Inferno—Dan Brown

Received contemptuously by the Filipinos for disparaging the metropolis of Manila, dubbing it as The Gates of Hell—I don’t think Brown intended ignominy for regarding the Philippines as such. He plays with fact, a fact refuted still by our vehemently scorned nation.

Before you even think about chucking virtual tomatoes on Dan Brown’s opulent face, think about how much that’ll defile and cut the value of his dear tweed suit. (Mind not my shitty humor attempts.)

Given that Inferno tackles the incommodities of booming population growth; the employment of an ideal representation as validation to the extent of damage a nation’s congested populace may produce (i.e. poverty, unsanitary conditions, crimes, insufficient resources) is completely well-grounded. And since Manila holds the record of having the most densely populated city on earth, no wonder we became stars—although it’s a sin in our eyes.

Issues aside, I think Brown’s formulaic ploy is what makes this book lackluster. Just the same old tricks, conveying a different subject, and new recruits to catch up on. The infinite number of twists, breathtaking once, comes off now as dreary and nothing out of the ordinary. When you’ve been with Robert Langdon since Da Vinci Code, you would feel the same way. It’s like running around with the Professor for unvarying reasons, just into different locations, in a 24-hour timeframe. Seriously, a little surprise wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Nevertheless, what struck as satisfactory to me is the idea of Transhumanism and the different yet interesting take on international security threat. Who would’ve thought? He really did his research, you know. And he relates every work of art and architecture elaborately (though at times it appears a tad too travelogue-ish).

Leaving a question of moral issue has always been Dan Brown’s strong suit, and characteristically, he still succeeds on this part.

Overall, informative still (my brain screams in apoplectic rage for taking in too much information); scientifically/historically-taut narrative, with a dash of religion; thrilling and intriguing at its very core—just parched of freshness and novelty.

 

Rating: ★★★✰✰

Walong Diwata ng Pagkahulog—Edgar Calabia Samar

Pinagkaitan man ng dulugan at pagkakataong makapagbasa ng mga akda ni Haruki Murakami, hindi maikakailang ang awtor ng librong ito ay isang mabigat na apisyonado ng nasabing nobelista; sa gayon ang primaryang salarin sa paggulantang ng kakatwa ngunit masidhing istoryang nanghimasok sa dominyo ng Literaturang Pilipino.

Ang pangunahing sentimyento ko sa librong ito ay ang pagkagiliw ng prinsipal na karakter sa literatura—ang matindi niyang pagkakahalina sa ilang piling manunulat at akda ng mga ito ngunit hindi mabuo-buong nobelang pilit niyang tinatahi. Maaaring ganito talaga kung ang sarili mong kwento’y pira-piraso’t kulang-kulang—buo pa man ang pamantungan ng kuwento, kung hindi ganap ang diwa ay wala ring saysay.

Nagngingitngit sa kawirduhan, kalimita’y nakakaasar at nanggugulo, at sa maraming pagkakatao’y nakalulula sa mga pilosopiya’t metaporang sadyang pinagtagni-tagni upang tuluyang makumpleto ang surealistikong senaryo. Maraming pagkakataong ninais kong bumigay at isara na ang libro dahil tila puno ito ng butas, na wari’y hindi mapagkakatiwalaan ang pagkakabanghay ng maykatha sa bawat tagpong ipinukol na lang sa kung saan-saang dako. Ngunit hindi, may kung anong salikmatang puwersang pilit na tumutulak sa aking magpatuloy.

Napakahilig ng awtor mambitin. Natatapos ang bawat kabanata sa isang pagbubunyag ngunit iyong tipong maulap ang dating. Hindi niya iginuguhit kaagad ang mga pangyayari. Nakakasuya ito sa ilan (kung meron man) ngunit para sa akin ay epektibo itong istilo upang mabalisa ang mambabasa at patuloy na sumubaybay sa mga susunod pang kabanata. Huwag lang labisan ng husto. Mahilig rin siyang makipaglaro sa mga salita.

Sa huli, hindi maitatanggi ang mapanharayang kaisipan ng maykatha. Naiiba ito sa karaniwang moda ng maraming manunulat. Binabalot ng mapanglaw na sansinukob ngunit may natatanging tinig na pinalilibutan ng misteryo’t kasawian.

