#IReadBecause

Illustration by Chris Buzelli

I read because life is too short for me to do everything. Even if I decide to have nothing but adventures and travel everyday, all day till I die it’s still too short because I still won’t be spearing down a mammoth or hold the fate of the universe in my hands or win a match by catching the golden snitch. 

I read because reality can be limited. Limited by where I go and what I do. Limited by what I know. Limited by laws of physics. Limited by the time moving only forward.

Water by Brian Stauffer

I read because I want to share a moment, a memory that is independent of time and place. When I read a book that my dad has read, I know I’m sharing a moment with him even if I can’t create any more memories with him. It sparks a crazy hope in me that my unborn children and grandchildren will pick up the book long after I’m gone and still be a part of that moment along with me and my dad. 

I read because I lose myself otherwise. In other people’s trials and travels I find emotions I din’t know existed in me; thoughts are triggered, desires are awakened, horizons are pushed, perspectives changed, imagination is charged, and I see a me who is more alive after the reading. 

I read because, the way food sustains my shell, 

Reading nourishes my soul. 

Illustration by Julie Paschkis

The post is a response to a writing prompt on Medium.

Women on Women - Literary style!

Inadvertently May because the month for Woman Power. No, not girl power. It was all about Women. Girls are sweet. Women are powerful. Women have a strength which belie their sweetness. Not all girls become women and some girls take a long time to reach womanhood. All the books I read last month had a woman at the heart of it's book. And with the exception of two (out of the eleven), all the rest were written by women too. And it was a revelation.

When men write about women (or girls) they tend to give them an aura. It can be of the saint or of the whore, or maybe even somewhere in between ( the whore with the heart of gold?!). Rarely are they goofy, the women of the male imagination ( MPDG don't count!). And even rarer are the cases where the goofiness is a part of the strength. It's not that all the women I read about were goofy. But I'm just pointing out an instance of how male and female writers tend to portray female characters. The more female writers I read, I felt there was some subliminal difference. But one I could not place a finger on immediately. Had I read female and male authors indiscriminately as I'm wont to do, I'm sure I would not have even noticed the difference. I would have merely notched it to the particular style or voice of the author.

But skipping from one women to another, author wise, I caught a subtle shift of perception. The women are plainer. Even the attractive ones. They are not built to make your heart ache with want. Not on sight that is. And even more importantly love is not a function that's dependent on their external beauty. Or even on their likability. These women, created by other women, are irritable, have abundant sense of humor even if it is a bit sardonic, unwillingly kind or even willingly unkind. Yet, they still find love and fulfillment. And the love that they find is not dependent on them being likable all the time. Nor is love and fulfillment directly proportional. This is certainly not a revelation in the real world.

Then why does it feel so exceptional in the literary one?

They, the female characters, are also sweet, considerate, jealous, motherly, sexy or what ever feminine virtue (or vice) you want to confer on them. The difference, I guess, is that these women are not an embodiment of a single emotion or virtue ( or vice). They get tired and have exceptionally bad hair days and be exceptionally cranky because of the said day or be exceptionally happy and not give a flying f**k for the said day. But the range of emotion that they display, these women written by other women. doesn't make them seem hysterical. Instead it is a mere expression of their feelings at that point of time in the story.

I don't know if I'm making sense. It's not like all the women written by men are hysterical or ideal. I'm not saying that men can't or haven't written about women realistically. But looking back, I feel a majority of the women written by men have, for the lack of a better word, an aura. A particular virtue or vice is subtly enhanced or embodied by the female characters. Male characters can get angry but they are not defined by it (unless we are talking about the Hulk). They also be sad, happy, jealous, manipulative. yet they don't always carry an aura. It is not the norm. The hero or more often the master or guide will have an aura but not every male in the story has one.

And to be clear, I'm definitely not saying female authors are better than their male counterparts. The abundance of shitty writers are more or less equal in their distribution among genders. What I am saying is that it is refreshing to see female characters who are not boxed and colored with a brush of a singular virtue.

