Reading Across Borders Challenge Wrap-Up

The Reading Across Borders Challenge was designed by Kate at Kate's Book Blog, but it was unhosted. The idea was to choose books from countries you don't usually read from, and preferably books that had been translated. I completed ten books for the challenge, but there were some substitutions:
Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie(Nigeria) for No Longer at Ease by Chinua Achebe (same country)
Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami(Japan) for Kafka on the Shore (same author)
Naomi by Junichiro Tanizaki(Japan) for Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Schulz (library lost latter)

The others I completed as planned...
Waiting by Ha Jin(China)
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez(Colombia)
Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz(Egypt)
The Black Book by Orhan Pamuk(Turkey)
Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert(France)
The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro(Japan)
House of Spirits by Isabel Allende (I never reviewed it, even though I enjoyed it)

The best book: A tie between The Remains of the Day and Palace Walk. Remains was just stunning. Palace Walk really brought me in to a completely different culture and worldview, which was awesome.
What book could I have done without? Waiting by Ha Jin; you can see my review for why.
Any new authors? Tons! Ishiguro, Jin, Pamuk, Tanizaki, Adichie, and Murakami.
Books I did not finish: none, although it was a very close call with The Black Book.
What did I learn from this challenge? That I really love international literature, and that I should make more of an effort to seek it out. I learned about Nigeria's civil war, which I didn't know about at all, as well as more insight into Nasser-era Egypt.

(Note: thanks to Nyssaneala for the questions!)

Naomi (thoughts)

I read Naomi by Junichiro Tanizaki as my tenth, and final, Reading Across Borders selection. It's been called the Japanese Lolita, and while I can understand that, it was a completely different style of book.

If you've read Lolita, you know that Nabokov seduces the reader. He brings you to a disturbing place: understanding. As a twenty-year-old, heterosexual girl, I suddenly found myself emphathizing with Humphrey. I saw Lolita as a sexual object, and although it's difficult to admit, part of me was quite aroused by Humphrey's descriptions. To me, this was the real power of Nabokov: he brings the reader past judgement, past ethics, past identity, until the reader *is* Humphrey. It's deeply unsettling; I have yet to be able to make myself reread Lolita. I doubt I ever will.

In Naomi, Tanizaki portrays a leachourous old man, but he maintains distance. The reader always has space to judge. The plot is simple: an older man decides to "adopt" Naomi (which is an actual Japanese name-I didn't know that) and raise her into his perfect companion. He molds her into a fetishized, Westernized young woman who has always used sex to get her way. The rest of the book is about her fall from grace in the narrator's eyes.

The strength of Naomi lies in the characters, which are all interesting, and more importantly in the message. The narrator goes from referring to Naomi as a "young pet" to a "whore." Obliviously, he blathers on about his troubles in life. Meanwhile, the reader see the obvious: if she has become a whore, it's because you've made her that way. Tanizaki deftly illustrates (some) men's double-standards regarding women and their behavior. Of course, while the narrator is harshly judging Naomi, the reader is harshly judging the narrator.

This novel impressed me. I wasn't expecting everything that I got: the story has a richness and a flow to it that marks the very best tales. At the same time, it doesn't reach Lolita's dizzying heights. So, don't be scared off of picking up Naomi if Lolita disturbed you; that's not what this book is about.

Favorite Passages

For the modern beauty, an intelligent, quick-witted expression and attitude are more important that lovely features. (51)

I believe that when Antony was conquered by Cleopatra, it happened this way: little by little he was stripped of his resistance and ensnared. (54)

She was no longer chaste: not only did this thought cast a dark shadow over my heart; it also lowered the value of Naomi, who'd been my treasure, by more than half. This is because most of her value to me lay in the fact that I'd brought her up myself, that I myself had made her into the woman she was, and that only I knew every part of her body. For me, Naomi was the same as a fruit that I'd cultivated myself. I'd labored hard and spared no pains to bring that piece of fruit to its present, magnificent ripeness, and it was only proper that I, the cultivator, should be the one to taste it. (161)

"The woman has a mysterious, magical power, hasn't she? (198)

Half of a Yellow Sun (thoughts)

I adored Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngoza Adichie. Adichie is a master story-teller, providing the reader with exquisite personal stories wound up in a tragic national one. The story is set in Nigeria during the 1960s. For those who don't know (this included me before the book), Nigeria experienced a horrific civil war from 1967-1970. The book is divided into four parts, two pre-civil war and two during the civil war. However, they don't move in chronological order, instead it goes pre-war, war, pre-war, war. This device allows Adichie to build suspense regarding personal relationships, as well as show the reader just how much people changed during the war. The main characters are non-identical upper-class Nigerian twin sisters and their lovers, one a British guy, the other a revolutionary Nigerian uni prof. The final important character is a houseboy from the bush. Adichie rotates between these five characters' points of view, allowing the reader to view Nigeria from all sides.

