Versedays: Twilight by Thoughts

Image Credit: Birdy

It's again time for LWS' homegrown poetry! This time I feature a poem by Thoughts. I didn't know she wrote such wonderful poetry until I asked to see some of her poems. I hope this encourages her to write more...

On an aside, Versedays and LWS will be taking a break next week away from the blog. Two friends are coming all the way from Texas and they are pretty thrilled about seeing the beauty of Karnataka. And of course, the Lifewordsmithers don't need an excuse to travel. So, in advance, here's wishing all our readers a very happy and bright Diwali! More on our travels after we get back...For now here is Thoughts with her poem.

Twilight

by

Thoughts

Shattered dreams
Scattered treasures
Lonely Days
Everything lost.

Look Back,
Just once!
Only Photographs ,
to stare at.
Flooding memories
Some nice, some old.
Some happy, some cold.

lone nest
no rest
patterned wall
ooh what a fall

Then
I didn't care!
and now?
Nobody cares for me!

Destiny's plaything
stake everything
Inner strife
ooh what a life!

Go Ask Alice: Anonymous

Image Credit: Birdy

Have you been so blown away by a book that it has shaken you from within? I guess that’s a rarity. Well, I am lucky to have read one rarity. “Go Ask Alice” is a classic from 1971, which I must say right at the outset is a book that should be read by everybody. Here is the brief from the book jacket –

Strong, painfully honest, nakedly candid. The actual story of a desperate girl on drugs and on the run who almost made it.

Isn’t that intriguing enough? I still have goosebumps after I have finished reading it. Alice is a 15 year old girl who is blessed with a nice home, very loving parents, two siblings and doting grandparents. But at school she is a shy, introverted kid with hardly any friends. She is low on confidence and longs to be part of the popular set of people at school. So when Jill Peters, who belonged to the crowd, which “were kind of top echelon” invited her for a party, she was thrilled. That is where Alice’s life takes the turn for the worse. Her drinks are laced with drugs unknown to her and she becomes enamored by it. She goes on to try different drugs and becomes an addict. She runs away from home, survives from hand to mouth for some time, doing sexual favors just to obtain drugs until she finally winds her way back home. This occurs twice before she appears to have completely recovered. But life is not perfect and Alice’s troubles don’t end.

Initially, Go Ask Alice was published anonymously. Then a few years later, a lady named Beatrice Sparks identified herself as the author of the book. But there were controversies regarding her authorship as well as other issues, which I will come to in a bit. For the rest of the review I will refer to Sparks as the author for the sake of convenience.

Sparks does an incredible job of expressing the thoughts of a teenager. At times joyful, at times sad, wavering between confidence and self-doubt, Alice is like a swinging pendulum. No, this is not the self-assured expressions that are laced with the normal questionings of a teenager that I encountered in Bonjour Tristesse. This is more of an emotionally unstable mind that is driven to depression with the use of drugs. I was reminded of the fantastic movie named The Basketball Diaries, which is based on a true life story of drugs and depression.

That is one of the many controversies that has plagued Go Ask Alice. When Sparks came out as the author, she claimed that this was based on the diary of a girl she knew. But later that was disputed and even today doubts linger. All I can say is, the experiences that are elaborated are undoubtedly real. In fact, by writing the book anonymously, the story becomes that of every drug addict and not limited to Alice. At times, she shows such depth of thought that you cannot believe it’s the same person who has disintegrated to such a level.

“I’m partly somebody who is trying to fit in and say the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing. Sometimes I think we’re all trying to be shadows of each other, trying to buy the same records and everything even if we don’t like them. Kids are like robots, off an assembly line, and I don’t want to be a robot!”

This book was written in the 70s but what she expressed holds true even today. And that is something that is commendable about the entire book. If anything the problem of drugs has only metastized today and the age of kids becoming drug addicts is getting younger. Sparks also breaks one of the notions that are attached to the problem of addiction. Most people think that addicts come from broken families. But it’s not so. Alice’s family is extremely loving, supportive and understanding.

Alice’s character tugs you from inside. I felt sad at times because at heart she cares for her family and she definitely wants to change. And at one point she almost does as she remains clean for a long time. But the kids around her get to her and she keeps slipping.

It’s really a painful read. But most of all I found it spinechilling at times. Sparks brilliantly picturizes Alice’s drugged states through expressions and a change in language. Alice’s words are harsher and colder when she is stoned but otherwise it’s thoughtful and expressive. You can almost feel the change in temperature. Whether this was based on a real diary or not, Go Ask Alice tells the reality of millions of teen drug addicts in an extremely open manner. Reading this book itself is a high. Chillingly so.

Verdict: Must be read, do not miss it.

Rating: 4.7/5

The Birds On The Trees : Nina Bawden

Image Credit: Word_Power

I finished Nina Bawden's The Birds On The Trees amidst a cacophony of chaos that shouted its way into my room from my neighbor's house across the street. Voices raised. In anger. In agony. The daughter screaming. The parents screaming. A friend waiting outside on the street. The mother shouted at the friend to leave, calling her a 'house-breaker' for want of a better English equivalent. The daughter, a young woman in her 20s, who attempted suicide once last year, is incensed. More screams. "Get a rope," the father shouted. "You will see my dead body today," replied the daughter. More shouts. The ugly carcass of human voices raised in anger. The father is tying the daughter up. She screams to her friend. "Ramya, help me, they are tying me up." The friend waits outside. I watch this drama from my bedroom window, along with my nephew. What is it about human madness that holds us in thrall? We kid ourselves. We are not sympathetic. We are just happy its not us.

