On White Fire and ...

White Fire - Preston and Child

Finished the latest Pendergast adventure with full steam, as usual. :)  It's a pity that this year, reading has proceeded at such a sluggish pace.  With lackadaisical effort, I managed to finish maybe half of the books I started, lugging through the rest with no vigor whatsoever. 

With the one exception being any new Pendergast books that P and C turn out.  I read it with visible savory and didn't want it to end. 

White Fire is a standalone story in the Pendergast saga.  It is Pendergast back in his elements and at his most confident, arrogant, and "douchebaggery-self"!  But in a way, I am so glad to see him back to his old self again.  I have grown so used to seeing A.P. roughing up the "average John Does" left and right, having his way one way or another.  And I had a visible smurk every time phrases like "icy cold blue eyes", "so blond as to be almost white", "black-suitted undertaker" show up.  I think I will call White Fire the second book in the "Death Descends on Small Town" series, the first one being, of course, A Still Life of Crows.  And the second "DDoST", even more than the first one, has Corrie Swanson smack in the middle of the scene. 

  White Fire is essentially a Corrie Swanson adventure.  Now in her junior year at John Jay, Corrie is well on her way to a promising law career, given that her own foolhardiness does not get in the way.  But of course, that's exactly what happens, and up to a point, one starts to realize just how similar Corrie is to A.P. himself: refusing to play by the book, having a formidable perseverence to get what she wants, and a strong sense of justice (though in A.P.'s case, maybe strong to the point of being morbid?).  But of course Corrie lacks the resourcefulness, experience and overall tactfulness of A.P., and very predictablly lands herself in deep waters and loads of trouble.  And, A.P. of course, follows close on the heels of her misfortune and saves the damsel in distress every time in a timely, and fashionable, cough, fashion. :)

That basically sums the story up.  The A.P. saga, maybe for the first time, centers on Pendergast being in the role of a father.  And it is really heartwarming seeing him turning ever slightly more "human", at a point in the story, showing emotions that would be next to impossible in previous books.  Now, having become a father himself, he's "softened up" quite a bit. :)  I eagerly await the next episode, though I'm sure it will be a lot more heart-wrenching than any standalones, because whenever his family is involved, we know in what shape/mood A.P. would get himself into. 

★ ★ ★ ☆
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I started keeping a journal again.  It has been so long since I have had a good "conversation" with my inner self.  And Blogs, and godforbid, Facebook, are no place for such things. 

I'm currently reading "Chinese History Revisited" (中國文明的反思-蕭建生).  A most revelational book.  A bit heavy-duty reading, but this is the second time I checked it out of the library.  It's a book I want to peruse instead of browse.  I am thinking of translating one of the chapters into English.  A most exerting exercise.

Nearing year-end, still reading, yes

Practicing pipa has taken up a sizable chunk of my time, but I think I'm actually getting somewhere with this.  I plunged into the art of pipa knowing next to nothing, only that I was picturing an image of myself that I would like to one day become, and pipa was in the picture.  I suppose I owe this in part to my adoration, fine, infatuation, with TTL, and somehow there's a tenuous link that only makes sense to me.  

My list of finished books is pathetically short this year, I was going through it the other night and found that I actually managed to finish four books on the Silk Roads, though one of which I recall almost nothing (Mental Note: re-read that book).  I'm still pursuing that thread in my future reading.  Now that there's the prospect of visiting one of the key places that often turns up in Silk Roads books, I'm more motivated to read about this subject.  

Right now I'm reading "Villette" by Charlotte Brontë.  This is the only book I have genuinely enjoyed for quite some time.  I'm only about one eighth of the way through, but already I expect this to be a book that's thoughtful, carefully written, and takes its time.  The narrator has sensibilities that echo to a certain degree with mine, dare I say it, and a quality I normally find only in British literature.  As I was reading the book, I realized that my limited proficiency in the language a few years ago would not have made it possible for me to enjoy the book, but now I'm more equipped to share in the author's thoughts and life journey.  A rewarding realization.  Many of the books I've purchased over a decade ago, I've purchased too early, only now am I truly prepared to appreciate them.  But better now than never.  