Book of the month : Feb 2015

So it's time to look back at the month and crown the winner! Initially I thought I'll read all love stories, February being all about Valentine's and all.  But guess I have a bit of A.D.D sticking to the topic 'coz I ended up reading pretty much anything I can hold of.. as usual! Oh well!

Anyways, let get back to the point. Starting at the bottom of the list is...

See Jane Score by Rachel Gibson - 1.5 / 5

This book reminded me why I keep off chick lit as a general rule. If well written ones are like your favorite candy, this one was the equivalent of stale popcorn. The book was painfully predictable and characters were so terribly cliched it almost seemed like Gibson was making fun of the genre. The only plus point was the marginally steamy encounters between the main characters. The sex scenes seem to be the only place where Gibson seemed to have bothered to expend a little of her imagination. And that's all there was to the book, so pretty much a waste of time!

Second Thoughts by Niklas Asker - 2 / 5

This month has a lot of graphic novels. And this was the first of the lot. And sadly, the worst of the lot too. The story line is intriguing but the artwork left me kinda cold. Not that Asker's work isn't good but it seemed to be missing a subliminal quality which tends to bring the images to life. They remained strictly two dimensional. I also felt it was missing attention to details within the images. It was missing a master's touch. But then again I don't know if I'm judging it too harshly given that this is Niklas Asker's debut work. I came off with the feeling this could have been so much more because the story line was definitely something offbeat. I can't decide if I should recommend this one or not, but I would be intrigued to see what next he comes up with after a little maturing because the potential is definitely there. 

Good-Bye, Chunky Rice by Craig Thompson 

- ? / 5

I had started Habibi by Craig Thompson (looooong back) and I had loved the artwork. And I have been hearing rave reviews about Blankets ( in fact there's a scene in Asker's Second thoughts which shows the cover of Blankets; and that is how I ended up with this book simply because I could not get hold of Blankets). But this one is an enigma for me. I don't know how I feel about it and honestly for me, that's quite a new sensation. There were parts of it which were touching and parts which I thought was complete drivel. End of the book, I came off feeling like I either completely missed the point or that there was no point what so ever. It is such a funny mixture of poetic and grotesque. Somehow I have a sneaky feeling that this is one of those books which need a couple of re-readings to unravel it's beauty. So why don't you try and let me know how you feel about it :)

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by Edwin A. Abbott - 3.5 /5

I had marked it the moment I read this book was one of the inspirations behind Interstellar movie. Both, the director Christopher Nolan and Kip Thorne, the theoretical physicist who was the principle scientific consultant for the movie, referred to the book and as someone who finds such concepts utterly fascinating it sounded like a book I could not miss. And had I read it a decade ago, it would have been a book which would have blown my mind. Not because the book is anything less than absolutely brilliant but because the basic concept would have been so spectacularly new. The basic premise of the story was shared by my mathematics teacher while explaining quadratic equations ( and their co-relation to geometry, and from there to real life.. not explaining how 'coz that would be a spoiler!). Now I can't help but wonder if he had read the book. So while reading the book, the concept itself was not new but that doesn't change the fact that it is wonderful read. 

Apart from the concept of the higher dimensions, what fascinated me was the clarity with which he renders the flatland society. The parallels (pun unintended..mostly ) between flatland society and the 3-D human world is rather uncanny. In this day of 'outward-political-correctness-and-inward-regressive-thinking', to read something which blatantly puts forward the hypocrisy without any apologies is refreshing because it forces you to rethink where you really stand. 

