The Power of Books

One of the coolest things about books is that they have the power to affect seemingly totally different people in such interestingly similar ways. They remind us that we are all human, all experience similar emotions and, in that sense, can all be suckers for the same fate when a good old tear-jerker comes around. In that sense, I guess movies can also be similar. One thing I really enjoy is recommending a book to someone and them loving it, or finding out that a friend loved a book that you loved as well and be able to rave about it for a bit, being able to share that little bit of yourself with someone else is always a nice connection.

So, Rashna bought me Rohinton Mistry's "A Fine Balance" and I have virally marketed it to two people now... one of which, Daryl, has finished reading it and, despite grumbling at length about its ending (shall not be spoilt), enjoyed it very much... the other, Lynda, just bought it today and undoubtedly is going to love it. :) Lynda was also the one who introduced me to Haruki Murakami through "Norwegian Wood", which got me hooked and made him my favourite author, since having given Rashna that book, she loved it immensely and is now a new Murakami convert. And so the cycle continues :)



Books that connect People :)

Sickness, Arabs and the 7 habits

Time for another of my on-again off-again returns from the blogging wilderness, this time inspired by the musings of a certain pint-sized, bespectacled Vietnamese-Australian girl who happens to be wandering around in India right now and producing little nuggets of gold on her Facebook blog.

I've been in bed sick for the past week, apparently the most auspicious time to strike me down with an influenza-inspired bout of bronchitis was the day of my 23rd birthday... so after struggling through a few tutorials made even more painful than usual I staggered into bed at 2pm and slept the entire day... and so began 5 days of more or less constant vegetation and feeling like shit.

Punctuated by a few random catch-ups with friends just to get out of the house, my self-imposed isolation ended today when I decided to go to uni, as I was feeling at least a little better, under the pretext of getting some work done but the fresh air, daylight and seeing other humans being my two stronger motivations....

Questions that have been plaguing me:

- Which GQ is the best GQ?

I was actually intending to by UK GQ but accidentally picked up the US GQ, I was fairly upset at first because it had advertisements for GAP and a 10-page long feature on Gridiron, two things that I find rather upsetting in general (we later find out that US GQ can be a generally upsetting publication, look at the tagline in that cover on the top)... but after leafing through the UK GQ today I found some of the crap in there even more inane (yes yes read the headlines on the cover on the bottom) Perhaps GQ in general has just gone downhill?












- Why are there so many Khaleejis in Melbourne?

I don't know if they have always been here and I've only just noticed because I've come back from the Gulf myself but it really does seem strange. I mean if you are a rich, conservative Gulf Arab and you have more or less everything you want and live in a conservative society that protects your family implicitly and is, quite frankly and objectively, an extremely comfortable place to live... why would you pick up home and move to the unfamiliar West? I mean there are far fewer halal food choices, no call to prayer emanating from 5 different mosques within earshot wherever you stand, no ability to drive up to a store and honk your horn to get groceries and many other inconveniences that come with not living in the Gulf... plus it's cold! But yet, lo and behold... I couldn't believe my ears when I heard a conversation between two middle-aged men in Norsiah's Kitchen today interspersed with ya3nis, methalans and zains (Oh glorious "Zain" how I miss you!)... followed by more Arab sightings, I think I saw a total of 6 Gulf Arabs today!

- What is so unbelievably amazing about Stephen Covey and his 7 habits?

I have been reading this book of late, and I know it's not at all my cup of tea but I couldn't resist the premise of getting a bit more effective... considering how freaking ineffective I usually am. And it seems to me that Mr. Covey has made his money by condensing around 5 pages total worth of gems/pearls of wisdom into a 350 page monster of a book.

Basically what he does is expound endlessly upon one of these said pearls for pages and pages when it could really be summed up in a dot point. He then proceeds to back up his expoundings, which by now must be painfully clear even to the most simple of simpletons, with boring formulaic anecdotes that all sound like this: "I once worked with Company XYZ where Person Joe Shmo came up to me and said, Stephen, I have a problem that is very bad that I have tried to solve with an idea (that is obviously stupid) from this handy copy of '80s style management for dummies' and it hasnt worked... can you solve it? And I said, why yes, here is an absolutely unexpected way of looking at the problem, you have to... look at things differently! And then Joe applied my wisdom and everyone lived happily ever after"

... or...

"Once my son decided to a) do something stupid b) not do something smart or c) prance around like a monkey... in response to this I tried a) a bad idea but something most parents would do b) a bad idea that still sounds not-so-bad... or c) any bad idea really... found it didnt work... then when I... looked at things differently and did a) something unbelievably awesome and fairly obvious that ties in perfectly with the topic of the previous 76 pages of drivel... it all worked out! hooray!"

I think that Mr. Covey was obviously trying to squeeze a book out of a few smart ideas he once had and thereby make a truckload of money - job well done there - but also all these anecdotes at the end of which good ol' Steve solved things with his patented tested theories may have a more insidious sub-plot... I suspect Steve is actually trying to build a sly personality cult to last the ages and fashion his 7 Habits as a Mao's Little Red Book of sorts. Why else would he position himself as so infallible as to be able to find a solution to any of life's anecdotal problems? Get ready... Covey and Paolo Coelho will be duking it out in future for overlord of the masses.

Written: [Costa Adliya] 1.47am 23rd April

In our more expansive moments, we imagine romantic loev to be akin to Christian love, an uncritical, expansive emotion that declares I will love you for everything that you are, a core that has no conditions, that draws no bounaries, that adores every last shoe, that is the embodiment of acceptance. But the arguments that hound lovers are a reminder that Christian love is not prone to survive a move into the bedroom. Its message seems more suited to the universal than the particular, to the love of all men for all women, to the love of two neighbours who will not hear each other snoring.

pg. 65, Alain de Botton - Essays in Love

But is de Botton focusing on the right thing? Is it the particular detriments we observe in our partner, like snoring, that are the obstacles to "Christian love" or rather our own insecurities? Christian love is easy because its impersonal, it does not involve massive vulnerability or opening yourself up to a particular person to stab you in the heart. It's the power of need, dependance and expectation. If you do not depend on all humans or expect anything particular from them then it's far easier to love them. But the profundity of that love is then also called into question.
If you are not prepared to let go totallyt hen what sort of fulfillment can you expect? Surely, the Hell of your expectations not being met can be equated with the Heaven of them being met and surpassed? Love is a game of extremes.