This book is so many things at so many levels that it's difficult to do justice to it. As a sister myself, the story of the sisters' relationship rung true for me. One of the twins is (conventionally) beautiful, while the other isn't. They have different personalities as well, and aren't as close as either would like. I also enjoyed the story of Richard, the Brit in Nigeria. As a white man, Nigerians view him as an outsider. However, he eventually some to consider himself Nigerian, learning one of the tribal languages, staying in Nigeria throughout the war, etc. Adichie presents these facts but leaves it to the reader to 'find' the contradictions. The relationships each twin has with her lover spoke to me; the twins are in their mid-20s, and I'm in my early 20s, so I understood a lot of what they were going through. At points, it almost felt as if I was having a cozy chat with some good girlfriends. Meanwhile, the houseboy is struggling to change from his bush roots to a sophisticated city boy. The prof sends him to school, and he's treated like one of the family (albeit, a hard working member). For most of the novel, his story is mainly one of a kid going through adolescense, struggling with who he is, etc. However, towards the end, he is 'drafted' (i.e.-captured) into the military. All of a sudden, this likeable kid is doing some rather unspeakable things. I was very challenged, as the affection I felt for him earlier turned into outrage and horror.

And, of course, the war transcends all of these personal stories. We see the characters go from leading comfortable, upper-middle class lifestyles to being deprived, almost-starving war refugees. Also, for those of us who don't know anything about Nigerian history, the book provided enough background to understand why the civil war occured. In this sense, I feel that the university professor was Adichie's most obvious 'device': since he's plugged in with the revolutionaries, he explains a lot to the reader, often through the houseboy. Of course, I also just didn't like the professor (I didn't think he was good enough for his lover!), so perhaps I'm just insulting him. :) See-this is what was so brilliant about the book. Adichie made these characters real people; I almost want to be able to e-mail them and ask them some more questions.

I highly encourage everyone to read this book. It's an incredible introduction to Nigeria, as well as a well-written novel. To get a taste, look at the selections below.

Favorite Passages


There was something polished about her voice, about her; she was like the stone that lay right below a gushing spring, rubbed smooth by years and years of sparkling water, and looking at her was similar to finding that stone, knowing that there were so few like it. (24-5)

She was used to this, being grabbed by men who walked around in a cloud of cologne-drenched entitlement, with the presumption that, because they were powerful and her beautiful, they belonged together. (33)

Just as she had never seriously thought of having a child until now; the longing in the lower part of her belly was sudden and searing and new. She wanted the solid weight of a child, his child, in her body. (104)

Olanna felt the slow sadness of missing a person who was still there. (345)

Updates

+ I changed one of my Chunkster Challenges. Instead of reading Lonesome Dove, I read Ilium. I think it's a fair swap, because Ilium was also very long and also in a genre that I don't read (albeit sci-fi instead of westerns). I read it on the basis of a friend's rec-look for my thoughts soon.

+Super exciting news-Hermione Lee (whose glorious bio of Virginia Woolf I read) has a new biography out-Edith Wharton. I adore Wharton, so opening my NYT Book Update to that made my day!

+My reading list for Reading Across Borders is undergoing a slight change as well. Instead of Street of Crocodiles, I'm reading Naomi. My library lost its copy of Street of Crocodiles, which makes me upset, but Naomi seems like it'll be a good read. It's been described as the Japanese Lolita.

+I've slowed down in my reading, which is probably a good thing. After all, I do have to attend to real life sometimes!

Waiting (thoughts)

I read Waiting by Ha Jin as part of my international reading challenge. It tells the story of a decade-long love triangle between Lin Kong, Shuyu, and Manna Wu. Lin Kong and Shuyu have an arranged marriage, but Lin Kong, an army doctor, lives in a different area of China and only visits for a week and a half during the summer. Meanwhile, he carries on a chaste love affair with army nurse Manna Wu.

