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: ★★★★✰

Po-on — F. Sionil Jose

Foremost book in the five-part Rosales Saga (but last to be published) by the Philippine National Artist for Literature, F. Sionil Jose—Po-on embraces an air of nationalism and gushes with an autonomous aspiration from the long oppressed Filipinos. Istak’s mere fabricated globe recounts the factual—though not concrete—burden the Filipinos has been subjected to throughout the tyranny of the Spaniards, and shortly under the regime of the Americans. Jose’s guileless yet lyrical prose, with his clear-cut exhibition of the backdrop and episodes of confrontations, promises a picturesque panorama of the Salvador’s (later Samson) expeditions and misadventures, along with an inexplicable feeling of patriotism hovering over the pages.

It isn’t so hard to penetrate into the lives of the indios (as Spaniards call the Filipinos) since the distinct attributes of the characters are very well manifested until today. A Filipino himself, Jose did not—in any way—commit any biasness towards the Filipinos. Istak’s resolute faith to a divine entity makes him an epitome of righteousness but his inadvertent fascination towards women makes him a flawed being nonetheless. Ba-ac’s sulkiness at the onset of the story creates a disagreeable impression on his part but discovering the reason behind his severed hand gives him redemption even so. And then there were the Filipino traitors who recoiled from their resistance to favor the enemy’s cause—not to mention the “tulisans” who oppress their own kindred.

Nor did Jose set any prejudices against our foreign aggressors. Albeit the ruthless governance of the Spaniards—along with the Church’s iniquitous exploits—particular individuals however were designed to project an upright disposition towards the Filipinos. Such person is Padre Jose—Istak’s mentor and father-like figure. He serves as a remembrance that goodness comes from any race, however deplorable the majority are.

I’ve never really been a patriotic individual—save for my occasional remarks about the country’s involvement in various issues—but plunging deeper into F. Sionil Jose’s engaging narrative and beautiful prose, one cannot be helped but to be terribly perturbed by the maelstrom of emotions compellingly swirling on every page. I literally felt a searing pain in my chest the moment I flipped the final page, specifically because of Istak’s last notation from his journal. We own our country, we own our resources, and we own ourselves. But why are these aliens gaining from our possessions? They hold in great awe our majestic resources and obtain an unlimited supply of opportunities from these, but degrading with its unsightly attributes. Are they here to praise or to demean us?

An insensible citizen now a compassionate native of my country—Po-on has shaped my newfound love for my motherland.

 

Rating: ★★★★★

The Pharaoh’s Secret — Marissa Moss

The premise of this book pretty much reminds me of Rick Riordan’s Kane Chronicles. Centers on Egypt. Siblings—a boy and a girl. Dad’s an Egyptian scholar. Mom died a few years back. Dad takes the siblings to a museum where it will all begin. Girl’s a whiny little thing. Boy’s a certified geek.

To be honest, the very reason why I picked up this book is because of its appealing cover. Yes, I have a weakness for pretty covers. A sanguine disposition naturally envelops me every time I see them—they seem to taunt me with their intriguing charm and eventually draws me in. Hence, I couldn’t help but devour their pages once I get a hold of them.

So, pretty cover… but was it pretty inside?

The Egyptian context in this book was largely intriguing, given the fact that almost everything was well-researched and based from pure history. The love affair between the sole female pharaoh Hatshepsut and her architect Senenmut was all-consuming, that I was completely compelled to investigate the said claims. And as it turns out, there really are records in history that attest the intimacy between them; otherwise, how do you explain Senenmut becoming one of the most powerful men in the country with his ignoble blood? Or was it his natural talent that caused this rise to power?

Although engaging most of the time, still, it was boring at times. I greatly prefer the historical framework rather than the story itself. There weren’t any cloak and dagger schemes that will make every reader quiver with trepidation and desperately heave as each cryptic fact unfolds. The protagonists weren’t even distinguishably memorable; I don’t feel anything for them. They were simply paper cut-outs stuffed inside the story to create darling characters.

And what was that with the antagonist? He isn’t as creepy as Talibah describes him. He doesn’t even draw much attention to become noteworthy of fear. If the siblings were paper cut-outs, then he’s merely a sketch on a pad.

The verdict? Possibly if I have read this when I was younger, preferably in my elementary years, I would have terribly enjoyed this. The premise was really catchy, but the seemingly mundane storyline snatched it from its effulgence. However, the derivative Egyptian backdrop compensated for the missing facets that still made it a fairly acceptable read.

