An advert I made for British Gas

An advert I made for British gas (with special thanks to ratemyeverything.net for the photo)

World Cinema: I Can’t Think Straight (or, as I call it,”I Can’t Keep a Straight Face”) (UK, 2007)

Back from lesbian film reviewing hiatus!

The review:

From the very first scenes of gaudy sprawling mansions, loud, colorful parties, upbeat Asian music and pompous, wealthy Palestinian and Indian families celebrating engagements at separate ocasions, one might see, at first glance, that this film is both intimidating, ambitious and promising.

Unfortunately it is a film that falls short of its ambition and never lives up to its promising beginning. But the title is right about one thing though: it can’t make you think straight… about the film itself. Or for that matter, keep a straight face.

Lisa Ray (left) and Sheetal Sheth as Tala and Leyla

Impossibly gorgeous and sexy Palestinian Tala (Lisa Ray) is engaged to her fifth fiance while pretty Leyla (Sheetal Sheth) is engaged to be married herself. Their lives are quite literally worlds apart. Tala comes from a wealthy but traditional Jordanian family whose world revolves around socializing with fellow upper-class Jordanians and other Middle Eastern families in lavish parties, charity balls and sponsorships, money, tennis and polo, going to Ivy League schools, ocassionally offering their needless two cents worth about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and of course, for the ladies, the wonderfully constricting life of engagements and weddings, with important debates on the importance of snagging rich husbands. Their worldview is effectively summed up by a guest in one of these parties: “Character and looks come and go, only large sums of money last forever”. I smirk. This is hilarious, in light of the global financial crisis, since it has proven that large sums of money DO NOT, in fact, last forever.

A few minutes of watching this world unfold and already I am overwhelmed by the arrogance dripping from the rich’s very pores. I already loathe them.

Leyla is a second generation Indian woman living with her family (doting dad, nagging mom, nosy younger sister) in London engaged to a nice (aren’t they all?), affable professional Indian man who, quite conveniently, is friends with Tala. Leyla works at her father’s insurance firm, where her father is waiting for her to take over the business soon, teaching her gems like, “You do not sell life insurance, it sells itself.”  Leyla harbors a secret longing, however, to write and we see this in her surreptitiously writing stories in her father’s office.

Leyla and Tala meet when Leyla’s fiance takes her to a tennis match with them. After the game, there is the requisite bonding moment in the shower room between the two women (removing dirt from eyelash, holding hurt fingers), and a follow-up meeting between the two in a polo game where they have more time to talk to each other, away from their fiances.  It does not stop there, of course. They get to know each other further (clearly they cannot stay away from each other – they should have just come out now and end the movie!) by having walks in the park, where we find out that Tala has broken off a handful of engagements in the past already (she is so gay!) and that Leyla wants to be a writer. When Tala invites Leyla to Oxford for a weekend getaway, Leyla’s family gets a bit suspicious and she gets too defensive, but astute younger sister figures out that she might be gay when she spots Leyla’s barely concealed stash of lesbian paraphernalia (Jeanette Winterspoon! K.D. Lang! Sarah Waters! The director’s own published works!), because well, when we are in the closet and scared that our conservative, close-knit, nosy Asian families will find out, we display lesbian paraphernalia in our rooms for everyone to see!

In Oxford, there are more walks in the park, there is even a picnic, and a trip to the museum,complete with intellectual discussions on Oxford and Matthew Arnold, because obviously the director wants us to see how intense and cerebral these two are and how so meant for each other they are.

The barely there sexual tension and chemistry are finally felt in the most exciting, un-self conscious, sexy, seductive scene in the film, where Tala, in silky, flimsy lingerie (who could resist a woman in that?!?) talks Leyla into dancing with her to Middle Eastern music and before the song ends they fall in bed together and you can guess the rest.

(This scene has taught us one important thing : Middle Eastern and Indian women know how to seduce…other women.)

Unfortunately it’s all downhill from there.

