Sophie Calle

As an intriguing, almost eccentric character whose choice of subject matter and exhibitionism of privacy consistently incites controversy, the study of Sophie Calle and her work is one of unique yet almost simplistic style of documentation where the contents of other people’s lives are the uncompromising muse.

My initial visual reaction to Room 28 was that the theme of the photograph and its topic was somewhat unsophisticated and effortless, and though I was admittedly drawn to it I was unsure of the definite concept and the artist’s intention.  The first few words that spring to mind when I see this piece are “intimacy, personal possessions, and individuality,” and on some level there is an atmosphere of an invasive and obtrusive role bestowed on us as the audience. The images appear quite personal, and the composition of each frame shows a variation of perspective, shape and texture; each providing their own window into a separate aspect of one person’s life.

Side Effects by Woody Allen

Worried? Frantic? Balding? Reach for Side Effects. For trying, middle-of-the-night anguish. When life is passing you buy. Or conspiring against you. Or both. You need Side Effects. When you know that no one loves you and never will. When the cat has eaten your valium and the doctor's answerphone just laughs at you. Take Side Effects and dissolve slowly into helpless hysteria.

Upon wandering around a car boot sale during my latest visit to the UK, which would have been completely guileless had it not been for the sheer novelty of going to a car boot sale, I came across a box of 70s paperbacks whose pricing proved that the owner was desperate to be relieved of them. The bright pink letters of Allen's name showed themselves upon further sifting, and I'm pretty sure that it was out of sheer shock (I was pretty convinced that Woody Allen's work was purely in film and theatre) that I made the purchase. 

For a while the paperback lay untouched in the vast pile of summer reads that failed to be completed as punctually as the label implies, and it was one of the myriad of books that I hauled back to Singapore. I didn't so much as open the pages until the following December, when the blurb's content proved to be of the utmost relevance to my state of mind (note that I did said state of mind, not being. Naturally my youthful -female- hairline is not receding). For the week-or-so leading up to the Christmas holiday these snippets of fiction made for great bedtime companions at the end of a stressful day, as it turns out that the book comprises 17 short stories, most -if not all- of which have been previously published in either The Kenyon Review, New Republic or The New Yorker.

As my father once aptly put it, I see Woody Allen as a bit of a kindred spirit. I absolutely love the scope of his (undeniably idiosyncratic) humour; pretentious, neurotic, self-aware, and intellectual to the point where you want to laugh out loud at his jokes for the sole purpose of making it apparent to others just how knowledgable you are. I knew nothing about Side Effects, but I had a great deal of faith in the guarantee of its hilarity, and I was genuinely curious as to how Allen's humour would translate to prose.

"Favourably" would be the answer to appease this curiosity. There is an inherent difference between Woody Allen's story-writing and Woody Allen's screenwriting, but it proves essential to ensure success as a short story. It was apparent in some short stories that Allen had channeled slightly more surreal aspects that his movies do not allow for. On a number of occasions both his style of writing and sense of humour reminded me very much of Douglas Adams, which was an extremely pleasant yet shocking find.

In summary, I have nothing but good things to say about this consolidation of Woody Allen's short stories. Whether you're a fan of his work or not, they're diverse and consistent in their undeniable hilarity. Like it claims to, these fragments of prose make for an excellent bedside companion for whenever you reach a stage of involuntary consciousness in the small hours.

Current Reads

1. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov 

The latest addition to my bookshelf, this consolidation of florid prose and provocative subject matter has eluded me for some time. I'm roughly 80 pages into the 360-page novel right now, and though I find the pretentious narrative voice off-putting at times, I have to respect Nabokov for his prowess as a wordsmith, and the (near-)ephemeral bouts of portrayal of the novel's content that are absolute perfection, for want of a slightly more realistic word.

2. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

My first exposure to the story of Jane Eyre was watching the 2011 film adaptation while it was still out in cinemas. Though I remember little of it, at the time I respected it for how it was artistically shot in a way that made it differ greatly from many other costume dramas. Like a surprising number of reads, I started this book after acquainting myself with the contents of a friend's bookshelf mid-sleepover.

I've reached the nineteenth chapter of this Victorian classic, so almost halfway through. Like most writers of her calibre I revel in Brontë's style of writing, and though I put little importance on the plot of most the stories I read, I find that of Jane Eyre beguiling enough to keep me reading with interest in what transpires. The first ten chapters (which the narrator herself points out to have documented the first ten years of her life) contain extremely brief parts where the protagonist's portrayed response to her experiences lamentably remind me of a more recent literary trend - the "tragic life" novel, something I have spent a lot of time justifying my abject distaste for. Of course the mirthless comedy of this point is that the two genres of writing are a couple of centuries apart, so I suppose I could blame the fundamental fault I find with this novel on my modern cynicism and attempt at being discerning.

3. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

The finishing of this satirical classic has been a work in progress for a staggering two years, but I have thoroughly enjoyed what I've read (about 300 pages) nonetheless, and the novel was once again dug out of my book collection to satiate a week-long stint of ennui. Catch-22 is packed with the humour of absurdity and paradox, whilst retaining a bearable degree of realism through the backdrop of a World War II American bombardier camp in the Mediterranean. The beauty of this novel's content is that the context merely serves as the backdrop for its themes, which highlight the farce of bureaucracy and the nature of paradox, the most prominent of which being the relationship between insanity and self-awareness. This is a staple read for anyone with a love for clever farce, satire and dark comedy.

4. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

With the imminent threat of the GCSE English literature exam getting the better of me, I find myself immersed in Nick Carraway's summer of '22 for the fourth time, though I firmly believe that such repetitive reading will not exhaust my profound reverence for Scott Fitzgerald, who I shall prematurely crown my favourite author. With exceptional prose he depicts the conflict of modern ideals and romanticism, and with unfounded wistfulness captures the energy of a nation bound for failure and regress. Since this will be the first time reading it in this particular edition, I have the surprising intellect of a lengthy introduction to (hopefully) help me see the novel through an intelligent eyes. My other set work for English is Oscar Wilde's most famous play, The Importance of Being Earnest.