Sarah Waters - Tipping The Velvet

Yay! I've finished all of Sarah Waters' novels. That's the first thought that crossed my mind after I finished this book, and it was immediately followed by a pang of disappointment, for now I have to wait for her next book to be released, before I can lose myself in one of the wonderful worlds she masterfully creates. Tipping The Velvet is Sarah Waters' debut novel, and it's quite impressive. Set in Victorian England, this is a coming-of-age story written in first person, where the narrator is Nancy Astley, or simply, Nan.

Nancy is a small-town girl, who helps out in her family's business to do with the famous Whitstable oysters. She's naive, innocent and loves the theatre, and so, she often attends shows at a nearby music hall, where she is smitten by the 'masher' (a girl dressed as a man) - Kitty Butler. The two soon meet, and a warm friendship strikes. So, when Kitty finds an agent and moves to the capital, Nancy goes with her as her dresser. However, soon enough, she swaps her skirts and dresses for the trousers, and joins Kitty's act on stage - as a masher as well. Soon enough, Kitty's and Nan's act are popular and the two are raking in the money. The two girls are attracted to each other, and so, we are introduced to the first of many lesbian relationships in this book.

However, there's a twist and a turn, and Nancy's life in London changes drastically, as she moves from lifestyle to lifestyle, partner to partner, in search of something. We discover the darker smuttier side of Victorian London, and while I don't want to give too much away, I have to admit, it was a hell of a ride. Cross-dressers, rent-boys and lesbians made appearances, and through them, we discovered how prominent lesbianism was, some two hundred years ago with both - the rich and poor. And, we also discover how people considered it to be taboo, much as it still is in some parts of the world today. And, as we all know, homophobia is rampant!

That said, some parts of the book made me look away. Okay, I know that doesn't make sense, but let me try and explain: I tend to look away from the screen during an overtly steamy scene, just because... well, I don't know... I don't know where to look? Some of the sex scenes in this book are extremely descriptive and long, and I just didn't know where to look, and it's much harder to look away while reading... Am I being weird? Is this out of the ordinary?

The story is interesting - who doesn't like reading about the dark underbelly of the Victorian age? And the writing is incredible - but that's something I've come to expect from Sarah Waters anyway. It's an ambitious debut novel - it covers a lot, and is racy and gripping - and she pulls it off in an inconceivable fashion.

However, it is with a vague sense of deja vu that I admit that I didn't think this book was a patch on Fingersmith either. Something to this effect almost seems obligatory, as I post my thoughts on Waters' books. I think I might have to re-read Fingersmith, just to see if I've imagined how good it was, or if I'm holding her other books to unrealistically high standards.

What's your favourite book by Sarah Waters? I guess Fingersmith's mine, with The Night Watch being the least favourite.

Do you have any other recommendations for books set in Victorian times? The more I read, the more drawn in I am.

John Green - Paper Towns

It feels like ages since I've read a young-adult book, so when I read a review of this book over at Claire's (@Paperback Reader), I wanted to read the book. Plus, I loved the cover! Reason enough to order this book after a self-imposed four month book buying ban? I think so. I've read a couple of reviews on John Green's books, Looking for Alaska and An Abundance of Katherines, and the reviews have been quite positive as well, so, unsurprisingly, I had high expectations of this book. Luckily, it didn't disappoint. It was a fast-paced page-turner, with incredibly well-drawn out characters, an intelligent plot, and all-in-all, it was just great fun to read.

The way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightening, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust. But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us. I could have seen it rain frogs. I could have stepped foot on Mars. I could have been eaten by a whale. I could have married the Queen of England or survived months at sea. But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: out of all the houses in all the subdivisions in all of Florida, I ended up living next door to Margo Roth Spiegelman

Quentin (or Q), the narrator, has been in love with Margo since forever. As children, they were friends, until they stumbled upon a dead body at the local park. Discovering the dead body changed the relationship between the two nine-year-olds. That night, Margo stood outside Quentin's window, to let him know of the "investigation" she had carried out as to the cause of the death. She loved mysteries and adventures, so much so that, in Quentin's words, she became one. After that night, the two friends just drifted apart.

Fast forward to the future, a few weeks before their high school graduation: one night, Margo re-appears at Quentin's window, looking for an ally on a crazy retribution mission - against an ex-boyfriend and two former best friends - which also includes breaking into Sea World, just for fun! Quentin's grown up to be more cautious and circumspect, whereas Margo's the polar opposite, and during the night out, the two reconnect, and Quentin's convinced that things will be different in school from the next day.

But - Margo's a no-show at school the next day. And the day after. She's basically just disappeared into the oblivion, and no one has any idea as to her whereabouts. But she's left a trail - breadcrumbs, if you like - and it's up to her friends to follow them, for her parents aren't overtly concerned, considering she's pulled the disappearing act before.

This book is about Quentin - and his search for Margo. It's about Margo - and her search to resolve the issues she's battling. But it's more than that for both the teenagers. It's about Quentin figuring out who Margo really is, underneath her ultra-cool demeanour and totally chilled out perspective on life, and eventually, unraveling the mystery that is her. And all this is done with immense story-telling, including observations on paper towns and paper people and Whitman's Leaves of Grass, as well as scattered references to TS Eliot and Moby Dick.

"Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made of plastic. It's a paper town. I mean look at it Q: look at all those cul-de-sacs, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer that some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters."

Thought this was a fabulous book, that I really enjoyed reading, and immersing myself in. I'll be looking out for Green's other books, and can't wait to read them, based on this! Have you read any of the others? What's the verdict?

Also, have you read many books which have loads of Whitman references? If you'd asked me two months ago, I'd say no, but - I've read about three books in the recent past (Specimen Days, Paper Towns and Tipping the Velvet) with numerous Whitman references, which makes me wonder. And it's not just Whitman, but specifically, it's Leaves of Grass. Have any of you read that? I'm planning to, but it's been ages since I've read any poetry, and I'm not convinced Whitman is the way to make my way back to the world of poems?

Gabriel García Márquez - Chronicle of a Death Foretold

After reading One Hundred Years of Solitude some four years back, I decided to read one book by the Nobel laureate, Gabriel García Márquez, every year. This is the fifth book by Márquez that I'm reading, and I found it as brilliant - and different - as the previous four. The plot of the book is revealed with the title of this novella, and the first line:

On the day they were going to kill him, Santiago Nasar got up at five-thirty in the morning to wait for the boat the bishop was coming on.

So, Santiago Nasar was going to be killed, and most of the people living in the small unnamed Columbian village knew the details : the perpetrators, the reason, the place, and the way in which the murder was going to be carried out. No one warned the victim, and by the time the people likely to warn him found out about the plan, it was too late.

Written in first person, this is a 'chronicle' of Santiago Nasar's death, as the author goes about interviewing the locals, some twenty-seven years after the incident, in order to figure out why no one attempted to stop this event. To cut a short story shorter (sorry!), Bayardo San Roman, a wealthy out-of-towner, married the beautiful Angela Vicario. On their wedding night, he discovered that she wasn't a virgin and subsequently, returned her to her parents' house. Her brothers, Pedro and Pablo Vicario, coerced her into telling them who the man responsible for this act was, and her reply was Santiago Nasar. In order to defend their sister's honour (and their family honour), the brothers decided to kill Nasar. However, it seemed as though it was tradition that prompted them to plan the murder, as opposed to any real desire to kill Nasar. Tradition that dictated that the brothers must always avenge their sister's honour.

The writing is repetitive, in a way, as it follows the same event from many different perspectives. It's almost like a mystery story going backwards, with the crime, the criminals and the motive being laid out at the very outset, and the "investigation" (i.e. the interviews conducted by the narrator) happening later. The pivotal question remains: how did the locals of the village allow the Vicario brothers to kill Nasar, despite knowing all the details of their plans?

The writing is precise and to-the-point, almost as though it's a journalist doing the writing, not an author. The flowery poetic language found in One Hundred Years of Solitude is completely absent, as this book seems to be more factual. It's completely engrossing, and I thought it was a non-fictional account. However, a quick search on Google told me otherwise.

I enjoyed this book, and for those of you who are intimidated by Márquez, this might be a good place to start, as it's quite short, and the language isn't overwhelming. The story is fantastic, and it lets the reader interpret certain key moments/events in their own way.

Have you read any Márquez? Which is your favourite book by him?

Daniel Keyes - Flowers For Algernon

Sometimes I wish I was intelligent enough to get into Mensa. Well, maybe not quite Mensa, but I do wish things came more easily to me than they do - things that take some people around me a just couple of hours take me a couple of days, at least, and it frustrates the living daylights out of me. And sometimes, you just need a book like Flowers of Algernon to put things in perspective. Charlie Gordon has an IQ of just 68, but he yearns to be "intelligent," so much so that he's taking classes to learn how to read and write. He lives alone, and supports himself by working in a bakery as a janitor, where he has lots of "friends."

The book is essentially Charlie's journal, in the form of "progress reports" - before he undergoes an operation which will make him smarter and after. The operation has already been successfully performed on Algernon, a mouse, and it's going to be performed on a human being for the very first time.

The operation isn't a miracle cure though - Charlie isn't going to wake up and have all the knowledge in the world. Instead, what it does is makes him much more capable of understanding and figuring out things (and imbibing knowledge), than before. In fact, he's more capable of doing that than most other people walking the planet post-operation, making him a genius. He reads up on practically everything - from literature to physics to astronomy - and tries to find people who will be able to have an intellectual conversation with him. Mostly, he's unsuccessful in that endeavour.

His sudden genius scares off his colleagues at the bakery, who he discovers were laughing at him, not with him, and eventually, he loses his job at the bakery. When he starts interacting with women, and the surge of emotions are almost alien to him. The emotional confusion and turmoil he goes through is incredibly portrayed, as he questions his life before and after the surgery. His emotional intelligence is still the same as it was earlier, but his actual IQ is higher. It does raise the very important question: Was his life prior to the surgery better or worse? Was he "luckier" to be spared of the confusing emotions that people go through, or not really?

His emotional roller-coaster continues as memories of his past, his family, and his childhood come flooding back, and he tries to decipher them - who's the hero, who the villain, and where did he fit in? How much of it was his fault, and how much totally beyond his control?

