Middlesex: Jeffrey Eugenides

Image Credit: fantasticfiction

The book jacket brief -

“I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day of January 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.” So begins the breathtaking story of Calliope Stephanides and three generations of the Greek-American Stephanides family, who travel from a tiny village overlooking Mount Olympus in Asia Minor to Prohibition-era Detroit, witnessing its glory days as the Motor City, and the race riots of 1967, before they move out to the tree-lined streets of suburban Grosse Point, Michigan. To understand why Calliope is not like other girls, she has to uncover a guilty family secret and astonishing genetic history that turns Callie into Cal, one of the most audacious and wondrous narrators in contemporary fiction. Lyrical and thrilling, Middlesex is an exhilarating reinvention of the American epic.

Intriguing isn't it? The novel, which is around 518 pages long, is entirely told in Callie’s voice. It starts off with her grandmother Desdemona getting married and fleeing from a war ravaged Greece and landing up in Detroit. Here they have children and build a life. The novel goes on to explore the lives of the next two generations, Desdemona’s children and lastly, Callie.

But I have simplified it way too much here. What makes this book such a riveting read is the way Eugenides seamlessly moves in and out of the present and the past, like a flawless melody. His prose is a magic bag that glitters with unshed tears, sparkles with witty humor and thrums with a poignance that is subtle yet tugs at your heart. Most importantly, it’s not just about the people that Eugenides writes about. He surrounds them with the culture that oozes in the Detroit of the 1920s and 1930s. It is boom time for the auto industry, which is the heart of Detroit and it’s the time for swing and jazz and beer. He weaves in the family’s experiences with the occurrences in Detroit, like the race riots, and we see how it affects them.

Now for the protagonist. That Callie is a hermaphrodite, we learn right at the beginning. And we already know the guilty secret that she learns right at the end of the book. I felt bad, holding on to this nugget of information, which might have saved Callie from a few puzzling situations. Callie herself is a funny, observant and sensitive narrator. She begins to suspect that there is something wrong with her when she reaches adolescence. And this is one of the most brilliantly written sections in the book. The pain, the insights, the fears and the pressures of adolescence that Callie faces, but is unable to match up to, is written in vivid prose. Eugenides’ in-depth, almost psychic understanding of this stage is amazing. Eugenides’ also subverts the definition of normality through Callie as she is not ‘normal’ in the conventional sense of the word. But the stories of all the people around her that we learn and those whom she observes turn out to be as bizarre as it can get. It’s all told in Callie’s characteristic conversational tone tinged with a wry humor.

For some reason Callie’s brother is simply named Chapter Eleven and we see glimpses of a different kind of adolescence in him. All in all, I loved Eugenides’ characterizations. Middlesex won the 2003 Pulitzer Prize and I would say it’s a richly deserving one. This has been one of the best modern classics I have read in a long time and I would recommend all you readers to laugh, observe and think with Callie Stephanides like I did.

Verdict: A wonderful, wonderful book

Rating: 5/5

Versedays: Lochinvar by Sir Walter Scott

Image Credit: yahoo store

Lifewordsmith missed publishing Versedays last week due to interruptions from life. I missed seeing a poem on the blog’s front page and mostly I missed the enjoyable process of selecting one. This week’s wonderful poem, though, makes up for it!

The phrase “knight in shining armor” has become much bandied about in recent times. So much so that the romance and adventure that the phrase evokes have, well, lost a bit of their shine. But if you read Sir Walter Scott’s “Lochinvar” it all comes back. I was so happy to read this well-loved poem again. I had read it a long time back during my college days and remember being enthralled with the bantering, easy-going Lochinvar. The character of Lochinvar embodies the ideal knight. He is chivalrous, gallant and beneath his loose-limbed manner, a strength that says, “I will not let you down.” I know I am sounding cheesy but hey, a woman is allowed a bit of that once in a while and especially when presented with such a one as Lochinvar!

Lochinvar

by

Sir Walter Scott

Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none.
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword,
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,
‘Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?’

‘I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.’

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup,
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,
‘Now tread we a measure!’ said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered ‘’Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.’

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
‘She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,’ quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.
So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

These Foolish Things : Deborah Moggach

                                               Image Credit : Fantastic Fiction

I really should write a review immediately after I read the book! Three days is a long time in our lives! So many hours and moments nudged into them! All eminently forgettable yet still occupying valuable shelf life. These Foolish Things by Deborah Moggach was a book I picked up because, confession time, it was set in Bangalore. I have not read many books by English authors (read non-Indian) set in this hometown I don't like to call my own, but which I must out of the necessity of being born in the wrong place at the right time. 

What happens when a good Indian doctor, Ravi Kapoor, married to an Englishwoman in London, meets his cousin, the effervescent Sonny from Bangalore? Well, sparks fly. Ideas happen. Dr Ravi and Sonny decide on an old trick - outsourcing - with a new product - retirement homes for old, doddering senior citizens who really should know better than to traipse across to that premier city of outsourcing, Bangalore. Let's say that Dr Ravi has a vested interest in it as well - to get rid of his obnoxious father-in-law, Norman Purse. The poor old man is air transported across to Dunroamin, the fanciful name for an old English bungalow that is purportedly set near MG Road, Bangalore. Several other interesting characters join the fray. There's Dorothy, ex-BBC, who appears sane in the beginning but rather 'dotty' towards the middle before resolving everything in the end. There's Evelyn, my favorite oldie in the fray, who has a difficult relationship with her children, Christopher and Theresa. More so with Theresa. The Ainslies, a 'happily' married couple whose facade of marriage Moggach rips apart heartlessly. Muriel, searching for her son, Keith who is on the run. And add a motley mix of Indians - in the form of the pedicurist nurse and her husband, who runs Dunroamin. I loved all the characters - they were warm, human, witty and touching. It's the sort of story that might touch those who were closer to their grandparents...or even those who are on the verge of becoming retirement homes themselves. But it's also the sort of story that may touch anyone who can overlook the flaws and be welcomed by the warmth of the characters.

There is always an action-packed page, fast-paced events despite the seeming seniority of many of Dunroamin's guests. In the background too looms Bangalore's accursed and blessed sobriquet of being a Silicon Valley, all plastic and elastic, and all the chips that make up this tattered-at-the-edges city of mine. What Moggach has done wonderfully well is to create characters you care for, and when you do that, the story moves along rapidly. The endings were a bit Hollywoodish, and several incidents were plain uncalled for, but overall the book held promise at the beginning, stuttered a bit here and there, but spun its way to some sort of a dramatic denouement that was satisfying.

However, Random House and Deborah Moggach, if you ever read this, please please employ a better proofreader, editor or researcher. What can I say when I see Halebid, that pristine place, spelled throughout the book as Halebib? I mean, not once. But three times? And this," all her hopes now rested in a remote Keralana village." Keralana? And somewhere, Bangalore's famous eatery, Mavalli Tiffin Rooms became Mevalli if I remember correctly. I don't take too kindly to errors in a book, and mistakes like this, which show poor research or editing, aggravate me no end. More so the pity because the story is really quite lovely.

Verdict : Lovely read, enjoyable.

Rating : 3.5/5

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie: Muriel Spark

Image Credit: Birdy

I finally finished a book that had been puzzling me for the past one week. Muriel Spark’s “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie,” is hailed as a must read classic and I had entered it in my TBR list long ago. I was attracted by its plot line, which goes like this – from the book jacket:

Romantic, heroic, comic and tragic, unconventional schoolmistress Jean Brodie has become an iconic figure in post-war fiction. Her glamour, freethinking ideas and manipulative charm hold dangerous sway over her girls at the Marcia Blaine Academy –the ‘crème de la crème’ – who become the Brodie Set, introduced to a privileged world of adult games that they will never forget.

It started off well enough, introducing each of the girls in the Brodie Set and establishing the fact that she is in her prime. I liked the truly unconventional character of Miss Brodie. She famously claims at the beginning of the book, “Give me a girl at an impressionable age, and she is mine for life.” Miss Brodie comes across as a free radical in the 1930s society, where people clung to traditions and anything out of the ordinary was looked askance with suspicion. So Miss Brodie selects her girls carefully, choosing the ones who can be molded well. They have the ‘privilege’ of listening to her stories that range from her lover’s death to thoughts about society.

I feel that Spark uses Miss Brodie as a vehicle for her view on education to a great extent. Miss Brodie’s way of teaching and the content of her lessons are poles apart from what is normally taught in schools. She tries to impart lessons from her life experiences, which are considered quite blasphemous by the school principal herself. And even the parents have their reservations,

“We do a lot of what we like in Miss Brodie’s class,’ Jenny said. ‘My mummy says Miss Brodie gives us too much freedom.’ ‘She’s not supposed to give us freedom, she’s supposed to give us lessons,’ said Sandy.”

I found Miss Brodie to possess quite a layered personality and yes, Spark has sketched her eccentric personality with well-drawn brushstrokes. On one hand, she appears to give the girls much freedom to express. On the other hand, I found her quite mean. She makes her own predictions about each of the girls in her set. For Mary she says, “I never had any hopes of Mary…She was a little pathetic. But she’s really a most irritating girl, I’d rather deal with a rogue than a fool.” And this she confides to Sandy, her chosen one from the set. I found her quite repetitive too. The fact that she is in her prime and that the girls are quite privileged to be with her is mentioned on every other page in this slim volume of 127 pages.

And what puzzled me about the book? Well, I couldn’t quite get the core of it. There were a few humorous lines here and there but nothing memorable. I couldn’t get a grip on the storyline, which moves back and forth, unraveling Miss Brodie’s past and the girls’ futures simultaneously. I admit the zigzagging storyline is not that jarring but the essence of the entire story was lost on me.

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie has been quite a sensation over the years, being made into a movie and being featured on Broadway as a play. To me this book was a series of thoughts, expressions and experiences, strung together on an oscillating thread. The movement between tenses was not so haphazard as Miss Brodie’s thoughts themselves. Perhaps there is something that is eluding me, that is beyond my admittedly limited ken. If any of you have read this or plan to read this book, do enlighten me more. I welcome it wholeheartedly. Till then, I will stay lost in prime puzzlement.

PS: Had completely forgotten to add the 'Words Learnt' bit to my reviews. Doing so now.

Verdict: Please read and explain it to me

Rating: 2.5/5

Words Learnt: Dragoman

We were the Mulvaneys: Joyce Carol Oates

Image Credit: FantasticFiction

We were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates is an amazing portrayal of America’s transition from the 60s through 90s albeit via the titular Mulvaney family. One can see why this is one of the most popular and well read books about America. The rich dark tale of an ordinary farm family caught in a furious tornado of events beyond their reckoning, broken to pieces at several levels (emotionally, financially and to a large extent even morally I think) and eventually redeemed, if that is ever possible...

The Mulvaney family consists of six people, Corrine Mulvaney the mother, Michael Mulvaney the father, Mike Jr/Mule their first born is an ace when it comes to sports - even wins a scholarship due to his excellent performance in football; however chooses to drop out of college and help out his father in his roofing business. Patrick, their second son is a true geek of those days... very scientific minded and clever enough to go on to become another Einstein or a Newton but fate wills otherwise and he becomes a wanderer instead until he meets the love of his life and decides to settle down. Then there is Marianne, their third and only girl child; a cheerleader in the local school at the beginning of this story and later the source of all things tragic in this story. And finally Judd (Judson) (Andrew) Mulvaney – who is the primary narrator of the story for about three-fourths of this novel.

But let me start at the very beginning – I loved the beginning of this book, ah! The rich descriptions of High Point Farm where the Mulvaneys live, I can almost taste even today (after several weeks of finishing the book). The extreme attention to detail in characterization almost makes you believe that each of the Mulvaneys’ are real and you can almost tell who has a mole where and what specific gesture by each Mulvaney conveys what!!! We must hand that to JCO...

And then the darkness begins - Imagine a sweet innocent girl of 16, loved by all incapable of hating anyone herself and with a religiocity almost Catholic hence very chaste. Yet very pretty in fact a cheerleader in her school no less. This, dear reader, as you have rightly guessed by now is Marianne.

What happens when she is raped by a senior boy in her school on their prom night? What repercussions would it have on each member of the Mulvaney family and more importantly herself? How does this one incident change the very fabric of Mt. Ephraim? THIS is what the book explores.

At this point I must remind the readers that the semi-rural America of 1960s is the India of 90s-till date. Mt. Ephraim where the Mulvaneys live everyone knows everyone else and any little gossip/news just flows across town at lightning speed even though no one may talk about it openly... just maybe in whispers only. Yet, the slight but very palpable shift in behaviour of the towns’ people is a resounding confirmation that “the news” has indeed spread. And the town is just watching and waiting to see what the next move of the Mulvaneys would be?

Remember too, that in this close knit society the father of the perpetrator of the crime is also a good friend of Michael Mulvaney Sr. How does one go about exacting justice in such a situation? Especially when all the evidence has been destroyed due to the sheer shame of having let oneself be “fallen” in such a manner? Whose side will the town’s people take?

With not many alternatives left and with the fire of the “injustice of it all” burning in his belly Michael does what any man in his situation would do – assaults the boy and his father in their own house. Then follows a series of Court cases, hiring and firing of a series of lawyers and drinking binges which slowly deplete the family money and eventually the farm itself has to be sold off. At the very beginning of all this poor Marianne is banished to live with a spinster “Aunt” because her father cannot bear to look at her!

What happens next is too depressing to write about... I will let you read and find out for yourself.

But I will say this – the book is not without faults, at least for me. The rich vibrant description, the very things which excite and stimulate you to keep on reading initially becomes a drag towards the end. I mean does the reader really need to know the history of a cabinet box out of which a rifle or a gun is taken out? At times I found myself shouting “Ohh no not again! Just get on with the story will you!?!?” I am sure we as readers do not want to know the history of every piece of furniture, every damn quilt, every scratch on the wall right in the middle of a “situation”, for heaven sake please spare us the torture!!!”

All the characters are very well developed except for Mike Jr. Poor fellow is enlisted into the Marines early on and forgotten until about the very end. He sort of keeps vacillating in and out of the story as and when needed to the whims and fancies of our dear author.

Also, the reason why I call this a dark tale is because of the tone it carries throughout - that everything BAD that happens to the Mulvaney family is all because of Marianne getting raped – as if everything is her fault! JCO smartly never directly indicts her in the novel but by portraying the family as a “failed one” she does more than convey that Marianne is the root of the downfall of this family.

Yes there is some sort of redemption for the family in the end but it comes across as so contrived and dished out in a hurry that it is unsatisfying to the modern soul of the 21st century (me). It could be because we belong to the “if-you-have-a-problem-fix-it!-don’t-whine-about-it” generation.

And please tell me why towards the very end political issues such as Tehran and Israel are included? What was that about? Was America more politically aware in the 80s and 90s than in the 60s/70s?

Well, for all my griping about the faults I did read every page and every word so it isn’t a complete waste of time. And I did take time out to write a lengthy review didn’t I?


Verdict: Do read; but remember - it won’t harm to skip a few descriptions here and there towards the end

Rating: 3/5

The Art of Racing in the Rain : Garth Stein

                                                Image Credit : Fantastic Fiction

There are, I feel, three kinds of books. Great books. Popular Books. And those rare ones that truly great and popular. The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein falls into the popular books category.

Now I love dogs. Sometimes, I love dogs even better than human beings. At least, I find that I can get along better with a dog than a human being. There is just something intuitive about being with a dog that doesn't have the same echo in the intellectual sphere of human relationships. Yet, Enzo is a dog who would like nothing better than to be a human being in his next life. Good for him, but I wonder if I would like the same. The Art of Racing in the Rain is a book that seems destined to be made into a movie. It's fictional, of course, so we have Enzo relating to us the story of his life as he himself nears the end of his doggie days. Garth Stein does not lend Enzo the voice of a dog (I don't know what that may be having never really heard a dog talk), but gives Enzo a wise, philosophical human voice that discourses on Einstein, makes pithy observations on the follies of human beings ("learn to listen," he says at one point), and generally is the sort of dog you would have wanted to marry.

And so Enzo tells us about racing car driver Denny, his wife Eve and daughter Zoe. Their happy family life is abruptly turned upside down when Eve is diagnosed with brain cancer. From then on, the family learns to cope with life much the way you might need to cope with the racing track, with patience, anticipation, skill, determination and love. "You manifest what is front of you," is one of Enzo's favorite sayings in the novel. Right, so we have a pop-psych talking dog too. I am sorry I offend loyal followers of this book, but I found the writing downright amateurish. Sure, there is a pretty good story. But all great stories do not a great writer make.

There were times when I felt the writer didn't know what he wanted to convey and how. He chose Enzo as the medium, but the dog is more human than humans. Only a few odd bits and pieces convey Enzo's personality. Like, ok, we know he loves to run (how many dogs don't?), likes to play ball, adores his master Denny, and desperately wants to speak to convey his feelings for the people he loves. Speak? You must be kidding me, Mr Garth Stein. Speech must be the most soul-destroying process that mankind ever discovered. Dogs are known to be therapists because they don't speak. Their intuition is what makes us feel closer to them. Their incredible ability to sense feeling and give love is one of their assets. And Enzo wants to speak instead of reveling in what good dogs do : which is to provide the sort of comfort that humans rarely can! He can shout himself hoarse, he will be like the rest of us : lost beings wandering around talking a lot, but listening to none and understanding no one.

Now that I got that out of my system, I will admit that the book is readable. If you find yourself looking for a light read (very light read, like 2 or 3 pounds light), then it may work. And hush, I did cry at two points in the novel, so it's a book that may move you to tears, (but I cry for everything, so that may not count for much), even though at other times you may be moved to despair at the writing. But, it's not brilliance. I liked it. But I didn't love it. I can read it once. And I can forget it forever. The ending is trite and predictable, and had me fall over in disbelief that such an ending passed the editors and publishers. But well. There are popular books, eh? Put a dog, make him talk, and you got a winner. Check out the trailer for the book here:



Verdict : Amateurish at times. Readable at other times. 


Rating : 2/5

Versedays: A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky by Lewis Carroll

Not very sunny, but a boat under the sky nevertheless!

Image Credit: Birdy

I have only seen cartoons of Alice in Wonderland when I was a child, I haven’t read the book. But now after reading Lewis Carroll’s poem “A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky” I think I would love to read it. In fact, the poem appears at the conclusion of the book, I am told, and in it Carroll applies a charming acrostic. Notice that the first letters of each line spell out “Alice Pleasance Liddell.” So here it is, Versedays choice for this week!

A Boat beneath a Sunny Sky

by

Lewis Carroll


A BOAT beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?

Premio Dardos Award

Thanks to Vaishnavi from Dust Jacket for presenting us this award! As she has posted on her blog - "The Premio Dardos is a way to acknowledge the importance of bloggers committed to spreading cultural, ethical, literary and personal values, showing their letters and words." We are honored and would like to pass this award on to -

Vaishnavi at Dust Jacket

Shweta from Shwetas Book Journal

Vishy from Vishy the Knight

Eva from A Striped Armchair

Tom from A Common Reader

Enjoy!

Heidi: Johanna Spyri

Image Credit: Birdy

In this world full of cares, it feels so good when you come across a book that lets your mind just float in unthinking pleasantness. That is precisely the feeling I had when I was reading Johanna Spyri’s “Heidi.” A Swiss classic, long translated into English, Heidi has been a children’s favorite through the years. As the book jacket says –

“Heidi is only five when she is taken to live with her grandfather, known as Uncle Alp, in the Swiss mountains. Notorious in the village for his gloomy outlook and reclusive nature, Uncle Alp nevertheless comes to love little Heidi, and she him. Heidi is growing fond of her new mountain family and friends when she is suddenly taken to Frankfurt to be a companion to Clara, an invalid. Although she brings great joy into Clara’s life, Heidi pines for her home in the mountains. This classic story lyrically evokes a young child’s understanding of poverty and wealth, illness and happiness, despair and hope.”

And I agree with the last line completely. Heidi is a precocious child who perceives the tone and every fleeting shadow on the faces of people around her. It is heartbreaking when her naturally joyous nature is clipped when she is brought to the city to live in Clara’s home under the strict eyes of Ms Rottenmeier. One of the most poignant points in the book occurs when Heidi is caught stealing rolls and storing them in the cupboard for Peter’s Grannie who is very poor and cannot afford them.

“Heidi threw herself down beside Clara’s chair and began to cry bitterly. ‘Now Grannie won’t get any nice white bread,’ she sobbed. ‘The rolls were all for her and now they’re going to be thrown away.’”

Even more endearing is Heidi's complete innocence and trust that only a child is capable of. When Clara's Grandmamma encourages Heidi to pray to God and unburden her troubles to him she follows it to the t. And when she finally gets to go back to her grandfather, she totally believes that it's because she followed Grandmamma's instructions. From then on, Heidi prays everyday before going to bed.

The novel is based quite a lot on Spyri’s own experiences and perhaps that honesty and clarity is what makes the book so endearing. I wish life were as simple as it was for Heidi whose mornings were greeted with a glass of fresh milk, then spending the day roaming the mountain with Peter and his goats, returning in the evening for dinner, chatting to grandfather and sleeping on the hayloft with a window showing clusters of stars. Of course, she goes to school too when she becomes a bit older. But life by itself is uncomplicated for Heidi who sees only the good in people and her innate cheerfulness is uplifting. She definitely lifted my spirits.

Verdict: Read this one as a stressbuster for guaranteed results.

Rating: 5/5

The Other Hand : Chris Cleave

                                       Image Credit : Lacajatonta
The Other Hand uses one of the most intriguing marketing devices I have ever seen. What else can I say about a book that has its blurb "We don't want to tell you what happens in this story. It is a truly special story and we don't want to spoil it. " And then it goes on to say:

Nevertheless, you need to know enough to buy it so we will just say this: This is the story of two women. Their lives collide one fateful day, and one of them has to make a terrible choice. Two years later, they meet again -- the story starts there... Once you have read it, you'll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don't tell them what happens either. The magic is in how it unfolds.

Either you will fall for such a ploy or it will just raise your hackles. And then when you open the book, the publisher goes on to say, "You don't know me. I'm Chris Cleave's editor, and I'm writing to tell you how extraordinary The Other Hand is." Phew. Are we reading the greatest novel ever? I hate to disappoint that very enthusiastic publisher, but The Other Hand or the Little Bee as it is known in the U.S., doesn't justify the hype. But it is an exceptionally good read. Nigeria meets Surrey in this imaginative tale of two women crossed by violence. The action is taut, gripping, and although the plot thins a little, and stretches your incredulity at times, it is still a wonderfully well-told story. But there. I stop at that. It's not the most brilliant book of the century. It's not even the best book of the month. What it does is bring into relief the plight of refugees in the U.K, and through Little Bee, the young Nigerian refugee, I found a humorous yet realistic voice, who had me laughing at times in the novel. And then we have Sarah, a vaguely grammar-obsessed fashion editor with the most irritating child in the world (Ok, I am not into kids all that much, but hey, if you have a kid who refuses to take off his Batman costume, what would you do? I mean...the entire time...acts like Batman? If I were near such a kid, Batman would soon become Flatman). Her life becomes entwined with Little Bee on a Nigerian beach in the most incredible manner possible - personally, I found this a bit too hard to believe, but well their lives thereafter are defined by what happened on that beach.

The rest of the novel is all about redemption and finding meaning with an extremely unsatisfactory ending. Still, I liked The Other Hand even though a few other bloggers here and here have trashed it. The latter review, in fact, is brilliant and hilarious. The book has obvious flaws, but well, if you ignore the hype, and don't expect much, it is satisfying enough. And oh, please, IGNORE that irritating Charlie masquerading as Batman. Some editor, please take your editing knife, and slice out that character.

Verdict : Readable.
Rating : 3/5

The Heretic's Daughter: Kathleen Kent

Image Credit: Fantasticfiction

I remember my grandmother telling me a story about a woman in her village who was apparently possessed. She remembers seeing (or hearing about, I am not sure which) this woman speaking in a man’s voice when she went into a trance. And then, the village shaman was summoned who advised that she be taken to a temple specially meant for such cases. There she had to drive a nail into an oak tree with the force of her head. Miraculously, she appeared sober afterward and there were no injuries to speak of. The damage was not to her person, but to her reputation as the villagers shunned her and there was talk of the Devil’s presence.

A similar story unfolds in Kathleen Kent’s The Heretic’s Daughter. Told from the viewpoint of Sarah, who is just around nine years old, The Heretic’s Daughter chronicles a slice of the famous Salem Witch Trials that took place in Salem, Massachusetts in the 17th century. Accused of being a witch and arbitrarily tried, Martha Carrier, Sarah’s mother is condemned to die but Sarah and her brothers must save their own lives. And live to tell the tale.

For me, what made this book further fascinating was the fact that Martha Carrier was a real woman and Kent’s own ancestor at that. Although, the central theme of the book is about the witch trials, there are a lot of other windows that are opened to let in a vision of life in a small town about three centuries back. The book opens with the ravages of small pox that is taking its toll on many lives. When Sarah and her family shift to a new town, the inhabitants give them a frosty welcome. As her brother falls victim to the plague Sarah and her younger sister, who is barely a year old, is sent to live in quarantine with their aunt where she develops a lifelong, deep friendship with her cousin Margaret. When Sarah returns she finds that she is more at odds with her mother than ever.

Nevertheless, Sarah’s perception of her mother soon changes. The town residents are soon whipped up into hysteria with reports of supernatural occurrences, especially in nearby Salem. And when this frenzy swirls around her mother, Sarah discovers that now she has to become the support for the family. Especially, when her mother entrusts her with a red book, which she is to read ‘when she comes of age.’

As you can see, Kent has touched upon every possible ingredient that can serve up a well-rounded book – friendship, relationships, crisis, secrets. For the first 150 pages or so, it is extremely slow progress. Kent constructs a picture of Sarah’s strained relationship with her mother and her friendship with Margaret bordered by the chilling reports of things to come. It is only after 200 pages that the real action begins. Her mother refuses to spout falsities to save her life due to which she is imprisoned.

“I believe many of us would peel ourselves away from our immoral selves as easily as the skin from a boiled plum if it meant we could remain on the earth for a while, our bellies full and our beds warm and safe at night. My mother would not and she would pay the price for her resolve. She was too singular, too outspoken, too defiant against her judges, in defense of her innocence, and it was for this, more than for proof of witchcraft, that she was being punished.”

What follows then is an account of the tough life in Salem jail as a crazed public baying for blood forces the arrest of many men and women, including Sarah herself along with other family members. This is where some of the most touching moments of the book are given life in the wonderful and lucid language that is the hallmark of the entire book. The language enhances beautiful descriptions of seasons and nature, which makes for some wonderful reading,

“In early autumn, there comes a cooling at night. The fireflies, their mating done, danced crazily about the fields, much knowing that a black wind is soon to come to kiss them with an unremembered death. There was ample rain, and at dawn the garden mists yielded crops of pumpkins, turnips and onions. The lentil pods swelled and spilled their seeds over the ground. Bunches of purslane grew close by, their reddish stems and yellow flowers showing like the sun against the drab gray of the house.”

My only reservation is that Kent takes too long to come to the trials. More importantly, we never know if Sarah’s mother ever practiced “witchcraft.” There is no evidence and yet there are hints that are dropped, which we must understand at our own discretion. This remains a mystery. However she more than makes up for this lacuna with sketches of the acrid reactions of the people stemming from their extremely religious belief that anything that goes wrong in their lives is due to the presence of the Devil. Towards the end, we are left with a feeling of sadness at the sheer waste of lives and energy due to pure illogical mass madness. I shut the book, feeling a bit unsettled. Imagine if we had a story about our immediate ancestors to tell, such as this?

Verdict: Well drawn picture of 17th century America

Rating: 3.2/5

Oscar and the Lady in Pink : Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt

                                                  Image Credit : Fantastic Fiction

I wonder why life is so convoluted sometimes. We pay our teachers miserable salaries. We think that fat-cat bankers on Wall Street deserve the astronomical salaries they obtain. And a really good book that may enrich our lives is extravagantly priced.  Money. And its ways. I really wonder if a God above or below or wherever this God is supposed to dwell isn't laughing his or her head off by now. So what do I do when I see Oscar and the Lady in Pink by Eric-Emmanuel sitting in the bookshop, telling a tale that seems so warm and moving, yet is priced at Rs495 (+$10) for 88 pages of it? I couldn't buy it. I wish I were that rich...but I am richer still, because I grabbed a footstool and read the book then and there.

This is a tale similar to Are You There, God? It's Me Margaret, which Birdy had reviewed sometime back. In a series of letters to God, Oscar, a terminally ill cancer patient, all of ten years (I think), ponders the wisdom and logic of life - and sometimes the bliss that exists when you throw both wisdom and logic out. That usually happens when you are facing death. And you realize then what it is to live. Oscar has a favorite - a pink lady (for she is dressed in pink), who he calls Granny Rose, who visits  him in the hospital. It is Granny Rose who inspires him, urges him to write letters to God. But no. It's not preachy. I was a bit worried that it would descend into that - all about finding meaning, and finding God etc - but no.

All we have are letters written by a confused yet wonderfully intelligent boy, who understands that his operation and chemotherapy was not successful. He has around 12 days to live, and Granny Rose tells him to live each day as if it were worth 10 years of his life. Oscar goes through troubled adolescence in one day - falls in love as a mature youth in another day - marries in another day - sees his 'wife' leave another day (she recovers, unlike him), and ponders about old age in another. Each one of these days are touching vignettes. And Granny Rose is also hilarious - talking about her past, that she was a wrestler, and about the subtle tricks that wrestlers use to overthrow champions. How, for example, would you defeat a 500 pound monster? The trick, Granny Rose, says is to roll her over. Keep running here and there, evading the 500 pounds, till you tire her out. Then roll her over. Once the 500 pounds is on the ground, they don't get up.

And the conversations between Granny Rose and Oscar are just touching and thoughtful...

"You mean there isn't a solution to life?"
"I mean there are several solutions to "Life," and therefore no solution."
"Well, this is what I think, Granny Rose, there's no solution to life except to live it."

It's obvious that Oscar and the Lady in Pink will not make any claims to greatness. It's not a very technically accomplished book. Simplicity is its forte, and the use of the letter device not unique either. But there is something heartwarming about Oscar. Maybe I am kind of sensitive today. I don't know. But I liked Oscar and the Lady in Pink. Sometimes, as convoluted as life gets, being simple is easier.

Verdict : Bit expensive buy, but a sweet read. 

Rating : 3.5/5

Remarkable Creatures - Epic Adventures in the Search for the Origins of Species: Sean B Carroll

The book with the remarkable creature in my house - my pet rabbit Bubbles

Image Credit: birdy

I have, for a long time now, been fascinated by stories from the pre-historic period. I am captivated by stories from the Ice Age or Stone Age and I like reading about new fossil finds. Thanks to this curiosity I was drawn to reading Jean Auel’s Clan of the Cave Bear series and Ascent of Man by Jacob Bronowski some time back. But the book to be discussed now is Sean B Carroll’s “Remarkable Creatures: Epic Adventures in the Search For the Origins of Species.” A summary from the book jacket –

Remarkable Creatures tells the story of the making of the theory of evolution – two centuries of exploration, adventure and discovery. Sean Carroll introduces us to ape-men, rhino-sized giant sloths and the almost hallucinogenic life forms that squirmed across Earth’s sea floors 500 million years ago. But these aren’t by any means the most remarkable creatures in this story: that distinction belongs to the men and women whose drive to discover powered the evolution revolution.”

And how! Carroll begins with Darwin’s journey across the seas aboard The Beagle and then chronicles the adventures of Humboldt, Alfred Wallace, Henry Bates and Roy Andrews. He is careful to pick those explorers whose finds have established some sort of missing link in the evolutionary puzzle. Darwin was responsible in setting the evolution revolution ball rolling, Wallace established the important concept of mimicry among species for survival and found the Wallace Line, Dubois found one of the earliest connections of the ape to man through the Java Man and so on. My personal favorites were the chapters on Archaeopteryx found by John Ostrom that proved that one species of dinosaurs had simply evolved into birds and another one on Roy Chapman Andrews who found dinosaur eggs! Another one that I loved was the findings of modern day explorer Neil Shubin who found proof that it was a certain kind of fish that later developed fingers and toes thus evolving into quadrupeds. And I learnt that fossil finds were named mostly after the finders themselves. When Charles Walcott's son Sidney found an 'arthropod' it was named Sidneyia inexpectans.

As you can see I pretty much loved all the chapters save for a couple, which were a bit too technical for my liking. But credit must be given. Although dealing with a very scientific topic, Carroll writes it like a tale to be told by the fireside. We are treated to enjoyable snippets, which also show the difficulties that these courageous men and women put themselves through –

“Wallace’s paper was just a sketch, conceived in a dilapidated house on an earthquake-ravaged island during bouts of fever, 10,000 miles from the center of science in England.”

Or consider Neil Shubin’s plight –

“Then they set up tents and made camp. They would have twenty-four-hour daylight, freezing cold temperatures, and high winds throughout their stay. They had to brace the tents with rocks. They also set up a tripwire system around the perimeter. Should a polar bear stray into camp, it would trigger an alarm and give everyone a few moments to grab their weapons.”

And it was not just the explorers who suffered. Their families too had to undergo hardship. Dubois took his pregnant wife to the malarial forests of Sumatra and on finding that it did not have much fossil prospects he shifted to Java and his wife of course had to follow. He was always on the move and each time hardly would his wife set up their house than she had to dismantle it again. In some cases, they married like-minded spouses, which was far better as the entire family would then go fossil hunting and to me that sounded like complete fun.

This is one book I thoroughly enjoyed reading and would recommend it to anyone with a curiosity for the charm of the prehistoric periods. The peripatetic life, during those harsh times when survival of the fittest matters, is unique and Carroll gave me a finely painted portrait of the people who brought those times to our attention. This book is obviously not for everyone. After a point, chasing after old, withered bones can seem a waste of time for those not inclined towards dinosaurs and apes and such. For the rest, this is a treat.


Verdict: Take a whirlwind tour of the past and be an armchair adventurer with these explorers.

Rating: 4/5

Versedays: The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson

Image Credit: swingsetplayground

I am sure most of us here enjoyed playing in the park as kids. My personal favorite was sitting on the swing and slowly moving to and fro while watching life around me. And this is something I have never grown out of. Sadly, swings are a rarity nowadays as children spend their free time cooped up inside playing computer games or watching television. I have seen few kids these days simply run down to a nearby park to play on the seesaw (another favorite of mine) or the swing. Well, Robert Louis Stevenson certainly would be sad. His poem The Swing, which is this week’s Versedays pick, captures the rush that you get from the simple joy of swinging high. After reading Kidnapped I have come to love Stevenson’s works and now his poetry. Taken from The Child’s Garden of Verses, this is as joyful to read as it is to swing.

The Swing


by Robert Louis Stevenson


How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
Rivers and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

Love in the Time of Cholera : Gabriel Garcia Marquez

                                                       Image Credit : Nishitak 

I vaguely remember reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez's classic One Hundred Years of Solitude almost a decade ago when I was doing my Masters in Literature. I think I liked the book, or so I remember. Then, last year, I picked up Marquez's universally acclaimed Love in the Time of Cholera. I went through 100 pages of it, and then for some inexplicable reason, abandoned it. But this year has been a good reading year for me in the sense that I have not abandoned any books. So I returned to Love again.

And I discovered again what a masterful writer Marquez is! Reading him is almost a visceral experience. I could sense the care that the writer has lavished on his words. Each sentence is like a literary banquet. There we have poor Florentino Ariza, fresh as an adolescent, and passionately in love with the beautiful Fermina Daza. Their brief but tempestuous love affair leaves a mark on Ariza's heart, so much so when Fermina rejects her love as just an illusion, he marks down the days when he can be with her again. That time comes nearly fifty years later when Fermina's husband Dr Juvental Urbino dies while trying to rescue his pet parrot from the mango tree. But does he regain Fermina?

Love in the Time of Cholera is a beautiful meditation on the mad obsessions in love, its many faces and the ruin and rise it can simultaneously carve in our lives. There is also a portrayal of a difficult yet long marriage - between the good doctor Urbino and Fermina. I remember this passage when Fermina recounts what Urbino's response was when in a height of desperation, she shouted at him : "You don't understand how unhappy I am." Her husband's response? "Always remember that the most important thing in a good marriage is not happiness, but stability." The book is studded with gems like these. Later, when Fermina looks back on her marriage, she muses thus:

She always felt as if her life had been lent to her by her husband: she was absolute monarch of a vast empire of happiness, which had been built by him and for him alone. She knew that he loved her above all else, more than anyone else in the world, but only for his own sake: she was in his holy service.

Yet, their was a beautiful marriage, not without its trials, but life somehow redeems itself. And what about Florentino? I, strangely, did not like his character. There was something vaguely bordering on the psychopathic obsessive in him that put me off - and towards the end, he has no problem lying to Fermina that he remains a virgin for her, even though he has probably more than 600 affairs by that time. Yet he remains the force of the book. A man built of love and breathing on its crumbling edifice.

Although I enjoyed reading the book, the long-drawn out end was a little bit tedious to my taste. But then, Marquez has paced the novel well. Maybe it was just my frazzled nerves that wanted to reach the end, an end which was predictable, but an end that was worth the book.

Verdict : Deserves its status as a cult classic.


Rating : 4/5