for some reason, I'd suggest half the amount anytime.
Anyway, you make shortbread by rubbing the butter through the sugar and flour mixture. I've mentioned this before, I'll mention it again, I have a mighty loathing of this kind of dough, but surprisingly, it went quite okay this time.
When you have the magical 'fine breadcrumbs' stadium, somehow gather up the whole and press down into the baking tin (which you have either greased or lined with baking parchment). Prick with a fork so the air can escape and bake in a pre-heated oven (180 C) for 20 minutes, and layer one is done.
Layer two is a bit more of a challenge, as it involves boiling sugar without burning the pan. I did not manage to do this. I did burn the pan. Luckily, the resulting caramel magically did not have a burnt taste (only some burnt bits in it, which I scooped out as best I could).
Also, you'll notice that it says 'light muscovado sugar', and not 'white muscovado sugar' in the ingredients. I also managed to use white instead of the yellowish sugar, with the result that my caramel came out white rather than caramel-coloured. It still tasted good, though.
You put the butter, sugar, and condensed milk into a pan which you heat until the sugar has dissolved. You then bring it to the boil, and then reduce the heat and simmer "for about 5 minutes or until the mixture has thickened slightly. It is important to stir the caramel mixture continuously - if you leave it for even a second it will catch on the bottom of the pan and burn". You see, Mary did warn me, and I still managed to burn it. Anyway, once it's thickened, pour over the shortbread and leave to cool, before you pour over the melted chocolate for layer three. This cooling time will give you plenty of time to make the second thing I made: chocolate chip cookies.
Mary warns the reader that the cookies are not "as crisp as traditional biscuits", which is the tip of a whole American cookie vs. English biscuit divide that I won't go into right now, but which made me smile when I read it. Incidentally, did you know that the word 'cookie' comes from the Dutch 'koekje' (which is pronounced 'cookye', so pretty similar despite the (for English speakers) baffling spelling).
To make these, you need:
100 g softened butter
75 g caster sugar
50 g light muscovado sugar
1 egg
150 g self-raising flour
1 packet of baking powder
100 g chocolate chips
I altered the recipe somewhat, as it also calls for 'vanilla extract', but I have never used that in anything and won't start now. Also, I don't really trust my self-raising flour to still be self-raising after sitting on the shelf for half a year, so I added some baking powder. This may or may not have been a good idea, as you will see later on.
Pre-heat the oven to 200 C and grease or baking parchmentize your baking tray.
Beat the butter and two sugars together, then add the egg and beat well. Finally mix in the flour and stir in the chocolate chips.
Resist from eating the whole of the dough in one go (Ben and Jerry's ice cream flashbacks!) and spoon dollops of the mixture onto the baking trays, "leaving room for the cookies to spread". Sadly, Mary does not tell you how much room you should leave, only that the recipe "makes about 20 cookies". That means I put half of my mixture into 10 dollops on a baking sheet, and do the same for the other half. The result you can see below.
 |
| Chocolate chip cookie madness. |
Yup, that's basically one big cookie.
It may have been the extra baking powder I added, or it may have been the fact that Mary probably expects people to have normal-sized ovens and normal-sized baking trays whereas we're still living with a small-sized oven and an even smaller-sized baking tray.
Anyway, you bake the cookie dollops for 8-10 minutes, while you "watch them like a hawk, as the will turn dark brown very quickly". As a result, I probably took mine out a bit too early, so they are not really as golden as you'd like them to be.
Leave to cool on the baking tray until they are a bit firmed up and then leave to cool some more on wire racks ('wire racks' always has a hint of medieval torture instruments to me, but maybe I've been reading too many Hillary Mantel novels lately).
So that was my re-entry into the baking world. If the cold and rainy weather continues much longer, I will probably bake some more, although I do not have as much time for it anymore as I used to have. Ah well, we first need to finish the millionares' shortbread anyway.
Friday 6 September 2013
How to get filthy rich...
