Saturday, 26 October 2013

Lucy Maud Montgomery: The Gift of Wings

I've been deeply fascinated by L M Montgomery ever since I met Anne and her kin. I've loved many authors, but my fascination with 'Maud' runs much deeper - it feels like a personal connection. For nearly two years after Anne of Green Gables, my reading consisted almost solely of Montgomery's works. First the Anne series, then the Emily books, then The Blue Castle and A Tangled Web...

I'm not sure what it is about Montgomery that attracted me to her above all authors. The protagonists with whom I felt I had much in common? The feeling, loving creation of setting that has immortalized Prince Edward Island in the hearts of many ardent fans (including myself)? After I had read all the aforementioned books and some, plus some collections of short stories, I felt like I personally knew the author. With Montgomery, who uses similar themes in most, if not all her books, and who endows every protagonist with some of the same qualities (her characters are different, but they all possess imagination, intelligence, wit and generally a way with words), it is easy to feel as if she is sometimes talking about herself. It is easy to fancy that you know what she would have been like. To me, it was as if a 'kindred spirit' were talking to me from across time and space - I'd related to characters in books before, but never, never at the level at which I identified with Montgomery's protagonists. After a while though, it became less about the books and more about what I could find out about Montgomery by reading them. I became rabidly curious to find out more about the author who'd ruled my imagination for years. A preliminary google search revealed to me the news that Montgomery may have committed suicide.

This may not seem like much to you, but to a sensitive, over-imaginative girl, this was almost earth-shattering. I couldn't believe that this author - whose works contained so much joy, so much life - could even have a reason to take her own life. I retreated, in my mind, behind a defensive shield, refusing to believe that her life could have ended so tragically. As long as there was any shadow of a doubt, I resolved not to believe this. I also decided (thankfully) that I wasn't ready to read Montgomery's journals or any of the books written on her, yet. I would wait till I was less involved, more sensible and less sensitive.


When I received an Amazon gift card this August, I knew what I was going to use it for. Mary Henley Rubio's biography of Montgomery, of which I'd heard good things. I'm mature enough to handle this now, I thought. It's time to get some closure and put this obsession to rest.



The first part of the book, where Rubio is describing Montgomery's ancestry, wasn't very interesting. Once she got to her life, however, I couldn't put it down. I knew some of the things that Rubio describes, but not much. Maud was an extraordinary women, determined, disciplined, talented and extremely resilient.

The book did not give me much happiness, however. I'm not sure whether it was intended that way, but Maud's life comes across as tragic and full of disappointments, perhaps because the unhappy periods in Maud's life get far more attention and description. What is it about artists and men and women of genius that draws us to the flaws and unhappiness in their lives? When we remember Van Gogh, why do we simultaneously remember his art and his famously severed ear? Why is there so much emphasis on Virginia Woolf's suicide? Dante's exile? Dante and Beatrice? Do we get some sort of vindictive satisfaction in saying, "They may have been geniuses, but they didn't lead very happy lives"?

This emphasis on the tortured artist is something that has always troubled me. Is it mandatory for a great artist to die unhappy, melancholy and disenchanted with life?
What justice is there in a world in which people who provide so much happiness to others in the form of their work, are unhappy themselves?

Back to Maud - reading the book, you come across instance after instance of disappointment, of loneliness, of difficulty. The saddest parts of the book, for me, were where Maud fights depression. Her highs and lows resonated deeply with me, because I am the sort of person who can be exquisitely happy and tremendously sad.

But with what strength, what discipline Maud fights this! Rubio says she set aside a few hours for writing everyday, and she wrote, no matter what. If she felt burdened and couldn't write, she would copy texts or things she'd memorized, over and over again until she found inspiration.

From all accounts, she did face rather a lot of difficulties.

