Antoine De Saint-Exupery - The Little Prince

Believe it or not, this is the first time I've read this book, and for the life of me, I don't know why! Personally, I think it should be mandatory for every child to read it, just because it is so wonderfully beautiful and innocent. However, reading it as an adult makes me realize how we focus on the unimportant things, that we neglect some of the simpler barer necessities.

Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: "What does his voice sound like?" "What games does he like best?" "Does he collect butterflies?". They ask: "How old is he?" "How many brothers does he have?" "How much does he weigh?" "How much money does his father make?" Only then do they think they know him.

The story is about a pilot, Exupery, who is stranded in the Sahara, where he meets The Little Prince - an 'alien', who has come to earth from a small planet, Asteroid B612. On his planet, he had three volcanoes (two active, one inactive) that reached his knees, a beautiful (albeit demanding) flower, and a baobab problem, i.e. if baobabs weren't weeded out at a very early age they wreaked havoc.

The Little Prince shares his experiences with the pilot, about the other planets he visited en route to earth: one where the sole inhabitant was a monarch who had no one to rule over, and another where a drunkard was drinking his life away, to forget. There was a planet where there was a businessman who counted stars, and another where there was a conceited man. Each character he met reflected some idiosyncrasy or the other of humans, and it's this thought that stuck with me: when did we renounce the simple pleasures (beautiful flowers - that come with their own baggage, spring rain, sparkling stars, the sunset)? When did we stop asking the thought-provoking innocent questions, that escaped our mouths without a second thought? When did we stop nagging 'adults' 'til we got an answer, even if the answer was just to shut us up?

This is a funny, well-written book, which just makes you reflect on life, and how it's passed you by. It's a book about friendship, about romance, and to top it off, it has wonderful illustrations. I challenge anyone to read this book, and not have the last illustration stick in their minds for a long long time.

Rating : 5

Jeffrey Eugenides - The Virgin Suicides

Once upon a time (in the 1970s), there were five sisters: Cecilia, Therese, Mary, Lux and Bonnie - the Lisbon girls. But Cecilia, the youngest, killed herself. And then, by the end of that one year, there were none.

The Virgin Suicides, written by a collective 'we' (as opposed to 'I', or in third person), traces the events that occurred from the first attempted suicide, to the last, from the eyes of young boys (school mates and neighbors of the Lisbon girls) who are now middle-aged, and still reflecting on the life and times of the enchanting, mesmerizing teenage girls, short, round-buttocked in denim, with roundish cheeks.

The reader takes a trip with them down memory lane in the 1970s elm-streeted America, as they present various 'exhibits'  (a polaroid of their house, canvas high-tops, a brassiere), interview people who knew the Lisbon girls (including their parents), and remember the only time the girls went to a dance, or, the 'party' in the basement of their house, which was followed by the first successful suicide. There were unsigned notes exchanged, a telephone conversation which had the boys and the Lisbon girls playing music back and forth to one another, and of course, the strong presence of the mother's strong Catholic roots, which prompted her to admonish the girls for make-up, bleaching, wearing halter-tops etc.

While this book touches on a very depressing subject, the casual and conversational nature of the book, coupled with the 'legacy' the Lisbon girls left behind hardly makes the reader reach for a pack of tissues.

They (the Lisbon girls) became too powerful to live among us, to self-concerned, too visionary, too blind. What lingered after them was not life, which always overcomes natural death, but the most trivial list of mundane facts: a clock ticking on a wall, a room dim at noon, and the outrageousness of a human being thinking only of herself. [...] They made us participate in their own madness, because we couldn't help but re-trace their steps, re-think their thoughts, and see that none of them led to us.

There's something creepy, almost stalker-like, about these boys, who used to gaze at the Lisbon house, in search for any indication of the Lisbon sisters, and what they were doing - be it looking through their window panes, or keeping an eye on their father, as he would mirror their well-being (this is after the girls rarely, if ever, left home). An element of unrequited love, the curiosity of adolescence and the enigma that surrounded the five sisters, who most people couldn't differentiate by name - the book in a nutshell!

The one thing that baffles me is, there was never any reason given for the first suicide. While the narrators were contemplating on that as well, no conclusive answer was reached, despite them having perused Cecilia's journal. What prompts a thirteen year old to first slit her wrists, and when that doesn't kill her, jump and impale herself on a fence, while a party is going on in the basement?

This is a fantastic debut novel, but, it also leaves a lot to be desired. For one, suicide can't be trivialized, and specially not the suicide of five teenage sisters, which ends up tearing the family apart - or, what's left of it anyway! I also found the characters intriguing, but I couldn't relate to them in any way, shape or form: be it Cecilia, always wanting to wear a wedding dress, or Lux, who has innumerable sexual encounters on the roof of her own house - her parents wouldn't be able to see her. The rest of the neighborhood would!

However, after reading this, I am looking forward to reading Middlesex, as I really enjoyed the style of writing.

Rating: 3

J.M. Coetzee - Disgrace {Weekly Geeks Q&A}

This is the final post on the Weekly Geeks Q&A from 13th June. It's taken me about a month to 'catch up', and I will still have a trilogy to go. As I'm planning on re-reading His Dark Materials in August, I'll hold off until then. Yes, I tend to procrastinate ever so often.

I read Disgrace last year, and really enjoyed it, mostly because the story starts off on one note, but just spins off, and the sequence of events that follow seem very surreal.

On with the questions... Well, umm, question (singular) in this case.

From gautami tripathy:

Disgrace: what is it about? Do you recommend Coetzee to your readers? Is it your first by that author?

'Disgrace' is about a professor, David Lurie, at the Technical University in Cape Town. He has an affair with a student, and her parents lodge a complaint with the University. At a formal inquiry, he admits to sleeping with the student, but refuses to seek clemency or admit that he was wrong. Instead, he resigns to his daughter's farm in rural South Africa, as he waits for the whole thing in Cape Town to blow over.