 

Rating: ★★★✰✰

The Three Musketeers — Alexandre Dumas

The Three Musketeers is indeed one of the most celebrated historical romances and well-known classic tale of all time. A perpetual favorite amongst a variety of audiences—from juvenile to stripling ones, to a cluster of full-fledged devotees—it has been adapted to a series of media types. There are movie adaptations, TV shows, and even cartoon shows. Altogether tells the story of the dashing musketeers namely: Athos, Porthos and Aramis. Still, it is inevitable that the media may tarnish the genuine foundation of the story. I say if you want to know the real story, then go read it. I am certain you’ll devour it as much as I did.

As I’ve mentioned earlier, every so often, the media muddles the original plot of the story. The latest movie version proved otherwise. At the course of my reading, I’ve been consistently waiting for a portion of the movie scenes to occur in this book, but much to my regret, this was different. So much for my Logan Lerman fandom. *sigh* However, my interest still did not dwindle. The gallant Gascon young man will always be Logan to me. That sure gratified me, ha!

Probably the best thing about this book is that it was based from real history—real events and real people. Who could not resist a peek into the good old days? Definitely not me. Ameliorating it by adding a fabrication of Dumas’ imagination wouldn’t hurt either.

And though sword fighting isn’t really my type of action, these swashbuckling heroes did not dismay me. Truly, there weren’t any dull moments that had me yawning in ennui.

Dauntless and chivalrous they may be, the musketeers including our Gascon fellow, are also liable to troublesome and displeasing deeds. They constantly try to resolve predicaments, even petty ones, through duels; hot-headed, brusquely mannered; and one fellow doesn’t even respect his lackey—he doesn’t allow him to speak when not spoken to. But what would you expect, humans aren’t perfect, and so Dumas concocting a realistic individuality to his characters is acceptable, at least for me.

By no means is this novel a bodice-ripping one. Albeit the presence of lovers and mistresses of the protagonists strewn all throughout the book, Dumas carefully crafted an intelligent style of subtlety by which no amount of sensual hints were encouraged. Young readers may likewise take a plunge on this wonderfully written novel even without supervision.

The most intriguing villainess in the world of literature, only here, you will meet. How many people has Milady de Winter deceived and victimized before leading to her death? I was actually trying to find something good in her albeit all her evil-doings. The tale she confided with that poor bloke, Felton, had me convinced that she’s not so bad after all, but then again, I was wrong.

Dumas must be the master of cliffhangers. Every chapter ends with a cliffhanger that pulls you more into the world of sword plays, deceptions, political intrigues, love founded and lost, nobility, vengeance, etc. It strikes as a sin putting it down, but what would you ask for a 750-page book?

 

Rating: ★★★★★

Labyrinth — Kate Mosse

I was glad I already finished this book. I have been actually ignoring it for almost three years. Why? Maybe because the book is too thick, maybe because the book cover doesn’t attract me that much, or maybe because I just hate the fact that it is being compared to Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code, which is by the way one of my favorites. Either ways I don’t know. However, after years of brushing it off, I finally failed into doing so. I have mixed feelings for the book, but more to the point of appreciation than dislike. I was just irritated at the first; let’s say 200 or 300 pages, because at that verge of the story, characters were still being introduced and the suspense books mostly have at that point doesn’t seem to arrive. But because I always finish what I started, reading goes on … and on … and on … until boredom already struck me. But still I didn’t stop. And the more I proceeded, the more I was intrigued. And alas! I finally got what I was looking for. What I don’t understand is why lengthen the unnecessary descriptions? While the suspense and most important details were fitted into the last few pages. I would have just preferred to have the historical storyline. But yeah, I understand that the present should be presented much like the past have been.

I may have said quite more about what I hate, but despite of those, the book is really good if I were to judge my excitement while reading the few remaining pages. So maybe I’ll just have to stick with that.

If someone has to ask who my favorite character is, it would definitely be Sajhe. His character is the most memorable to me and he is the perfect definition of a heroic figure, never afraid to take risks to protect the people he loves and what he believes in. I just feel bad for him because the girl he loves doesn’t love him the way he does—as a brother, yes, but more than that, no. Moreover, what I want to know is that, does this Holy Grail really exists? Books about it may be just fictions, but has anyone ever wonder if it’s true? Would the idea just appear out of thin air? Does it really prolong life, or more importantly, grant eternal life? No one knows.

 

Rating: ★★★✰✰