Books We Love, Round 1

N: For this week’s blog post, Wina and I talked about discussing a novel that we were currently fond off. But instead of doing the usual book review and all that jazz, I wanted to discuss this novel using the unique style that David Markson used while writing it. So if you like non-linear, discontinuous fiction with unconventional themes or you just want a good philosophical romp, feel free to check this one out.

Musings on Wittgenstein’s Mistress

It is quite late in the novel when Kate, the narrator of David Markson’s novel decides that she could possibly write a novel too.

Although Kate hesitates because, as she ponders, any novel that she possibly could write would only have one character – and who would want to read a novel such as that?

There is only one character in the novel Wittgenstein’s Mistress.

It makes me wonder: what if the narrator of Kate’s novel also decides to write a novel and it occurs ad infinitum? Wouldn’t that be an invitation to infinite regress?

This reminds me of Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace, who called this novel “pretty much the high point of experimental fiction in this country.”

This country meaning the United States, of course—although Wittgenstein was a British philosopher.

Well, not really, since he was born in Austria but he did most of his philosophical work in the British Isles.

And Kate couldn’t be his mistress, since she probably never met Ludwig Wittgenstein.

Why is this book called Wittgenstein’s Mistress in the first place? In case you were wondering:

Kate’s writing style closely resembles Wittgenstein’s seminal philosophical work, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, a headache-inducing work which is broken down in lengthy series of declarative statements, all isolated from one another. The reader has to do the heavy lifting in order to connect those sporadic ideas into something meaningful.

Wittgenstein’s mistress is a novel fully composed of declarative statements as well, all isolated from one another. The reader has to do the heavy lifting in order to connect those sporadic ideas into something meaningful.

This means you have to do the heavy lifting, as it seems.

Did I mention Kate is isolated as well?

She is the last living person in the whole world.

All this makes Wittgenstein’s Mistress seem like an apocalyptic science fiction novel, much like The Road or I am Legend, I suppose.

But that’s not really fair; it strikes me as more of a postmodern experimental novel.

In retrospect, I’m not certain that Kate is the last living person in the world, despite what I just said.

She is an unreliable narrator, who writes in declarative statements, and often contradicts herself.

In fact people do that a lot.

Contradict themselves, that is. Not write about themselves.

Assuming there really are other people.

Which this novel might make you doubt.

This book is somewhat solipsistic, when you think about it—only the philosopher exists and no one else.

This is sort of like being the last person in the world.

Or being really lonely, which is what David Foster Wallace thought this novel was about, I suppose.

David Foster Wallace committed suicide and might have been a lonely individual himself.

Ludwig Wittgenstein had three brothers who committed suicide, as I recall. He considered doing it himself.

Which is quite a coincidence.

Or maybe not, when you think about it.

Which makes it all the sadder.

But a sad story doesn’t always make the reader feel bad.

Sometimes a sad story can make you feel better

In fact, Aristotle might have said something about that.

But perhaps that’s just Kate showing off. She always mentions famous people that she has met.

Which is quite strange given that Kate is a solipsist.

Well, she shouldn’t even write a novel.

Who would read it?

Well I read it.

And I wasn’t sad after I read it, even if it is a sad novel.

You probably won’t be sad either.

I mean to say you won’t be sad about reading the novel. You might be sad about other things, though.

But that won’t have anything to do with Wittgenstein’s Mistress.

W: When Nico and I talked about doing a blog post on books we’d read, one of the things that he asked me was whether or not it would be in the review format. While I like hearing what people have to say about a book, I always feel averse to the thought of someone reviewing something. I feel like people try so hard to be objective—you almost can’t ever tell whether they liked it or not or what about it hurt them the most. So, I guess this is as close to a review as I’m going to get.

I’ve been reading a lot of books but I feel like I haven’t spent enough time with them to write something thorough about them. Instead of writing about something I’ve been reading, I decided to write about a book that I’ve loved deeply, and painfully (I’ll show you my copy, one time): Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami.

