I’m reading Ian McEwan’s Amsterdam right now. I’ve got many favourite authors that I love for various reasons, but McEwan is a writer whose command of English language just makes me pause and go, damn this man can write.
This passage really stuck with me, partly because of some personal things going on in my life that made me reflect on people and relationships:
We know so little about each other. We lie mostly submerged, like ice floes, with our visible social selves projecting only cool and white.
1. Behemoth (The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov)
This list is not really in an order of preference, but Behemoth is probably my favourite fictional cat, and not just because I’ve read this book about 50 times over, in both Russian and English. He’s an enormous black cat who accompanies Satan on his visit to Soviet Moscow in the 1930s, and provides some of the novel’s best humourous passages. He walks on two legs, has a fondness for sarcasm, pistols and vodka, but is polite enough to offer to pay for the tram ride. What’s not to love?
Friend and I saw Wild at Classic Elsternwick, in the tiniest cinema I’ve ever been to – it felt more like a private screening room. I’ll admit, when I first heard of this movie I wasn’t very interested. I haven’t liked Reese Witherspoon in anything since Walk the Line, which was 10 years ago (holy crap time runs fast), and perhaps her role choices coloured my view so I half-expected this movie to be on the sappy, glossy side. Then I got swayed by the excellent reviews, and the movie proved my preconceived ideas very very wrong with its opening scene, in which Witherspoon’s character pulls off her bloodied sock and tears off her black, bloody toenail, then loses one of her hiking boots as it tumbles down the rocks and throws her remaining boot after it while swearing her head off. Eat Pray Love it was not.