May patutunguhan rin naman pala. 🙂

 

Rating: ★★★✰✰

It’s A Mens World — Bebang Siy

Katulad ng marami na sinubukang sumisid sa alindog ng librong ito, isa rin ako sa mga nagsikunot ng noo’t nagsitaas ng kilay sa titulo nito. Sa unang tingin kasi, aakalain mo talagang nagkaroon ng isang matinding pagkakamali sa pagkaka-imprenta ng suklob nito. It’s a Mens World—hindi ba’t kulang ng kudlit? Isa pa, ang pangunahing pumasok kasi sa isipan ko pagkabasa nito ay ang isang tagpo sa American TV series na Glee, iyong parteng nagdadalang-tao si Quinn Fabray at kinanta iyong It’s a Man’s Man’s World (with matching preggy back-up dancers) na waring nagngingitngit sa galit at kinokondena ang mga kalalakihan. Sa madaling salita, inaasahan kong ang nilalaman ng librong ito ay patungkol sa peminismo, lalo pa’t ang awtor ay isang babae rin.

Ngunit sa oras na buklatin ang libro’t mapagawi sa unang sanaysay, aha, iyon na. Kaya naman pala.

Hindi rin naman pala nalalayo sa inaasahan ko ang librong ito. Sentro man ng buhay ng awtor ang kinukwento, ipinapakita rito ang natural na kalakasan ng mga babae—hindi iyong kalakasan na naikabit na sa imahe ng mga lalaki, ngunit ang kalakasang maimamanipesta lamang ng mga desendyente ni Eba.

Lumulutang sa bawat pahina ang katapatan at katapangan ng manunulat. May mga nakapaloob rin ditong ilang seryosong isyung kinakaharap ng marami sa ating mga babae na binudburan naman ng katatawanan at kalokohan ng pilyang si Bb. Bebang Siy. Maiikli lamang ang bawat sanaysay ngunit maaabot mo ng todo-todo ang nais nitong ipahiwatig sapagkat gumamit ang awtor ng epektibong paraan ng pagsasadula—ito iyong parang magkakilala lang kayo’t nagtsitismisan sa isang tabi. Walang magagarang salita, natural ang agos ng pagkakwento.

Isa ring inspirasyon ang librong ito. Ilang beses mang bumagsak ang awtor sa mahigpit na pagkakakapit sa buhay na inaasam-asam, heto siya’t patuloy na tumatayo upang magkaroon ng pagbabago. Animo’y isang gusgusing bata na nakikipaghabulan lamang sa mga tulad ding gusgusin ang dating imahen ng awtor. Kay drama-drama ng pinanggalingang pamilya at akalain mo iyon, kinidnap pa ng sariling tatay (?). Ngayon, aba’t nakapagsulat at nakapaglimbag pa ng libro!

 

Isang nakakatuwa, nakalilibang, ngunit matagumpay na paglalakbay mula kamuwangan patungong kaganapan.

 

P.S. Ano na kayang nangyari kay Michael? 😀

 

Rating: ★★★✰✰

The Fault in our Stars — John Green

Determinedly clinched in profundity, hilarity, and romance—this tragically-glazed novel shoots sparks, figuratively and literally. When I say figuratively, it is because of the massively animated bandwagon it has initiated; literally, not because it spurts fire and whatnot, but because this novel reminded me one of Nicholas Sparks’ most celebrated novel, A Walk To Remember.

Both novels are, in fact, very different from one another. It’s just that TFioS’ lead characters, Gus and Hazel, reverberated—to me—as reincarnations of Jamie and Landon. Two opposite polars doggedly struggling to adhere themselves together. Plus, one finds his/her self’s transformation, not just for the sake of the other, but for a more meaningful, higher purpose. Further toted up with a cancer-ridden premise.

Weaving through the three-fourth perimeter of this book, I was actually wondering why people are making such a fuss about this when nothing really strikes as extraordinary for me—other than mind-bogglingly clever teenagers and bizarrely unnatural dialogues. It wounded me up a little bit, cringe at times, whilst reading through their conversations, especially comes their superior philosophical acumens (um, hello Socrates). I could almost glimpse John Green and a herd of nerdfighters grinning evilly on the background.