I mention this because this whirlwind family saga is similar in a way to the dysfunctional family portrait that Nina Bawden paints for us in The Birds On The Trees. We see in chapter one an 18-year old Toby, son of Charlie and Maggie, expelled from school for using drugs, wearing a burnous and 'withdrawn, difficult, intelligent and a drug addict.' His family are baffled. His parents are confused. The book was written in the 1970s, so the attitudes and judgments expressed in the book you may think may be outdated, but human jealousies, insecurities, fears - they don't come with an expiry date.

I like books that draw the unconventional, that shock the way we think and challenge the assumptions that we hold dear. For example, I adored Let's Talk About Kevin because the author does not talk about motherhood as the usual cliched bliss of ultimate human redemption. Here too, we see Bawden expertly weaving her net around Charlie and Maggie. They are parents. Not just to Toby but to Greg, the youngest and Lucy. Bawden gives each of them a narrative voice, except little Greg's, of course. Subtle shifts in relationships. Yawning gaps in understanding. The deceit and hypocrisy in humans. Our pathetic attempts to know each other. The countless fears that we try to mask over. Charlie and Maggie are bewildered - Toby is not interested in getting into Oxford. Education is not his priority. When he is diagnosed as 'schizophrenic,' the schism between Charlie and Maggie widens. Unsure of how to deal with a son who is 'different' they bumble, they claw at each other's throats, they retreat, they treat each other with diffidence, they lean on each other at times - well, they are just married. And they are parents. And they don't know what to do with both labels. Charlie has an affair. Maggie is a mess. Poor Lucy, neglected in all this drama over Toby, thinks she is adopted. And Sera, Maggie's mother, is portrayed with perhaps the sanest voice - a no-nonsense, let's get things together face. Yet, she too is vulnerable and her jousting with Maggie achingly familiar in today's world.

Sample this conversation during one of Charlie's and Maggie's fights, when they are talking about Maggie's old school friend, Iris, whose daughter Hermia is also intricately connected when she becomes pregnant with Toby's child.

Maggie: At least Iris always knows what she thinks! In my present state, I find that an enviable achievement. 
Charlie: If her mind is ordered, it's only because it contains so little. 

Isn't that amusing? Ordered minds contain so little. Lovely! Then there is Aunt Phoebe, Charlie's sister, who appears well, in a cliched manner, as the grumpy old spinster. Bear in mind this was written in the 1970s, so perhaps we can allow Bawden a little bit of leeway there. I loved this line from Aunt Phoebe:

Life can be confusing: people not saying what they mean and not meaning what they say. 

So true, isn't it? If only we all learn to speak before we talk. Have you ever observed a spider draw its web? That intricate pattern...shimmering strands that connect and stay together. So fragile. And their purpose? To trap. To entice. I feel we exist like that. We draw these tenuous threads called relationships. We spin them from the breath and sweat of our own emotion. And our purpose? To draw that one to hold. To possess. We find inextricable joy in labeling ourselves. Oh, I want to be a wife. A husband. A mother. A father. A grandfather. A manager. A CEO. An artist. A cyclist. And we forget in the process that in that web none of these labels fit. For that insect is us. What is to be a human being? Books like these sometimes point that mirror in our shuttered faces, and invite us to ask that question ourselves.


The Birds On The Trees was shortlisted for the Lost Man Booker Prize -  "a one-off prize to honor the books which missed out on the opportunity to win the Booker Prize in 1970." It didn't win but the characters here are just as lost...and somehow just as human.

Verdict: Slow reading into dysfunctional lives. Read with care. 


Rating:4/5

The House of Special Purpose: John Boyne

Image Credit: bibliobulimica

I am fascinated by true life murder mysteries that go unsolved for a long time. Murders and killings happen everyday but not unsolved ones. One of the most famous historical murder mysteries was that of the Romanovs of Russia. Their family of seven, consisting of five children, the Tsar and the Tsarina were shot dead point blank in 1918 by the Bolsheviks and buried. When the bodies were discovered only five skeletons were unearthed and the mystery of what happened to the other two members, two of the children to be precise, remained unresolved until two years ago. I will come to that a little later. For now, the book I just finished reading called The House of Special Purpose by John Boyne is a fictionalized, fly-on-the-wall account of the last days of the Russian monarchy.

Here is the brief from Google Books:

Part love story, part historical epic, part tragedy,The House of Special Purposeilluminates an empire at the end of its reign. Eighty year old Georgy Jachmenev is haunted by his past a past of death, suffering and scandal that will stay with him until the end of his days. Living in England with his beloved wife Zoya, Georgy prepares to make one final journey back to the Russia he once knew and loved, the Russia that both destroyed and defined him. As Georgy remembers days gone by, we are transported to St. Petersburg in the early 20th century, to the Winter Palace of the Tsar. A time of change, threat and bloody revolution. And as Georgy overturns the most painful stone of all, we uncover the story of the house of special purpose.


The narrator is Georgy Daniilovich. Through him Boyne spreads out two parallel stories, which of course meet in the end in a rather surprising (to me) climax. The chapters alternate between Georgy’s life with the Romanovs as Alexei, the Tsar’s son’s bodyguard and his life in London later on. His life with the Romanovs is richly detailed with descriptions of the palace and the insulated life within. Georgy is humbled by its riches but brave enough to fall in love with Anastasia, the Tsar’s daughter. He spends his days in the pleasant routines of the palace, away from the grim realities of poverty and discontentment outside, which is what finally, leads to the revolution.

Boyne is a deft writer possessing a supremely fantastic skill of engaging the reader. Georgy’s days in the palace and his life in London are beautifully enmeshed. Apart from following Russian history on the side, Boyne outlines the difficulties of being an émigré in a foreign land particularly during World War II. The insults, the suspicious looks and the disappointments are many for a foreigner.

