3 books I've read recently

Beloved (Toni Morrison)

My flatmate from Sicily bought me this as a leaving present, as it was one of her favourite books. She was forever raving on about how good it was: so good, in fact, that she messed up one of her final year literature papers because she was enjoying herself too much writing about Beloved, and she lost track of time completely. My dear ex-flatmate is by no means the only one to promote Toni Morrison, though. Ms Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1994. So, she came highly recommended.

I started the book when it was given to me all those years ago, but I wasn't grabbed by it, and I gave up after about chapter two. But it would be rude not to read a book that was given to me as a gift, and stupid not to read one that's so critically acclaimed (if only so that I can add a further two cents to any discussion about critically acclaimed literature I might come across...), so I picked it up off my bookcase, and gave it another chance.

Once again, it failed to grab me, but I decided to keep on at it in case I eventually got into the groove. At two hundred pages in (and the book is just over three hundred pages), I still couldn't understand what the big deal was. In one of those beautifully ironic moments, I headed up to Wimbledon Common one evening and jotted down my thoughts on why I didn't particularly like the book.

Perhaps [her style is] too human for my tastes - not metaphysical enough, even though the story seems to be about a supernatural being.

After finishing my mini critique, I embarked on the final hundred or so pages. And, boy, did the girl shift gears! Yes, the final third of the novel proved to be quite something! You should never speak too soon...

It's a book I can appreciate, but I can't say I'll be rushing to read any more of Toni Morrison's work. Even though it will doubtless be recommended to me by many more people.

- - - - -

I've just leafed through my little black book to see if I wrote any quotes from the novel that I liked. I didn't find any, so here's a quote that's totally unrelated to everything I've just said:

The world is going to have a heart attact, or the economy is at least. Look at how, year after year, things get more stressed. We're constantly pushing things to a new level.

I wrote that on July 14. Just over a week later, the economy certainly did have a heart attack of sorts: $1.3 trillion was wiped off the global equity markets.

- - - -

The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)

Also while in Sicily, I was given a bookmark publicising The Alchemist with the purchase of some books. I kept this bookmark, as it was rather pretty, and I must've seen it on most days of last year, as I used it as a bookmark at work. I quite liked the quotes on the bookmark, even though they were a touch twee.

Indeed, the ideas behind the story are hardly new, and the story isn't told in a particularly new way either. But it is nonetheless quite a lovely story. It's rather philosophical: the healthy dose of positive mysticism that the book offers is clearly the secret of the book's success. And it's very short, too. I've read plenty of books that explore the same ideas, but I did still very much enjoy this one.

Our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same hand.

Of course, the above quote could be found re-worded in countless other books that deal with the perennial philosophy. But I don't think I'll ever tire of that kind of thing, because I too am an otherworldly mystic.

- - - - -

Well, maybe I too can understand the language of the world, and maybe I was in tune with something deeper when I came up with my little observation of the world economy. I guess my third eye was open at the time...

- - - - -

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (Hunter S Thompson)

This was another book I'd started but not got into. I might even have borrowed it from the library twice, but I never read much. The beginning of the film entertained me greatly, but I don't think I've ever seen the whole film either. Maybe that's because I was always so bombed that I always either ended up sleeping through the film or losing all concentration after the part where the attorney's listening to White Rabbit in the bathtub?!

Whatever, I saw the book on Jimmy's bookshelf on Saturday night, and I grabbed it, knowing full well that I'd absolutely love it. I started it last night, and finished it this evening. Absolutely blinding. The pace is unbelievable, and the story is hilarious.

- - - - -

What did The Alchemist say? You've got to follow the omens? I pulled Fear and Loathing off the bookshelf when I could barely speak or keep my eyes open, and I absolutely loved that book, so maybe that's an omen?

Shit, I'm getting in touch with a friend and going on a ludicrous drugs bender...

Sí, tampoco los muertos retoñan, desgraciadamente..

I remember the evening last year when I bought the Burial album, and I put it on when I went to bed, and I just couldn't believe that somebody had recorded sounds quite like the ones I was hearing. The album seemed suspended, I didn't know where it began or where it ended, I didn't know when I was awake or when I was asleep.

When I got up the next morning, the world was drizzly, but I felt comfortable, with that melancholy, introvert, curious yet unimpressed interest in life and everything that was going on, the sensation that everything was utterly absurd. I had the perfect album for the life I was living. Drizzly South London beats in a drizzly South London town. I headed in to Croydon, lost among sounds of ghosts from the past... It was like this kid had just dug up all the graves, only to throw dirt back over them again. Those drums, those vocals, and that mood he was capturing. How could it be done?

That was the day that things changed.



And now he's come back with some more beats, and it's all coming back to me again. The rain is with us once more, the drizzle has come back to accompany the beats, as once more I find myself stepping out and wandering around town, lost in a world of mystery and emotion...

Burial is just bloody amazing.

I discovered EL-B and garage at the same time. I heard his Brandy remix, then “Buck n Bury” and “Passage of time” - and I hadn’t even heard “Stone Cold” yet, though I’d heard of Groove Chronicles on something else I didn’t like. Then I heard “Stone Cold” and I was just like “fuck…”

And, yeah, El-B is totally ill too, and blatantly the grandfather of everything that's great about the London Underground.

- - - - -

The only thing that I know of that compares to this kind of stuff is the work of Juan Rulfo.

Pete's rock and roll Sunday

What a sensible day I've had... Check out what I've done with myself:

- Got up just after 6
- Put a load of washing on
- Went for a swim
- Had breakfast for the first time in weeks. Yummy.
- Went to Sainsbury's
- Cleaned the fridge
- Bought a blender, chopping boards, a sabatier knife, and wooden spoons
- Made lunch (I got to use the stuff I bought)
- Washed the dishes
- Put on another load of washing
- Did some brainwork
- Ironed my shirts
- Went to the park to identify trees

I think I need a drug habit or something. This sort of sensible Sunday is just not on. I reckon if I had a garden, I'd have probably done some gardening too.