The rest of the film charts Leyla and Tala’s journey as they finally acknowledge not only the sexual attraction they have, but the romantic connection they have with each other as well, as well as come to terms with their sexuality, come out, face family disapproval, move out, break off engagements and find their way back to each other again. But not before going through and surviving, cliches, cringe-worthy dialogue, unintentionally hilarious  dramatic scenes, and the director’s own conceit and self-indulgence.

For surely the one thing that unifies this film is the director’s belief that since she is the director, she can make this film in her own image.

This would have been alright (directors are afterall, known for that.It’s practically a requirement!), except this is combined with a seeming inexperience with dialogue, set-ups and directing actors. This is novelist Shamim Sarif’s first film, and the inexperience shows: there are scenes and set-ups that are either unnecessary and/or awkward, stilted dialogue and the acting is embarassingly too theatrical to be taken seriously. One can argue though that this is the director’s way of criticizing the class system in both the Indian and Middle Eastern cultures,where the characters are caricatures intentionally and hastily drawn as people obsessed with – wait for it – money. But even if that were the case, I cannot help but snicker at Tala’s over-the-top, haughty, snobby mother and her friends, as well as the Indian contingent, led by the Indian mother, who emphasizes her Indianness too much (because, well, we viewers are idiots and need verbal instructions on a very visual medium).It is a good thing that both Lisa Ray and Sheetal Seth are both gorgeous, since their beautiful faces distract me from the acting and the dialogue. In fact, let me just say,Lisa Ray is hot!

The film does succeed in one thing though: depicting how constricting and paralyzing being stuck in a conservative society is. Which, of course, again, the director delights in emphasizing to us over and over again via dialogues between Tala and Leyla, and between each one and their parents.

For example, Tala and Leyla, after their very hot and sweet love scene the night before, have to endure the morning after conversation: the obligatory processing, with requisite, “I never knew this can make me feel alive” followed by “This is not accepted in Jordan society” or some such crap, and ending with “We can’t live like this”.

The unintentionally cringe-worthy drama and the accompanying cliches escalate to unbearable heights, when the film comes up with lines that are straight out of a soap opera, which, when coming from soaps are forgiveable, but which, coming from a movie that, at the beginning demanded to be taken seriously  – is downright cheesy.

For example, when Leyla finally comes out to her Indian mother that she is gay and the mother does not take it very well, the father comes in and says,”What did I miss?” and Leyla says, “I’m gay!” and the father quips, “But I’ve only been gone two hours!” I thought it was too funny.

But this was quickly ruined by a soap opera-like hysterical, high-pitched, teary-eyed confrontation between mother and daughter about God, religion, homosexuality being a sin versus it being natural ending with mother telling daughter, “You will burn in hell!”

I also take issue with the scene with the books as well – that is just lazy exposition and it is too obvious! And strategically placing director Shamim Sarif’s own book (Despite the falling snow) into the scene just reeks of shameless plugging and vanity. When I saw the Sarah Waters book (“Fingersmith” I recall – you can’t really miss the book spine) I thought it was funny and too obvious.

But that is the thing with this film: it is too obvious. There is no subtlety. So there is no joy in discovering each character. Everything is ready for you to regurgitate, whether you like it or not. It is too processed, like food you can buy at Tesco’s or Walmart. It’s sad that it references Sarah Waters – who at least shows a deft mastery of how a relationship slowly develops between two women revealed, through secret smiles and longing glances – and that it does not take some pointers from her.

Hmmm..I have seen “Fire” and I have seen this. I still do not like either. I do not like this one more.

Probably because it tries too hard. It’s cliched and contrived, pompous and pretentious. I know all art may be contrived and pretentious, (else how would you start anything?) but the best kind of art transcends that initial pretention and turns something mundane into something sublime.

I do not wish for this movie to be that kind of art. I just wish it to be a bit more tied to the ground. A bit more reined in. Because the one thing that this movie is, is that  it is too way in over its own head. I think once the director reconciles the differences between prose and film, she will probably come out with a better film feature.

