The Prince of Mist

by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

This is a young adult novel just waiting to be animated by the likes of Studio Ghibli. Three teenage friends, a lighthouse, a mysterious cat, a murderous villain à la Count Olaf... No happy ending, but quite a number of loose ends. Even though I feel that some of the lines could have been explored properly (rather than abandoned), I like that. I am sure it could be written better, and probably something got missing in translation, but still, I couldn’t put this book down. And here’s the passage that won me over:

Max had once read in one of his father’s books that some childhood images become engraved in the mind like photographs, like scenes you can return to again and again and will always remember, no matter how much time goes by. He understood the meaning of those words the first time he saw the sea. The family had been travelling on the train for over three hours when, all of a sudden, they emerged from a dark tunnel and Max found himself gazing at an endless expanse of ethereal light, the electric blue of the sea shimmering beneath the midday sun, imprinting itself on his retina like a supernatural apparition. The ashen light that perpetually drowned the old city already seemed like a distant memory. He felt as if he had spent his entire life looking at the world through a black and white lens and suddenly it had sprung into life, in full, luminous colour he could almost touch. As the train continued its journey only a few metres from the shore, Max leaned out the window and, for the first time ever, felt the touch of salty wind on his skin. He turned to look at his father, who was watching him from the other end of the compartment with his mysterious smile, nodding in reply to a question Max hadn’t even asked. At that moment, Max promised himself that whatever their destination, whatever the name of the station this train was taking them to, from that day on he would never live anywhere where he couldn’t wake up every morning to see that same dazzling blue light that rose toward heaven like some magical essence.

Henry & June

a film by Philip Kaufman

Henry & June is more a stylisation of a film set in 1930s Paris rather than a film set in 1930s Paris. Fred Ward is good as Henry Miller. Uma Thurman is overplaying her June Miller but this is perhaps all part of the said stylisation.

At two-something hours, it is a bit too long for a movie revolving around a rather predictable love triangle (later: quadrilateral and other polygons) involving Henry, June and Anaïs Nin (Maria de Medeiros). In spite of its numerous sex scenes, the film makes surprisingly unerotic viewing. The best parts are those featuring Henry’s friends: the magician, the clown and other performers.

Alive! in Lisboa

by Sara Tavares

Although I bought this box set some three years ago, it was not until now that I watched the whole Lisbon concert in one sitting. It is even better than I remember. Perhaps the next best thing to the actual concert of Sara Tavares.

In addition to the DVD, the set includes two of her earlier albums: Mi Ma Bô and Balancê.

The DVD opens with Barquinho da Esperança, a wonderful song that does not appear on any of Sara’s studio albums.

Peavey Microbass Combo Amplifier

by Peavey Electronics

I bought this cute little combo back in 2000, to have something to plug my Fender Jazz Bass into. It proved to be surprisingly loud for a 20-watt practice box. Great sound quality too, and very sturdy. It served me well as both bass and guitar amp ever since. For the last year and a half, however, it was mostly gathering dust.

Now I found it another use: to accompany me at my Zumba lessons. Microbass is louder and much lighter than ION Block Rocker (well it doesn’t have lead batteries in it), and also happens to fit into a medium-size rolling suitcase. To hook up my MP3 player to it, I had to order a stereo to mono adapter from Amazon — I couldn’t find such a prehistoric thing in Corralejo.

Берегись автомобиля

a film by Eldar Ryazanov

If you never watched this film, please do it. Brilliant actors, great music, every sentence a classic.

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency

by Douglas Adams

By some reason, I never read this book before we moved to Fuerte.

Now I did. I really think the writing is the Adams’s best.

Know what, Cambridge is not that bad after all. Monty Python, Pink Floyd and DNA — I mean, of course, Douglas Noel Adams — are more than enough to vindicate the place. And now I learned that St. Cedd’s even used to have a time machine.

“But that can’t work, can it?” said Richard. “If we do that, then this won’t have happened. Don’t we generate all sorts of paradoxes?” Reg stirred himself from thought. “No worse than many that exist already,” he said. “If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don’t. It’s like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don’t hurt it. Not even major surgery if it’s done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make. “That isn’t to say that if you get involved in a paradox a few things won’t strike you as being very odd, but if you’ve got through life without that already happening to you, then I don’t know which Universe you’ve been living in, but it isn’t this one.”

Tramp

by Knut Reiersrud

Sorting through the box of unclassified CDs. Where did this one come from? Most likely from Oxfam, about ten years ago. Can’t really say what caused me to buy it, for all the liner notes are in Norwegian. The only name that rang a bell at the time was that of organist Iver Kleive. I listened to this album once, then I firmly lost the track of it.

So here it is. By now I recognise the names of a few more musicians here: Paolo Vinaccia (djembe, talking drum, bolambata, bass kalimba), Juldeh Camara (the very same Camara who plays with Justin Adams), and all four of Five Blind Boys of Alabama: Clarence Fountain, Jimmy Carter, George Scott and Curtis Foster. As intercontinental collaborations go, this one is not as unlikely as it sounds (and I heard unlikelier ones). In fact, when you listen to the songs, they all sound very organic. My favourite song is seven-and-a-half minute Jarabe, sung by Gambian griot and kora player Alagi M’Bye. I still can’t read Norwegian, but one can get a satisfactory translation of these liner notes online:

Utgangspunktet er et muslimsk basert tradisjonelt tema som Alagi og jeg har brettet ut. Alagi har skrevet ny tekst og jeg har harmonisert i mer europeisk tradisjon. Den godeste Alagi sang med så mye trøkk at mikrofonene i den lille trekirken på Rauland fikk problemer med å fange opp noe som helst annet. Stemmingen på gitaren er stjålet fra en av mine favoritt kassegitarister — Joni Mitchell.