101 books they expect you to read by the time you get to college

By Sandra and Harry Charon.

If ever you are interested.

1. Bastard out of Carolina : Dorothy Allison
2. I Know Why the Caged Birds Sing : Maya Angelou
3. The Handmaid's Tale : Margaret Atwood
4. Pride and Prejudice : Jane Austen
5. Waiting for Godot : Samuel Beckett
6. Fahrenheit 451 : Ray Bradbury
7. Jane Eyre : Charlotte Bronte
8. Wuthering Heights : Emily Bronte
9. The Baron in the Trees : Italo Calvino
10. The Stranger : Albert Camus
11. Breakfast at Tiffany's : Truman Capote
12. Cool Salsa: Bilingual Poems on Growing Up Latino in the United States : Lori M Carlson (ed.)
13. Alice in Wonderland : Lewis Carroll
14. The Cherry Orchard : Anton Chekhov
15. The Awakening : Kate Chopin
16. The House on Mango Street : Sandra Cisneros
17. Heart of Darkness : Joseph Conrad
18. The Inferno : Dante
19. A Tale of Two Cities : Emily Dickens
20. Poems : Emily Dickinson
21. Ragtime : E.L Doctorow
22. Crime and Punishment : Fyodor Dostoyevsky
23. Invisible Man : Ralph Ellison
24. The Beet Queen : Louise Erdrich
25. As I Lay Dying : William Faulkner
26. The Great Gatsby : F Scott Fitzgerald
27. The Diary of a Young Girl : Anne Frank
28. Grendel : John Gardner
29. Unsettling America: An Anthology of Contemporary Multicultural Poetry : Maria Gillian and Jennifer Gillian (eds.)
30. Lord of Flies : William Golding
31. Mythology : Edith Hamilton
32. A Raising in the Sun : Lorraine Hansberry
33. Tess of D'Urbervilles : Thomas Hardy
34. The Scarlett Letter : Nathaniel Hawthorne
35. Catch-22 : Joseph Heller
36. A Farewell to Arms : Ernest Hemingway
37. Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version
38. The Odyssey : Homer
39. Their Eyes Were Watching God : Zora Neale Hurston
40. Brave New World : Aldous Huxley
41. A Doll's House : Henrik Ibsen
42. Rhinoceros : Eugene Ionesco
43. The World According to Garp : John Irving
44. Daisy Miller : Henry James
45. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man : James Joyce
46. The Metamorphosis : Franz Kafka
47. The Liars' Club: A Memoir : Mary Karr
48. Schindler's List : Thomas Keneally
49. On the Road : Jack Keruoac
50. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest : Ken Kesey
51. Annie John : Jamaica Kincaid
52. The Painted Bird : Jerzy Kosinski
53. Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes. Pt. 1, Millennium Approaches; Pt. 2, Perestroika : Tony Kushner
54. To Kill a Mockingbird : Harper Lee
55. Angela's Ashes: A Memoir : Frank McCourt
56. The Heart is a Lonely Hunter : Carson McCullers
57. One Hundred Years of Solitude : Gabriel Garcia Marquez
58. In Country : Bobbie Ann Manson
59. Death of a Salesman : Arthur Miller
60. In Search of Colour Everywhere: A Collection of African-American Poetry : E Ethelbert Miller (ed.)
61. Beloved : Toni Morrison
62. Harper's Anthology of 20th Century Native American Poetry : Duane Niatum (ed.)
63. The Things They Carried: A Work of Fiction : Tim O'Brien
64. The Complete Stories : Flannery O'Connor
65. Long Day's Journey into the Night : Eugene O'Neill
66. Nineteen Eighty-Four : George Orwell
67. Metamorphoses : Ovis
68. The Bell Jar : Sylvia Plath
69. Tales : Edgar Allen Poe
70. Hunger of Memory: The Education of Richard Rodriguez: An Autobiography : Richard Rodriguez
71. Earth-Shattering Poems : Liz Rosenberd (ed.)
72. The Ghost Writer : Philip Roth
73. The Catcher in the Rye : J.D Salinger
74. No Exit : Jean Paul Sartre
75. Hamlet : William Shakespeare
76. Macbeth : William Shakespeare
77. A Midsummer Night's Dream : William Shakespeare
78. Romeo and Juliet : William Shakespeare
79. Pygmalion : George Bernard Shaw
80. 100 Best Loved Poems : Philip Smith
81. Maus: A Survivor's Tale and Maus II: A Survivor's Tale: And Here My Troubles Began : Art Spiegelman
82. The Grapes of Wrath : John Steinbeck
83. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde : Robert Louis Stevenson
84. Rosencrantz and Guidenstern are Dead : Tom Stoppard
85. The Joy Luck Club : Amy Tan
86. Walden : Henry David Thoreau
87. Anna Karenina : Leo Tolstoy
88. Huckleberry Finn : Mark Twain
89. Candide : Voltaire
90. Cat's Cradle : Kurt Vonnegut
91. The Colour Purple : Alice Walker
92. The Double Helix: A Personal Account of the Discovery and Structure of DNA : James D Watson
93. Ethan Frome : Edith Wharton
94. Leaves of Grass : Walt Whitman
95. The Importance of Being Earnest : Oscar Wilde
96. Our Town : Thornton Wilder
97. The Glass Menagerie : Tennessee Williams
98. This Boy's Life: A Memoir : Tobias Wolff
99. Mrs Dalloway : Virginia Woolf
100. Native Son : Richard Wright
101. The Autobiography of Malcolm X : Malcolm X, with the assistance of Alex Haley

