New Beginnings and Evolutions

My last recommendation on the blog would have to have to be a big one and it is non other than Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go. I read this book last year September and this short novel is just without exaggeration one of the best books I have had the pleasure to read. Ishiguro cements his place as one of the foremost British literature laureate's with his emotionally charged distopian tour de force. His disciplined style of writing results in a sparing use of words where each one is charged with meaning but that doesn't mean the reader gets the same treatment as no feeling or emotion of ours is spared by writer. In what at first seems like a story about three childhood friends set around the background of a conventional British boarding school only ever subtly reveals itself as their relationships develops and the story progresses and we learn the extraordinary and unusual fates into which these three characters were born and destined to fulfil. The beauty of this novel lies in the humanity with which Ishiguro handles what can only be described as an inhumane situation. The morning I finished the book I felt ravaged by the story and incapable of going to work and face my reality and, pardon the pun, found it hard to let go of the characters and their inevitability. It has been a while since an author's talents for syntax had such an effect on me. The movie adaptation is due for release today and I am pleased that Ishiguro was involved so closely in the making. This is a very unusual reaction for me but I can hardly wait to see how this character driven story plays out on screen.




In May 2009 we started with the idea of The Paperhouse Review with the prospect of perhaps giving us a platform to express our literary views. We wanted to give the online insight we thought were lacking from our local publishing and literary industry. The information that was out there was more often, than not, aimed at a publishing audience rather than those of us who live with a passion for the literary and written word. Naively we took on the task with this blog ,never even considering the personal journeys that we both were commencing on that might prohibit us from completely committing and executing it to the full and creative capacity we both know exist within us. I am not the same person that started this blog in 2009 but my aspirations are still intact as the dream has not diminished but like me has evolved. I do not wish The Paperhouse Review to be a static literary personal blog that is stumbled on sporadically but rather to become an interactive website for South Africa aspiring writers, like ourselves, where new talent and voices can submit piece work, be it only one or many, to be viewed and discovered and ultimately published. There are to many brilliant works out there that are not being read or seen because the author is unknown or has ultimately not written enough to be considered to be published in a volume. So from here on work will rather commence on the structuring and completion of an interactive website rather than on blog posts. If anyone wants to become actively involved in this project please contact us by sending a personal message to us.

I look forward to this challenge as I am forever committed to be involved in the literary industry, be it as a published author or poet, a publisher or bookshop owner and for now the capacity which I will occupy remains unknown to me as well as where this journey is ultimately leading to. Two years ago I was fixated with the destination and distraught by the fact that I haven't reached any of these aspiring goals of mine. This mind set had caused me to ultimately miss out on the journey that was and is still shaping me. Now I know better as life has swung in another direction and we are yet again preparing to move, this time back to Johannesburg, showing that nothing in life is a permanent fixture. I am syched about the move and the prospects it hold. The forthcoming months promises so much; turning 30, the birth of our first child, Paris with my mom, baby and Andrew the new websites and as always my studies in literature, not to mention all the great personal discoveries and as always the literary ones. Thus it would be hard to commit myself with all these endeavours to the time that is needed for this blog to shape it into what it deserves, hence the more pro-active work will start now for the website.

So for the 2150 souls who read our blog we thank you and ask you to join us on our new direction by keeping a look out for the new website which once up and running will be posted here as well as on my facebook info page.

Sacrilegious Beauty

by Isaac Salazar
(images: Fine ting og sjokelade)

Great Expectations Met and a Bowler Hat

At 24 I started planning my first backpacking trip overseas. To where? Paris of course because I knew without any external influence or swaying that I WOULD love it. And at 23 I had just bought my first Ian McEwan novel, Atonement and at in interview for a job that did in fact change my life, when asked who my favourite author was I undoubtedly stated, without having read a word he has written, Ian McEwan of course. I knew from the first cover and from the first synopsis and excerpt that his writing and this specific novel of his resonated deeply with me. There are places, things and human experiences that come burdened with hype that its only possibility and nature will be to let you down. And then there are those instinctive intuitions and forces to which we are drawn that even long before the journey commences we are already reassured of one outcome; satisfaction. Enter The Unbearable Lightness of Being



Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being had always been at the back of my mind when browsing through the usually densely filled shelves of second hand bookshops but alas it was an elusive rarity. So when on a rainy and miserably cold day in November 2009 a wooden cart with parasol and all was selling books for R20 each in front of our dreary hotel in Shanghai, I couldn't believe my luck when it lay there between the Dan Brown and Eat Pray Love copies. And at last time and space has conspired and aligned and it has been picked from my dusty shelf of MUST reads. Instinctively it took me on an incredible journey the last month. Sadly I finished it moments ago and as with most books I read it will be lingering around my house, my thoughts and my everyday sense of being for the next few days rendering me unable to start with a new exploration. I remember on a particular day while reading it I was so fixated and drawn in that it felt that the whole day I was drifting in and out of conscientiousness and deeper into the realm of Thomas and Tereza. I love it when books do that to you.