This, according to me, is where the story starts: about Lurie's relationship with Lucy (his daughter), and their life on the farm. It touches upon them being victimized by racial attacks, where Lucy is raped and Lurie burnt, and its aftermath, which leads to Lurie's perspective on life and women changing.

I recommend Coetzee to anyone who listens to me! I loved this book, and its straightforward simple writing, that touches on many thought-provoking and difficult subjects: racism, rape, redemption, reality. It doesn't offer a quick-fix to the disgrace of apartheid, but, it does end on a note of hope...

Nope. I read Diary of a Bad Year before I picked this one up. I was completely enthralled by that book, due to its quirky writing style. It might be one of the most 'intelligent' books I've read in the recent past, and hence, when I saw Disgrace, I had to pick it up.

I have both, Youth and The Life and Times of Michael K on my TBR. The latter is supposed to be Coetzee's best book 'til date, so I'm really looking forward to that.

Margaret Atwood - The Handmaid's Tale {Weekly Geeks Q&A}

I'm still playing catch-up on 13th June's Weekly Geeks. I know, I know, it's been about a month, and that's ample time to catch up! However, after this, I'll just have two more to do: Disgrace, and His Dark Materials. Am planning to re-read the latter this month, so might end up doing that one after!

Anyway, on with it...

From gautami tripathy:

The Handmaid’s Tale is one of the best books I have read. What did you think of it? Do you think it is possible? Can you see a future like that? Did it scare you?

I thought it was fantastic. It's well-written, a page-turner, and depicts a heavily dystopian futuristic society, which scared the living daylights out of me!

However, when you ask if I find it possible or not, I have to say, I don't. Maybe, it's only me, but I find the dystopias presented in 1984, Brave New World, and Fahrenheit 451 much more realistic than this. I know people have found this book scarily possible, but, in my opinion, the human race has progressed way too much, to let women be reduced to nothing but maids and handmaids ("Handmaids" are women who have only one purpose: conceive a child for the family that looks after her). With each generation, women are becoming more powerful, and more career-oriented, at the expense of not having families, and settling down. The world is becoming smaller, and the cries of democracy are louder than ever. I just can't see the government of the United States being overthrown, and replaced by this totalitarian nightmare. That said, I can see this happening in some extremist countries, where women are not allowed to drive, vote, or leave their house without a man.

I am not American, but, with today being 4th of July, one has to ask the question: can the 'leaders of the free world' ever be the polar opposite?

The book scares me. I think Offred, the protagonist, said something along the lines of many handmaids tend to commit suicide, instead of living life as they do - under constant pressure and no guarantees. To be honest, if I was ever unlucky to exist in a society like that, I'd probably just kill myself. Luckily, I don't think something this horrible will happen in my lifetime. For that, I'm grateful.

From Maree:

I loved The Handmaid’s Tale – did you find it scarily possible?

I didn't. I just can't see a society like that coming into existence. Maybe I'm in denial. Maybe I'm an optimist. But... I just don't see it!

From Kristen:

I have a slight fear of reading Margaret Atwood again – she’s so revered in Canada that it’s intimidating. Talk me into why I should read the Handmaid’s Tale :o)

Jeez, I'm not very convincing. :( I'll try though...

Atwood is probably revered in Canada for a reason: she's that good! That should be reason enough to read the book. What makes this book really special, is, realizing how lucky we are, as things stand. Feminism is rampant right now, and women are allowed to make their own decisions, with respect to what to wear, and when to settle down and have kids. Their choice isn't restricted to being a 'martha' (a maid), or a handmaid. Can you imagine having to flip a coin between those two options, and nothing else?

It's well-written, it's a page-turner, and Atwood's made the story as real as possible: from Offred being your regular American woman, to feeling semi-conscious seeing Japanese tourists in shorts (revealing their legs). Can people be conditioned that easily? Or, in a society where there are no choices, people just accept things the way they are to make their life that much easier? It raises some provocative questions, which you probably don't want to think about, and which will haunt you for a long long time.

Did I do a good job of talking you into it?

From Rebecca:

The Handmaid’s Tale haunted me for weeks after I read it. I loved it and don’t think I’ll ever forget it, but I know that not everyone feels that way. What was your reaction to it? Did you find it believable and frightening or too futuristic and extreme? How would you describe it in 1 or 2 sentences to someone who’s never heard of it before?

As already mentioned above, it scared me. A lot. More than I want to admit. I can't imagine ever living in a society like that, and frankly speaking, death might be more viable. But... I also thought it was out and out fiction, and too extremist to be 'real'.

Two sentence summary:

The United States has been replaced by the Republic of Gilead, a futuristic society, where women are reduced to being 'reproductive' machines for unknown men, and then give up the child to the wife of these men. Everyone knows what their purpose is... and ironically enough, most other women envy the 'handmaids' for the alternative is being a maid, and not being treated with dignity or respect.

From Jodie:

Why do you think so many dystopian novels set in the future find women subjugated once again? What did you think of the rich women’s complicity in the other women’s fate in The Handmaid’s Tale?

I don't know. Will we do the full 360, and go back to the beginning, where women are subjugated for their role in the 'Original Sin' again? Is there another episode that will replace the 'Original Sin'? Or, will some radical extremist group take over the world, and ensure that some of their customs regarding women will take precedence over what the Western world knows today.

Well, that's a tough one. I think it depends on the rich woman - they are dependent on the handmaid for one thing, and one thing only. While some of the rich women are likely to be grateful to their handmaid for providing them with a child - something they can now 'buy', they are not obliged to be so. Simultaneously, some women will hold the handmaids in contempt, for it cannot be easy for them to see their husband indulging in sexual activities with another woman, out of 'protocol'. Probably this coupled with their own sense of incompletion leads to the untoward fate of handmaids. Of course, if and when the handmaids are having an actual relationship with the husband, without the wife's knowledge, and she finds out, the fate is much worse....