I have often read my early progress reports and seen the illiteracy, the childish naivete, the mind of low intelligence peering from a dark room, through the keyhole, at the dazzling light outside. In my dreams and memories, I've seen Charlie (referring to himself pre-op) smiling happily and uncertainly at what people around him were saying. Even in my dullness I knew I was inferior. Other people had something I lacked - something denied me. In my mental blindness, I had believed it was somehow connected with the ability to read and write, and I was sure that if I could get those skills I would have intelligence too.

This book was a wonderful thought-provoking read, which was incredibly written, and seems so contemporary, that it's incredibly surprising that it was first published as a short story in the 1950s. It made me think about scientific experiments being performed on animals and humans, are the risks and rewards actually measured properly, and are the risks really worth it? On another note, it made me wonder if life would be easier if we were all "simpler" - not caught up in the rat-race or the politics that defines our lives? And of course, I did find myself questioning whether the surgery Charlie underwent was actually worth it, or not?

Michael Cunningham - Specimen Days

I absolutely adored Cunningham's The Hours, and couldn't wait to read another book by Cunningham. And then - then I saw the cover of this one, and I was in love! I knew I just had to read the book. And so, I did. Essentially, Specimen Days is a collection of three novellas, as opposed to one novel. Like The Hours, there are three inter-linked stories, and like The Hours, a famous literary persona makes an appearance (in this case, it's Walt Whitman).

However, unlike The Hours, this novel is set in entirety in New York, and it's set across time. The first story goes back to the era when Whitman was still alive, during the time of the Industrial Revolution; the second story is almost current-day set in a post 9-11 New York haunted by terrorist threads and the final story is set in a futuristic society of half-humans and aliens.

In an almost Cloud Atlas-esque fashion though, the protagonists across the stories seem to be re-incarnations of themselves. There's Simon and Catherine (Cat, Catareen) as the two adults and Lucas (Luke) as the adolescent. A bowl makes a reappearance across the ages as well, as does the poetry of Walt Whitman.

The first story, In The Machine, is set during the time of the Industrial Revolution (nineteenth century), where Lucas, a young boy, starts working in the factory where a terrible accident led to his brother's unfortunate demise. Lucas, who spouts Whitman (a present-day poet at the time) incessantly, reaches the haunting conclusion that the machines are evil and are trying to pull the living in, as they did to his older brother (Simon). His innocence and adamance is almost heart-breaking as he tries to convince Simon's fiancee, Catharine, to stay away from the "machine."

And then we move to The Children's Crusades, where Cat plays the leading role, as a woman who is a police psychologist. Amidst other things, she mans the phone line where would-be terrorists and assassins call up and drop hints about potential upcoming bombs. The latest set of terrorism seems to be coming from a group of children, who quote Whitman's Leaves of Grass, hug a random stranger, and then the bomb detonates...

Finally, there's Like Beauty, set in a post-apocalyptic New York, swarming with aliens and androids. Simon, an alien, who is programmed to recite Whitman at the unlikeliest of times, runs away with Catareen, a lizard-like alien, in search for the man who created him. They take a trip across the country, along with Luke, and manage to find a place on a spaceship that will take them to paradise - a different planet.

The characters are wonderfully drawn across all three stories, and the rapport between them is extremely real. Some of them are outsiders, whereas some of them are searching for a place where they belong. The way things are described had me nodding along in agreement, specially in the second novella.

"Look around," she said. "Do you see happiness? Do you see joy? Americans have never been this prosperous, people have never been this safe. They've never lived so long, in such good health, ever, in the whole history. To someone a hundred years ago, as recently as that, this world would seem like heaven itself. We can fly. Our teeth don't rot. Our children aren't feverish one moment and dead the next. There's no dung in the milk. There's milk, as much as we want. The curch can't roast us alive over minor differences of opinion. The elders can't stone us to death because we might have commited adultery. Our crops never fail. We can eat raw fish in the middle of the desert, if we want to. And look at us. We're so obese we need bigger cemetery plots. Our ten-year-olds are doing heroin, or they're murdering eight-year-olds, or both. We're getting divorced faster than we're getting married. Everything we eat has to be sealed because if it wasn't, somebody would put poison into it, and if they couldn't get poison, they'd put pins into it. A tenth of us are in jail, and we can't build new ones fast enough. We're bombing other countries simply because they make us nervous, and most of us not only couldn't find these countries in a map, we couldn't tell you which continent they're on. [...] So tell me. Would you say this is working out? Does this seems to you a story that wants to continue?"

The title itself is inspired by one of Walt Whitman's works - something I'm not very familiar with, which makes me feel slightly guilty, for I don't think I missed a lot in the book. Some of the references though seemed unnecessary, but I think that might be a result of me not really seeing the whole picture, as I'm not well-versed with Leaves of Grass, or much of Whitman's work/thoughts.

Have you read Specimen Days? Or any other Cunningham?

If you've read Specimen Days, do you think knowing a lot more about Whitman's work would improve the reading experience manifold?

Mikhail Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita

It's taken me a little over a month to finish this book, and I must say, it's probably one of my greatest reading accomplishments 'til date. I found the first eighty-four pages tremendously trying, the next one-hundred-and-fifty odd pages amazing, and I was actually totally hooked to the 'Book 2' of this intimidating classic. At the very outset, I am compelled to admit I don't think I understood the whole book. Large portions of it had me baffled, and I questioned my resolve to continue reading it more than once. At the end of the day, though, I am glad that I read it, for a multitude of reasons which I'll explain further down. In fact, the book is already begging for a re-read, just because I think I, as the reader, will benefit greatly from the re-read.

