[Refuge]e

[Refuge]e by Adnan Mahmutovic


My rating: 2 of 5 stars
[Refuge]e is a wordy attempt with beautiful prose, but as disjointed as the life of the refugees it tries to convey.The story is about Almasa, a young Bosnian refugee, whose whole family was killed in the war in Bosnia, and who herself was raped and suffers deep psychological wounds. Unfortunately, just as we were allowed a glimpse into her life in Sweden, interwoven with her reflections on Bosnia, the book ends. Its 90-something pages are not nearly enough to tell such a complex story. Despite the author's unquestionable craftiness, there's more left wanting than it's given in this novella. It reads more like a collection of random notes and thoughts which are yet to be assembled into an expansive story.I am looking forward to more works by Adnan Mahmutovic, in hope that they'll justify his undoubted raw potential.Note: I won this book on Goodreads' giveaway contest.

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American Gods

American Gods by Neil Gaiman


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
It's all a metaphor, from the beginning to the end.

The old gods are the ones brought to the North American continent by travellers, migrants and immigrants, long before the continent was even called America. They feed on worship and thrive on sacrifices of their followers, but they don't do well in America, because people don't worship them, are forgetting them, and the old gods grow older and die forgotten. The main character, Shadow, is actually human, hired by one of the old gods, who calls himself Wednesday, to help recruit the old gods against the "modern gods" that people worship nowadays: Internet, cars, credit cards, computers, TV, phones and everything symbolizing modern times. The conflict seems inevitable...With all the gods marching through the pages of the book, it's natural to think that it's all about religion. It isn't. And you don't need to be an immigrant to grasp the ever-present conflict between old and new, past and future. I just never came across such a neatly woven allegory.There is a huge amount of mythology, legends, fairy tales and bonfire stories told masterfully through a cast of unlikely heroes. If the idea of aging gods scheming and scamming through life to scrape for a meager existence isn't attractive by itself to make you read it, there is fantastic dialogue to amuse the reader as well as many clever and funny twists. For someone who likes long tales like myself, this book is a gold mine. At the end, all the stories seemingly not connected throughout the novel, finally come together.There could have been a touch more romance, earthly or divine, I don't really care, but even without it, I thoroughly enjoyed the American Gods.Subnote: I read this book as a part of "1 Book 1 Twitter" book club (though I'm not certain if it can be called a book club, but it made me and about 50,000 others read it at the same time). Looking forward to the next one. You can join it on twitter by following @1b1t

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Old City Hall: A Novel

Old City Hall: A Novel by Robert Rotenberg


My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Rotenberg is a lawyer first, novelist second, and unfortunately it shows in the novel. It's a story about a fictional Canadian radio morning-show host, whose wife is found dead in the bathtub. He confesses to his newspaper delivery man that he killed her, and surrenders to the police. But, despite his confession, the things are not as straight forward as they seem.Oh, don't worry, I'm not throwing spoilers, this all happens in the first 20 pages of the book. After that, we are introduced to a long list of characters, mostly well developed, but by following so many threads at once, the story doesn't move anywhere for the next 200 pages. Then, as if the author realized the he should move the plot toward conclusion, things start happening all at once, without a hint beforehand. And, as a result, there is no real conclusion.What I like about the story is location - it's happening in Toronto, where I live. It gives the book an intimate feel. I am not quite sure how would a non-Torontonian like it. The legal process is described well, but the police investigation is a bit shallow and less believable. Oh, and Toronto Maple Leafs winning the Stanley cup is a pure fantasy, cute, but utterly impossible.What I don't like is too many characters, and at the same time lack of the main character. Too much legal and law stuff and too little investigation, clues, mystery and problem solving. The pace is way too slow. Finally, the thing I really hate is when the ending doesn't offer closure.

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I Ran Boston Marathon (part 1)

April 17-18, 2010

I tried to write the whole account of my Boston experience in one go, but I couldn't. Let's just say there never was enough time. Finally, I'm getting worried that the memories and impressions are slowly fading, and decided to write this entry in installments. Please, check back for the updates--I will be adding them into this entry.


Why is Boston marathon so important?

The answer to that question lays in the two and a half years that led me to Boston. From the moment when I set the goal to try to qualify for Boston, through the training for the Mississauga marathon where I qualified, finally to registering and training for the world oldest and most prestigious marathon. It's a long commitment which requires a lot of running.

I was fairly excited preparing for the trip, this also being my first marathon outside Canada, but the immensity of it didn't register until I took the subway to downtown Boston with my entourage of Meg and my mom in tow. On Sunday, the day before the race, we were going to the runners expo, which precedes every marathon. That's where the runners pick the official race kits with their numbers and spend hundreds of $$$ on things related to running. As the train approached the downtown, on each station more and more people came in, wearing Boston marathon official jackets, all models from two decades ago until this year's. It was as if, for the weekend, there were no one else in Boston but runners.

The crowds of runners were converging on the Hynes Convention Center, where the expo was held, from all sides, like ants. Though I usually can't stand overcrowded places, now I couldn't stop smiling. I am not sure how to describe the feeling: I felt at the same time small and insignificant as an individual, and extremely powerful and proud to be a part of that mass of runners which took over the town.

The expo was huge and you could find there anything your runner's mind ever imagined, and more. First, of course, I picked up my race bib number and the kit containing the timing chip, which this year we can keep as a souvenir. In the kit was also a blue-and-yellow Adidas technical shirt with long sleeves. Naturally, I had to buy the official jacket -- also Adidas -- for which I had to spring $90. No regrets, the jacket is nice and the Boston 2010 logo on the back is priceless.

Now we could start browsing, though the longer we stayed, the more crowded the Center got. I managed to see the second half of the video showing the course, and we shopped mostly for the souvenirs. Mom was fairly impressed with the whole atmosphere, but thought everything too expensive. It was her first close look at the running world, and the first time in the States, so she was as excited as me, though for different reasons.

Finally, some time after 3 PM, it became almost impossible to move around without locking shoulders with people. Our legs were heavy and I suddenly remembered that I should rest for
the big race the next day. We squeezed out and walked toward the subway in a current of people all carrying yellow Adidas bags with the race kits. The air was filled with nervous but positive energy. Walking in that mass of people who were all here for the same reason, I felt the excitement rising and knotting in the pit of my stomach.

The traditional pasta dinner was provided in the downtown for participants, but our hotel was away, near the airport, so we opted for the pasta dinner near the hotel. Loaded with carbs, I went to bed, expecting that I won't be able to sleep from excitement. Before every marathon, I usually spend a fitful night tossing, turning and waking up constantly. Not this time -- I slept like a baby and woke up at the sound of the alarm clock.

Continues at Part Two