Tomorrow I'll be visiting a Dave McKean exhibition in Brussels for an article. He is a multi award-winning illustrator, filmaker, comic book artist,... And yet he is probably most famous for his numerous collaborations with Neil Gaiman for who he has illustrated many books (Coraline, The Graveyard Book,..) and designed the wonderful covers for the celebrated Sandman series. His visual flair is quite unusual and has a magical yet ominous out-of-this-world quality to it.
This example of his movie making skills (in which he revamps Shakespeare's sonnet 138) illustrates his unique and uncanny style:
Friday, 29 May 2009
The Solitude of Prime Numbers
This week I decided to take a break from Charles Arrowby's incessant whining in The Sea, The Sea and decided to give some Italian literature a try. I don't actually recall reading a lot of Italians, or none that are still breathing at least.
Intrigued by the "massive" sales at Standaard Boekhandel, I decided to give De Eenzaamheid van de Priemgetallen by Paolo Giordano the once over. Prime Numbers is the first novel by a rather fetching twenty-seven year old physicist. Last year he also became the younges
t author to be awarded the Premio Strega for his debut novel. Almost over night he became Italy's biggest literary star and has already been translated in over twenty languages. Even the movie rights have been sold, it doesn't get any better than that.
The Solitude of Prime Numbers is about Alice and Mattia, who are both recovering from troubled childhoods that have left several physical and emotional wounds. They meet, find comfort in each other and yet decide to go their seperate ways. Was this the right thing to do? Will they meet again? Or are two messed up people just too much to handle? Who's to say?
Despite se
veral rave reviews and impressive sales, I wasn't that impresssed to be honest. It's an easy read (took me two days) and has engaging characters but the story isn't gripping just depressing. Themes like anorexia, photography, auto-mutilation, guilt, math, loneliness,... are thrown in for substance but are never developed and thus remaina pure adjectives which is a shame. Stylistically the language is very simple, mundane even and that's probably why it was such a quick read. Maybe it was just me or the Dutch translation (my first "Dutch" book this year!) but I really disliked his use of words and the banality they created.
It's not a bad book, just not worthy of any awards, not even if you are a cute twenty-seven year old Italian physicist!
Intrigued by the "massive" sales at Standaard Boekhandel, I decided to give De Eenzaamheid van de Priemgetallen by Paolo Giordano the once over. Prime Numbers is the first novel by a rather fetching twenty-seven year old physicist. Last year he also became the younges
t author to be awarded the Premio Strega for his debut novel. Almost over night he became Italy's biggest literary star and has already been translated in over twenty languages. Even the movie rights have been sold, it doesn't get any better than that.The Solitude of Prime Numbers is about Alice and Mattia, who are both recovering from troubled childhoods that have left several physical and emotional wounds. They meet, find comfort in each other and yet decide to go their seperate ways. Was this the right thing to do? Will they meet again? Or are two messed up people just too much to handle? Who's to say?
Despite se
veral rave reviews and impressive sales, I wasn't that impresssed to be honest. It's an easy read (took me two days) and has engaging characters but the story isn't gripping just depressing. Themes like anorexia, photography, auto-mutilation, guilt, math, loneliness,... are thrown in for substance but are never developed and thus remaina pure adjectives which is a shame. Stylistically the language is very simple, mundane even and that's probably why it was such a quick read. Maybe it was just me or the Dutch translation (my first "Dutch" book this year!) but I really disliked his use of words and the banality they created.It's not a bad book, just not worthy of any awards, not even if you are a cute twenty-seven year old Italian physicist!
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Voyeuristic Vinyl Eruption
I was looking at my dvd's this morning trying to decide in whose glorious company I was going to spend the next 120 minutes but nothing. I'm still at home due to a a muccus overload and was in desperate need of some company as I've apparently infected everyone I know and am now solely left with my cat who is an enviable state of blissful ignorance.
Anyway I did come across one on my all time favorites. I held it, reminisced, and foolishly decided to put it back and do something more productive like sit in font of a computer screen instead of a television screen, big difference. The movie in question was Almost Famous.
