Oscar fever is in the air. All those avid fans out there who watched the Oscars last Monday night will know that the film No Country for Old Men swept up four golden men of its own. Winning Oscars for Best Film, Best Director, Best Actor in a Supporting Role and Best Writing for an Adapted Screenplay left a great deal of hype in the air. But people seldom stop to think or talk about the novel the film is based on or the Pulitzer prize-winning author behind it. It is a fact that the film wouldn’t have been made without it.

Living in South Africa makes it a little different when it comes to Oscar fever… not only do we have to wait an extra day to see all the action on television, but since a lot of the films haven’t even launched here yet, most people don’t even know what they’re about. I figured it’s time to change that. This is a short review of the novel of the same name behind the Oscar-winning film No Country for Old Men.

Set in 1980 along the Texas-Mexico border, the novel tells the story of a crazed killer named Anton Chigurgh; a man on the run, Lewellyn Moss; and a sheriff who desperately wants to intervene before the worst happens. The mayhem centres around Moss, who, while on a hunting trip near Rio Grande, stumbles across the remains of a botched drug deal – murdered Mexicans, a pickup truck packed with heroin and two million dollars in cash.

Moss takes off with the cash and sets off a chain reaction of suspense-filled, gory  events that are sure to keep the reader’s adrenalin pumping.

Since we can’t see the film just yet, why not read the novel?

Be warned. If you set little store by words – or anything else, for that matter – you could be guilty of floccinaucinihilipilification.

And no, that wasn’t a mouse running over my keyboard. 

This Latin-based tongue-twister basically denotes “the act or habit of estimating as worthless”. According to Dictionary.com, its usage is rare and it functions primarily as an example of one of the longest words in the English language. First appearing in 1741, floccinaucinihilipilification is an example of “the kind of jocular formation that was possible among educated men in Britain in those days” (Online Etymology Dictionary).

As for what it means to me, it’s a good reminder of the humour and history to be found in the world of words. People often complain that the English language is complex and confusing, but I love to examine the myriad words that it has soaked up like a sponge.

My language is full of growth and beauty – and some 29-letter surprises that remind me that words are never worthless and there’s always something more to learn.

I am not one to get all lovey-mushy on St. Valentine’s Day. But it is a day that comes round every year and with it comes the consumer hype of all things red, white and fluffy. Not exactly the epitome of love. I can’t quite fathom why so many people buy into it either – it’s not much more than a sales-pitch day for Cardies when you think about it. So instead my contribution is a poem that my mother passed on to me some years ago. This poem shaped my views on love in many ways.

After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t mean security
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up
and your eyes open, with the grace of a woman
not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow’s ground in too uncertain,
for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight

After a while, you learn that even sunshine burns if you ask too much
So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure,
that you really are strong and you really do have worth
With every goodbye… you learn…

                                                                          ~ Author unknown