Source: Adlin. And brother.

Winter in Melbourne : Souvenirs

In retrospect, the trip to Melbourne was not as interesting as Adelaide, huh? It might be because it is winter; every turn of the street is a tree's nude party mardi gras. It might be because Melbourne is too much of a city; therefore some bare essential charms have to go. Time is restricted. As always. Things are expensive in Melbourne. Friends are clueless as to which tourism spots to go other than the commercialised shopping malls, Max Brenners and clubs. Time did fly. Yet the company was estatic. And this was the highlight of Melbourne.

Besides shopping. Look!

I am so strangely hooked on branded designs when I am in Melbourne, under some sort of a metropolitan spell to succumb to all things expensive and pretty. Which rocks are you living under for the past century if you do not know where #1 and #2 come from? I think we have Stussy in Brisbane. Some retail outlet instead of a boutique. But FCUK. FCUK I can guarantee you is not available in Queensland. I know, right? My Adelaide friends will go entirely insane if they end up in Brisbane with FCUK. Hee. The shirt is nothing spectacular but I have been itching to get one myself. It was a crucial moment, trying to figure out with line I should go for. I was not "too busy to fcuk"; in fact I have all the time in the world. Merely "fcuk" seems to be ripping me off with the same price as others with longer lines. "Hot as fcuk". Hmm. Not really. So "no fcukin' worries" it is. Because I would like to believe I am a carefree person. Maybe.

Stussy is just pretty. The signature label. I am some idiot because Penang does not have Stussy. I rarely see Stussy in real life. Only on television screens, endorsed by those annoyingly mixed VJs on MTV. Parading their betterment in your face like some irritating fly in a car. Stussy. Stussy. Stussy. But now. I have one. Nah actually, I am not such a wannabe. Serious. I am not in dire need. It is just a coincidental chance.

#3. military dog tags. I have been waiting for the perfect time to get a military dog tag. I never found a nice one back in Malaysia. And then, here in Melbourne's Queen Victoria Market, I found two stalls selling military tags with engravings. I could have just spent about $10 on one but call me idiot, I wanted engravings. How was I to know the seller's engrave-handwriting is shit. I stared at my engraved tags with such disdain and disappointment before I decided to purchase blank ones after all. Sometimes I do not like making decisions on the spot. A borned thinker will forever need to be a thinker for the rest of his life. If ever he acts on instinct, most of the time it is a guarantee mistake. Bummer. Maybe I will look for better engraver somewhere else. Like those working on tombstones.

#4. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell. Yeah. I know. Weird timing to purchase above all things a fucking book. And it was not as if the bookstore had it cheaper than those monopolising bookstores. For all I know, that particular bookstore might have sold me the book more expensively. But I found it a good time to get it. I have been waiting to get it. Waiting for what? I have no idea. A good deal. A cheaper price. A friend to give it to me on my birthday. A stranger to slap it to me at the traffic lights. An angel to drop it from the sky. A devil to spurt it out from the water fountain. (What, you did not know Hell holes are hidden beneath fountains?*). I guess part of the reason is because I have already a handful of unread books waiting for my inspiration to dive me in. To add another to my list is just not doing me justice on reading. But my Eskimo friend could not stop recommending it. And the fucking book is staring at me at the bookshelf. It may not be probing: "Buy me! Buy me!" But more of my own mind going: "Get it! Get it!" So I did. At the highlands of the Great Ocean Road, in a cute little bookstore named Picador, single-handedly managed by a quiet woman in her late years, making coffee for a customer sitting outside waiting and ringing up my purchase on one of the most sought after literature readings ever.