March: Book One (March #1) by John Robert Lewis, Andrew Aydin , Nate Powell (Artist) - 4 / 5

This graphic novel is the first of the trilogy which illustrates the life of John Robert Lewis, an American politician and civil rights leader. Most of the narratives that we hear about the black civil right moment is mainly focused on Martin Luther King Jr. This novel gives a perspective from the lesser known yet equally inspiring personality of John Lewis. It starts out rather slow with John's childhood but builds up momentum as he matures into an adult with strong convictions. This is more of a build up for the second of the series but it's still an interesting read on it's own. Nate Powell's artwork is just so gorgeously emotive, the perfect compliment for Lewis's inspiring story. 

A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde - 4 / 5

Has this man written anything which is not polished to perfection? As usual, Wilde shows his genius and you have four fables of extraordinary simplicity and grace. The birthday of Infanta is one of the most lovely and tragic reads I have read in a long time. As a rule, I'm not fascinated by tragedy. But this one made me cry. Not the blubbering sort. But the one where I ached so badly 'coz I badly wanted to hug the little guy and tell him, it's all lies. And the last short story which moved me as much was when I read O.Henry's Last Leaf in school. The other stories have the innocence of fairy tales and yet something adult and dark underneath. I was rather surprised by the strong Christian theme in them. Somehow seemed at odds with all I know of Wilde's personality. But it doesn't disrupt the storytelling in anyway. Should definitely pick it up for Infanta's birthday.

The Real Jane Austen: A Life in Small Things by Paula Byrne - 4.2 / 5

I have not read the official version of Jane Austen's biography, but I did love Byrne's approach to her life, ie to take her letters and her writings in perspective of the day to day environment Ms.Austen found her self in. Bryne also explores the books that she read, plays she appreciated and the people who influenced her to create a deeper understanding of the English novelist. It was much longer than expected (I started this book in Jan but finished it only in Feb) but that dint diminish the enthusiasm you feel through out the book. With the new information in hand I think I should re-read some of her lesser appreciated novels (by me) like Emma and Mansfield Park. I'm sure the context that is provided by Byrne would help in clarifying the kind of characters that Austen created who seemed rather unnatural to me before. Overall, if you are an Austen fan, then this is one book you'll immensely enjoy!

As we go towards the end of the list, my dilemma starts.. which is the book that truly stood out for me? A perfectly rendered classic or a wonderfully etched out story of a modern day hero? I'm almost tempted to declare a draw yet I feel that would be unfair for some reason. So, after digging a little deeper and splitting a lot of hair, here's the runner up:

Can You Forgive Her? by Anthony Trollope - 4.4 / 5

I have been wanting to read Trollope for a while now. I kept finding a lot of references in other works yet I had not the least bit of familiarity with his work. Plus it helped that I had just started Downton Abbey and this looked like the perfect read to compliment the series ( and it is! ). As soppy as the name sounds, the book is anything but. Trollope narrates a love story, but not one made of grand passions and extravagant gestures. Instead he presents to us a practical and very down to earth love story with all it's confusions and messiness. But he does it with a sense of humor and a certain amount of compassion for the human follies and fickleness. And his style of narration is so very engaging; like you are listening to some good gossip, one that is not mean spirited yet has a hint of secrecy which makes it so much fun to know (even the title hints of it, doesn't it? ). 

And there is so much of depth for each of the characters that he has created, especially the women. And I like the fact that he has not given his women any of the stereotypical extremes of virtue or vileness. They are neither all good nor all bad, though they might have their preferences to which side they lean. As a feminist there are times I feel I should probably be offended about his portrayal of the female characters, instead I feel that he has done a fantastic job of capturing the female thought process. Occasionally I feel a bit put off by the side narrations which deviate from the main story line because I'm impatient to know what's happening with the main story line. It makes the book rather lengthy and the deviations themselves are a small book by themselves. But it does provide a nice contrast of characters to which you can judge the protagonists with. 

I can't exactly pin point why I enjoyed the book so much, but I did and I can't wait for my next Trollope!

And finally, the BOOK OF THE MONTH...

March: Book Two by John Robert Lewis, Andrew Aydin , Nate Powell (Artist)

This is second of the trilogy illustrating the life of John Lewis. 

