After having tried WordPress, I’ve come to realize that there are certain things about it that are limiting. Blogger offers a bit more flexibility and is user-friendly, which is important for a girl like me, who gets easily confused.

So, I’m setting up shop there now, although my former home, for archiving purposes, will not be deleted. So, update your feeds (although if you subscribed through Feedburner, that won’t be necessary), and I’ll see you on the other side.

Well, after over a month here in the Philippines, this reading journal has become predictably dormant. That’s not to say I haven’t been reading. It’s been refreshing not having to adhere to someone else’s time table, so I’ve actually done a lot (or what, to me, seems like a lot) of reading.

What I’ve read while on holiday

Sadly, all that reading hasn’t amounted to any reviews due to a previously faulty internet connection (I’m writing this from my grandfather’s house who, up until a few weeks ago, was still getting by on dial-up) and the fact that I’ve been away from the computer.  Surprising, I know.

In the time I’ve been here, I saw old friends and got tattooed, spent time with family members and tagged along at the boyfriend’s shows, visited Lucban, Quezon and sampled of the town delicacies, visited Baguio and met some really nice people during the band’s video shoot, and got tattooed again.  In between all those things, I’ve read all the books above and written a total of two reviews.  Not exactly a stellar record, but I am trying.  I had made a vow to catch up on reviews and not start on any new books until I do, but Breaking Dawn will be released today, so it looks the list of books to review will be lengthened, not shortened.

Anyway, I hope whoever still happens to be checking on this reading journal has had and will continue to have a nice summer. I’ll be back to posting more regularly when I come back to the US. Until then, happy reading!

Blankets by Craig Thompson

Initially, I bought Blankets for a friend whose sense of whimsy is decidedly more pronounced than mine. Before Blankets, I’d never read a graphic novel, nor did I feel any inclination to familiarize myself with the genre. However, I was intrigued enough by its premise — a memoir in graphic novel form — to start reading it myself, although I still expected it to be an easily digestible read. My problem is that I tend to care more about words than I do pictures, and that was certainly the case here.

Blankets is a pretty straightforward coming-of-age story. The reader is shown various events — from Craig / Mr. Thompson’s childhood to adulthood — that touch on the difficulty of navigating the timorous road to maturity. Craig is depicted as a caring sibling to his younger brother, Phil, and it is the relationship between these two brothers that became my favorite one in the book. Initially sharing a love of drawing and flights of fancy, Craig and Phil later on drift apart, as siblings sometimes do, and, as an adult, Craig reminisces about their lost closeness, wistfully wondering how and their paths diverged. Craig’s parents are also a source of emotional turmoil; they are a religious pair, and it is not surprising that their conservative views eventually clash with those of their mercurial, artistic son.

Craig finds solace in Raina, a girl he meets in church camp, and with whom he falls swiftly in love. But young love, as we all know, is tempestuous and not meant to last. Though Raina loves Craig, she doesn’t quite return Craig’s single-minded devotion. Eventually, their love ends and becomes what all experiences with first love become: a nostalgic, bittersweet time that, if you’re lucky, you can look back on without too much pain but with great affection.

There is much in Blankets that readers can relate to, and, despite my initial skepticism, I found it difficult not to get smitten by the story. Mr. Thompson uses straightforward dialogue and fanciful, evocative imagery to illustrate the many nuances of love and relationships; the problem is, the imagery was more effective than the dialogue, which was a bit too twee and precious.  The sketches within Blankets were communicative and just breathtaking to look at, but the words don’t reach that same level.  As I said before, books, to me, are more about words than they are about pictures, and because Blankets failed to combine rich illustrations with rich dialogue, the book ultimately disappoints.

Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer

At this point, I’ve read a lot of criticism about The Twilight Saga. In fact, I’m inclined to agree with some of it – the writing is, at times (and more often than I’d like to admit), amateurish, the dialogue implausible, Bella is a bit too eager to give up everything she knows for a sexy undead boy (here is a lively discussion that attempts to refute the critics and that illustrates the scary awesome devotion of hardcore Twilight fans). But I’m now three books deep in the series, and my love for the story and the characters has continued to grow. It’s an addiction that I can’t and won’t shake.

