Bradbury's Child

For a little girl there is no best place but the father's arms...

When I first read Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451", I fell in with the way he saw things. Writing fantasy but meaning reality. Then I read "Golden Apples of the Sun" and "Farewell Summer" - both collection of short stories by Bradbury. I felt comfort, soothing feeling, light breeze, fresh air, innocent sadness... And finally, there came "Dandelion Wine". There is never a wrong moment to read a particular book. Everything comes in right time, everything for the right purpose. 

So I dived into the yellow bottle of Dandelion Wine and came up refreshed, renewed, at times sad, sometimes excited, many times loved, always grateful... Grateful for my own childhood, grateful for a family no less exciting than Douglas Spaulding's, grateful for not minding we never made a Dandelion Wine in my world, we made mulberry syrup and rose water. Bradbury unwrapped my memories like you would open your birthday gifts, knowing what to expect and being thankful. I would write endless stories about my childhood, perhaps I will, someday. But what my message to you, my dear reader, is that if you want to dive into good memories without waking up the evil dragons, this book is just what you need. Get drunk by the words, feel good by the memories, relax by the aftertaste. I managed it, yes, I did by not evolving all the pain, to go back, to peek into my past, to try to feel the warmth of my father's arms. It felt peaceful! This book made me once more, want to cook an apple cinnamon pie and a lemon cake and dance in the rain, and be brave and smile a lot and just do simple things that would brighten up your loved ones, thus yourself. Like a caring father, Bradbury taught me that love is in the small things and it is everywhere. 

As awkward as it may seem to you, but when I write about Bradbury, I remember Rumi, when I think of Rumi, my thoughts fly to Bradbury. After writing all these words, a Rumi quote comes to my mind: "Close your eyes, fall in love, stay there!" And he promises, all the comfort and peace will come to you...

For a big girl there is no best place but the love's arms...

In the company of the Courtesan's Dwarf

Perhaps my review will get less interest since I chose to "be in the company of the dwarf - Bucino" rather than the courtesan - Fiammetta Bianchini. The title, "In the company of the courtesan" would get more attention, but that's the real name of the book I'm going to review here and it has already caught enough interest to be the bestselling historical fiction book and I bet the title played a sweeter role than the content. But the word "courtesan" is not the only siren enchanting you to dive deep into the book. It is the cover that attracted me, to be honest. That sweet, serene face. Her face on the cover - not the body, for I had to read the book and get to know Tiziano Vecellio and his famous painting to put the puzzles together.

Here comes my first positive opinion for Sarah Dunant for her research is quite informative. You learn, while you read about Italy, about Venice, about the children of renaissance. The author intends to show Venice - La Serenissima - in its dazzlingly innocent glory. Metaphorically speaking, Venice turns out to be the only attractive courtesan in the book. What did I learn from the book? Well, I "met" Petrarch and his sonnets, Pietro Aretino's stingy tongue, Tiziano Vecellio's brushes, and a lot more about Venice - La Serenissima!

The corruption veiled under the justice...

Seraglio - which means Harem and the ongoing "battles" of Eastern Harems vs Western Brothels...

The story is told by the dwarf named Bucino. When I read the book, I was forgetting he was a dwarf, so he had to constantly remind that he was the one. The more I thought high of Bucino's wit, the less excitement brought the main figure, the courtesan - Fiammetta Bianchini. Bucino unfolds the mysterious Venice and makes you taste the city from stinking waters to perfumed Sunday masses, from street fights to Turkish merchant's fountain court, from ostentatiously pious Venetian families to modestly camouflaged brothels with their charmingly witty mistresses. The book reminds of "Memoirs of Geisha", only the Venetian version. Does it make you want to visit Venice? Yes, it does. Does the book make Venice a romantic, all-in-honey-moon-mood-sort-of-a-place. No, it does not. Partly, because the book describes XV century Venice and it is much darker than the modern Venice with its well lit, all in flower haze narrow streets, canals with handsome Italian gondola men waiting for you to jump in and feel the mystery and magic of old days.

How did I pick this book when there were plenty of books queuing on the door to welcome them into my mind? How selfish of me? You see, it is the signs! I walked in to the staff room. There are always books there to share after reading. My eyes caught the cover and there was I, reading it. Sometimes, what you seek, finds you first. My dear Rumi, you were right. Venice was on my mind when I found this book. So, let the good signs alter your directions, let the good signs make you get lost in the unknown streets and let the bad signs be ignored once and forever!

What's your name?

Lately, I've been asking more questions that I know can not be answered. Over the years, we develop common sense, and where the common sense can not poke its nose, we switch off the lights. I work with children. They ask me: "Why do we exist?". Very thoughtful of a ten year old, isn't it? I go on and think of dozens of answers that flicker in my mind like the fireflies in the summer night, I know they will believe any version I suggest. But I decide to answer honestly: "I don't know". All right, so this has nothing to do with the question I will ask today. Here we go: "Do our names shape our characters?". Perhaps, we behave accordingly. I don't even bother to google it now. All I know, my sister's name means joy and she brings joy and my friend's name means to laugh and she has the most seducing and beautiful laugh I have ever heard. And I can go on and on with all the people in my life and their names and match and mismatch the characters to meanings and my mind is now getting blurry. What does my own name suggest about my character? I will leave the answer to my friends. And good morning!

Mistaken

Kindness comes disguised in different forms, but most of the time, it goes labelled as weakness. People may and will think kindness comes with planning and intention. The-what-a-foul thoughts will cross our minds, we will doubt the sincerity, we will assume, we will judge. Bravery will be mistaken for foolishness. Everyone will make mistakes, everyone will be mistaken. There will always be doubts and suspicions. But in the depths of my thoughts I still keep on hoping, keep on believing, keep on giving reasons and justifying. Each doubt is erased by the drop of faith. For each "what if I'm wrong?" thought, I would want to get "What if you're right?", not "Yes, you are" or "No, you are not". Because, no one soul is utterly right or wrong. No one soul believes or denies everything completely. No one soul is completely ignorant or a perfection itself. Like the scales, we are balancing the trays and we all are trying. What a big joke this life seems! Falling victim to guessing games. Would life be less intriguing if minds were as transparent as the blue skies? Less fascinating without black holes? More amusing without humour?
I don't care if I am mistaken, but I do want to be understood. 

Greatful

It's been a week,

Since I thought of myself,

as Kafka in a skirt.

But then I woke and read his life.

Then I stopped. 

The twinge of guilt, 

Swept through my skin,

I started counting,

The blessings I've got.

The energies and spirits,

My folks and friends,

Unspoken love and care,

Neglect and despair,

My sweet memories,

My life, my books, my thoughts,

Nothings and every tiny things,

Rare laughters and constant smiles,

What do they hide behind?

Some agony and pain,

The fear in the air,

The thunderstorms I met with bliss,

The walks I took under the pouring rain.

Some sun, some moon, some dreams,

Some plans, small hopes, great shots,

And who knows what!?