She supported herself through her higher education, with little support from a male-centric society, slaved away for a few years teaching and writing at the same time, developed terrible migraines, married a husband whose depressive fits worsened her own, took tablets that resulted in bromide poisoning, and had a terrible son who seemed to do anything that would break his mother's heart.

For all her resilience, for all that she fought, Maud dies exhausted and broken, referring to her life in her journal as 'hell, hell, hell.'

'My position is too awful to endure and nobody realizes it. What an end to a life in which I tried always to do my best in spite of many mistakes.'

Oh, Maud!

I read the last page, shut the book and wept. I wept for my idol, for this woman who'd done so much and felt so much; I wept out of sheer sympathy; I wept out of sorrow, out of fear that I'd end up the same way (I don't flatter myself with regards to talent, but as I've already said, her highs and lows resonated with me deeply). That night, I regretted reading this book, regretted my stupidity in thinking I was mature enough to handle this.

But when a few days had passed, and I was standing a little farther away from myself, I was able to look at things more rationally.

Most accounts of Montgomery's life naturally rely on her journals as a primary source, but for most of her adulthood, Maud wrote in her journals only of things that upset her, when she was at a breaking point, and situations were past endurance. Rubio tries to overcome this by talking to all kinds of people who knew her, including Montgomery's son Stuart (who was the good son; the disappointing one was Chester). She mentions the discrepancy between the troubled woman in Maud's journals, and the witty, sparkling, laughing women most of these people spoke of. Yet, troubled, tragic Maud gets more attention, perhaps understandably, considering that Maud may have ended her life.

But I think that joyous Maud deserves attention too. The woman who wrote of beautiful lands, fun times, raptures, soaring imagination and funny people deserves mention too. Who are we to say who Maud 'really' was? What if, underneath all the bad luck and sad circumstances, the 'real' Maud is the one we see in people's descriptions and in her protagonists? Busy, kind, witty, laughing, fun?

I've made peace with Maud's story. I refuse, however, to look at her as some sort of tragic heroine. There was tragedy in her life, but there was bliss too. I think she deserves to not have that glossed over. And despite whatever I said about the distress her story caused me, I think I have gotten that closure. I don't think I shall obsessively look for more biographies and analyses. I will let Maud rest in peace, reserving a spot in my heart for a wonderfully accomplished, resilient artist.

Sunday, 20 October 2013

Hello again!

It has been too long. Way too long. Unintentionally long.

I'm sorry, faithful readers (if any, apart from my wonderful friends). My brilliant organizational skills combined with being in a new country, having to take care of my own laundry, and understanding college life have kept me occupied, although I have thought so many times of ideas that would make good blog posts that I have enough material for a while now, whether or not I get the time to read a lot.

Sorry for that painfully long sentence. I have really missed blogging.

I have had a number of experiences, wonderful and a little less wonderful, in the past one and a half months. I've seen the Niagara Falls twice, attended a fabulous play on Kasturba Gandhi, heard a magnificent concert on Romeo and Juliet by the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra, been late to class when I tried to cook upma, appalled my mom with the condition of my room when she visited, attended a garba event for Dussehra...


Having started this post yesterday, and twice before that, I think I now have an idea why I have been failing at this the past two months. I have always been terrible in writing on my life or thoughts in general - I go rambling on and on and never get anywhere. I need a focus - a particular incident or topic - and then words will just pour from me effortlessly. They usually need editing, but I can work with them. 

So for this post...

Lately, one of my earlier posts on this blog (one of the earliest) has been haunting me. I compared Charlotte Bronte unfavourably to Jane Austen, saying Bronte could never match up to Austen in my estimation. I feel now that I was unfair and rather hypocritical. What bought on this reflection? Recently, I came across a Jane Eyre vlog on Youtube in the style of the immensely popular Lizzie Bennet Diaries, and today I watched the 1996 movie version of Jane Eyre. This got me thinking about my post, and about the first few times I had read Jane Eyre (I rarely read a book only once). The book had me completely engrossed, and there was a time when I re-read certain passages in the book numerous times. My opinion of the book could, of course, have changed; but I went back to the book and re-read those same passages, and I realized that it hasn't, really. I really like Jane Eyre.



