John Updike - The Widows of Eastwick

Updike's Rabbit series has been on my to-read list for a very long time, so I'm not quite sure how my foray into his world started with his final book, published in 2008. And, as the blurb on the back didn't say anything about this book being a sequel of sorts to The Witches of Eastwick, which is also kind-of unfortunate for I approached this book as standalone. Which it possibly isn't. That said though, this book can easily be read in isolation. It's just that, sometimes, context is a good thing. But, anyway... The Widows of Eastwick follows three witches who used to be friends in their youth, but have since gone their own separate ways, in marriage and parenthood. However, once their husbands have died, and the children move away, the "three old ladies, gone brittle and dry in their corruption" reunite.

As widowed Americans, they travel - first it's Alexandra who goes to Canada alone, and then it's Jane and Alexandra who go to Egypt together, and finally, the coven come together with Sukie, as they travel to China. This part of the book reads more like a travel brochure than a piece of fiction, and while descriptions are normally a good thing, this was just incredibly slow-moving, and had me longing for an uptick in pace.

The wait didn't last too long, for when the witches visit the hometown they had run away from one summer, things start getting interesting. They gather that their crimes from the yesteryears would be forgotten by now, and nostalgia coupled with curiosity leads them back home. It doesn't sound plausible, but as a reader, you go with it, for you want to see why Updike is taking the witches back to the scene of their past crimes - is it atonement, or is it for the victims to exact revenge?

The homecoming isn't quite what they imagined. Eastwick has unsurprisingly changed over the years, from the fun hick place they all remember,  to a homogenised one. For the most part, they are forgotten, but they meet Christopher Gabriel, who blames the witches for the unfortunate demise of his sister - and he is looking for recrimination by casting spells on the witches using electricity. This is serious mumbo-jumbo territory. The witches look to magic, in an effort to protect themselves, but... is it too little too late?

I hate saying this, but the book really did leave a lot to be desired. None of the protagonists were in the least likeable. Forget likeable, I couldn't even relate to them at any level. The story came across as forced and instead of witchcraft, the theme seemed to be about three old ladies repenting their past - or the past they couldn't have.

From the reviews I've read, this does not sound like Updike's best work, so I suspect there will be more Updike on my reading list soon, for if nothing else, his writing is quite accessible (which surprised me). What would you recommend? And, should I go back to read about the shenanigans of the witches in their youth?

Alice Munro - Too Much Happiness

Too Much Happiness is a collection of short stories by internationally-acclaimed writer, Alice Munro. Not being a big fan of short stories, I always start a collection tentatively, not really expecting to enjoy it, but hoping to be pleasantly surprised. Munro's Runaway, for example, was fantastic. Too Much Happiness is a bit of an ironic name for this collection. While reading the first few stories, it felt like the stories kicked off right about the time the "happiness" ended in the protagonist's lives... when everything seemed to be hunky-dory, and then the world came crashing down. The stories, in their simplicity and their profundity, explored how the protagonists reacted, and gave a tremendous insight into the workings of a human mind.

Like I've said before, it's this simplicity that makes Munro's work absolutely breathtaking. There's no cliffhangers. There's no incredible twists. It's about the brittleness of human relationships - nothing out of ordinary, nothing spectacular, but just... something that's so universal that it touches the reader, and makes the reader root for the protagonists; empathise with them and sympathise with them. Reading Munro isn't an escape from reality. It's facing reality head-on.

She had always been such a reader – that was one reason, Rich had said, that she was the right woman for him; she could sit and let him alone[...]. She hadn’t been just a once-through reader, either. The Brothers Karamazov, The Mill on the Floss, The Wings of the Dove, The Magic Mountain, over and over. She would pick one up, planning to read that one special passage, and find herself unable to stop until the whole thing was redigested. She read modern fiction, too. Always fiction. She hated to hear the word “escape” used about fiction. She once might have argued, not just playfully, that it was real life that was the escape.

All that said though, I did find this collection a tad inferior to Runaway. A couple of the stories just didn't resonate with me, and I was left thinking, this is a tad pointless; or, I really don't get this... It seemed to unrealistic in the oh-so-realistic web of fiction that Munro spins. Fiction and Free Radicals are two of the stories. Even Dimensions, the first story, had me confused. It was tragic, but... I just couldn't relate to the main character.