Nevertheless, the remaining one-fourth of the book is what left me bowled over. Not that I was surprised or anything about Gus’ fate. Authors are kind of odd sometimes, you know. They fill in the death seat with a helpless being to make us believe that that person will be the tragedy; when in fact, the assumed hale and hearty is actually the tragedy. But because this formulaic ploy is a conventional routine nowadays, readers already foretaste the unanticipated. Since the introductions of the lead characters took place, I already knew who’s it gonna be—the beautiful Augustus Waters. I also want to nitpick just a little bit. At the onset of the story, we were introduced to dour, fragile little Hazel whose life depended on a tankful of oxygen. However, the moment Gus’ cancer was revealed, it almost felt like Hazel’s cancer was hardly highlighted. Despite knowing that she’ll be shedding her mortal coil soon after, the weight of her disease at the start of the story contradicted her almost healthy bearing by the end. Inconsistent, that is.

It seems that John Green also follows a certain paradigm when it comes to delineating his tales. I’ve only read Looking for Alaska besides this and I can already perceive some resemblances. The geeky characters, the bromance, the she/he’s-out-of-my-league issues, tragic death. My younger brother actually declared that JG is a younger version of Mr. Sparks, and I kind of agree with that because they both sell tragic tales that really clicks on the market.

Why 4 stars? Probably the tears I shed by the end of the book? Yes and no.

Although the teenagers’ intense veneration to philosophy is quite disturbing, I love every little message they imply. It may be a cancer book, but unlike others, it doesn’t zero in on the patients’ hopelessness and feebleness. It pivots instead into the positive and constructive strengths of the disease-vessels.

Van Houten’s advent to the scene is what I love best, too. Characters need not be appealing to imprint an inexplicable mark on the readers. And finding out that there’s an underlying reason for all of the meanness, he got his redemption he so fully deserves even so.

Speaking of characterization, I love JG’s cobbling up of certain characters as well, however not fleshed out they turned out to be. They are Isaac, Hazel’s parents, and surprisingly, Ludewij.

Overall, as stated above, the book kicked off as a modest tale to me, but the closing stages pinched my heartstrings to the fullest. So yeah, there isn’t any fault in any of my four stars up there. 🙂

 

Rating: ★★★★✰

Saving My First Kiss: Why I’m Keeping Confetti in my Closet — Lisa Velthouse

By default, Lisa used to be a “party of one”…

Until she decided to hole up a bunch of party supplies in her closet, all set to pop off the moment Prince Charming brushes her chaste lips.

But sitting outside the fence watching as others muck around isn’t really as easy as it seems.

What if waiting takes forever?

Lisa Velthouse, in this slender assemblage of counsels and guidelines, introduces middle-of-the-road pickles for adolescents and young adults alike, determined to be of assistance to them, to be proof against already adapted worldly exploits. Lisa however did not tackle such issues with imprudence; she, on the other hand, broached specific topics in a fun, lightweight kind of way— further pillared by personal experiences. It’s neither just your usual self-help handbooks which only address shallow and apparent dilemmas, nor your typical Christian booklets entrenched with intensely religious themes. But it is also a journal of sorts—Lisa’s instructions and advices stemmed from her own blunders, misjudgments, and emotional and spiritual deliberations.

Though slim in pages and large in texts, it occurred to me that I mustn’t rush wolfing down Lisa’s wise words. Instead, it must be nibbled bit by bit so as to gratifyingly savor the whole lot. It actually took me a fortnight to eventually slam the book shut.

Featuring recognized Christian figures like C.S. Lewis and other Christian voices, this book doesn’t stop short with moral values to accentuate and give backing into. Add to that the carefully-selected Bible verses that intently expound such values.

Overall, this book gleams in comparison to other works that I have read, not because it is intellectually challenging, has the most beautiful prose, the synchronized flow of narration, nor the apt characterization—but because I just love the words, the messages the author’s trying to convey.

 

Rating: ★★★★★

Brightest — Johann de Venecia, Joanne Chrisner, Josephine Litonjua

Albeit the audience target of this book, that is, those under the children’s umbrella—Brightest isn’t merely a tale that could charm its way over a child’s defiant whims; but one that could surely exhume a vulnerable chunk of yourself.

There is more to it than just cartoon and words.