The beauty of this book lies in it's powerful storytelling and evocative images. While the story never glosses over the violence that the movement had to face, Nate Powell translates them into incredibly powerful imagery with minimal symbols that stays long after you close the book. Each person in this book brought alive with so much honesty and passion. It's amazing how much depth creations of ink and paper can have. 

The book moves between the present ( i.e January 2009) and 1960s. This simultaneously reminds us the huge struggle and sacrifice that it took for a black man to be the president of United States and the distance that is yet to be covered for that equality to be truly equal. Another beautiful thing I found in the book, was that at no point was 'white' people shown as the enemy. The story clearly points out it is hatred without understanding and blind prejudice is the villain. Given the intolerance that we find growing insidiously everyday, this book is still ever so relevant. The story, the personalities, and the art all comes together wonderfully making this a must read!

So that's all for now. Till next time.. Happy reading y'all! :)

Phil!

Blog fright!

Oh wait.. too late!

I have blog fright. It's not a blogger's block. Quite the opposite of it. There are words running amok, sentences screaming bloody murder for being cooped up inside, virtually under house arrest in my head. And yet, I'm scared to let them out on to the clean white slate of the compose sheet. Why? About the same reason most people are more scared of public speaking than death: the irrational and completely unproportional fear of potential self humiliation and embarrassment. Well, least that's the reason for stage fright. Blog fright also stems from an irrational and completely unproportional but slightly different fear. While I'm pretty certain that I'm not the only one afflicted I don't know if it's as common as stage fright. Either ways this post is both to get over it as well know for sure that I might not be the only dysfunctional blogger( in this particular aspect.. Of course I'm not the only one) in cyberspace.

Yep, looks like a blog I know

Keeping a blog, it's a bit like keeping a gold fish for a pet- relatively low maintenance but you still need to feed it regularly and occasionally it's also healthy to change the water. Most blog die because people don't have enough time/creativity to dedicate to keeping one alive. Or least that's what's tooted around and the statistic does hold true for a good number of deaths. But I don't buy that can be the only reason. Some deaths can be blamed on blog fright as well- the fear of being known.

It's ironic that the very reason you started the blog might be the end of it. True, there are some private blogs whose notes and thoughts accessible to none but the creator. It might be possible you created it for convenience's sake compared to lugging around a diary and a pen. And yes to a million other reasons why you din't create one in the secret hope of anyone who's ever penned anything- that posterity might prove you right if not now and you are/were brilliant. That the world will shuffle through your mundane dreams and hopes and hit pay dirts of wisdom. Well, it worked out rather well for Anne Frank so why not for you, right?  

Whether you admit it or not, you write for the sole reason to give and communicate some permanence to your thoughts. The need to imprint ourselves on others,something more than our share of genes, is hardwired into us. Else, whisper it to the wind. Why else do you stain the pristine white with scratches of black (ink)?! But the permanence has meaning only if they are alive and for words to live they need to be read and shared. 

Though in all fairness, whatever secret megalomania we may harbour deep within ourselves, in reality we bloggers are humbled the moment we start because we realise when we finally write it down it is quite mundane and are quite overwhelmingly grateful when someone likes a post. 

Anyways, where were we? Oh yeah, the need for some permanence though writing. So we write to reach out and pass on bit of ourselves. And a couple of people ( mostly friends and family) read it, comment on it... some even like what you wrote. We get our kick and feel quite validated. It's all hunky dory so far. Then all of a sudden some of us get blog fright. Let me see if I can break it down to what it is.

Those dark stains we leave of ourselves.

The problem starts when we want to write something more personal and intimate. Not because the content or what we want to say is something controversial or anything, It's just something we have never told anyone because we thought it was too trivial or too random and occasionally more happy/dark/philosophical than some people expect out of you.  We hold back because suddenly we are wondering what will all those people think. Actually, no. It's not that we are bothered by what people will think as much as what people will know. Not because people will misunderstand, but precisely because it'll help people understand. 