Set in the seventies, it starts Patrick Fugit as William, a sixteen-year-old aspiring rock journalist who gets and assignment from Rolling Stone Magazine to do a piece on the up and coming band Stillwater. Dying to break away from his strict and ever so funny mother (Frances McDormand), he finally gets to chance to experience some real rock 'n roll as he involuntarily goes on tour with them and loses his heart to the enchanting "band aid" Penny Lane, played by Kate Hudson.
The always sensational Philip Seymour Hoffman pops up as well as another rock journalist who guides William down this wonferful path of auditory adventures. Billy Crudup, Jason Lee,... are all phenomenal in portraying a conflicted band in the seventies rock scene which was envisioned so vivdly and authenticly by none other th
an Cameron Crowe.
Crowe started out his career as journalist for Rolling Stone magazine and loosely based this script on his own experiences (although I am wondering if he to was deflowered by three bored "band aids") which give it an incredibly personal and relatable vibe. He was aided by his lovely wife Nancy Wilson, a singer, songwriter and actress who is is responsible for the music in most of his movies. The soundtrack not only captures the essence of the seventies but also the essence of an endearingly smart coming of age tale.
I think I've seen this movie seven or eight times but what first appealed to me was no, not the fact that William was a writer but Panny Lane. Bold yet fragile, adventurous yet docile, a dreamer yet ultimately a realist. I just loved that character and her delicately disasterous relationship with Russel (Billy Crudup).
The second time round I became captivated by the atmosphere and the touching story which which is deceptively simple at its core but lathered with intricate human emotions. The characters are so real and the dialogue is fun and fresh, typical Crowe and it justly earned him an Academy Award for best original screenplay. This offbeat classic is filled with touching moments and funny anecdotes in all the write places.
Thirdly, it was the music. I don't know a lot about seventies rock but god, this soundtrack is good. Whenever I hear Elton John's Tiny Dancer, I still get goosebumps. Now it actually took me a fourth viewing to realize: "hey this kid is a writer!" Cool.
Everytime I watch it, something else captures my eye in this unique mix of colorful characters, dazzling dialogue and memorable music.
Anyway I did come across one on my all time favorites. I held it, reminisced, and foolishly decided to put it back and do something more productive like sit in font of a computer screen instead of a television screen, big difference. The movie in question was Almost Famous.
Set in the seventies, it starts Patrick Fugit as William, a sixteen-year-old aspiring rock journalist who gets and assignment from Rolling Stone Magazine to do a piece on the up and coming band Stillwater. Dying to break away from his strict and ever so funny mother (Frances McDormand), he finally gets to chance to experience some real rock 'n roll as he involuntarily goes on tour with them and loses his heart to the enchanting "band aid" Penny Lane, played by Kate Hudson.
The always sensational Philip Seymour Hoffman pops up as well as another rock journalist who guides William down this wonferful path of auditory adventures. Billy Crudup, Jason Lee,... are all phenomenal in portraying a conflicted band in the seventies rock scene which was envisioned so vivdly and authenticly by none other th
an Cameron Crowe.Crowe started out his career as journalist for Rolling Stone magazine and loosely based this script on his own experiences (although I am wondering if he to was deflowered by three bored "band aids") which give it an incredibly personal and relatable vibe. He was aided by his lovely wife Nancy Wilson, a singer, songwriter and actress who is is responsible for the music in most of his movies. The soundtrack not only captures the essence of the seventies but also the essence of an endearingly smart coming of age tale.
I think I've seen this movie seven or eight times but what first appealed to me was no, not the fact that William was a writer but Panny Lane. Bold yet fragile, adventurous yet docile, a dreamer yet ultimately a realist. I just loved that character and her delicately disasterous relationship with Russel (Billy Crudup).
The second time round I became captivated by the atmosphere and the touching story which which is deceptively simple at its core but lathered with intricate human emotions. The characters are so real and the dialogue is fun and fresh, typical Crowe and it justly earned him an Academy Award for best original screenplay. This offbeat classic is filled with touching moments and funny anecdotes in all the write places.
Thirdly, it was the music. I don't know a lot about seventies rock but god, this soundtrack is good. Whenever I hear Elton John's Tiny Dancer, I still get goosebumps. Now it actually took me a fourth viewing to realize: "hey this kid is a writer!" Cool.
Everytime I watch it, something else captures my eye in this unique mix of colorful characters, dazzling dialogue and memorable music.