I love stills where the lighting is perfect and everybody looks beautiful because they're shown from the right angles.

So what bought on that post? One of the book bloggers I really admire, Claire from the thecaptivereader.wordpress.com, dislikes Jane Eyre. At the time I decided to blog regularly, I was reading rather a lot of The Captive Reader, and she puts things so well that I suppose I convinced myself about the deep flaws in the book. I do this sometimes when I really admire someone, and I don't do it consciously. I imbibe their opinions and convince myself that they're mine.

What was wrong with my post? First and foremost, Austen and Bronte simply cannot be compared. They were different people who wrote in different contexts in utterly different styles about very different things. An Austen romance is worlds away from a Bronte romance, which of course does not necessarily make one better than the other. 

Second, I was unjustified both in my evaluation of Rochester and in saying there is no humour in Jane Eyre. 

Mr. Rochester is the male protagonist that every wannabe dark romance has been trying to imitate for a while now. Wounded, cynical, witty, impolite in a very attention-grabbing way, and in need of love from a wonderful female creature who is whole, good and innocent enough to recover his faith in humanity, reform him and temper his cynicism all at once. This female creature manages to be sympathetic and relatable and not quite a paragon of virtue because of her passion. While I might find Rochester a tad intimidating in real life, he is somehow very magnetic in the book.  Maybe this is because, despite his occasional despotism and dominance, he comes across as capable of loving very deeply. When Rochester explains things to Jane after she has found out he is already married, I forgive him as immediately as Jane. I find it impossible to think of him as manipulative, scheming and deceitful. With his own twisted, desperate logic, Rochester sincerely believes that he would do no wrong in marrying Jane. The second time I read this book (when I was actually old enough to understand it, this time) I actually found myself wondering whether Rochester was right. What harm would it do to anybody if Jane stayed with him? She has no one to judge her and he cannot be with Bertha anyway.

However, he had no right to keep Jane in the dark and expect her to break the law.

I'm getting sidetracked. I'll keep the psychoanalysis for another post. What I meant to say is that Rochester is a suitably likable and attractive male lead. While reading the book I did not find it repulsive that they are so far apart in age (although when I consider it objectively I do)!

As for humour, Jane Eyre is not a humorous book, but it has dialogue between Jane and Rochester that is witty and entertaining. I said that 'Mr. Rochester and Jane don't ever seem to converse without undertones of something.' Don't conversations between any romantic pair have undertones? Besides, Jane Eyre is one of those rare romantic books where you can actually see the characters falling in love. Their whole relationship is built on good conversation (since neither has any sort of good looks, or so we're told). Finally, it was hypocritical of me to pretend that I read Jane Eyre in a dispassionate way, liking it just 'well enough'. I read it like I read every other book, head over heels. And surely there was something in the book that warranted this liking? 

I'm not saying Jane Eyre is completely wonderful and flawless. But it deserves admiration for a number of things, including an absorbing story (except for when Jane is with the Rivers, and it seems to drag on interminably till she meets Rochester again), very unique protagonists, and the simple fact that it generally has a large impact on the reader (I know it did on me). 

I also realize now that that post was a little bit from indignation at the things Bronte said about Austen. It was a lot easier to disparage an author who had the impertinence and bad taste to dislike Austen. Kidding. About the bad taste. But it certainly coloured my opinion.

And with this I shall stop for now, and I promise I will never bring this up again. 

Wednesday, 28 August 2013

University!

I'm not sure how I'm feeling right now. Excited, definitely, because college is an adventure. Scared because it all seems so vast. In a strange land and missing home and my mom and dad. Wishing my friends were with me, that that would be all it would take to make these four years perfect. Confused, and sleepy, because I've been getting up early everyday in excitement, anticipation, and today, fear that I would be late for my first class.

