Somewhere in the last grade of highschool I vaguely committed in my mind that I will slowly cut off my book reading due to one or two personal reason, to the point where even my college room mate found it weird seeing the sight of me reading a novel. The idea kind of tickled me thinking how much of a bookworm I was back then.
Even though I didn't really cut it off and instead read some more ebook in kindle, a week ago I felt the urge to buy the paperback ones. I went to secondhand book store at Bras Basah complex, back there in Singapore. I had been there once and stunned by the collection they had and the fair price they offered. The book has turned yellowish-brownish with golden spots, as if aging of a living person. The price ranged from $2.00 to $10. I think some are over $10 but they must be newly produced. I spent hours there scanning each title. and came up with four books in total because in fact I still have dozen unread in kindle and paperback form. I bought Never Cry Wolf, City of Joy, The popular classic Pride and Prejudice, and Master of The Game by Sydney Sheldon in which I am going to post a review of.
I just noticed that while I kept myself away from books all this time, I actually moved to movies. In other word, the story telling aspect never tires me. Good stories often give off odd and unusual understanding, of the most misunderstood people. It made you see from the point of view of the minority, the oppressed. Sometimes a prostitute, a psycopath, and other criminals even ghost which despite being non-supertitious you are, could still blow your mind for its oddly commonsense. Or just particular situation or character depicted that alerted your mind for its familiarity with whom you know, or yourself. I had lost count how much a good story had f**ed me up, in a good way. Whenever I am carried away with one, the ending got me stunned for a moment. How on earth a story could stir up my mind this far. How on earth one could be that brilliant coming up with those and bring them alive.
Good thing is that they are being produced over and over again, not just it could live off in the shelf far longer than the author, it also live off in the reader's mind and subconsciously changed them even when it is just a tad bit decision change. And we have not yet included the people around being passed on of the story, directly or indirectly (when the story has been planted into the reader itself). If there is one thing I could tell the most special privilege about being an artist is that they got to access you right in the mind and emotion.
Even though I didn't really cut it off and instead read some more ebook in kindle, a week ago I felt the urge to buy the paperback ones. I went to secondhand book store at Bras Basah complex, back there in Singapore. I had been there once and stunned by the collection they had and the fair price they offered. The book has turned yellowish-brownish with golden spots, as if aging of a living person. The price ranged from $2.00 to $10. I think some are over $10 but they must be newly produced. I spent hours there scanning each title. and came up with four books in total because in fact I still have dozen unread in kindle and paperback form. I bought Never Cry Wolf, City of Joy, The popular classic Pride and Prejudice, and Master of The Game by Sydney Sheldon in which I am going to post a review of.
I just noticed that while I kept myself away from books all this time, I actually moved to movies. In other word, the story telling aspect never tires me. Good stories often give off odd and unusual understanding, of the most misunderstood people. It made you see from the point of view of the minority, the oppressed. Sometimes a prostitute, a psycopath, and other criminals even ghost which despite being non-supertitious you are, could still blow your mind for its oddly commonsense. Or just particular situation or character depicted that alerted your mind for its familiarity with whom you know, or yourself. I had lost count how much a good story had f**ed me up, in a good way. Whenever I am carried away with one, the ending got me stunned for a moment. How on earth a story could stir up my mind this far. How on earth one could be that brilliant coming up with those and bring them alive.
Good thing is that they are being produced over and over again, not just it could live off in the shelf far longer than the author, it also live off in the reader's mind and subconsciously changed them even when it is just a tad bit decision change. And we have not yet included the people around being passed on of the story, directly or indirectly (when the story has been planted into the reader itself). If there is one thing I could tell the most special privilege about being an artist is that they got to access you right in the mind and emotion.
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