BOOKS TO READ. BOOKS TO REREAD. Reviews and misreadings to follow.


Lucas Farrel | The Many Woods of Grief
Anita Desai | A Clear Light of Day
Anita Desai | Fasting, Feasting
Mohsin Hamid | The Reluctant Fundamentalist
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie | Americanah
Muriel Barbery | The Elegance of a Hedgehog
Lisa Glatt | A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That
Amos Oz | My Michael
Julia Alvarez | Before We Were Free
Gary Soto | Buried Onions
Andrea Lee | Lost Hearts in Italy
Jose Raul Bernardo | The Secret of the Bulls
Adam Zagajewski | Eternal Enemies


Alice Munro | The Progress of Love (Rereading) Elif Shafak | The Forty Rules of Love Aravind Adiga | Between the Assassinations Barbara Kingsolver | Small Wonders Andre Aciman | False Papers Andre Aciman | Call Me by Your Name Michael Ondaatje | The English Patient (Rereading) Eula Biss | No Man’s Land Alice Hoffman | Second Nature Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie | Purple Hibiscus

2013 Reads

Julia Alvarez | Yo! Jamaica Kincaid | A Small Place Daryl Delgado | When Body Displaces Water Michelle Cliff | No Telephone to Heaven Chang-Rae Lee | The Surrendered Francine Prose | The Peaceable Kingdom


2012 Reads

J. M. Coetzee | Elizabeth Costello
Orhan Pamuk | Istanbul: The City and Memories
Mary Oliver | Red Bird
Louise Glück | Averno
Louise Erdrich | Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country
Ann Beattie | Perfect Recall
Alice Munro | Dance of the Happy Shades
Diane Ackerman | One Hundred Names for Love
Jeffrey Eugenides | Middlesex
Siri Hustvedt |  The Sorrows of an American
Rebecca Solnitt | A Field Guide to Getting Lost

2011 Reads
Mary Oliver | Why I Wake Early?
Anaïs Nin | Henry and June
Pico Iyer | Falling off the Map
J. M. Coetzee | Disgrace
Alan Lightman | Einstein’s Dreams
Kazuo Ishiguro | The Remains of the Day
Ha Jin | Waiting

Books become a fixture in my life. With other pressing responsibilities, however, reading inevitably takes the tail of my priority list, which is unsettling—considering reading transforms itself into an advocacy. A year ago, I had a one-book-a-week self-imposed law, which I religiously complied. It is mid-2010 already, with nothing but books read half through. Yes, it is a shame. But I want honesty to be the walls of this home, sincerity its windows, I its door, perhaps you the exit.

So, read with me.




Words. Silence. Space. Transients. Transits. To love words is such an aching quest. Why I write? Where am I writing from? Whom am I writing for? These questions pain me. I asked for no hypocrisy—truthfully, I do not know the answer. This abode will be the contemplation, ranting, musing, epiphanies of the I articulating her answers. I have the answers somewhere, it is articulation I lack. Somewhere is such a vast, lone place.

There are words, images, people, places that keep on haunting me, which is sometimes irritating. Stitching a word to a character, sewing a scene to a plot can be troublesome especially when they do not fit together. Yes, mending consumes emotion.

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