Jay

It's quite creepy to consider that the words of Osamu Dazai reek of an ongoing behavior within Japan–he wrote this shortly before his death in 1948!–that is defined by a contradictory form of servitude (emotionally torn, functionally obedient) and a penchant for vices. No Longer Human evokes the kind of self-awareness that should be alarming, even as it packages itself as a fictional reading of three notebooks from a character named Oba Yozo.

The quickest way I can describe reading this is that it evokes itself so nonchalantly that any form of Japanese media that comes before or after makes a lot of sense. It's astounding to consider that this is all compressed into such a story. Wow.

The first (of many more) Eric Gamalinda read introduces itself as a forlorn, mystical undertaking that effectively is a compressed revision of Rizal's Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo in a manner that is much more spiritual, and intensely sexual (read: the sex here is astoundingly graphic, but not boyishly employed without reason.)

If anything, its freewheeling adaptation of a true-to-life spiritual leader in the Negros Revolution sheds light on Philippine History and its future in a manner so damningly strong that one can't help but be impressed. The final act of this film really turns things up, where the intensities that the war builds up just spills over and begins to be something so enchanting and tragic.

Summatively, this book is an enrapturing story of holy prophets who were born to deliver salvation at a time when everything doesn't make sense.

Seems quite cheesy to be frank, but still a nice and light read that is rather emboldening and earnest in its ways.

Reading “The Plague” at the post-pandemic period feels... so resonant. One cannot understate how much of a punch the book feels especially at its tail end: when the story mellows out and provides itself with very surprising one-liners or musings that linger even after the book's conclusion.

First Fukuyama means having the exposure towards authors whose centrism gives way to reasonable skepticism and implied biases surfacing in spurts.

To that end, I feel that the style in which he interrogates facets of humanity that are linked to future effects of biotechnology is so long-winded. It easily drifts away from the thesis of the book because of how extensively he expositions a concept in whichever possible. It leaves me with a conclusion that... I guess feels way too underwhelming?

That isn't to say he offers premises or ideas that occasionally strike a chord. I think the thing with these types of authors is that they are compelling insofar as you don't view the context behind what they're saying.

But I could also be wrong and be dumb, this thing took me way too long to read.

Partly smut, honestly just high-art wattpad in its core, but I would be lying if I didn't resonate with it regardless. I just think that for a Sally Rooney writing, I feel very underwhelmed by her confinement of thoughts; poignant human ruminations developed in moments of smutty sex and intense relationships that don't resurface cohesively, discoveries and reveals that are so befuddling especially in a story that is so slow in its development.

Ah well, still enchanting but its fine.

My first reading of Montaigne's selection of essays ends with me having some clarity that Montaigne is a very apt writer for people looking to get out of the “prescriptive” sleaze of self-help literature. I say this with the understanding that Montaigne does tell, through his own introspection, specks of advice that may be contradictory if understood in isolation.

But the meat of Montaigne's work based on these selections is one that is highly doubtful (but also faithful) of the self and its many capabilities. It's the type of work that challenges the fickleness of experience, appreciating the knowledge shared by humble tutors, or challenging the definition of what makes a person willing.

Of course, I think I am pretending to know everything of this man through a sample of works, but the Selections chosen by Crofts Classics are quite earnest and still applicable today. Its ability to provide some kind of clarity will never elude me.

I think in the realm of IT this is quite a nice starter kit to understanding the ins-and-outs of IT as a business environment and quite applicable regardless of where you are on the corporate ladder of IT.

The Alchemist is so adorned with optimism, one can't help but think of how it feels so quintessentially... adult adventure? I digress in the course of understanding that this is really just relatable to people of all ages.

I think as an adult, what The Alchemist does beyond strongly evoking a fable later repeated in parts in self-help books is to simply invite people to trust in themselves—their hearts. The ethos of Alchemist seems easily mistaken for essentialism or privilege, when it is more about existence and determinism.