On another plane, Boyne tells the story of a marriage, touchingly portraying the ups and downs, the love and the problems that arise within. Georgy and his wife undergo tests of fire during their married life but they emerge strong. It’s beautiful the way Boyne puts together pieces and moments of their life, never rambling but always speaking to us as a confidante.

Now, I was more captivated by the way he had woven a story around the Romanovs. As I mentioned before, the mystery of the two missing bodies was solved only recently. In the years after the Romanovs’ murder, numerous people claiming to be Anastasia, one of the missing children, came forward. Of them the most famous was Anna Anderson, who inspired huge debates and criticisms among the general public and historians alike because of her stunning likeness to the real Anastasia.

Boyne superbly intertwines facts and fiction together to create an unputdownable book. The timelines are wrought linearly yet featuring a back and forth motion. While Georgy’s Russian experiences move from the past to the present his life in London goes in the reverse manner, and both meet at a certain point. Some reviewers have pointed out that his historical placements are inaccurate in many places in the book. And some others have commented on how the ending was pretty much guessable somewhat early in the book, though I didn’t. Also, I found that at times he stretches the fantastical a bit over the top. Particularly the episode in which Georgy comes face to face with Churchill, I thought, was too much strain on the suspension of disbelief.

But I will not deny that Boyne can spin a yarn and how! I was on the edge many times and it’s no wonder that I finished the book so fast. Just put aside the comb that picks out a few errors and just give in to the pleasure of reading a Boyne. It may not be as gripping as The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas or Crippen, both of which absolutely held me in their thrall. Nevertheless, I would definitely recommend an audience with the Tsar, a walk through London and a visit to The House of Special Purpose. And yes, I still remain a Boyne fan.

Verdict: Enjoy Boyne’s splendid writing

Rating: 3.5/5


Recommended extra reading:

This website here has some excellent information and pictures of the Ipatiev House, also known as The House of Special Purpose, where the Romanovs were imprisoned by Bolsheviks and shot dead.

Read more about Anna Anderson the most famous of all the people who claimed to be one of the missing children.

Versedays: Pine by Lea Goldberg

A stamp honoring poet, novelist and critic Lea Goldberg - Image Credit: umich

I am currently reading The House of Special Purpose by one of my favorite authors, John Boyne. And as usual Boyne just wraps the tale so tightly around you that you are in his world for a long while. That is what is happening to me now. I am in Russia with Tsar Nicholas and Rasputin and Georgy the narrator of the story. Oh well, review coming soon. But the point is that, I happened to discover an Israeli poet who was born in Russia and spent a lot of her childhood there. Perfect to complement the book I am reading, I thought.

So I present to you Lea Goldberg, a highly revered Israeli poet. Goldberg’s poetry mostly deals with the mixed emotions that immigrants go through, another theme that runs through Boyne’s book. Longing, confusion, loneliness and nostalgia are all feelings that an émigré in a foreign land feels towards one’s homeland. Goldberg summons all this and more in one of her most well-known poems called Pine. I hope you all like this.

Pine


by


Lea Goldberg


Here I will not hear the voice of the cuckoo.
Here the tree will not wear a cape of snow.
But it is here in the shade of these pines
my whole childhood reawakens.

The chime of the needles: Once upon a time –
I called the snow-space homeland,
and the green ice at the river's edge -
was the poem's grammar in a foreign place.

Perhaps only migrating birds know -
suspended between earth and sky -
the heartache of two homelands.

With you I was transplanted twice,
with you, pine trees, I grew -
roots in two disparate landscapes.

Self Promotion 2

Fellow blogger Vishy had this suggestion after reading this particular post:

I forgot to write about one more thing :) The picture you posted is very beautiful! Wonderful to know that there are old bungalows and mansions near your workplace! Maybe you can take pictures of them (as you are a brilliant photographer yourself) and post them for readers like me.

Birdy replied:

You know, that's an awesome idea you have given me. I will try and see if I can take pictures of these old houses and then post them here... Thanks for lighting the bulb! :D 

And then Vishy added:

Your photo which was featured in the 'Lonely Planet' magazine was really brilliant :)

Looking forward to seeing your pictures of interesting buildings whenever you get around to taking them and posting them :)

Well, we at Life Wordsmith must follow what our readers suggest. :-). Both Birdy and I work in Bangalore's prime business district. But the area is also home to several lovely colonial houses.

Photo Credit: Birdy

This particular one featured here has a rather dark brooding presence that another blogger, Bina, would approve. There is a reason for the darkness though. This house was owned by Shakereh Khaleeli who met Doctor Death in the form of her second husband. Buried alive in a coffin, Shakereh was declared missing from 1991 before the police discovered her body in this very same house in 1994. Her second husband, a self-styled swami, was found guilty of what the Indian court pronounced as the 'rarest of rare crimes' and sentenced to death. That was in 2005. As far as I know, he isn't dead yet, having appealed against the sentence.

Photo Credit: Birdy

Phew. I stand in front of this very house everyday while waiting for my car pool. Khaleeli's house is almost lost to the ravages of time now. Stragglers have made a few tents on the outside. There is an air of melancholy. You don't feel nostalgia when you see this house. You don't see sepia-tinted memories swirling in front of you when you see this house. Just overwhelming sadness at the cruelty of human beings.

My Cousin Rachel: Daphne Du Maurier

Image Credit: Amazon.com

                                                         
My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier is a riveting read or for that matter all of her books are that I have read so far. I remember reading her Rebecca back in college and instantly falling in love with her writing. I also, remember telling myself - "if only I could write half as good as she writes then I would consider myself a success!".

