Read for:
Paris in July 2026
hosted by Emma @ Words and Peace
20 Books of Summer 2026
hosted by Annabel @ AnnaBookBel
20 Books of Summer 2026
hosted by Annabel @ AnnaBookBel"When you reread a classic you do not see more in the book than you did before; you see more in you than there was before." — Clifton Fadiman
20 Books of Summer 2026
hosted by Annabel @ AnnaBookBel
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| A Lady Writing by Johannes Vermeer |
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| The Pentominoes |
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| The Geographer by Johannes Vermeer |
“Whether it’s pottery or life, it takes more than one attempt for them to come out right. And all that effort makes the end product more valuable, too.”🏺 As is in most Japanese feel-good novel, the pace is quite slow. I enjoyed it every time they work on the pottery; I could almost see the end products. It's pretty satisfying when they sold out all the vases, dishes, and bowls during a bazaar. And I agree, that a handmade pottery product, no matter how imperfect it was, is a perfect gift to someone who means a lot to us - it's private and unique; especially when the dish or vase had been made with that person always on the maker's mind.
The old man's eyes struck me first. They rested deep in their sockets, and he seemed unable to take them off me. Granted, everyone in the teahouse was starring at me more or less unabashedly, but he was the most brazen. As if I were some exotic creature he'd never seen before.
Tin Win's life had not spanned twenty-one days when, at least from his mother's perspective, its whole course had been decided. Lived. Forfeited.
"And so there must be in life something like a catastrophic turning point, when the world as we know it ceases to exist. A moment that transforms us into a different person from one heartbeat to the next. And if these turning points are real, are we aware of them as they happen, or do we recognize the discontinuity only much later, in hindsight?"
"Do we leave the dead behind or do we take them with us? I think we take them with us. They accompany us. They remain with us, if in another form. We have to learn to live with them and their deaths."
I was feeling cold, so I opened my eyes to find myself in a cold room. It was unfamiliar room, and I could not recollect how I got here. The room was dimly lit. I did not know what time it was; the curtains were open, and it was dark outside. I needed to pee. I took a deep breath, turned onto my left side and pushed myself into a sitting position. My arms trembled with the effort, and I felt a pain in my left shoulder.
I was nervous. Ever since I got Parkinson's, I hadn't been confident or sure of myself. I was not sure how I would do here, but I decided to give it a try nonetheless.