The theme and pathos has left many a reader fumbled and as I read review after review of it each one tries to pinpoint the exactness of the novel which definitely constitutes a second revision of it in the future. Artist and illustrators have tried over years to interpret its essence which has lead to some amazing and greatest covers. Except for the vintage classics I wonder which of modern classics have been re-designed the most, this must be in for the running. The symbolic and significant bowler hat is prominent in most of the designs and understandably so, but I am drawn by the cover with the almost Picasso like drawing of Karinin. I am just thankful that movie tie in jackets was not as popular in the 80's, when the film came out, as they are now. Which one is your favourite and captures the essence of the book best?

One Neat Little Package

When my affinity for words, music, and a session in a bookshop comes together you get the following:



As with literary discoveries, new musical ones excite me almost as much and my favourite discovery of 2010 has to be Mumford and Sons. The words of this song, that is aptly named White Blank Page, evokes a considerable amount of emotion within me and by 'swelling rage' I am as revved up with pleading exactly where was my fault. Its literature wrapped up in a neat little four and half minute bundle for a quick fix with lasting affects. Enjoy

A light post to take note of

I loathe the fact that I already have my year planned out down to the weekends of each month but I have made piece with the control freak that is me. And it also feels good to have a plan and set of goals, not so much resolutions, even though life has proven that its only certainty is uncertainty but that part excites me equally. What these plans for 2011 and The Paperhouse Review constitute though is something for another post. And planning and taking notes require blank pages as we never know when that most profound idea or inspiration that could change the course of our directions hits and needs to be penned down.

A favourite buy of mine has to be notebooks. I sometimes feel though that the writing that is to be penned down in them should be worthy of their prettiness, hence the fact that there are some beautiful EMPTY notebooks on my shelf and desk. But still I go on buying them. The Wunderlust Notebook (below) is a great one for travellers and mine has some stories to tell, even if it is primarily an account of how we went over budget most of the days. Its pages have very quirky travel related watermarks which makes it the most character filled notebook and one of my favourites of all time. I received a red Moleskin as a parting gift before our stay in Asia which is just as great a travel companion and have been filled with musings, places to drink the best coffee (a hard find when Starbucks gets too expensive and commercial) and a forced account of our weekend in Yangshuo due to the fact that I lost our camera and the rest of my handbag on the sleeper bus.





My most recent addition came as a freebie when I was not only lucky enough to at last buy my dream car, but received a goodie bag which included a set of very trendy notebooks ...unfortunately my first speed ticket in 4 years soon followed as well.



The 2011 Moleskin came out with my favourite cartoon characters of all time, a MUST HAVE for my notebook collection.

Caution; Rambling reflections of a literary heart

It is in our inherent human nature to take stock at this time of year and reflect on what we have lost and gained. Not the accumulation or discarding of things material but what has ultimately altered the landscape of our hearts. With as equally as many manifestations as love, loss has proven itself to be one of the main arteries of the beating and pulsating heart of literature and poetry. I could not afford the luxury of reflection a year ago as I was in the midst of experience which was tainted with the denial of loss. Today on this not so sunny December day I can do a double take of how through its many different guises loss has undeniably altered the person that sits here today. As throughout my life I have found solace though through music, mainly Florence, Mumford and sons and old Sarah Mclachlan songs and literature, most recently Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguru and the heartache that accompanied me has led me to the discovery, not only the reading of poetry, but the poet within where loss has been both fuel and driver of the metaphorical vehicle.