One must not read black and white so as to crack the meat, but one must look right through the prose’s sheer simplicity. What does a firefly catcher doing asking directions from a nearby firefly? Should the firefly have fled at the sight of the catcher? Lean back and reflect for a moment. What if the firefly and the firefly catcher are one and the same? Only segmented into two different pieces?

We can assume that the firefly catcher is lost; lost not just in the sense of literal direction, but lost in his determined course in life. A drape of ambiguity clogs his desire, forming a hazy panorama that shortly surfaced into doubts. Appearing next to the slumbering firefly and asking for the right direction translates into his self-confrontation. But similar to the firefly’s apathy, this self-confrontation of his isn’t greatly reinforced just as yet. A little lift, a little push, and the goal comes to life:

“All at once, the firefly felt a jolt surging through his frail body. His wings flapped open from his back, and his dying star has suddenly sparkled to life!”

Whilst the reawakening might have yielded a remarkable advent, another setback sets in. The firefly catcher dreads that he won’t find his way home all by himself. The firefly plucks his star, offers it to his very anxious company, and tells him that the star will guide him to where he belongs—signifying the importance of finding your own destiny, that you alone can fulfill your heart’s desire.

 

However lightweight; however meager the slivers of paper, and brief the encounter with words—Brightest still gleams in comparison to other tomes simply because of the underlying message seeping through its pages. The illustrations even resonates a poignant milieu, achieving the perfect touches of an outstanding book.

 

A big shoutout to the publisher, Josephine Litonjua, for providing me a copy. 🙂

 

Rating: ★★★★✰

Zombies vs. Unicorns

I wouldn’t really dub myself as an anthology aficionado as far as I can tell. There’s an eddying mash of concepts/plots ubiquitously prowling with every turn of page, ravaging my already rampant wits. The need to commit to memory every single event, to manacle your attention with great fervor, to conjure up the imaginary globe—just to weld in the same bout… yet again. And then there’s the sparse ground for connection—short stories erratically secure a reader’s attention, what with the meager pages to turn. Somewhat, anthologies propose an unmitigated concentration to take pleasure in.

Yet my heart screeches to say these things; since not so long ago, I enjoyed selected anthologies—Mga Agos sa Disyerto and The Loose Lip Brigade. I guess this bigotry of mine must be disconnected once and for all…

Primarily commenced from a blog post which kindled an enormous clash between the once unperturbed fictional beings, Zombies vs. Unicorns speaks for each contending party, sustaining the question: which is better, Team Zombie or Team Unicorn?

Zombies vs. Unicorns is a hodge-podge of rainbow farts (literally), booze and fireworks, undying loves, virgin maidens; to creepy kids, nightmarish cults, homoeroticism, bestiality, and so on—lacquered with either a decorous or a satirical prose. It is an infusion of fairytale and paranormalcy—perfect for both the fantasy and paranormal buffs.

You ask what side I’m on? Definitely Team Zombie! Sure, but… which team won? We’re going to find out!

a. The Highest Justice by Garth Nix — Defending the title for Team Unicorn yet a mishmash of both teams. It conveys that not only zombies can be enmeshed with the dead but unicorns as well—in a necromancy-type of way—coroneted with a Medieval-esque backdrop. The plot quivers with a creepy and poignant feel, amidst the teensy bit of haunting humor. A fine read.

b. Love Will Tear Us Apart by Alaya Dawn Johnson — I like that the title somewhat serves as a pun for the groundwork of the story. Here is the infamous brain-fetish zombie… with a little twist. Instead of crawling back from the dead, Grayson is a boy infected with ZSE or Zombie Spongiform Encephalopathy, making him crazy over humans. Now here’s the thing: who knew zombies could fall in love, too? Alaya Johnson didn’t just experiment with romance but tote it up with homoeroticism, with a starring soundtrack on the background. A blend of ugly, romance, and music—this feels like a movie date on a Friday night. 🙂

c. Purity Test by Naomi Novik —Snarky urban egghead + sarcastic nattering unicorn + not-so evil wizard + baby unicorns + Harry Potter = this just didn’t work for me. Tss.

d. Bougainvillea by Carrie Ryan — Pirates! (Capt. Jack Sparrow, anyone?) A safe haven in the midst of the zombie apocalypse reigned by a ruthless man with an angst-y teenage daughter who fell in love with an outsider that turned out to be a pirate turncoat. Somewhat my whopping glitch in the brain helplessly insinuates the appearances of Elizabeth, her dictator father, and Jack. Chuck in the curse of the Black Pearl and I might be fangirling in no time. Fantastic ending.