US Trailer

UK Trailer (because I like this one better)

Director: Shamim Sarif, Screenplay: Shamim Sarif

A farewell to (my) shirts

Shop day!

Spent morning alternately napping, reading articles on the net, listening to E.S. Posthumus, chatting with The Sib. Told by the radio to stay indoors til 3pm, keep windows closed, stay away from coffee and tea, hydrate and so on,  because today was going to be a scorcher, about 25 degrees celcius or so. Roll my eyes. That’s just the mornings in Manila!

Half past two, dragged self out  room (Feel like hikikomori,term for young Japanese anti-social hermit, sans sociopathic/psychotic tendencies), put on shirt and shorts, walked all the way to Tesco (about 30 minutes walk or so) to do my shopping. Had to. No more food.

Digression: Tesco is like the part of the four pillars of consumerism in the UK: Marks and Spencers, Sainsbury’s, Asda and Tesco.

Arrived there 3pm, finished 4pm maybe, arrived home at 4:30pm. Always on tight budget – always have to forgo one kind of item for another: cigarettes or food? Food. Beer or food? Food. Bought oats, rice, doughnuts, and so on.Took so long deciding on what other stuff to buy: beans? sardines? fish? shellfish? shrimp? Money always problem. Cannot stand canned sardines anymore. Taste of rust and fish hard to wash out of mouth. Beans alright. Finally bought beans, canned soup, packed shellfish. Miss home. Nothing packed. Can buy stuff on the open market – fresh from the sea, 30 minutes’ trip from mountainous hometown.

Worried might go over budget. Am presently unemployed and thus a bum. Not on welfare so no benefits. Budget is everything. At till, relieved to find out groceries not exceeded £10.

Walked home with heavy groceries. Listened to acquaintance about (her) marital problems. Acquaintance not really intent on doing anything about problem: just verbalizing it. Recipe for unhappy life.

Cleaned up room, a bit. Tried to see what can fit in luggage, in box to be sent home, what to give away. Realized have a lot of stuff. How in hell have I accumulated so much crap in 14 months? Stumped for words.

Feeling sentimental. Going over stuff reminds me of 14 months of being here. Time flies! Feel like it is not 14 months. Feels longer.Saw KFC and McDonald’s uniform. Debate  with self briefly if one will keep them. Debate quickly resolved. Hell, no!

Off to watch movie now!

Welcome the PIXELLATED Generation!

There is a new generation in town, if moreintelligentlife.com is to believed.

It is called the Pixellated Generation and it is the new generation to be christened as such, following the aging babyboomers, Gen X-ers, Gen Y-ers and the MTV generation.

I came across an article from moreintelligentlife.com entitled “Teaching Drama to the ‘Pixellated Generation’ “, which discusses the difficulties of London drama schools in reaching to and teaching a new generation of aspiring actors who grew up on computers, social networking sites, multimedia games, are less well-read, more media literate. These are young actors who grew on “X-Factor” and “American Idol” and thus  feel entitled to be famous.  I wonder what that will spell for the future theatre and cinema.

I think though that the “Pixellated Generation” does not only refer to young actors. It can also refer to the whole generation that was born when the internet was already flourishing and innovators were churning out technology by the thousands.

This generation is not like our generation: they will never experience the joys of monochrome computers, or remember the time when “mouse” only meant the rodent, when “WordStar” and “Lotus 1-2-3″ where actual programs and not some seemingly esoteric term from a sci-fi TV show, when the disks you used to save your files were massive floppy disks you can also use to fan yourself with, when modems were huge and noisy and made R2D2-like noises that took ages to connect to the internet (almost as long as it takes to find Osama Bin Laden, in fact), when mobile phones were only used to call people, when “blogging”, “texting”  and “googling” were not yet invented, when instead of using “facebook” or “twitter”, we just met our friends in the coffeeshops and shared photos on paper, when cameras still used film,instead of USBs.