There used to be a time when I would finish a novel in one day. Acutally, that isn't really as long ago as it seems, because I finished The Ocean at the End of the Lane in one day at well. But that's not a proper novel, more like a novella, so it doesn't really count. I'm talking about a novel novel, a book heavy with symbolism and layers and importance and meaning.
Anyway, last Wednesday I had a day off to compensate for a ludicrously busy week, and I both started and finished How to get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid.
Short intermezzo here, because most of you probably have not heard of Mohsin Hamid before. He has only published three novels so far, the first one I haven't yet read, the second The Ruluctant Fundamentalist, which I read for a course (we were supposed to pick a post-9/11 novel, and almost everybody went for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close or The Terrorist, but I'd already read both of those, so I went for the novel nobody else picked). It is a long monologue by a Pakistani man to an American tourist in Pakistan, and it leaves you completely bewildered as to who is the terrorist and who is the tourist, and also as to what is right and wrong in the world. And then How to get Filty Rich in Rising Asia.
Hamid knows what he's talking about, as he was actually born in Pakistan, although he is not your average Pakistani in that he actually lived in the States for quite a while because his father was a university professor (how many of us can say that, anyway), and he did go to Princeton (same thing), but in order to become a recognized Pakistani writer you will need some sort of credentials or the world will just ignore you.
And his novels are, in fact, really really good.
Anyway, How to... is in essence a self-help book, telling the reader how to get filthy rich in rising Asia. That is to say, there is no main character. The main character is 'you', the reader, and you follow all the steps set out for you to become filthy rich (move to the city, get an education, learn from a master, and typically, don't fall in love). There are no names in this novel, the characters don't have any names, but also the cities and countries you move in remain typically name-less. This gives the universal feel of people moving from their villages to the city to carve out a life for themselves, and it is a novel of universal truths.
At the same time the novel analyses its own function of self-help book, coming to the conclusion that it may not have been entirely honest with you at some point. In a weird way that makes it a meta-meta novel, breaking down the forth wall in so many places it feels almost impossible to read another 'normal' third person narrative. But the fact that the full title is How to get Filty Rich in Rising Asia: a novel should say enough: although clearly a self-help book, this remains a novel in the end.
I read about this novel in a Dutch newspaper, because it has been translated into Dutch (loosing most of its poetic language and style, according to the reviewer), which I think is great, because more people should have access to this great author. And as I've shown, even though it is heavy with importance and symbolism and layers and everything, it is possible to finish it in one day.
Anyway, last Wednesday I had a day off to compensate for a ludicrously busy week, and I both started and finished How to get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid.
Short intermezzo here, because most of you probably have not heard of Mohsin Hamid before. He has only published three novels so far, the first one I haven't yet read, the second The Ruluctant Fundamentalist, which I read for a course (we were supposed to pick a post-9/11 novel, and almost everybody went for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close or The Terrorist, but I'd already read both of those, so I went for the novel nobody else picked). It is a long monologue by a Pakistani man to an American tourist in Pakistan, and it leaves you completely bewildered as to who is the terrorist and who is the tourist, and also as to what is right and wrong in the world. And then How to get Filty Rich in Rising Asia.
Hamid knows what he's talking about, as he was actually born in Pakistan, although he is not your average Pakistani in that he actually lived in the States for quite a while because his father was a university professor (how many of us can say that, anyway), and he did go to Princeton (same thing), but in order to become a recognized Pakistani writer you will need some sort of credentials or the world will just ignore you.
And his novels are, in fact, really really good.
Anyway, How to... is in essence a self-help book, telling the reader how to get filthy rich in rising Asia. That is to say, there is no main character. The main character is 'you', the reader, and you follow all the steps set out for you to become filthy rich (move to the city, get an education, learn from a master, and typically, don't fall in love). There are no names in this novel, the characters don't have any names, but also the cities and countries you move in remain typically name-less. This gives the universal feel of people moving from their villages to the city to carve out a life for themselves, and it is a novel of universal truths.