Its been a year and a half since I have seen my best friend and I wonder can I still use that term to refer to her if the friendship doesn’t exist any more. Perhaps it is a term that supersedes time and events, like the word brother or Lizette . Or perhaps it is a term that can only lay claim by mutual agreement in which an absent party nullifies it. Whatever the case may be it has proven to be the biggest continual loss of my life thus far. Through its manifestation of friendship how easy it was to love, how easy it was to destroy a thing of beauty and extreme depth which had the fragility of paperweight porcelain. How easy it was to be unforgivably faltered and misunderstood.How hard it is to grasp that an accumulated and compounded,misinterpreted few days outweighed 4 years. How hard it is to explain the ache and pain of the shards of the sharp edged paper-thin porcelain stuck within my flesh that pricks a little harder and deeper at the thought and sight of what has been lost. The emptiness of her absence is vast and has left even the most general attempts at friendship and bonding, hollow. The fuel, however, that taps from it is rich and rewarding and through words comes healing, and through new life comes a chance to be and do better. The crushing blow comes not from the realization that I am not perfect but that my imperfections are intolerable and unforgivable when weighed against the essence of who I am. Even though a certain light within in me has been diminished forever as soon as this concept began to hit home. I miss her and if she would let me reinterpret the broken shards to sand them to rounder edges I would but ultimately I know that this present, this void, will remain my reality.

On the 23rd of Decemeber someone who was very dear to me would have celebrated his 30th birthday but as fate would have it he will forever be 25. And how he has shaped my life for the few years he was present in it. He very harshly awoken a very naive self to the fact that life was not only black and white but an endless colour chart of grey. Although I should probably give half the credit to literature and Bernard Schlink for this as well. He forced me to think about things rather than just accept them and uncovered and instilled a sense of adventure in me that lay dormant for far too long. I am better for having met him even though I know I will never have the chance to yet fully understand his complicated heart.

In May 2010 my almost biggest lost became my biggest gain. My mom had a double heart attack and had to have and angiogram to open up one of her arteries. What was considered to be a simple procedure caused her heart to stop on the operating table. The doctors and nurses struggled for 20 minutes to resuscitate her, in other words her brain was left for 20 minutes without oxygen. After reviving her they had to induce a coma and bring her in a state of hyperthermia to save her brain and heart. They gave her a 1% of survival and if she did manage to survive, they prepared us for major brain damage and that she would never be herself again. It was hard to come to terms with these statistics but the unfailing support from my friends carried me through a time where I was incapable of anything accept begging prayer and hope. I could not lose my rock in life it just wasn’t an option, having that phone call come through to say she didn’t make it...not an option. As it is with grace that is undeservingly bestowed on us, and after what felt like an eternity my mother awoke from her coma unscathed. Her 1% survival rate didn’t even cause her a 1% loss of her brain capacity. I have never witnessed the kind of strength with which she manage to carry herself through her recovery. And I have never felt the intense agonizing pleading and bargaining within myself as I did in that week of hell. Her presence in our lives reminds us daily at what her doctors scientifically described as ‘impossible’ and a ‘miracle’. There are people who do believe in miracles and people who don’t and then you get us, people who get to witness one. Being able to still share in the bond between mother and daughter, stronger than ever, has been the biggest gain this year.

The last two years has taught me that I am person of strength, that I can be wrong and learn from it to be better, and I have learned to be patient with myself, with others and with life which I now discover has probably prepared and led me to be more ready to for this moment where life and another gain is rapidly growing inside me with every breath. I am still aching from past events and with some I carry a perpetual pain which on days leaves me grasping for my crippled altered heart and pleading with it to stop yearning for what no longer is, but I can also state with confidence, crippled heart and all that I have managed to be happy and content with what I have.

Even though it is loss that fuels the pen to create the metaphors to understand human emotions, it is from the strength that we witness in others and ultimately gather within ourselves as a result from these experiences, that inspire us to have the confidence to pen them down and carry on through the loss, use it an channel it, even if it is through a forever altered version of ourselves.

Holiday reading spots

It's at last holiday time and I am armed with my favourite holiday indulgence Phillipa Gregory, my half finished Haruki Murukami's Norwegian Wood, Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being and and my Everest, Marlene van Niekerk's Agaat and this is where I will be enjoying them: Old Mac Daddy Luxury Trailer Park.





I can't wait, just a few more things to pack then we are off tomorrow morning on an early flight. I can't wait to see our quirky For Better or Boerewors suite and unwind swimming, hiking and of course reading.



(images; Old Mac Daddy)

The rest of my reading will be happening between Christmas and New Years here:


A work in progress, my own little makeshift bohemian reading spot at home for the hot summer days. I am sure here I will make a considerable dent in Agaat, as well as making some progress on our new and improved upcoming website.

I remember fondly our holiday reading spot from exactly a year ago, Koh Lanta Thailand which housed us and our companions, The Girl who Played with Fire and Shantaram for hours and days on end.



Happy reading this holiday and here is hoping that you find your perfect spot.
From the lazy bloggers of The Paperhouse Review