Bizarrebeam's Corner

I finally understand what they meant by 'reconnecting with nature,' and can't believe books is the one that could convince me of that. It's not the type of boring encyclopedia you might think—it's as if Aimee gives me a tale about her life with the wonders of greens and creatures as the backdrop. It's a refreshing way to relate one's personal stories and reflections through the praise of nature's details, while also encouraging me as a reader to protect it. The glares of the cassowary with its presence you can feel 'through bones,' the smile of the axolotl, the synchronicity of fireflies. Read it, and boom.

Imagine waking up and finding a void of forgetting something, only to realize that everyone around you has forgotten the same thing too. As days go by, more things disappear—from daily life and from your memory. But imagine if, among the rest, you're the one who couldn't forget. You stand out, and it's not a good thing, because now you're a criminal chased by the memory police—everything that disappears needs to be forgotten quickly and is taken care of by them. I feel myself drifting along, turning into a void, as the storyline evokes a feeling of hollowness. Even after finishing the book, the thoughts I had while reading slipped away, leaving me with... hollow feelings. And I love how it could make me feel that far—an unusual feeling.

The book opens with, "Hi! My name is Nao, and I am a time being." From then on, I positioned myself as Ruth, letting the pages guide me into being a time being, connected with Nao's time. The story alternates between Nao, a Japanese schoolgirl, and Ruth, a Canadian author who finds Nao's diary washed ashore, likely from the 2011 Tohoku tsunami. What drew me at first was the question of whether the tsunami linked their lives. But as I read on, I moved at Nao’s pace instead. Her diary is heartbreaking, covering three generations: her suicidal father, her Buddhist nun great-grandmother, and her kamikaze grand-uncle. She writes about the bullying and harassment she faces every day, in the plain language of a teenager, as if it were normal life.

I would say this was one of the great books that came at a time when I needed it. I grew to faithfully stick to whatever I held onto. It eventually became an internal struggle as I didn't use my energy to stick with it, but rather out of guilt. Seth mentions that when you first stick with something, it's interesting and you're growing, until you meet a dip: where you get stuck, things get tough, or you face adversity. By recognizing this dip along the way, or even before starting, I could accept myself to quit, solely for myself, as I know where I'm heading. Not because of endless guilt.

Monologues pose questions on morality and finding meaning within the coming-of-age period--should I cherish the bright world of home and family, or be drawn to the darker world outside that I can't help but be attracted to? The main title, Demian, itself is a friend of Sinclair--the main narrator--who meets along the way and nuances Sinclair's view of settling his inner life.

Emotions are supposed to be felt, not taught, and that's how Yunjae, an emotionless boy due to almond-shaped neurons in his brain, emphasizes emotion in the storyline. The story gets interesting when the emotionless Yunjae meets Gon, who is full of emotions. Their rocky introduction transforms their relationship into a friendship that connects them. As I recall, I was on the edge of my life—either feeling too much or feeling numb—while reading this, and it encouraged me to realize that we aren't truly emotionless or incapable of loving. I just need to be attuned to my emotions, recognizing them—not too much, not too little.

A group of 40 women has spent years imprisoned in an underground bunker, with only bizarre memories of their previous lives. I found myself in the same situation as them—knowing nothing, not even how much time had passed or how many pages I'd turned, and searching for, sadly, unanswered questions of why and where they were. What I love most is the main narrator, described as the youngest arrival, who is pitied for not knowing the meaning of love and being a "real human." In a place where everything that makes them feel human has been stripped away, and the rest have resigned themselves to waiting for the end, the narrator tries to understand what it means to be human. I felt the book was about what it is like to discover meaning and purpose on your own, without the influence or guidance of society you belong.

This book left Adel wordless… still no review in sight.

This book left Adel wordless… still no review in sight.

It feels as if I need to highlight each page of this book—or at least all the journal entries that Copper's uncle left for him. The notebooks aim to fulfill Copper's late father's wishes of "becoming a good person" by helping Copper reflect on each moment that happens to him. The story is simple, featuring Copper's adventures and misadventures, followed by his uncle's journal entries. Copper focuses on each question and finding: that not everyone has it as easy as he does in life, the struggle of knowing what's wrong but not being able to put it right, and more. Everyone could see themselves in Copper, experiencing self-discovery by asking and reflecting—whether from the innocence of coming-of-age or after the complexities you've felt.

The book Elena Knows is told in third person, with Elena’s thoughts always framed as “Elena knows.” Yet it closes with “...maybe, she’ll know.” I think it sums up the whole book. Despite its title, it’s really about what Elena doesn’t know. She tries to figure out why her daughter, Rita, a full-time worker who was also her Parkinson’s caregiver, chose suicide. Elena believes she knows, because mothers know the love they have for their children. But do we really know what’s best for those closest to us? Do we have the right to expect gratitude and repayment in life? Even though the book could be read as saying daughters can never be fully understood by their mothers, I, who was in the middle of my most rebellious point with my own mother, somehow found myself understanding both characters. Their choices and thoughts are shaped by society, by religion, and by the harsh truth of illness: how it changes not only you, but everyone around you. We follow what has long been set by society, because “society knows.” But does it, really?

This book left Adel wordless… still no review in sight.

This book left Adel wordless… still no review in sight.

This book left Adel wordless… still no review in sight.