I didn't really enjoy the book. I was fascinated by the setting, since I don't know much about Communist China (I think it's set during the 60s and 70s), so that part of the book satisfied me. The rest, however, left me hollow. The whole book seemed very cynical about love, as if Ha Jin is making a point about the emptiness of life without love. While I appreciate the point, the book didn't throw the reader even one redemptive bone. The setting and the writing style are the reasons I rated Waiting as high as I did; Ha Jin can quickly paint a scene and keeps the plot moving along.

I can't say that I'd recommend Waiting to anyone. It isn't a terrible book, but it doesn't live up to the other books I've read in the course of this challenge. I don't really enjoy reviewing books that I don't like, but here's a much fuller review that I wholeheartedly concur with: http://www.hackwriters.com/Hajin.htm.

Favorite Passage

Yes, true lovers don't have to stay together looking at each other all the time; they look and move in the same direction. (214)

Love in the Time of Cholera (thoughts)

I was excited about Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera. I very much enjoyed One Hundred Years of Solitude, and it seems like every blogger that's read Love in the Time of Cholera adores it. In this, I must say that I am no exception.

For those of you who have read One Hundred Years, the plot line of Cholera will seem very, very straightforward. While there's still a touch of magical realism, Cholera shows a down-to-earth tendency completely lacking from One Hundred Years (imo). I wouldn't be able to say one of these books is better than the other; their styles are too different. Cholera follows the life of three players in a love triangle: Dr. Urbino, Fermina Daza, and Florintino Araza. The book opens when the three of them are septogenarians, so the reader knows pretty quickly that Urbino and Daza married, while Araza continued to love Daza. Then, the book goes back in time to when Daza is fourteen, and fills the reader in on how the characters spent most of this time. It's essentially an exploration of different kinds of love, both physical and emotional, and they affect people.

Marquez knows how to write characters: they're realistic enough to jump out of the page and into my room. The plot also moved along at a good pace; I had trouble putting Cholera down at all. At the same time, his writing is something to be savored: it's unbelievably rich and satisfying. The four and a half pages devoted to the wedding night and following nights are exquisite. The ending is more than satisfactory, which is, what makes or breaks a novel. The reader is happy in the end that s/he's invested so much time.

This isn't a very long review, and it doesn't really do justice to the novel. But, I'm afraid of giving away too much. So, I'll just say that anyone with an interest in love should read this book. And, after all, doesn't that describe everyone?

Favorite Passages

Moreover, a clandestine life shared with a man who was never completely hers, and in which they often knew the sudden explosion of happiness, did not seem to her a condition to be despised. On the contrary: life had shown her that perhaps it was exemplary. (20)

Neither could have said if their mutual dependence was based on love or convenience, but they had never asked the question with their hands on their hearts because both had always preferred not to know the answer. (35)

He was aware that he did not love her. He had married her because he liked her haughtiness, her seriousness, her strength, and also because of some vanity on his part, but as she kissed him for the first time he was sure there would be no obstacle to their inventing true love. They did not speak of it that first night, when they spoke of everything until dawn, not would they ever speak of it. But in the long run, neither of them had made a mistake. (194)

He distrusted the sensual type, the ones who looked as if they could eat an alligator raw and tended to be the most passive in bed. The type he preferred was just the opposite: those skinny little tadpoles that no one bothered to turn around and look at in the street, who seemed to disappear when they took off their clothes, who made you feel sorry for them when their bones cracked at the first impact, and yet who could leave the man who bragged the most baout his virility ready for the trashcan. (212)

Dr. Urbino, for his part, understood that it was impossible to possess his wife as completely as he had on their honeymoon, because the part of love he wanted was what she had given, along with her best hours, to her children, but he learned to live and be happy with what was left over. (267)

Over the years they both reached the same wise conclusion by different paths: it was not possible to live together in any other way, or love in any other way, and nothing in this world is more difficult than love. (270)

Palace Walk (thoughts)

Palace Walk was part of my Reading Across Borders challenge. I chose it because it was set in Egypt, and I wanted a book from the Middle East and because Mahfouz is well known.

I was immediately drawn into the world of Palace Walk. The book follows the day-to-day life of a family living in Cairo. The father is happy-go-lucky with friends, but a tyrant at home, so his wife and two daughters are never allowed out of the house. Ever. Meanwhile, he has two older sons, one of whom gets caught up in the revolutionary fervor (the book takes place during WWI), while the other one gets caught up in a less-lofty fervor. His younger son, Khalid, at eleven is Mahfouz's voice at challenging a lot of societal norms, since he's still young enough to challenge them.