Written: [My Room] 5.00am 20th April

At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be myserious and unexplorable, that land and sea be infinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because we must be refreshed by the sight of inexhaustible vigor, vast and Titanic features, the seacoast with its wrecks, the wilderness with its living and its decaying trees, the thunder cloud, and the rain which lasts three weeks and produces freshets. We need to witness our own limits transgressed, and some life pasturing freely where we never wander.

Pg.205 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

Very simple, very obvious, very true and very well written. Adventure tourism lives on, as does our quest for beauty, but beauty can be found everywhere, not just in nature. From the bazaars of old Cairo, to the warrens of Barcelona's Barri Goti. From the metropolish of Tokyo to the serenity of Turkey's Blue Mosque. From the sophisticated Melburnian cofee culture to the relaxed Bahraini way of conversation, hospitality and family. Beauty can be found everywhere.

Direct your eyesight inward, and you'll find
A thousand regions in your mind
yet undiscovered. Travel them, and be
Expert in home-cosmography"

Pg. 207 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

I desire to speak somewhere without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking moments; for I am convinced that I cannot exaggerate enough even to lay the foundations of a true expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared then lest he should speak extravagantly forever?

Pg. 209 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life poor as it is. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brigthly as from the rich man's abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contendly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.

Pg. 211 Henry David Thoreau - Walden

A Homage to Beirut and Gaza

To the people of Gaza and Beirut. As time refuses to heal and only inflicts new wounds.


How suddenly the private
Is revealed in a bombed-out city,
How the blue and white striped wallpaper

Of a second story bedroom is now
Exposed to the lightly falling snow
As if the room had answered the explosion

Wearing only its striped pajamas.
Some neighbors and soldiers
Poke around in the rubble below

And stare up at the handing staircase,
The portrait of a grandfather,
A door dangling from a single hinge.

And the bathroom looks amost embarrassed
By its uncovered ochre walls,
The twisted mess of its plumbing,

The sink sinking to its knees,
The ripped shower curtain,
The torn goldfish trailing bubbles.

It’s like a dollhouse view
As if a child on its knees could reach in
And pick up the bureau, straighten a picture.

Or it might be a room on a stage
In a play with no characters,
No dialogue or audience,

No beginning, middle and end-
Just the broken furniture in the street,
A shoe among the cinder blocks,

A light snow still falling
On a distant steeple, and people
Crossing a bridge that still stands.

And beyond that- crows in a tree,
The statue of a leader on a horse,
And clouds that look like smoke,

And even farther on, in another country
On a blanket under a shade tree,
A man pouring wine into two glasses

And a woman sliding out
The wooden pegs of a wicker hamper
Filled with bread, cheese, and several kinds of olives.

Building With Its Face Blown Off
By Billy Collins

Written: [my room] 5.45am 14th April

In our most trivial walks, we are constantly, though unconsciously, steering like pilots by certain well-known beacons and head-lands, and if we go beyond our usual course we still carry in our minds the bearing of some neighbouring cape; and not until we are completely lost, or turned round, - for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost, - do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of Nature. Every man has to learn the points of compass again as often as he awakes, whether from sleep or any abstraction. Not until we are lost, in other words, not until we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realise where we are and the infite extent of our relations.

Thoreau - "Walden" pg. 111

This is probably of one of my favourite parts of Walden so far. The very obvious metaphor of being lost in the woods vs. lost in life/the world brings up so many associations. His comment about 'appreciating the vastness and strangeness of Nature' is spot on and extends not just to nature but the world itself. Why do people like to travel? And even then, why do people like to get lost in a city as a key part of their travel experience?

They call travel 'broadening your horizons' but it does so not just because you are not in the old place. You have lost the familiarity and routine of home and you are forced to learn anew how to navigate in a foreign land. This is why the concepts of 'challening yourself' and going 'outside your comfort zone' are so common - hence why people want to get lost in a city and donig something like going to a small Finnish town for seven months after living in Bombay your whole life is just getting lost but in more than the geographical sense. But in order to learn and fully appreciate your surroundings it is also important not to freak out. Because if you focus on emotions of fear or frustration then you are nto taking in the experience of all your senses. This is why Zen Buddhism concepts of moment-to-moment awareness and living in the present make so much sense.

The metaphor can be bigger still, what if getting lost entails not just the routine related to your geographical location and support network but the entire routine by which you navigate through your life? Thoreau says a man needs only to be turned round once in this world to get lost and that is so very true. One momentous event is enough to shake someone to the point where they lose all direction and must 'relearn the compass'. Thoreau is saying that this can be good once in a while depending again, of course, on how the person responds. A man who loses direction must invariably find his bearings again. His destination - home - may be the same but his perspective on it may well be different.

Wirtten: [Costa Adliya] April 14th

For the main part I escaped wonderfully from these dangers, either by proceeding at once boldly and without deilbration to the goal, as is recommended to those who run the gantlet, like Orpheus, who 'Loudly singing the praises of the gods to his lyre, drowned the voices of the Sirens, and kept out of danger.'

Thoreau - "Walden", pg. 110

Here Thoreau is talking about unplelasant civilities of some type. Having to greet villagers and accept or decline their invitations. The 'gantlet' is indeed a part of life but need not always be viewed as negatively or with such cynicism as the venomous Thoreau with his disdain for the common man. There is something to be said for being pleasant and friendly and civil to people even if it means being bored. Having people like you gives powerful recourse to emotional wellbeing and achievement and is important for being a functioning member of society, which Thoreau also shuns entirely.

I prefer to take the more Machiavellian/utilitarian approach to people. Make them happy, make them like you and it will be better for you. Or the Gandhi/Mother Teresa approach stemming from a fundamental love and respect for mankind.

Either way I think comparing base civilities upon which normal social conversation rests to Orpheus and the Sirens is really very extreme.

Written: [Sevilla] April 4th 2.45am

The Andalusian capital and home of flamenco, bull runs and the best ever Santa Semana. Haven't seen much of those three but certainly loving the freedom and chilledness of the Spanish South. Streets are busy, places are open, people are boisterous well into the night. The food and coffee has been disappointing, like everywhere else we've been in Spain, but the vibe is fantastic and the narrow warrens and cobblestoned streets of the Old Town are some of the best in Spain.