Monday, 25 May 2009
On writing
The past few weeks I've engaged in meaningful conversations with a couple writers and it has made me realize how much I actually love writing. Finally, I've found something I see myself doing for longer than two weeks! Not that I want to compare myself to the likes of recent Golden Owl winners but to quote Peter Verhelst: "At that moment I am at my best" and I couldn't agree more. It is hard to explain but when such a creative frenzy takes over, there's no telling where it will lead (which is the exciting part) or when it will end (which is the sad part seeing as it's usually very quickly). I'm only writing articles (for now) but the statisfaction of creating and even contributing is unbelievably good, intoxicating even.
Now the past few weeks have thought me an incredibly difficult lesson, less is more. It's easy and common knowledge but so hard to live up to when writing but you have to if there's a maximum word count. It just makes me sad to think how many interesting facts and events will never see the light of day because of maximum word count. So many tantilizing tit bits locked inside my laptop, waiting to be freed.
But I have to admit, I have the tendency of going on and on and filling my texts with funny anecdotes, personal touches and ultimately end up enforcing my world view in an upbeat and non-conformist way. Sound familiar? Trust me, many ex-professors of mine can vouch for that. For some reason I believe that entertainment is as important as being profound yet for some, putting those two words in a sentence is believed to be sacrilegious, again I refer to ex-professors. Ultimately we all have our own approach so by all means, do your thing. That's what makes it worth it.
In writing especially, I believe it's important to have your own unique voice. Ten people can write about the same subject, giving the same information but what ultimately matters is the way you say it. Your own style is what makes the difference, that's what distinguishes you from the mass and isn't that one of the reasons we write? To be heard? To leave our mark? This is also one of the arguments why I've never been a group player. There a numerous others but still. I respect other people's opinions, I just can't abide by them which usually leads to conflict but then again, I like conflict. It keeps things interesting. And this is also why my blood began to simmer, only slightly, when me beloved suggested I should maybe adapt to the general style of the publication I'm writing for. Listen very carefully people, never compromise! Be yourself, do your thing and be proud of it! Some people will like you (be happy), some will hate you (ignore them) and some will even love you (blessed be). It's just a matter of taste. And to qoute the legendary Billy Wilder's fabulous final words: "I'm a writer, but then nobody's perfect." To avoid confusion, they were printed on his tombstone. It doesn't get any more final than that.
Now finally, why write? Well for me, it's a moment of pure bliss. I'm literally tingly all over as we speak. Firstly, I do it for own twisted pleasure, secondly because I want to share something with the world and thirdly, there are other definitely less satisfying (trust me, I know) ways to make a living. Once again, my beloved, asked me about my stats one day and if I wouldn't want to crank them up a few notches but they are perfectly fine as they are. I don't want to send the wrong message but we only occasionally disagree. I'm not doing this for the glory people but if I happen to reach one single soul halfway across the world or even the street, that would be enough for me. At the end of the day I'll have already made myself happy and that's a start.
Now the past few weeks have thought me an incredibly difficult lesson, less is more. It's easy and common knowledge but so hard to live up to when writing but you have to if there's a maximum word count. It just makes me sad to think how many interesting facts and events will never see the light of day because of maximum word count. So many tantilizing tit bits locked inside my laptop, waiting to be freed.
But I have to admit, I have the tendency of going on and on and filling my texts with funny anecdotes, personal touches and ultimately end up enforcing my world view in an upbeat and non-conformist way. Sound familiar? Trust me, many ex-professors of mine can vouch for that. For some reason I believe that entertainment is as important as being profound yet for some, putting those two words in a sentence is believed to be sacrilegious, again I refer to ex-professors. Ultimately we all have our own approach so by all means, do your thing. That's what makes it worth it.
In writing especially, I believe it's important to have your own unique voice. Ten people can write about the same subject, giving the same information but what ultimately matters is the way you say it. Your own style is what makes the difference, that's what distinguishes you from the mass and isn't that one of the reasons we write? To be heard? To leave our mark? This is also one of the arguments why I've never been a group player. There a numerous others but still. I respect other people's opinions, I just can't abide by them which usually leads to conflict but then again, I like conflict. It keeps things interesting. And this is also why my blood began to simmer, only slightly, when me beloved suggested I should maybe adapt to the general style of the publication I'm writing for. Listen very carefully people, never compromise! Be yourself, do your thing and be proud of it! Some people will like you (be happy), some will hate you (ignore them) and some will even love you (blessed be). It's just a matter of taste. And to qoute the legendary Billy Wilder's fabulous final words: "I'm a writer, but then nobody's perfect." To avoid confusion, they were printed on his tombstone. It doesn't get any more final than that.