Set in the 1930s Moscow, where Stalin was the head of state, the basic premise of this book is that the devil (Satan) strolls into Moscow with his entourage to wreak havoc. In case you're wondering, Stalin and Satan aren't interchangeable here, despite this book being a political satire.

In the opening chapter, two members of MASSOLIT (a literary organisation in Moscow) are debating on the existence of god by the Patriarch's Ponds. A foreigner introduces himself to them, apologises for the intrusion but justifies it by saying that the subject of your learned conversation is so interesting that...

The foreigner who goes by the name of Woland is the devil, and he predicts the impending unexpected death of Berlioz, one of the writers. His theory was that Jesus did exist, a theory that the two writers refuted. Berlioz's tragic death is only the first of a series of unexpected events that hit Moscow. There's a seance where money rains down, and the women of the city end up walking the streets in nothing but their undergarments, people get teleported to Yalta, the phone lines break, and devil knows, something bizarre is going on...

So, where do "the Master" and "Margarita" fit in? It's a good question, and it takes a while for that to be addressed, as the first part of this book essentially deals with the chaos and confusion created by Woland and his gang, which includes the unforgettable talking cat in the bow-tie, Behemoth. The first book also goes back in time, and has a semi-fictional account of Pontius Pilate, and the role he played in Jesus' persecution followed by the crucifixion itself.

It's Book Two that revolves around the titular characters. Margarita is the grieving wife of an unsuccessful author, "the master," who has disappeared into the oblivion and she has no idea as to where he is; is he dead or alive. In reality, he's gone over the edge, and is in a psychiatric institution. Now, Satan needs a woman called Margarita to host a midnight ball, where the catch is, the woman has to be native to the city. There are a hundred-and-twenty-one potential hostesses but the master's Margarita is the chosen one. She builds up a rapport with the devil himself, becomes a witch, in return for something...

It's the entire exchange between the devil and Margarita that had me wondering about the first half of the book, where the devil was shown to be an entity toying with the lives of people, without reason. The second half of the book did, in a manner of speaking, highlight the kind of people the devil was victimising in the first half. It was the greedy and the selfish, the people who were successful due to their vices, not their virtues, the people who we'd call weasels, the bureaucrats and the opportunists. People, who in my humble opinion, deserve to be reprimanded, deserve to be punished. Even today, the weasels seem to be the ones who are successful and go far in their lives, whereas the hardworking ones seem to be stuck in a rut, and I think that's unfair... excuse the slight aside, but when realisation hit me towards the end of the book, I was sympathising with the devil himself!

And yes, the lyrics of the Stones' Sympathy for the Devil did come back to me at that point. I love the Stones, I love Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and Brian Jones and... Have you ever heard the lyrics? I did look up the song on Wikipedia once I'd finished this book, and it didn't really surprise me that part of it had been inspired by this work of fiction!

Please allow me to introduce myself I'm a man of wealth and taste I've been around for a long, long year Stole many a man's soul and faith

And I was 'round when Jesus Christ Had his moment of doubt and pain Made damn sure that Pilate Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Pleased to meet you Hope you guess my name But what's puzzling you Is the nature of my game

So, yes, this is a satirical confusing bizarre story, where too many characters are introduced, and too many of them have too short a role to play. I found myself questioning the introduction of some of these characters, considering their short life in the novel, and couldn't really come up with an answer. It's humorous in bits, and thought-provoking in chunks. The characters are mesmerising and some of the scenes incredible.

And an unheard-of thing occurred. The  fur bristled on the cat's back, and he gave a rending miaow. Then he compressed himself into a ball and shot like a panther straight at Bengalsky's chest, and from there on to his head. Growling, the cat sank his plump paws into the skimpy chevelure  of the master  of ceremonies and  in two  twists tore the head from  the thick neck with a savage howl.

The banter is hilarious, and it does provide some relief from the otherwise confusing bewildering narrative.

'Well, what's all this now?' exclaimed Woland. `Why have you gilded your whiskers? And what the devil do you need the bow-tie for, when you're not even wearing trousers?'

'A cat is not supposed to wear trousers, Messire,' the cat replied with great dignity. 'You're not going to tell me to wear boots, too, are you? Puss-in-Boots exists only in fairy tales, Messire. But have you ever seen anyone at a ball without a bow-tie? I do not intend to put myself in a ridiculous situation and risk being chucked out! Everyone adorns himself with what he can. You may consider what I've said as referring to the opera glasses as well, Messire!'

'But the whiskers? ...'

'I don't understand,' the cat retorted drily. 'Why could Azazello and Koroviev put white powder on themselves as they were shaving today, and how is that better than gold? I powdered my whiskers, that's all! If I'd shaved myself, it would be a different matter! A shaved cat - now, that is indeed an outrage, I'm prepared to admit it a thousand times over. But generally,' here the cat's voice quavered touchily, 'I see I am being made the object of a certain captiousness, and I see that a serious problem stands before me - am I to attend the ball? What have you to say about that, Messire?'

Have you read this book? Or attempted to read it? What did you think? Worth a read? I'd recommend it...

What's the most confusing bizarre book that you've read? I think this is mine, hands down, beating Murakami's Kafka on the Shore...