My Cousin Rachel is a very simple story indeed. It is the story of a boy Philip Ashley adopted by uncle Ambrose Ashley - a confirmed bachelor until the age of 43 when a slight touch of rheumatism sends him packing to foreign shores each winter. For one such visit - he picks Italy, Florence to be specific. There he meets a beautiful and charming Contessa Rachel who also happens to be a cousin of both Philip and Ambrose from the father's side. Ambrose and Rachel fall in love and get married. But then Ambrose dies quite suddenly after a short illness. 

The catch is, Philip (now all of 24 years) receives two mysteriously worded letters which imply Rachel may have a hand in his death from his uncle Ambrose. What happens then?

What happens when Rachel eventually comes calling to England - to Ambrose's - now Philip's, house?

What happens when Philip - even after firmly making up his mind to hate her - finds himself slowly falling in love with this mysterious cousin Rachel?

Ahh, but these are just questions of lesser importance compared to the significant one - Did Rachel really poison Ambrose?

This forms the central theme of the book and Daphne very deftly flirts with "evidences" for either sides of the argument throughout the book without once giving away too much on either side. This is what makes this book a gripping read till the very end.

And mind you - this is no simple murder mystery that you think you can sort out by reading this review or a hundred pages within the book. Daphne is always one step ahead of you - no matter how smart you are.

Here's a hint for you - At a certain point in the book, when you (reader) "think" you are certain Rachel poisoned Ambrose - you will still have to explain (and convince yourself) whether she did the killing herself - or did she do it at the bidding of her Italian confidante/almost lover Rinaldi!?!?

So, don't be quick to judge and dismiss this book as a common murder mystery thriller. It isn't. Also, one can read this book as much for "emotional pull" as for the murder mystery. It is also, one realizes, a love story.

I remember reading somewhere that life is not always black and white. It is always several different shades of gray. It is in this sense that this book so closely resembles real life - and hence makes a very interesting read.

The entire story is narrated in first person from the point of view of Philip Ashley. In spite of this, the "technical" brilliance of Daphne calls for a great applause. The books actually opens AFTER Ambrose's death yet he is always an important omnipresent character throughout the book. The reader gets to know him either via letters or through incidents/anecdotes remembered by various characters, mostly Philip.

The other technical brilliance I was personally impressed about was - how seemingly unconnected childhood incidents that Philip remembers tie up neatly in the events of the present towards the end.

Also, like I said earlier, Daphne's writing is charismatic to say the least, sample this:

How soft and gentle her name sounds when I whisper it. It lingers on the tongue, insidious and slow, almost like poison...
 

This is how Daphne first introduces Rachel to us readers via Philip. How beautifully it sets the tone for the central theme of the book - is Rachel guilty or innocent?

How can one write so beautifully, a murder mystery at that, and yet not give away the answers right away?

You know, this is the kind of book that lends itself to write reams and reams of analysis - on writing technique, characterization, plot - you name it. A blog is but a pitiful little piece of it. And of course, if I posted the expanded version here - I would have to give away what actually happened - no mystery then, eh? Read to find out :)

Verdict: A "beautiful" and thrilling page-turner Rating: 4.5/5

Sleeping Murder: Agatha Christie

Image Credit: arccarnival

I finished reading my second Agatha Christie book. Now, I don’t think I will chronicle each Christie I am going to read in the future because there’s nothing much I can contribute to such a well-read and well-known personality. Since this is only my second book and a Miss Marple case compared to my first one, which was a Poirot, I would like to write about how I felt. But this will be just a mini-review, as I am not going too deep with it.

Sleeping Murder is Miss Marple’s Last Case. When Gwenda moves into her new little house little does she know that this was the scene of a perfect crime committed years ago. She undergoes certain disturbing experiences in the house like sudden flashes of memory from childhood and unexplained feelings of unease. Later she discovers that she had been witness to a crime, which she is now determined to solve. Miss Marple enters the scene as an acquaintance of Giles, Gwenda’s husband.

Miss Marple is more like you elderly aunt who seems gentle on the outside yet her sharp eyes miss nothing. I read this book immediately after a Poirot so I noticed some differences in the style of writing. First about the detectives themselves. Poirot is cold, logical and unemotional. Marple does exhibit emotion but she is quite cynical, which makes her very discerning. Poirot’s story/case was quite straightforward and there were no mystical elements to it. Marple’s case had feelings attached to it and it also explored disorders of the human mind.

I enjoyed reading Marple’s case a bit more than Poirot’s. Maybe because I am fascinated by psychological disorders and the human mind in general. I have heard of Poirot and Marple fans within Agatha Christie fans. What are you?

As for me, I am just taking my first steps to liking Christie. I think I might become a fan soon though!

Verdict: A very engaging read

Rating: 4/5

Versedays: Meeting at Night by Robert Browning

Image Credit: age of uncertainties

My workplace is situated in an area populated with rambling British style mansions and bungalows. Many of them, worth millions, continue to be occupied by people while many have made way to posh apartments. A couple of them though remain abandoned. There is no sign of maintenance or life about them but there they stand, imposing, crumbling, a reminder of a not so distant past. I am fascinated by such houses and curious to know their stories. Who would have lived there? What happened to them?

It’s the same with old photographs of unknown people for me. I am instantly fascinated. Especially when they are from another century altogether. So when I saw blogger kimbofo’s post with a link to these excellent photographs from Victorian England, originally posted by blogger Steerforth, I was hooked. I decided to make a theme of it for Versedays. I will now stop my murmurings and let you read the poem for this week.

