The Thornbirds - Colleen McCullough

What does one do when faced with a classic that you are almost expected to love even before the first words caress you? I hadn't read The Thornbirds, much less heard much about it, except for Mocha's fanatical fanworshipping of the book. Mocha is easy to please, I thought, (:-) dismissing all thoughts of reading the book. And then, my sister, not one to be easily pleased by any means, raved about the book. Ah, so there must be something to this, I thought. 

So it was that I picked up Colleen McCullough's best-selling saga of love, passion and loyalty in the Australian outback. I don't have to talk about the story - Ralph de Bricassart and Meggie Cleary's forbidden love - interested me not the least. A sportscar loving, politically ambitious priest who comes every now and then for his two nights of gratification with his secret 'rose.' Ah, impressed I was not. The Guardian calls it the best bad book ever - and well, sorry Mocha, I agree. Colleen McCullough, it seemed to me, was trying too hard to play Margaret Mitchell. But unlike Scarlett who grows in character and strength in Gone With The Wind, Meggie just fades into the background. All that fire is lost once she walks out on her husband, and devotes the rest of her life to Drogheda. 

My most interesting character? Meggie's daughter - Justine. Her sarcasm, her almost mocking disdain of life was far more real than Meggie's piety, and Ralph's apparently intolerable torment. 

Verdict: Ho Hum. Ahem. 

Rating: 2/5

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle - David Wroblewski

By now there are endless reviews written and countless accolades predicted for this book. So my review would probably be a needle in the haystack. Anyway, here's my two cents worth. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle by David Wroblewski captured the imagination of millions in a heartbeat. And its not without reason. Edgar is a mute but highly intelligent 14 year old whose life revolves around dogs. His family has been traditional breeders since the time of his grandfather, John Sawtelle, and Edgar has been blessed with the same gift. His parents, both of whom are trainers, give him a chance to raise and train a litter of pups from the time they born and Edgar is thrilled. His days pass normally enough until the death of his father. The story takes a turn then and Edgar's life is changed forever.

The outline I have given is extremely bare and does not do justice to the vast landscape that Wroblewski paints. Everything and everyone are characters in his book and that includes the sprawling landscape, the dogs, the sky and the rain. His constant companion, Almondine, is imbued with thoughts and dreams and emotions. The rain is an important presence throughout, gaining stronger associations with his father after his death. More than anything, it's the poetry, the sheer smoothness of his writing that keeps you riveted to this book. It doesn't start with anything dramatic and can get a tad slow for the first 30 to 50 pages. And then whoosh! It scoops you up in its arms along with Edgar and his beloved barn with his dogs.

Wroblewski explores the nature of language - its limits, its capacities and its vastness. Edgar is forever scarred by guilt because his muteness renders him incapable of doing more to save his father, according to him. But the same muteness speaks volumes in every other way. Through signs, through a look, through actions. The spoken word is an unrequired appendage in many parts of the book.

There are passages in the book which can bring a tear to the more sensitive readers. Even after I finished the book the images were so powerful that they kept whirling in my head for the rest of the day. Because reading about Edgar is like watching a movie. Wroblewski's debut novel has been a tremendous success partly because of the kind of imagery he induces. The story has undeniable similarities with Hamlet as many a review would point out. The play of emotions and the tangle of thoughts that goes on in Edgar's head, like Hamlet's monologue, is almost palpable. To me its the novel's ability to be at once beautifully simple and astonishingly deep that won my heart.


Verdict: Don't miss this one

Rating: 4.8/5

Smoke And Mirrors - Pallavi Aiyar

Books on China are churned out with a regularity that matches the sweatshops that churn out socks in Wenzhou. Yet Smoke And Mirrors by one of India's most respected journalists, Pallavi Aiyar was different. For starters, it offered neither a Chinese or Western perspective but an Indian one.

Having lived in China myself for almost two years, I could almost feel my thoughts merge with Pallavi's. I could see her observing China from the standpoint we Indians take while visiting China - the shedding of naive observations, the pang of jealousy over China's immense and well-maintained infrastructure, (what roads, we marveled), and the sheer pace of China's progress. Then, we would step back and say smugly, well, we have democracy - we can write to Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, call him a leaden-footed politician, and get away with it, and the poor Chinese are leaden-footed intellectually, forced into acknowledging the Communist Party as God.