Christos Tsiolkas - The Slap

A Gen-X story, The Slap is set in Melbourne with a Greek family at the pivot point. Hector, the protagonist, is married to Aisha, an Indian girl. The two of them are the envy of their friends, set in their perfect lives, with two children. Of course, there is no such thing as perfection, once you peel away the layers, but on the face of it, they are pretty much "perfect." Aisha is vet; Hector is a bureaucrat. The two of them host a barbecue one afternoon, inviting their friends and family as well as the children. Disagreements between the kids (Spiderman on TV?), unease with the in-laws, and tensions building between some friends sums up the afternoon, although again, on the face of it, everyone seems to be having a good time. But then, the facade falls when Harry, Hector's cousin, slaps a brattish four-year old across the face, and that's the tipping point.

The drama that unfolds is almost unbelievable, with the parents looking to press charges - the mother is one of Aisha's best friends - and Hector and Aisha trying to maintain some kind of decorum. Hector sides with his cousin, and Aisha with her friend. Stalemate.

But, this linear narrative isn't just focused on the slap. One could argue for days as to whether the slap was deserved or not, and still not reach a verdict. Instead it focuses on the people at the barbecue, their reaction to the slap, and which side they're on. It also gives us a peek into the lives and thoughts of a bunch of people living in the middle-class Melbourne community. Apparently, affairs are rampant, alcoholism and recreational drugs common and racism and homophobia normal. Oh, and the slang is profanity-intensive.

I'm not sure I enjoyed the peek though. While some seemingly perfect characters had a massive fall from grace, the lack of self-awareness to the degree of coming across as complete morons was evident in others. Some people had over-inflated opinions of themselves, and some had haunting pasts. As the narrative progressed, we learnt more about all of them, and for the most part, they became more and more unlikeable. I'm an idealist, hate the very idea of cheating and don't really care about the boxes that society puts people in. As long as someone's "nice," it's good enough for me. So, reading this book had alarm bells jangling in my head almost like there's no tomorrow.

It's not a literary novel, and personally, I think the author tries too hard to be too controversial. Each chapter is written from the point of view of one of the characters (including Hector, Aisha, Harry, Hector's father, the slapped child's mother etc), and each chapter brings with it a plethora of expletives. Do parents, grand-parents and children actually use four letter words with one another as part of normal conversation? Again, maybe I'm super-conservative, but I don't think I've ever sworn in front of my parents... and vice versa.

I was really looking forward to reading this book, and I guess I had extremely high expectations from this book, which were unfortunately not met. Maybe I would've enjoyed this book a lot more if I hadn't opened it with about a million pre-conceived notions! That always happens to me!

What did you think of The Slap? Do you think badly behaved children deserve to be slapped? And does it have a place in the Booker shortlist?

I'm inclined to reply in the negative to the last question, but hey! What do I know?!

Paul Murray - Skippy Dies

Paul Murray's second book, Skippy Dies, has been long listed for the Man Booker Prize 2010, and to be honest, that's the main reason why I picked up this book. I had added it to my to-read list when claire (@ kissacloud) mentioned it ages ago, but it just kind of sat on the list, till the Booker long list was announced earlier. Don't get me wrong - I'm not planning on reading the entire long list. In fact, truth be told, once I read The Slap, I think I'll be done with the Booker for this year, although there are two caveats:

• If the winner is one of the books I haven't already read
• If I stumble upon an amazing review of one of the books on the longlist that I haven't already read

I digress again - back to Skippy Dies:

Daniel "Skippy" Juster is nicknamed so due to his buck-teeth which makes him resemble a kangaroo. He is one of the main characters of this ambitious tragicomedy, which is set in Seabrook, an expensive Catholic school for boys in Dublin. In the prologue itself, Skippy dies during a doughnut eating race at a local hangout, with his best friend, the genius Ruprecht. Skippy collapses, and in his final moments, he squeezes raspberry syrup out of a doughnut, and writes, 'TELL LORI'.  The rest of the book goes back in time, and then forward, with the incident described above as the pivotal point.

Seabrook is run by Holy Paraclete Fathers, although Greg "Automator" Costigan, the acting principal who is a thoroughly vile character, intends to change that. Then there are the teachers, the bullies (who are en route to becoming full-fledged criminals), the perverts, the sex-obsessed students and of course, the fairer sex - girls!

In this 661-page chunkster, various stories intertwine, to create a book that goes well beyond a boarding school story. There are the obligatory school bullies in Carl and Barry, who start dealing drugs. Carl borders on being totally psychotic - his hands are scarred with cuts, he hates competition and he has his eyes set on Lori, an attractive student from the all-girls school next door. Then there's Howard the Coward, who was a student at Seabrook. Currently, Howard is the history teacher, living with his American girlfriend, Halley, but infatuated with the new geography teacher, Aurelie McIntyre, "an investment banker not used to that kind of unbridled depravity." There's a slight play of words when it comes to the unlikeable French teacher, Father Green, whose name in French translated to Pere Vert, and there's the typical friendly teacher cum coach, Tom Roche - another teacher who used to be a student at Seabrook, and was on his way to become a national sportsperson before an injury robbed him off those dreams.