Now I feel a bit older. I cannot imagine life without these things, but wonder what life will be like for the next generation when it is time for them to take over the reins.

TIME lists best soundtracks that isn’t such a soundtrip (to me anyway)

TIME just gives me more reason to rant and rave! Earlier today it was their top 100 list of greatest novels (from 1923 to present), now it is Richard Corliss and Richard Schickel’s list of best soundtracks. After looking at their “Best Sountracks” online, it is safe to assume that they are a bit stuck in the Middle Ages and might need our help in ushering them into the new millennium.

Their list includes:

1. The Adventures of Robin Hood: by Erich Wolfgang Korngold

2. Citizen Kane: by Bernard Herrmann (Hangover Square, Psycho, Taxi Driver).

3. Laura: by David Raksin

4. On the Waterfront: by Leonard Bernstein

5. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers at RKO: by Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Cole Porter and the Gershwins.

6. South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut: by Marc Shaiman.

For full discussion, go to time.com or click the address above.

Though I do not want to argue with the list, I think it needs a bit of sprucing up a bit,  because  a lot of great soundtracks have been made since the dark ages, in which the authors live in. ^^ Consider my list:

1. Star Wars Prequels and Sequels – Need I say more? When composer John Williams infused this franchise with his Wagnerian-style operatic music (a request that George Lucas himself made) it elevated Stars IV to VI  to not just mere sci-fi genre film, but a space opera, it gave it a sense of epicness and depth.

2. Requiem for a Dream - Most probably do not know or remember this 2000 film, but composer Clint Mansell made the soundtrack that you hear later in the last parts of the sci-fi film “Sunshine”. Then again, I think pretty much every Clint Mansell work rocks. He makes music that combines a sense of heart-pounding urgency with a sense of tension and apocalyptic doom.

3. Braveheart – because James Horner fused Celtic-sounding ancient music with modern music. There is debate on his other works (he tends to be repetitive – I agree) – but Braveheart is beautiful.

4. The Fifth Element - Eric Serra made such funky grooves and combined it with an orchestra to make a kick-ass soundtrack which upped the coolness factor of a movie that would have been dismissed otherwise.

5. Higher Learning - John Singleton’s ambivalent 1995 movie about race, class, sexual orientation and violence in a fictitious university boasts of a cool soundtrack that includes rock, hip-hop, rap, metal. I choose to include it because it introduced me to artists I would not have learned of otherwise. I thus got to listen to Ice Cube, Mista Grimm, Raphael Saadiq, Toni!Tony! Tone!,  Meshell N’degeocello, Tori Amos and Liz Phair, and of course, Rage Against the Machine, for whom I would develop an allegiance to.

6. The Beach - The Beach may have received mixed reviews, but I love the soundtrack. It has such a unity of purpose, an organic unity to it, that when you listen to it, it is like listening to one continuous song. Very trippy, this. It is not award-winning, but it sure as hell is great to listen to when you just want to chill (and perhaps smoke some weed. ^^ It is a movie about weed afterall).

7. The Crow - The first “The Crow” movie established a new kind of cool: the hero was a murdered, would-be, undead rock star out for revenge and justice and the soundtrack reflected that. It had Nine Inch Nail, The Cure, Pantera, Rollins Band and Rage Against the Machine (my personal favorite), plus the added bonus of Jane Sibberry, who sings at the closing credits in such a haunting, heavenly voice, with so much pain and yearning, it is too hard not to fall in love with her voice.

Oh, and by the way, they don’t do soundtracks, but you have to check out E.S. Posthumus, if only because they made that great background music you hear during the trailer of the Diane Lane/Richard Gere movie “Unfaithful”.

I may have left something out, I know. But my alternative list merits some consideration, don’t you think?

Guerilla Geek Food: Breakfast of Champions!