Most people are scared of being misunderstood but this special breed of sane looking people are even more terrified of being understood. It usually afflicts those of us who are more closed in the real world but tends to be more forthcoming while writing. This usually happens because when we are communicating to the clean white sheet,  we have the perfectly non-committal and perfectly non-judgmental ear to our wisdom/follies. Wish people, even the ones who love and cherish us, could be so non-judgmental.

I know.. So emo kid! :-P

Keeping aside my wish for an unblemished humanity, the unflinching honesty with which we write doesn't always make for happy writing and sometimes, for an unhappy reading. What do you do in these situations? This is usually the start for blog fright. The more practical lot will choose to edit it and draw up the post with the acceptable lines of ourselves and spend the rest of the time rationalizing the lack of honesty as perhaps poetic license(?). The more unreasonable lot will be torn between facing the consequences of honesty ( and the corresponding acceptance or un-acceptance) and letting the post dwell in that dusty place called 'Drafts' rather than be faced with the terrifying possibility of being understood. 

I guess the main fear of being understood is perhaps we fear being predictable. If all our motivations are understood then what mystery will be left? Or maybe because we are not sure where the line is between the mundane and the monstrous. And finding out where we lie, on which side of the line, is something we really don't want to know because both are equally chilling. What ever your subconscious reason is, once these thoughts creep in, it seems almost impossible to click that 'Publish' button. That's when you realise you have fully manifested a case of 'Blog fright'! And there seems no cure in sight either.

SIGH!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

'After Earth' quote.

I wrote this sometime in the space between last year when I was in the middle of  blog fright. Like most  irrational fears it can be vanquished if faced, or well, as in this case written about. I wish I had written it to completion because looking back, it all seems so funny! And hopefully it helps some other frightened blogger to realise that s/he is not alone! And hopefully this is the last time I get a bout of the fright!

Take care,
Phil and his muse! :)

Book review: The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

I found my way to the book thief purely by chance. Well if I'm being perfectly honest it's actually due to a faulty memory. I was browsing for some light reading preferably something on the lines of fantasy. I did my share of Terry Pratchett and Gaiman and was looking for a change of flavor. Racking my brain for a name I have not yet tried, the book thief fell out. Its only after I started did I realise that I was looking for 'The thief lord'. 

And its a mistake I'm rather grateful for. Had I actually remembered the Funke series correctly who knows how long it would have taken me to find my way to the book thief.

And being completely unprepared, the book managed to take away even more of my breathe than if I chose it knowingly. On so many levels. Just thinking back on the book makes my heart ache again. And after I finished the book I could not bring my self to believe this is a work of fiction. Though set in the dreary and grey background of the 2nd world war, the characters shine through with the kind of light that is reminiscent of Anne Frank; imperfect yet captivating to say the least.

Because there are so many aspects to explore the book from, I don't know where to start. To start with, the book felt intensely personal. Maybe because it mixed children and books and quiet rebels, my favorite kind of mix in a novel ( of course it comes as no surprise that my favorite book should be 'To kill the mockingbird', with roughly the same mix). But honestly, it transcended for me the space of a book telling an extraordinary tale and rather felt more like I was reading like a lost diary of mine, of life I had perhaps lost. That is not to imply that I write half as wonderfully as Mr. Zusak but that I could identify with the emotions like it was my own. This even when you know the narrator is Death himself. 

For such a morbid sounding narrator the book is full of color and light. How easily we paint death with shades of black. Maybe because the finality of death seems so harsh and unyielding to us, the living. Like a rock. So we imagine Death to have the same unyielding, hard character. But this book reminds us how we can be so wrong. That death can be tender, comforting and beautiful. And that Death can be understanding. I love the way Zusak gently guides us to different perspectives which breaks away from the hard and unconscious  prejudices we have formed. 