A Short History

I first encountered Haruki Murakami when I was fourteen and Powerbooks still had plush seating where you could read for hours. I think that he was my initiation into a kind of fiction that I aspired to: his work was affective and solemn and slightly psychotic without being sentimental in a way that pandered to your fantasies. Also, I really loved that he would write about fantastic things in the most understated manner. I mean–I (like everyone in our generation) loved Harry Potter but I didn’t want to write like J.K. Rowling (not that I would complain if I did).

I read A Wild Sheep Chase when I was fourteen and extremely awkward (chubby, pimple-faced with braces), loitering around Powerbooks and sitting cross-legged in the Young Adult section, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World at seventeen and Dance, Dance, Dance at nineteen in the abandoned room of my ex-boyfriend’s old house. All those three books contain stories that were slightly deranged, slipping in and out of the real world without any real transition.

Norwegian Wood found me when I was twenty, the year they’d decided to remove those comfy chairs and install school supplies in Powerbooks—the beginning of the end. This is the last Murakami book that I read—I haven’t started on 19Q4 yet—and as it turns out, this was his first novel. The thing that really caught me off-guard here is that even if it operates with the same hazy tone and includes a lot of Murakami’s usual details (e.g. the detail of ears, the mention of hair), the story happens completely within the real, tangible, painful world. There’s also something about the use of first person (whereas say, Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World was in third person) that can be so intimate it’s disturbing. I also find that Jay Rubin’s translations are great because he pays a lot of attention to the emotion and specificity of language and I think that’s extremely important when delivering a narrative like this—most especially when it changes hands.

The Beatles Reference

I’m a sucker for a good reference, especially when it has to do with The Beatles. I feel like they were as big a force of nature as anything—they transcended genre, geography and (what with digital audio editing + the fact that Paul McCartney is still alive and being photographed with Rihanna and Dave Grohl) even time. This is mostly a Lennon song, helped along by McCartney. John’s songs are often in the minor chord and extremely haunting—less so lyrically but in terms of melody. It just gets stuck in your head, even if it literally doesn’t make any sense—which is kind of like everything that haunts you (us), I guess.

 

I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me
She showed me her room, isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?

She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere
So I looked around and I noticed there wasn’t a chair

I sat on the rug, biding my time, drinking her wine
We talked until two and then she said, “It’s time for bed”

She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh
I told her I didn’t and crawled off to sleep in the bath

And when I awoke I was alone, this bird had flown
So I lit a fire, isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?

 

What I Loved

The thing that I enjoyed the most about this story is that it took its time—something that I feel a lot of stories these days don’t do. It was really able to flesh out every character and every encounter that Watanabe talks about without diluting the narrative impact. Instead of watering things down, the thickness of the encounters coupled with the restraint in language made it viscous to the point of being almost solid. I think that Murakami’s talent is embodied in the compromise that this work takes between lushness and sparseness, the intoxication of nostalgia and the matter-of-factness of the present.

Mid-week Musings: Favorite Spoken Word Poets

While we are mostly in the business of the written word, we thought that we’d spice up this gloomy Wednesday with a little talk about written poetry’s half-bro/sis: spoken word—born from the same momma, these two have definitely got a different daddy. In essence both written poetry and spoken word poetry use images, associations and poetic language to convey a sentiment or a situation, they are brought to life or sprung into development by two different mediums. Like really hot siblings (Robb Stark, Jon Snow anyone?), neither is better—they’re just different, and refreshingly so. The former uses the page, the latter uses a body.

Wina: I’m very picky with spoken word poetry. More than written poetry, I feel like spoken word can very easily fall into the trap of forgetting itself. A lot of spoken word poets get so obsessed with the intonation, the hand gestures, the wanting to appear like spoken word poets that they forget the poem itself (although I suppose arguably, that can be said for any form of art but I find that this happens more so here, where the execution of the poem so heavily depends on the poet incarnate). I like spoken word poems that fully utilize the two main elements of their existence: words and the poet.