After the events that transpired in New Moon, Bella and Edward are back to being sickeningly sweet to and contentedly intoxicated with each other’s presence. Such intense and protective love cannot be sustained, however, if Edward didn’t feel that he has to save Bella all the time, so it doesn’t take long before their blissful bubble is burst. Victoria, a non-vegetarian vampire introduced in Twilight, is intent on murdering Bella to avenge the death of her mate, James. Also paying particular attention to Bella’s mortality are the Volturi, the vampire royal family, who have decreed that Bella must be killed or turned due to her intimacy with the Cullens.

In addition to these threats, Bella and Edward also have to deal with the (mostly) unwelcome amorous intentions of Jacob, the lovelorn werewolf. Like Edward, Jacob has sworn to protect Bella, and he does so with the help of his werewolf family. Jacob, however, is not entirely altruistic, as he is continuously attempting to come between Bella and Edward. When he realizes that, despite his best efforts, Bella is still adamant on marrying Edward and becoming a vampire, the uneasy truce between the two men in Bella’s life dissolves completely, but not before Bella is saved, naturally. As if you expected anything less.

The flaws in the first two books of The Twilight Saga still remain in Eclipse. In an effort to generate suspense, Ms. Meyer ends up introducing far too many twisted, convoluted plots. The werewolf origin story is detailed here; while interesting, it slows down the rest of the story. Bella’s inner turmoil regarding Jacob and Edward rings false, as does Edward’s seemingly endless patience for Jacob and Bella’s constant flirting. (Yes, it was flirting, and Bella totally lead Jacob on.)

Stephenie Meyer, however, makes up for these flaws by delving into new and deeper territory. Yes, Bella is as whiny as ever and Edward is dazzling as always, but Ms. Meyer also addresses the increasingly darker path that these two lovers have chosen. Bella is forced to confront her choice to become a vampire, contemplating the effects of her eventual immortality on her parents and on her friendship with Jacob. Ms. Meyer also addresses the very real and often awkward issue of teen hormones; this makes for quite a few tender and amusing (as well as cringe-worthy) moments. Casting a broader look at these issues and often-neglected characters helped Eclipse make The Twilight Saga a much richer, more complex story, and I’m eagerly looking forward to reading how it all ends when Breaking Dawn is released.

This blog, like many other aspects of my life (both online and, you know, real life), has faced mounting neglect these past few weeks.  That’s all about to change, however, because I am leaving for a trip to the Philippines that will last for two months.  Yep, two months.  Jealous?

Not only will I be able to see my boyfriend (long-distance relationships are not easy, to put it mildly), but I’ll also be able to catch up on all the reading that I’ve been planning to do.  This is what my suitcase looks like right now:

I’m not sure where I’m going to put all my clothes and the numerous pasalubong parcels my relatives have requested, so I must make this brief; there’s still packing and repacking and last-minute shopping to attend to.  The next time I post, I will be enjoying a book in the sunny climes of the Philippines.  ^_^

Teen angst and hormonal fluctuations make young love difficult enough, but making a vampire the target of that young love makes it considerably more challenging. After surviving emotional and physical trauma in Twilight, Bella Swan and Edward Cullen try to conduct their relationship with as much normalcy as possible. Given that Edward and his family are vampires, the previous statement is a contradiction unto itself. After an unfortunate incident on Bella’s birthday, Edward realizes that Bella requires protection even from him. In an attempt to shield her from harm, Edward severs all ties with Bella and leaves Forks with the rest of the Cullens.

Bella, as expected, is destroyed by Edward’s abrupt departure. She remains in a near-catatonic state until she befriends Jacob Black. Tentatively, Bella attempts to live among the living again, instead of waiting for her sexy undead ex-boyfriend. Jacob shows her what romance with a human being could be like, but Bella is unwilling to let go of Edward, especially when she realizes that engaging in potentially life-threatening activities makes her memories of him more vivid. Bella comes to rely on Jacob’s stabilizing presence, all the while ignoring the fact that he wants more than she is willing to give. Bella’s timorous recovery is thrown off-kilter when Jacob also begins distancing himself. Bella’s navel-gazing worrying quickly falls by the wayside, however, when she’s confronted by the very real danger of past enemies and the wrath of the vampire royal family.

