I tried to read this last year and gave up. I’m glad that I tried again as the book becomes increasingly readable after the first quarter. The tale is deceptively simple – a story of a boy’s struggle to stay alive in the middle of the ocean – until the end when Martel hits the reader with a potential little twist which calls much of the narrative into question.

A great tale which explores both the wonder and darkness of the natural world.

Whether you see it as a cheesy self-help book or a revelation, there’s no doubting that Coelho possesses a rare skill. He can convey complex ideas in very few words. That is his gift.

This is the second time that I have read The Alchemist and I have no burning urges to read the rest of his work. I have it on hand for those times that require persistence and faith. It seems to work every time.

Having read the comic book (or graphic novel) some time ago, I know that this has deviated from the original quite alot – in fact, Alan Moore publicly disassociated himself from the film before release. This, in itself was probably a wise move on one level – the comic is far superior – complete genius really and some of the plotholes in the film were dire.

Nevertheless, I did think the film was excellent and captured much of the Moore spirit. Good cast – esp. Hugo Weaving as the mysterious V. Dark, claustrophobic, conveyed the message correctly.

I knew that it was foolish to read it before bedtime, but that’s how good it was. A disturbing tale – made somehow all the worse when depicted in comic book form. Alan Moore is the best when it comes to the macabre.

I loved the first 2 X-Men films. Great stories, great cast – really very little room for error and virtually impossible to cock-up (I thought). Until I saw X-Men 3.

What was the director doing? This could have been fantastic, but instead clumsy editing, dodgy plotting and cliche ruined the overall effect. And the climax of the film (Wolverine & Phoenix) was laughable. It was far too easy to bring matters to a close.

I hope that they get a much better director if they do a 4th.

This is not so much a self-help book, rather a study of the science of happiness – what it is, how it can be measured and how it can be increased.

The author is an economist so the topic is dealt with in a drier, more factual way than usual books about the subject. He looks at how whole societies can improve their citizens’ general contentment – comparing the relative success of Scandinavian nations with those of the US & UK.

The main crux of the issue seems to be that once a certain level of income has been reached (US$20K+), equality of wage and working towards a common good are far more likely to make citizens happy than an ever-increasing wage packet. He argues that we should scale-down the quest for material status and evolve beyond our instinctive urge for survival. Only then, can we begin to improve the Western state of mind.

Without being an expert, I would say that this is essentially a socialist viewpoint that has been modified to fit in with modern society. I would love to see it happen, but I am sceptical. It’s still an important read though and tackles this trendy issue from a different & interesting angle.

This is a superb book of short stories and it resonated with me on all sorts of levels. I think Thorpe must have been influenced by Raymond Carver – even the titles echo his words – but this time they are distinctly English with a strong emphasis on class and social divide. Many of them are also reflective in a way that is both hard to define and slightly disturbing – exploring deep human experiences : birth, death, the need for posterity. The final story freaked me out so much that I had to read something light immediately afterwards. I’m thinking about it still.

I enjoyed this exhibition, although it was more a showcase of graphic art (specifically Korda’s famous image) than the plight of Che and Cuba. I’m not a big expert and therefore wasn’t expecting a major dissection into the whys and wherefores of the use of Che’s image. However, it’s startling how well it works time after time, despite constant re-invention and mutation.

The V&A was also a good choice today because it meant that we could sit out in the newly-designed outside courtyard, dangle our feet in the pond and enjoy a chilled glass of white wine.

I could see what the writer was trying to do, but the entire novel was a sloppy job from beginning to end. The characters and themes were put together without care. There were lots of rants, but no lessons. Seems as if the author was simply jumping on the back of the Monica Ali, Zadie Smith bandwagon with a substandard replica banged out on the recommendation of some journalistic mates (& no doubt offered the helping hand of their friendly agents too).

I’m finding it really hard to sum up the experience of reading this book – simple adjectives don’t do it justice. It’s a bit like the tardis – small on the outside, but massive within. The kind of novel that you could re-read throughout your life and find something new upon every visit.

Not exactly instructive, but deep, sad and human to the core.