Its one of the hardest things to write from a child's point of view because they can be such contractions. At once unconditional and unforgiving in love. And for all their innocence and nativity they can be intuitive in a way no adult can be. They are fierce in their wants and yet pliable their demands. And we always tend to believe children to be so easily swayed by adult idiosyncrasies, that they grow up pumped up with ideas of their environs, like rudderless boats in a swift stream, helpless about the direction of their lives. Markus Zusak politely and firmly points us our follies by creating characters which sparkle with all that is human like Liesel and Rudy in an atmosphere which was tense with inexplicable hate, a demonstration of considerable skill since he also keeps them true with the kind of pettiness and pride only children can have. 

And the magic of a book. Of it's ability to warp or transform if you only let it. Of all the aspects of the story that is told, it's that unabashed and wild love of books which spoke to me. Every time Liesel stole a book from the mayor's wife, taking one at a time, I was, weirdly enough, proud of her. 

I was lucky enough to have been born into a household with loads of books and of love of reading. If I have to choose to reduce myself to one word, the word I would pick would be 'reader'. And maybe this is why I feel like this could have been a lost life of mine. Like Liesel, with life and odds disproportionately in favor of not reading anything leave alone anything worthwhile, I might have still found a way to books simply because it's encoded in my DNA. Or so I like to believe. Who is say who and how I would have turned out to be without books in my life. 

Every time I speak of Liesel I realise I end up talking more of myself than of her. But that is how the experience of reading her was. Usually when writing a review I try to separate the emotional experience of reading the book and try being more objective( I don't believe anyone can truly divorce the two). But this time I don't want to because it is a rare and wonderful experience to be immersed so completely within the character and the story. I don't even want to try to dilute it by looking at it rationally least I lose the feeling. 

And I'm also well aware that this feeling might be skewing this review by speaking only of Liesel and having thus far made no mention of Hans and Rosa Hubermann and of Max.

 As much as I love Liesel, she's not by far the favorite character in the book. The whole book lights up because of all the delicately etched characters. When we realise how stubborn the gentle Hans is (FYI, he's my favorite, the unsung hero ) and how soft the iron fisted Rosa is. And I can't start on Rudy without tearing up. Hell, Death himself gets all cut up about this specimen of boyhood so you can hardly blame me.

If you ask me, this whole book is a testimony to humanity. Both the best and worst of it. The dark history is the large background against which Zusak's people shine. That within grime and grit, it is still possible to love and find beauty. So do yourself a favor and pick up the book. You won't regret it! :)

Another year already?!

I cant believe the last time I wrote here was almost a year ago. Not because I dint have ideas or thing to write about. Technology, for better or worse, gave me more mediums to express. Shorter, easier mediums. And I took the bait. But I did miss the deep retrospection that comes with writing a longer piece. Writing for me was always about unlocking doors within myself. Even if I'm talking about toilets, it made me delve a little more in a moment I had dismissed in the bustle of life to glean another insight. No, this post is not on the insights I glean on the toilet (though trust me, they are quite interesting too!).

This is on the incredible journey that has been 2013. And my hopes for 2014.

Mumbai and it's hidden corners:
 http://bit.ly/1a0nMlG

2013.. what a bag of the 'good, bad and ugly'. A year of living in a new city. One that makes me squeal in delight just when I'm fed up with it's cramped spaces and crowded places and ready to go back home. A year of missing friends and family and realising how genuinely blessed I had been all this while to have such mad yet beautiful people in my life. A year of adding more people to the family and it's been all the more merrier coz of it.

A year of working in an office.. something I had been dreading.. and enjoying it like crazy. Crazy, talented people who makes coming to office easier and fun are not always a given and I've been incredibly lucky.