College is where you bury your outdated dreams and dig up impossible ones. Where you take impractical but wildly interesting courses while assuring your parents that you're filling your 'General education' requirements. These promise to be the four most fulfilling and important years of my life.


I began writing that yesterday, but had no time to finish and post it. Mondays are the busiest days of my schedule. I have classes from 9 am to 7.50 pm, which will become 8.50 pm when my Economics 'Recitation' class starts. Crazy, right? But I have exactly one class on Friday, so I gain a three-day weekend, every weekend.

I go to every class excited about the course content, and so far nothing has disappointed. Some have even surprised. I walk about campus, from class to class, with a dreamy smile on my face, thinking of what I've learned in the last class, thinking I must look funny in the head, but unable to stop, because I am just so happy. I feel like this is what I expected learning to be like. The great freedom of picking of your own classes, picking useful and practical classes, and interesting and impractical classes, and classes you don't know about but pick because the name and course description sound interesting and you've got space on your schedule. Being able to skip classes but not doing it because it will impact your grade and the class is too interesting to want to skip. Feeling for the first time in two and a half years that there is not a single class in which I will have to fight sleep.

I've liked all my classes so far, but I found World Civilization and Reading Shakespeare particularly interesting today. The professor who taught World Civilization today (I forget his name) was old and experienced and very interesting because he had so many anecdotes to share. I will share a humorous one here.
On a trip to Mexico, the Professor (I don't think he was a professor then, and he was far younger), was assisting someone in a survey. He'd finished surveying all the tenants in a piece of land, when he finally met the owner. The owner was very friendly, and invited him in. He then asked the Prof to share a glass of pulque, a Mexican drink (made from some vegetable or fruit and non-alcoholic), which he described to us as 'baby food gone bad - an acquired taste.' To his horror, he saw black bugs all over the overflowing, foaming surface. Live bugs, to boot. But it would be unforgivably rude to refuse the drink. Another visitor had come in and was talking to the landlord, and the Prof welcomed the distraction, glad to put off having to drink the pulque (I hope I'm spelling it right). But towards the conclusion of his conversation the landlord said something to the effect of 'Salud!' or 'Cheers!' - "to which the only thing to do is drink" (the professor's words). So the Prof bravely decided to empty the whole thing in one gulp so as to get it over with. He poured it into his mouth, and the two Mexican gentlemen stared at him. They then said "Crazy American," in a baffled tone, shook the bugs off the surface, and emptied their drinks.

Monday, 26 August 2013

The Great Gatsby: The movie

First, I am indebted to bookssnob (a book blogger, whose review you can find here) because I read a positive review on her blog that inspired to watch this movie despite all the negative, scornful reviews.


I love this shot. Particularly Leonardo DiCaprio in it.

On another note, does anyone else despise Daisy as much as I do? It's very un-subjective and un-analytical of me, but I can't help it. Especially with DiCaprio as Gatsby.

I saw the Baz Luhrmann version of The Great Gatsby recently (my review of the book can be found here). This seems to be one of those movies people love or hate. Despite whatever flaws I think the movie had, I think I fall squarely in the love category.