That said, I’m choosing an oldie but a goodie—Repetition by Phil Kaye. The thing that I love about this poem is that it doesn’t follow that spoken-word/into-na-tion that keeps you from hearing what the poem is saying. I love the actual performance of the stutter, the irony that the rest of it is delivered so clearly, so concisely and that the title fits the poem to a T: Repetition takes place throughout the poem both literally and figuratively—images, words recurring they develop into a stutter. It’s beautiful. Also, Phil Kaye really knows how to undersell his poetry, which I feel allows you to really engage with the work. Instead of getting caught up in the “awesomeness” or vague hype of hearing someone talk, you get caught up in the actual poem: the tiny webs and interlacing of images, the terrible intricacy of something delicate and fragile that isn’t afraid to speak up and say something. I hope you guys like this as much as I do. (I’m specifically enjoying this new “version” uploaded on Poetry Observed today–a refreshing take on how spoken word is performed, methinks.)

 

Nico: This particular poem (or series of poems) really struck a chord with me because it made me ponder the methods we use to capture a specific moment in our transitory life. Whether it be through film reels or ink on paper, all of the things we note or jot down are a desperate attempt to preserve multiple isolated moments, however brief and fleeting. Much like Sarah Kay, I wrote little poems in the margins of my old notebooks–wedged in between postulates and lewis dot structures. I learned this art of temporary embrace from my mother, whose framed paintings still bring a sense of comfort and nostalgia into our home, after everything else has faded. As far as dedications go, this one is for her.

Okayyyy. So. We picked these poems blindly–neither of us knew what the other was picking until we put it together. Kay(e) it is! What are your favorite spoken word poems? What are your thoughts on the medium? Let us know in the comments below. Stay tuned for more blog posts from us and thanks for reading!

A MoarBooks Introduction: Who the hell are we, anyway?

We’ve been doing this for quite some time now (a little over a year)—and while we know some of you guys through events and our books, zines and comics, we realized we’ve never really introduced ourselves; how rude! Pardon us and thank you very much for your support. Here’s a little intro thang brought to you by two people who are 50 shades of cray (a reference a text we have—unfortunately?—never read).

Who are you guys—forrealz?

W: It’s tempting to answer this question in third person: you get used to doing it for story submissions, book bios, etc. but because this is an introduction, I will curb that urge and write this in first person.

Hey, gorgeous.

How you doin’, hot stuff?

What up, yo.

I’m Wina and I write stories (it’s hard to talk about that here but you can read some of those that’ve been published here and here; I hope they speak for themselves). Let’s start with the basics, I suppose: I’m 23 and recently graduated from DLSU with a degree in BS Psychology. ID 107 (represent? nattt)—I shifted at a very unfortunate time, hence the (much) delayed graduation date. I was the Prose Editor for my school’s arts and lit folio a hundred thousand years ago. Among other things, I like reading, writing, experimenting with makeup, looking for fun exercise videos, getting tattoos, swimming and listening to music. I used to want to be a doctor and so I guess I also find science fascinating—my favorite subjects in school were the later chems (orgs and bio). I have an affinity for Freud (he was just willing to go get it you know?) and small, serif fonts (they’re just so fucking classy). I also drive a crap car that makes the Honda Jazz look like a Hummer. Oh, and I regularly write for EM Zine, a literary and arts magazine I started with a few friends.

N: Nico here, a cinephile who is also fond of making mixtapes that are eclectic and diverse. I find that music compliments a thought-provoking discussion about an assortment of things such as art, history, philosophy and everything in between. You’ll find me mostly living in between ink stained coffee circles or tangled up in imaginary film grain. I love sharing quirky references to movies that use unconventional themes or which are untainted by technicolor. I’m also fond of literature that pushes the boundaries of what fiction could be and would love to have coffee with those who are radical enough to experiment with it. My bookshelf is a revolving door of sorts as books of all kinds come and go; though some have taken up permanent residence in my never ending stack of bedside literature—but we’ll get to that later.

Why MoarBooks?

W: MoarBooks began in 2013 as a means of selling a book, actually. I’d gotten exposed to the Independent Comics and Lit scene through my friend Trizha who introduced me to Adam David, the founder of BLTX (Better Living Through Xeroxography) and I really enjoyed the way that people talked about books and publishing at that event. Stories, poems, art work and comics as something crafted both within and without.

