Hair New Era

Happy New Year, darlings!

My expectations tend to be notoriously high, and when I picked up Stephen Fry’s debut novel The Liar that had praising reviews from everything starting with The Literary Review and ending with Cosmopolitan on its cover, I was quite sure I was holding my new favourite novel in my hands. So yeah, imagine my surprise when I started reading it and realised that it was... so much better than I thought possible.

While reading, I wrote out some sentences I liked the best, at times turned back to reread some lines, then went, “Ohh” in understanding, and when I’d finished about a third of the book, went back and reread all the preceding chapters, and then finally thought I understood. Except the fuck I did really, and so I kept turning back as I was getting further, each time making slightly more sense of the whole, and being increasingly intrigued by it.

I love a work of art that can confuse you, that requires you to work, to think. Just like a person who is smarter than you, it brings you a few steps higher on the endless stairs of knowledge instead of being a weight pulling you down. It is just the kind of wonderful novel that is not insulting your intelligence, the kind where you can tell the author is both clever and wise, and on its pages he has sprinkled references from literature and other fields, some of which you feel proud to get, and others that serve as a reminder of how much more you still have to learn.

In fact, while reading, I compiled a list of important literary works that were known by the characters, but not by me: a mistake in need of prompt correction.

The Naked Lunch

The Lost Weekend

Catch-22

The Loom of Youth

The Hill

The Scarlet Pimpernel

Madame Bovary

Lucky Jim

Howards End

Sredni Vashtar

So in conclusion, the book made me blush, smirk and laugh out loud, it blew my mind, broke my heart, and more than anything, it impressed me. It was an exquisite puzzle, coated with numerous differently delicious flavours hiding a satisfying core.

I was hoping for a twist ending, but instead I got at least five or six twists in the last 50 pages, so through most of them I was just grinning and shaking my head at being outwitted by the author again, and again.

But seriously, what else would you expect from a modern day Oscar Wilde, British national treasure and pretty much my favourite person alive?

Pictures from weheartit.com

It's one of the many possibly detrimental habits that I picked up in England this year. Others include the use of liquid eyeliner (often put on in an inebriated state with less than perfect results) and generally being the kind of girl the teachers who adored me at school would not (want to) recognise. Oh well, I had to break out of my prim and proper shell sometime.
Here are a few of my latest (favourite) purchases:






At the moment I'm utterly loving The Book of the Dead. Here are some of my initial notes on it from the airport from about two weeks ago.
I haven't even finished the first chapter yet, but my mind has already been blown dozens of times. I can't believe how much I'm learning - and how much there still is that I don't know. So far I've found out that Leonardo and Newton were gay, and the latter was also a practicing alchemist who died a virgin. Byron kept a bear in his room at Cambridge and drank from a human skull (and I thought the aspiring writers on my course were wild). His daughter basically produced the first computer program, and imagined how in the future such an engine could be used to create music and graphics. And she had an affair with Dickens. Dalí and H. C. Andersen were addicted to masturbation, and Freud to cocaine. Wow!




In case you were wondering, this is the current situation:

Pictures from amazon.co.uk, manicpanic.com

Long time, no see. If it makes you feel any better then I’m feeling really guilty for not posting anything lately – and have been feeling guilty for weeks now.
Because I have stuff to tell you. And I will! In the next couple of days. Really.
But right now I’ve got to share with you some of the coolest things I’ve seen lately. So much better, funnier and more truthful titles for classic books.