Let me start with Leonardo DiCaprio's performance as Gastby. I read some reviews where the critics where not of that opinion, but personally, I can hardly see what he could've done better. Maybe say 'old sport' a little less, because that definitely felt slightly overdone, even if it was in the book, and is one of Gatsby's (only) trademarks. I understood Gatsby through DiCaprio's interpretation in a way I never understood it through the book. I don't know how close his portrayal is to Fitzgerald's idea, but to me it seemed pretty damned close. If another director, with completely different sensibilities were to make The Great Gatsby, and cast DiCaprio in the same role again, I would watch it, as long as his interpretation stayed similar. I felt the tragedy, the irony, the pathos, the true emptiness that Gatsby's death leaves, because I was captivated by his performance. If Daisy (played by Carey Mulligan) were real - I could truthfully say she'd probably be one of the people I most hated on the planet, because to me, almost nothing could justify a betrayal of a love so total and so magnificent. For some reason, although there is actually very little similarity, I was reminded of Dhanush (Kundan) in Rhanjanaa, a recent Hindi movie. Maybe it's the level of devotion to an ideal that only they see. But in Rhanjanaa, Dhanush is something of a stalker. I can understand, even forgive Sonam (Zoya) for what she does. Gatsby's passion, while being a similar level of infatuation, is less stalker-ish, less possessive... I can understand how such a passion could be too much for someone to handle (particularly someone who maybe doesn't reciprocate that passion with the same level of intensity). I can perhaps understand - if I try really hard - Daisy's cowardly disrespect of Gatsby's memory (by not acknowledging his death), but I cannot, as reader or a viewer, forgive it.

I am slightly more mixed about Carey Mulligan as Daisy. I think she is a good actor, but I'm not quite sure how much she was Fitsgerald's Daisy. I hated her as much - or more - in the movie, but I don't think that's enough of an indication that she matched the idea of Daisy. In the book I was sympathetic to Daisy all the way until Gatsby's funeral, and then I lost it. That is, of course, in a way the point of the story - Gatsby's enormous potential and passion lost on a woman who cannot even decently mourn his passing - it very poignantly brings home the vast hollowness behind the glittery facade and the raucous, hedonistic parties. In the movie, Daisy seems more weak than 'careless' (one of the most famous lines from the book is "They were careless people, Tom and Daisy--they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money of their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made"). I'm not sure this completely comes through in the movie, although this line is quoted verbatim.

I liked Toby Maguire as Nick Carraway. Carraway was almost completely overshadowed in the movie by Gatsby, but I liked Maguire's performance nevertheless. There was one scene particularly - where after having waited the night, Gatsby is still expectantly awaiting Daisy's call and says something to that effect to Carraway. Carraway murmurs some agreement but you can see in his eyes the knowledge that Daisy will never call. It was a perfect expression - a moment that spoke volumes.

I thought one of the flaws of Luhrmann's Gatsby was the nearly non-existent portrayal of Carraway's and Jordan Baker's relationship, and the complete under-development of Carraway's and Baker's characters. It's unfortunate, because Baker was such a wonderful character in the novel - one of my favourites, in fact. Here she has - or seems to have - a very minor role comparatively.

Luhrmann has been criticized for his lack of subtlety in this movie. I think that there are some scenes - such as the party ones at the Gatsby mansion - where subtlety would be a mistake. Gatsby's parties should be completely over-the-top and overblown. It's fitting. But there are places that I thought his portrayals were childish, literal interpretations - and depictions of certain sentences in the novel. For example, when Carraway goes with Tom to Myrtle's place one night, and they have some sort of party, Carraway says something about being within the scene and without at the same time. In the movie, this is - literally - shown as two Maguires, one within and one without. That is a subtitle that I think viewers could do without. It's a little insulting to their intelligence.

But overall - I came away from the movie somehow moved by the story. It might have had more to do with my finally, actually understanding what I'd earlier read in the novel, than with the actual movie itself. But I'm not quite sure. I think there was some magic in the movie, a life that DiCaprio breathed into Gatsby that showed me his character, and a depiction that helped me understand the undertones and themes of the novel in a new way. If I were a movie critic, I'd find this movie extremely difficult to rate.

You've got to have some guts to meddle with a classic of this stature. And for his guts and vision, I'd give Luhrmann 4 stars out of 5. 

Thursday, 22 August 2013

Barack Obama!


By the most wonderful luck, I have seen and heard President Barack Obama speak first-hand within the first month of my landing in the US to pursue my under-graduate education. Perhaps it is a sign that I will be famous and important some day?

