.....................................someone went shopping

I bought some absolutely ridiculous shoes this weekend...and have decided to be complete shameless about the fact that they may make me look either too trendy or like an 80s stripper. you decide.

------------------------------oh how i love books

Thanks for tuning in kids (or not tuning in, that's okay too),

I finished reading Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth last night. It is a collection of 8 short stories, three of which are related. They are all about the Indian-American experience (and no, I don't mean Native Americans), but really they all draw back to the human experience - aging parents, dissatisfaction in all forms, unrequited love, old friends, losing things-finding them-then losing them again, friendship, loneliness, love, children, siblings, growth, happiness, addiction, companionship. Obviously, these are far-reaching and differing themes, but Lahiri wraps them in to each of her stories in a way that makes them all seem familiar - even those we have not experienced ourselves. Most, if not all of the short stories, focus on the culture in which a second generation Bengali American would be brought up in (though those differ as well).

My favorite talent that Lahiri seems to posess is that her stories evoke a general human consciousness, often forcing you to uncover uncomfortable truths, that could appear in nearly any time in modern history. Then again, she also includes specific events and styles that establish her stories in a semi-strict timetable. That is, Lahiri's stories are real. Real to the point of closing the door on any possible plot of fantasy or romance a reader could desire for the characters. She delves into the general romance and coincedence/serendipity of life, but this is held on a tight leash by an all too real world. Even when you become attached to a character, when they do the right thing (or the wrong one), take a chance, meet the right person; this complicated, often cruel and random world takes hold. Time runs out, disaster strikes, disease creeps in, a character fails to find redemption. I admit what I am writing may lead some to the conclusion that Lahiri is simply pessimistic. This is not the case. She does write of joy and love and family and rich culture (both Indian and American), but reminds us that nothing is permanent. Nothing is perfect. And perhaps that is okay, maybe that is just life - imperfect and impermanent - but beautiful and toilsome all the same.




I'm now diving into some deep southen gothic novels, where the divine darkness truly resides. I'm excited.

Next up (maybe): The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. Stay tuned.

Thanks for reading. Feel free to comment or follow. That is, if you have actually found me.

- ANI -