The beauty of the Alcazar is also unrivalled so far, the gardens, tiling, architecture and meticulous attention to detail are sheer beauty. I could spend days exploring and chilling the plazas and jardins. The Catedral rises up like an eerie Dracula's castle at night, a massive Gothic monument to Christianity. It still incorporates the 90m minaret of the old mosque which it replaced and some reinassance period elements from the reconstruction. The inside of the main prayer hall is far from spectacular, however, and rather like any other big church.

This area with the Alcazar and the Catedral is really beautiful. At night when there is no one around and just the dim street lighting and the moonlight, to walk through this area is like a dream. During the day, the area is crowded with tourists but still the few small plazas and street bars around serve as good platforms for people watching and monument gazing. The incessant ringing of the bells is at first atmospheric but subsequently rather annoying. As are the hoardes of schoolkid tour groups. The beautiful weather, however, makes everything ok.

I love my red havaianas but am lusting for more shoes.
I also love tiles. Am buying too many souvenirs, far too many.
This Hotel Abanico is beautiful.

pg. 74 Walden
When Thoreau describes his surroundings in the woods it is very engaging and beautiful. In his section 'sounds' he does this, and discusses the old Eastern concept of being constantly aware of the moment, employing all senses to observe, etc. It's a powerfully appealing concept and coupled with his descriptive writing (which he does very well) is a strong impetus for personal change in this direction - but that requires much discipline, that which I'm bad at. Could use writing as a means to achieve this better...

Written: [Barcelona] 8.45pm 28th March

Starbucks in the Barri Goti with Sinatra painfully but melodiously churning through love songs. After a day of random meandering which started off with a trip to the hospital in search of medical help for my conjunctivitis (my conversational ability in Spanish surprised myself) and a bunch of Gaudis (the double take at La Sagrada Familia was particularly memorable), my mood worsened as we headed back to La Rambla and selected a rather unfortunate restaurant - Gaudi's Tapas or something equally tourist enticing. It felt like a quasi-English pub with bad service and overpriced food. No tip. The warrens of la Ciutat Vella continue to toss up gems but unfortunately, in the very Murphy's Law sense, never the ones we seem to need at the time. So after a half bottle of Rioja, we were too sleepy to search and settled on the comfort of Starbucks. After milky coffee, cake and a cigarette, the sofa seems a good place to sleep, or to at least read Walden.

It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.

Page 59, Henry David Thoreau - "Walden"

To a philosopher all news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit and read it are old women over their tea!

Page 61, Henry David Thoreau - "Walden"

While the former quote is inspiring, I'm not sure if I agree with the latter. This attitude to current affairs has been exhibited by a number of philosophers as they believe their ideas transcend that of the normal populace. However, I find this arrogant. Alain de Botton has it right when he makes philosophy for the common man. What is the good of philosophy if it cannot enrich people's lives? And what is the good of being of an enormous intellect if you cannot use it to affect the people around you positively? And how could you do this without understanding what goes on in the day-to-day goings on of the world? On the other hand, the reality of popular media these days is indeed embarassing and far from awe-inspiring. There are very few newspapers and even fewer television news programs which are impartial enough to be reliable. The rest are controlled by corporations and the people's fickle demand for sensational information.

Written: [Barcelona] 11.50pm 27th March

At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as a possible site of a house. Wherever I sat, there I might live, and the landscape radiated from me accordingly.'

Pg. 53 Henry David Thoreau - "Walden"

An interesting meditation to read now when I'm travelling. I've often imagined living in the places I travel to, comparing Rome to Barcelona, Melbourne to Bahrain.

Barcelona does grip me as a city and even moreso as a possible place to live than Rome, in all its historical splendour. The people here seem more youthful and free, without so much societal constraint. It's almost as if the Romans are weighed down by their history, politics, statuses and expectations. Walking through the, some narrow, some wide, streets of Barcelona that appear to be teeming with life, I am drawn to every colourful shopfront and every noisy tapas bar. I am drawn to its diverse inhabitants all chattering away in their beautiful language.

I am drawn to a balcony in an old gothic building, one I can make my own with pot plants and vines, that I can smoke, read and voyeurise on with a loved one or alone as Barcelonian ants crawl around below. I have a strong urge to discover every nook and cranny of this city, the best cafes, edgiest bars, most delectable delicacies and those shops that stock the one thing you want at a particular time. I romanticise about the idea of being one of those Spaniards with their funky glasses and fashionable haircuts, joking with their friends and kissing their novias.

The Romans were a stylish, poised and attractive bunch but the Barcelonians, them I could fall in love with.

Top 10 Books read in 2007: Second 5

John Steinbeck - The Grapes of Wrath

Published in 1939, this classic Depression-era masterpiece by Steinbeck helped him win both the Pulitzer and Nobel prizes.

It focuses on the Depression-era farmers of Oklahama State that are being ravaged by a combination of the Dust Bowl drought that hit the USA at the time, and the mechanization of agriculture putting many farmers out of work. The family in the centre of the story, the Joads, decides, like many other "Okies" that they want to travel to California... encouraged by a massive amount of propaganda that life there is somehow perfect and amazing.

The way Steinbeck so slowly and methodically, with many heart-wrenching plot points in the middle that point to what is going to happen, turns their dreams to absolute disaster is indeed something special. I also enjoy his two-page ideology bashing chapters where he harps on about the ills of capitalism and the need for a collective solution, one can't help but want to enlist in the local socialist party branch straight away... or go to an Obama rally.

All in all a fantastic piece of leftist literature, an excellent story, and very good to read some blatant social commentary that is bashing you over the head with ideology only just enough... while still being moderately subtle for the most part. Far better than socialist non-fiction.

George Orwell - Animal Farm

Orwell's Animal Farm is considered to be one of two classic novels written by him, the other being nineteen eighty-four, of course. I personally think nineteen eighty-four is the better book but that doesn't make Animal Farm any less cool.

Unlike Grapes of Wrath, Animal Farm is ridiculously blatant when it comes to putting its point across. It is a satirical allegory of Soviet totalitarianism, put across as a farmhouse named 'Animal Farm' which undergoes a revolution resulting in the animals taking control. The different social classes among the animals and the different roles they play in conducting and maintaining this revolution is really quite hilarious. It was very enjoyable reading it and imagining what specific aspects/figures of Russo-Soviet history it was referring to.