It’s by Robert Browning, one of the foremost Victorian poets known for his poems that have dramatic monologues, like The Last Duchess. Today am posting one of my favorite poems of his, which I had read in college, named Meeting at Night. I love this poem for its vivid sense of place and feeling. Browning builds up a tense atmosphere initially almost as if you are holding your breath. And then he lets it go in the last two lines. My favorite lines, “A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch/ And blue spurt of a lighted match,” so precisely convey the urgency of the lovers as well as the secrecy of their tryst. Read on for the full poem and enjoy!

Meeting at Night


by


Robert Browning


The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.


Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

The Crossroads : Niccolo Ammaniti

Image Credit: Fantastic Fiction

Image Credit:Roundroundbooks

I am a huge fan of Ammaniti. Especially if he looks like this. ;-) But seriously, I remember reading his international bestseller, I Am Not Scared, being awed by the sheer incandescent power of his writing, and then passing it on like a candle to Birdy and Thoughts here. Indian bookshops don't really stock much of Italian writers. So I was lucky when I spotted The Crossroads. $10 is a small price to pay for the incredible reading pleasure that Ammaniti dishes out, almost as if writing in this spellbinding manner is the most natural thing in the world.

Ammanti also has a fondness of making children his protagonists. Here too, we have Cristiano Zena, the teenager with an alcoholic father, Rino. Much of the first half of this superbly paced novel is a slow building up into their lives. Ammaniti wields his scalpel over the raging fires of human desperation - the bitterness that moves around Rino's belly, acid masquerading as alcohol. We have Rino's two crazy friends - Danilo Aprea, addicted to booze and his ex-wife Teresa, and Quattro Formaggi (nicknamed so after his favorite pizza), a supposed dim-wit who almost died by electrocution.

With them leading miserable lives in hovel-like conditions, the Italy that Ammaniti depicts is a world away from the posh pubs of Milan or the grand palaces in Rome. Quattro Formaggi and Danilo Aprea have a plan - to rob a bank, and Rino is to be the accomplice in that. It is a plan that you know borders on ineptitude. Yet how many times as human beings don't we bungle and stumble, despite knowing that? Led on by a wild delusion of future happiness, we persist in madness. The human self's amazing ability to camouflage reality is what makes us survive. In The Crossroads, both Formaggi and Aprea are shown with the kind of dark comedy that Ammaniti became famous for. Like Murphy's law, everything that can go wrong does go wrong with their plan.

I won't spoil the book for you by revealing more than that. The Crossroads is not just a crime thriller. No. The Crossroads bends its sinews on moral courage. The fibers of being. The stench of madness. The question of faith. Of God. Of hope. Of redemption. And crazed love. The Crossroads deals with all these and more. "Beneath the sheer nastiness of the story is a clear-eyed portrait of male stupidity and oafishness," says the Guardian. As the story progresses, like Yeats' famous lines, things fall apart and the center cannot hold. All the characters in The Crossroads are swirling in this frightening abyss, falling deeper and deeper into the vortex, into the blackness, the bleakness, and the darkness that characterizes human existence, and as a reader you too fall, plunging breathless, gasping for air, and realizing with relief at the end that this is fiction, that you were just reading a book, and that all is fine in your world. You feel thankful. Blessed. And yet exhilarated because you know you have been part of something special. For how true are these quotes! Not for nothing does Ammaniti have dark humor.

"It is a painful experience shared by many people that, once the conjugal knot has been tied, the man/woman whom you thought to be a brilliant, intuitive creature turns out to be a complete dick-head. "

"Besides, mircales don't exist. They're just an illusion designed to spread the faith. The Lord isn't a merchant you can barter promises with in exchange for favours."

Verdict: Immerse yourself in some of the finest dark writing to emerge from Italy. Feel genius. 


Rating: 4/5

Lottery: Patricia Wood

Image Credit: The Telegraph

"Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live" - Charles Bukowski.

I cannot agree more. Apart from the fact that I am a bit crazy myself, I just finished reading “Lottery” by Patricia Wood, which perhaps endorses that quote. Here’s the brief from the book cover –

Perry’s IQ is only 76, but he’s not stupid. His grandmother taught him everything he needs to survive; she taught him to write things down so he won’t forget them… She taught him to play the lottery every week. And most important, she taught him whom to trust. When Gram dies, Perry is left orphaned and bereft at the age of 31. But then he wins $12 million with his weekly Washington State Lottery ticket, and suddenly he finds he has more family than he knows what to do with.

Firstly, I must say that this book had extra significance for me because I was very close to my grandmother. She was my best friend during school and college. And then I lost her seven years ago on 17th October. It was quite a coincidence that I happened to read this book now, just when I am going through a time of remembrance.

I loved Perry’s Gram. She is such a strong woman. She defends Perry at every instance she feels he is derogated just for being slow. Let me not use the ‘r’ word, I too feel it’s kind of derogatory. Let me just use SoulMuser’s phrase, “differentially enabled.”Perry is only differentially enabled. He is smart at his work, good at marketing, is a fine learner and a great friend to Keith and Gary. His only problem is that he is just a bit slow. Wood endows Perry with a great sense of humor too, which in many situations either puts off or endears him to other people. And mostly it puts off people because Perry speaks the truth, he points out what he sees –

They ask Keith, “Can I tie up here?” in front of the post labeled NO MOORING.
They ask Gary, “Can I fish here?” in front of the post labeled NO FISHING.
They ask Manuel, “Can I leave my car here?” by the sign NO PARKING.

Most people do not read. I read all the time.

I observe such people most everyday especially the ones who park their cars right under the sign NO PARKING.

Wood raises some relevant points. Social conditioning is so superficial for example. Perry is labeled a retard and a moron. But all this changes when he comes into money. They talk to him looking in the eye, they don't avoid him and they even ask him for his opinions. So it is that for a lot of people money rules their lives. I personally think that is so sad, because they don’t know what they are missing out on. Perry’s values are so right that he is wrong in society.