e. A Thousand Flowers by Margo Lanagan — I’ll pegged it as an utterly disturbing tale that left an extremely foul taste in my mind. *spits* In fact, this Margo Lanagan story seeps with too much repugnance, horror and a warped sense of humanity. This makes zombies rather cute and fluffy in contrast. I’d rather nibble some brains than explicitly behold a bestial affair. Yikes.

f. The Children of the Revolution by Maureen Johnson — This is a tad too corny but to hell with that, I liked it! The blatant references to a particular Hollywood actress provided me with those hilarious guffaws. Even so, what I pictured while devouring the pages was the silly woman who adopted baby twins and named them Brangelina in “The Two Broke Girls.” And to think about it, Max would be a perfect Sofie. Hmm… ‘tis would be an awesome episode plot, whatcha think?

g. The Care and Feeding of Your Baby Killer Unicorn by Diana Peterfreund — What’s up with the title? *rolls eyes* Still, the title hardly justifies the depth of this tale. I think this Diana Peterfreund creation perks up in comparison to the rest of the stories in the anthology. The profundity and intensity of the plot, layered with a coming-of-age scaffolding, barricaded by a three-dimensional heroine who relates the story with such poignancy—I feel terribly ashamed of myself (though I don’t exactly know why). A big thumbs up for Team Unicorn!

h. Innoculata by Scott Westerfeld —Another homoerotic themed tale though it pales in comparison to “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” The inoculation of the virus into a human’s bloodstream to become resistant to zombies is quite new—at least to me. However, what makes this story slump into mediocre territory is because it ended quite poorly. The whole story felt more like a prologue to a forthcoming story; a downer, it is.

i. Princess Prettypants by Meg Cabot — “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow…” I know, I know. My Potter senses are tingling yet again. Okay moving on… Once I get a hold of this book, I bet my money Meg Cabot will be up for Team Unicorn. Surprise? Nope. This story is as chummy as the title itself. Cuteness overload, fluffy vibe, slapstick humor— we get it—a spot on teenybopper-ish flick.

j. Cold Hands by Cassandra Clare — A fairly acceptable read. The worldbuilding Clare created was fine, though inconsistencies inevitably pop in every once in a while. For instance, dukes and monarchies, public hangings make up for a medieval vibe in the story; but then pop culture (CDs and whatnot) crosses the threshold—huh? Is this friggin’ Victorian England or present-day America? To top it all off, emo zombies live peacefully with the living.

k. The Third Virgin by Kathleen Duey — A different twist on the unicorn-healing mythology. It was told through a unicorn’s POV which is pretty… BORING. This pairs off to Cassandra Clare’s emo zombies; this time around, Kathleen Duey created an emo unicorn. Ugh. Kill yourselves please. The world doesn’t need anymore emos. *sighs*

l. Prom Night by Libba Bray — A post-apocalyptic milieu where adults have been annihilated because of being zombified. Teenagers were left by themselves emulating the once adult-driven civilization; and they’re succeeding… for the most part. The teenagers’ cheers and roars of glee as soon as the fireworks were set off was a very sad conclusion to the anthology. My heartstrings has gone inferno. *sobs*

 

I’m sorry, this turned out to be a rave and rant episode of mine instead, rather than a review… So, back to our initial objective which is to answer the question: which is better made for fiction, Team Zombie or Team Unicorn?

 

Neither.

 

I’ve got to say I won instead. 😀

 

Rating: ★★★✰✰

Middlesex — Jeffrey Eugenides

What really draw me into this book is the title—Middlesex. Somewhat it already surfaces as a hermaphrodite-y tale to me, as further supplemented by my batty naïveté about the existence of an actual Middlesex locale. Add to that the glistening Pulitzer Prize emblem etched in full sight underneath the title.

