in some ways i feel as if i’ve been reading Shantaram for an eternity, as if like Lin I too have been on an ardurous journey to self-enlightenment. the passages, read intermittently, take on episodic flash fiction like qualities. they become stories within chapters within stories.
in the rest stops along the way I have found myself drawn to darker, tragic tales. the sort that wrap around your mind and beckon you to follow the main character into the shadows. stories of hope-laced desperation, of personal sacrifices, all for the journey all for the loved ones left behind.
what I’m reading: Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaram
what I’ve read recently: Cormac McCarthy’s The Road; Sapphire’s Push; Monica Ali’s Brick Lane; Patti Smith’s Just Kids
now that I’ve read the books I feel more comfortable seeing the movies: Precious, The Road
modern vintage ink 