I heard a few days back that Obama would be visiting The University at Buffalo (UB) , and signed up for a student lottery for tickets.  I received a confirmation email the day before yesterday stating that I had won a ticket. I couldn't sleep all night for excitement. We were told to reach at 9 am, but by the time I got there, at 9.02, there was a miles-long line (for the Alumni Arena, where the event would take place) extending all over the north campus. I resigned myself to a long wait, chatting with a few friends I'd made in the line, and texting a friend at the College of William and Mary. It was like waiting for darshanam at Tirupati, only, out-of-doors.

When I finally got in, at 11.00 am (and there were still a lot of people behind us) I scrambled to find a good vantage point. All the seating was full, so I sat down on the stairs. There were around 6000 people in an arena with seating for 4000. The speech was due to begin around 11.15, and there was a band playing, a large screen saying 'Welcome, Mr. President' and anticipation in the air.

We heard, first, the secretary of education, Arne Duncan, then a sophomore student giving an introduction, and finally - the president!

The crowd rose and there was a humungous amount of cheering and clapping as Obama entered the arena and got on to the stage. He hugged the sophomore student. The screen entered video mode and after the cheering died down, Obama greeted the crowd, which started them off again. It was a crowd which didn't need much prompting to clap or cheer - I missed many bits and pieces of the speech which were obscured by the boisterousness of the crowd.

The topic was 'Affordable Education', a cause for which UB as starting point made sense, as UB is one of the best 'best-value' colleges in the US. With a good education at nearly half the price of Ivy league or other top universities, UB gives 'bang for the buck' (a phrase Obama used in his speech)!

He made a lot of good points (although I am not very well-informed about American politics and the system, so I cannot really make a qualified judgment), but I thought a lot of it was well-written - or well-spoken - rhetoric. I also found myself more carried away by his oratory skills and the enthusiastic crowd than by the merit of his arguments, which I hadn't had time to consider yet.

The only concrete proposals he made were these:

1. Change the rating system so that universities are rated on how much they provide for how much money, how many students actually graduate, how many of them graduate on time, how successful they are in finding jobs and in their careers, and how much debt they graduate with, rather than what the enrollment and admission rates, and facilities are. This was something I was very much in agreement with, because I do not like the present ratings system followed by agencies such as US News and World Report. It's high time we heard of good universities that more of us can actually get into.
2. Make the environment more competitive so that universities innovate to keep costs low.
3. Make funding aid and colleges a priority for state governments.
4. Shift the focus from profits from student loans to helping with student loans.
5. Make the 'Pay as you earn' program - where the student only has to pay back 10% of his/her income (as loan repayment) every month more accessible and widespread by spreading awareness and widening and increasing eligibility.

There were a few more I think that I cannot remember, but a good summary can be found here :
http://www.buffalonews.com/city-region/erie-county/obama-trip-to-buffalo-emphasizes-ambitious-plan-to-control-college-costs-20130822

There's also a transcript here:
http://blog.timesunion.com/capitol/archives/193653/transcript-obamas-ub-speech/

Somewhere in the middle of the speech a spectator shouted something I couldn't hear as it was drowned by roaring from the crowd. I later found out that it was "Traitor, Obama! Traitor, Obama!" Obama just said "thank you" and moved on as if nothing had happened!

There was also a point where he said "I love you too," which exponentially increased the crowd's already extremely raucous cheering.

It was wonderful seeing a man of such importance speak in so informal and apparently extempore a manner. I kept waiting for him to refer to a sheet, but he never did.

The excitement wore off only when I realized I had gotten on the wrong bus back (the routes changed as the some roads had to be closed off), and had to travel all the way to the South campus and back to the North Campus (12 km overall), walk to a bus stop, get off at the right stop, and walk again to my hotel, having crossed the road three times. Then I collapsed in a chair, exhausted, with no thoughts but of food and the bed.