While it would be very tempting, should I have a copy on hand, to type out large swathes of text and then laugh at them, as the allegory of Stalin being a despotic pig named "Napoleon" is really rather amusing. I shall resist from doing this and just say that it's a short novel, and well worth a read, especially for the historically inclined.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Chronicle of a Death Foretold

The story of the murder of Santiago Nasar by the two Vicario brothers is told in almost a similar fashion to a journalistic reconstruction of a murder through the interviews and recollections of several citizens of town in which it took place.

The book is an interesting variation on Marquez' usual magic realism style as the magic seems to permeate the story in a way, rather than be confined to certain events and happenings as in some of his past novels. In this case, the entire town seems to have anticipated Santiago's murder and the feeling that they are somehow complicit in the events that occurred in the lead-up and execution of it is very heavy in the way they tell their stories.

From a philosophical point of view, it is interesting how Marquez' depicts an entire town so affected by the death of one man. It seems to point to the fact that we, in life, are always somehow consumed by the idea of death: the anticipation of it, the dealing with it, the memory of it.

All in all a very interesting short novel from another Nobel prize winner. If you enjoyed Love in the Time of Cholera or One Hundred Years of Solitude then you should definitely check this one out too.

Khaled Hosseini - A Thousand Splendid Suns

There is very little I can actually say by way of review or recollection for this novel. It didn't espouse any particular philosophy or ideology, or work in any interesting or unique literary style. The language was fairly simple throughout and its certainly not going to win any literary prizes but...

It was very good. And by virtue of the fact that it was so simple, and communicated the emotions of the moments encaptured within it very well. I think this is part of the key to Hosseini's runaway success with both this book and the last, The Kite Runner, he is very good at making people cry.

The second part of the key to his success lies in his choice of subject matter and theatre for his stories, Afghanistan. There is a huge fascination all over the world, at the moment, with this country. Seemingly bombed back to the Stone Age by Bush after 9/11, in the early 21st century, it has once again entered people's consciousness, but this time as an exotic, Eastern location shrouded in mystery, Islam and tragedy. All a very good recipe for selling novels.

Luckily for Hosseini, his stories are intricate, interesting, evocative, dramatic and very much engrossing. It's easy to finish one of his books in a few days because they really are tough to put down. Good, simple story-telling.

Jhumpa Lahiri - Interpreter of Maladies

This was probably the last book I read in 2007 but it was easily one of the best, and one that really affected me for some reason. This was Lahiri's first book and she managed to win the Pulitzer Prize with it, thats pretty special.

The thing I love most about Jhumpa's writing is that it's not complex, but it's not simple. Her modes of expression are simple, she doesn't use complicated words and phrasing to get her point across, however her stories always intricately put together and are always somehow different. The way she puts across the experiences and emotions of her subjects in seemingly every-day situations is really something else. There is something deep and human about the way she writes and it really touches people.

This particular collection of short stories deals with the lives of Indians living abroad and at home, Bengalis primarily, and includes a large number of different topics... however all of them seemingly typical of Indians, Bengalis, foreigners and feeling like a foreigner.

The best set of short stories I've read since Chekhov, I thoroughly, thoroughly recommend this one. It's a gem and I prefer it to her better known Namesake.



And with that my literary recollections of what I read in 2007 comes to an end. Hopefully 2008 will open even more doors for me in this department. :)

Top 10 Books read in 2007: First 5

I managed to read 32 books in 2007 and I'd like to somehow wrap them up, so I figured a Top 10 list might be in order (I was aiming for Top 5 actually but just couldn't make the necessary cuts) to help process my thoughts on at least some of them and reflect over which of them had the most impact. So here goes, in chronological order read:



Kiran Desai - The Inheritance of Loss

This novel won the Man Booker Prize in 2006 and I read it while I was in Singapore at the start of 2007. The novel deals with a number of different issues, in particular, the changing face of rural North India (set in a remote hill station in the Himalayan foothills) and the alienation that goes with migration to the west. The main protagonists are a small family, at the head of which is a retired judge, Mr. Patel, who's relationship with his granddaughter, Sai, is the focus of much of the storyline. The parallel storyline follows the son, Biju, of Mr. Patel's cook who is trying to make a living as an illegal immigrant in New York.

The musings are deep and interesting as they follow the alienation felt by the older generation of India, especially those more favoured under the British Raj, and the comparison between the crushing weight of expectations felt by poor migrants from India trying to eke out a living abroad and the realities of eking out this living. The novel also deals with the Nepalese insurgency at the time and the impact it had on the local population.

Albert Hourani - A History of the Arab Peoples

The late Hourani's tour de force history book that chronicles the history of the Arabs from the birth, and subsequent rise, of Islam up until the late 20th century (Hourani died in 1993). An absolutely essential read for anyone wanting to understand the history of one of history's most influential races, and most disputed and important regions of the world. One of the more interesting aspects of Hourani's book is the focus that he gives to explaining the rise and fall of many of the most prominent empires (Ummayad, Abbasid, Ottoman, etc.) and doctrines (Arab nationalism, Salafism, Ba'athism, Islamism, etc.). This makes the book useful and interesting not only in terms of historical information but also as an intellectual study into many of the forces contributing to the state of the Modern Middle East.





Robert M Pirsig - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

This pseudo-philosophical novel is Pirsig's exploration of, what he terms, the metaphysical aspects of Quality. The book is part a philosophical journey through the thoughts and research of a ficititious protagonist (under the pseudonym Phaedrus). The philosophical musings themselves are far too complex to condense in this shurt blurb discussing the novel but it is a very valuable read. Indeed, it has sold millions of copies in many languages and is considered to be the "most widely read philosophy book, ever". Pirsig's writing and philosophy are heavily influenced by Eastern religions, such as Buddhism and Vedantism, but his outlook is heavily imbued with the rationalist/logical traditions of the West. As a result, Pirsig often employs both Western (often Greek) and Eastern (mostly Buddhist) philosophy to underpin many of the concepts he writes about. Another classic and another must-read for anyone grappling with the concepts of God and/or meaning/purpose to life.


Albert Camus - The Outsider

It's quite incredible that it took me so long to read this book, however I am absolutely glad that I did because reading it later in my life, I feel I have a better chance at understanding it better. The Outsider is the best known piece of absurdist literature, and is commonly attributed to the greater body of existentialist literature (though Camus fervently denied belonging to the existentialist community and preferred to consider absurdism as a separate line of thought).