J.D. Salinger - Catcher In The Rye {Weekly Geeks Q&A}

So, I'm taking ages with the Weekly Geeks' Catching Up, and for that I apologize. The third book I'm going to tackle is also one of my favorites, and I've been reading it every year for god alone knows how long. I also have three copies of this book - one which stays at work, in case I need a break; one that sits on my bookshelf, always ready to be read; and one that's just there in case I lend one of the other copies out.  As you can imagine, I'm quite excited to do this one! Thought of saving the best for last, but... Nah!

On with the questions...

From Jacqueline C:

I love Catcher In the Rye but some people think that it’s very overrated. How do you feel about it?

By my above introduction, I think it's safe to assume I don't think it's overrated at all. Holden Caulfield might be one of the most intriguing characters in literature, and to this date, I think he would be the one fictional character I'd love to have a conversation with. I'm not sure why people find it overrated, to be honest. Is it because they find Caulfield's character annoying? Or, is it because they think the story itself isn't special? Any idea?

From Louise:

Do you think Catcher in the Rye should STILL be on a bannned books list, even though it was probably provocative when it first came it, surely, it shouldn’t be in 2009?

Not really, no. I can see why it was banned, back in the day, with the explicit language, the occasional violence, and sexual content, and of course, the way Caulfield challenges everything society stands for. However, with the influences of television and the internet now days, I think the book is more relevant than ever, because it's basic theme isn't negative. Conversely, it explores the loss of innocence, and how Caulfield wants to save children from the 'phoniness' of adulthood, which is likely to be the end of their innocence. With the internet and TV now-a-days, it's depressing to see how quickly children are growing up, and how, their childhood isn't really one of innocence. I see nine year olds swearing, I see teenagers speaking disrespectfully to their parents, and I see everyone conforming to the same thing... and the one child that tries not to, automatically becomes the butt of all jokes. And I sympathize with that kid. If someone is going to read this book, they will not be more corrupted, or they will not be worse of. Not according to me, anyway.

From Eva:

How does Catcher in the Rye compare to Salinger’s short stories? I love those, but I’m worried that at 23 I’m too old for Catcher…would I just be rolling my eyes?

In my opinion, for what that's worth, Catcher is timeless. I've not read Salinger's short stories, so I can't really compare the two, but... I'm 24, and I absolutely love the book. The thing is, you'll either love the protagonist or hate him. He's a hypocritical phony teenager, battling the world around him, thinking he's surrounded by conformists. To be fair, he does make some very valid points about society. However, towards the end of the book, there's this one scene where he's talking to his sister, and that just did it for me. It was that one scene that makes the book as amazing as it is, and the one scene that shows you where poor Caulfield is coming from. I'd recommend at least giving it a shot - I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Alice Walker - The Color Purple {Weekly Geeks Q&A}

Last week's Weekly Geeks encouraged us to ask the blog readers to ask questions about books we're reading/books we've read, and not yet completed. I'm running extremely late, but, I am finally getting down to doing this. I was asked the below questions:
From Becky:

The Color Purple. Did you enjoy it? Would you recommend it? Is it easy to read or more intimidating? Have you seen the movie? If you have, which did you prefer the book or the movie? Did you have a favorite character? How about a favorite quote? Will you be seeking out any other Alice Walker books?

Yes, I did enjoy the book, and I think it's definitely worth a read. It provides the reader with an insight into life in the South in those times: oppressed women, abusive men, judgmental society. The story is told through the eyes of Celie, a girl of 14 (when the book begins), who has suffered a fair bit; being raped by the man she calls 'father', being forced to marry a man significantly older than herself who is in love with a famous blues singer (Shug Avery), and being separated from her sister, Nettie. It's the exploration of these subjects that make the book a little difficult to read, as you can't help but feel your heart go out to poor Celie, who writes her story to 'God', as she has been told never to tell about her abuse to another person.

My favorite character, trite as it may sound, was Shug: a blues singer, who's condemned by society, for her lavish ways; a strumpet in short skirts, smoking cigarettes, drinking gin. Singing for money, and taking other women mens. Talk about slut, hussy, heifer, streetcleaner. However, Shug doesn't let all this bog her down, but instead, aspires to enjoy life, unlike most of the other women of the time. She's also compassionate, friendly, and becomes a savior of sorts to Celie.

As for a favorite quote... while there are a couple which highlight Shug's attitude, I think this one will give you an insight into Celie's head, as she writes her story:

Dear God,

He act like he can't stand me no more. Say I'm evil an always up to no good. He took my other little baby, a boy this time. But I don't think he kilt it. I think he sold it to a man an his wife over Monticello. I got breasts full of milk running down myself. He say Why don't you look decent? Put on something. But what I'm sposed to put on? I don't have nothing.

I keep hoping he fine somebody to marry. I see him looking at my little sister. She scared. But I say I'll take care of you. With God help.

Unfortunately, I haven't seen the movie - in fact, I didn't even know there was a movie, so...

Regarding seeking out more of Alice Walker - yes, I probably will. Her other books seem to have good reviews as well, but I guess I just haven't gotten around to doing so yet!

From Louise:

I tried reading The Color Purple a few months ago, but could not find head nor tail in it. I only read a couple of pages. Should I have kept it and continued (as in “it will all become clear a few more pages into the book)?

I think so. It's one of those books, where the narrative just drifts into the story, and then, you easily get yourself lost into it, sympathizing with Celie, and hoping she finds happiness eventually.