Yet there is no lack of religious freedom in China - contrary to popular belief, and Pallavi writes eloquently on the same, visiting abbots in Louyang to Imams in Xinjiang. The freedom is not absolute, yet it is there. Pallavi Aiyar writes like a journalist - there is little sentiment, her observations are taut, and her research immaculate. From extensive coverage of Beijing's vanishing hutongs, which includes some of her best interactions with the Chinese, to her eventual reporting, including the landmark coverage of the first Beijing-Lhasa train, the book covers the length and breadth of China. Although I was bored a bit towards the end, when the book meandered into a debate on whether the author would prefer India or China, I enjoyed reading Smoke And Mirrors. Immensely.

Verdict: Interesting.

Rating: 3.5/5

The Hummingbird's Daughter - Luis Alberto Urrea

Reading a Mexican book might just be a little difficult. Especially if there is too much of Spanish. Thats the first thing that struck me in The Hummingbird's Daughter by Luis Alberto Urrea, a book which is otherwise mesmerizing in its magical landscape. The Hummingbird's Daughter in the novel is Teresita, a precocious child who lives with her abusive aunt until she is rescued by the revered curandera, Huila. She continues the rest of her childhood in the home of her father who is the patron of a big ranch. Although she is her father's illegitimate child, he takes a special liking towards her, which only grows until the end. Magical surprises abound in the novel. Teresita discovers she has a special touch with which she can heal people. She sets about furthering her powers under the tutelage of Huila. But disaster comes when Teresita is raped and left for dead. The family is all set to bury her when on the second day she rises (I still think she was in a coma and not dead). Teresita becomes a phenomenon and soon thousands queue up to see the Saint of Cabora. But wonders don't cease in the novel and they can be found right till the end.

Urrea's sprawling novel takes place in the vast plains of Mexico and the backdrop of the Mexican revolution. Thoroughly Mexican to the core, the novel intersperses whole Spanish sentences and for those who can understand the transition from Spanish to English would seem seamless. Credit must be given for his colorful writing and comic timing. There were many passages where I burst out laughing, especially the portrayal of Buenaventura's relation with his father Tomas. Urrea also moves smoothly between the unreal and the ordinary. On one page he describes Teresita miraculously curing sick children with a stroke of her palm and on the next page she is sitting in the kitchen, unable to sleep and arguing amicably with her father. A lot of descriptions of the body and everything related to it gives the book an earthy feel, which at times inspires disgust but we are forced to acknowledge that this is after all the way we humans are. Urrea has taken a page from his own family history, where there indeed was a Teresita and it has taken him 20 years of research to craft this well wrought out story of a saint who performed miracles which were more real than life.

Verdict: Read it to get a very beautiful written vivid picture of 19th century Mexico and some really funny moments

Rating: 3.8/5

The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

Its been sometime since I was really touched, surprised and impressed by a book all at once. Well, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne has managed to do that and more. A slim novel that speaks volumes, Boyne’s work is a tale of a strange friendship that develops between two, 9 year old boys, during World War II. Bruno leaves the home he loves so much in Berlin and arrives at a place, which he pronounces as Out-With. Bruno is upset and angry at leaving his five-storied house in Berlin and having to settle in a meager three-storied building where there is hardly anything to be explored. After his family has dinner with the “Fury” his father the “Commandant” has been asked to come to this place, which bores Bruno to death. But soon enough he takes the fateful walk where he meets his friend Shmuel who lives on the other side of the fence. The two discover that they were born on the same day and they become fast friends.

Boyne’s book is extraordinary because it is at once a simple tale but so powerful in its imagery that I found myself making the appropriate facial expressions and going through varied emotions while reading it. For one, it juxtaposes the two vastly different worlds of Bruno and Shmuel and by making them the same age the contrast stands out more vividly. Bruno’s thoughts are that of a nearly-spoilt 9 year old which varies from worrying from what is for dinner to missing his friends back in Berlin. The guileless selfishness that only a kid that age is capable of is also evident in many places – Bruno packs sandwiches for his friend Shmuel but ends up eating them half way and has only bits to offer by the time he reaches their meeting spot. Through a child’s eyes their disparate lives are brought to light through small, fascinated discoveries. Bruno is completely unaware of the atrocities taking place around him and he goes about his life in the naivete of one who really can’t be bothered even if he notices some things that are different. But it is the end that took the breath out of me. Nothing can prepare you for the twist in the end. The book has recently been made into a movie, which I am curious to see and hope that it brings Bruno and Shmuel to life in the manner they deserve.

There are a few reviews I read which leveled a couple of criticisms against the book pointing out historical inaccuracy and lingual hiccups. But I think those are small observations compared to the very large ones that Bruno and Shmuel will show you.

Verdict: Must read, not limited to only those who love war tales

Rating: 5/5