Apologies for the two-month delay of this blog post. March had been a terrible month as it was the onset of the community quarantine; April was more terrible with weeks of self-imposed internet disconnection; May is a month when I’m struggling to stabilize everything that had happened to me and to the world, and I’m …
Continue reading “Book review on March 2020: Women, women, women”
I am coming back from where we left off: a quick review of the books I have read in February. I pored over four books about love—one fiction and three nonfiction. The following were Enigma variations by André Aciman, Unrequited by Lisa Phillips, Modern romance by Aziz Ansari, and Modern love by Daniel Jones (ed.). …
Continue reading “Book review: Tales on love for February 2020”
Alright, 2019’s the shit. But if there is anything to brag about that year, then I would claim it to be the Year of Voracious Reading Because What Is Happening To Kloyde, To The World But Then My Reads Are Funny, Cathartic, Full Of Heart. The only thing I regret in that section of my …
The book package arrived earlier than I expected. The last time Mx. Book Duke and I arranged our payments and delivery was on Sunday afternoon, when Mx. informed me the books were shipped already. I expected to wait for a minimum of three business days, but the shipping option is really here to up the …
I encountered Jhumpa Lahiri’s cadence in graduate school when we’re asked to read the beginning short story “A Temporary Matter” in the light of postmodernist criticism. I forgot how I answered that examination on comparative literature. What I remembered was sweat excreting on my palms. I guess reading under pressure is not a wonderful reading …
Continue reading “Happy 20th birthday, Interpreter of Maladies!”
Some books cast a repelling effect on me especially when they start waxing fundamentalism. Their audacity to assure me of a successful life through a handful of Bible verses and telling me ‘it’s all in the mind’ unwittingly implies that my feelings of emptiness are invalid. When a writer refuses to descend from his/her ivory …
Kloyde A. Caday 