My (Previous) Year in Reading: 71 to 80

…in chronological order.

2015 has been a great year when it comes to reading books for me. During it, according to Goodreads, I have gulped down 212 volumes that were not only novels for adults but also volumes that belonged in many other genres: YA, graphic novels, poetry, children's stories, short stories and books in translation. This has also been a year that I stopped writing reviews since I had much else occupying my mind and time, so below I'll give you no more than a few words about the books I have read. I hope some of my choices echo yours and I look forward to an exciting new year of reading.

So here it goes:

 

71) At the Reunion Buffet by Alexander McCall Smith. Reunions tend the be bittersweet events. Whether one likes it or not, not all of them are consumed with sweet nostalgia and new discovery, but also bring to the surface long forgotten feelings, sometimes sad, sometimes angry. The hostess of the reunion party described here is working hard to make things work out for the better, but her task is not an easy one. A lovely novella from a very good writer.

72) Sweet Blood Volume 1 by Kim Seyoung. Real life and fantasy meet in this graphic novel from South Korea. This is the story of a student whose home life is far from perfect. His parents seem to ignore him, so when the opportunity arises he strikes a deal with (kind of) the devil to escape his everyday demons, but… A good story. I am not too excited about the art but the plot is very rewarding.

73) Shadow Show: All-New Stories in Celebration of Ray Bradbury. Well, it's not easy to read this collection without trying to compare the skills of the authors involved. Some of them do great work, others not so, but all in all I'd say that this is one of the books I've really enjoyed diving into during the course of 2015. Some of the biggest names of the fantasy genre can be found in these pages, and their stories are definitely worth reading.

74) Spread Volume 1: No Hope by Justin Jordan and Kyle Strahm. I loved this story. The premise is not something new: a big evil has cast its shadow over the world and only one person is capable of stopping it, and that turns out to be a small boy. The good script and matching art and lots of adventure make this one of the stand out comics of the year.

75) Low Volume 1: The Delirium of Hope by Rick Remender and GregTocchini. Here's yet another post-apocalyptic tale. After a great catastrophe the remaining people have to live in deep ocean waters as the rays of the sun can spell their death. But can someone really call theirs a life? Not really. And that's exactly why they turn to the stars in order to find a new home. A very good graphic novel that leaves many promises for the future.

76) Monster Motors by Brian Lynch and Nick Roche. I didn't expect to like this graphic novel but I really did. For starters it's very funny, and then the action almost never stops. But it also draws inspiration from classic literature which is a big bonus in my eyes. I've always believed that terror plots are mostly funny, and this volume proved me right.

77) Wayward Volume 1: String Theory by Jim Zub, Steven Cummings and JohnRausch. A young woman moves to Japan to live with her mother and all hell breaks loose as she comes to realize that she's anything but normal; she has some powers that she finds hard to comprehend but which she must unleash in order to save herself and the others. A great plot drives the story from start to finish, while beautiful animations bring the heroes to life.

78) Sinergy Volume 1 by Michael Avon Oeming and Taki Soma. This is yet another of those graphic novels that show a lot of potential when it comes to the main idea behind them; a potential that doesn't translate so well on the page. A story about a young girl discovering a new world of monsters and terror in a somewhat funny manner but… I've already said it all.

79) The Adventures of Artemus by Jim Patrick. This is supposed to be a children's book and it is but, well, I believe most adults will enjoy reading it too. Here we have the story of a mouse who works as an art restorer and who offers the reader the opportunity to learn, in a fun and lighthearted way, a thing or two about great art. Highly recommended.

80) A Day of What IFs by Lauren Micchelli. There are way too many what ifs in life. What if I do this or I do that? What if that happened or something different? What if… This children's book explores in a very pleasing manner some of those what ifs while allowing the reader to have some fun on the way. A very creative piece of work.

To be continued.

Read also: 1 to 10, 11 to 20, 21 to 30, 31 to 40, 41 to 50, 51 to 60, 61 to 70

 

A Eulogy for Love - Chapter 7

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial, the first kiss of love.

Lord Byron

Yet another day is about to kiss us goodbye. And yet once again I'm here with you to share in the loneliness of the coming night. An eerie silence seems to have taken over the cemetery grounds though the sounds of the city can still reach my ears from afar. The smooth air of August is a bit warm but its breath is getting cooler by the minute. The sun is sharing its last red smile with us. The pale city lights one by one come to life… Banish the light! It tortures me, it denies my soul to me.

Eleni, I sit here, over your grave, and think that the whole world begins and ends at this sacred spot. If my mission was to travel the world all I had to do would be to walk around this patch of land that blankets your body and return to the place that I'm sitting right now. A trip around the world, a trip around a lonesome soul.