So far, I have yet to further delve into Jeffrey Eugenides’ works, Middlesex having been an amazing start for me. Eugenides’ narrative is engaging. It is drenched with intriguing themes, exhibits impeccable vividness, and boasts with flamboyance. Wallowing in this tale, I feel like most of his time was seriously chomp through by his thorough dedication for research. Be that as it may, it reverberated as an effortless voice-over, never sounding like those horrifying medical jargons at all however meticulously he justified the inauguration, progression, and the development of the disease—the 5-alpha-reductase-deficiency. I haven’t sidestepped boredom even so. There were those times when I have to put down the book because of being heavy-eyed over the historical accounts of the Stephanides—the flight escape from Greece, the Greco-Turkish war, the Great Fire of Smyrna, and so on—yet I still managed to pick it up again because there is some imperceptible force in there that pursues for my curiosity and corrupts it (in a good way, of course).

Calliope/Cal very much reminds me of the infamous pop idol Lady Gaga who is rumored to be a hermaphrodite. She clarified however that the said claims were false; proofs were either pathetically photoshopped images or allegedly helpless stolen shots—merely an absurd craze people make to shame poor Gaga. Let us give her a little breather, shall we?

So… I did some readings about the disease because I couldn’t just feign to abolish the subject alone without perceiving its basic fundamentals. A few snippets of idea would content me just fine. (I am not confident enough with my learnings; thus, correct me right away once I committed something wrong.) First off, this so-called 5a-reductase-deficiency is an autosomal recessive disorder; autosomal, meaning that there is no gene coding for 5a-reductase located neither on an X-choromosome nor a Y-choromosome (sex chromosomes); recessive, meaning that to manifest the disease on an offspring, two copies of these recessive genes must be present. Since both Desdemona and Lefty are carrying the gene, poor Callie/Cal unluckily ended up with the disease.

This 5a-reductase codes for enzymes that convert testosterone to dyhidrotestosterone or DHT, which is fundamental for the formation of the male genitalia. For females, it converts progesterone to dihydroprogestorone or DHP. Given that the subject disease cannot convert testosterone to DHT, there’ll be too much testosterone and hardly DHT, creating a decreased level of DHT and high testosterone ratio, at some instances causing the formation of an ambiguous genitalia (crocus). (And too much testosterone in a female causes acne, from what I’ve read from a random source—that doesn’t really have anything to do with this… :/)

A few years back, whilst the subject’s pristinely new to me, I wonder how doctors would specify the gender of a person having both the male’s and the female’s genitals. This puzzling affair of mine transpired after watching a news report on TV, depicting a newborn baby with both genitals. Then a thought struck my mind; of course they could. They just have to assess what sex hormones, chromosomes, gonad, etc. domineers over the other. But in the case of those with 5a-reductase-deficiency, I suppose, mostly are males because DHT affects only genetic males because it has no known role in the female development—from what I’ve read.

To further add, there are models called Androgynous models—they put-on an assumed role in opposition to their real gender. Males posing like females and vice versa. In the case for males, their features—most specifically the face—are more feminine than masculine. This is due to certain potent female hormones but not necessarily prevalent over their male ones. Not to mention that they have a male genitalia which makes them male even so. What’s more, some guys appear gay because of the tone of their voice—the touch of femininity in it. This is also an example. Genetics is such a bizarre thing after all…

Calliope’s transformation to Cal triggered once again another of my so-called “mental deliberations.” Why choose to start anew as a male when being a female is all you’ve ever become? Why choose to complicate matters worse? But then again, putting on a scheming façade is by no means happiness. Why pretend to be someone you’re not?

The whole lot still puzzles me and it’s good, you know. I like it when an issue sinks into me and my curiosity stirs. Overall, I enjoyed the book and I would be looking forward to another Jeffrey Eugenides’ literary ride.

 

Rating: ★★★★✰

The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight — Jennifer E. Smith

Is it really probable to fall in love in the twinkling of an eye? Or is it mere attraction? Even figures can be a flimsy verification on this well-regarded whim.