浮華如什麽？



this is the more commonly seen book cover



then I chanced upon this charming alternative cover, I might've rated the book 1/2 star higher, just for the cover design

                                                                      ★★★☆ (3.5/5)

Crazy Rich Asians (by Keven Kwan) is a beach book, so I'm rating it as one. The subject itself is a fascination to many, how many of us wouldn't want to peek into the lives of the rich and the mighty, especially those from Asia (or more precisely, of or can be traced to Chinese pedigree), since there is, yes I'll bet on it, guaranteed to be twice as much folly and vanity involved.  Overall, I think Kwan does a very good job of presenting a panoramic diorama, or should one say, pantheon that sits atop the Asian landscape.  As one reads, one feels that the author has met these ghastly characters and seen their obscene wealth up close and personal.  I bought almost every little detail described by Kwan of these people's way of life -- and by the way, descriptive writing is definitely one of Kwan's strengths -- except, maybe for that little bit with the Ru wares, or the completely nonchalant and taken-for-granted manners with which they treated these priceless and irreplaceable Song-era pots.  It felt just a tad bit over-the-top to me, amongst all the phantasmagoria of private this and that, exclusive this and couture that.  But then again, Kwan doesn't exactly convey the impression that these snobs are very cultured, despite top-notch boarding schools and salient British accents.  

I almost gave Crazy four stars if it weren't for one or two loose-ends, and the way-too-boilerplate lines exchanged between some of the main characters, Rachel, Nick, and Colin, in particular.  More than once I felt that these characters are in fact animated props acting out scenes for an audience.  It just felt too staged, and too many times have some of these lines and quips been heard.  I remember asking myself, "really? do couples in love really talk like that?"  

As for the ending, my first reaction was, it is immensely unsatisfying, but then I realized, it really is the only safe way out, if we want to see the story ending on a positive note.  Despite the claim that Crazy is a comedy, and it SURE IS, no doubt there, there's an underlying frustration and a bleak reality looming ahead.  And despite having all the appearance of a Cinderella-meets-Prince-Charming fairy tale, where the ingenue Rachel Chu wanders into the dazzling crystal palace-on-crack of her prince Nick Young, this story sits on too much dismal reality to churn out the other crystal slipper at the end.  So, better end it with a "bright prospect", because prospect is all that one could hope for out of this story (By the way, I thought that determined blue jay bird hitting against the glass pane thing was an instant-see-through as well).  No, I don't believe Nick has what it takes to stand against family, tradition, and deep-seated prejudices.  No, I don't believe Nick would or could risk losing all the comfort and wealth he's become so accustomed to.  Because No, I don't ultimately believe in the authenticity of the character Nicholas Young.  He is our wishful thinking.  

Hmm, now I risk ending my rambling on a depressing note!  But that's what happens when fairy tales have lost their appeals.  Just a couple of other things, I actually felt sorry for the characters Astrid and Michael.  Their's is a classic case of youthful foolishness meeting harsh reality -- EXCEPT, their fateful ending may be turned around by the author's generously inserted deus ex machina!!!  Of course it is completely insane, but who gives!  You know, this is one of the perks of writing -- just pick your favorite god or goddess incarnation and start turning the wheel-of-fate.

So much that glows, so little that matters. If I have to choose on one enduring impression from this book, the word "smallish" would suffice.  

浮華若朝露

Prometheus

rating ★★☆☆☆

I have been pining to see Prometheus ever since I learned it's the prequel to the Alien franchise.  I had had a certain degree of confidence in the film mostly because it is produced and directed by Ridley Scott, the director who, shall we say, started it all.  I missed the showing in the theaters, so I ended up buying the Amazon streaming version which has HD quality and is considerably cheaper and can be re-watched  to heart's content, =).  Overall, the film was good while it lasted. To be sure, the CG of the mysterious and majestic planet in the beginning, of the chiseled and porcelain physique of the Engineers, and of the futuristic technologies as shown by what's on-board the ship Prometheus, does not disappoint.  The acting, overall, and notably that of Fassbender's, does not disappoint either.  Fassbender delivers a very believable synthetic AI.  What does disappoint, big time, is the fateful, and oftentimes, comical way with which things spiral out of control.  Understandably, if everything in the film were to proceed smoothly like a script (no pun intended) and everyone were to behave by-the-book down to dotting the i's and crossing the t's, well, we wouldn't have much of a film.  So someone has to make a poor decision somewhere.  But the frequency of poor decisions, unprofessional ones made by supposedly professionals, is just too jarringly high.  The team of scientists who goes on this mission is, safe to say, the creme de la creme of their particular fields.  But their amateurism, freshman-level foolhardiness and even downright horse-play, makes one wonder if this sci-fi horror is really a satire/comic in disguise -- I mean, the only geologist of the team cannot find his way around a seemingly straightforward cave?  The biologist of the team behaving like a teenage boy showing off in front of his high-school crush upon encountering an obviously menacing looking alien life form (and predictably, met with a quick and painful death)?  The beau of the film's heroine (seriously, he does not look like a scientist whichever way you look) taking off his oxygen helmet and bravely starts breathing atmospheric air just because the reading tells him the air is breathable -- hello, do you really trust earth's technology to work 100% everywhere in the universe?!!  What is this, a team of high school kids on a field trip?!