I close my eyes. The real world turns black, but through this darkness emerges like a shining light you. Your essence. You are smiling and the air all around me changes scent, it now carries yours. The, oh so few, birds I can now hear sing with your voice. I feel a hot breathe on my neck and as I open my eyes it all dissolves. For how long will you, my beloved, haunt my life, my every waking moment and my dreams?

I knew you so well and yet so little. I could read your every glance, listen to your silences, guess your thoughts, and often enough I spelled the words that you wanted to say. I knew you more than my own self. I could understand you. I could see why you insisted staying with Marios but kept it a secret, I never let slip a hint that I could understand. It would be impossible for us to one day live together. I knew you so well and yet so little, since I could never have imagined that one day you'd decide to put an end to your life. Suicide is only a solution for the cowards, you used to say, and stupid as I was I believed you.

The world, or rather life, is a great mystery and I doubt that there's anyone out there who can fully comprehend it. Is there anyone that can truly understand how life changes from one moment to the next, how nothing is granted, how the wheels of fortune can sometimes bring about some unexpected and terrifying events in our lives, how tomorrow for a lot of us may never come?

Now, like a deserted island I wander into your lands of solitude, with the dolor of the west as my constant comrade.

I could never have imagined (I know I repeat myself, but I have no choice, my words are too poor to express my deep grief) that when I came back from my last journey you'll no longer be here, and along with you all my friends would be lost. Now I am but a refugee of love, someone who has no country. Because my homeland, my religion and my family were you. To you it was that I've always wanted to return, and not to a city, to a land.

I am to blame for what happened. It was me that got you carried away and thrown into the vortex of my madness. It was me that turned his hand into a deadly weapon powered by jealousy. It was me that made you drink that poison that ended up sending you into a bleak never-never land. It was all my fault!

I don't think that it's easy for someone to understand what it feels like to live day after day with a knife nailed in your heart that doesn't kill you. The pain of twisting it around with all you've got, of pushing deeper inside, and not dying. It's unbearable being alive in the graveyard of life.

I have never before felt in so much pain. And never before had I felt so strong the need to rise up again from the abyss I found myself in and stand firm on my feet, and follow my lonely path that more likely than not will lead me to nothingness or simply nowhere.

I look at the stars as one after the other almost shyly show their faces in the city sky. If what they say is true, if every time a child is born on this earth a new star appears in the heaven above, then I wonder which star lost its glow and faded away when you died. I'm so sad that I have chosen in the skies above the brightest of stars to shed for you their sorrowful light.

This morning, when I've finally managed to abandon myself to sleep, you visited my dreams once more. I saw you smile, as usual, but behind you there was nothing, a spotless white canvass, the infinite. But, all of a sudden I saw another face breaking away from yours and coming into the light. It was the face of a girl of roughly your age which I have never seen in my life ever before. Then you smiled at me, smiled at her and vanished. I took her by the hand and together we strolled into the unknown. I wonder what that meant.

To be continued.

The image was taken from here.

 

A Eulogy for Love - Chapter 6

For a woman, all resurrection, all salvation,

from whatever perdition, lies in love;

in fact, it is her only way to it.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Each man kills the thing he loves, according to Oscar Wilde and I love Nikos with all my heart and I'm killing him. I'm killing his psyche one day at a time. He's in love with me I feel it, I know it, but his love for me will never be reciprocated and that he surely understands. Perhaps if he told me about it something would change… But who am I trying to fool, nothing would. It would be better for him though if he stopped keeping that secret.

Secret? Not really. Everything shouts out the truth of his feelings for me; the way he talks and smiles to me, the shine in his eyes, his tenderness towards me, the way he worries when I'm not okay. He loves me with a pure, almost innocent love, whether he talks about it or not. Women always know. They know how to read the signs, yet they act surprised when someone, better late than never, confesses their feelings to them, if they don't love them back.

If there existed somewhere an ideal world, a land of dreams and a utopia, then he would be for me the ideal lover, the perfect partner. I can't think of a single woman who wouldn't want to be loved by someone like him, someone who lives love, and who never says I, unless he's about to blame himself for something. My desperate poet, will, I wonder, ever love you as much as I want to, as much as you deserve?

He's so special, one of those unfortunate souls that no matter how much they try they never find peace of mind. He will keep looking always for something, someone, and he'll keep turning inwards trying to conquer the desolate shores of his soul. And he will always leave, seeking the new, the strange, the different, the unknown.

No woman could ever stay by his side for too long. He's a man without a country, a fallen angel who doesn't quite fit in in our earthly world. He walks in the streets and sings All You Need is Love, he waves hello and smiles to the passersby, he looks up to the sky and his eyes sparkle as if he's about to fly. No woman could put up with him, not a single one. Just a couple of hours ago I've asked him what he did today and he said that he "became by four lines of lyrics richer." My crazy boy, my wise man, women love poetry, but they love security more.