From Dreamybee:

I have same questions about The Color Purple as some of the other commenters. I’ve only ever seen the movie but I thought it was great, and it’s a movie that stands up over time. It was just as good a couple years ago as it was when it came out in 1985. Have you seen the movie and how does it compare to the book? If not, does the book stand up over time?

I haven't seen the movie, so, I can't really comment on the movie-book comparison. The book does stand up over time. It's a 'historical' book, in a manner of speaking - talking about a time, place and society which has existed in the 'past'. As one of the comments on the back says:

The Color Purple is a work to stand beside literature for any time and any place. It needs no category other than the fact that it's superb. {Rita Mae Brown}

From Eva:

Did you find The Color Purple difficult to read? I’m not super-good with books written in dialect, so I’m a little afraid of it. But I enjoyed Their Eyes Were Watching God earlier this year; if you’ve read that one, how do they compare?

Haven't read Their Eyes Were Watching God, so can't really comment. However, I do think the 'dialect' is what made this book more 'real' than anything else. It can get occasionally awkward to read, and you may have to re-read a line or two over again, to ensure you haven't misinterpreted anything. By your comment, you recommend Their Eyes Were Watching, so I'll definitely try and check it out.

From Jodie:

Which characters did you like the most in The Colour Purple? How did you feel about Mr by the end of the book?

I've answered the first part above, in detail.

As for Mr. -, it's a tough question. I hated him for most of the book, simply because he came across as a selfish chauvinistic sadistic abusive man, and I couldn't possibly have a lower opinion of people like that! I guess, putting it in context, many men at that time (and place) were similar, although I wouldn't say that makes it alright. However, I think, by the end of the book, he did try and redeem himself, which helps some... just not enough. Again, I find it very difficult to forgive such things, so... it might just be me!

So, my questions:

Is there any character you held in utmost contempt? and, What do you think the most defining quality of Shug was? And, the stereotype: did you enjoy the book?

Salman Rushdie - Midnight's Children

The winner of the Booker Prize in 1981, the Booker of Bookers in 1993, and the Best of the Booker in 2008, this book is much-acclaimed and highly recommended. The New York Times claims:

The literary map of India has to be redrawn... Midnight's Children sounds like a continent finding its voice.

And, I can't even refute that for argument's sake, because this epic novel explores the history of Indian independence, of the Indo-China war, the Emergency, blackouts, the Partition, the emergence of Bangladesh, and essentially, it's a history of the Indian sub-continent from the time of its birth. But, what makes this novel truly historical is its protagonist: Saleem Sinai, born exactly at the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world slept and, India awoke to life and freedom, and the other 'midnight children' - children born between midnight and 1 am on the day of India's independence. One thousand and one of them. These children are all special, gifted. While one can travel through time, another can travel via any reflective surface. There's a witch, and there's a girl so beautiful that her beauty blinds anyone who sees her face. Someone else can changes sexes at will. But, of course, the most potent of gifts comes to Saleem, born exactly at midnight - the gift of telepathy, as well as, being able to 'conference' in all the midnight's children, and allowing them to communicate through him. And his nemesis, Shiva, who ironically enough, is born in the same hospital at exactly the same time. While Saleem was the offspring of a Hindu street-singer, Shiva was born into a affluent Kashmiri family. However, typically, a nurse made the switch, thereby changing the destiny of the two most potent Midnight Children, who would be mortal enemies until the end. While Saleem's birth was celebrated, with a letter from the then Prime Minister, saying his life would always be entwined with his country's, Shiva's birth was not celebrated nation-wide!

So, who were the Midnight's Children? What did they signify?

Reality can have metaphorical content; that does not make it less real. A thousand and one children were born; there were a thousand and one possibilities which had never been present in one place at one time before; and there were a thousand and one dead ends. Midnight's children can be made to represent many things, according to your point of view; they can be seen as the last throw of everything antiquated and retrogressive in our myth-ridden nation, whose defeat was entirely desirable in the context of a modernizing, twentieth-century economy; or as the true hope of freedom, which is now forever extinguished; but what they must not become is the bizarre creation of a rambling diseased mind. No: Illness is neither here nor there.

However, this book does not trace the life of all one thousand and one children, or the five hundred and eighty one that survived. In fact it focuses solely on Saleem, the narrator, and the thirty-one years of his life. And the life of his parents and grandparents. An astrologer predicted Saleem's fortunes (or, shall we say misfortunes, for he was both, the master and the victim of his time) before his birth:

A son... such a son! A son, who will never be older than his motherland - neither older nor younger. ... There will be two heads - but you shall only see one - there will be knees and a nose, a nose and knees. Newspaper praises him, two mothers raise him! Bicyclists love him - but crowds will shove him. Sisters will weep; cobra will creep... Washing will hide him - voices will guide him! Friends mutilate him - blood will betray him! Spittoons will brain him - doctors will drain him - jungle will claim him - wizards reclaim him! Soldiers will try him, tyrants will fry him... He will have sons without having sons. He will be old before he is old! And he will die before he is dead!

Sounds complicated, right? The above pretty much sums up the story. If you think it's confusing, it's because it is. A tryst with destiny, a dance with fate and he seems singly responsible for a multitude of historical events in India, post-independence: be it the emergence of Gujarat and Maharashtra, or the Indo-Pak wars, the politics, or even the Emergency period!

You would think that the Midnight's Children would unite, to do some good, to do their nation proud. But, India at the time, seemed to be in a chaotic state of class differences, where people of the various castes did not interact with one another. And, there was a bigger problem: Saleem was their only mode of communication, and once he discovered how he and Shive had swapped destinies, he was reluctant to open the Midnight's Children network again, lest his arch-enemy discovered how his affluent birth had been denied. So, the children lived in denial, hiding their gifts, not interacting with one another, and thereby letting the nation succumb to an apparent greater evil, which would be the end of the Children.