The novel focuses on the protagonist Mersault, who is moved primarily by sensory influences on his person, and who's approach to life is extremely passive. The first part of the book examines Mersault's simple life and reactions to the event of his mother's passing. The second half focuses on Mersault's killing of an Arab and the subsequent process of trial, imprisonment and execution and the thinking that Mersault does during this process.

For such a small book, it deals with many complex and interesting philosophical themes. One being the absurdity of society in the way that it deals with issues of life and death - the court proceedings focusing more on Mersault's reactions to the death of his mother (not deemed normal by society as he wasn't very grieving) and his choice of sticking to aetheism rather than turning to (or even pretending to turn to) religion in his final days. This seems to be at odds with the concepts of Justice and Truth, as it is entirely a moral judgment placed on a man by society without examining the issue at hand (the murder itself).

Another theme being the key existentialist point of view that Man is responsible for his destiny and not God or Fate, and that the universe is entirely indifferent to Man's plight, indicating that there is no per-ordained meaning to life. This is not a nhillistic view, Camus is trying to indicate that it is Man's responsibility to create meaning in life for himself, rather than rely on a pre-ordained religious doctrine or philosophy.

EM Forster - A Passage to India

Written in 1924, A Passage to India is set against the backdrop of the British Raj and the Indian independence movements that were gathering traction at the time. It centers around a few key characters, namely the "mercurial" (as he is described on the blurb) Dr. Aziz, an Indian Muslim, Adela, Fielding and Mrs. Moore.

The main plot of the novel focuses around a key event that is thought to have occurred somewhere in the Malabar caves, though the event itself is never described in the book. Adela accuses Aziz of rape and the ensuing process of arrest and trial brings out many underlying forces of ethnic tension, prejudice and racism between the indiginous Indians and British colonialists.

For me personally, one of the most interesting things about this novel is not how the ethnic tension affects the plot itself but how it affects the relationships of the characters. Fielding and Moore, for example, are sympathisers to the Indian cause, however both leave India very bitter. Adela, is a typical product of ingrained prejudice, she has nothing against Indians personally but lives in a culture of perpetual hatred and disdain and can't help being a party to it, at least for part of the book. She is, however, aware enough to question this eventually and that has a considerable effect on the outcome of the novel. The relationship between Fielding and Aziz, in particular, is an interesting one... even though Fielding is pro-Indian, it seems the gulf between the two nations is too wide for a friendship between the two to blossom in the end.

The novel has been named one of the greatest of the 20th century, and it's easy to see why. It has a very interesting plot, is beautifully written and addresses a very important issue dexterously and from many angles. Hats off to Forster for that one.

OK so those are my first 5 of my Top 10 of 2007. I will put up my next 5 later... if anyone's read any of these and would like to comment, please be my guest.

Albert Camus - The Fall

'Haven't you noticed that our society is organised for this kind of liquidation? You have heard, of course, of those tiny fish in the rivers of Brazil that attack the unwary swimmer by thousands and with swift little nibbles clean him up in a few minutes, leaving only an immaculate skeleton? Well, that's what their organisation is. "Do you want a good clean life? Like anybody else?" You say yes, of course. How can one say no? "O.K. You'll be cleaned up. Here's a job, a family, an dorganised leisure activities." And the little teeth attack the flish, right down to the bone. But I am unjust. I shouldn't say their organisation. It is ours, after all.'

The thing I love about reading Camus is that he absolutely justifies my cynicism in the absurdity of every day life. Comparing middle-class society with a swarm of piranha fish, now that's something.


'I knew a man who gave twenty years of his life to a scatterbrained woman, sacrificing everything to her, his friendships, his work, the very respectability of his life, and who one evening recognised that he had never loved her. He had been bored, that's all, bored like most people. Hence he had made himself out of whole cloth a life full of complications and drama. Something must happen - and that explains most human commitments. Something must happen, even loveless slavery, even war or death.'

The problem with reading Camus is that he lulls you into a false sense of security with his easy-going style and characters who muse away about life's eccentricities and absurdities. But what he exposes in his characters, particularly the protagonist of this novel, is a cold cynical skeleton of a man bored of life and its folly with seemingly very little to live for. So many of his examples can be related to that one can't help but be a little depressed at how right he appears to be.


'I am well aware that one can't get along without domineering or being served. Every man needs slaves as he needs fresh air. Commanding is breathing - you agree with me? And even the most destitute manage to breathe. The lowest man in the social scale still has his wife or his child. If he's unmarried, a dog. The essential thing, after all, is being able to get angry with someone who has no right to talk back. "One doesn't talk back to one's father" - you know the expression? In one way it is very odd. To whom should one talk back in this world if not to what one loves? In another way, it is convincing. Somebody has to have the last word. Otherwise, every reason can be answered with another one and there would never be an end to it. Power, on the other hand, settles everything.'

While I struggle to identify personally with this last excerpt because, maybe I am not self aware enough but, i have not realised in myself this inherent lust for power and domination over my fellow man. But it certainly does explain some people's attitudes to responsibility and human relationships. And the comment about power solving disputes does make sense, especially in those situations where the dispute seems endless and the reason from both sides seems logical.

More Camus-ness and possibly a post about Amman soon...

More wisdom from Steinbeck

"Maybe we can start again, in the new rich land - in California, where the fruit grows. We'll start over."

"But you can't start. Only a baby can start. You and me - why we're all that's been. The anger of a moment, the thousand pictures, that's us. This land, this red land, is us; and the flood years and the dust years and the drought years are us. We can't start again. The bitterness we sold to the junk man - he got it all right, but we have it still. And when the owner men told us to go, that's us; and when the tractor hit the house, that's until we're dead. To California or any place - every one a drum-major leading a parade of hurts, marching with our bitterness. And some day - the armies of bitterness will all be going the same way. And they'll all walk together, and there'll be a dead terror from it."

Here Steinbeck gets to the very heart and soul of those farmers that were kicked off their land. He has an amazing ability to perfectly convey the emotional disaster that is poverty, eviction and human suffering. His amazing juxtaposition of sorts - putting the human misery of a family, their living, breathing memories and lives up against the economic machine that is capitalism - is so crystal clear in this entire novel.

And below we have a beautiful evocation of the symbolism of Route 66 in American culture. How many pigrims travelled down that highway? How many refugees? How many people searching for a better life? Is Route 66 the road of hope? Of desperation?