Ruprecht the genius has already been mentioned - he is a genius, single-handedly responsible for raising the average grade of the class by four percent. He wants to go to Stanford, has a role model in Professor Tamashi (who doesn't seem to exist, if I google his name?) who is a professor of m-theory (an extension of string theory that says there are eleven dimensions), and spends his time looking for extra-terrestrial life. He comes up with grand plans on how to draw the aliens into conversation or open the portal to the parallel universe(s), and dreams of winning the Nobel Prize, or studying under Prof. Tamashi.

"When you think about it, the Big Bang's a bit like school, isn't it? Well, I mean to say, one day we'll all leave here and become scientists and bank clerks and diving instructors and hotel managers - the fabric of society, so to speak. But in the meantime, that fabric, that is to say, us, the future, is crowded into one tiny little point where none of the laws of society applies, viz., this school."

And what about Skippy? Well, he's on the swim team, a good student, who seems to be going wayward due to some things going awry in his personal life, the details of which we aren't privy to until much later in the book. In a way, he's the glue that holds a bunch of the boarders together - boarders who don't take kindly to Ruprecht but still befriend him because of Skippy. The buck-toothed boy is in love with Lori, a girl he's never met in real life, but seen through the lens of his genius friend's telescope. At a school dance, he finally talks to her, and they leave the dance together.

So yes - all the typecasting has been done, all the stereotypes introduced. But, the manner in which Murray brings them all together is anything but typical. It's not Harry Potter, but then again, it's no Malory Towers! The characters are real twenty-first century characters, and despite the stereotypical roles that have been created for them, they do step outside the boundaries every now and again. None of the characters are perfect, although some are likeable and some loathsome. However, I did find myself rooting for Skippy throughout the book - not sure if it was a direct result of the book being entitled Skippy Dies or if he was actually a sympathetic character though, or ...

This book is funny and tragic - the banter between the students, the dialogues between the friends had me smiling a fair bit, but in equal measure, I found myself shaking my head. I don't really know if I should be asking this question, but seriously, how much time do fourteen year old boys spend thinking about sex? Or all the double entendres? I shouldn't have asked that, should I have?

It's really difficult to sum up this book in such few words - the book encompasses so much more. We learn more about the characters, their histories and their future. We see Howard through his obsession with World War I, and we see Lori alternating between two extremes of innocence and provocativeness; we see Skippy from being morose and obsessive to being jubilant and we see Ruprecht doing a complete metamorphosis from looking for life beyond earth to compulsively eating doughnuts. More importantly, we see how one event can change things so dramatically - almost like the butterfly effect - even if people haven't been directly affected by the incident in question. We contemplate questions - what's more important, punishment or honour? reputation or justice? reality or the version of history provided in our text books? the "right" thing or what people expect? And the list goes on and on...

Despite being massive, I found myself flying through this book - specially the first two chunks, Hopeland and Heartland. The penultimate section, Ghostland, was probably the most thought-provoking section though, and I found myself reading that chunk slower than the previous two - which is kind-of ironic, as I normally like flying through the last bit of the book, and taking my time with the beginning to settle in and acquaint myself with the book, the characters and the environment.

Have you read Skippy Dies? What do you think its chances are to make it to the shortlist? If it did, to be honest, I wouldn't have any complaints, despite the fact that parts of the book are colloquial, and I did want to scream when some of the students were texting each other, and textspeak filled the page. And, have you read Murray's debut novel, An Evening of Long Goodbyes? Recommend it?

How's your Booker reading coming along so far? Or, do you avoid the prize-winning hype just because it's not worth it?

Emma Donoghue - Room

This is probably one of the most gripping books I've read this year. I almost feel guilty that I didn't take Audrey Niffenegger's advice, scrolled across the book cover:

Room is a book to read in one sitting.

That's what working life does to you, I guess. I did read the last fifty pages or so at work though, ignoring the people who asked me if I was there to work or read. Hopefully, even they figured it was a rhetorical question. Anyway, as I couldn't agree more with the rest of the quote, I thought I might as well share it:

When it's over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.

Room is a novel "triggered" by Felix Fritzl, the five year old son of Elisabeth Fritzl. Elisabeth was locked in the basement by her father for twenty-four years,  raped repeatedly and had seven children. Three of them were imprisoned with her, and the five year old had no clue about the world beyond the basement they were locked in.

Normally, one would expect such a book to be a money-making gimmick, with the author milking the tragedy of another family. Realising that it was narrated by the five year old might add to that sentiment. However, with Room, Donoghue creates a wonderful "unputdownable" novel, with great insights and contemplations from the five year old, Jack, who was under the impression that the world existed in his eleven feet by eleven feet room he lived in with his mother (Ma), and had no clue as to the reality beyond the locked door and the skylight.

Ma, a twenty-seven year old, protects him and tries to bring him up right, by schooling him with the limited resources she has at her disposal. So, Jack's narration is actually reasonably articulate, although it is still from the viewpoint of a five year old, who has never experienced life outside the closed quarters of the room, and initially thinks himself and his mother are the only two human beings in the world. He has "friends" in the television, but as far as he's concerned, that's not real.

This morning it's Dora, yippee. She's on a boat that nearly crashes into a ship, we have to wave our arms and shout, "Watch out," but Ma doesn't. Ships are just TV and so is the sea except when our poos and letters arrive. Or maybe that actually stop being real the minute they get there.