At the same time the novel analyses its own function of self-help book, coming to the conclusion that it may not have been entirely honest with you at some point. In a weird way that makes it a meta-meta novel, breaking down the forth wall in so many places it feels almost impossible to read another 'normal' third person narrative. But the fact that the full title is How to get Filty Rich in Rising Asia: a novel should say enough: although clearly a self-help book, this remains a novel in the end.
I read about this novel in a Dutch newspaper, because it has been translated into Dutch (loosing most of its poetic language and style, according to the reviewer), which I think is great, because more people should have access to this great author. And as I've shown, even though it is heavy with importance and symbolism and layers and everything, it is possible to finish it in one day.
Tuesday 3 September 2013
The Polysyllabic Spree
The Polysyllabic Spree is a literary column that Nick Hornby wrote from 2004 until 2006. At that time, I was studying biology and thus completely uninterested in "Stuff I've Been Reading", but even if I had been interested, the columns were published in the Believer, a literary magazine published in the US and (according to Hornby) only read by men.
But thankfully, his columns have also been published, which gives me in an insight into the difference between writing reviews and writing about literature and writing about reading. And has also made me realise that what I generally do is write about reading, whereas in my essays for English, I wrote about literature. Which is good, in a way, because way too many people write way too many things about literature as it is, and also, I couldn't actually say that I know enough about literature to say anything sensible about it without having the whole university library to use as a source.
It is also quite a depressing read, as the first book I actually recognised and read appears on page 86 (We need to talk about Kevin, which I only read because of a course I was taking), there is 1 mention of Jane Austen in the whole thing (to state that in her days, it was perfectly normal for cousins to marry), and only one mention of a McEwan novel (Saturday, I haven't yet reached the part where he discusses reading this, but I'm already dreading the moment). But as Hornby buys about 10 books each month, and reads about the same amount (usually different novels from the one he's bought), I think the most important conclusion from reading this book will be: I still have a lot left to read.
Which is partly depressing but also good, because I've been filling up my birthday wish list with "want to read this one day but haven't really gotten round to buying, let alone reading, it" novels.
The second conclusion is that Nick Hornby is a fun writer whatever he writes, be it novels or autobiographies or columns, and that if you are a good writer you can make people enjoy reading about books they haven't actually read themselves.
But generally, reading about another person reading novels is ever only interesting for people who read a lot themselves, and want to read more. The same group of people who actually read author's biographies and letters, and listen to the director's commentary on DVDs. I'm just happy that I found something that caters to this pretty peculiar obsession of mine.
But thankfully, his columns have also been published, which gives me in an insight into the difference between writing reviews and writing about literature and writing about reading. And has also made me realise that what I generally do is write about reading, whereas in my essays for English, I wrote about literature. Which is good, in a way, because way too many people write way too many things about literature as it is, and also, I couldn't actually say that I know enough about literature to say anything sensible about it without having the whole university library to use as a source.
It is also quite a depressing read, as the first book I actually recognised and read appears on page 86 (We need to talk about Kevin, which I only read because of a course I was taking), there is 1 mention of Jane Austen in the whole thing (to state that in her days, it was perfectly normal for cousins to marry), and only one mention of a McEwan novel (Saturday, I haven't yet reached the part where he discusses reading this, but I'm already dreading the moment). But as Hornby buys about 10 books each month, and reads about the same amount (usually different novels from the one he's bought), I think the most important conclusion from reading this book will be: I still have a lot left to read.
Which is partly depressing but also good, because I've been filling up my birthday wish list with "want to read this one day but haven't really gotten round to buying, let alone reading, it" novels.
The second conclusion is that Nick Hornby is a fun writer whatever he writes, be it novels or autobiographies or columns, and that if you are a good writer you can make people enjoy reading about books they haven't actually read themselves.
But generally, reading about another person reading novels is ever only interesting for people who read a lot themselves, and want to read more. The same group of people who actually read author's biographies and letters, and listen to the director's commentary on DVDs. I'm just happy that I found something that caters to this pretty peculiar obsession of mine.
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