"66 is the path of a people in flight, refugees from dust and shrinking land, from the thunder of tractors and shrinking ownership, from the desert's slow northward invasion, from the twisting winds that howl up out of Texas, from the floods that bring no richness to the land and steal what little richness is there. From all of these the people are in flight, and they come into 66 from the tributary side roads, from the wagon tracks and the rutted country roads. 66 is the mother road, the road of flight."

John Steinbeck - The Grapes of Wrath

Reading Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" at the moment and it it's very interesting to read form the perspective of farmer families having lived on farmland in Oklahoma all their lives, trying to eke out a living from arid country blighted with dust-storms that destroy the crops year after year until the companies that own the land and are leasing it finally decide that they need to turn a profit off it so they evict the families, destroy the land with mechanised cotton farming and the families have to move further west to California...

'Peters', Jacobs', Rance's, Joad's; an' the houses all dark, standin' like miser'ble ratty boxes, but they was good partines an' dancing'. An' there was meetin's and shoutin' glory. They was weddin's all in them houses. An' then I'd want to go in town an' kill folks. 'Cause what'd they take when they tractored the folks off the lan' What'd they get so their "margin a profit" was safe? They got Pa dyin' on the groun', an' Joe yellin' his first breath, an' me jerkin' like a billygoat under a bush in the night. What'd they get? God knows the lan' aint no good. Nobody been able to make a crop for years. But them sons-a-bitches at their desks, they jus' chopped folks in two for their margin of profit. They jus' cut 'em in two. Place where folks live is them folks. They ain't whole, out lonely on the road in a piled-up car. THey ain't alive no more. Them sons-a-bitches killed 'em.'

It really makes you think, what is the value of a society that destroys people's dreams for the sake of profit which is meant to be creating those very dreams. How does an economic system deal with the value of lives, experiences, memories when it treats a piece of land as nothing but a resource for the generation of profit? What sort of value can the concept of "family" find within this kind of society when that value cannot be expressed in terms of finance?

And another interesting piece on the concept of incarceration as a means of punishment/rehabilitiation. From the perspective of Tom Joad, the protagonist, who was incarcertaed for four years for killing a man in self-defence.

'The thing that give me the mos' trouble was, it didn't make no sense. You don't look for no sense when lightnin' kills a cow, or it comes up a flood. That's jus' the way things is. But when a bunch of men take an' lock you up for four years, it ought to have some meaning. Men is supposed to think things out. Here they put me in, an' keep me an' feed me four years. That ought to either make me so I won't do her again or else punish me so I'll be afraid to do her again' - he paused - 'but if Herb or anybody else come for me, I'd do her again. Do her before I could figure her out. Specially if I was drunk. That sort of senselessness kind a worries a man.'

'They's a guy in McAlester - lifer. He studies all the time. He's sec'etary of the warden - writes the warden's letters an' stuff like that. Well, he's one hell of a bright guy an' reads law an' all stuff like that. Well, I talked to him one time about her, 'cause he reads so much stuff. An' he says it don't do no good to read books. Says he's read ever'thing prisons now, an in the old times; an' he says she makes less sense to him than she did before he starts readin'. He says it's a thing that started way to hell an' gone back, an' nobody seems to be able to stop her, an' nobody got sense enough to change her. He says for God's sake don't read about her because he says for one thing you'll jus' get messed up worse, an' for another you won't have no respect for the guys that owrk the gover'ments.'


Makes you question what exactly the prison system achieves and what it's goals are. It's a huge drain on taxpayer's funding but it does it actually rehabilitate? Is it just a punitive measure? Is it just an expensive way to keep criminals off the streets? What is the significance in taking a man and locking him up with other men and then managing that society? And what is the alternative to this system?

OK I am decidedly sick of update blogging. It sucks and it's boring and because I can't be bothered any more that is partly the reason why I've been so lazy lately. So. I'm gonna go back to random thought blogging, that was way more fun.

I'll start with some excerpts from a book I'm reading atm, "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad that got me thinking. Conrad is a fantastic writer, despite this book being heavily criticised by Chinua Achebe for what's perceived as a racist slant (which it certainly does have but not necessarily because Conrad himself was a racist, either way he's a great writer) and the biased picture it paints of Africa.

"... No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence, - that which makes its truth, its meaning - its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, we dream - alone..."

Here the book's narrator, Marlow, who is attempting to tell a story, is lamenting at the fact that it's impossible to express one's own experience in words. This is because of the limitations of language and verbal expression. The frustratinly limited scope of language has always been something I've struggled with and disliked about communicating. How is it possible to communicate a feeling? An emotion? When it's all inside your head (and heart?) and language is so one-dimensional, how can you possibly find "the right words" to express it?

The bit I find most interesting in the above excerpt though is "We live, we dream - alone..." Such a depressing thought but it does make sense. If we are unable to properly express our experiences, feelings and thoughts then how can we properly share them with other people? How can we properly let other people play an active role in our lives? It's like human interaction is a fumbling mess, or some uncontrollable current pulling us all along... Interesting.

"The point was in his being a gifted creature, and that of all his gifts the one that stood out pre-eminently, that carried with it a sense of real presence, was his ability to talk, his words - the gift of expression, the bewildering, the illuminating, the most exalted and the most contemptible, the pulsating stream of light, or the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness"

Here Marlow is describing his impending meeting with the mercurial Kurz, a foreigner who has gained unprecedented power and control over the local population. How interesting, considering the previous excerpt, to see Marlow now exalting someone for their gift of expression. I also find interesting "the deceitful flow from the heart of an impenetrable darkness", Kurz is evidently a man who uses expression to disguise his dark and selfish motives. I wonder how many other people in the world there are like Kurz. And I wonder how easy it is to fall into the trap of using the ability to influence people for evil, rather than good.

To cap off this musing, here is a pic of a chilled out moment. Layali Zaman is a coffee shop here in Bahrain that is right by the water. Smoking shisha and sipping coffee/juice by the water on a nice night, staring out at the full moon and the lights in the distance, is really one of those moments to savour.

JD Salinger - Catcher in the Rye

The thing about "Catcher", as it is so affectionately known on many American campuses, is that it's freakin' popular, particularly in America. For a novel that was written in 1951, it still seems to pack quite a pounch for uni students all over the place, particularly in the good ol' US of A. Perhaps it is because there is something endearing about the novel's lovable loser protagonist, Holden Caulfield, who is an adolescent, lost in a world of "phoneys", bumbling his way through life.