On the other hand, stories like Face and Child's Play were mind-blowing though, and if nothing else, I can't recommend those two stories enough. It's stories like these that keep me going back to the world of short stories, and as soon as I had finished this anthology, I picked up yet another one of her books, simply because they are meant to be read, treasured and then re-read, just for the odd glimpses they give us into life, reality and everything else.

Colum McCann - Let The Great World Spin

New York, 1974. The magnificent twin towers are unveiled to the world, and the consensus is that they are ugly compared to the splendid sky-scrapers that grace the New York skyline (the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Rockefeller Centre etc). But, a marvelous feat from an athlete, Philippe Petit, almost changes the perception. Petit walked across a tightrope between the towers - he danced, he entertained, he wowed, and he enjoyed himself thoroughly, as the New Yorkers below looked up in awe, wondering if the man dancing with the clouds was suicidal, crazy, or if he had some perfectly legitimate reason to be doing what he was. After all, it’s not often, you see someone dancing with the clouds.

Every now and then the city shook its soul out. It assailed you with an image, or a day, or a crime, or a terror, or a beauty so difficult to wrap your mind around that you had to shake your head in disbelief.

In McCann’s award-winning Let The Great World Spin, on the day Petit takes on the skyline, lives of various New Yorkers intersect. Almost a six-degrees-of-separation kind-of premise, the chapters tell the stories - some in first person, some in third person - of these New Yorkers. Amidst other things, love and loss bring them together. Some live in South Bronx, others in Park Avenue; some are prostitutes, others judges; some have lost one son to the ‘Nam war, some three; some are escaping their drug-addled past only to confront yet another battle, and some are looking for a new future. But - the nameless figure in the sky (in McCann’s book, Petit remains an un-named person; his performance a mere backdrop.), and grief bring them together.

The simple things come back to us. They rest for a moment by our ribcages then suddenly reach in and twist our hearts a notch backward.

The book starts slowly with an introduction to two Irish brothers, who have immigrated to New York as adults - Corrigan, a radical monk living amidst the prostitutes and pimps in the Bronx, and Ciaran, aimlessly trying to find his place in life. The next chapter cuts to Claire, living in Park Avenue, mourning the loss of her son in Vietnam. A group of other mothers who lost their sons will be arriving at her penthouse apartment later in the day, so as to find comfort in each other... but, when people come from totally different walks of life, there is more that divides them than what brings them closer. And then there’s the next story: an artist in her twenties, with a history of drug abuse (now cleaned up), is in the passenger seat during a fatal hit-and-run accident - an incident that is bound to ensure that her life will change forever. And then - then we go back to the beginning, where Tillie, a thirty-eight year old prostitute recounts her life’s story, while at court: slightly hackneyed, quite unsurprising, marginally apologetic. Jazz, her daughter, is a prostitute as well, and while Tillie doesn’t make any excuses, there is a tinge of contriteness to her recap. All this against the historical event of the man on the wire.

It was America, after all. The sort of place where you should be allowed to walk as high as you wanted.

The emotional aspect of this book is what makes it so riveting. Claire’s hesitance and tentativeness, Ciaran being overtly protective of his magnanimous brother, Tillie’s raw honesty... how different people cope with grief, and how they try to fathom the crazy world around them. It’s a novel of massive scope, heartbreaking but not depressing... hinting that there is light at the end of the tunnel, and eventually, hope is not in vain.
The diversity of characters is incredible, and one can’t help but cheer on all the primary characters, although... some of the backup characters (including some of the mothers in Claire’s support group) - the less said, the better. It’s so real, so... non-fictional. The irony, of course, is, the one event that seems fictional (i.e. the grand walk across the towers) is what is non-fictional.

In the wake of 9/11, the significance of this walk seems so much greater. Everyone stood up and took notice of this marvelous feat, and in spite of all the grief in the world, on that fateful day, Petit’s act was what was on everyone’s mind, and they all came together to witness that... and then there was 9/11, which, for completely different reasons, brought the city together again, and showed just how resilient, brave, strong and heroic the people are - in spite of the horrors that life brings in its wake.

Erin @ ErinReads has scheduled this as her Reading Buddies read for the month of July. Pop over to see more thoughts and discussions on this book, for I really don't think my post has done an incredible book much justice.

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.

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?