#5. Handmade chick. Herein, I swear with all my heart over my family's grave that I do not have a weird fetish on chicks. Yes, I eat chicken. I adore eating chicken. I ate chicken six days a week when I was still staying with my parents. It is sheer coincidence I am purchasing another chick on my trip. It is something special, I guess. Handmade from sheer wound up coloured papers into something like that. They had more. Framed pictures of sceneries and mere butterflies. Jewellery boxes and tissue paper holders. Birthday cards and invitation lists. All with designs put together from these tiny resources. Handcrafted with such delicacy and carefulness.

#6. And he shall be called Lamb Chop. Soft toy. Sheep. It was just so adorable it is wrong to get me like a childish five-year-old girl. Kelene and I were so innocently fawning over these creatures. Shaking them and seeing their limbs idly waving along motion and giggling at the sight of that. Tilting its furry head in cartoon speed and laughing at its animation. Feeling its curly fur and squealing at its comfort. Hubert bought it for me as a belated birthday present. I slept with it in my arms since the day I returned from my trip.

#6. A bad angle I must admit. But I hope you get it that it is one of those old school prison keys. I got it while visiting the Old Melbourne Gaol. It looked cool. Pwned better than those Ned Kelly fridge magnets and handcuffs keychains. Granted I would have no good use for it in coming days seeing that it is just something to look at and hold. But I am not a big fan of keychains and magnets anyway. Do you just not find it frustrating when friends or relatives come back from a long vacation trip and you only got a fridge magnet or keychains? Maybe I can accept a T-shirt saying "My father went to London and all I got is this lousy shirt" (In fact, I have one) but those little knick knacks just dim the spirits a little. If not yours, definitely mine. And you do not know if it is alright to throw it away because it is from a friend. It will seem rude. It is rude. So yes. some old school key back in the old days, it is. It will be left on the shelf to collect dust.

* A complete utter horsecrap.

Winter in Melbourne : Max Brenner

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself." - Oscar Wilde

 

Winter in Melbourne : Chow time

"Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside." - Mark Twain

 

Mekong Vietnamese Restaurant.

Greco.

Queen Victoria Market Food Court.

Pacific Chinese Restaurant.

This is only an introduction to what I have saved for the last.
I will give you a clue: Bald man's chocolate.
Yes. You are so dead already.

Winter in Melbourne : Great Ocean Road

"I start my car and drive till I found peace." - Waking Ashland

 

Winter in Melbourne

"I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast. It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most." - Modest Mouse

 

As winter season rolls into view, what better way to make the most of it than moving down to one of the coldest cities in Australia? Face it, no matter how hard Brisbane tries, he will never bellow out an avalanche's cold or breed accidental babies better than Melbourne. It does not snow on this side of the world, but the frost bites gnaw hard enough you cannot leave the house without three layers of clothes or have your fingers numb before you exit the doors.

I was literally back in Brisbane for a good 24 hours after my slight impromptu homecoming to Penang before I head off to Melbourne in the earliest flight possible - yet so stupidly delayed at the last minute. I put on the boots I lugged all the way back from Adelaide during my trip back in April, all ready for the coldest season. A good chance to wear them. The only trip I went around without my beloved Chuck Taylors since I got them. Along with my Eskimo style jacket I bought a while back in JayJays. And a new pair of jeans from JayJays as well. Yes, I fucking love that store. Who doesn't? I went to Melbourne to have Yi Shu and probably ten more people in the country wearing the same jeans as I do. We fucking love JayJays. I can dress from head to toe with clothes from that one store if I try hard enough. And I am including accessories here. I am his bitch.

I took my first step on proper city soil and saw my breath hovering in front of my face. I had so much fun with this I decided to breathe more frequently out in the chilliest nights just to see my breath in perfect ghost figures. It was such a peculiar fascination. I would smile every time like a child with a sweet tooth for the colourful candy in hand. Despite that, I would need to remember to bury my hands deep in my pockets because I am still from sunshine Brisbane. I do not think I took a lot of nice pictures while I am in Melbourne. Partly because I do not like taking my camera in and out of my bag. Secondly, the weather has handicapped my photographic skills and imbalanced my proper angles. I found a lot of misconducted shots. For this, I apologise if ever you spot the flaws. I am not a professional to begin with anyway.

Any chance given I would find myself in warm spots doing my best to steal heat into my dying heart. Stand next to outdoor heaters, avoid ice cream sessions - seriously, how the heck can you guys have ice cream on cold weathers? It is equivalent to haveing scorching hot chocolates under the hot sun, sit with the fan heater right in front of my face, hide in overly crowded Chinese restaurants... Ah the joy of winter. Not.