The novel begins with Holden being kicked out of Pensey, the 4th college he has been expelled from, and chronicles the subsequent 48 hours or so of him fooling around in New York City (refusing to go home because he doesnt want to break the news of yet another expulsion to his parents.) The novel is less concerned with what Holden actually does and more concerned with what he thinks, as is conveyed by the stream-of-consciousness style employed to write the novel (from the first person, might I add).

Salinger succeeds in getting inside Holden's head very well and, despite my lack of knowledge about adolescent behaviours in 1951, it does seem very authentic... especially on the part of the lingo and the many things that feature on Holden's mind, such as sex, his attitude towards his peers, being cool and independence.

Ultimately, in terms of social commentary, this book is fairly scathing in its depiction of adolescent America in the '50s. It is a hedonistic, "phoney" world of sex, bullying and underage drinking... 3 things that seem tame/normal to us now but were rather taboo at the time. The "phoneyism" in particular is something that Holden/Salinger really hones in on in the book. Generally speaking, the people that Holden refers to as "phoney" are more or less, people that do things just to be cool. The ironic thing about this is, that Holden is completely hypocritical, in the sense that he displays the very same tendencies.

This shows him to be, ostensibly an outsider, but one who is hopelessly sucked in to the many things he himself criticises. He takes a swipe at a number of social norms in the book. Here are some examples:

Boy, when you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 20

Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 17

In that sense, this book strongly resembles Camus' The Outsider, in that it depicts a seemingly reasonable person outcast by society based on absurd social norms that he cannot follow. The book also strongly reminded me of Bret Easton Ellis' Less Than Zero, which is similarly themed by an outcast adolescent caught up in a hedonistic world... but updated for the 80s.
Overall though, Catcher is a powerful depiction of the absurdities of American society and some of its more unlikely (ie. white, middle-class) victims.

The reason why we sympathise with Holden is because he see is an underdog, trying to be honest, to get by, he stands up for himself when he's being bullied by a pimp, he loves his sister and wants to do right by her, he spends money selflessly on others and throughout the whole novel, all he wants to do is build connections with people and love them... but whenever he reaches out, he is never satisfied and constantly let down...

I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 22

Sun Tzu - The Art of War

Another night another loss in poker, dammit. What happened to my winning streak? I lost $20 last nite in two separate games. In the first game, the Top 2 split the pot and I came 3rd... in the second game, the winner took all and I came 2nd! So I was just outside the money both times, dammit! Ah well, thanks to the usual bunch of jokers: Ippei, Daryl, Pete and Kev, for a good night, ya bastards!

Anyway, main topic of this post is the book I recently read, Sun Tzu's, The Art of War. This book is widely regarded as an ancient masterpiece, way ahead of its time and a useful + comprehensive manual to warfare and life in general. To those that have seen the film Wall Street, this book was a favourite of the greedy protagonist, corporate raider Gordon Gecko (who pronounced the name like "Son Zoo"), and underpinned his "greed is good" motto. In addition to Mr. Gecko, a whole host of (questionable?) characters have read this book, the picture below should give an insight into its ubiquity.

I found the book to be interesting in parts. Much of its philosophy seemed to be related to Taoism, plus the particular version I was reading included a bunch of commentaries from Chinese scholars across the ages and a couple of Westerners to boot, that put much of its wisdom into the context of many military endeavours across history. Master Sun's words still cut like a knife through butter though in many parts of the text.

The problem with the text overall though was that it is, after all, like 2500 years old or something. So much of Master Sun's wisdom was relatively basic and now, one might say, serves to be common knowledge. The ideas presented were obviously very sophisticated for their time but now, in parts did come off sounding primitive. This is in parts only, however, because in other parts Master Sun came off sounding wise as his words served to remind us of the poignant importance of basic philosophies in life.

If anything, Master Sun's work is a tacit reminder of the value and differences of Eastern Philosophies. His ideas focus a great deal on inner, inherent strength allowing one to overcome many obstacles, and the concepts of balance, inner energy and correct thought were overriding themes in the text.

One thing I like about The Art of War is the almost poetic simplicity of the words themselves, not sure if this is because of the translation or simply the simple writing style of Chinese scholars at the time, but it is surely the reason why so many use Master Sun's work as a kind of personal mantra, or include it in quotable quotes (the same can be said of Lao Tzu, the great Taoist scholar).

Because of this, I've decided to include an excerpt from the text:

Master Sun said:

He who advances
Without seeking
Fame,
Who retreats
Without escaping
Blame,
He whose one aim is
To protect the people
And serve his Lord,
This man is
A Jewel of the Realm.

I shall post more quotes in future if I feel them to be fitting.

Albert Camus - The Outsider

Camus' classic novel is called "L'estranger" in French and, depending on the translation which you pick up, is either translated into "The Outsider" or "The Stranger" in English. The one I picked up, translated by Joseph Laredo, was the Penguin Books version called "The Outsider".

Although generally regarded as an existentialist piece of work, Camus never liked to subscribe to any particular "ism" and regarded this work as closer to absurdism than existentialism, however the two are closely linked and there is no denying the existentialist undertones.

The book is about a peculiar man, Meursault, who leads a relatively ordinary bachelor life in Algeirs until he commits an act of violence. His response to the incident during his subsequent trial puts his peculiarities on display and makes the reader question whether it is the man who is peculiar... or whether it is the society within which he is living that is, in fact, absurd.

Meursault does not believe that there is a God, nor does he believe that our lives have any purpose or meaning beyond the daily goings on and their related sensory experiences. He does not believe in fabricating emotion or remorse just because it is expected by society and refuses to be dishonest about how he truly feels in relation to anything.

The opening line of the novel, quite possibly the most commonly dissected opening line in literature: "Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don't know" says it all. Meursault no longer lived with his Mother, he put her in a home because he couldnt afford to look after her and because "they'd run out of things to say to each other". Meursault was unsure when she died because, after all, does it really matter which particular day a person dies on? Meursault did not cry at Mother's funeral, nor did he show any emotion really. Does this make him a bad person?

Camus stated that the book sprung from the idea he had, the notion that a man can be condemned to death for not crying at his mother's funeral, the absurd reality of how much pressure society puts on us to behave, react, think and feel in a certain way, and the ostracision and destruction of "outsiders", people that act differently... This notion turns Meursault into a hero of sorts. A man that is courageously defending a cause, in the face of a justice system that is not particularly just...

This book is an inspiration to anyone of us who has ever felt like an "outsider".