Yes, it's a complex plot, and it's a difficult read. Rushdie's writing is convoluted, and he has literally created his own language and grammar rules. From not using commas, to using words like 'nearlynine' and 'almosteight'. Towards the latter half of the book, there are chunks where in the same paragraph, he refers to himself in both, first and third, person, making the book more difficult to read than it should be. But then again, with my past experiences with Rushdie, this isn't altogether surprising.

The book's interesting, gripping, and colorful. It shows you a historical India, tainted with its new-found independence, and corruption. It gives you an insight into the culture of the country, and the lifestyle. The fascination with Europeans and Americans, and the emphasis on 'black' being unattractive.

However, what I really loved about the book was the role of Padma - a role so effortlessly and artistically worked in, that it actually helped me through the first couple of hundred pages. So, who is she? Padma is physically present as Saleem is writing his story. Through the book, we are allowed a glimpse into the psyche and emotions of Saleem, as he narrates his story, battling his past, and simultaneously attempting to adhere to the truth as much as possible. However, Saleem is prone to digressing, and often, initially, I found that I wasn't quite sure where the book was going. And, that's where Padma steps in: she calls him on it.

But here is Padma at my elbow, bullying me back into the world of linear narrative, the universe of what happened next: 'At this rate,' Padma complains, 'you'll be two hundred years old before you manage to tell about your birth.'

or,

You better get a move on or you'll die before you get yourself born.

Honestly, at the time I was reading this portion, I was hoping the narrator would bring his meanderings to a close, and move on with the story. What's amazing is, this allows both: digressions, and a gentle push back into the story line.

This is an amazing work of literature, and I fully think it deserves to win both, the Booker of Bookers and the Best of the Booker. Volume, story, historical value and literary significance - all in abundance.

Overall rating: 9/10.

Philip Roth - The Plot Against America

This review has been outstanding for about a month and a half, and for that I apologize. I read it back when I was working towards a big deadline, and I just didn't find time to review it back then. But here it is, now...

I stumbled on to this book by chance. One of my colleagues recommended The Man In The High Castle to me, fleetingly, and it sounded quite interesting. However, by the time the day had come to a close, and I got home, I just couldn't remember the name of the book. So, I googled something like 'World War II alternate reality", and guess what I found: Philip Roth's The Plot Against America. I still haven't read The Man In The High Castle, but this, this was fantastic! Is this what they call 'serendipity'? A fortunate mistake? Because, it sure was. Barring the classics that are Gatsby and A Clockwork Orange, this has been my favorite book in 2009. 

The premise of the book is both, credible and simple: what if Lindbergh had won the 1940 Presidential election, instead of Franklin D. Roosevelt? In an interview, Roth says he stumbled upon a sentence in Schlesinger's notes, which stated something along the lines of: Some Republican isolationalists wanted Lindbergh to run for President in 1940. And so, the book was born.

Roth has gone to great lengths to keep all the other events as historically accurate as possible, so much so that the book actually seems like real history. The political characters, the speeches, historical events - they all seem to add up. He even chose Winchell to lead the opposition against Lindbergh, as he hated the latter; calling him pro-Nazi from the moment Lindbergh propagated the cause of America not intervening in events geographically far away from them. I concede that the thought of Winchell ever running a political opposition against the President of the United States is scary, but, then again, you can say the same about Lindbergh becoming President. Nonetheless, one can also see why Lindbergh becoming President was not as incredible as it sounds: an aviation hero (making the first transatlantic flight in the late 1920s), he gained public sympathy when his child was kidnapped and murdered. He said 'Hitler was a great man,' but simultaneously voiced what must have been a very popular opinion: No American should die on foreign soil! So, yes, what if Lindbergh occupied the White House in 1940... 

While some of the historical accuracies makes the book 'real', what makes it magnificent is that Roth chooses to write it in first person, in a direct way, where the narrator is Roth's younger self - all of seven when the book starts. Living with his parents, his older brother and his cousin, Roth's narration is a mixture of childhood pains and adult intelligence.

The book opens with:

Fear presides over these memories, a perpetual fear. Of course no childhood is without its terrors, yet I wonder if I would have been a less frightened boy if Lindbergh hadn't been President, or if I hadn't been the offspring of Jews. 

One of the so-called pains is when one of the neighboring kids tries to befriend him, but Roth only has disdain for him, even after Seldon saves his life. In fact, the greatest tragedy of the book is orchestrated by Roth, inadvertently, and one ends up feeling the greatest sympathy for Seldon's loss. 

While Roth is fighting these childish personal battles, he is also aware of the political environment, that seems to be pulling his family apart, as all its members are dealing with Lindbergh as President in their own world. His cousin runs away from home, to fight the War, and comes home with a prosthetic leg and anger - anger at how things turn out. His brother idolizes Lindbergh, and uses his artistic talents to create amazing portraits of him, which he keeps hidden under his bed. His father is furious with the turn of events - specially, when he takes his family on a holiday to Washington, and their hotel room is rendered unavailable. Bess (his wife) is embarrassed, as he reminds the people around him of the Gettysburg principle : All men are created equal. It's no avail, and they are forced to find another hotel room. They live the dream, Philip's father says, and we live in a nightmare.

As the book progresses, and more anti-Semitism is introduced through programs like 'Just Folks', which encourages Jewish city boys to go and work on a farm for a summer. Philip's older brother, Sandy, is one such member, and he is later requested to encourage other Jewish boys to do the same. Bess' sister, Evelyn, has a boyfriend who is a Rabbi, a Rabbi who propagates Lindbergh's cause, insisting what's happening in Germany is completely different to what's happening in America; i.e. the Jews should enter into a country life, and disappear into it. This adds more friction to the family relationships. 