Mahfouz's writing is sharp, but at the same time sympathetic. He describes his characters in brutal honesty, and yet it never alienates the reader. I would never have expected to sympathize with a man who forbids his daughters and wife from leaving the house. But there I was, understanding his mindset. I'm most impressed by Mahfouz's ability to create his world and bring the reader fully into it. I couldn't put the book down, wanting to know if the daughters would get married, if the older son would win his love, etc.

All in all, I recommend the book for anyone who enjoys long family-centered epics. At 500+ pages, it allows you to sink into the world. And, it's the first of a trilogy, so there are two other books to enjoy!

Favorite Passages

It was lust, yes, but no bestial or blind. It had been refined by a craft that was at least partially an art, seeing his lust in a framework of delight, humor, and good cheer. (99)

The latter was exhausting himself by trying to act sober and walk straight, for fear his giddiness would reveal he had drunk too much. (273)

Once when he was exasperated by her reasoning, he had told her, "A people ruled by foreigners has no life."
She had replied in astonishment, "But we're still alive, even though they've been ruling us for a long time. I bore all of you under their rule. Son, they don't kill us and they don't interfere with the mosques. The community of Muhammad is still thriving." (347)

Until that time, he had never experienced such a long period of enforced idleness, deprived of all forms of activity and amusement for hour after hour. (376)

The Black Book (thoughts)

I had very high hopes for Orhan Pamuk's The Black Book. First of all, I've been slightly obsessed with Turkey for a few years now. Second of all, the back of the book blurb sounded like it was right up my alley: A labyrinthine novel suffused with the sights, sounds, and scents of Istanbul, The Black Book is a boldly unconventional mystery and "a dazzling hall of mirrors meditation on identity, memory, and reality."

Furthermore, I was prepared for a meandering, barely-there plot. After all, I've read three of Umberto Eco's books and enjoyed them all, even Foucoult's Pendulum.

And yet, the book was painful. It took me more effort to read a chapter than to run five miles. That's saying something, considering that I'm not in the best of shape. The plotline wasn't looose so much as non-existent. It starts off strong, disappears for most of the time, and then reappears at the very end. Galip is an extremely annoying character, very maudlin and self-pitying. Ruya (his wife) seems more interesting, but we don't get to find out that much about her. Jelal, the columnist, is the most firmly sketched character, and fortunately I enjoyed him.

The book is set up so that almost every other chapter is one of Jelal's columns. I really enjoyed the columns: I read them all closely, and took pleasure in the play of ideas and words. So, actually, I'd probably give half of the book three or four stars. The problem is that you have to wade through the other half. With no plot and no characters, the one saving grace for that half could be the setting. However, I feel that this book was written for someone who already knew Istanbul: I certainly didn't get a good feeling for what Istanbul felt like. Pamuk gave a lot of very specific details, but he forgot to use broad brushstrokes to paint the backdrop first.

Thus, I was very disappointed by the book. I'm not sure if I'll read anything else by Pamuk: the column chapters were so good, it makes me believe he's a really good writer, but I wouldn't want to have to suffer through the other half ever again. Should you read it? That depends. In the Library Journal's review, it says that "only the stalwart will make it to the end." So, if you're stalwart, by all means go ahead.

I only had one favorite passage, but it was a good page and a half long, so I couldn't type it all out. It's at the end, and it's Galip describing his love for Ruya.

Madame Bovary (thoughts)

As promised, my third completed Reading Across Borders book.

I'm not sure what I expected out of Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary. I think, something a little more uplifting. I really enjoyed reading the novel, and Flaubert's writing flows off the page beautifully. But I wasn't really prepared for what was, in essence, a classic tragedy.

The plot is pretty simple (note that this *might* contain spoilers if you know absolutely nothing about the novel): Emma Bovary is discontent with her middle class French provincial life, and her unambitious doctor husband. She appeases this discontentment by taking lovers and buying a lot of stuff.

**end possible spoiler**

The reader sees where Emma Bovary is headed pretty soon into the novel. So, it becomes a waiting game: as Emma enmeshes herself more and more into an unsustainable life, when will crisis hit? And what form will this crisis take? Meanwhile, the reader gets glimpses of other characters, although I wouldn't call any of the other characters fleshed out.