Remember those awfully rare chances when cute guys happen to materialize in that finicky vision of yours? He may have offered his seat to you during a bus ride, you may have bumped on him at the mall, he may have been the charming salesman at a store; then flashed the sweetest beam you couldn’t imagine—brewing a giddy twitch at your heartstrings. But somehow you feint a nonchalant façade to give the impression that you’re uninterested. Did you happen to ask yourself if you’ll be seeing him again? Oh cut the charades, I know you have. 😉

Now imagine yourself turning up late to your most dreaded flight for 4 minutes… just 4 minutes. Another flight was rescheduled for you but is not leaving until a few hours or so, allowing you to arrive at your father’s wedding with a woman you hardly know in just the nick of time. Shortly thereafter, while having difficulties with your stuff, a stranger gladly offered to lend a hand; somehow you did not refuse because you really need the help. Eventually you take heed on that stranger’s face. “He’s cute,” you would say. The hours ticked like mere seconds, conversing with the guy, finally discovering that you’ll be sharing the same flight—at the same row. Would fate really be as good as this to be true?

From the corners of this cleverly titled tale, brims a sweet concoction of romantic bonds, family dramas, infidelities, forgiveness, and the traditional happily ever afters. I’ve been a tad too thrilled to be in possession of this book, eyeing it on Goodreads for quite some time now. Fortunately, a cousin gladly lent it to me and I quickly devoured it from page one. However, sheer pleasure immediately swopped to nasty ennui. The pages didn’t quite keep my interest intact. The mere 200-paged and largely printed book kept me at a sluggish, drawn out reading pace, finishing it for a long-winded fortnight. Cute you would say—I approve. In fact, there’s too much cuteness in there that it became a little too cloying and implausible enough to be convincingly true. Thus the story was wrung from realism, and then hung off to parch—left with no traces of veracity but absolute improbability. The title itself doesn’t even justify the premise. The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight—when there’s no love at first sight after all. Falling in love in a 24-hour period doesn’t even count as love at first sight. Indeed, “The Fermentation Process of Mayonnaise” seems like a more fitting title actually. Let me put it this way: since Hadley hates mayonnaise, then we’ll have her as our specimen. First off, there’ll be no mayo but eggs, mustard, salt, etc. (bitter Hadley). We’ll put the mixture in a steel tank/jug/container/flask [I’m no erudite in such matter so just insert any necessary fermenting decanter here] (plane). Add fundamental fermenting agents (such as yeast/bacteria), in this case vinegar/cider would be our agent (Oliver). Leave it for a few weeks inside the refrigerator (9-hr flight). The mixture will be processed (getting to know each other/conversing), and then after the target date… kaboom! you now have your mayo (love in the air). Makes more sense, right?

Furthermore, the events, in line with the resolution of the characters, were too neat. A father leaves his family for a younger woman gets off the hook so smoothly and forgiven just as so easily. A stepmom radiates a faultless façade thereby making her a likeable character nonetheless. A wife who might as well failed to remember that the groom was her husband. A family insensible enough to confront their ruined man in the hope of avoiding argument. Tidying up the ending in a painstakingly neat fashion.

The very instant I flipped through the last page, my sister and I shared the same reaction which was, “Is that all?” Evidently, I have nothing to blab about this book.

What I liked were those little moments of rumination from significant passages that need not be merely skimmed at but carefully pored over.

Overall, not my kind of romance but if you’re one to take pleasure from sweet endings and happily ever afters, this book is for you. 🙂

 

Rating: ★★✰✰✰

Life As We Knew It — Susan Beth Pfeffer

The importunate person that I am, I did not mull over my sister’s claims that this book is one heck of a mind-numbing tale chronicling a family’s resilience after the wave of an unforeseen catastrophe. The premise has this remarkable charisma that effectively lures you in, but I think the problem lies on the ineffectual execution. Pfeffer completely focused her insights on the family circle, withdrawing much of the occurrences outside the bounds of their home. To rub out these, the dread of the devastation will significantly shrunk to deadness, almost as if the reader will be detached to the real world out there. I did not feel the pang of loss for the deceased characters, or their screeching bellies, for that matter, past their depleted provisions. All I know is that, sooner or later, they will be spared and eventually move on. So why the sentiments? She clearly overlooked the vital “show don’t tell” principle.

The rush of adrenaline didn’t kick in, too. Post-apocalyptic novels, as far as I’m concerned, should reasonably radiate tension and anticipation. Because the world is ending, how am I supposed to feel? Instead, I merely flipped through the pages in the hope of finding something interesting, founding nothing at all.

On a side note, how can someone be so foolish as to even think of her crush and go around kissing guys in spite of the crumbling planet?

Not all had been well, but I would be nice enough to add that one little star for the premise.

 

Rating: ★★✰✰✰