Been eating a bit irregularly lately, although I do try to eat three meals a day. Mornings are for microwaved oats, the rest of the day usually for canned goods. Ate so much burgers I’ve sworn off them, but sometimes still end up trying to eat them. Am trying to swear off McDonald’s. Eaten so much burgers and fries it’s enough to last me a lifetime. Eaten so much beans and sardines, eggs and ham I cannot stand them anymore.

Today was about to eat Heinz pork and beans. Was about to open can of Heinz, then saw that I had actually opened it a bit and then put it back in the cupboard, fully intending to consume its contents once I remember that I have stored them in the cupboard. Probably been a month now. Opened it and saw contents fully reduced to mold, which escaped lid like a plume of dust. If I ever became a scientist I would actually have had fun finding out how long it takes for food to spoil, find out what microorganisms have taken residence on its contents and evolving and whether I can harness such as a weapon of mass destruction. Lord knows I have let a lot of food go to waste.

Mostly I live on rice and the internet.

Time’s list of 100 Best English Language Novels (from 1923-present) leaves much to be desired

Came across Time Magazine online’s All Time 100 English-Language Novels (from 1923-present) that alternately disappointed, infuriated, exasperated and enlightened me.While I note with glee I have read some of the books (Animal Farm! Catch-22! Catcher in the Rye! The Great Gatsby! Lord of the Flies! Lord of the Rings! Possession! Are you there God? it’s me Margaret! Yes, the last one seems like a fluke of nature ^^) , I am disappointed that I have to hunt out the others, and that there are others I’ve been trying to read but cannot (Atonement, Midnight’s Children, Lolita) and even more disappointed at how limiting and limited this list is.

artsjournal.com

Prepared by Time critics Lev Grossman and Richard Lacayo, the list is surprisingly (or not-so surprisingly) non-inclusive, virtually affirmative-action free and brazenly non-multicultural. Of the 100 authors, only 18 percent are women, and even less of that are people of color or people from other nations. Classic writers Virginia Woolf, Muriel Spark and Evelyn Waugh, are included, as well as modern authors Doris Lessing, Willa Cather, Harper Lee, and Margaret Atwood and contemporary authors Judy Blume, A.S. Byatt,  Zora Neale Hurston and Toni Morrison made the list, but I am surprised that Alice Walker did not and that Margaret Mitchell did. What about Joyce Carol Oates, who was superb at encapsulating human behavior into a series of little actions?  Where is Anita Diamant, who brought the women of the Old Testament to life and made them relevant again? Or Sarah Waters,who, by creating two strong (and gay) heroines, anti-thetical Austenian heroines, simultaneously re-invented Dickensian-inspired goth fiction and inadvertently made a political statement as well?   Or Amy Tan’s wonderful fusion of functional American prose and Asian mysticism? If Doris Lessing is included, then surely there is room for Ursula Le Guin and Tanith Lee, arguably the two most enduring female sci-fi and fantasy authors of all time?

I am also puzzled at the glaring omission of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s “100 Years of Solitude”, when Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart” made it. I am surprised Gibson’s “Neuromancer” is listed but that the extraordinary “Dune” by Frank Herbert has been left out. If C.S. Lewis and JRR Tolkien are included, then surely they have a place for Ray Bradbury who turned fantasy into a lyrical ode to innocence lost and found? And where, oh where, is Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett? Surely that is the most glaring omission of all?

I am sure, of course,I left out important other novelists. If I did, feel free to remind or recommend via comments section.

In the meantime, I think these Time critics need to get out of their high tower, get searching – and open their eyes to the plethora of brilliant contemporary novels who may not have the advantage of having been published when the computer was just a figment of one’s imagination, but who have succeeded in re-inventing age-old cliched themes into something we younger people can relate to.

And the debate is on: Michael Jackson, King of Pop? or Reluctant father of modern-day celebrity culture?

I must say I have been having a grand old time scouring the internet for articles on Michael Jackson, if only because since his death writers from People, MSNBC, CNN, Time to Newsweek to the Guardian to moreintelligentlife.com have been struggling to write articles that can encompass the high drama, the low comedy, the talent, the scandals that wracked a pop star whose career spanned almost 50 years – about the same age in which he died.

