David Foster Wallace Favorite Books Mga Nobela at Kwento

We’ve covered everything and I had nothing else to ask him. His favorite food was steak. He didn’t have a favorite book because he couldn’t decide between a couple of them. If he had to choose, he would probably pick The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. He didn’t have a favorite movie. He couldn’t choose between the three movies in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. He loved Lord of the Rings. I knew everything, and I didn’t need to know more. I didn’t want to know more. I wanted this to be over.

He asked questions—not the shallow kind Damon’s associates had used to make polite conversation, but real questions. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked at one point, leaning close to be heard over the music. She blinked, startled. “My book?” He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Everyone’s got one. The one they can read again and again and never get tired of.” Mya hesitated, then admitted, “Wuthering Heights. It’s… tragic and messy, but there’s something about the passion in it. The kind that consumes people.” Keith nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. Mine’s The Count of Monte Cristo. Revenge, redemption, justice—it’s a story that makes you think about what really matters when you lose everything.”

image he worked so hard to maintain. I closed the closet, still grinning, and wandered into his bedroom. On his nightstand I found more books, all by Fyodor Dostoevsky: Crime and Punishment, Notes from Underground, The Idiot, White Nights. I picked one up and flipped through it. The pages were worn, corners folded and some lines underlined. He wasn't just pretending to like this stuff, he really was a superfan of Russian literature. I didn't believe it when he first told me, but now I believed it without a doubt.

Joshua let out a light laugh, making it clear that he expected a different kind of question, maybe about his business or something else, but he kindly answered my question. "Well, when I'm not working, I like to read." I smiled, feeling more at ease. "I like reading too. What's your favorite book?" "Hm, hard to choose just one. But I'd say '1984' by George Orwell is one of the ones that left the most impact on me." "No way! I love that book!" I was surprised by the connection that had arisen between us. Maybe I had judged Joshua unfairly. "Really? That's cool!" Joshua smiled, and I realized he had a very nice smile. "Who would've thought we'd have that in common, right?"

Calliope guided me upstairs. My opinion of Mr. Fernandez changed when I saw his bedroom. Though the walls were still so boring, no painting, photos or whatsoever, my heart was overwhelmed with joy when I saw shelves with plenty of books. I loved books so much, and I enjoyed reading them, especially about history. I scanned the titles, they were futuristic books. About space ships, galaxies, planets, and robots. There were also about travel, history, documentaries, philosophies and finance. I could tell that he was an intelligent man according to his book preferences.

"It helps me think. Or not think, depending on what I need." "What kind of books?" "Everything. History. Philosophy. Fiction. Biographies. I'm not picky." I pull out a worn paperback. Look at the cover. "The Count of Monte Cristo?" "One of my favorites. Read it at least five times." "Really? The mafia boss likes classic literature?" He smiles. "The mafia boss is full of surprises." We settle on the couch. Not too close. But not distant either. The fire crackles softly. "So why couldn't you sleep?" Ocean asks.

"Well, sometimes I watch T.V. I like, well, love to read. So I do that a lot when I'm alone." "Like what? Romance, crime thrillers?" I shrugged. "Sometimes. I really like the classics. Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, George Elliot (who was a woman, by the way). I also like the Russians, like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. 'War and Peace' is amazing." "You've read 'War and Peace'?" "Yeah, twice. It's excellent." I cocked my head. "How about you, what do you like to read?"

There isn’t a blank or guarded look on his face, but his forehead creases for a moment like he’s thinking of how to answer, the decides it’s too complicated and pulls his shirt off. How the heck am I supposed to concentrate on the game now? He leans forward a bit, elbows placed on his thighs. The waistband of a Calvin Klein boxers pokes out above the band of his sweatpants. The golden ring on a chain around his neck dangles hypnotically. “What’s your favorite book?” “The Bell Jar.” I answer passively, unable to take my eyes off his carved torso. “Plath’s work is nothing short of genius.” I add, as if Sylvia Plath’s work was sculpting his chest instead of writing a phenomenal book.