Much of the story isn't so strong as much as it ridiculous, but its a ridiculousness rooted in childlike adventurism, the type of stuff that teeters on escapism yet finagling its way into meaning and value. The ending is quite interesting to think about in this regard, in comparison to the stuff that happens before it.

There's a bunch of light and interesting anecdotes here about very, very obscure things in the world. But the good chunk of essays here don't really seem like they hold a strong candle in any discourse–arguments in favor of renewable marriages, the reangling of Judas as a person seeking a hero only to be barely explored–because the thought within this is quite flimsy.

(also not sure why Antonio Allego's authorship is not credited here)

Thoroughly enjoyed going through the assortment of essays Resil Mojares compiled in this collection. I think what strikes me the most about his approach in writing his thoughts, arguments, and personal qualms is that apart from shedding light on perspectives unexplored, it is often rooted in compelling argumentation.

That is to say, he understandably discusses, albeit in short detail, about the importance of “critical globalization”, of what could possibly qualify as Philippine Noir, of the inclusion of informal authors in the historiography of the Philippines. What I find with his approach, and at least with his intellectual rigor, is that it constantly looks for areas in which the discussion can be leveled. Shortness aside, I don't think I felt any circular going through the entire book's collection.

I feel a certain hostility towards Nick Joaquin for the way he writes. It is so blatantly rule-breaking when he is unbounded by a need for exposition and yet concise when he speaks as if he is newsreel.

This compilation is clear as day an example of the good and bad that ails such an esteemed writer. His prose is wide, but his penchant for run-ons moreso; he writes with conciseness yet flippantly scatters his thoughts on the page where it lands.

Easy enough though is the progression in quality here. His gothic horror writing lingers so well in The Order of Melchizidek or Candido's Apocalypse that the time he spent in Catholic schools has given him the clarity to write with a curiosity. I also understand why The Portrait of the Artist as Filipino is well-regarded: an excellent stage play about the Filipino spirit encapsulated in all its misfortunes and glory.

At times it is matter-of-fact, but the tone of Hiroshima crescendoes in its last act: the aftermath of each of its subject matters. It is not the bombing itself that feels the most devastating about Hiroshima as much as it is about the events that follow.

In doing so, Hersey collates a series of accounts that underlie just how implicitly political, interwoven, and shared the impact of the atomic bomb truly is. It is not a precursor to luck, nor misfortune; divide, nor unity; merely an acknowledgement of the vultures and the sunshine that come to respond to the destruction of Hiroshima.

...I met a man one time... who said, “I experienced the atomic bomb”–and from then on the conversation changed. We both understood each other's feelings. Nothing had to be said.

Icy, cold, and scathing attack of independent production—justifiably written with the context of pre-ML/ML era cinema.

A rather solid continuation of accounts from the sixties, of which I'm reading this following the intriguing backdrop painted by Nick Joaquin's Reportage on Crime. What makes Lovers stand out is not the succeeding accounts that fill this book (two stories of pathetically rich, bourgeois love; love bridged together by foreign countries; love torn apart by local forces; a quiet bigamist meeting its end, etc.) but the preface and postscript that bookend this collection.

If anything, I'd like to stress how unbelievable the postscript is: an astute summarization of the Filipino soul rooted in its anxiety and clumsiness. A specific account told by a foreigner who found her love in the tropic Philippine soil–her identity revealed a shocker on its own–describes the soul in a way that, in retrospect, holds true in spite of the digital advances in today's society.

I've always enjoyed the non-fictional writing of Nick Joaquin, but this one has a postscript that is so sharply recalled and written it is easily throws the seasoned reader off their seat.

It is admirable and eerie to read through fragments of Philippine society as espoused in Reportage on Crime. Much of the accounts from stories such as “When A Man Burns”, “The Lodger”, “The House on Zapote Street”, etc., inform well of the covert sinister nature brewing from the period. Stories that briefly cameo future Martial Law victims, proponents, martyrs, create this air of retrospective eeriness that extends the significance of the stories which they're a part of.