Lorrie Moore - A Gate At The Stairs

A Gate At The Stairs is one of "those" books - beautiful writing, intelligent conversation flowing through the book, a sensitive plot, and a book with great potential. Tassie is a college student in the Mid-western town of Troy, who finds a job as a baby sitter for Sarah, an affluent restaurant-owner who adopts Emmie, a "biracial" child. Sarah is perpetually busy running the upmarket restaurant, and Tassie ends up spending a fair bit of time mothering Emmie.

While there are two other parallel stories (Tassie's "first love" and Tassie's brother contemplating his future at the military), the adoption of the biracial two year old by a white couple was the one that had me glued to the book.

When a boy uses the infamous n-word at Emmie, the babysitter reports it to Sarah, who starts a "group" for parents with non-white children. The group meets every Wednesday, and contemplates what the future holds as well as discusses the present-day situation of the African American race. In a post 9/11 world, racism in midwestern America is still rampant, and the lives of the minority is still under question. The snippets of conversation on Wednesday evenings that Moore penned down had me absolutely boggled. Call me naive, but I don't think much about racism or how a person's caste or skin colour can affect their place in society. In my ideal world, it shouldn't, and maybe because I've not witnessed it first hand, I'm absolutely oblivious. As Martin Luther King once said, "judge not a man by the colour of his skin, but by the content of his character" - but that doesn't really happen, does it?

Yes, I've read a fair bit about slavery and the troubles African Americans face, but, most of those books are from a different age, and in my little head, that time had just gone by. The unfairness of racial abuse towards biracial children literally had me perplexed!

Anyway, I digress. Back to Moore's book.

As one might expect, the plot twist comes from a blast from the past that reminds the many characters that the past does not forget. In my opinion, this was a little excessive as well, and Moore was trying to make the plot more dynamic, more "exciting" - to an extent, she did succeed, but, it just left me feeling perplexed.

The book was an interesting read, but, the last seventy pages just ended up taking a gigantic detour and having a story which didn't really fit in with everything else. Again, maybe it was something that does belong to the post 9/11 world? I don't know - I think the book would have benefitted from either streamlining the story, or avoiding some of it, despite it being emotionally powerful, and relevant in this day and age.

You can't fault the writing style though. It's beautiful, witty, insightful, and although Tassie at times comes across as way too mature for her age, at other times I could relate to her and her college lifestyle. Even Sarah and Edward (Sarah's husband) characters are well-developed, and while I didn't care much for the latter, I did sympathise with Sarah.

Think this book is worth a read, and I'd love to read more of Moore's works, to see if they're as insightful.

Have you read anything by Moore? How do you think her short stories compare to her novel?

Toni Morrison - A Mercy

I finished this book over two weeks ago, and have been struggling to write the review ever since. I honestly hoped I wouldn't have to drag it into the new year, but there you have it... This is the first Toni Morrison I've read, and I started the book with great trepidation. I've heard phenomenal things about Toni Morrison, and I was intimidated... unsure of what to expect. I really hoped I'd enjoy the book, and it would make me go out and buy more books by Morrison instantaneously, but unfortunately, I was left feeling fairly indifferent. I didn't like the book. I didn't dislike the book... and I'm not accustomed to having that kind of a reaction to a book - especially as I've mulled over it for about two weeks!

A reasonably short book (almost a novella), A Mercy is the story set in the 17th century, and provides insight into the life and times of four women living under Jacob Vaark's roof, prior to slavery becoming commonplace. Vaark is a Dutch trader, who has a farm in rural America, and he gets Florens (a young slave girl) as payment for a bad debt. Rebekka (his wife from England), Lina (a Native American who survived small pox, and now runs the farm), and Sorrow (another servant, who survived a shipwreck, and is grossly incompetent) make up the other three women.

The book starts with Florens' first person narrative, as she leaves the farm in search of the blacksmith, who has medical expertise - expertise needed to save the life of her mistress, Rebekka. However, Florens' primary reason for finding the blacksmith is her unequivocal love for him.

The narrative of each chapter  focuses on one or the other of the female characters (as well as Vaark). We hear their story, determine their origins, and figure out their co-dependencies on each other, as well as their insecurities. Be it Rebekka's ambivalence when she first arrives, and see that Lina runs the farm, or Lina's annoyance with Sorrow's lack of commitment to the jobs at hand; be it Lina's overprotectiveness about Florens, or Florens' desire to wear shoes - just like a lady!