Animals are TV except ants and Spider and Mouse, but he's gone back now. Germs are real, and blood. Boys are TV but they kind of look like me, the me in Mirror that isn't real either, just a picture.

In a way, it's almost a  relief that the book is written through the eyes of the child, and not the mother, for, if it was written through the eyes of the mother, it might have been one of the most heart-wrenchingly painful and scary reads. The innocence of Jack alleviates the horror of this book a great deal, as he doesn't understand some of the more delicate issues that his mother has to deal with, in her captivity.

When Old Nick creaks Bed, I listen and count fives on my fingers, tonight it's 217 creaks. I always have to count till he makes that gaspy sound and stops. I don't know what would happen if I didn't count, because I always do.

After he turns five, Ma finally tells him about Outside, but unsurprisingly, Jack doesn't believe his mother initially, and who can blame them? If you've known only one world for five years, and you're suddenly "unlied" to, and told about the wonders of a whole new world which exists, but you were never aware of, how would you react? It's too strange, too surreal, to be true, and I really felt for Jack when he was told the truth, and subsequently become the focal point of his mother's grand escape plan, which "scaved" (a "wordsandwich" meaning scared and brave) him!

More themes about society and values emerge as the book progresses, and each one evokes an emotion of either sadness or anger or sympathy. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but from the start of the book, when you're made aware of the situation, you can't help but hope and pray for a happy ending - no adult and no child should ever have to go through that kind of hell.

I was utterly hooked to this book, and I can't recommend it highly enough. I've not read a story like this before, and I doubt I'll come across one even remotely as engrossing and irrepressible as this work by Donoghue.

Have you read Room? Or, any other book by Donoghue? What did you think? Would you recommend any of the others?

And, what do you think are the odds on this book making the Booker shortlist?

Lisa Moore - February

Melancholic - that's the first word that came to my mind when I finished this book. I'm guessing that's how Helen, the protagonist, felt for a major part of her adult life. Her husband, Cal, had been on the Ocean Ranger that sunk in 1982, off the coast of Newfoundland - there were no survivors. Fast-forward to 2008, which is when this book starts: Helen, now a middle-aged woman, is battling loneliness and misery, as she tries to find some kind of solace in looking after the grandchildren and sewing beautiful wedding and prom dresses as a career. She's tried her hand at online dating, after being persuaded by the children; she's tried yoga; working in a corporation and all in all, it just sounds like she's tried a myriad of things to get over the grief - but to no avail. Does one ever actually get over losing a loved one?

The narration isn't linear though - it's almost like a series of random flashbacks and memories that have made up some of the happiest, saddest and most poignant moments of Helen's life : be it receiving a Valentine's card from her husband, days after the Ocean Ranger sank or, contemplating his last moments - did he at least get to play a last game of cards post-supper?

There is no plot - at least not one that I could find. It was essentially focusing on Helen's despondence, as well as the lives of her children and grandchildren: her daughter getting pregnant at the age of fifteen, her daughter coming home drunk and escorted by the police. It's also a very "twenty-first century" novel, with references to Cosmo and Vogue, eBay and online dating. I'm still not quite accustomed to seeing them in books - even though, for once, it didn't sound like those references were forced. It was just part of the narrative, and it made the book more real somehow.

Did I enjoy this book - not really. It depressed me, and made me ponder on things that I ordinarily wouldn't (e.g. do you ever get over the loss of a loved one, specially a husband?). It was just so - sad, for lack of better words! Well-written, descriptive, emotional, but sad! One of my favourite poems is Dylan Thomas' Death Shall Have No Dominion, but clearly, those left behind beg to differ, as this book reminds us, not very subtly! Who knows how life can change by things we have no control over, when we least expect it to?!

Have you read anything by Lisa Moore? I've heard Alligator is worth a read - would you recommend it?

As for this book being on the Booker longlist - well, I personally don't think it'll make the shortlist, but hey! What do I know?! What do you think - does the shortlist have a place for February?

Andrea Levy - The Long Song

I apologise for my thoughts on this book at the very outset. I'm going through a bit of a stressful phase right now, and while normally, it doesn't affect the way I approach books, I'm not completely convinced that it hasn't this time 'round. I mean, The Long Song was longlisted for the Orange Prize, and it's on the Booker longlist as well. It's got to be a good book, right? Well, I didn't finish it, and it wasn't for lack of trying! I put it aside at 150 pages - my edition had 308 pages, so I did read about half of the book, and it failed to engage me at any level. Strange, because the subject matter is intense and well, more often than not, I end up empathising and sympathising with the protagonists and narrators of such stories. This time - absolutely nothing.

Set in the early nineteenth century, this book focuses on the final days of slavery in Jamaica. The primary voice is that of July, a slave born on the sugar plantation called Amity, after her mother was raped by the overseer of the plantation. July was separated from her mother, Kitty, when the plantation owner's sister, Caroline, found her utterly charming and wanted to groom her to be a lady's maid. Caroline, new to Jamaica and the rampant slavery, depended much on July, and the slave girl often took advantage of her mistress' dependence.

Personally, I thought that the writing lacked the intensity that the subject matter deserves, and almost treated the subject frivolously. I also did cringe, occasionally, on reading some of the lines, although I'm willing to bet that Levy intended to have that effect on the reader.