Paperweight, the project I’d been sitting on for about a year at the time, was something that I kept running past people who I trusted to know their stuff and it seemed a shame not to do anything with it. I figured if I was going to put up a small publishing business, best to experiment on myself first: that way if it failed, I wouldn’t be dragging anyone else into the mix. I used to run an online clothing store so MoarBooks is kind of template-d after that: you have people, a Facebook page and interesting stuff people can buy which you deliver to them in exchange for valuable paper.

N: I decided to become a part of MoarBooks because I stand by the idea that many voices not yet heard but are brimming with creativity and who possess a kind of tenacity that is only present in the truly and utterly unfunded determined, need an avenue for their projects to be noticed. MoarBooks is concerned primarily with content and quality of that content; I like that. Among other things, what I really want to do through this is to share them with you, dear reader (who is reading this on the internet—Schrödinger’s reader: are you there?).

Who Do You Read?

W: It changes, but for sure Siri Hustvedt, Haruki Murakami, Adrienne Rich, David Foster Wallace, Donald Barthelme, Conchitina Cruz, Susanna Clarke, Italo Calvino, Vicente Groyon, Gregory Brillantes, Kelly Link, Phil Kaye, Mark Strand, Adrian Tomine and Jeff Lemire. I also like Joshua Lim So’s work—he writes plays and short stories (you can read some of that here).

N:  These are some of the aforementioned permanent residents in the village (apartment complex? I’m confusing my own metaphors) of my bookshelf—Ayn Rand and Georges Perec live in the floors between neighbors Hermann Hesse, Kurt Vonnegut and Albert Camus. I often speculate they all have impromptu tea parties at night without me knowing, though I believe Camus only has coffee.

How Did You Guys Begin Working Together?

W: Well. I had three people initially helping me out with MoarBooks but you know, that wasn’t panning out because of logistical limitations (location, day jobs, etc.). Then one day I saw Nico (who I knew through mutual friends from college) in Fully Booked, ignored him then went online a few months later to apologize. Then we found out we were neighbors and began tinkering with the idea of working on MoarBooks together since he also likes reading and art and all that jazz. He is quite organized and really sticks it to the man when it comes to reminders about posting schedules and stuff so that’s good. Plus he knows how use Excel. So there!

How Do You See MoarBooks’s Future?

W: I see it turning into a much bigger endeavor—not in terms of staff or size, necessarily but in terms of the binding and publishing quality of work. As of now, we sell low-volume, low-cost and in the future I really want to have the liberty to put my foot down and say like, 2500 copies—perfect bound, rush no matter what and not have a heart attack when I get the bill. We’re also working on having more events this year but that’s a surprise, surprise that has yet to be revealed.

N: I see it evolving into an even more effective creative platform that produces work that will touch people’s lives. We want to be the go-to for people who want to say something through their work and who are willing to work hard to get their work out there—the term “indie darling” comes to mind. We may be small, but we’re determined to be heard. Also, we have brownies. And espresso.

That’s it for now–next month we’ll be posting about the people who are responsible for our event posters, book covers and who’ve lent us a hand through the years. Thanks for sticking around and it was great to meet you–have a look around our bookstore and enjoy your experience with us.

Music Madness: Stranger than Fiction

Music has always been a big part of our lives–from beings kids listening to 90s boy/girl bands on cassette to being young adults playing our mixes (results of simultaneous interest and boredom) on our way to work, to school, to wherever we need to be. Here’s a little something from our wax-encrusted well-loved earbuds: this is a playlist from the MoarBooks family; all of these songs allude to various literary characters, whether they be in poems or stories. We thought you would find these fun to listen to and (for the less obvious songs) that it would be interesting to guess at the literary allusions. We’re almost to the end of the week and we know how hard it can be to hang in there–so hang in there: slap those earphones on, relax and stay a while. We’ve got a little bit of everything for ya, from The Cure to Franz Ferdinand to Jefferson Airplane! Let these songs let you into their humble abode(s?) and enjoy the music. Click the photo below to view the full playlist!

Click the photo to view the playlist!