Atlas Shrugged part 2

I wrote this post a long time back (around a month back), but somehow never got to post it (I've been travelling a lot):


Besides the fact that I've been very busy preparing to leave for the US for my undergraduate studies, and also preparing for a vocal music program I had yesterday, I've been avoiding this post because I don't know how to put what I've now got to say about Atlas Shrugged, having (finally) finished it a few days back. I'm not sure how to justify my complete change in opinion from beginning to end. Reading my last, awe-filled post convinces me that it is impossible, but I will try.

Since I have now finished reading the book, for anyone who hasn't, there will be spoilers here.

Atlas Shrugged is not a novel. It is a vehicle for Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism. As a friend put it, 'full of Objectivist claptrap.' I found myself less convinced by and less in agreement with this philosophy as I progressed through the book. I understand Rand's objections to Communism, but I do not think that Capitalism is, by any means, the perfect solution. Rand seems to suffer from the delusion that resources are endless. Perhaps I am biased by my environmental perspective- perhaps I misunderstood? - but I found it ridiculous that Francisco d'Anconia and Ellis Wyatt think that, having destroyed their copper mines and oil fields, respectively, they can miraculously conjure up further sufficient amounts of copper and oil. Seems to me that Rand had a very selective perception of reality. I also suffered very heavily towards the end of the book because I began to find the long, preachy monologues given by many of the characters quite unbearable. The 50-something page speech by John Galt in particular. After 19 pages, I gave up in despair and skipped right past it. Since that is a pivotal moment in the novel, it was unfortunate that I couldn't bring myself to sit through it. However, I felt that Rand was just repeating what she'd been saying throughout the book in an unnecessarily verbose manner. And her 'heroes' are just as convinced of the superiority and infallibility of their arguments as the 'looters' and 'moochers.'

Speaking of 'heroes,' I liked Rearden the best. John Galt felt unreal, harsh and distant. I liked Rearden better before he switches to Galt's side, and I liked Francisco better before he met Galt. I did not quite understand why Galt is superior to Rearden or Francisco. I really liked Dagny, but it seemed funny to me (not in an amusing sense) that four men would fall in love with her. While reading of her relationship with Rearden, I was convinced that she was in love with him - she certainly acted as if she was. I wasn't in the least convinced by the switch of her affections to John Galt. I'll say it again: What makes John Galt so wonderful?? Francisco seemed to have the same convictions, use the same language and was far more martyry and saint-like, if you want a hero to worship...

One scene that really jarred me was the first intimate encounter (euphemism!) between Dagny and Hank. It was so violently described that it seemed more like an assault to me. It made me - literally - flinch - because Rand seemed to be under the assumption that she was describing something pleasurable. Right - to a masochist. Also, if a person is only sexually attracted to her highest ideal, why is Dagny attracted to three men? Or did I misunderstand it? Couldn't Rand atleast have made a few women fall in love with the same man to balance things a bit? Four men in love with the same women? What is she, a siren?

I also thought that portrayals of those who didn't agree with the Objectivist philosophy were extremely one-sided. All the characters who are not for a free-market, competition and capitalism, are made to sound weak, fickle, greedy, and villainous. Surely it's not always that black and white?

The dialogue really suffered as the novel moved along and Rand tried to expound her philosophy, as all the characters began to sound much the same. Plus they never seem to have any light or 'normal' conversation. It's a little irritating. I've never been fond of books where the main characters are perennially having weighty or profound conversation, because that doesn't happen in real-life, and it isn't the least bit plausible.

I don't really know how to end this post. I have quite a few things to say about Objectivism, some points of which I greatly object to, but I'm a bit cowardly when it comes to anything that could be that controversial. I don't know if there still are die-hard followers of Rand, but if there are, I'd probably receive threats.

Saturday, 13 July 2013

Atlas Shrugged

I was going to finish the Krishna Coriolis series before moving on to other books, but I realized that I have to write an essay on Atlas Shrugged for a competition, and delaying further would not be a good idea.