Through Keith, Wood explores the nature of true friendship. Keith is at least a decade older than Perry but they get along finely. Keith is protective about Perry as is Gary and they do everything they can to keep Perry safe from his money hungry relatives.

He comes over to me and says, “You have to not talk with your brothers or let them into your house unless one of us is around! Okay?” He holds my cheeks together just like Gram… “Keith, you may be overreacting,” Gary says.
“And you may be f****** naïve,” Keith says.

It was so touching to read about their friendship in an age where friendship is given the least importance after a certain stage in life. Of course there are exceptions and I am glad to have some of those exceptions in my life.

When tragedy strikes at one point, I had tears in my eyes. And friends who know me will vouch that it’s not easy for a book to make me teary-eyed.

There is so much in this book that how much ever I write it won’t do justice. It has to be read. There is just a small quibble I had with a romantic turn that Wood gives in the end. I can’t reveal it here because that’s a huge spoiler. So I will just ask you guys to read this amazing, wonderful book. I will end with another howler from Perry that had me cracking. I love his deadpan humor!

Context – Perry takes his Gram’s urn of ashes and goes with Keith to Hawaii. Because Gram had wanted to go ‘somewhere warm’ if she ever won a lottery.

The lady next to me looks like Gram except she is shorter and has kind of fuzzy hair. Her skin is dark brown. Gram’s was white or maybe gray.
“Hi, I’m Perry. What’s your name? You look like my Gram,” I say.
“I’m Myrtle. Is your Gram here?” She looks around.
No, she’s back in the hotel room. She’s dead,” I tell her.
Myrtle raises her eyebrows and her mouth falls open. She looks better after I tell her Gram is just ashes in a box now.

Go on. Go crazy with Perry and you will appreciate life a litte more.

Verdict: One of those rare books that make you laugh and cry and warm all over with good feelings

Rating: 4.5/5

The Murder on the Links: Agatha Christie

Image Credit: quickblogcast

Though I had all along heard of Agatha Christie and even read a couple of her books when I was in school I never really paid much attention to it. Recently, blogger friend Bina wrote a long and interesting piece on Christie, which made me think about reading one soon. And of course, Thoughts had been recommending that I read for a long time. So I borrowed two books from her and I finished one for which I thought I will write a small review. There’s not much I can say that has not been said about Christie!

The Murder on the Links is a Hercule Poirot mystery and I must say I did enjoy this one a lot. Poirot and his friend Arthur Hastings are called away to France to solve the murder of Renauld a millionaire. Just when he thinks he has got a hold on the incident, there occurs another murder, which makes the whole case more perplexing.

I loved the way Christie created a lot of twists and turns in the plot to throw the reader off balance. Poirot of course hardly ever seemed off kilter! Being an ardent Sherlock Holmes fan, I couldn’t help comparisons. I felt Holmes’ cases don’t have as many twists or elements to them. They are a bit more simplistic. At least for me, I could usually guess the culprit, though I couldn’t find the evidence. Holmes had to help me in that. In Christie, I was clueless. I really didn’t know who had done what. Because the plot kept throwing up new turns. Holmes’ friend Watson is more of an admirer and follower of Holmes than an active participant. Usually, he is the sounding board. Holmes expounds his theories and thoughts on the present case and Watson listens. Here, in Christie, Hastings is more of a participant. He does deduce things at times, though the clairvoyant Poirot would usually have seen those points in his mind already. I also observed that Hastings’ character is given much importance too. He is not just there as a presence, but he is an entity by himself. We learn of his own feelings, his thoughts. In other words, he has a personality of his own. He is a bit similar to Watson in that both love beautiful women and appreciate their beauty. But with Watson, it stops there. We don’t go too deep into his inner thoughts. With Hastings, we see a few different facets to him.

Well, these are just my two pence. I will always remain a Holmes fan. Even when I went to London, I had made up my mind that I would go see Holmes’ house on Baker Street even if I had to miss out on something else for lack of time! And I am glad I did, I freaked out! As for Christie, I have only read one book so far. Too early for fan status, but yes I see potential :)

Oh and please feel welcome to add to my comparisons here, I would be most interested to know!

A Read-along and Versedays: Irish Blessings

I have finally come round to reading a Salman Rushdie! All thanks to Bibliojunkie's readalong, which begins on 12th November. I went and bought myself a copy of Midnight's Children today, in preparation and am excited. If you are interested in taking part, do follow the link and shout out to JoV over at Bibliojunkie :)

Ok, now to Versedays. There are so many famous prayers and blessings in verse that we hear of. But for some reason, Irish blessings are more renowned than any others. I came upon one of them and it was a really sweet one. I thought I will pick out two of the most popular ones and feature them for Versedays. We can all do with some prayers, spiritual or non-spiritual once in a while that might bring a smile to our face. I will post one in words and the other one as an image. Read on and pass it on! :)

Blessing One

May there always be work for your hands to do;
May your purse always hold a coin or two;
May the sun always shine on your windowpane;
May a rainbow be certain to follow each rain;
May the hand of a friend always be near you;
May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.


Blessing Two




Image Credit: sandyjames

34 Bubblegums and Candies: Preeti Shenoy

                                                         Image Credit: Book Caterer


34 Bubblegums and Candies by Preeti Shenoy yet another of those books which make true the axiom - Don't judge the book by the cover.

