Russian July

My mood has still been a little up and down lately, as it has been for awhile now, and I haven't been able to focus much on reading or anything, really --but this morning I had a desire to go back to basics. So I'm going to be having what I'm calling a Russian July, where I will read nothing but Russian, or Russian-inspired, literature, to get me back into the swing of things. Instead of viewing Russian literature as an anxiety-inducing thing-I-should-be-doing, I'm going to use it as a comfort blanket or a home.

I'm not going to push myself too hard with it, I only have three books on my list (with some back-up options in case I do manage to finish all of them), and these will be my summer dachas!

 

First, I've got Lolita, and this year is just going to have a lot of Nabokov in it (which I am 100% okay with). This is one where I've been putting it off, even though I know I'm going to enjoy it. I'm not really sure why it's working out that way, but whatever.

Then we've got Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente --I don't know if she's Russian or not? But the novel itself is inspired by Russian folklore and mythology, and I hear it has a vague plot/story-line, so it has all the makings for a book I'm hopefully going to love.

And then of course The Master and Margarita. Another summer cannot slip by without me reading this novel. 2017 is the year, I refuse to let this one go again!

I do have an entire week off work in July, so in case I do manage to finish these three, here are some other Russian contenders: rereads for Zamyatin's We or Lermontov's A Hero of Our Time, Doctor Zhivago by Pasternak, or Farewell to Matyora by Rasputin. (Gogol's Dead Souls was a little bit of an afterthought, but I think I might save that one for November around Thanksgiving --I feel like it would make a better cosy, autumn-on-the-brink-of-winter read).

So that will be my July! I'm really excited for it, and I hope it all goes well. x

Well that's it for now, much love,
Lizzie. x

Summers are for shorts (I think I've sobered up some since the last time I posted).

With the way my mental health and attention has been the past while, I've decided to focus on shorter reads, at least for the beginning of summer --just so I don't lose what I've tried so hard to get back to.

So for May and June, I'll be filling my head with short novels, books of poetry, graphic novels, etc. (I'm aiming for anything around 150 pages or less); & so here's a little tbr for you:

I finished one graphic novel yesterday/last night (it arrived in the mail, so I set down to read it right away). I had to force it down some though, so I don't think I enjoyed it as much as I could have --or else I simply liked the first volume more, I can't really tell. But the next volume of The Girl from the Other Side comes out on Halloween, so that's something to look forward to! (Also, with the walls, it's beginning to give me Attack on Titan vibes, only if you injected it with a child-like-fairytale-folklore-esque kind of vibe, and replaced the giants with black creatures & animal parts). I like the atmosphere a lot (a lot-a lot).

I'm currently reading a book of poetry on my kindle/phone --and it's easier to digest because 1. I can read it in small increments while I'm waiting at the bus stop and 2. poems are much easier to take in rather than lengthy chapters and whole pages and all that. But I also don't know if I should be reading Sunshine right now --I'm afraid it'll be a Bell Jar mistake where it clicks too much and sends me so far backwards --but at the same time, I feel like it's a way of getting it out --and if I don't read something like it, the feelings I've been having will only bottle themselves up, and that wouldn't do much good, either. It's a risk I've been enjoying so far, though. We'll see.

Next I've got Moonstone: the Boy who Never Was by Sjón, and I'm hoping I'll be able to conquer it. It's only 144 pages, and not all of the pages even have words on them (chapters always start on the right side, and the left is usually blank). And even with that, there's not a lot of text on the pages in general, anyway --there's plenty of spaces and enters so I'm not too stressed about it. Hopefully I won't hype it up too much for myself (it takes place in Iceland in 1918 or around there); it also begins with a "boy" (I don't know if this means teenager? Younger? Older?) servicing an older gentleman, so I'm not sure what to expect out of this? But the premise seems interesting and unlike what I've ever read before (it's about cinema coming to Iceland, where a "boy" must decide whether to use it as a means of escapism, as he is rejected for his homosexuality --or if he wants to face and participate in the world --there's also a volcano erupting at the same time, so it should be a fascinating read, I hope) --and this is where I'm afraid I'm looking forward to it too much.

I don't want to list any more possibilities (I just picked up a bunch of short novels this month and April), because I don't need myself to feel too overwhelmed or stressed about it. And I think things that come in three's are quite very nice, anyways.

Well that's it for now! Much love, love love love,

Lizzie. x

(p.s. I just noticed the color scheme for this tbr is pinks, blacks, and whites, and I am one hundred percent okay with that. c: )

Tuesday, terribly

Today is always tricky, always hard lately and I don't know why I can't seem to shake it all off. My head's been a mess the past couple days, weeks - - and I feel like I should say sorry for starting off a post this way.

But today this is going to be more of a diary.

Today I thought about my fingers. I compulsively pick at them; I can't hold a pen correctly because the nail bed on my right thumb feels sore from where I've bothered myself too much. My pinky is starting to bother me, too, but it's not so useful as a thumb so it isn't too much trouble. But either way, I don't want it that way.

And I remembered Tim, and how we used to talk about getting me gloves, because nothing else really seemed to work. And I know, and I'm sure he knew, that a girl wearing gloves around is odd and out of the ordinary - - would probably make me feel self conscious and maybe even a little ashamed (perhaps he didn't know about that, or I wouldn't have) - - but he would talk about getting lacey ones, or Antique-ish ones, just so at least I could feel pretty about it.

It's days like that, thoughts like that, guilts like that, that make me wish I could be x years younger to keep that kind of goodness and kindness and lightness that seems to have slipped out of my life. Where do you find another love like that?

I'm beginning to think that maybe I do sometimes run off and ruin good things, maybe all I can do about it is scream and tear it all down from the inside. I don't know what I can do with myself.

And that's all I've got. Love, Lizzie. x