What I like about Melbourne. She is much more than Brisbane can ever be. Buildings erect at the heart of the city - yes, city with bolded fonts and no sarcastic aprostrophes - taller and weirder. No two skyscrappers are ever the same. They stand tall they graze the skyline creases and disappear amongst the foggy Heavens as if the invisible elevator within will lead you directly to God's kingdom.

Maybe it is just me. I am sure it is just me. But local guys in Melbourne are good looking. Might be something in the waters. Every five steps or less I took down the streets, an eye candy would pass me by ready to be devoured by my naked eyes. Such handsomety may be rubbing off the shoulders of the foreigners. Other than that, it really is just me. Yik Khee and Yi Shu cringed at my remark. And I must say my guy friends studying in Melbourne were not really good looking up till my standards either. Hah. Oh how the hearts bruised now. Most of you are taken so stop acting like you care.

Melbourne has everything Brisbane has and much more. Definitely a place you head down for shopping sprees. There is a shopping mall in Chadstone. Merely two levels but stretch horizontally holding firm designer stores I have not heard before in my life as well as those that have been renowned to me yet not kind enough to have me include any item in my wardrobe. I would say it is as big as the MidValley Megamall in Kuala Lumpur. Maybe bigger. Shu Wen mourned. Why nothing of such gigantic proportion happens in her nice little town of Adelaide. I snickered. Replied: "If there is ever such a mall like Chadstone in Adelaide, there won't be an Adelaide." Adelaide will then be known as Chadstone. I was this close to saying the same thing for Brisbane.

There is something artsy fartsy going on in Melbourne that I love about her. Maybe it is the building structures scattered all over like a farmer's sprinkled seeds. Maybe it is the constant art performances happening every other day. It is definitely not the musical rejects I find busking the chilly streets. I have seen way more of them in Brisbane. Maybe it is the hidden Picasso's wherever you go. Do not forget to look up.

We were at Half Tix when I knew how important it is to them in Melbourne. Two guys in their late 20s the least marched into the tiny center and claimed their homes at the other side of the divider. As one picked up his guitar and strummed a tune of distorted modulations, another buried his world on his shoulder with a paintbrush at hand dipped in pure white, tracing the complex curves projected on the wall from the light above his head. His precision. His oblivion. His talent. The next day he delivered a marvellous art of Old English lanyards with a portrait of a firm-faced man on the wall.

It is a pity I would not be around when Ben Folds comes around with a performance or two with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra in September. It would be a worthwhile experience. I have not been to a decent concert in the longest time and an orchestral performance in an even longer time. I have been waiting so patiently to flee to one when my favourite artistes stop by. Alas.

Yet. Melbourne lacks of colours save the flowers planted in boxes with boundaries that go no further than the four sides. Shades of gray. A predicted curse of the fourth season. Everything felt dead. Trees in sheer nudity and streets too wide the gap. Sometimes, civilisation failed. Nobody crossed the streets but Nothing instead. Nothing answered to the beeping green lights. Nothing sighed along the misty and dampened surrounding. Nothing drank the strong winter wine and listened to a music of gatherings just around the corner.

On the last night we pulled an all-nighter. Four noisied up the table with an endless game of mahjong while four/three/two more glued to the dusty Play Station 2 over continuous games of Stree Fighter. I was the latter group, playing out of sheer boredom as the Latte I had earlier that night did its best to keep me awake. Why bother a short nap? Our flights were due in less than six hours anyway.

I will tell you one more thing I like about Melbourne. My friends. They were all so strangely segregated there. Every day I was there I found myself meeting up with different groups of them at least once. I even managed to catch up with the bunch from Adelaide who happened to be on their trip down to Melbourne at the same time. Every day was arranged so fucking perfectly we almost did not miss a beat. Wham bam thank you ma'am.

My last session found myself outside at the balcony along with Yik Khee and Yi Shu. The cold tile ate my bare feet. The ghost of Christmas in July swallowed me whole. Ah yes, I could see my every breath out there in the cold. I could have been standing in a 0C world. I did walk in a 9C temperature earlier in the night. I saw Melbourne shawled in blurry mist. I saw Melbourne not quite sleeping at 3AM. Part of the town was still alive for the night is at the youth age of 16. Part of the town died along with hypothermia at a number too early to believe. It was the prettiest I have seen of Melbourne. With that, I sketched her dark beauty in my mind and left, flew back into the warm arms of dear Brisbane. I have to leave before my love grows and begs me stay, which allows Melbourne's cold fingers wrap me solid and kill my afterglow. You know what they say about cities. Go be. But. Leave before your heart grows hard.

Winter in Melbourne : Prologue

"At 10:34, Flinders Street Station..." - Jet