Books that have influenced us - one of the most interesting threads doing the rounds on facebook. It was lovely to look through the many lists, and with the kind of obsessive love I have developed for reading and writing, I thought a Blog post would do it much more justice than just a status (I mean come on! Who isn't bored of the blue borders by now. At least a little.Whatever).
After much mulling over I think I have tracked down the main books that have influenced me.
Here goes my list :
'The Swiss Family Robinson' By Johann David Wyss
One of the first books that got me hooked to reading and travel and writing.
'And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos' By John Berger
You have to read it!
'Margot Fonteyn - A Life ' by Meredith Daneman.
I owe my affair with ballet to this book. I shall never get over it. Or her.
'Memoirs of a Geisha' By Arthur Golden
It taught me that reality can be beautiful and magical, just like a dream or an illusion. It is only our resistance to reality that makes it lose its spark.
'The Road to Damietta' by Scott O'Dell
Love!
'A Room of One's Own' By Virginia Woolf
It helped me think better. It helped me realize that you do not need to be grand and all over the place. Simplicity would do. It would do great! With both your thoughts and words.
'The Witch of Portobello' By Paulo Coelho.
Need I explain?
'Rebecca' By Daphne Du Maurier
and its sequel
'Mrs. De Winter' By Susan Hill
The best atmospheric novels I have ever read. And the use of language. My Lord! what use of language.
'The Book of Promethea' By Helene Cixous
Honesty can be as bare as bare can be, and still be beautiful. And comfortable.
'The Fountainhead' and 'We the Living' By Ayn Rand
What a brilliant mix of philosophy and creativity.
'On the Street Where You Live' By Mary Higgins Clark
Mystery and murder at its best;
and
'In Cold Blood' by Truman Capote
true accounts of a mass family murder told with such detachment that it makes you shiver.
'Uncle Tom's Cabin' by Harriet Beecher Stowe
'Sylvia Plath - Complete poetry Collection'
Writers can be 'trained' academically and still be natural and not esoteric. Her poems helped me get over this 'academia' mind block.
'His Nameless Love- Portraits of Russian Writers' Essays by various authors
Nothing like a hidden love story or an untold real life saga.
The (more) important reason that made me actually think deep about this post is that I am convinced more than ever that writing is where I belong. Weird happenings and coincidences ( There is an as yet un-revealed reason out there, I know, for there is no such thing as a coincidence in this universe) have revealed myself to me, and now I feel at ease. Nothing to prove, nothing to show off - just my good old books and this aged laptop which is nearing its last breaths, but still holds all my random scribbles patiently. And a candle to create 'the' writing atmosphere.
Now all I need to do, is stop writing so selfishly about myself and let myself dissolve. Into the minds and words of writers like the ones I have mentioned above, and allow my mind to breathe more. Grow more.
And stop trying to be emotional or clever. I don't mind a bit of rust and racket here and there though, but just enough.
And it doesn't seem like a new path, but something that has been taken out of the closet (no pun darlings, not yet).
Everything has gone, yet everything has actually arrived now. Everything is empty, yet nothing has felt fuller before.
So here I am, being (hopefully) me.
If words ever left me, I should cease.
Thank you, dear books, thank you for all the mirrors and the magic.
Much Love!
After much mulling over I think I have tracked down the main books that have influenced me.
Here goes my list :
'The Swiss Family Robinson' By Johann David Wyss
One of the first books that got me hooked to reading and travel and writing.
'And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos' By John Berger
You have to read it!
'Margot Fonteyn - A Life ' by Meredith Daneman.
I owe my affair with ballet to this book. I shall never get over it. Or her.
'Memoirs of a Geisha' By Arthur Golden
It taught me that reality can be beautiful and magical, just like a dream or an illusion. It is only our resistance to reality that makes it lose its spark.
'The Road to Damietta' by Scott O'Dell
Love!
'A Room of One's Own' By Virginia Woolf
It helped me think better. It helped me realize that you do not need to be grand and all over the place. Simplicity would do. It would do great! With both your thoughts and words.
'The Witch of Portobello' By Paulo Coelho.
Need I explain?
'Rebecca' By Daphne Du Maurier
and its sequel
'Mrs. De Winter' By Susan Hill
The best atmospheric novels I have ever read. And the use of language. My Lord! what use of language.
'The Book of Promethea' By Helene Cixous
Honesty can be as bare as bare can be, and still be beautiful. And comfortable.
'The Fountainhead' and 'We the Living' By Ayn Rand
What a brilliant mix of philosophy and creativity.
'On the Street Where You Live' By Mary Higgins Clark
Mystery and murder at its best;
and
'In Cold Blood' by Truman Capote
true accounts of a mass family murder told with such detachment that it makes you shiver.
'Uncle Tom's Cabin' by Harriet Beecher Stowe
'Sylvia Plath - Complete poetry Collection'
Writers can be 'trained' academically and still be natural and not esoteric. Her poems helped me get over this 'academia' mind block.
'His Nameless Love- Portraits of Russian Writers' Essays by various authors
Nothing like a hidden love story or an untold real life saga.
The (more) important reason that made me actually think deep about this post is that I am convinced more than ever that writing is where I belong. Weird happenings and coincidences ( There is an as yet un-revealed reason out there, I know, for there is no such thing as a coincidence in this universe) have revealed myself to me, and now I feel at ease. Nothing to prove, nothing to show off - just my good old books and this aged laptop which is nearing its last breaths, but still holds all my random scribbles patiently. And a candle to create 'the' writing atmosphere.
Now all I need to do, is stop writing so selfishly about myself and let myself dissolve. Into the minds and words of writers like the ones I have mentioned above, and allow my mind to breathe more. Grow more.
And stop trying to be emotional or clever. I don't mind a bit of rust and racket here and there though, but just enough.
And it doesn't seem like a new path, but something that has been taken out of the closet (no pun darlings, not yet).
Everything has gone, yet everything has actually arrived now. Everything is empty, yet nothing has felt fuller before.
So here I am, being (hopefully) me.
If words ever left me, I should cease.
Thank you, dear books, thank you for all the mirrors and the magic.
Much Love!