Already there is much debate about his talent (writers are in disagreement here although most of them believed his greatest creative period was the 80s), his albums (later albums lackluster, 80s albums the best), which is better, “Off the Wall” or “Thriller”, although most of them agree he was the biggest bestselling artist of all time, second only to Elvis Presley and the Beatles, but that he had been quickly dethroned (by whom is another debate: Newsweek believes it was Nirvana, in the early 90s, but Time believes it could have been earlier, when  Prince and Madonna came out with more pop-savvy albums). All agree though that he was a pop culture icon though and that his studded gloved hand, sequined military style jackets, aviator sunglasses, trademark moonwalk moves will go down in history as the images that defined much of the early 80s. His relevance to popular culture is being debated, although some agree that if it were not for him,  Beyonce, 50 Cent, Usher and countless African American artists would not be reaping the billion dollar benefits now. Sure, if he had not come along somebody else would have paved the way, but he did come along and he was the one who started it all. One thing that comes out though is his ability to stay in the limelight even though he has not come out with an album in over 10 years: wracked by scandals, lawsuits, bankruptcy, health problems and an ever changing face and pigmentation, he probably unwittingly (or not so unwittingly) spawned the modern day papparazi-infested celebrity culture that celebrates crass journalism that covers people who are simply famous for being famous.

The message boards are even more interesting: Michael Jackson fans debate these things as passionately as do anti-Michael Jackson critics.

Only time will tell whether Michael Jackson’s legacy (if there was any to begin with – if somewhat ambivalent articles lead us to believe) will endure or live on.

As I was pouring over the articles last night, I came across a speech by the late writer David Foster Wallace, who had committed suicide in September 2008. It was already 1 in the morning,but I read his rather lengthy commencement speech, because it was very moving, and I had not encountered such since I read Steve Jobs’ Stanford commencement speech. In his speech, he effortlessly discusses the importance and practicality of liberal arts education as applied to grocery shopping and being stuck in traffic, what thinking really means and that one does not have to be stuck in misery all the time, one can choose to have a better life just by choosing to look at things in a better, more positive way, that education is about succeeding at being well-adjusted and ends with the warning that what we choose to worship will eventually eat us alive and finally, that, education is more about awareness, rather than knowledge (hmmm…I see a pattern here – I had just finished “Random Acts of Love”, which has the same message as well).

Excerpts I liked include:

“The point here is that I think this is one part of what teaching me how to think is really supposed to mean. To be just a little less arrogant. To have just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. I have learned this the hard way, as I predict you graduates will, too…

I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about “the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master”.

“If you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently…It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down…The only thing that’s capital-T True is that you get to decide how you’re gonna try to see it.”

“The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day. That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think.”

For the full speech, go to moreintelligentlife.com or click here.

Sad though that David Foster Wallace would not be as remembered as Michael Jackson. For this one speech seems to resonate with deeper truths than anything else. Then again, we find our truths in different ways – be it in an 80s pop album by a pop icon only a few hours dead, or a young writer whose one enduring legacy is a commencement speech delivered at a little-known college.

Survey: What was the most important year of all time?

Came across this really interesting survey on moreintelligentlife.com which asks, “What was the most important year of all time for you?”

The following were the contenders:

1. 5 BC – Jesus’ birth

2. 1204 – Christianity split by Crusades

3. 1439 – Gutenberg’s press

4. 1776 – United States is born

5. 1791 – Telegraph and Morse code are invented

6. 1944 – Modern ideological warfare takes off

7. 1945 – Nazism falls, bomb dropped, new world order

8. 1953 – DNA is discovered

9. 1989 – Berlin wall falls

10. 1990 – Nelson Mandela is released

11. 2009 – Copenhagen climate summit: last chance?

Cannot decide which is more important, although I just have to say listing 1776 as the most important year of all time because the USA was born is presumptuous.