So, what saves the waiting game from being incredibly boring? Well, it's Flaubert's ability to describe a certain emotion, or thought, or style with perfect precision. This is a book for people who enjoy language, who wish to revel in it. In fact, I'd like to pick it up in the original. Meanwhile, I'd recommend it for those who enjoy classics, and who don't mind the heroine of the novel to be an anti-hero.

Favorite Passages
But in her eagerness for a change, or perhaps overstimulated by this man's presence, she easily persuaded herself that love, that marvelous thing which had hitherto been like a great rosy-plummaged bird soaring in the splendors of poetic skies, was at last within her grasp. And now she could not bring herself to believe that the uneventful life she was leading was the happiness of which she had dreamed. (45)

How happy she had been in those days! How free! How full of hope! How rich in illusions! There were no illusions left now! She had had to part with some each time she had ventured on a new path, in each of her successive conditions-as virgin, as wife, as mistress; all along the course of her life she had been losing them, like a traveller leaving a bit of his fortune in every inn along the road. (194)

Whereas the truth is that fullness of soul can sometimes overflow in utter vapidity of language, for none of us can ever express the exact measure of his needs or his thoughts or his sorrows; and human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars. (215-6)

But casting aspersions on those we love always does something to loosen our ties. We shouldn't maltreat our idols: the gilt comes off on our hands. (320)

She longed to fly away like a bird, to recapture her youth somewhere far away in the immaculate reaches of space. (332)

Norwegian Wood (thoughts)

I now realise that I've already read Murakami: I checked out his short story collection, The Elephant Vanishes, a few years ago. I didn't really enjoy it, however, so I'm glad that I didn't remember.

Because Norwegian Wood was an amazing experience. The plot is a little erratic; it follows the narrator's experiences in his first and second year of college. More specifically, it follows his amourous experiences. While the plot is a bit loose, the strong characters keep the book together. I didn't like the narrator that much, but the girls were fascinating. All of the characters are a bit 'off,' or kooky. In fact, at one point the narrator visits a girl who is living in a retreat for somewhat-insane people.

Murakami uses their kookiness to look at life, and what's considered normal. He doesn't smack you over the head with it, though. Instead, he quietly challenges societal norms. I think part of why I enjoyed the book is that I go to a liberal arts college. It's a really small college, and it's almost as full of kooky characters as the book. Especially considering that almost all of the characters are college-age, I just immediately connected with it.

There were only two things I wasn't sure about it. First, the ending is really, really unsatisfying. I still think that this is one of the best books I've read this year, but I really wish Murakami would rewrite the ending. My other hesitation is more complicated. I read Murakami for part of my international reading challenge. And the book is set in Japan. But, it doesn't really feel like it is. I didn't learn that much about Japan from reading it. But, these are slight quibbles for a stunning book.

If you want a fun romp through young, complicated love that carries more profound undertones, you can't do better than Norwegian Wood.

Favorites Passages

"How much do you love me?" Midori asked.
"Enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter." (265)

"There's no need to raise your voice here. You don't have to convince anybody of anything, and you don't have to attract anyone's attention." (106)

As she had said in her letter, she looked healthier than before, suntanned, her body firmed up from exercise and outdoor work. Her eyes were the same deep, clear pools they had always been, and her small lips still trembled shyly, but overall her beauty had begun to change to that of a mature woman. Almost gone now was the sharp edge-the chilling sharpness of a thin blade-that could be glimpsed in the shadows of her beauty, in the place of which there hovered now a uniquely soothing, quiet calm....I felt as drawn to her as ever, perhaps more than before, but the thought of what she had lost in the meantime also gave me cause for regret. Never again would she have that self-centered beauty that sems to take its own, independent course in adolescent girls and no one else. (109)

"Hey, Watanbe, are you mad at me?"
"What for?"
"For not answering you, just to get even. Do you think I shouldn't have done that? I mean, you apologized and all."
"Yeah, but it was my fault to begin with. That's just how it goes."
"My sister says I shouldn't have done it. That it was too unforgiving, too childish."
"Yeah, but it made you feel better, didn't it, getting even like that?"
"Uh-huh."
"OK, then, that's that." (249)

The Remains of the Day (thoughts)

The Remains of the Day bowled me over. Ishiguro's prose is nothing less than exquisite. The story is quite simple: Stevens, an old school English butler, is travelling to Cornwall to meet with his old housekeeper. Along the way, Stevens keeps a journal, in which he reminisces about the past (between the world wars, when he served Lord Darlington) and discusses various aspects of butler-ness (chiefly, dignity).

