So, these arrived today:

These complete the bulk of my coursework for the next four months.  Of the lot are two plays, two books of poetry (which I am most pleased about), and two are verse-type narratives written in Anglo-Saxon language; of which one is Middle English (legible) and the other, Beowulf, Old English (illegible).

Now, The Lord of the Rings, which took the wind out of my sails when I learnt that I'll be reading it, will be studied contrapuntally to the other most-original books of literature.  To shortly sum up the trilogy's purpose: they are the contemporary response to the old – or rather ancient, even archaic, but surprisingly still relevant and evident in today's ways – culture and ideas (of religious, social, and cultural and and conversation). 

Here are very unprofessionally taken photographs of the Beowulf text and from the Canterbury Tales, to give you an idea of what's been contributing to my ever-increasing insanity.

To the right: Beowulf.  As of now, I've only seen its film adaptation.  I won't lie, I enjoyed watching it. (I am generally a read-the-book-first type of person, however, ahem, this occasion of medieval/renaissance lit proved to be the exception to my rule.)

To the left: Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.  I am meant to read all these thousands and thousands of Middle English lines untranslated and convert it into my own understanding via poetry, or prose (which is quite a fun way of stretching one's imaginative muscles).                                                         One of my favourite prologues so far, to be honest, I haven't read many of them, is The Wife of Bath's.  Read it here, in English you'd understand: Wife of Bath's Prologue – If you have ever heard of proto-feminism (feminist philosophies before "feminism," prior to the 20th century), this is it.  And bear in mind too, this is centuries before Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew, which is widely known and believed to be the very first subject matter of feminism in literature of the Western world traditions. 

There is a world of references in these texts at my disposal to use in my writing.  I am a born-researcher, so I am able to read one word and go on to discover a world of possibilities beyond its singular language, meaning, context.  I love that.  It makes for a long road of reading, watching, listening, observing, channeling... but it's worth the miles.  Now, if I could only find the time to write...

The trouble with to-read lists

If ever there was a list that is impossible to complete, it's the TO–READ list.

Therefore, I have decided to list all the books I've yet to read or have been recommended to, on my blog.  Not only will this help me to keep an orderly track of them all (I've too many notebooks and make scraps of notes and recommendations all over the place, I subsequently forget about or lose them altogether) but it will serve as a spot for other readers looking for books to read.
In addition to these lists, I will also post a list of the books I have read.  I, unfortunately, cannot keep up with writing read reflections for all the novels, plays or poems I engage, so this list will at least enable you to have an idea of those that I have.  And it's never too late to do a reflection on a read, so then I could just select from the list when the time avails itself to me to do my unique "reviews".
It already is quite cumbersome keeping afloat all the drafts of my creative writing pursuits and even if I wanted to, I can't drop a post whenever.  There's my studies and there's life too, and the odd laze haze.

That's that.

Next update on this matter will be about said lists compiled, and up-and-running.

"Quiet as it's kept..."

This post will comprise of excerpts (randomly selected, by me, of course) withdrawn from the afterword in The Bluest Eye as written by its author, Toni Morrison (November, 1993).  I will do this to provide added context, and also just for the sake of it, to my post about the novel that comes before this particular post.  I love how she articulates her meaning, reasoning and purpose behind the construction and the how-to read of the narrative.  

"The novel pecks away at the gaze that condemned her." (p.167)

"'Quiet as it's kept' is also a figure of speech that is written, in this instance, but clearly chosen for how speakerly it is, how it speaks and bespeaks a particular world and its ambience. [...] Sudden familiarity or instant intimacy seemed crucial to me." (pp. 169 & 170) 

"The assertion of racial beauty was not a reaction to the self-mocking, humorous critique of cultural/racial foibles common in all groups, but against the damaging internalisation of assumptions of immutable inferiority originating in an outside gaze.  I focused, therefore, on how something as grotesque as the demonisation of an entire race could take root inside the most delicate member of society: a child; the most vulnerable member; a female. [...]
In exploring the social and domestic aggression that could cause a child to literally fall apart, I mounted a series of rejections, some routine, some exception, some monstrous, all the while trying hard to avoid complicity in the demonisation process Pecola [focal character] was subjected to." (p. 168)

"A skip, perhaps, in the natural order of things: a September, an autumn, a fall without marigolds.  Bright, common, strong and sturdy marigolds.  When? In 1941, and since that is a momentous year (the beginning of World War II for the US), the "fall" of 1941, just before the declaration of war, has a "closet" innuendo." (p.170)

"...a problem lies in the central chamber of the novel... the void that is Pecola's "unbeing"' (p.171)

"With very few exceptions, the initial publication of The Bluest Eye was like Pecola's life: dismissed, trivialised, misread.  And it has taken twenty-five years to gain for her the respectful publication this edition is."  

Again, all excerpts are taken from Toni Morrison's foreword in the book 

The Bluest Eye (1970).

Aruze waters. Tropical hues. A trip that echoes.

Ah, found this picture from almost three years ago.  It was me on a road trip with my mother to Maputo, (formerly known as Lourenço Marques, before independence) Mozambique.
It was a trip that elevated both my consciousness and desire to demand dignity for all peoples.  It showed me not only the strength and resilience of those who are seemingly less favoured in social and economic ranks, but also opened my eyes to how it is (always) possible to have a thriving (and joyful) spirit despite your circumstances.  The few days I spent there afforded me a kind of spiritual liberation too, being able to interact and hold hands with what I believe to be one of the world's most loving, giving and endearing people alive.  Mozambicans visibly exude a warmth that is unrivaled to many other encounters I've had.  Genuine smiles, sincere conversation, and delicious catering.  I haven't been back since, even though I promised myself to go again within a few months of my visit.  My parents have been there on numerous occasions  I was little though, their visits grew less frequent as I got older (er, ja).  I have an aunt over, my family there is where I've learnt the little Portuguese I am now familiar with.  But... I will visit again and when I do it will be for much longer than just a week, and preferably a solo excursion.
I also did plenty of reading and writing; and talking and reminiscing and reflecting and foresighting and loving with me mommy on the trips back and forth.  We chose to transport there by land for these very reasons, I fell even more in love with her during this time, as if that was any more possible, but it was.  And the stories we ricocheted between us will forever be a product of the woman I am.  
And of course, I took the window seat (shout out to Badu "I just need a chance to fly/ A chance to cry and a long bye-bye")