But first about I got this book - This book cost me 'nothing', and I really mean nothing! I had made a HUGE purchase of books and movies at a store here recently and so the store in their generosity gave me these three free Gift vouchers, each for a Rs.100. But the catch was I could use each coupon to make one purchase only. I could not combine all the three coupons to buy one book worth Rs.300. As, I was pottering around in the store looking to see what three things I could buy... unconsciously I had made my way back to the books section and I found myself looking at this shelf which had books each priced at Rs.100 only.

Exactly 100! Imagine my surprise!

So I picked three random books went to the counter handed in the vouchers had the books packed and left the guy at the billing counter still gaping at me:) and yes I did have a very pleased grin on my face all day that day.

Back home, I just dumped these three books on a shelf and forgot all about it. The events in the past couple of weeks in my life forced me to take a harder look at my bookshelf to see if I had anything light to read. (Soul and Bird here will vouch that I am mostly the heavy "high brow" reader).
That's how I found this 100 rupee book in my hand.

Back to the book - the cover looks like a lot of fun, however the content within is very thought provoking. The book contains 34 episodes/anecdotes from Preeti Shenoy's own life (so yes it is non-fiction. Told you, don't go by looks of the cover). 

The book begins with the most profound incident from Preeti's life (and ends with it too) - the sudden and unexpected death of her father. In a very non-tedious story telling sort of way Preeti looks back and explores the bond she and her father shared, the bond between her father and her mother. And finally the influences her father had in shaping her into the person that she is now.

That's one of the bubblegums for you; the one you chew on and ponder over it. And then you have these candies (anecdotes) which after reading leave you with a feel-good feeling or after-taste
(in Preeti's own words). Like the one where she is able to inspire her daughter to stand in the sun for four hours in the hot sun because the school store is out of stock for caps that very day. 

Each such incident is thus narrated and explored only a wee bit further, just enough to give you that little nudge to get you thinking. That is the wonderful part about this book. It does not think for you or give you all the solutions. It only just narrates an everyday incident and provides the start of a different point of view and lets you think through and explore as deep as you want or only just scratch the surface - if that is all you want to do.

Preeti is an excellent writer. There is no doubt about that. The way she is able to pick an everyday incident, even comic ones like seeing a garden lizard in the bathroom and screaming; and then deftly turning it into a quasi-philosophical discussion is what makes you keep turning those pages and before you know it, the slim 150-page book is over. You are then left with the feeling of wanting more, just a little bit more like a good dessert you've just finished.

Verdict: Although a good book, not my kind
Rating: 3.3/5

Self Promotion!

Right, till now, Life Wordsmith has assidiously stuck to reviewing books. And yes, the poem of the week! Today's post is a little self-promotional, excuse the publicity material folks! But well, just like a good book ought to be promoted, so a good photo ought to be too.

Good friends know that Birdy here is an ardent photographer, but not all of this blog's visitors may know that. Her photo is up on Lonely Planet's Indian magazine, Travel Well.

So go on, click that link and enjoy a moment of beauty...away from this blog. :-)

Moth Smoke : Mohsin Hamid

Image Credit: LoveHabibi

People often ask me about my favorite books and favorite authors. And often, I have no answer, which kind of brings the conversation to a shuddering halt. How does one qualify a lifetime of reading into 'favorite?'. But now I think I know how to answer at least the favorite author question. Favorite authors to me, are those who after reading the first time leave me gasping for the second book, the third book, the fourth. They are the ones who I go hunting for in the bookstore. They are not 'one-book' wonders - but they invite me into their world again and again. In that light, I can easily reel off a few 'favorite authors.' Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Tolstoy, Enid Blyton, Sidney Sheldon, Arthur Conan Doyle, RK Narayan, Niccolo Ammaniti, Edith Wharton, Agatha Christie, and Mohsin Hamid. Mohsin who? you might ask. Oh yes, after reading Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist, which awed and moved me, when Birdy hunted down his Moth Smoke in some small corner of Landmark bookstore, I felt like I was in for the literary version of a chocolate treat. And so it is.

Moth Smoke was Pakistani-born Hamid's first novel. And what a searing first novel it is!! Hamid uses different narrative voices to describe the plight of Darashikoh Shezad or Daru as he moves almost inexorably like a moth to a flame into a drug-fueled life of despair. None of the voices though can match Daru's tragic, ironic voice. He had me gripped - this young banker fired from his job because he could not suck up to some client, his attraction to Mumtaz Kashmiri, the beautiful wife of his best friend, Aurangazeb, or Ozi for short, and his tragic fall into a chaotic madness that calls itself life. Some other reviewers have called the characters here unlovable. I disagree. If you can't love Daru, you are only shielding yourself from the own black vortex we all possess. If you can't feel for Mumtaz, who calls herself a monster, then you are stopping your own mirror from reflecting back all the little pieces of blackness we hide deep within our hearts. And of course, Ozi - we know that in being named Aurangazeb, he will eventually be the traitor, and yes, he is the most difficult to like here - appearing callous, casual and ruthless - but then again, we use those traits many times don't we? I am sure if I conduct a survey among friends, then I am sure callous, insensitive, and ill-tempered would be the first words they would use to describe me. And oh yeah, Mumtaz, I agree - I call myself a monster too.

Hamid deftly uses Daru to show us a glimpse into contemporary Lahore - a Lahore of high parties, high societies,  and the inevitable chaos that accompanies the lives that lead these high society lives.
Affairs. Drugs. Backstabbing. Jealousy. And friendship. Daru and Ozi have a long history - friends from childhood, their fathers were best friends, and that bond passed itself in its genes to Daru and Ozi. Yet Ozi is everything that Daru is not - with a rich father, a US-degree, and a wife - Ozi has made it back to Lahore society. Ozi's rise parallels Daru's fall. And their own friendship spirals out as Daru begins a dangerous affair with Mumtaz, a mother who was forced into motherhood, has a child and feels none of the 'motherly' bliss she was supposed to feel - and well, a Pakistani woman who has the surname Kashmiri (intentional?), loves her joint, loves to smoke, commits adultery, is an undercover journalist, and a struggling mom who would rather be elsewhere - isn't she interesting?

