between dreaming and waking

Two posts in one day - don't blame me! Just catching up!

Day 06- A Book that makes you cry – Time Traveller’s Wife

Audrey Niffenegger - The Time Traveller's Wife

Eilidh (i.e. someone I love very muchly) and I both commenced this silly challenge on the first day. We're alike in strange ways, considering the fact that she detests fantasy (I KNOW, I -KNOW-, see the wtf picture in my last post. It's necessary. But I'm working on that - she just finished The Hunger Games series and I'm hopefully getting her started on The Mortal Instruments series in the near future.) </tangent> She had this as her favourite book, which kind of vetoed me from having it, so I found an appropriate place to put it in this stupid list.

This book makes me bawl, pretty much from the word go. Simple equation: Henry + Claire = love. lovelovelovelovelove LOVEACROSSTHEDECADESWhatThe!? It's so emotionally draining, but then the height of their joy only serves to reinforce the depth of their sorrow. My pharmacology lecturer once said that people who have Mania have been known to say that they wouldn't give it up, simply because their highs are so good, that the lows are worth it - that's the price they pay. You kind of get that same feeling, just because what they have is fragile, endearing, all-consuming and greater than some basic urge to replicate - the kind of love that weathers life-times without fizzling out.

The movie's okay, I guess. I mean, I cried my way through that too, but mainly because I knew what was going to happen. If anything, the cinematography was kind of pretty.

6. A Song You Would Like Played At Your Funeral

I guess this would be pretty popular, as far as these things go. If you mindlessly follow read Thought Catalogue, you sheep! Don't worry, I'm one too, you would identify Amelie is one of those movies you loved when you were young and impressionable. I guess I can kind of qualify for that still, but I can't remove myself from how much I loved it back then. Yann Tiersen* is a genius, and I have his whole discography tucked into my iTunes. I've studied to this for years, and it worked incredibly well... until I got to the stage where I started humming the harmonies, and working in the crescendos and key changes and god-knows-what. (Me humming is not something you want to experience - it sounds like someone's fed a cane toad a whoopee cushion, and then they're proceeding to run over it several times with their car... )

It reminds me of France, and of Europe in general. Of experiencing dusk in picturesque little villages with cobbled streets, just after gorging yourself on a picnic of fresh berries and brie and still-warm bread. Fireflies and the last vestiges of summer, its grace lingering on in the wild-flowers scenting the air. Feeling every last cell in you hum with life, belonging - you are content.

Hills near Grasse, French Riviera

Bad photo, but it's the feeling I had when trying to take it that got me. This is the drive to Grasse from Nice, in the French Riveria. Grasse is this tiny town that hosts Fragonard (the perfumery) and is notorious for housing the exiled Princess of Monaco. This princess, if I recall correctly, tried to assassinate her brother and thus was banned from the country. (Fun Fact: Monaco is a principality, so there's no Kings/Queens/etc, the highest title is "Prince" - currently held by Albert the II.)

Adrian Johnston is also brilliant; he did the soundtrack for Brideshead Revisited. Check him out if you enjoy the instrumental side of life.

*Am I the only one who has noticed a passing resemblance between him and Neil Gaiman? 

colour her blue

I've finally kicked my first post phobia. Who needs introductions, anyway? Those are for the weak and self-concious who want to set everything off by making the best impressions. I make terrible first impressions, second impressions, third impressions.... So, instead, I will serenade you with my tale of meandering in the sunlight. Or, rather, I wish I was meandering in the sunlight but Summer here doesn't lend itself for that - or anything but heatstroke, for a matter of fact. Yet, at dusk, my pool is all these glorious shades of cerulean, as if it had been set aflame from within, and diving into it provides this immeasurable rush of satisfaction, of hope, of the fulfilment of the wish that I was in Europe all over again...

Christmas Day, 2009, Venice.

Nice - December 2009

Nice - December 2009

Songs for inspiration:

1. Grizzly Bear - Deep Blue Sea
2. Miike Snow - Black and Blue
3. Electric Light Orchestra - Mr. Blue Sky
4. Noah and the Whale - Blue Skies
5. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Shade of Blue
6. Cary Brothers - Blue Eyes
7. and, just because it's a classic - Feist - Mushaboom

Story of the day: trying desperately to come up with something that revolves around blue, but all I can think of is the Blue Bloods series by Melissa De La Cruz. Think "Gossip Girl" (I know, I know) meets the Mortal Instruments trilogy. Ultimate girly young-adult lead with kickass mythological/biblical references for the slightly more intelligent-than-average reader. I.e., this makes it 103829te8393 x better than Twighlight (gag!), Sookie Stackhouse, Vampire Academy, PC Cast's latest literary eroticism hidden beneath the guise of a teen read, and so on, by far. 

Alternatively, try F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night for the opulent atmosphere found solely in the South of France. The Divers are the centres of attention in the creme de la creme of the local American expats. Rosemary Hoyt, an up-and-coming actress, is the ultimate girl of the 20's: flighty, naive and oddly rational. She, naturally, runs into them whilst seeking those ridiculous pebbled beaches in Nice, and is drawn in by their magnetism and unusual relationship. It gives a hint of the forbidden, of decadence and mindless pleasure - of seeking what you want, taking it, only to have all those loose threads unravelled...

If we're comparing them, then I can say that Tender is the Night has to be my favourite out of all F. Scott Fitzgerald's work - it's so much deeper, darker, liked the edges have been singed and glued back together, than anything I've read in such a long time. It makes you feel. It makes The Great Gatsby look like the rich cousin who's trying to endear themselves to a poor relative, but only succeeds in appearing young and pompous. I'm not even going to try to relate it to Blue Bloods, because there is no comparison: this is in a completely different league above the rest.

The rough, molten heat of warmed tiles pales in comparison to all those pebbled beaches, but is far more amenable to soaking up some sun. In the meantime, I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with dreams of my future villa in Nice, all those intwined azures and cobalts and turquoises sinking into the perfect blue beneath my eyelids.

( Before you say anything,  YES, I am procrastinating. Of course I'm procrastinating, I practically invented that word.)