Thoughts? Opinions? Any year you think should be more important than the ones listed? Discuss. Or go to moreintelligentlife.com and vote.

Recession keeping you from buying new books or DVDs? Newsweek advice: Re-read your favorite books!

Taking the time to balance my viewing habits, wilfing habits and blogging with reading these days. Halfway through Che Guevarra’s totally recommendable “Motorcycle Diaries” and have caught up on newsweek.com, because the recent Time magazine (UK) issue leaves much to be desired and because it seems to be extolling the virtues of liberal capitalism – a bit weird considering we are in a global financial crisis that is the direct result of liberal capitalism.

Came across yet another article on newsweek.com that rhapsodizes on the joys of re-reading your favorite books, entitled, “Now, Read it Again (the Joys of Rereading)“, by David Gates.

The author, among other things, extols the virtues of re-reading, rather than it being “comfort reading” or being the childish indulgence of “obsessive repetition”,re-reading your favorite books is a guilty pleasure and comfort that provides endless challenge, complexity, newness and I suspect, the many different levels of interpretation it provides for the maturing reader, who may find different meanings in the text as he/she grows older.

The author surmises that the most re-read authors are Dickens, Shakespeare and Austen precisely because of the reasons he has set above. He even admits that he has read Dickens more than he cares to admit. Apart from Dickens, he likes to re-read Hemingway, Nabokov and authors who write about sports. He reveals that one can tell a lot about one’s re-reading habits: in his case, being white and straight, he likes white and straight testosterone-fueled adventure stories that involve a bit of bro-mance (Mr. Pickwick and Sam, Frodo and Sam, Sherlock and Watson).

Made me think about my re-reading habits. I don’t generally re-read Dickens – but that is because I’ve been made to read it as a child, although since I am on a mission to read as much Victorian novels as my attention span can permit, I will still read the Dickens’ novels I have not read yet. Shakespeare not so much as well, and Austen’s novels have been adapted to the screen so much I just choose which Austen cinematic heroine I prefer (nothing Keira Knightley please, a bit of Emma Thompson and Sally Hawkins is alright), although I have read most of her books and do like Mansfield Park most of all.

I think about what Gates wrote, reflect on what he has said and am surprised that he may be right afterall: our re-reading habits do say a bit about us and what we believe in.

And so while I do not indulge in the white male heterosexual re-reading habits the author has, I am not-so surprised by my own. For some strange, inexplicable (well,not so inexplicable if you think about it) reason I like re-reading Nancy Garden’s young adult novel, Annie on my Mind. I came across it when I was in college, and I liked it. I have, since then, re-read it many times. I also like re-reading Sarah Water’s “Fingersmith”, which is a modern take on Victorian London with a lesbian twist. I like going over my Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8 comic books as well. I remember I used to re-read Ray Bradbury’s “Dandelion Wine” and I loved going over choice parts of Joyce Carol Oates’ novels, and there is a particular short story of hers that I love re-reading. Tillie Olsen, Kate Chopin, Amy Tan are favorite re-reads as well, along with short stories about dragons and vampires. There is a Fil-Am short story entitled “The Smell of Her Sleep”that I love to re-read as well from “Tibok”, a Filipino lesbian anthology. And there is Kahlil Gibran’s “The Prophet” and Rainer Maria Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet”.

Looking back at my favorite re-reads, I notice a pattern: short, easy to read (that is not to say, simple or simplistic, just straightforward writing), modern or contemporary, about women (straight or gay),  dragons, vampires, a bit of the sci-fi, magical, poetic and philosopical. Which makes sense: for a person who is gay and is a woman, the gay re-reads are logical. For the interest in fantasy and sci-fi, it also makes sense: for a person who is perpetually, existentially the other, I would go for genres that discuss, explore and celebrate that otherness, and envision a more utopian world where otherness can be accepted rather than despised. Mere escapism, pure naivete, hopeless optimism? Who knows?

What about you? What kind of books do you like to re-read and what does that tell you about yourself?