And Daru? Oh! He had me in tears in the end. Sitting at home, with the electricity cut off, he invents a game. Playing badminton with the moths as shuttles. That passage where he describes the game is one of the most poignant. And then, as he slowly turns into a drug junkie - you feel for him. You wonder why he can't just stopping abusing his self with drugs -  but you know that a man who lives as intensely as Daru does, betrayals can break him. How can you not feel for him when you read passages like this? After Mumtaz too spurns him, telling him that he needs help:

I wait for her in the driveway but she doesn't come back. Then I go inside and sit down and wipe my face, but no matter how much I wipe, it seems to stay wet. 

And Daru is the one who stands accused of the murder of a child. Ah, life. There is something melancholic about this novel - Hamid writes with that strain. But it doesn't drag you down. I cried yes, in the end. But that is the depth of his writing. I will remember Daru for a while. Even Mumtaz. And if a book can do that, it is worth all the crying.

The book was also made into a movie called Daira. Interesting. 



Verdict: Riveting and moving. 


Rating: 5/5

The Remains of the Day: Kazuo Ishiguro

Image Credit: thebigbookreview

I had long been wanting to read an Ishiguro, but somehow had never come down to it. Finally, I finished The Remains of the Day. Here is the brief from the book cover –

The Remains of the Day is a profoundly compelling portrait of the perfect English butler and of his fading, insular world in postwar England. At the end of his three decades of service at Darlington Hall, Stevens embarks on a country drive, during which he looks back over his career to reassure himself that he has served humanity by serving “a great gentleman.” But lurking in his memory are doubts about the true nature of Lord Darlington’s “greatness” and graver doubts about his own faith in the man he served.

Now, with a subject like this I somehow had preconceived notions that the reading might be a tad slow. That it might drag a little. But I must report that on the contrary I could barely put the book down. Not to say that it had a racy, thrilling plot. In fact, it has an extremely placid plot, with a sense of calm. Very much like our protagonist, Stevens the butler.

Stevens is a study by himself. He is perhaps every English lord’s dream. Stevens lives and breathes Lord Darlington, who is his master and would go to any lengths to make sure his master is satisfied.

“As far as I am concerned, Miss Kenton, my vocation will not be fulfilled until I have done all I can to see his lordship through the great tasks he has set himself. The day his lordship’s work is complete, the day he is able to rest on his laurels, content in the knowledge that he has done all anyone could ever reasonably ask of him, only on that day, Miss Kenton, will I be able to call myself, as you put it, a well-contented man.”

Stevens, particularly in this passage, sounded to me like a yesteryear housewife, eager to please her husband in any which way possible because it was her duty to do so and because she believed that, that is where her fulfillment lay. But such devotion to duty is what made Stevens the perfect butler who doesn’t know any other world than being a butler at Darlington Hall. Servitude was his watchword so much so that whenever he spoke to a nobleman on his five-day journey, “it was no easy task to suppress the instinct to add ‘sir’.” Unwavering loyalty too is very much part of his ideals. His staunch sense of duty and faithfulness towards his master is both moving as well as at times callous.

I heard Miss Kenton say softly behind me: ‘His pulse is very weak.’ I gazed at my father for a moment, touched his forehead slightly, then withdrew my hand.
‘In my opinion,’ Mrs Mortimer said, ‘he’s suffered a stroke. I’ve seen two in my time and I think he’s suffered a stroke.’ With that, she began to cry. I noticed she reeked powerfully of fat and roast cooking. I turned away and said to Miss Kenton: ‘This is most distressing. Nevertheless, I must now return downstairs.’

Even in such a moment, Stevens is perfectly composed, cool and rational. He later explains, “Miss Kenton, please don’t think me unduly improper in not ascending to see my father in his deceased condition just at this moment. You see, I know my father would have wished me to carry on just now.”

To me this was one of the most defining moments in the book, which gave much clarity to Stevens’ nature.

Ishiguro’s writing is fluid and so brilliant that it encapsulates events and narrates the story purely through Stevens’ memory. There is never a dull moment even though Stevens reminisces about the past while he drives or has breakfast along the countryside as he continues on his journey. Though I haven’t read the book, I was reminded of “Remembrance of Things Past” by Marcel Proust, which deals with the occurrence of involuntary memory.

Oh and how can I forget Miss Kenton. A spirited lady yet with her weaknesses, one of them being Stevens, Miss Kenton brings a gentle humorous side to the story. Stevens himself lets out his breath once in a while and indulges in a bit of wit. This again is brought out splendidly by Ishiguro’s sub textual way of writing.

Eventually, we learn that Stevens is indeed capable of some emotion and some feeling. He is not after all a robot, but a perfectionist who is totally immersed in his work. The movie version of this book, which I remember watching a very long time back and being bored then (!), stars the inimitable Anthony Hopkins as Stevens and Emma Thompson as Miss Kenton. As I was reading the book, I was picturizing Thompson herself as Miss Kenton and imagine my surprise when I found that she indeed had acted in the movie! Though I had seen the movie, as I said very long back, I only remembered Hopkins vaguely. Well, my memory isn’t as good as Stevens and perhaps it’s time to watch this highly acclaimed movie too now. Here is the trailer of the movie. The book is simply sumptuous, don't miss this one.

Verdict: A subtle, sepia colored portrait of the era of butlers and lords and of the Second World War. And of course of memories.

Rating: 5/5