last day of nablopomo

i've actually been meaning to do this since the first day....

whenever i say nablopomo it makes me think of a place i visited last summer, casa na bolom in san cristobal in chiapas, mexico. sounds similar, right? it's a beautiful place, and if i go back, i may splurge and spend at least a couple nights staying there instead of in a hostel.

na bolom was the home of danish anthropologist and archaeologist frans blom and his swiss wife gertrude, herself a conservationist, journalist, sociologist, and photographer. it's filled with images of their life exploring the lacandon jungle, objects they collected, and books they read. in the back is a native plants garden, with wonderful little benches where i sat and read anna karenina and wrote postcards. completely peaceful. and all profits go to conserving the jungle they cared so much about.

wonderful library, too. i didn't spend enough time in it to figure out how it's organized, but again, if chiapas becomes my focal point in the future, and especially if anthropological history stays central to my studies, this will become a necessary resource.

i can't believe i only have this one photo of it, and it's just of the garden, but look at the website for more!

an equal music

i've decided to jump on the bandwagon and post a book a day for NaBloPoMo. All sorts of books - children's, novels, history, poetry, whatever feels right for that day. Things i've read recently, things i read a long time ago, things i'd like to read. to start, a favorite book. one i could (and have) read many many times. one that sits by my bedside so that i can pick it up and read a page when i need to sleep.


this was the first of vikram seth's books that i found, thanks to momma as usual, and i have read many many more since. perhaps his best known is A Suitable Boy, a huge tome of a book that travels all over india, weaving together generations and families into a glorious narrative of independence. An Equal Music is much quieter, much smaller, but no less beautiful. perhaps the best verbalization of how it feels to play music that i've ever read, it's the story of a second violinist in london, the music he plays, and the people with whom and for whom he plays it. seth is a poet as well as a novelist and the prose in the book paints loving pictures of the city in fall, of the decrepitude of the protagonist's home town, of the violin he cannot live without, of the reflection of a beloved face in a window. it is not a book that hits you over the head but instead pulls you gently along, all the time singing in your mind. it reads as though it has a soundtrack, for most of all it is a story about music, but there is no need to find each piece described or have a prior knowledge of composers and eras, for seth's prose manages to provide enough. it is at times a melancholy book about a man stuck in a rut and a woman slowly losing herself, but it is also joyous, celebratory, and compassionate.

it is also a book that always makes me miss my cello and chamber music. for Michael, the protagonist, has many families, but the one that remains strongest, most present throughout the novel is his quartet. i didn't manage to bring my cello with me to chicago - it's a rather cumbersome piece of luggage and i had too much already - but i'll bring it back after christmas, along with a new years resolution to actually play it. hopefully.