Update + Photoblogging

It's been a while since I posted last, another bout of blogging laziness. Despite the lack of comments, I've had quite a number of requests for more Melbourne blogging, which is good because it means people do read this and it isn't just for my benefit (although I'm totally gonna love reading this stuff when I'm overseas... love and hate that is). So included in this post are some more photos I've taken in and around Melbourne. No interesting cafes, restaurants or bars in this post, but will include some more in the next one. :)

In terms of updates, there was, of course, State Conference plus I went on a awesome Great Ocean Road trip with my loveliest travelling companion and, for anyone wanting more details about the trip - lets just say it was 3 days and we took around 5Gb of photos. Yes. A lot of photos.

I've recently passed through a major mid-semester assessment period where, over a weekend, I had a 40% Financial Accounting exam on Friday, followed by a 20% Accounting for Corporate Entities exam and two major essays (one about Chinese peasants pre and post Communist Revolution and one about the Greater Syrian National Congress after WW1, totalling 3500 words) on the following Monday. That was hellish but I got through it, not sure with what sort of results (we shall see) and have been mostly kicking back work-wise, now realising that I'm hella behind.

I've finished reading Jung Chang's biography of Mao, which was full of hate, vitriol and loathing for Mao on every single page. Biased indeed, but an interesting read nonetheless. Am now reading "the most widely read philosophy book of the 20th century" which is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. If anyone's read it, holla at me, but it seems it was more of a baby boomer book.

I've attended two shows as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival and they couldn't have been any more different. Akmal, an Egyptian born comedian was absolutely hilarious... giving audience members a great deal of hell and repeatedly taking the piss out of Sheikh al-Hilaly, Alan Jones and the Cronulla riots at the same time. Daniel Kitson on the other hand, a tubby, bearded, nerdish looking Briton, delivered more of a philosophy lecture than a comedy act which was funny at times but undeniably witty, interesting and full of magical insights into the way we are. His act won the top award for the festival's best performance so there ya go.

I've also watched some films. Heavyweights, as part of the German Film Festival at Cinema Como (a lovely cinema, by the way, wish I had my cam). A true story about two rival Bavarian bobsledders having to work together for the benefit of Germany at the 1952 Winter Olympics. Hostel, Eli Roth's horror movie about 3 backpackers that get lured to a shady hostel in Slovakia by the premise of partying and hot sex (Americans, surprise surprise) and receive that, plus unspeakable terror. And, the best of the three, 300... (seen with the glorious one, who detested the gore and is now forcing me to see a chick flick with her, shit) by now you shold know, the film adaptation of a comic about the Battle of Thermopylae where 300 Spartans (and some other random Greeks) made a heroic last stand against King Xerxes' of Persia massive army (of horrible fiends). As a result of the final one, I have been running around yelling "FOR SPARTA!!!" at every opportunity.

So thats about it from me, below are the pics i mentioned earlier, gonna try to blog more often but then again, how often do i say that.


The Melbourne Trades Hall building on Lygon St, opened in 1859 and the home of the Victorian labour movement. The flags seen atop of this building are the Australian flag, the Eureka flag, the Aboriginal flag and the Red flag (most commonly associated with communism but actually representing the blood of workers worldwide, a symbol that predates communist ideologies).

The Melbourne skyline as seen from Southbank. The tall building in the centre is the Rialto Tower, formerly tallest building in Australia (now Eureka/Q1).

Some random bottles against the backdrop of graffiti art down an alley off Johnston St in Fitzroy, near Brunswick St.

The busy corner of Lt. Lonsdale St and Swanston St at dusk.


Snapshot of the sea, taken in Port Melbourne just near Station Pier.

More Melbourne

More photoblogging and hotspot reviewing.
























It may look like a random nondescript hole in the wall but it's much more than that. It's Sweet Mama's cafe on Bourke St (ground floor of the Commonwealth Bank building, opposite the Village Centre, between Surf Dive N Ski and RMIT Business) and it has one of the best long machiatti in Melbourne. In addition, they also have fantastic omlettes, great yoghurt-fruit-muesli combos, amazing soups (that the office works totally lap up at lunchtime) and awesome sandwiches. Run by a bunch of Greek guys (who are still celebrating the Euro Championship victory from 2004 if you look at their walls), this place is a true hidden gem (because none of the papers, food guides or whatever seem to give it a writeup). If you want some good sandwiches or soups, better get here before 1pm because the food literally runs out the door at lunhtime. Otherwise, settle in for a good coffee, omlette or yoghurt...

This is a pic of Tattersals Lane, a pretty atypical Chinatown laneway, these laneways have plenty of hidden gems. This particular laneway has the Shanghai Dumpling institution mentioned in the previous blogpost. It also has a not half-bad Indian restaurant amusingly titled "Gaylords" (which was blasting Bollywood music on Saturday afternoon, interesting...) and another similar Northern Chinese restaurant called "Shanghai Noodle House" (not quite as good as the other but still not half bad and similarly economical).





























As is more and more typical of Melbourne, this same laneway also now has a trendy bar called "Section 8: Countainer Bar". The bar is enclosed by none-too-friendly looking cage fencing, and the alcohol bar itself (the one behind which the staff stand behind and you place your order) is encased in an old shipping container. The seating consists of a mishmash of random boxes, crates and old couches. The "walls" (formed by the outsides of neighbouring shopfronts) are covered in graffiti, vines/leaves and other randomness. Note in the above photos, the presence of red lanterns as an obvious nod to the "Chinatown" location of the bar. It all works perfectly because the place is damn nice to chill in on a lazy (good weathered) afternoon or a balmy night. The music varies, usually I hear it playing house but last weekend (when I went for Fiona's birthday), the DJ was spinning chilled out reggae-dubbish type music. The place was also full of hippies (and a very bemused toddler), and apparently it was the DJ's first gig... he did pretty well. So Section 8 is a mixed bag, check it out, who knows what you might find.

Well that's it from me. Next time I shall like to mention Pay-The-Time@Lounge, which is something I've been going to every damn week since getting back... On another note, I recently finished reading the latest Bret Easton Ellis (of American Psycho fame) novel "Lunar Park" and it was suitably disturbingly violent, dark and misogynistic with dropping of random pop culture references and fashion labels... but not as much so as his other novels. And it was a lot more horror-vibe. Check it out. Now simultaneously reading Jung Chang's biography of Mao and "A History of the Arab Peoples", both of which tie in to subjects I'm doing in school. :)