"Stuff up her mouth with rags, come on, come on," he insisted once more. Rose took a rag, dipping it in the water from the pail and brushed it against Kitty's lips. But Tam Dewar, exhaling with annoyance, commanded, "Not like that!" He snatched at the rag that Rose held, then forced the damp cloth down into Kitty's mouth. "Like this, you fool, like this."

Rose protested, "Massa, she birthin', she birthin'!" as Kitty choked to accommodate the bulk of cloth in her mouth.

I don't think I got used to the style of writing either, where the narrator constantly addressed me as "Reader," and it switched between first person (present) and third person (past). And, I really didn't care what happened to the characters - who survived, who didn't.

Maybe I'm being harsh, but despite the writing being simple, I found reading this book a chore, and didn't feel inclined to pick it up. I wish I'd finished this book, to see what the end objective was - and maybe, just maybe, the second half of the book would end up redeeming itself. Have you read this book? Do you think the second half is better/more engrossing than the first?

Have you read Levy's Small Island? I think it's her most talked about book. Would you recommend that over her latest?

David Mitchell - Black Swan Green

About five years back, with the launch of the iPod Shuffle, Apple declared "random is the new order" to the world, as "life is random" so we should "give chance a chance." What does any of this have to do with Black Swan Green? Well, nothing, really! However, it does have a lot to do with the way I've approached the works of David Mitchell - Unlike some book bloggers (e.g. Kerry), I haven't read his works in any kind of order; just as and when I got my hands on one of his books. I never had a chance though. I didn't even know who David Mitchell was (yes, I was living in a black hole of sorts) until one of my friends shoved number9dream in my hands, and insisted I read it. From the opening line, which I can still repeat off the top of my head, I was hooked. The rest, as they say, is history.

And so, I started my fourth book by David Mitchell eagerly, not quite knowing what to expect. I knew it was a coming-of-age story, and I half wondered if it would be similar to the surreal number9dream, or well - I didn't really have an alternative.

Black Swan Green is much more of a "traditional" coming-of-age story. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would have assumed it was Mitchell's debut novel - not because of the quality of writing (seriously, I don't think you can fault Mitchell's quality of writing!), but more because the book was a lot more conventional than I'd have expected, specially considering it was released on the back of Cloud Atlas.

It's 1982, the year of the Falklands War. Havoc is wreaking on that front, but thirteen year old Jason is fighting another battle: against bullies, against a stammering problem he can't seem to get rid of, and harbouring a secret that might make him the laughing stock of the school: a secret desire to be a poet. Closer to home, his sister refers to him as "thing," and his parents' marriage is rocky - thirteen, it's a "wonderful miserable age!"

Bluebells swarmed in pools of light where the sun got through the trees. The air smelt of them. Wild garlic smelt of toasted phlegm. Blackbirds sang like they'd die if they didn't. Birdsong's the thoughts of a wood. Beautiful it was, but boys aren't allowed to say "beautiful" 'cause it's the gayest word going.

As opposed to a linear narrative, this book is essentially a set of snapshots in Jason's life as a thirteen year old, focusing on the events that help him mature, as he realises some hard truths about life, be it about his friend's father's alcoholism

"[...]Tell you what it's like, it's like this whiny shitty nasty weepy man who isn't my dad takes my dad over for however long the bender lasts, but only I - and Mum and Kelly and Sally and Max - know that it isn't him. The rest of the world doesn't know that, see. They just say, Frank Moran showing his true colours, that is. But it ain't" Moran twisted his head at me. "But it is. But it ain't.[...]"

or, about the cruelty of war, and how it ruins lives

War's an auction where whoever can pay most in damage and still be standing wins.

Okay, maybe that's a little too profound for a thirteen year old, but the point still stands! Speaking of profundity, how's this:

I've never listened to music lying down. Listening's reading if you close your eyes. Music's a wood you walk through.

And then, you have some mixed with a desperate call for anger management:

Me, I want to kick this moronic bloody world in the bloody teeth over and over till it bloody understands that not hurting people is ten bloody thousand times more important than being right.

Oh! To be thirteen again...

I enjoyed this book, and the various episodes of Jason's life, despite the fact that at times, he really did seem older and wiser than his years (above excerpts withstanding). It was an easy read, but delightful at the same time, and it was a story I could relate to - being someone born in the eighties myself! I got most of the music references, be it Duran Duran, Beatles, Sex Pistols, Joy Division or the infamous "Do the Locomotion". It took me back a long way, and I was reminiscing away about my life and how things were about a decade ago! I could identify with Jason's preoccupations and concerns at times, and I sympathised with him on the whole rivalry with the sibling - been there, done that! My brother and I couldn't possibly be closer now. Oh, how times change...

Have you read any David Mitchell? Any favourites? I still have Ghostwritten to go, so I'm really looking forward to that.

Also, do you have any other favourite coming-of-age stories? I do love reading them - they almost always take me away to a simpler easier time. Do you feel the same as well about comfort reads?

Just as an aside for you David Mitchell fans out there who've read Cloud Atlas as well:

Madame Crommelynck, the daughter of the famous composer in Cloud Atlas, makes an appearance in this book, when she attempts to introduce Jason to European literature. She plays Robert Frobisher's Cloud Atlas Sextet for the teenager, who is awed by it (see quote above). I loved that bit! Any idea if there are any more references to other characters from his previous books that I've missed?