On a different front, Prometheus raises more questions, perhaps, than answering the ones we have.  Why does the Engineer in the beginning of the film drink the black liquid which seems to break him down at an atomic level?  And for what purpose?  What is that black liquid?  What exactly is the connection between the Engineers and the Alien species?  In the holographic replay, what are the Engineers running away from?  So on and so forth.  These many questions definitely call for a sequal, one I hope, that will at least muster together a functional team of real professionals.

An eventful weekend

My "god-grandmother" passed away without leaving any words.  She had been diagnosed with cancer ten years ago.  After treatment, her cancer had been in remission until recently.  She went back to treatment again, and everyone thought (herself included) she was doing well and on her way, though slowly, but surely, to recovery.  But a few days ago, her condition worsened without much warning, and she quickly slipped into unconsciousness and never woke up again.  This happened around the time of the "tomb sweeping day".  

My "god-grandfather" doesn't know how to cook, he'll have a tough time coping with an empty kitchen.  

----------

I picked up learning the pipa today, after much thought and hesitation.  I don't think I want to go through this lifetime without at least knowing how to play one musical instrument.  But picking the one right for me has been a lengthy process.  This isn't like the time when my parents sent me to take keyboard lessons when I was ten with the intention that I would have an "all around development" and not fall behind other kids of my age -- getting a head-start, so to speak.  Except that every kid whose parents could afford to sent him/her to some kind of after school "talent" class was, from the parents' perspective, getting a head-start.  I soon gave up the keyboard.  I was only ten, I didn't have feelings for it, still don't.  I entertained the idea of learning the violin, the guzheng (zither), even the guitar, but later thought better of them.  I don't really see myself playing the violin, even though I enjoy listening to it tremendously (by the way, I love listening to cello too, but another lifetime for playing it, maybe); the guzheng is a more realistic candidate, except that it's not a portable instrument, and I somehow lost some of my affection for the guzheng after seeing how fancy, and of course, expensive, some of the guzhengs are nowadays, NOT for the quality of the wood or strings used, but for the ornate inlaid woodwork.  This of course is to play up to the fancies of girls, while hauling a greater profit.  Now that only leaves the guitar, but this led me to think, it's obvious I have a thing for string instruments, and deep down, I have some silly fancies about the Tang empire.  The word Tang Chao evokes juvenile romantic images, lady in full headgear and gossamer cape riding on fat horse; poets thrashing this way and that their polished swords while improvising timeless poems and drinking baijiu; caravans with exotic goods and people from all corners of the land under heaven marching into Chang'an; and female court musicians playing the pipas for inebriated royal guests".  So this is how I came to consider the pipa, and the more I thought about it, the more I see it happening.  And it has happened, today.  This is one of those times I feel lucky I'm in a cosmopolitan city in the United States, imagine if I were to live in a small town in, oh say, Montana, forget about it. 

Anyway, here is a photo from my first lesson .... posing very unprofessionally after two hours of practice.  My back and neck still feel awkwardly out of place after sitting in that position and turning my head for full three hours, lol.  noob.  

I feel more excited than I sound.  I think deep down, we are all trying to inch our way towards an idealized image of ourselves.  In most cases, it's an unattainable goal, of course.  But it's the hope that makes it all so interesting.  Very tough road and lots of hard work ahead.  All aboard!

----

I went to this small concert by Baishui, a Chinese neo-folk musician.  I had only heard about him a few days ago, and after hearing some of his music, I was blown away, like seriously, his music struck a chord in me.  So I had to go and see him perform in person.  I've always liked 中國風, but most of the so called “Chinese retro" songs don't do the term justice.  Lyrics like "為誰春，為誰等，為誰癡" make me frown if not cower, see, I think I'm cliché-phobic.  Even the works of 墨明棋妙 don't hit the right spot.  Not to detract from them, I really think they have done some amazing work, but I can't help shake the feeling that most of the "Chinese retro" songs I've heard so far have either a wuxia (the world of martial art heroes – or the adventures of Chinese knight-errants) touch or a cartoonish tinge, and many of which share a distinct and pervasive Japanese influence.  Baishui’s work is completely a new thing, but it’s also so genuinely Chinese and “ancient” (his earlier albums) in a way unrivaled by any work I’ve come across, but I’m by no means well-versed in Chinese music of today.  I think Baishui has managed to capture some of the gist of Taoist’s and Chinese Buddhist’s philosophy, together with the notion of 中庸 (the middle of the road, a rejection of extremism), which is an immanent, central and definitive characteristic of the Chinese mindset. 

