On the left you see the new purchases: On Chesil Beach, by Ian McEwan, and in pride of place, the new Winterson, The Stone Gods. Those of you who were readers of the previous incarnation of this online journal would also find the books on the right familiar: McEwan's Atonement and Winterson's Gut Symmetries. These two pictured here are the original books that I picked up at Bras Basah for a total of $3 4 years ago on a whim, and I ended up so enchanted by them that they became my Lit S Paper texts. To think that I would be pairing these two authors again in a purchase...
The decision to buy McEwan's new book was because it turned up in the Shortlist for the Man Booker Prize. I was actually planning to buy A Murakami to accompany it, namely Norwegian Wood, but it turned out that Joel had already bought a copy. Then Thong pointed out that Winterson had come out with a new book, and, well, it seemed like the natural thing to do. And so now I am on the verge of what seems like a momentous miracle: reading two works by two authors, back to back, that had transported me with awe at their linguistic and artistic prowess so deeply and so many years before.
I'm glad that my relationship with books and the written word has survived the military years largely unscathed, and with this symmetry now, it's like a definitive statement that all is well, that nothing has changed with me in the realm of literature. And this morning, waking up to a late morning, it was with the familiar thrill of plumbing a new horizon that I opened On Chesil Beach, savouring the smooth hard cover and the crisp, fresh smell of new paper. There is something pure, innocent, and wholly sincere in opening a new book, don't you think? And if the writing, the skill of the writer is good enough, then every turning of a page is charged with anticipation of what is to come, countered with reluctance at bringing the horizon of knowledge that much closer to the inevitable end of the book. But then that in turn is balanced by my looking forward to buying a new book, and the moment when I would crack that one open too.
Give me a good book anytime. Take me to a good bookshop anytime. Read with me anytime.
In other news, will be off to watch A Touch of Zen by King Hu tomorrow at the National Museum with Joel and Kats. Now that we (well, most of us) have finished with the army, we're really pulling out all the stops with the getting-back-into-the-arts-scene gig. The classy atmosphere (it's an event organised by the Singapore Film Society in the National Museum of Singapore, which is about as ivory-tower as you can get on an army budget) aside, the film's allegedly really good. It was the first Asian film to be awarded anything at Cannes, and apparently inspired such hits as Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Looking forward to some good silver screen action tomorrow.
And then at the end of the week, on Saturday, going to the old DBS Arts Centre with Ian, Thong, KHwee and Oh-san to watch The Pillowman, a play that is apparently about the deep dark recesses of the mind where fairy tales come from. It's been too long since I've last been in a theatre - if I remember rightly, the last show I watched was The Phantom of the Opera in the middle of the year with my family. Since then, I haven't even set foot in the Esplanade for all the work that we've been up to. There's another thing to rekindle - the weekly Esplanade visits.
Finally, my mum tells me that one of her friends is back from Washington DC. Unfortunately their dinner date clashes with the play, otherwise I would go along too. When I go to Columbia, I will be linking up with them for primary support in case anything happens, and it'll be prudent to touch base now. And anyway, any impression of life out of the States is welcome now!
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