A Christmas Carol:
Between a Rock and a Hard Place :The Elements of Style:
Paradise Lost:
Gulliver's Travels:

As some of you know, this autumn I will begin studying English Literature and Creative Writing at Warwick (third uni in the country, aw yeah).
This week I got my first books from the reading list (and pretty much the only ones from it that can be found in Tallinn libraries). I’m currently reading The Cambridge Introduction to Creative Writing, written by David Morley, my future lecturer. And I'm finding it truly captivating (thank God). Also, in it I’ve found quite a few points I made in my online interview – meaning I was right in my guesses!
Here are some wise and inspiring words from the book:

‘No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader. For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn’t know I knew.’ – Robert Frost
Writers use reading as a type of caffeine, rather than a lotus blossom.
‘A writer’s ambition should be to trade one hundred contemporary readers for ten readers in ten years time and for one in one hundred years.’ – Arthur Koestler
‘The bestseller lists are, with a few lively exceptions, a sombre graveyard of dead books.’ – Carlos Fuentes
Writers must not fool themselves – except when they are writing.

In the first half of July I’ll be back home and posting will return to normal.
But right now I just have too much going on. And there’s really no point in writing about what happens in class and after school, because firstly, it is probably a lot more interesting for the people concerned than you, and secondly, I don’t really want to be writing about other people behind their back. On a public blog. In English.
Désolée!
Imagine that – apologising for having a life, heh. But as I said, it won’t be long until I’ll be back to blogging and reading blogs and basically, being in touch with what’s going on in the world. But if I’m being honest, this break from it all is rather refreshing. Besides, I’m still daily using my Facebook, Twitter and e-mail accounts. Therefore, I still am.
I was going to go on a school day trip to Lyon today, but it was cancelled due to bad weather. (Which really is depressing this month. I’m always forced to wear my jeans and hoodie and look boring or put on colourful summery dresses and risk getting a cold. And yes, most mornings I choose the latter and have had luck so far.) Anyway, so I decided to go shopping in Chambéry instead. Very few shops to choose from, but I still managed to spend all the money the excursion would have cost me, and more.
Bought some jewellery from Pimkie. And focused on rings this time, because until now I only had a couple and almost never wore them. So obviously that was a problem that had to be solved. Here are those that I bought (plus one anklet) on a Vogue Paris spread by Mario Sorrenti:
Don’t know when exactly I’ll have the time to read them, though, as I already have a list of over thirty books I want to get through this summer, plus I recently received my university reading list. But it’s alright because there’s no decent telly in the summer anyway.

Last week I read Minu London – a book an Estonian fashion designer Anu Samarüütel-Long wrote about her life in London and Central Saint Martins. As it’s so far only been published in Estonian, the idea of reviewing it in English seems a bit daft. So…
Ma tõesti tahtsin seda armastada. Sellel olid kõik eeldused saamaks üheks mu lemmikraamatuks. Aga kõik need komavead, mitmekordsed hüüumärgid ja SUURED TÄHED tekitasid mus tunde, nagu ma loeksin mõne teismelise blogi. Kellegi, kes on raamatutes näinud põnevaid lausekonstruktsioone ja väljendeid ning tahab neid kõiki ise ka kasutada, kuid see lihtsalt ei näi loomulik. Keegi, kes pole tegelikult veel suureks kasvanud, aga peab ennast teistest paremaks, kuna on elanud Londonis ja lugenud mõnda tarka raamatut. Seega suhtub ta oma lugejatesse üleolevalt – või vähemalt jätab sellise mulje. Nad on kõigest rumal lihtrahvas, kes ei või mingil juhul teada näiteks seda, et Big Ben on seal sees oleva kella, mitte torni enda nimi. Autor kasutab enne seda selgitust püüdlikult nime The Clock Tower, kuid naaseb paari peatüki järel isegi Big Beni juurde, mida iseenesest ei saa talle pahaks panna, sest, olgem ausad, tegelikult kutsuvad seda torni ju kõik nii.
Üldine kirjutusstiil oli mulle kuidagi eriti vastukarva ning väljendid nagu „vaat sulle pudingut siirupiga“, mida ta ise kindlasti nutikateks kildudeks pidas, panid mind paratamatult silmi pööritama ja hambaid krigistama.
Ma tean, et autori näol on tegemist 38aastase andeka moekunstnikuga, aga iga kord, kui ma raamatu avasin ning paar lõiku lugeda olin jõudnud, kangastus mulle upsakas 15aastane, kellega ma mingil juhul vestelda ei tahaks. Ja mul oli nii kahju. Muuhulgas sellest, et ma olin selle raamatu ostnud, mitte laenutanud.
That’s the really sad thing. Many young talented writers must go from publisher to publisher begging for a chance, but if you’re famous enough – in any field – then you’re showered with book deals; it doesn't matter if you’re worth being published or not.
But I’m not another naïve and idealistic artist, after all I’ve studied Economics. So I know that it’s inevitable. And practical. Because the public buys it.
My favourite example of that is Miley Cyrus’ autobiography Miles to Go. (By the way, there’s no way she came up with the title herself. Just saying.) I haven’t read it so I don’t know, maybe she’s an amazing writer, and I’m sure she’s had a more interesting life than almost anyone else who’s her age, but come on – writing an autobiography at the age of 16! That shouldn’t count as real literature.
Moving on to something nicer…
I watched the Glee season finale last night. And found it rather satisfying. It was just so completely utterly… Glee. They even sang "Don’t Stop Believin'" again!
But I really hate how they butchered Jesse’s storyline. In the beginning he’s mysterious and dangerous and exciting, then there’s the predictable and lame “I actually care about her” moment, then in the next episode he’s suddenly the fucking Satan and then in the finale he doesn’t even get a line. (Seriously, writers?!) But fortunately he still went out with a bang. I loved his and Vocal Adrenaline’s "Bohemian Rhapsody". Even though the way they had matched the choreography with cuts to Quinn giving birth was slightly creepy. But so is childbirth, so I guess it worked.