Two Graves

Two Graves [Preston and Child]

★★★★☆

I lucked out when upon visiting my local library, I found a copy of Preston and Child’s Two Graves, freshly procured, no doubt.  Two Graves is the latest addition to the “Pendergast saga”, and the last book of the “Helen Trilogy”, the second “Trilogy” in the trials and tribulations of Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast.  It’s been well over a decade since Relic, the first suspense/thriller co-authored by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child was published.  And now, eleven books later, here I am, still reading the series with fervor.  The world that revolves around A.P. has become familiar ground, and the list of returning characters endearing and reassuring: A.P., D’agosta, Constance Green, Proctor, Wren, and Corrie, among others, and yes, I still take issue with the rather abrupt and ham-handed way P and C decided to drop Smithback from the returning ensemble, once and for all.  If I had to pick, I’d say Cemetery Dance is the weakest link of this series.  It felt rushed, an unrealistic nightmare incongruous from the other episodes, granted that most of these episodes read like nightmares. 

But Two Graves is a solid addition.  It’s not exactly on par with Relic or Cabinet of Curiosities, but it delivers, and it is an emotional rollercoaster ride for A.P., the one striking most close to home (if you thought the business with Diogenes was personal…).  The story picks up exactly where it left off in Cold Vengeance, with a maddening and heartrending pursuit, maddening because we truly see the stuff A.P. is made of when the life of his love interest is at stake; heartrending because the outcome is hinted at in the beginning of the book “before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” 

Then we truly see a side of A.P. we have never seen before, though it is again, to be expected.  If it can be said that A.P. has one vital weakness, it is that he is not used to failure, and indeed, it drives him within a hair-line of self-inflicted destruction.  Then comes the truly surprise factor (for me, at least) [SPOILER]:  Alban and Tristram.  Though in retrospect, it all makes perfect sense (Kudos to P and C for their potent imagination), now every piece of the puzzle is falling in place.  With Alban and Tristram now in the picture, the Pendergast saga has taken on a new direction, with endless possibilities.  The interesting thing is that this rivalry that has taken place between Pendergast and Diogenes will, if I know anything about drama, surely play itself out all over again between Alban and Tristram, the good vs. the evil.  I would be genuinely surprised if this twin-complex does not factor into one or more of the future episodes. 

But what I’d really like to read from P and C in their next Pendergast book is a standalone story, without too much of the family drama that’s starting to feel just a tad bit drawn out, but instead a good macabre case with strong deduction and bone-chilling revelation, that sort of thing, basically, something like the Cabinet of Curiosities.  

總結？展望？

2012年平靜且迅急地變成了歷史。
2012對我是“驗收成果”的一年。我費盡心力地完成了一件對他人或許微不足道、對我自己卻很有意義的事情。過去一兩年的刻意經營，在去年還算滿意地“開花結果”了，雖然距離心裏想成爲的自己還有光年般遙遠的距離，但這是第一步。

2012也是寡言的一年。我的博客被明顯冷落，我想説話的時候不多。在遇到真正觸及心靈的事時，我的語言很少。我有了一場奇妙的心靈體驗，意識到人在某些時候會多麽脆弱，理智與情感的對峙往往勝負很難説。回頭看，冷汗一場，雖然我的體驗只是發生在自我修築的空中樓閣，但真實的例子就在身邊比比皆是。人生往往就是“一念之間”，佛就成了魔。我就當這是對我的警示，把翹起的尾巴乖乖收起。

說一年的心得，自然也有一些心得。在“身”的方面，逐漸了解了慢跑的樂趣；逐漸掌握了把各種瓶瓶罐罐往自己臉上堆積的最佳方法（哈！）。在“心”的方面，“修”是一輩子的功課，去年意識到的兩點，第一，幸福是不需要曬的；第二，活得開心也是需要勇氣的。

最後，除了不須贅述的讀書以外，在2013年，我要大喊一聲：

我要學女紅！我要重回廚房！