Now finally, why write? Well for me, it's a moment of pure bliss. I'm literally tingly all over as we speak. Firstly, I do it for own twisted pleasure, secondly because I want to share something with the world and thirdly, there are other definitely less satisfying (trust me, I know) ways to make a living. Once again, my beloved, asked me about my stats one day and if I wouldn't want to crank them up a few notches but they are perfectly fine as they are. I don't want to send the wrong message but we only occasionally disagree. I'm not doing this for the glory people but if I happen to reach one single soul halfway across the world or even the street, that would be enough for me. At the end of the day I'll have already made myself happy and that's a start.
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Twitterst thou?
For the past few weeks I've been in complete awe of the most adorable sound I've heard in ages: the prrrt of Tweetdeck. My sweet pea started Twittering a while back and introduced this loving sound into my bland little world. Personally, I never understood why one Twitters, it's like a Facebook update but supposedly cooler and without the stupid quizzes which I tend to like.
Yet after seeing the look on peoples face last week when I said I didn't Twitter I decided to take my next leap into the 21st century and joined up. The only problem is, I don't actually know anyone who Twitters besides my pumpkin and his blonde buddy.
So what's the deal? It's like the world is devided into Twitter die hards meaning dozens of Tweets a day and those who are convinced it's a pidgeon's mating call. I used to belong to the latter but am now boldly going where many have gone before. I just hope you all follow me there.
Yet after seeing the look on peoples face last week when I said I didn't Twitter I decided to take my next leap into the 21st century and joined up. The only problem is, I don't actually know anyone who Twitters besides my pumpkin and his blonde buddy.
So what's the deal? It's like the world is devided into Twitter die hards meaning dozens of Tweets a day and those who are convinced it's a pidgeon's mating call. I used to belong to the latter but am now boldly going where many have gone before. I just hope you all follow me there.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Reviewing my ass off
The past week has been pretty weird to say the least. For some reason everything seems to be going slower or maybe it just takes me longer to get things done, who's to say?
I'm reviewing a freshly baked batch of cookbooks as we speak. For some odd reason they're the only type of books I get but I'm not complaining. I actually love cookbooks but I hardly buy any because I don't want to overstimulate myself. Whenever I get one I get so excited that I want to make everything in it but usually end up making nothing 'cause I don't have the time and wh
en I do, I don't have the ingredients. It's a vicious circle.
Anyway, I just reviewed Easy Breakfast and Brunch: Simple recipes for morning treats which is simply finger-licking good! The recipes are fairly easy, the photo's look gorgeous and once again I'm suffering from a pleasure overload! Where to begin: blueberry pancakes with pecan and maple syryp or wholewheat apple waffles with glazed prunes and greek yoghurt? It also includes a lo
t of egg recipes, traditional breakfasts from around the globe and how to make your own cruesli which I'm dying to try. Plus interesting tips on how to make the perfect cup of tea or coffee.
Next up is a book on oriental cuisine which looks really good as well. So good I have to keep myself from licking it. It's about the basics of oriental cooking and covers everything from making your own sushi to nasi goreng, yaki soba (Wagamama watch out!) and dumplings. Every step is illustrated so it's very easy to follow.
When I'm done here I'll probably catch up on some reading. I started in The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson a shocking two weeks ago and I'm still only half way. It's actually very good but I just didn't feel like it. Sadly, I'm gonna have to put it on hold for a while because I still need to read T
he Vanishing of Katharina Linden (Helen Grant) by next week which is crime fiction for adolescents. I'm interviewing Helen on Sunday so I'd best go prepared. Which means I won't be able to attend book club this month 'cause there's no way I'll be able to squeeze The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch in on time which is a shame 'cause I was looking forward to that as well.