Can you imagine this? A fascist America? The President of the Free World being anti-Semites? America siding with Germany during the War, and signing non-aggression treaties? I can't, not for the life of me. But Roth, he's managed to a spectacular job of bringing something we can't imagine to life, and making us grateful that for once, the 'what if' didn't quite pan out. 

Overall, a 9 on 10.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - Half Of A Yellow Sun

War destroys all that is left of innocence. It pulls people together, and it drives them apart. People are left asking questions, as they pine for their loved ones, as they try and contemplate the horrors of war, and as they struggle to survive - just so that they can see a better day.

And it is this aspect of war that Adichie focuses on in her much-acclaimed novel, Half of a Yellow Sun. The story, based in the 1960s, revolves around the Nigeria-Biafra war - a historical event that has escaped the chapters of most history texts outside Africa - and the massacre, starvation, illness, and fear it brought in its wake, as the Igbo people battled for their independence, which was short-lived. Biafra (even my spell-check doesn't recognize it!), in 1970, returned to Nigeria, and as the book stated: a million people died, in the process.

The story's main protagonists are the twins: Olanna and Kainene, who are poles apart, both in looks and in attitude; their lovers: the 'revolutioary professor' Odenigbo, and the awkward introverted Richard - an expatriate writer, enchanted by Igbo history. And then of course, there's Ugwu, a poor village boy who has come to serve the professor, as a house-boy.

The twins, at the outset, are estranged and distant, for no reason whatsoever. Olanna is about to move in with Odenigbo, and teach in Nsukka, whereas Kainene is looking to take her father's business to greater heights. However, as things turn out, due to love and betrayal, the twins' rift grows deeper, and Olanna finds herself avoiding Kainene. She does, however, adopt Odenigbo's love-child from a brief one-night affair, and finds herself devoted to Baby's health and happiness.

When war breaks out, and strains some of the relationships, while simultaneously bridging the gap in some, we see the weakness and strength in the characters as never before.

Richard, an Englishman (and Kainene's lover) remains in the warzone, and writes articles for the international media, propagating the cause of the Igbo, instead of returning to his motherland. He is disgusted when some white journalists show up, and ask about the unfortunate death of another Englishman. His sarcastic comment at that point is along the lines of: one white person is equivalent to a thousand Biafrans.

Odenigbo finds comfort in his papers, and his theories, but when war breaks out he resorts to alcohol. Olanna, and Ugwu set up a small formal school, as all the schools around them are closed down, and transformed into refugee camps. Kainene, on the other hand, sets up a refugee camp, and tries to ensure that there are enough protein pills and food for everyone - specially the children.

As the characters are introduced, and their role in the story starts shaping up, I couldn't help but marvel at how Adichie's writing shifts from prosaic to poetic. And that, at times, is disconcerting. For example, in the opening chapter, Ugwu is overwhelmed by the richness of his new environment:

He looked up at the ceiling, so high up, so piercingly white. He closed his eyes and tried to reimagine this spacious room with the alien furniture, but he couldn't. He opened his eyes, overcome by a new wonder, and looked around to make sure it was all real. To think that he would sit on these sofas, polish this slippery-smooth floor, wash these gauzy curtains.

and I think that's a beautiful piece of writing - so vivid, and I can close my eyes, and actually imagine Ugwu's wonder, just by the above line.

But then, later on in the book, after the war had started, the descriptions were enough to make me, as a second-hand observer, feel queasy. The below is a snippet when Olanna was on a train, heading back home to her revolutionary lover, after the war had broken out, and the Igbo people were being found out and massacred.

Olanna looked at the bowl. She saw the little girl's head with the ashy-grey skin and the plaited hair and rolled back eyes and open mouth. She stared at it for a while before she looked away. Somebody screamed.

The woman closed the calabash. 'Do you know,' she said, 'it took me so long to plait this hair. She had such thick hair'.

And then there's the scene Richard witnessed at the airport, on landing from England, where his cousin was getting married.

Richard saw fear etched so deeply on to his face that it collapsed his cheeks and transfigured him into a mask that looked nothing like him. He would not say 'Allahu Akbar' because his accent would give him away. Richard willed him to say the words, anyway, to try; he willed him something, anything, to happen in the stifling silence and as if in answer to his thoughts, the rifle went off and (his) chest blew open, a splattering red mass [...]

My favorite character of the book has to be Kainene, just because she's offbeat, and has no illusions (read delusions) of grandeus about herself. While Olanna was occasionally self-piteous, Odenigbo was a character I couldn't relate to. He was an intellect, but came across as a know-it-all. Ugwu was a character I had grown quite fond of, as I could actually relate to some of his thoughts (hats off to Adichie for creating one of the most 'real' characters I've come across, in a long time), but without giving much away, I will say that there are certain things that make a character somewhat irredeemable. And Richard, well, I admired him for sticking to the Igbo people, as though they were his own, but, his character was probably the blandest of them all, if you know what I mean?

In this story about love, loyalty, betrayal, redemption, and survival, Adichie brings up the painful reality of war; unflinchingly discussing gang-rapes, starvation, children dying, and the horrors of air-strikes, where everyone tries to hide in a bunker. In an ironic statement, we see how everything is held together, precariously, as a girl's belly starts to swell, and her mother wonders is she pregnant or is she dying. (a swollen belly indicates 'kwashiorkar', or protein deficiency).

This is a very well-written profound book, and it really wouldn't surprise me if it became a classic of our times. However, in critique, the couple of things I will say are:

In my opinion, the flow of the book was disrupted by how the first section was based in the early 1960s, the second in the late 60s, the third in the early 60s again, and the final section was based in the late 1970s. I didn't quite understand why that was done, because I'm not at all convinced it enhanced the story in any way.

