… it never occurred to me before how many faces there are. There are multitudes of people, but there are so many more faces, because each person has several of them. There are people who wear the same face for years; naturally it wears out, gets dirty, splits at the seams, stretches like gloves worn during a long journey. They are thrifty, uncomplicated people; they never change it, never even have it cleaned. It’s good enough, they say, and who can convince them of the contrary? Of course, since they have several faces, you might wonder what they do with the other ones. They keep them in storage. Their children wear them. But sometimes it also happens that their dogs go out wearing them. And why not? A face is a face.

- Excerpt from Faces [Rainer Maria Rilke; Translation by Stephen Mitchell]

From The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

I officially have four books that I really, really want to finish before November ends – Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (Susanna Clarke), Possession (A.S. Byatt), The Hours (Michael Cunningham), and Kafka on the Shore (Haruki Murakami).

That’s just my most wanted list, but I still have a few more books in the shelf that I haven’t finished or even scanned. I got a little crazy over buying used books from Ebay, hence the pile. It’s just that there’s been too many distractions, not the least of which is keeping at least three blogs alive. But I’m getting back to reading. I need to remember how to focus my energy on doing something else away from my personal computer. Now if only I can find a discount furniture store to look for something like a comfortable sofa or anything that I can call my reading “space.”

I’m beyond excited to get this book I’ve ordered online – The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke. Now, these are the times when I can say I *so* love online shopping. This book isn’t available in local bookstores so I had to order from a seller abroad. The great thing is that the shipping cost (not expedited but with insurance) is very cheap, $3.99, compared with most other online stores. I’m kind of hoping I’ll get it in 7 days, which should be just about now, but I’m giving it another 7 days before I seriously get worried.  

For people who shop online, do you have any stories to share regarding your experiences? There’s a certain contest you might want to join. Just refer to this blog when you register.

A heroine in the book Possession by A.S. Byatt, Christabel La Motte, a (fictional) Victorian poet, advised against the keeping of journals or diaries:

If you can order your Thoughts and shape them into Art, good: if you can live in the obligations and affections of Daily Life, good. But do not get into the habit of morbid Self-examination. Nothing so unfits a woman for producing good work, or for living usefully. The Lord will take care of the second of these – opportunities will be found. The first is a matter of Will.

- p. 65

I’ve always wanted to start a journal but somehow couldn’t continue because I can’t bear to read my words if they are meant for myself alone. I’ve done a lot of morbid self-examination, though, especially in my early blogging days. It may not be Art per se, but it’s close. At least it’s what it (the process) aspires to be..

Last month, National Bookstore had a sale and I got myself two new books – Ian McEwan’s The Innocent (at 40% off) and Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin (at 20% off). I started with McEwan’s and I reached chapter 3 before realizing that I’m not in the mood for a modern-day thriller. Atwood’s , I haven’t even taken out of the plastic yet. Instead, hoping to read something along the lines of the fantastic, I dug out my copy of Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel – one that I’ve always enjoyed reading, and rereading the first chapters of, but couldn’t quite finish because I’m having a hard time with the (approximately) size 7 text font of my mass paperback copy. The book is filled with tons of multiparagraph footnotes, which you can imagine have a still smaller font.

I’m moving at a very slow pace, partly because I barely have time to do anything after I go home every night at past 11 pm, and partly because I’ve gotten so used to spending my pre-sleeping hours on attending to my blogs and hopping on to others’. But this time, I’m hoping to finally be able to get through this one and start a serious schedule to finish everything else I have on queue. Even if my main motivation right now is to get back the worth of the money I’ve spent on these volumes, I also want to try to bring back the reading habit I’ve lost since the Internet took my fancy.

I’m also sharing this to help control myself from being pulled into the direction of yet another book sale happening next week. The truth is, I almost got myself another title, Michael Gruber’s The Book of Air and Shadows, one that I ordered online because the hardbound copy was offered at about P265 from the P1000+ regular price. The website said that the book will be delivered within 3 to 4 days, depending on the availability. I wasn’t too keen on having it ASAP anyway, so it was after 2 weeks since I placed my order that I inquired about the status. I was told the book was actually out of stock and if I’m willing to wait for new stocks, I’ll then have to pay the original price. Eh, I just cancelled it. And that became sort of a wake up call:

I promise myself not to buy a single book again until I’ve read every unread book I already have in my shelf. I repeat: Promises are meant to be broken.

An essay on The New York Times last month dealt with what the author called literary dealbreakers – what would make you dismiss a potential romantic partner on account of the books he or she appreciates.

I am with the lot of people who commented on the same author’s blog that judging a person by what he or she does (or does not, for that matter), read is, to a large extent, foolish. Not to mention snobbish for those who claim to be of highbrow literary tastes.

That being said, I probably won’t have lasting attraction to someone who will tell me that he doesn’t read anything without pictures on it. More so if he doesn’t read, period. First, I say probably because I’m talking theoretically here. But I can’t imagine having someone who’ll get bored by me sticking around the bookstores at the mall or who wouldn’t be excited by the idea of discussing new literary finds and engaging authors over a cup of coffee or tea. Let us widen our imaginations for a while and consider, if, by some stroke of luck, I’ll get to publish a book in the future. I imagine it would a be much more rewarding experience to share it with someone who understands, and have a deep appreciation for, the beauty and power of the written word. Intellectual snobbery? I’m calling it a relative measure of compatibility.