Books, Fiction

And the birds rained down

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I am not sure how I became the owner of this book. I found it on my bookshelf this summer. The only thing that was clear is that it was bought in my local bookshop because of its label on the back cover. Did I buy it? I typically do not buy contemporary novels because I want novels [Read More]
Astute Observations, Books, Diary

When Novels Mattered

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Important article by David Brooks in NY Times. He writes: I’m old enough to remember when novelists were big-time. When I was in college in the 1980s, new novels from Philip Roth, Toni Morrison, Saul Bellow, John Updike, Alice Walker and others were cultural events. There were reviews and counter-reviews and arguments about the reviews. It’s [Read More]
Books, Fiction

Inkheart

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I was researching how many copies of the Swiss children’s book Heidi have been sold worldwide, as I once heard it was the most popular German-language book ever. During this process, I came across Cornelia Funke, who is listed as a bestselling children’s book author from Germany. I had never heard of her, and my [Read More]
Books, Fiction

To live

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This Chinese novel is deeply moving. The writing is very simple, but it manages to pierce through one’s heart. Set during the Civil War in China, it tells the story of a farmer who gambled away his father’s land and tries to make a living in an increasingly difficult context. First, he is forcefully inducted [Read More]
Books, Diary, Must Know, Poetry

AI wrote this poem

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I gave the chatgpt3 AI toll these three words “morning coffee poem,” and it came back with this poem: Morning coffee, black and strong A aroma that wakes me up The warmth of the cup in my hand A ritual that never gets old. A sip, a taste, a moment of peace As the world outside starts to [Read More]
Books, Poetry

Two poems: Daily I fall in love with …

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First Poem: “Daily I Fall In Love With Waitresses” by Elliot Fried Daily I fall in love with waitresses with their white bouncing name tags and white rubber shoes. I love how they bend over tables pouring coffee. Their perky breasts hover above potatoes like jets coming in to LAX hang above the suburbs— shards of broken stars. I feel their fingers roughened by cube steaks [Read More]