And a fantabulous wedding. After all the crazy things that was stressing everyone out (we still have not concluded the blue vs red argument :-P ), I did not expect to enjoy it so much. It was not without it's controversies I guess.. just the way I like it ;) All in all, I'm happy to spout the cliche and mean it - It was the happiest day of my life!
And a South Africa trip which has set the bar so high I'm afraid to go on another trip for the fear of being disappointed. People and places so beautiful that it truly pales everything you have seen in magazines and other photo-shopped articles.

The street play team!

And there were smaller moments which brought in a sense of pride and the realisation that an act no matter how small if bright is enough to light up some purpose into your life. That way I'm thankful to Alex for taking the initiative, and to Akanksha for letting us be a part of Come Alive 2013. It was a 15 min impromptu street play with strangers yet it remains as one of the highlights of the year for me. Something I have to keep reminding myself, " An act no matter how small..."

Thankfully, my personal life has been mostly good and wee bit of the bad (Mostly self made drama, but hey, a girl's gotta have a little drama!). But it has been a truly ugly year to be an Indian. People and events which have shaken up the very psyche of the nation. And I like to think (or rather hope) a twinge of our conscience as well. I'm just really scared that with the new year we'll forget everything 2013 was and repeat ourselves. Honestly, I don't want any more candle lit marches. The year past is worth examining for the fact that things went so grotesquely wrong and we should all look into ourselves for setting it right. It's not easy. Nothing worth having ever is.

And though it pained me and I wanted to write, I never did. Because I thought, "It'll be yet another blog, read and forgotten". It all seemed so purposeless, harnessing all that anger and helplessness on to paper. Then I read this quote by Anne Lamott and it made sense.

Image courtesy: Artemis Wilde Illustration

It truly did. I dont have to change the world; I can just help in the tiniest way possible to feel not alone. It gave me a reason to get back to the blank page, to dirty the pristine white with the black ink of my thoughts. Anyways, why am I tell you this? Well, that's just my way of warning you that you could be subjected to a lot more of this blog business this year from my side.

Anyways,I don't believe in new year resolutions. But there seems to be a lot of positive energy around in the world right now (all that hope still bright I guess) and seems like a good idea to harness that. So here's wishing all of you a passionate and meaningful year ahead. Here's to new experiences, good bad and ugly, and growing from them! And making a change, no matter how small and seemingly invisible. Cheers all!

Love,

Me and my muse!

Review: Anita Nair's Mistress

Anita Nair's 'Good Night and God Bless' is one of my favorites when it comes to nighttime reads, just before sleep, or one of those books you just dip into when you just have a few minutes to wait. Rather like the chocolate mint on your pillow in the nicer hotels, a nice refreshing taste before a good night's rest. But her 'The Better man' left me very disappointed. The main character put me to sleep and the rest of the cast was not very well etched. The main feeling I remember when I finished the book was relief! So I was a little sceptical about picking up something on the novel side again, but the fact that she did write 'Good Night and..' seemed good enough reason to give her another chance.

To begin with, Mistress has come a long way from The Better Man. She's paced herself well in Mistress, Anita Nair. I loved her take of the 3 different perspectives for the situations.. kinda like a emotional kaleidoscope.Same mirrors and the same bangle bits, but one turn and you have another unique pattern entirely different from the one before. And she's added just enough kathakali techniques to remind you very vaguely of Marquez's 100 years. I think she's added that right amount of magic surrealism which is what actually raises the book above the otherwise cliched storyline ( boy-girl-bad marriage-she cheats) without seeming over ambitious. 

Also loved the exploration of the 9 emotions of dance. I think those short introductions for the navarasas were her chance to indulge in her lyrical best. And for someone from Kerala,it surprises and delights you the familiar landscape being imbibed with a new emotions. Like the quiet fury of the woodpecker or the derision of the December winds.

