The Wolf responds to the tag

So, when it comes to talking about tagging I think I can safely declare that I have been a bit more successful when it comes to tagging or being tagged than cousin Jormund. I mean, being the wolf that I am, people generally had the good sense to leave me alone to revel in my own successes, so while playing those endearing childhood games I generally happened to be amongst the last to be tagged, and even if I was, at times, a bit unlucky, I generally muscled my way out of such situations, often in blatant and shameless defiance of all professional ethics and rules of fair play. Nobody was complaining anyways so it really didn’t make any difference. Perhaps someday when I start my own blog I might write about all the violence that my life has been so abundant in.

Anyways, coming back to business it is certainly a honour to be invited by Cuz JE to post this short article on my own literary habits, likes and dislikes.
Sure enough I owe JE a lot when it came to honing my literary interests, perhaps if it wasn’t for him I still might be stuck with Fredrick Forsyth and Robert Ludlum.
I suppose I may not be thought to be too arrogant when I mention that I was fortunate enough to miss the Sydney Sheldon and Agatha Christie phase. Starting off my journey into the most exciting and fascinating world of mystery fiction, as I did with Sherlock Holmes himself, there certainly was no looking back. Perhaps those days spent in being continually fascinated by the super sleuths amazing deductions, really brought me into so close a relationship with Her Majesty’s language - a relationship that has been full of awe, respect and love from my side.

My own collection of books is not so very considerable at least not enough to lose count, since a lot of my earlier readings came from books out our local library or from Cuz JE.

It was only since the past three or four years that I have really started collecting them for good.

Last book read, I am sorry to say was not a classic which should have been the case, given the fact that the circumstances right now are just right for me to catch up on some really serious reading, instead it was " The Da Vinci Code" by Dan Brown.

The last book or rather books I bought (since I do all the buying in bunches) were Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott, Tom Jones by Henry Fielding, and a book of poetry by Robert Burns.

Five books that have meant the most to me:

Kim – by Rudyard Kipling
For the simple fact that I still distinctly remember my own emotions as I was reading this classic. I couldn’t help having a smile on my face almost throughout, of course it wasn’t as if I was mocking it or anything. It was so very sweet a story, and so very simple at that, no exaggerations no melodrama, just a very straightforward and believable portrayal of the adventures of a most endearing little Kim, his simplistic but smart perceptions of life, the Llama's blind devotion and faith in his quest and their journey through the streets, towns and mountains of my beloved dear country in those days of the Raj, made for such beautiful reading. There was something so very true and sincere about the whole adventure, as though there was a message hidden deep within all that simplicity one that could only be felt and never really be understood.

Wuthering Heights- by Emily Bronte
There is something deeply horrifying about Heathcliff that terrorises, yet makes us sympathize with him in a very sad way, as if we understand and feel sorry for his fate, yet will never forgive him.
The entire story is in some way very tragic yet frightening.

Alice in Wonderland – by Lewis Carroll.
I have yet not been able to tell why but the first time I read it there was a certain gloomy logic to the seemingly outrageous stupidity. It somehow did not feel very cheerful, even though it was so funny, as if there was some unfathomable mystery hidden deep between those lines.

Crime and Punishment- by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
I would have been terribly frightened as I read this classic if I had not been so busy just being amazed by the masterful reasoning, and I would have been absolutely amazed if I hadn’t been so occupied being terrified at the cold blooded violence and the subsequent struggle with conscience that makes up the story. Many days after I finished reading the book I would still be wondering at the frighteningly convincing justification of a ruthless murder thus offered by Dostoyevsky.

Mayor of Casterbridge- Thomas Hardy
Perhaps Tess of the D'urbervilles is the most acclaimed of Hardy’s novels. [Editor's Note: Not Really] Even so, Mayor of Casterbridge lingers longer in my memories for special reasons too.
A very tragic story about a man who loses everything, first his wife then his position, his wealth his livelihood, his daughter and then finally himself.
A man, decaying in his own ego and pride and jealousy, living a life of deceit however repentant may that be, never giving that which he could have given to one who deserved and finally broken by a fate crafted by his own unfortunate hands.
Life is so very much like that, we remember to give when there is no one to receive we remember to love when there is no one to be loved.

That’s the five then.

Well about books I would like to burn, I don’t really think I have any for the simple reason that I am too insignificant a critic to write off anybody whether acclaimed or not. Writing is an art that I am far from being proficient at, perhaps someday that I may have gained some significant skills I will perhaps attempt to condemn some one else.

Book Review : The Twelve Ceasars

Suetonious, the illustrious author of "The Twelve Ceasars", lived in the time of Emperor Hadrian (he of the Wall). The affable historian, we are told, was dismissed from the service of the Emperor for "indiscreet behaviour" with the Empress Sabina while Hadrian was away on a campaign. (That Hadrian was probably having a very 'gay' time of it himself is...umm...irrelevant.)

Nevertheless, Suetonious' account of the life, reign and loves of the Ceasers, from Julius to Dominitian, makes for a very interesting read. For one thing, Suetonious seems to have functioned blissfully independently of the Office of the Censor. His carefree account of the personal lives of the rulers of Rome, their sexual orientation and various perversities (Valhalla knows I'll never look at Nero and Agrippina the same way again) is the ancient equivalent of The Daily Mirror's Gossip Pages.

But there's more to "The Twelve (XII looks much better doesn't it?) Ceasars" than racy accounts of orgies and incest. It is also one of the few 'insider' accounts we have of daily life in the Rome of Julius and Gaius, of Augustus and Titus. Suetonious faithfully relates how votes were bought and sold, Senators traded like horses and favours extended in exchange for money. (Now why does that sound so familiar?). He tells of the public adulation that greeted Caligula on accession, the despair of Augustus at the promiscuity of his daughter Julia and the earthy good-humour of Vespasian.

He relates the flaws of Julius and Vespasian just as frankly as he relates the (very) few good points about Nero and Caligula. While he doesn't shy away from passing judgement on the Twelve, his account appears to be very fair and unbiased in its relation of facts. At the same time, he freely admits when he is basing his account on hearsay and rumour, which is more than modern historians are likely to do.

Of the twelve Ceasars whose stories Suetonious so faithfully sets down, it's interesting that only two died of natural causes, and son succeeded father only once. The racy tale of palace intrigue, bloody coups, street revolutions and madcap dictators reads a lot like a modern thriller - shocking, unexpected, and hard to put down.

In all, if you have even a passing interest in Ancient History, you can't miss this one.

Buy it here