Second, why on earth was a six year old referred to as Baby throughout the whole book? Fair enough, it worked for Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing, but, in a warzone, even if you're trying to depict the innocence of a child, the name 'Baby' really doesn't do it. Well, it didn't for me!

And also, I found the last paragraph a weak ending to an otherwise great story. I really do not want to give much away at the time, but, it was an ending that left a bit to be desired. In fact, the way it came about was almost rushed.

Overall, a 7.5 on 10.

Patricia Duncker - Hallucinating Foucault

I ordered this book on Amazon, after seeing its name appear on the 1001 Books To Read Before You Die list. Initially, I thought the book was slow-paced, and the lead characters came across as fairly unattractive. There's the unnamed narrator, and The Germanist - a woman who the narrator is attracted to, and within the first couple of pages, she asks him out. Both of them are doing their research projects in Cambridge. While The Germanist is intense and passionate, the narrator comes across as a lot more relaxed and easy-going. He's desperate to please The Germanist, and the story actually begins when he commits to something only to please her.

His research subject is the brilliant albeit eccentric (read schizophrenic) writer, Paul Michel. However, his project focuses on the fiction of the writer, and not the controversial homosexual writer himself. Consequently, he's distant enough from the writer, to not know or care much about the writer and his personal life. The Germanist, on the other hand, is the other extreme. She also knows where Paul Michel has been for the last decade or so - a psychiatric hospital in Paris - and she expects the narrator to go there, and save Michel.

Up to this point, I really didn't enjoy the book. The narrator lacked backbone. On the other hand,  The Germanist was incessantly perceptive, passionate and intense. As the narrator's flatmate said:

You can't like women like that. Liking is too negligible an emotion. Anyway, she she scares me shitless.

However, when the narrator reaches Paris, and hits the library, the story picks up pace, and transforms into a page-turner of sorts. He stumbles on some letters written by Michel to Foucault, and familiarizes himself with the author whose works he had gotten to know so intimately. At this point, the central theme of the book unfolds: exploring the mutual love shared between reader and writer, that is never explicitly mentioned to each other.

The final letter that the narrator reads speaks to him, as he realizes that these letters have never been posted, nor read, by the intended recipient, Michel Foucault:

Sex is a brief gesture, I fling away my body with my money and fear. It is the sharp sensation which fills the empty space before I can go in search of you again. I repent nothing but the frustration of being unable to reach you. You are the glove that I find on the floor, the daily challenge that I take up. You are the reader for whom I write. You have never asked me who I have loved the most. You know already and that is why you never asked. I have always loved you.

Foucault seems to be Michel's muse. Their writings explore similar themes and opinions, both reflecting the other's deeply. Neither of them interacted with each other, but they communicated via their published works. Foucault's death in 1984 probably pushed Michel over the edge, and resulted in his admission to a facility in Paris.

Once the narrator discovers that Paul Michel had left the institution in Paris, and is now in one in Clermont-Ferrand, he heads there to find the author, for reasons he did not understand. The initial meeting between the narrator and Michel ends abruptly, but the subsequent meetings (initiated by Paul Michel) leads to a warm friendship and love. The narrator is fascinated and endeared to the wild boy of his generation, and Michel, in turn, grows quite fond of the naive twenty-two year old, referring to him as 'petit', for most of the time they spend together.

As the book progresses, there are some moments that are funny, some that are sad, and some that will stay in your mind forever, just as they did in the narrator's. As a young child once told Paul Michel:

If you love someone, you know where they are and what has happened to them. And you put yourself at risk to save them if you can.

And that's exactly what the narrator set out to do, on being convinced by the formidable Germanist.

This is not an academic book. It's not a book on the life and times of Paul Michel. It's a book about a fascinating character, who's funny, quick-witted spontaneous and humorous. Someone capable of great love, great sentimentality and great generosity. Someone whose world revolves around one person - a reader of his work - and someone who dedicates his life to making his reader proud. The character of Paul Michel is so colorful, that, for what it's worth, he could as easily be a fictional character.

All in all, I'd say this was a 6.5 on 10, most of the points being docked for the first part of the book making me want to put it down, and never ever pick it up again. On the other hand, I'm glad I finished the book, and now, I'm tempted to find some of the works by Paul Michel and Michel Foucault - the two lovers, who never explicitly expressed their love for each other, but still held on to a love that could not be tarnished. Not even with time. 

George Orwell - Animal Farm

An anthropomorphic anti-Soviet social satire, this book stirred up a fair bit of controversy, and initially, a multitude of publishers refused to print it, fearing the repercussions of the act. The book focuses on the animals of Manor Farm, and how they go the full circle, from being owned by men and working for them, to being an animal democracy, and then the balance of power shifting again, to one of the species...

In the opening chapter, the Old Baron summons all the animals of Manor Farm one evening, after the farmer - Mr. Jones - has retired for the night. He then tells the animals of a dream where the animals are independent, and working for themselves, and not man. He then encourages them to plan a revolution to overthrow man, and take their fate in their own hands.

And that is exactly what these animals do, by running Mr. Jones out of the farm, and creating a democracy, with seven commandments:

1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend
3. No animal shall ever wear clothes
4. No animal shall ever sleep in a bed
5. No animal shall ever drink alcohol
6. No animal shall kill any other animal
7. All animals are equal

This is the new improved farm - the Animal Farm - where the animals join forces and work for themselves. Pigs, deemed the most intellectual of all animals, are mutually considered to be the species who would educate the others, as well as plan out the best course of action for the farm. All in all, the animals were ecstatic that they had achieved this utopian dream, and news of their success spread far and wide.

