Sunday, February 8, 2009

Gilead: Marilynne Robinson


Gilead is a masterpiece. Such beautiful writing you are fortunate to read perhaps once in 15 years. Marilynne Robinson wrote Housekeeping in 1980, then went without writing another book for another decade before stunning us with the luminous Gilead in 2004. She was slightly faster with her latest book, Home - a sort of sequel to Gilead, which was published last year.

What makes Gilead such a modern classic? Marilynne Robinson doesn't just write, she makes prose seem the noblest desire of man. She touches each word with the brush of a poem, and laces each page with such wisdom that you realize even as you turn the page that you are not just reading but meditating. At the end of his long and eventful life, Reverend John Ames, begins writing a series of letters to his six-year old son. Those letters are meant to be Ames' memories to his son, who he knows will never know his father well. Ames though is not like me, sick of the decay in life, but in love with the grandeur of life:

So often I have seen the dawn come and the light flood over the land and everything turn radiant at once, that word 'good' so profoundly affirmed in my soul that I am amazed I should be allowed to witness such a thing.

Ames has lived a life of grace, and before he leaves he needs to find it within himself to make room for one who he had scorned earlier in life - Jack, the son of his oldest and dearest friend. How Ames moves through own personal turmoil and reaches grace forms the crux of the novel. It is a novel that is a prayer. It is a novel that isn't a novel at all. It is just a wise prayer on Life from one of the finest prose writers of this generation.

Light is constant, we just turn over in it. So every day is in fact the selfsame evening and morning. 

Verdict: Classic.

Rating: 4.9/5

Sunday, February 1, 2009

The Unknown Errors of Our Lives - Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

I read Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's set of short stories of the Bengali immigrant experience, Arranged Marriage some time in July last year. I liked it enough to pick up another book of hers - this time a novel, but that sadly was consigned to the "to be read later in life" pile after ploughing through 15 pages of it. Yes, I do have a short patience level. I can't seem to follow the 50-pages rule sometimes.

Yet, I thought that Divakaruni's forte lies in short stories. So, that was how I ended up reading The Unknown Errors of Our Lives. It begins promisingly enough - the first story "Mrs Dutta Writes a Letter," was brilliant - rightly so it was selected for Best American Short Stories, 1999. But the book just fizzled away after that.

I had a feeling that the author was trying too hard to be poetic. Prose does that to you - in the endeavour to create that perfectly symmetrical, poetic turn of phrase, we befuddle ourselves with what we should really be concentrating on - the story. Towards the end of the book, I found myself just turning the pages, waiting to get past it (this year I have promised myself that I WILL sit through a book, no matter how tedious it may be). Soppy, sentimental, and rambling, The Unknown Errors of Our Lives was a tedious read, and my own error was in buying it. Even the title story was just too baffling - what was happening there? I am not sure still. Sudip Bose was scathing in his review:

Divakaruni's stories can verge on melodrama, and with their ever-present scents of cumin, coriander and jasmine, they are redolent of a curry seasoned by too heavy a hand - New York Times

I agree. Let this book be the known error of my life.

Verdict: Poor.

Rating: 1.5/5