I'm reviewing a freshly baked batch of cookbooks as we speak. For some odd reason they're the only type of books I get but I'm not complaining. I actually love cookbooks but I hardly buy any because I don't want to overstimulate myself. Whenever I get one I get so excited that I want to make everything in it but usually end up making nothing 'cause I don't have the time and wh
en I do, I don't have the ingredients. It's a vicious circle.Anyway, I just reviewed Easy Breakfast and Brunch: Simple recipes for morning treats which is simply finger-licking good! The recipes are fairly easy, the photo's look gorgeous and once again I'm suffering from a pleasure overload! Where to begin: blueberry pancakes with pecan and maple syryp or wholewheat apple waffles with glazed prunes and greek yoghurt? It also includes a lo
t of egg recipes, traditional breakfasts from around the globe and how to make your own cruesli which I'm dying to try. Plus interesting tips on how to make the perfect cup of tea or coffee.Next up is a book on oriental cuisine which looks really good as well. So good I have to keep myself from licking it. It's about the basics of oriental cooking and covers everything from making your own sushi to nasi goreng, yaki soba (Wagamama watch out!) and dumplings. Every step is illustrated so it's very easy to follow.
When I'm done here I'll probably catch up on some reading. I started in The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson a shocking two weeks ago and I'm still only half way. It's actually very good but I just didn't feel like it. Sadly, I'm gonna have to put it on hold for a while because I still need to read T
he Vanishing of Katharina Linden (Helen Grant) by next week which is crime fiction for adolescents. I'm interviewing Helen on Sunday so I'd best go prepared. Which means I won't be able to attend book club this month 'cause there's no way I'll be able to squeeze The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch in on time which is a shame 'cause I was looking forward to that as well.
Friday, 1 May 2009
In loving memory
This week I received the news I had been dreading for a few weeks now, my best friend of 15 years had lost her brave battle against cancer.
Despite the countless tears I've already shed and still am shedding as we speak, somehow it just doesn't seem real. I'm still in denial or something because I can't imagine her not being here anymore. It seems too surreal and probably means that the worst is still to come when it finally sinks in. I'm guessing that'll be after the funeral seeing as it doesn't get anymore final than that. Imagining a world without her just seems impossible.
Katrien was an extraordinary person who I met 15 years ago when she sat next to me during our first ever Latin class. The past few years she has been my rock, my inspiration and especially my motivation. This blog for example is partly because of her. She was my best friend, the one who knew all my secrets, my neuroses, who made me laugh, gave me a shoulder to cry on and was always there when I needed her. I owe her so much. Words can't even describe how much she'll be missed. She was the most honest, brave and loving person I'd ever known. Her life was never easy: she was bipolar, had boulimia, was a cutter and eventually got leukemia but despite all her mindboggling hardships she never gave up and had a lust for life that I am completely in awe of. Compared to her, I was a mesh and a vat of ever-growing neuroses and fear that paralysed me to ever accomplish anything. She will live on in our hearts and will never be forgotten.
Thank you Katrien for simply being you. You have given me more than you could ever imagine and I'll always love you. I hope you have finally found the peace that you so longed for.
Despite the countless tears I've already shed and still am shedding as we speak, somehow it just doesn't seem real. I'm still in denial or something because I can't imagine her not being here anymore. It seems too surreal and probably means that the worst is still to come when it finally sinks in. I'm guessing that'll be after the funeral seeing as it doesn't get anymore final than that. Imagining a world without her just seems impossible.
Katrien was an extraordinary person who I met 15 years ago when she sat next to me during our first ever Latin class. The past few years she has been my rock, my inspiration and especially my motivation. This blog for example is partly because of her. She was my best friend, the one who knew all my secrets, my neuroses, who made me laugh, gave me a shoulder to cry on and was always there when I needed her. I owe her so much. Words can't even describe how much she'll be missed. She was the most honest, brave and loving person I'd ever known. Her life was never easy: she was bipolar, had boulimia, was a cutter and eventually got leukemia but despite all her mindboggling hardships she never gave up and had a lust for life that I am completely in awe of. Compared to her, I was a mesh and a vat of ever-growing neuroses and fear that paralysed me to ever accomplish anything. She will live on in our hearts and will never be forgotten.
Thank you Katrien for simply being you. You have given me more than you could ever imagine and I'll always love you. I hope you have finally found the peace that you so longed for.
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