As I said before, there wasn’t nearly enough Edward Cullen in New Moon to satisfy my aching fangirl heart. The slightly weird and majorly codependent relationship between Edward and Bella is my favorite part of the story (I wonder what that says about my mental state?); doing without it for the majority of the book made New Moon a bit more difficult to read than Twilight.

In Edward’s place, the reader is given Jacob Black, who is sweet and all, but hardly in the league of Edward. Comparing the two is like comparing a puppy to a lion; the only thing he and Edward have in common is their infinite patience and affection for Bella. As a character, Jacob has little more to do than to fill the void Edward left, meaning (a) to save Bella from her mopey self, (b) to give Bella an idea of the superiority of human/human over vampire/human romance, and (c) to be used to build up the inevitable reunion between Edward and Bella (who belong together, damn it).

In comparison to Twilight, New Moon is a bit disappointing. There was a lot going on here – quite a few back stories and subplots to distract from what we know is coming. Having invested so much emotion in Edward and Bella’s implausible relationship, I found his absence in this book incredibly frustrating (it should go without saying that I am definitely a member of Team Edward); thankfully, their reunion, though long overdue, makes the read worthwhile. The new revelations here about the complex world in which Edward lives are also interesting – the vampire royal family, the Volturi, are introduced here, as are werewolves and the the treaty that exists between these two species. There’s not much else to say about New Moon that wouldn’t reveal the plot or that would be contrary to what those of us who have already read Twilight would expect. New Moon reads very much as a transitional piece, raising more questions than it answers and existing more as a platform for Eclipse, the third book in The Twilight Saga, than as an independent work. Still, despite its flaws – the still uneven writing and outrageous dialogue – I’m glad I slogged through it. I stated previously that the real star of this story is the romance between Bella and Edward, so, while New Moon didn’t entirely satisfy, what matters to me is that I still find myself swooning over them.

After writing my review of Twilight, I started on the second book in the series, New Moon, immediately. Like I said previously, Twilight is one of those books that I like despite my better judgment. Despite the uneven writing and the soap opera dialogue, I was riveted by Twilight, living vicariously through Bella and Edward’s romantic awakening.

Unfortunately, with New Moon, the flaws in Ms. Meyer’s style is more difficult to ignore, primarily because there’s not enough Edward Cullen in it. It’s an unreasonable criterion, but I am in full-on fangirl mode at the moment. It’s all about Edward for me; Jacob Black is a poor substitute.

Also unreasonable is that I’m obsessed with this series to begin with.  I usually fangirl over TV series, with Buffy and Angel being my greatest fixations.  I suppose that’s where my newfound love for Twilight comes from.  My mother has taken to teasing me about this, as my fifteen-year-old sister and I now spend hours debating the minutiae of Twilight and anticipating what Breaking Dawn, the final book in the Twilight Saga (nooooo!!!!), will bring.  Why is it laughable, I asked my mother.  Apparently, it’s perfectly fine for a fifteen-year-old to get smitten with a sexy, fictitious vampire, the same does not apply to a woman in her 20s.  Bah, I say.  If loving Twilight is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

To be honest, I didn’t expect to like Twilight. It’s not because I am dismissive of the vampire romance or young adult genre; it had more to do with how hurt I was when Buffy and Angel broke up. Besides, I had thought that I had outgrown such moony fangirling and adolescent angst. I’m an adult now and, therefore, above such petty pursuits. Why, then, did Twilight have me swooning like a lovesick cow?

The story is told from the point-of-view of Bella Swan, an awkward and angsty teenager who has taken a self-imposed exile in Forks, a cloudy, sleepy town where everyone knows everyone else – certainly a far cry from the heat and tumult of Phoenix. Of course, Forks has a lot more to offer than Bella thinks, because it is also home to a coven (or family, depending on who’s speaking) of “vegetarian” vampires, i.e., vampires who don’t feed on tasty humans. Though they live peacefully with humans, the Cullens, naturally, keep to themselves, until, that is, Bella comes along and provokes a stirring in Edward, who is, of course, described as mysterious and staggeringly beautiful. Their relationship suffers a lot of stops and starts, but it is only a matter of time before Edward and Bella realize that, despite their better judgment (mostly Edward’s) and disapproval from humans and vampires alike, they are unwilling to be parted from each other. Bella is welcomed into the Cullen fold, but Edward’s choice to embrace what he feels for her comes back to haunt him when Bella’s life is threatened by James, a decidedly carnivorous vampire.