However, soon enough, the pigs became the 'rulers' of this utopia, and started setting down the rules, often overriding the commandments, or adding an exception clause, without informing the other citizens. Napoleon, the elite ruler (who was meant to represent Stalin), with the help of Squealer (supposedly Molotov) started slowly brainwashing the other animals, and confusing them greatly; so much so, that, eventually a totalitarian regime emerged, but the animals didn't even realize what was happening. The final commandment was altered by the pigs to

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

No animal was informed of this change, and none of them realized what was actually going on - be it because of their inherently trusting nature, or because of the pack of lies they were fed by the pigs-in-charge. I don't want to give away the ending of the book, but suffice it to say that the last line pretty much sums up the book in a nutshell.

This book explores the failure of communism, and how, while in theory it's utopian; in practice, it just ends up being a totalitarian dystopia (in the context of the Stalin rule, at least). It shows naivety of people, and how easy it is to muddle their thoughts by stretching the truth, or talking so confidently that they start doubting their own memories. For example, when the pigs moved into the Jones' house, and started sleeping on the beds, one of the animals was sure that there was a commandment that denounced this. When he went to the 'wall' where all the commandments were details, what he read was

No animal shall ever sleep in a bed with sheets.

Of course, the pigs denied using sheets.

What is really scary, though, is that the book is so convincing; that the animals are so quick to believe everything. Even when their food rations are decreased, their working hours increased, and the pigs are getting all the apples, they do not revolt against the pigs, for, they believe that it's better than working for the Jones'. Of course, no one quite recalls what that was like, and whether that was a better life, or worse.

While this book sounds political, it's not, really. As in, one can easily read it as a piece of fiction (a fairy tale, as one of its alternate titles suggest), and contemplate on some of the many points raised without matching up the main characters with their corresponding historical figures. Of course, the matching makes the book more interesting, but... I only ended up looking into who each character was after I finished it; more out of interest in the history of the Soviet Union, as opposed to because the book demanded it.

This book is a classic, and I think a definite must-read. It's practically been on every 'list' of must-reads and best books, and there's a reason why.

An 8 on 10, with my only complaints being that the book is overtly simplistic, and, not the reader is not completely clear as to who each character of the book is. Of course, if it was abundantly clear, the reader would complain that little is left to the imagination....  Also, I can't help but wonder how would things have materialized if the pigs were capitalists, not communists... any ideas?

Anthony Burgess - A Clockwork Orange

O my brothers, this book is real horrorshow. You must have slooshied about it, and in my opinion, it's a must read. Apologies for the nadsat, i.e. teenage Russian slang, but I think this is partly responsible for making this book just as good as it is (and I really can't rate it high enough). Initially, the book is challenging to read. The language is full of slang, that takes some time to get accustomed to. I was confused and felt that I really needed a dictionary (or, the book needed a glossary) to make some sense out of this book. However, within a couple of chapters, the slang started to make sense, and I just couldn't stop reading it, to see how it ends.

The book revolves around Alex, who is fifteen when the book starts. The opening scene seems innocent enough - Alex and his three droogs are hanging out in a milkbar (where the drinks are laced with drugs), one evening. Once they leave the milkbar though, we get introduced to the violent streak in these four teenagers. They decide to beat up a man leaving a library, just for the sake of it; get into a bloody fight with a rival gang; steal a car; enter some random home of a couple - beat the husband up, and gang rape the wife. And if that's not bad enough, they then tolchock the car into the river below. Real nasty stuff, and that point, you can't help but feeling that the four teenagers are despicable and deserve severe punishment.

Later on that evening, we get a glimpse of another side of Alex, the gang privodevat, as he goes home, and in total darkness listens to some classical music. That's when we discover his unequivocal love for Beethoven, and some other classical geniuses. Who knew their crime-minded malchicks appreciate music as much as they do violence?

When the gang decides to overthrow Alex as their leader, and get George, one of the droogs to replace him, Alex challenges George to a fight, which he wins, thereby retaining his title. That night, they decide to get up to some serious mischief, and rob a rich woman. However, things don't quite go according to plan, and Alex's violence costs the woman her life. The three droogs abandon Alex there, letting him take the fall for it while they run away... and Alex is charged with murder.

Good riddance, you say? A boy like that deserves no better? Well, read on...

Alex spends two years in jail, where he shares a small cell with some other inmates. When a new inmate is brought to their cell, and starts throwing his weight around, Alex, with the help of the other inmates, end up killing him (accidentally). As things normally pan out, the other prisoners deny responsibility, and Alex takes the fall. He volunteers for the Ludovico Technique, a procedure that is supposed to change the criminal mind, to that of a peace-loving citizen, in just two weeks. Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?

This technique is essentially conditional programming/aversion therapy. Alex is forced to watch videos of gruesome violence, and is injected with some nauseating medicine simultaneously. The idea is, every time the subject (in this case, Alex) thinks of violence, he ends up feeling nauseous. However, Alex is never told what the treatment actually entails, and he assumes it's something nice and easy, that gets him out of prison in two weeks - the only reason why he volunteers.

When Alex goes back to life outside prison, he is not prepared for what greets him, and you can't help but feel sorry for the boy, as he tries to figure things out. Stripped off everything, even his greatest love, we see a struggle, and we're forced to ask some serious ethical questions: Are treatments like the Ludovico Technique justified? If someone shows a violent streak, is the government entitled to brainwash them? And what if the primary reason to get people undergo this treatment is that the prisons just don't have enough space to hold all the convicts? Do two wrongs make a right? Does the end justify means? Do the means justify the end?

This dystopian novel is incredibly well-written. I don't think the reader is supposed to relate to Alex. While Alex's description of Beethoven's music might just be one of the most beautiful things I've read in literature, his violent streak and some of the criminal acts he's conducted might be the most horrific. As I flipped the last page of the book, I couldn't help but admire Alex just a tad, and I also regretted that the book was over. Definitely one of the most thought-provoking books I've read in recent times.

Dare I say, a 10 on 10?