- - - - -

Still, the tunes I bought yesterday are very exciting indeed.

hilvanando el hilo de la vida

The first colleague I talked to today said to me: “Pete, you seem totally out of it these days!” And I was slightly taken aback by the comment, because I’ve been feeling as sharp as a samurai sword this week. Mind you, I have been far out, lost in a world of thought that’s located far far away from wherever my body may find itself. Such dislocation is what permits me to leave my body in a trance-like state on the running machine, with no mind in control to say: “Stop, I think you need to save the energy for something else”.

But this afternoon, I realized that my colleague had been right. I suddenly noticed I was pretty much floating, and I thought back to this morning. What madness. All sorts of things had been flying around my head. I was full of randomness.


* * * * * earlier today * * * * *

"I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life
So why can’t we?"

This morning I have been unable to work: I can’t keep my eyes from the rain outside. It’s quite spectacular. The rain always fills me with an urge to do I don’t know what: just as quickly as the rain hits the ground, my consciousness becomes awash with far-flung ideas and inspirations. Generally, I am possessed with the urge to sing in Italian, though I don’t know which song to sing. This morning, the rain took me back in time, and I felt the urge to send a message in Portuguese. While in Lisbon all those years ago, we witnessed some of the most insane downpours Portugal had ever seen. The dainty little town seemed like it was going to be washed away – I was almost expecting it to vanish like a chalk painting on a pavement. You know, like what happens in Mary Poppins, after they've sung supercalifragilisticexpialidocious at the races...


Heavy rain and thunder is the weather at its most passionate. It’s something to behold. “Pioggia” certainly does sound as wet as today looks.

But it’s dark. It’s so very dark. Como pode o céu estar escuro como se fosse noite? It’s the end of July. A guy from work is getting married. Just like the rhyme:

“Mary said ‘Aye’ with a twinkle in her eye
And they both got married at the end of July”

Even though the end of July should be wonderfully sunny and pleasant, I like this weather. When the rain stops and the sky clears, the sun will return. We're getting truly bipolar weather at the moment, and bipolar weather feeds creativity.

* * * * * fin * * * * *


I headed to the toilet for a quick snooze. I really did float away. And when I came out, the sun was shining very brightly indeed. I read what I wrote this morning: I had been right. I surprised even myself.

All you need are wacky ideas.

"Room to rent: would suit holistic therapist"

I picked up my pizza and was walking home, when I walked passed a sign that struck me as being slightly humorous:

"Room to rent: would suit holistic therapist"

It took me a while to work that one out.

Anyway, let's go back in time a little. Back to before I picked the pizza up...

- - - - -

I was in the pizza joint, waiting for my dinner. I was starving and I started drifting off...

I found myself at the pizza joint in Palermo that was just down the road from where I lived. Glory days! A pizza joint about 30 seconds from my front door! I thought about how, here in Wimbledon, I phone up to order, and they say: "yes mate, 15 minutes!" and it ends up taking them 25 minutes, while in Palermo I'd just rock on in there and order, and I'd have something delicious within 7 minutes at most.

I used to pass the time with my little black book. It was a different little black book to the one I have now, of course, but it was still a little black book. The happy fat man asked me one day:

- Ma stai sempre scrivendo... Che scrivi?
- Ehi, scrivo molte cose... Scrivo su di te, caro amico!
- Scrivi su di me? Come mai?
- Perché sei l'amore della mia vita!
- Ma che c'entra l'amore?!?!
- Tu sei l'uomo chi mi fa tante belle pizze, allora tu devi essere l'amore della mia vita!
- Bah!

And he turned and continued with his pizza making. What a happy fat man. And there was I, a terribly unhappy thin boy, capable of being cheered up only by eating pizza every evening, scribbling inconsequential words down in my little black book to pass the time.

I really did eat pizza every evening out there. I rotated the pizzerias, so that they didn't get suspicious of my behaviour. There was another one, my second favourite, a little bit further from my flat. Real good. Another happy fat man cooked the pizza - he was the original happy fat man out there. It was the way he'd say to me: "origano?" as if it were something truly dirty and forbidden. And I'd get excited. But not quite as excited as I'd get if I said "pepperoncino!" They served the most amazing delicata there - the cherry tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella were to die for... He used to give me a knowing smile as he boxed up the pizza, as if to say: "This is the closest to magic you'll ever get." I'll never forget the day he pulled out the pizza and I just said "BUONA!" and he looked very proud indeed. He was all: "Allora, ti piace la pizza?!"

Happy fat man number three was the least happy of them all. I never formed any sort of relationship with him, or his pizza, the base of which was terribly tough. You really would hurt your fingers trying to cut it. He wasn't even happy. Just a fat man. No stories to tell here.

Of course, then there was the happy fat girl. She had a smile to die for. She was like a playful little cat. She really was a happy girl, but I didn't rate her pizza much either. This girl would cook the pizzas when their resident happy fat man was away (he was the happy ugly fat man, and he rarely said a word). You've never seen tits like hers - I mean, I don't think I have, anyway. They were quite possibly the biggest on the island, which is saying something. Her name? Giusy! Yes, that's pronounced "juicy." When she told me that, I almost laughed out loud. Maybe I did. I often felt bad for not going there very often, because she was always happy to see my flatmates and me if any of us ever passed her by.

I can't remember the names of any of these pizza joints, which makes me slightly sad. Of course, for the restaurant where "l'amore della mia vita" worked, I translated the menu. They rewarded me with a free pizza. One day, I shall return...