The only thing I would complain about, though it's not a critic, is the fact that I could not place what the author wanted from the characters. Are we supposed to empathise with Radha, who in my perspective turns from estranged and misunderstood wife to an intellectual snob and pardon my french, selfish bitch; or are we supposed to resent Shyam,the cuckold husband, with his typical overbearing malayali chauvinistic trappings which turn out to be a sheild to protect the surprisingly more sensitive and fragile emotional ecosystem he had grown up and lives in? Or as in some cases,has the author given us the freedom to choose the perspective which suits us the best?! Nor are we clear about the 'Sahiv' Chris's motivations and intentions for starting the affair. And after all the build up, the relationship between the Uncle ( who btw provides the 3rd perspective of the book) and his father remain unexplored. But then again I'm not sure if that's another kathakali technique which I might have not understood.

But in Nair's defence, the lack of clarity is not because of her language or writing( which is crisp yet 

Anita Nair : A lovely voice from God's own Country!

retains a certain flow and grace) but is because the characters themselves are for the most parts confused souls and is never really sure of their feelings and to end their confusion picks up the most dominant emotions and decide, 'this is it, this is what I feel', which I feel is how predominantly how the world works unconsciously, whether it admits it or not! That confusion and corresponding joy or panic of the decision is what made the otherwise bland characters seem so alive to me.

All in all, it was a book I enjoyed a lot. To take something that is so familiar (and we all know what feeling that usually breeds)and imbibe new emotions and colors and life is a unique talent. She also reminds you that there might be no such things as true feelings only differing perspectives. I think it's well worth a read to enjoy that realisation.

Musings on 'The Opposite of Fate'

Reading Amy Tan's The opposite of Fate. So far, Love it.*

I have read the Joy Luck Club but fortunately or unfortunately I saw the movie and as it happens often with the order of movie-then-book, the celluloid imagery blocked a large portion of my own visuals/imagination from being created. So there was not much to compare. I remember that the movie was well made and the book, well written. So in a way, this is my first taste of Tan in writing.

This is drastically different from her fiction, because the voice and the context is quite clearly American[ and she keeps insisting that she's an American writer and not a Chinese American one] and there are few situations which are not doled out with heaps of humour, irrespective of when she's talking about. I love the fact that bits and pieces of what she's written seems to have been taken out from her dairy. The tone is almost conspiratorial, like she's sharing moments or disclosing secrets with a close friend, you the reader.

And I love what she writes about. About being a cynical ghost believer to a rock band member. And the trials and tribulations of being the American daughter of a Chinese Mother. While custom wise, China and India are poles apart, cultural reasoning [ by that I mean the reasons behind a particular custom/cultural icon etc] is quite similar. And for that reason I'm able to identify with her, because I've heard my own versions of ills befalling a disobedient girl from my mother/grandmother.

But what I like best about the book is that she openly admits that she writes for herself. Least reading the essays, I had a feeling that she's someone who writes for herself and even if her first book had not got publlished or worse, not got read, she would still have written the rest.

When I write, I write for me more than anything else in the world. Communicating what I have to say is only part of the story, it's far more important that I have a clear idea of my thoughts and emotions, and writing helps me to do just that. I have to give it form and structure, a flow and all of it makes it so much more tangible which in turn helps to clarify who,what,where I am.

Whenever I have told this to someone, they exude displeasure which conveys what I'm doing is selfish and that's not how it's supposed to be. I've always been of the opinion only of you write for yourself will you be most dispassionate and give the most honest opinion you have. Else we'd be trying to adjust or compromise our opinion to fit in some way to the other person. Somehow that she writes for herself first and everyone else second gave me a sense of validation. Maybe validation is the wrong word.. I think it's more of ..ummm.. finding a kindred spirit. That's a unique feeling when you find someone ; a touch of relief mingled with joy, perhaps not just in knowing that you are not the only one, but because in it's own way it's you finding the common thread, a wisp, that runs though the soul of the universe as well. Least that how I feel when I come across someone who knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Anyways, That's about the sum of things on Tan.
Take care


*Finished it too. Still Fabulous! :-D