We can all guess how Twilight will end, especially since it is the first novel of a series of books featuring the same protagonists. Just the blurb on the back cover is enough to let the reader know how the story will progress:

About three things I was absolutely positive.
First, Edward was a vampire.
Second, there was a part of him – and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be – that thirsted for my blood.
And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

That blurb is also indicative of the tone of the book. There is something rough and amateurish about the writing; there are parts of the novel that read like the overearnest diary entries of a morose teenager. Declarations of love and breathless descriptions of Edward’s beauty abound (he does seem impossibly sexy), but the writing is so sincere that I find myself glossing over those passages. Besides, Ms. Meyer is not doing anything here except giving me exactly what I expect and exactly what I want. There is a lot of husky whispering between Bella and Edward, a lot of stolen glances and hesitant touches, and a lot of melodramatic yearning as they discover the depth of their feelings for each other. The book rarely strays from this focus, to the extent that the other characters feel rather one-note, but, somehow, the uneven character development didn’t matter to me as much as it should.

This is because of Twilight’s idiot-proof formula. Bella is, of course, the Everygirl, that awkward, misunderstood little waif that we have, at times, identified with. Edward is the epitome of wish-fulfillment fantasies: the unattainable superhuman who not only notices her, but loves her unconditionally. That premise, for me and, I’m sure, legions of geeky girls out there, is damn near impossible to resist and it’s enough to keep me reading. The romance between Bella and Edward is the real star here – it is grand and all-encompassing and, despite the novel’s flaws, I cannot wait to see where their love takes them.

Although Dewey gave many varied examples in this week’s Weekly Geeks prompt, I’m going with an obvious and, to me, the most familiar method of storytelling – movies, of course. Like many people in these modern times, I was watching movies before I ever learned how to read. (The first film I ever saw in the cinema was Supergirl, which, at the time, seemed supremely magical, although that youthful assessment failed to stand the test of time.)

Aside from books, movies are one of my favorite distractions, and dissecting books adapted to film goes hand-in-hand with that. Sometimes, my two great loves glean fantastic results (The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, anyone?) and sometimes not (The Seeker still makes me violent when I’m reminded of it). Here’s a smattering of my favorite adaptations:

Fight Club
Let it be known that I am not a fan of Chuck Palahniuk. I’ve read a few of his books, Fight Club among them, but I’ve never gotten the point. On paper, it reads like every other ranting coffeehouse poet/musician who doesn’t realize that cultivated jadedness is already passe. The film, however, gave me a different experience. The imagery was visceral, not annoying; the dialogue was provocative; and, despite (or is it because of?) the violence, the characters and themes were still relatable. The film gave me a new appreciation for what Chuck Palahniuk was trying to say, and while I’m still not a fan, I’m always excited to hear about (thus far nonexistent) films based on his work.

Children of Men
Children of Men is based on PD James’ novel of the same name(well, except the novel was called The Children of Men, if you’re going to be picky) , although the film makes so many changes that the two works are pretty much independent of each other. As directed by Alfonso Cuaron, Children of Men becomes a scathing commentary on the state of politics, world trade, and war, but Mr. Cuaron doesn’t forget about the strength of human relationships, as illuminated in one of the film’s most poignant scenes, when Jasper, with humor and resignation, makes the ultimate sacrifice for Theo and Kee.

A lot of the time, changes to any written work don’t translate well to film or are met with protest by readers. But that sentiment doesn’t apply to Children of Men. In fact, I’ll just go ahead and say it. Forget about the book. The movie was better.

Great Expectations
The last adaptation to round out my list (although, really, I could go on and on and on and on) is Great Expectations, which was also directed by the prolific Alfonso Cuaron. I’m not saying that Mr. Cuaron’s film is better than Dickens’ novel; I just think that Mr. Cuaron did all non-readers a great service by making a film that reinforces Great Expectations‘ universality.

In this retelling, England has been replaced with Florida. Pip has been renamed Finn and moves to New York to become an artist. (The wonderful Francesco Clemente supplied the paintings and drawings for the film.) Estella is still the elusive object of desire, and Ms. Havisham becomes Ms. Dinsmoor, who, in the film, plays Besame Mucho on an endless loop and generally acts like a loopy old bat. Despite the change in characters and setting, much of the oppressive, Gothic atmosphere of the source material is retained in the film. I’ve seen this film well over a dozen times, and it still destroys me each time.