There are multiple layers; a multitude of relationships and emotions explored; events of historical significance weaved into the story. However, I found the book lacking depth, and the characters to be fairly two-dimensional. There was a lot packed into the book, and I found that I couldn't relate to them. Frankly speaking, I didn't really care much about them... other than Florens. The opening chapter had me fascinated, and I found the final chapter to be redeeming, to an extent. But - can a book really tick with just two chapters, and some other captivating events?

Maybe I didn't get the book. Maybe it's just too intelligent for me. Or maybe, it's not one of Morrison's better works. I don't know - it's the first Morrison I've read! Would you recommend trying out another book by the much acclaimed Toni Morrison? Okay, that was a rhetorical question. The main question is: which one?

Rating : C

Junot Diaz - The Brief Wondrous Life Of Oscar Wao

The Brief Wondrous Life Of Oscar Wao won the Pultizer Prize for Fiction in 2008. The protagonist, Oscar, is an overweight American boy (with Dominican roots), who aspires to be the next Tolkien. His interests include writing passionately, role-playing games, comic books, sci-fi and fantasy, and of course, women. However, one bad experience with his first love meant his adolescent nerdliness vaporising any iota of a chance he had for young love. He lives in New Jersey with his demanding difficult-to-please mother, Belicia, and his rebellious punk sister, Lola.  While the protagonist of this book is Oscar, it's narrated by Yunior - Oscar's roommate from college, as well as a love interest of Lola. Also, this is not a book about "the brief wondrous life of Oscar Wao" - instead, it's an epic story of the curse (fukú) that Oscar's family has been subject to, for the past two generations, in the hands of Trujillo, a dictator in the Dominican Republic in the mid-1900s.

This is a book rich in history, cultural references and social comparisons.

That's white people for you. They lose a cat and it's an all-points bulletin, but we Dominicans, we lose a daughter and we might not even cancel our appointment at the salon.

We learn of the hardships the family has faced, the co-incidental misfortunes that have befallen each of the members, the lucklessness and hopelessness that seems to embrace all the characters, and how everything is ascribed to fukú - its only counterspell being zafa - which, the narrator admits, that the book might be.

I wonder if this book ain't a zafa of sorts. My very own counterspell.

More importantly, the book is an insight into the harsh rule of Trujillo, a man who

took your wife houses, your properties, put your pops and your moms in jail. Well, it was because he wanted to f- the beautiful daughter of the house. And your family wouldn't let him!

So, despite the fukú that Oscar is under, the past overshadows his present, and the importance of the migration to the States, as well as the hardships his mother has undergone is the predominant story. Oscar's presence, in the grand scheme of things, is "brief" and debatably "wondrous".

Yunior (the narrator) speaks (writes) in colloquial english, with Dominican words and phrases scattered throughout the narrative. All the historical references are accompanied with footnotes, to give context to the events that occur, and this makes the book more real, more interesting, and ultimately, more thought-provoking. I don't know much about Dominican history, and I haven't read any book about DR before. Reading this book has actually been an informative and enriching experience. Dare I say, even wondrous?

The only problem I had with the book was some of the Dominican phrases/words that were left unexplained. I could more-or-less guess what was being said, but, in some cases, I wasn't sure at all. Additional footnotes might have been handy there, if including those references in the main text would break the flow.

Rating: B

Anne Enright - The Gathering

I'm trying to read all the Booker winners, in the next couple of years. This painstakingly dull book, filled with unengaging characters and a pointless plot adds a serious blemish to my plan at the very outset. I struggled through the first thirty pages, and struggled some more 'til I hit page 89, in a week... And then... then I just gave up, and figured this book is not for me. I mean, what a gigantic waste of my reading time! 

I wonder if the Booker judges even read this book, and if they did, did they have exceptionally low standards? I must read the rest of the shortlist for 2007, for I really can't fathom how this book won any kind of prize. 

I mean, what kind of a person imagines the sex-life of her grandmother, and starts off a chapter saying she thought her grandmother was a prostitute? That's the narrator for you. She also judges her mum, and talks of the 'endless humping' in her family, which led to the number of siblings she had being in double-digits. 

I feel terrible, but, 0/10. If negative ratings work, I'd probably give this a -10. Argh! Ok, rant over. 

PS: I was almost tempted to create a new 'genre' called pointless reading for this!

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.