Ishiguro never lets Stevens' 'mask' fall, so to speak: the reader discovers everything through a dignified butler lens. Thus, it's up to the reader to go between the lines, and truly flesh out the story. I, personally, find this an incredible gift; it's not often that an author is willing to draw the line, and trust his reader to do the rest. For me, Remains of the Day affirmed that subtly is a beautiful thing.

So, part of the book is Ishiguro's masterful creation of the butler's internal world. The other part is the actual story. This contains two main threads: Lord Darlington's activities during the interwar period (and through Darlington, Ishiguro questions England's appeasement policy) and the relationship between Miss Kensington (housekeeper) and Stevens. Both threads are powerful, mainly because Ishiguro tells both through isolated events. The scenes he chooses to show, and the order in which they're presented, prove Ishiguro's mastery of storytelling: I don't want to say too much, but the slow evolution of Stevens' depiction of Darlington hits the perfect chord with me.

As powerful as the Darlington story is, it's Miss Kensington that will slowly, agonizingly break your heart. The ending is the only possible one; that doesn't make the sadness any less palpable. I cried. And it was satisfying.

My hat is off to Ishiguro. Everyone should go read Remains of the Day. As for me, I'm off to track down his other books.

A Representative Passage:

The great butlers are great by virtue of their ability to inhabit their professional role and inhabit it to the utmost; they will not be shaken out by external events, however suprising, alarming or vexing. They wear their professionalism as a decent gentleman will wear his suit: he will not let ruffians or circumstance tear it off him in the public gaze; he will discard it when, and only when, he wills to do so, and this will invariably be when he is entirely alone. It is, as I say, a matter of 'dignity'. (43)

Reading Across Borders

Since I'm progressing moderately well on my classics challenge (half way through the third one, with the last two being the shortest in the challenge) and, well, progressing on the chunkster challenge (only a quarter of the way through the first one, although I have read several books over four hundred pages not on the chunkster list), I thought I'd take on another one. Recently, I saw the Reading Across Borders challenge mentioned on Tales From the Reading Room. I was planning to create my own challenge to read more international and translated books, so I'm hopping on the bandwagon.

The general layout is found at Kate's Book Blog. Basically, the goal is to read from regions that you don't usually read from. My typical regions are: the US, the UK and the Commonwealth, and Italy. I know-a huge variety. So, my goal is to read more from: East Asia, Africa, Latin America, the Middle East and continental Europe. I've adopted Kate's criteria of at least ten books, at least half of which have been translated. I had one more constraint: the books must be held by my college library (I go to a small liberal arts school, so this is more challenging than it may seem). With all of that in mind, here is my list:

1. The Black Bookby Orhan Pamuk, Turkey, translated. Because I already have it checked out, and it sounds amazing, and I really want to read it!

2. No Longer at Ease by Chinua Achebe, Nigeria, English. I really enjoyed Things Fall Apart, so I'd like to read some more by him. Also, if I get my medical clearance, I'll be going to West Africa w/ the Peace Corps in June. It seems like I should read a bit more about it.

3. Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami, Japan, translated. I've heard good things about Murakami, and I keep meaning to read him.

4. Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert,France, translated. Despite two years of college French, I have spent virtually no time with French literature (I've read Phantom of the Opera and The Three Muskateers). It seems as if half of what I read references this book, so I'm looking forward to finally reading it.

5. The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, Japan, English. Ok, I'm kind of cheating, since even though he's Japanese he went to school in England. But, I've seen a lot of recommendations for him, so that's that.

6. The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende, unidentified Latin American country, translated. I 'read' Zorro (audio book) and absolutely adored it. So, I want to go back to the beginning!

7. Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz, Egypt, translated. I read Midag Alley last year, and I didn't see what all the fuss was about. So, I thought that I'd give Mahfouz another chance.

8. The Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Schulz, Poland, translated. I've heard good things around the lit blogosphere, so I'd like to give it a shot.

9. Waiting by Ha Jin, China, translated. I was looking for a Chinese book, and saw this recommended on Reading Matters

10. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Latin America (Colombia?), translated. I really enjoyed One Hundred Years of Solitude, and this title seems to get rave reviews amongst blogs I read.

So, that's the list. Hopefully, I'll be able to add more as I have time. Having just discovered Book Traveller's blog, I feel very inspired!