I find all of that amusing and creepy for the very reasons that not much of the 60's Philippines is easily understood online save for the rare restored film (A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino), a highly glamorized satire (Boy Golden: Shoot to Kill), or those sanitized Pathé newsreels. Quijano/Joaquin writes with the vigor and preciseness that I sometimes dream of capturing. It is so vicious and contemplative in its form, and the details cut across investigative and analytical lines in ways that excite me for reading his other Reportage pieces. There's plenty of subtext looming underneath.

Seems to integrate Filipino culture well–in pockets, in short sentences–but also suffers from the disease of “describing without being specific enough”. There's a few stories that leave me baffled and uncaring, a couple that are far more interesting, and some that are wanting. It's interesting by way of context. But that's it.

My first time reading Arthur Clarke impresses me in the way he intertwines the nature of the world, the human progress, and ambition. This book hits hard in the way that he creates a story about the resistant and ambitious nature of our species, complemented by a future that builds a world so beautifully and wonderfully argues the incomprehensible but celebratory nature of human ambition.

It's so beautiful sifting through the text. Each short chapter progresses the story and it triumphantly closes the story of the space elevator with grace.

Meditations is certainly something that speaks to me. It's a book I treat as a personal reprieve from the confusion that clouds me whenever the world seems to close itself off because I am reminded time and time again that this book's focus and framing of your self to God and to your own—internally and externally—offers mindsets and ways of thinking that make many of the struggles in life easier.

First foray into the more introspective side of Ancient Greek writing! Truly something here.

Criticism lobbied at F. Sionil Jose is largely warranted where his archaic views on women and the situations by which they are subjected to indentured suffering are seen on full display. That unfortunately makes up crucial stories of this anthology that define his work. For me, it's not something I personally subscribe to for moral reasons, especially as we've progressed past the need to empathize for troubled characters whose priority is to subjugate, rape or make women do things against their will. (One story here includes a woman being forced to take an abortion through emotional reasons)

I will say though, his prose is undeniably attractive. It does remind me sometimes of those old uncles commenting on Facebook walls. Attractive in an archaic sense. Sometimes worth reading, but there's a point where the exhaustion is so tangible. Read with some caution.

I think the magic of a good biography lies in being able to nearly perfect the mannerisms and the behaviors espoused by its subject in question. This book delivers it in a convincing fashion, in light of the disjointed state that Angela Stuart-Santiago had to work with given the breadth of material she has at her disposal, but not a solid foundation to work with (meaning, little existing formations of a biography only).

Would love to keep digging through this book in the future if I need to do a research on Bernal. The guy is a cultural savant with a loose cannon and a lot of angry musings and whimsicality tied to his character. Much of the interviews and written accounts from him and Jorge Arago reflect that claim.

Pretty awesome rundown covering the scope and history of Digital Cinema in the Philippines. Though this history covers 1999-2009, it is a pretty inevitable thing that the book is going to centered around a lot of Metro Manila-based history, and only a bit of the super nascent regional cinema.

What I will say is that this is particularly easy to read, and the frames and perspectives from which you can look at the influence and continued legacy of Digital Cinema are pretty clear in this book. It gives me a lot of ideas for how to elaborate the subject matter if necessary in a future piece of work I wanna explore.

i just remembered i read this book last year.

summary of this book: “fuck neoliberalism” 100 times, with each instance using a different international or state institution as the example for why neoliberalism is bad.

I just want to express how fucking inspirational and magnetic Raymond Carver's prose is. This compilation specifically got me through high school in a way that I've been impressed with how stoic, yet powerful this guy manages to make from certain mundane situations. Tonally concise, heavily suburban, it's so difficult to replicate his writing style without coming off as a knock-off or a discount. Just simply gorgeous to read and imagine.