There are a few other adaptations that come to mind, but those are my top three. That may change, however, what with Twilight coming out this year (I’m still reading it, but I’ve already become a full-blown Edward Cullen whore, despite my age and better judgment) and Alfonso Cuaron’s vision of The History of Love coming out next year. Anyway, this is a personal and subjective list, and one that I’m always willing to add to, so I’d be happy to hear your film recommendations.

Set in 19th-century England, The Dress Lodger shows the reader a face of England that is usually ignored by Jane Austen film adaptations. This novel isn’t about the trials and tribulations of the landed gentry, nor is it about the games women must play to land a husband and financial security. In Sheri Holman’s England, sanitation is nonexistent and the medical field is still in its infancy, so much so that doctors and surgeons had to resort to grave-robbing (directly or indirectly) to further their scant knowledge.

One such surgeon, Dr. Henry Chiver, has relocated to the port city of Sunderland in the hopes of reviving a reputation damaged by his involvement in body-snatching. The few students he has taken on have no faith in him due to his inability to present bodies for their study. As he grows increasingly desperate, Henry stumbles onto Gustine, a young prostitute and the eponymous dress lodger of our story, who offers to procure bodies for him for reasons that she doesn’t immediately reveal.

Of course, in a place and time where body-snatching and prostitution are commonplace, it’s only natural that Gustine’s reasons for extending help are less than altruistic. Being poor and uneducated, young Gustine has problems of her own, the most glaring of which is her fatherless son, who was born with his heart outside his chest. She works two jobs to provide for herself and her nameless baby – as a potter’s assistant during the day, and as a prostitute in a rented dress at night. Her pimp/landlord, Whilky, has charged the Eye, a silent and deformed woman, with making sure that Gustine is making him money off of the dress, and the Eye does this without fail: she is as vigilant as Gustine’s own shadow, tracking her every move and witnessing every back-alley john Gustine services. Despite all these things, however, Gustine is no simpering heroine waiting for Prince Charming to take her away from the poverty she was born into. Providing for her baby and hoping for their future is enough to sustain her.

If Gustine has a dream, it is this: that her baby will live. . . . She is elementary in her singular desire. Life for her child. Would any parent call such a modest hope avarice?

There is nothing predictable about The Dress Lodger, despite its familiar, Dickensian setting. The novel uses the collective narrator, and the grand reveal as to who the narrators are was rewarding, although it shouldn’t cause the astute reader too much difficulty to figure out who is telling the story. The characters, particularly Gustine and the Eye, were finely drawn and, in the hands of Ms. Holman, still dignified, despite their less-than-ideal circumstances. These are women who refuse to romanticize or be romanticized, and Ms. Holman grants them a version of nobility by allowing them to own their choices.

The high-born characters – Henry and his fiancee, Audrey – are illustrated as duplicitous or naive, though they are by no means unidimensional. Through their interactions with Gustine and her neighbors, Henry and Audrey are used as pointed examples of upper-class hypocrisy; their callous disregard for and naive, misguided attempts to help the lower classes are paid for dearly in the end in one of the novel’s most visceral passages.

It would not be unreasonable to assume that this story does not end well for any of our players. There is, in fact, very little that is pleasant about this tale, but the quality of the writing itself will keep the reader glued to its bleak pages. Sunderland, as imagined by Ms. Holman, is abysmal, dirty, and cutthroat; the same can be said of its citizens, both rich and poor, who are often too busy trying to hustle to care much for their neighbors. Add to this environment the silent threat of cholera morbus, and you realize it’s only a matter of time before the city – a reimagining of Sodom and Gomorrah? – implodes on itself.

Despite knowing that these characters will meet a grim fate, I found myself willingly wading in the filth of Sunderland just to see how the story would end. While it is true that The Dress Lodger skewers societal expectations and exposes its inherent hypocrisy, there is still a most human and universal aspect that is present in Gustine’s struggle – that of hope and redemption, which all of us, whether high-born like Henry or eternally toiling like Gustine, can identify with.