Sorry for not writing anything for a while. I’ve been busy, and haven't had much access to the internet.
For those who don’t know, I’m in Chambéry, France. Learning French in this language school with loads of other international students from the States, the UK, Norway, South Korea, Japan, China, Italy, Germany, Ukraine etc. And I’m the first one they’ve had from Estonia! Everyone’s really nice, the teachers, the students, my host family. The first week’s almost over, three more to go.
I’m taking the intensive course, which means that two days a week I have 4 hours of school and on three days it’s 8 hours(!). Plus, all the students speak French to each other. And in the evenings I have dinner with my host family. That’s a lot of French, I’m telling you. A few days ago, when my alarm had woken my tired and grumpy self up at 6:30 and the first thought that popped in my head was in French, I got a bit annoyed. Already? I can’t even get in a vertical position before the French starts? No rest for the wicked, apparently. But now I’ve got used to it, and it’s alright. It’s pretty great, actually. French is possibly the most beautiful language there is, and I’m getting really good at it.
Today I went to discover the town itself, because in the week I was always too tired to go for a walk after school. The walk home was already over 30 minutes long. (Seriously, walking for over an hour every day plus eating mainly vegetables for dinner because my host family don’t like meat or processed foods – that should be working wonders on my figure. Except that for breakfast I have the whitest bread possible, for lunch club sandwiches and between every meal biscuits-brownies-brioches… Oh great, now I’m depressed.)
Anyway, I went to have a walk around the town, and guess what? I got totally fucking lost. It would have been fine because in a new city you’re always sort of lost and even though I didn’t have a map, I knew what landmarks to look for or ask about if I wanted to get back home. The weather was cloudy but warm, there were lavenders planted everywhere, I was listening to my podcasts and the compliments I got on the streets were really boosting my self esteem. Perfect. Except for one little thing. Well, two. I was wearing my new shoes. Never a good idea when you’re going to be spending hours on your feet. At first they felt really comfortable, but by the time I’d reached the sign that said that Chambéry was now over and I had to admit that I had no idea where I was and hadn’t seen any pedestrians for a while, well, then my feet were hurting like hell. And even bleeding slightly.
But I managed to get home. And I didn’t come alone:
All’s well that ends well.
Here’s what else I’m reading:
Bought those a week ago in Milan before getting on a train to Chambéry.
And brought those with me from home: