Versedays: Sonnet 1 by Mihail Eminescu

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Maybe it’s true. Only when something is absent do you realize the value of its presence. I am talking of the usually ever present Internet. On Friday, torrential rains lashed my city and along with it, the Internet too was washed away at my house. Suddenly I felt like I was missing a close friend, an ally who is always with me during good and bad times. But I have been ‘closed to the world’ for more than a week before, especially when traveling and it had been fine. Then why now? I don’t know, perhaps life is so routine that I missed this habit.

Anyway, my friend is back today just in time for Versedays. Mihail Eminescu is one of the most famous and influential poets of Romania. Reading some of his poems, his style reminded me of John Keats, the English poet. And when I read more about Eminescu, I discovered that he too was a Romantic poet. He is today considered the national poet of Romania and his portrait even graces some of their currency. I chose a poem that sounded a bit different from his other poems to me. Enjoy!

Sonnet 1

by

Mihail Eminescu


Without 'tis autumn, the wind beats on the pane
With heavy drops, the leaves high upwards sweep.
You take old letters from a crumpled heap,
And in one hour have lived your life again.

Musing, in this sweet wise the moments creep:
You pray no caller will your door attain;
Better it is when dreary falls the rain
To dream before the fire, awaiting sleep.

And thus alone, reclining in my chair,
The fairy Dochia's tale comes to my mind
While round me haze is gath'ring in the air.

Then softly down the passage footsteps wind,
Faint, sound of rustling silk upon the stair...
And now my eyes cold, tapering fingers bind.

(1879, Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu)

Live a Little : Kim Green

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Isn't there a thing like trying too hard? We hear that on TV all the time, especially on the sports channels. A server over hits his serve, and the commentator inevitably says, 'Oh! I think he was trying a little too hard there.' In India, where cricket rules the roost, I often hear an ex-Indian cricketer, Ravi Shastri, shout forth in youthful exuberance he no longer possesses when a bowler oversteps the bowling mark, and bowls an illegal delivery called a no-ball,"Oh I think he is trying too hard for extra pace here." I wonder always what is trying too hard? But I see it all the time too. And somehow it comes across as fake, doesn't it? Even though the effort to 'try too hard' is to be lauded...it just doesn't seem right.

Kim Green's Live a Little is a bit of the same. It tries too hard. To be smart. To be sexy. To be funny. And somehow, just like people, falls flat on its cute little cover face. There we have Raquel, diagnosed with breast cancer at the beginning, and trying to come to terms with it - and so is her family, which includes Phil, and two children, Micah and Taylor. But then, soon enough she finds out that her breasts are perfectly fine, and that the hospital exchanged her results with another Raquel. Right, we have heard that one before! But now that Raquel, a tired old housewife of 42, finds that she is getting the attention she deserves, how can she go back and tell family, folks and friends that no, she doesn't have breast cancer? That's the plot. Therein lies the lie!

You can see that there is not much of it. The rest of the book is all about Raquel's deception and charade - you keep reading because you want to find out just how bad this can get. And it does. The ending is so farcical and contrived that I had to read it twice to actually believe that it passed an editor and publisher like that. Raquel is not a likable character - which is fine, I like unlikable characters, I am one myself. She has her flaws, she is irritating, annoying, jumbled, and just plain just like any of us. Err, like me. It's not HER I have a problem with - the language. It was so riddled with American colloquialisms that I half wished I had some dictionary of American slang with me! And Kim Green liberally uses celebrities like similes. And guess what? I am a celebrity-dud. Julia Roberts can walk past me, and I wouldn't know! Let alone some of the other more obscure (to me) celebrities she uses. That made the reading a bit irritating.

And the story itself as I said - tries so hard that it appears scarcely believable. Not that stories have to be believable. But you know...well...I am trying too hard to explain why it was a bad book!

Verdict : Did I say it tries too hard?

Rating: 1/5

Haweswater: Sarah Hall

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Walk into a limestone cave. You hear the drip drip drip of water, which is the continuous process of cave formation. You walk in with a few other people. There is the buzz of quiet conversation. And then someone tells you to be silent, switch off flashlights and just listen. There is a deafening quiet. Only drip drip drip with a haunting second’s pause.

Well, this is an experience I had some time back while trekking in limestone caves. But the reason I recall it here is because the book I just finished reading brought back that highly sensory memory. Sarah Hall’s “Haweswater” is such a hauntingly written book that even as I write the review a day after I finished reading the book, images from it remain etched in my mind. First, let me sum up this book, which won the British Commonwealth Award among a host of other well-deserved prizes. From its jacket –

The village of Mardale is a quiet corner of the world, cradled in a remote dale in England’s lovely Lake District. The rhythm of life in the deeply religious, sheltered community has not changed for centuries. But in 1936, when Waterworks representative Jack Ligget from industrial Manchester arrives with plans to build a new reservoir, he brings the much feared threat of impending change to this bucolic hamlet. And when he begins an intense and troubled affair with Janet Lightburn – a devout local woman of rare passion and strength of spirit – it can only lead to scandal, tragedy, and remarkable, desperate acts.

Now for the life of me I don’t know why I resisted this book for so long. I must have taken it out at least five to six times, flipped through and then put it back on my shelf. Because when I started reading it, I just could not put it down.

Hall has a gift for setting the scene and populating it with characters who seem like they cannot belong anywhere else. For about the first 100 pages, we get some sumptuous visuals of a rolling hillside with farms spaced out along the countryside. We are slowly introduced to a few of the people – Paul Levell the eccentric artist, Hazel Bowman, a woman who lives alone, Jake McGill the bawdy pub owner… But the centre of the novel is the Lightburn family. Samuel Lightburn is the mild-mannered, soft spoken father, deeply religious and conservative Ella is the mother, fiery and bold Janet is the daughter and her brother is little Isaac who loves taking dips in freezing cold water.

Precise, uncanny prose gives definition to these characters and although there are no elaborate descriptions we get to know them intimately. Hall’s gift for place too is evident right from the beginning –

“It was more than just a blustery autumnal morning, her father remembers, because the wind in the leaves of the great sycamores by Measand Hall was threatening somber repercussions in the brown darkness. There were invisible ills going on, he knew it. Slates being loosened. Fencing being rocked out of its foundation. The roses newly planted in front of the cottage must have been coming away from their crutches. He could hear foliage creaking and bending, the land of the valley itself was distressed. Samuel held a lantern, which was flickering and threatening to blow out…”

Do you see what I mean by the quietness? There are only these natural sounds that reverberate and lend a very haunting, atmospheric feel to the book. And it is so throughout. There's an old-worldly feel too; I had to constantly remind myself that this novel is set in the 1930s and not in the 1800s. I was savoring each line, so rich was the prose, so lyrical. I don’t usually go poetic on books but this book stayed with me long after I finished it.

If you look at the story, nothing much happens. Girl and guy fall into forbidden love and the consequences follow. Quite predictable. And the book has tragedy woven tightly into it. But what elevates Hall’s story from being a maudlin outing is your attachment to the characters that is formed by then.

I want to sidestep potential spoilers so I will stop here. This is a sad book, but it’s not just one where I would say ‘keep a box of tissues next to you.’ This goes deeper than that. It settles in your soul and just pulls you down. So, I would say keep an hour or so extra, after you finish reading the book, to just shake off that melancholy that is bound to come. I would also say don’t avoid the book just because it will make you feel down. There is a certain deliciousness in it, which you will not regret. After all, how many times do we feel down by the power of a book rather than due to the people around us.



Verdict: Prepare yourself for some downtime

Rating: 4.7/5

Bonjour Tristesse: Francoise Sagan

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A well written book is a rarity. But a well written book written by an 18 year old? Now that is a treasure. I am happy to have read one such book – Bonjour Tristesse by Francoise Sagan. I must thank my blogger friend Bina for highly recommending it and for writing a wonderful review. Here is a brief from the book jacket –

Cecile leads a hedonistic, frivolous life with her father and his young mistresses. On holiday in the South of France, she is seduced by the sun, the sand and her first lover. But when her father decides to remarry, their carefree existence becomes clouded by tragedy.

Sounds simple enough. Yet, Bonjour Tristesse, which translates into "Hello Sadness" is anything but an airy, soap operatic read. Cecile is the teenage narrator of the story and she is every bit the vacillating, dreamy youngster. She is in that dawning age, which makes her a grown up child, still on the threshold to womanhood. Added to this is the life she leads with her father, who is a libertine. Drenched in wine, misty with the smoke from cigarettes and dancing with the sun on holidays, Cecile enjoys her time with her father. They share a unique symbiotic relationship. Cecile does not bat an eyelid at the frequent change in her father’s amour du jour and Raymond includes Cecile in all aspects of his life.

Due to the portrayal of their rather bohemian lifestyle the book created quite a stir when it was published in 1950s France. But it became an instant hit because of the brilliant penmanship and the way the story is wrought. Perhaps only a teenager could have got such an insight into the mind of Cecile or perhaps there are personal experiences shadowing some of the incidents in the book. Whatever it is, Cecile touched my heart with her brashness, vulnerability and indecision. I don’t want to reveal more of this amazing book. I will end here saying that this is one of the best books I have read in a long time. Don’t be fooled by its slimness, it packs quite a punch.

Verdict: A read that is more like an experience

Rating: 5/5

Versedays: Between Going and Staying by Octavio Paz

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Mexico is one of the must visit places on my list of destinations. Such a colorful land full of poetry and lyricism. Octavio Paz is one of the poets from this land who has made a mark internationally. Though I had heard of him I had never really read his poetry till today. The current poem that I am presenting for Versedays struck me with its brilliance of theme. I mean, a poem on a pause?! Read on and discover it!

Between Going and Staying

by

Octavio Paz

Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.

Five Little Peppers and How They Grew: Margaret Sidney

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A dark day. A painkiller I took set off an allergic reaction making my eyes swollen. I looked like a bullfrog for the better part of the day. And somehow today was just dull, melancholic and very un-sunshiny. On such a day, a book like Five Little Peppers and How They Grew by Margaret Sidney can be a perfect read to bring a smile. The first in a Victorian children’s series written in the 19th century, Five Little Peppers tell the story of the widowed Mrs. Pepper and her five children. There is no concrete plot. It just snatches incidents from their lives and tells them through different chapters.

Beginning with an attack of measles among the children, we learn how another boy named Jasper come into their existence and how everything changes after that. The five Peppers are Ben, Joey, Davie, Polly and Phronsie, all short forms of their real names of course. Phronsie is the baby of the group at four years and she is thoroughly coddled by everyone. So much so that even if she sheds a single tear, the brothers and Polly cannot bear it. Polly has a special connection with Ben and misses him the most when she is in bed with measles. Her eyes are blindfolded since they pain too much. So when she hears that Ben is finally recovered enough to come downstairs to see her she is overjoyed –

“ “Oh, I say, Polly,” screamed Joel at that moment, running in, “Ben’s a-coming down the stairs!”

“Stop, Joe,” said Mrs. Pepper; “you shouldn’t have told; he wanted to surprise Polly.”
“Oh, is he!” cried Polly, clasping her hands in rapture; “mammy, can’t I take off this horrid bandage, and see him?” ”

Now if you notice, the reactions are all a bit too overboard and theatric. This is the tone that is maintained throughout the book. Sorrow or joy, the Peppers react very enthusiastically and intensely. They cry for the smallest reason – happy or sad and they whoop with joy for the tiniest of things. Perhaps annoying in this age of somber and dark prose but on the other hand it portrayed a set of full lives. The Peppers knew how to live each moment. They loved each other beyond measure. It might seem silly to read that “Joel screamed louder than ever” in pain because he had accidentally hurt little Phronsie. It might look absurd that Ben makes declarations such as “She’s my sister!… “Our Phronsie!” when he finds her after she goes missing for some time. But it shows their love for each other, which is so innocent and pure that it’s unbelievable.

Doesn’t that speak a lot for the age we are in? It’s rare to find someone, and I don’t confine it to just a romantic partner but expand it to include every relation possible, who truly cares. Of course, Sidney exemplifies the concept of a family and how family members are always there for each other. But we can apply it to all spheres of our lives. And back then, expressions were freer sans innuendos. Boys could hold hands, times were ‘gay’ and even the exclamation “my whockety!” was considered profane. I guess, the Victorians were ironically a lot more ahead of us! That is what makes the book “be-you-ti-ful” as Phronsie says.

I will end this review with the lyrics of one of my favorite songs – Back When by Tim McGraw. Had the Peppers been here today, they would have sung this for sure!

"Back When"

Don't you remember
The fizz in a pepper
Peanuts in a bottle
At ten, two and four
A fried bologna sandwich
With mayo and tomato
Sittin' round the table
Don't happen much anymore

We got too complicated
It's all way over-rated
I like the old and out-dated
Way of life

Back when a hoe was a hoe
Coke was a coke
And crack's what you were doing
When you were cracking jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said I'm down with that
Well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when

I love my records
Black, shiny vinyl
Clicks and pops
And white noise
Man they sounded fine
I had my favorite stations
The ones that played them all
Country, soul and rock-and-roll
What happened to those times?

I'm readin' Street Slang For Dummies
Cause they put pop in my country
I want more for my money
The way it was back then

Back when a hoe was a hoe
Coke was a coke
And crack's what you were doing
When you were cracking jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said I'm down with that
Well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when

Give me a flat top for strumming
I want the whole world to be humming
Just keep it coming
The way it was back then

Back when a hoe was a hoe
Coke was a coke
And crack's what you were doing
When you were cracking jokes
Back when a screw was a screw
The wind was all that blew
And when you said I'm down with that
Well it meant you had the flu
I miss back when
I miss back when
I miss back when

Verdict: Some good whole-soul reading

Rating: 3.5/5

Veronika Decides to Die : Paulo Coelho

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Isn't it surprising the signs that move through our lives? I am never ceased to be amazed by the signs that life throws us, and the signs that we ignore still the same. With people. With work. With life. The signs are there. Guiding us. Telling us. Informing us. Moving us. The reason I talk of this is because at this moment in my life, I had to read Paulo Coelho's cult classic, Veronika Decides to Die.

I look at the reading I have done the past few weeks. Andrew Jackson's wonderful The Wisdom of the Ages, then Sue Minns' Soulmates, and now Veronika Decides to Die. Why did I pick these books now? At this time of my life? What are they telling me? See the order of the signs again? Nothing happens by chance.

Veronika is a simple fable. But it contains all of Coelho's wisdom. I once had the pleasure of writing to him, and receiving a reply. Even now, he remains accessible through his blog. Veronika, a young 24-year old woman, who has 'everything' going for her, decides to take sleeping pills. She doesn't die, but ends up in Villette, an institution for the 'mad.' She is told she has just a few days to live because the pills damage her heart. And Veronika learns through her interactions with the madness in Villette what it is to live. Simple enough isn't it? Coelho uses sparse, almost bland prose to convey startling wisdom  - who are the mad? What is madness? And how do we live life?

There is a poignant chapter when Veronika wakes up from her suicide attempt, and wonders what her life should be. I read it almost as a personal manifesto. Sample these lines:

My mother, who must be out of her mind with worry over my suicide attempt, will recover from the shock and will keep asking me what I'm going to do with my life, why I'm not the same as everyone else, things really aren't as complicated as I think they are.

Then

One day, I'll get tired of hearing her constantly repeating the same things, and to please her I'll marry a man whom I oblige myself to love.

For a while, man and woman dream of dreams. Then the rust sets in. And then fresh dreams:

When the marriage is just about to fall apart, I'll get pregnant. We'll have a child, feel closer to each other for a while, and then the situation will go back to what it was before.

She imagines her life move on:

I'll tell everyone that the children are my reason for living, when in reality my life is their reason for living. People will always consider us a happy couple, and no one will know how much solitude, bitterness and resignation lies beneath the surface happiness.

After that, it's a matter of waiting for the children to grow up....One fine day, I'll reach the conclusion that that's what life is like, there's no point worrying about it, nothing will change. And I'll accept it.

This is the life Veronika feels she is condemned to. But in Villette, she discovers her  body, her self, her soul. Knowing she has so few days to live, she fights for her life. She knows she had always spent her life waiting for something - how many of us haven't? She does things now because "she had never done anything mad." Looking on her life she thought of how she had done her best to avoid conflict, she was contented "but she didn't struggle and hence she didn't grow." In the freedom of Vilette where you act different because you are thought to be mad, she decides to be 'mad.' She slaps a man who insults her, she who had avoided conflict all her life, she plays the piano like she has never before, she feels her soul. She challenges the rules she has grown up with.

"Stay mad, but behave like normal people. Run the risk of being different, but learn to do so without attracting attention.She must learn to care less about annoying others." 

And for personal reasons this quote:

It took me three years to understand that life was pushing me in a direction I didn't want to go in.

Verdict : Simple truths that can change your life.

Rating: 5/5

Soul Mates : Sue Minns

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In keeping with the rather eclectic reading I have been doing recently, my next book was Sue Minns' rather fascinating Soul Mates: Understanding the True Gifts of Intense Encounters. For long now, I have always held the view that soul mates are not necessarily your romantic other half - only to be met with rather aghast looks from most people who think that you go through life searching for just one soul mate, and who has to be of the opposite sex, and who you must marry. What a poverty-stricken life that sounds! Sue Minns seems to agree with my view, for she too shatters that romantic myth and tells us that soul mates can be anyone with who we have intense encounters. And here's the rub : they need not all be pleasant encounters with roses raining down and sweet music filling the air.

It was this part that I was fascinated with. Although I believed before I read this book that soul mates can be anyone with who we have an intense connection, I didn't really think they would be connections that make you writhe in pain, hurt or humiliation. Think not your soul mate can do that? Think again! "There is not a One-and-Only physical partner who we walk off into the sunset with - our soul mates are anyone with whom we have had an intense connection – mothers-in-law, bosses, friends, enemies, partners and lovers of every variety, parents, neighbors and work colleagues," Sue writes. "If you think about your life, who has there been who has made an impact on you? she asks. Oh gosh, I think! All these people in my life who I ended up thinking they hurt me...they were here to help my soul work? Even people I intensely dislike? Gulp. THAT takes some shift in thinking, doesn't it? Precisely what I found fascinating.

I love looking into the picture of life and being able to view it differently - there is no point in leading a life of deadness, thinking that change is an event rather than a lifelong process. According to her, even these painful encounters do not happen by chance - these soul mates push our buttons so that we work on the themes that we have entrusted our soul to grow with. And the ultimate theme of them all - to finding Love. Remember not parental love or romantic love, but a purer form of love - the sort that the Dalai Lama seems to radiate, that sort of Love that can transcend all the issues that we plague love with. She quotes throughout the book from Rumi, one of my favorite writers.

Those who donʼt feel this Love
Pulling them like a river,
Those who donʼt drink dawn
Like a cup of springwater
Or take in sunset like supper,
Those who donʼt want to change,
Let them sleep.

I loved that last line, laughed aloud at that. And although majority of our soul mate encounters appear to be corrosive and brutal connections, it is precisely that we need to thank them for, Minns argues. "The importance of seemingly difficult soul mate encounters is that they give us the opportunity to let go of all those feelings that stand in the way of Love. They are actually polishing our heartʼs lantern, asking us to move beyond past (and present) life dramas, to the heart of our Hearts, where there is no fear." And it is this union with the prettiest flower of them all - the union with your Self is what arises from this polishing.

These are pretty deep themes - but I think they are also pretty simple. They suggest a simple shift in perspective - if we put our mind in a box and expect it to fly, we know the result. Setting our minds free to roam the mountains and the sea means a mind that can fly. Closing our hearts and refusing to change only limits the limitless possibilities and experiences our life can offer. And opening our hearts can only lead to the flowering of the soul - and who wouldn't want that? Umm no. I think a lot of people are pretty happy thinking of the heart as a machine that pumps blood, the mind as a computer that solves Keynesian theories, and the soul as some empty piffle invented by a fool who probably never had a mind in the first place. Me? I think I will try Minns' approach. "The sooner we realise that others are actually reflecting something back to us about ourselves, the quicker our ʻnoteʼ changes pitch," Minns suggests. A bit like a tuning fork. Hmm, I agree. Now, let me try find my pitch. :-).

Verdict : A daringly different book that resonates with honesty and compassion. 


Rating: 3.5/5

Versedays: Cries by Birdy

Image Credit: Birdy

This week I feature a poem of my own. I had asked Thoughts for her poem, but she got caught up with life and couldn’t give it soon enough. I will feature it next month. This poem was born out of a jumble of words that were floating around in my head and I just decided to pen them down with a bit of elaboration. It's quite a morose one but that is just the way it turned out to be. Well, I am not going to wax eloquent about my own work; instead I will leave it to you, readers, to offer your comments and criticisms!

Cries

by


Birdy

The world vIewed through wIndow slats looks dIfferent.
It Is sp lIt, d I v I d e d and far.

Synonyms of lIfe and I.

Fractured fragments of InsIdes are paInful, dIffIcult.
They are lIke the last rays of the dyIng sun I trIed to catch In my hands the other day.
But they slIpped through and landed on the ground.
SplIt Into spots of red I could never mop up. I could see In them vIsIons of the sanIty that was overtakIng me.

My present Is the graveyard of the past and my tomorrows are the wreaths.
I wrap my present wIth unspoken syllables of that sanIty, whIch I have not been IntImate wIth, whIch makes them skewed, whIch makes them twIst wIth the agony of the unborn.

It’s quIet. Only the drIppIng of blood In my heart can be heard.
Like thawIng droplets of snow from trees In the wIlderness.

The stIllness that overtakes me Is not splIt or d I v I d e d.
But It Is far from me.

The Book Of Life : Andrew Jackson

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It's funny the books that I have sitting on my shelf. I chanced upon Andrew Jackson's intriguingly named The Book Of Life : One Man's Search for the Wisdom of Age in some dark corner of my shelf. I think I had started, then stopped reading it a while back...well, that's the general pattern I seem to follow with all books it seems! Somehow, I think things appear better when we give it a second chance. There is something to be said about trying again - we give second chances to careers, to relationships, to education. Why not books? And the shared memory of the past somehow seems to enhance the experience, giving it a richness that you missed the first time around. I should know - two of my richest friendships flourished after the second chance, and both coincidentally happen to be members of this blog. :-)

Thirty-something Andrew Jackson and his wife Vanella decided to chuck their careers, and head off to travel the world. It's a trend that is in fashion right now. But Andrew and Vanella have a different purpose to their travel - to seek out the old and the aged across the five continents, and through the wisdom of the ages learn something about their own lives. So, they travel  - to Varanasi, to Bali, to Navajo settlements, Bolivia, Ecuador in search of the elixir of life - what is the secret to longevity? And if so, how do you live? It's a question I find myself asking many times. I asked Birdy rather dolefully on Friday as to why I am so easily dispensable. From a past fiance to a potential fiance to a clooooose friend who was once Birdy's knight-in-waiting to the recent disaster regarding an ex-friend who didn't turn out to be a friend in the end, I have found that the inconvenience of having me in your life outweighs the benefits I hope to bring in my poorly-clad self. "Am I so worthless? So little of value that I can be cast aside like a can from the vending machine? Am I not worth fighting for/over?" I asked Birdy, sitting on the balcony of the office we work in. She didn't think twice in her answer. "No, you are too honest. People can't take that kind of honesty," she said. I wondered then if being honest is such a bad thing. But Andrew Jackson's old people set my mind at rest. The very first old citizen (Jackson's criterion for old is usually more than 90, the closer to 100 the better), Bo, says he has whittled life down to two principles : honesty and harmony.

Through the book, there is one recurrent trend for living long - work hard, laugh hard, live in the mountains, exercise enough and love well. Not so difficult principles to follow is it? But I find that the simplest thing is often the most difficult. People squirm in embarrassment and discomfort if you ask simple things. The beatitude in life. The power of love and friendship. The moving testimony of faith. No, I don't mean religious faith - but just faith in life. Many of the old men and women Jackson interviewed led hard lives - but almost all of them said 'things were better then.' I wonder too if nostalgia serves any purpose. The Navajo people seem to have it better - they don't waste time thinking about the past or the future. It's the now. It's the here that matters. And I agree. What you are in the future is now. The future cannot happen in abstraction, but rather we create it in every second of the present.

There is a point in the book when Jackson seems to be trying too hard to find meaning - some people really just grow old you know, without thinking too much about it. Come to think of it, most people also live that way without thinking too much about how or why they are living. But still those interactions are precious. And their journey had me in tears towards the end when Vanessa comes close to dying. Oh yes, I am a sentimental sucker. This little known book is a gem. The truths  may not be all that illuminating. They are kind of homemade, but then that's what makes it special. "See the world. Be a storyteller. Laugh till you cry. Laugh till the day you die. Let there be music, always music. Sing with a glad heart. Don't worry about a thing. Live in friendship. Union. Love. Love life. The more you love the more your eyes will weep. You are before, You are after, You are forever. Believe. Believe in miracles. Believe in angels. Look into the eyes of the lunatic." I stop quoting there. Come on, look into the eyes of the lunatic. I am here.

Verdict : Interesting and moving, it is a different book that can offer a rich sensory experience. 


Rating: 4/5

PS: Shameless plug here - I am delighted to announce that SoulMusings is back in the public viewing domain again. My apologies that it was restricted for a while - it was to prevent one person from viewing it, but I found out through that there were lots more who were interested in reading my mad mutterings, and it was getting tiresome trying to add each person on. I am not bothered about that one person anymore, nor is that person bothered, so why trouble others? Enjoy!

Jonathan Livingston Seagull: Richard Bach

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Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach is a slim book of hardly a hundred pages. One can finish reading this book in like a couple of hours or so. But the beauty of this book is that it leaves you wondering hours or even days after reading it.

The book is a parable about humans and the kind of life we choose to lead. But the story itself is narrated through a seagull named Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull (JSL), this titular character belongs to a tribe of seagulls. But somewhere along his life he realizes that he enjoys learning how to fly high. How to soar at great heights with sheer freedom, how to fly to great heights and come hurtling back towards the sea/earth and yet not hurt himself or damage his wings. How to keep his wings steady and fly at constant speeds. It is all these things that he explores.

Sounds like a lot of fun isn't it? Who would not love to fly high without a care in the world, eh? Of course, there are people who wouldn't dare to dream of such things! And these people are the "other seagulls" from JSL's tribe. They just cannot fathom why JSL would want to try and explore the limits of his flying abilities, the antics and the other flying techniques! Why not stay close to the shore? Why not steal fish from the fishing boats, eat and be content! Why bother with unnecessary flying? Isn't this what generations after generations of our forefathers have done? Why does JSL have to be different? Why does he not "conform"? These are the questions that rack the "Elders Council" of the tribe. And this council, afer much deliberation, does exactly what the "elders" in our families do. They pass the judgement - JSL should either conform or be excommunicated from the tribe!!!

JSL takes his excommunication bravely in his stride although not without difficulty. He then goes on to explore further and further the various flying techniques. He ultimately passes on from this life to "another life" where he meets other quirky seagulls like him, who have "passed on" to this other life. The one common element between all of the seagulls he meets in his "other lives" is that they too are all seeking that elusive "perfection" in flying techniques.

Like I said, this story is really a parable on humans. The Human "need to conform" is so great that certain things are universally accepted but certain others are universally frowned upon. I will give one example from my conversations with SoulMuser - take the concept of "family", everyone understands it and accepts it. Even our media/movies try to sell this "perfect family" picture day in and day out. Now try telling your folks that you have more faith in your "friends" than your family! Honestly, what would be their reaction? difficult to imagine? uncomfortable to think on those line?

The reason I give this example - if the JSLs of this world did not exist, our society will not evolve. For better or for worse (hopefully for the better) we need these JSLs to step up and question the existing mores of our society.

Another strong message that comes out loud and clear from this tale is that each of us must "strive for perfection" in whatever we love doing. It is only in that pursuit of "perfection" that each of us will find the meaning of our existence.

My only complaint against the author is his obsession with "many lives" which sometimes complicates this very simple but a very strong story. Richard Bach believes in the weird concept that we are all leading multiple lives all at the same time or that we lead multiple lives until we achieve that "perfection" or in other words understand the meaning of our lives. Something like the Hindu Karma theory that we keep getting reborn until our good Karma exactly cancels out our bad Karma and we achieve a state of Nirvana. Now all that is nice for a long leisurely philosophical discussion, but don't bring it into a good nice story and simply complicate things (Like the old saying goes - "if you have something to say - just say it"). I say all this because I have seen this "multiple lives" concept in his other books and annoys me no end. I really do enjoy reading Bach except for this one concept which he keeps bringing into his books.

That said, many others have loved his books exactly for his bringing in the concept and complicating things! There are so many rave reviews about this book, which I'll let you Google and read on your own.

Verdict: Thought provoking and a good short read
Rating: 3.5/5

The Stone Diaries: Carol Shields

Image Credit: Birdy

Yippee with this book I reach my "50 books read this year" mark! It has been perhaps slow going in the last couple of months with just about three books a month, and I didn't think I would reach this goal for a long time. Also, 50 books in so many months is not as impressive as some other bloggers who finish that much in a matter of two months. But perhaps my choices are different and so is my pace. Next count will come up on January 1st 2011, looking back on a year's worth of books! On to the review now...

After cracking up with laughter with Sh*t My Dad Says, which Soul kindly lent to me, I returned to the book I was reading. The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields is far removed from Halpern’s comic wisdom and yet strangely they are both connected. Both deal with life, the only difference is in the way they approach it. The Stone Diaries tells the story of Daisy Goodwill, her birth, childhood, courtship, marriage, motherhood and finally death.

In a twist of circumstance, Daisy is brought up by her neighbor Clarentine Flett although her father corresponds with her regularly by mail. After a point Daisy meets her father Cuyler Goodwill and goes to live with him. She marries Harold Hoad who dies on their first night in a bizarre manner. Daisy gets married again, this time to Barker Flett who is more than two decades older to her. We see her living an apparently fulfilled life cushioned in the satisfactory sense of motherhood and a happy marriage. Barker Flett passes away and Daisy starts to work as a writer for a magazine. When Daisy takes a short hiatus from writing for her daughter’s marriage, she returns to find that her position has been taken up by someone else. Daisy goes through an intensively depressing phase, but then becomes well enough to retire to a content life in Florida, interspersed with holidays with her two best friends. Soon, death comes knocking with old age and Daisy Goodwill gently passes away.

So what is remarkable about this book you might ask? As you can see, I have told the story of just about every fifth person on this planet. Mundane. Normal. Average. “In other words a woman so commonplace that her story would seem barely worth remarking, were it not, perhaps, for her own determination to tell it… This is the problem that Carol Shields addresses in The Stone Diaries: how do small lives, the kind most women were once assumed to lead, assume significance and coherence?” says the book's introduction.

And Shields does a brilliant job of putting together the scraps, the debris and the scrapings of Daisy’s life to make up a collage of her life. To make this collage as believable as possible Shields uses the technique of multiple narrations from various points of view as well as different sources. We look at Daisy not just through the window of her own thoughts but through the peephole of mail correspondences, through slivers of others' eyes and through the perforations of such things as recipes, hobbies and lists. Everything in Daisy’s life is a part of what made her, what gives her shape. In this aspect the most admirable chapter is the last one named Death. After Daisy passes away we only hear snatches of conversation from unnamed observers:

“ “It was in her bedside drawer. This little velvet box.”
“What is it? It looks like -”
“That’s what it is. Fingernail clippings. Hers, I assume.”
“Christ.” ”

This is punctuated by random lists or strings of things.

“Bluebirds, Pioneer Girls in Service…Christian Endeavor… Quarry Club, United Church Women, Mothers’ Union…Ontario Seed Collective, Bay Ladies Craft Group, The Flowers.”



Shields employs some unique methods like these, which peels away the layers of Daisy’s life that are invisible on the surface. We learn that there is a lot more to Daisy than her “average” life, that she has thoughts and feelings, which might never be voiced otherwise. That to every person’s life there are aspects, which make it individualistic even though it appears identical to scores of others.

I enjoyed The Stone Diaries, though I must warn that there were parts in the book that moved extremely slowly. I actually got impatient with a few passages and had to skip them but even in that it’s impossible to miss Shields’ brilliant manner of writing sprinkled with wry wit and sensitive observations. Through Daisy we are also given a glimpse of 1950s’ American society –

“Deeply, fervently, sincerely desiring to be a good wife and mother, Mrs. Flett reads every issue of Good Housekeeping… And every once in a while, between the cosmetic advertisements and the recipe columns, she comes across articles about ways a woman can please her husband in bed. Often, too, there are letters from women who are seeking special avice for particular sexual problems. One of them wrote recently, “My husband always wants to have our cuddly moments on Monday night after his bowling league. Unfortunately I do the wash on Mondays and am too exhausted by evening to be an enthusiastic partner.” The advice given was short and to the point: “Wash on Tuesdays.” ”

Shields was a refreshing change from the books that I have read in recent times. Yes, a tad dragging but definitely not average. Daisy Goodwill Flett soars much above that.


Verdict: A quiet, thoughtful read

Rating: 4/5

Versedays: Before the World Was Made by W B Yeats

Yeats' grave at Drumcliffe, Ireland - Image Credit: wikimedia

This time for Versedays I decided to feature a very well known poet whom we all might have come across at some point in school or college. I am talking of the Irish poet W B Yeats who is one of my favorite poets to read even today. Who can forget those famous lines – “things fall apart/the centre cannot hold” But I picked one of his lesser known poems for Versedays named Before the World Was Made. I haven’t grasped this poem fully but I was struck by its haunting feel and a certain pre-historic resonance. I felt the poet is seeking a face that is unmarred by the egos of evolution and the scars of development. He seeks a self that is unblemished, that existed before this world was made. I read it a few times and the more I loved it, even though I know there is something I have missed understanding in it. If any of you have perspectives to offer, please do, I would love to read them!

SoulMuser pointed out that Carla Bruni had made a song out of this poem so here it is.

Before the World Was Made

by

W B Yeats


If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.

What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.

A Friend Like Henry : Nuala Gardner

Image Credit: Dogwise

Yippee!! Hooray!!! Drum roll, please!! I finished! I finished! I finished Nuala Gardner's A Friend Like Henry! I can't describe how relieved I am. That book was just sitting here in my room, on my bed, on my table, day after day, month after month. And now, I can finally remove it from my sight! The catharsis of this is incredible! Phew.

Why was it sitting there so long, you might ask? I don't know. I picked it up the first time, read a few pages, it didn't grab my attention, and it went back to the bookshelf where it lay for more than a year on the TBR shelf. Then, out of some misguided sense of loyalty, I made the fatal mistake of picking it up again. This time, I really didn't want to abandon it. So I forced myself. It took me months, I read other books in the meantime, my sister even borrowed it for a while, but she returned it in a hurry, and I was back to it again. A Friend Like Henry is the 'remarkable true story of an autistic boy and the dog that unlocked his world.' And indeed, it is remarkable. I have not interacted with autistic children or adults although there have been a few in my extended family, and I think I qualify for every spectrum of human insanity there can be. Right, that's a joke on myself - I do not intend to dumb down the extreme distress that autism can cause to both parents, caregivers and the child itself.

Nuala chronicles in great detail just how difficult it was to even obtain a diagnosis of autism for her son, and her struggles in dealing with his tantrums and obsessions. As parents, they do a tremendous job. Thumbs up, hats off, and I have to bow to the sheer love she and Jamie shower on Dale. As a writer, I have to say, sorry. The book is not unreadable, but it just dragged on. It was like a PhD thesis on the struggles of autism, it read very well, but I could never get into the book.

I am a bit confused as I write this because I have the feeling I should like this book. But I just didn't. It's an important book nevertheless for parents with autistic children, or for that matter parents with children whose conception of the world is different from most. It doesn't make them 'retarded' or whatever fancy label we like to stick on people. Hah. I can use retarded for people who show different faces to you, and pretend that both is true, I can call retards as those who abuse your trust, retards who forget gratitude just because its too inconvenient to keep you in their life, retards are those who kill, maim and hurt humans or animals, retards are all those to me.

So what about the book? Umm, don't know really. It was too detailed, and I wish she gave the dog, Henry, a little more importance. She describes him only as a tool to help Dale emerge from his 'locked world', and only towards the end wakes up and gives him his individual status when he is about to die. Sigh. I think aptly it should be called 'A Boy Called Dale,' and that would make sense.

Verdict : Maybe it's just me, not the best read, but well, important.

Rating: 3/5

Versedays: Song of Aragorn by J R R Tolkien

The large "elvish" letters tell the nine names of Aragorn - Image Credit: prose and letters

Have any of you read Tolkien? I haven’t but I don’t know if I should regret it. I am not a fan of fantasy fiction and though this has been revered as a classic, I still cannot bring myself to read it. I watched the movie and I dozed off in the middle (sorry Tolkien fans!). But this was a while ago. Maybe I should give it a try today, since I read C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia successfully. I gave this monologue because this week’s Versedays features The Song of Aragorn. The words are simply beautiful and my favorite out of this short verse is – “All those who wander are not lost.” It cannot get truer isn’t it?

Song of Aragorn

by

J R R Tolkien


All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.