It's painful for me, it really hurts that he's alone, but however sorry I feel for him, I can do nothing to bring him out of his solitude. Besides, what could I actually do to help? He's built his wall all by himself which means that only he can bring it down.

Oh, I wish, I pray that he would simply go away once again. Not necessarily away from here, just away from me. I don't want to find myself in a position that I would have to ask him to go. I simply want him to understand that I'm not right for him. To understand… To understand… To understand what? Oh God! I don't want him to go. I want him to think that I want him to. But if he does, then what? How could I live with myself then? I love him and he loves me… How could I ever tell the only true person I've ever met Do not love me, forget me, go? How?

I love him more than myself, and yet I could never live with him, become his second wing. He's too good and that I cannot stand. He believes that with his mild manners and peaceful gaze and his love, he can conquer everything, everyone. He lives in a world of dreams, while I survive the day to day hard realities of this one. He spends almost all his time, day and night, giving to others, and he never stops to think whether his efforts go to waste or not, or even if those others deserve his offerings. And even worst he believes with all his heart that I'm worth his love. Well, I don't think I do.

I have always been a pessimist, viewing the world through dark-tinted lenses. I've always expected things to go bad. While living a happy moment, I could see things taking a turn for the worse not long after. I don't know who or what to blame for my outlook. Perhaps it had something to do with the things I've lived. Maybe with the fact that I haven't met him early enough. The moment he stepped into my life, things started changing. Everything did. My days, all of a sudden, got rid of the black and  dressed in colors, and my nights were filled with poetry and music. He and his, let me call them, idiosyncratic friends have arrived like a breeze in my life, rejuvenating my senses, waking up my hibernating fantasy.

I admire his friends, almost as much as I admire him. They live the moment, every moment, they suck, as they say, the juices of the tree of life (I'm pretty sure that some poet wrote this, but his name, right now, I don't remember.) I am so happy that they took me, with open arms and so much love, in their company, and I'm so sad that I'll never be able to be like them; someone who can turn life into a poem, a song, a sculpture, a painting. If it wasn't for people like them the earth would stop spinning, the world dream would be erased from all the dictionaries in the world. Thank God there still exist the crazy ones, I've once heard someone say, I think it was Maria. Thank God. Thanks to them love, fantasy, visions, beauty, all that is worthy and true are still alive.

Might I but moor tonight in thee! I've once heard Emily wonder aloud… Might I moor in you? I want to do that, I really do, but I won't. When I've met you it was already too late, I had given myself to somebody else, and to him I still belong. You gave me all that Marios never did and for that I thank you. I know you hate these two words but since you're not going to read them or hear me saying them I dare whisper them in these pages: thank you!

I would like to hug you, kiss you, caress your hair, express my gratitude for you being there, for you being you, but I won't. Instead I'll keep filling this journal with these thoughts, safe in the knowledge that they'll remain hidden. This is my silent way of saying the thousands of thank you's I owe you. If you have, by some miracle, become the listener of my soul, then this thing here is going to be my secret confessor, someone that will never speak aloud, unless I want them to, the things that are best left unsaid. I am a flower that slowly gets eaten away by the secret poison.

Nikos, my poet and painter of my dreams, they say that the paper has no soul, and they are wrong. These pages are more alive than anything in the world. They have my scent, they carry my thoughts, they hide your omnipresence, they see my tears and feel my pain and joy. This paper, I'm writing on, is like a beating heart, it's all the world and nothing at all. Soulless is what soulless people call it.

Isn't it funny, or rather strange, that for some time now I'm writing as if you are right here and I'm talking to you? I feel like I'm composing a letter that I'm never going to send and that's not too far from the truth. But, if this was a letter, it wouldn't be so long, it wouldn't overflow with hurt and joy. I would simply write: Keep leaving (and living,) seek your dreams, reach for your peaks, stay you!

As I am writing these words, right next to me, in bed, lies Marios, the first man that made me feel like a woman, he who made me one. He is the body, you are the soul. He fulfills my desires, you make me want to live, to hope, to fly.

If we were spirits, you and I, we would set wings in our own secret skies, we would discover our personal paradise and we would built a world so full of beauty that in front of it the colors of the rainbow would pale. But we are not, we are made of matter, we depend on it. And that's probably why we two could never be… You are more spirit than matter, I am the opposite. And opposites may attract but in the end they capsize.

The beauty that deep inside me I hide no one will never know. Not even you, even though you may suspect it. I will stay with Marios and the hurt that goes with him. Somewhere inside I feel that I need this pain. The same glass gifts me both bitterness and delight.

To be continued.

The quotes written in Italian, unless implied otherwise, are by the Greek poet Maria Polydouri.

The image was taken from here.