I kept putting this off, because I thought that a book so famous, and supposed to contain the essence of Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism, would be dull and heavy. I feared that it would be like the other 'great' works I've read in the past two years: that it would be another God of Small Things. I feared that I would have to struggle to see the point, to convince myself of its greatness because the 'experts' said so and because I would have to write on it. The size scared me off, and the reputation made me apprehensive.

I was wrong.

Atlas Shrugged belied my every expectation. I find myself enraptured by it, engrossed by it, unable to put it down and unable to stop thinking about it. I sympathize so strongly with Dagny and Rearden that I cannot help but race along the book impatiently, flipping every once in a while to the 1069th page in despair. I cannot remember the last time I felt simultaneously that I needed to know how it ended and yet not want it to end. I do not know yet whether I agree or disagree with Ayn Rand's thinking, whether I agree partially, whether I disagree completely, but I know that Atlas Shrugged is a work of brilliance, truly a 'masterwork,' an awe-inspiring achievement that I will revisit many times hence, and that will inspire thought in me that will never cease, because there is so much to think about and so much to admire. I bow down before a mind so immense that it can write a book 1069 pages long, with a plot so compelling that I am bewitched by it. There may be flaws in Ayn Rand's philosophy. There must definitely be critics of it. But I am not far enough away yet to look at her work dispassionately, so I am sure that what I am writing right now must read as a tribute to her literary merit. Perhaps after a while, when I have finished reading and had time to think of other things, I can look at it more objectively, but right now I am in thrall of Rand's immediate message, of her belief that a man is 'a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute.'

Wednesday, 10 July 2013

The Krishna Coriolis, books 1 and 2

I am very, very impressed by Ashok Banker. I like his writing style, I like his topic, and I find his books absorbing.

What is interesting is that despite writing in English, using slang and the vernacular, Banker somehow manages to retain the essence of the epics he is re-telling. It may be the usage of Sanskrit words like rishi, maatr and pitr which lends his version of the stories authenticity and regionality. And it may be the fact that he deals with them respectfully, passionately. The fact that Banker has done a lot of research to give a rich and detailed rendering is not lost on you.

That said, he has a slight tendency to melodrama, and he is sometimes a little redundant where there are large descriptive passages. I really enjoy his dialogue, though. I've read the beginning of his Ramayana series (I will finish it now) and it seems to me that he has evolved from that series to this. His Ramayana, despite the attributes I mentioned in the above paragraph, sometimes seems like a foreign fantasy rather than an essential Indian epic. In the Dance of Govinda I felt that I was reading about the Krishna we know from our childhood tales, which is no mean feat.

Slayer of Kamsa leads up to the birth of Krishna. Kamsa gets progressively worse, rampaging around Mathura, killing innocent people, disrupting the peace treaty negotiation between Vasudeva and Ugrasena (his father), allying with Jarasandha, and when his demon form comes to the fore, imprisoning his parents and Vasudeva and Devaki, and usurping the throne. It therefore paints a grim, dismal picture as many innocent people are dying and being imprisoned, and who cling desperately onto the prophecy that the eighth child born to Vasudeva and Devaki will be the slayer of Kamsa. The book ends with the birth and transportation of Krishna to Nanda's household as the whole city of Mathura miraculously falls asleep, allowing Vasudeva to safely leave Krishna at Nanda's household.

As I was while reading Banker's Ramayana, here, again, I was astonished by the depths of misery to which the city and its people sink, and the extent of Kamsa's depravity and inhumanity (it is emphasized that he is not human...)
As children, when we hear or read these stories, we hear blunted, censored versions that are mild and narrow in their depictions of 'evil' and grand and moralizing in their depictions of 'good.' The antagonist, be it Ravana, Kamsa, or Duryodhana, commits obvious, glaring sins, and is punished for it. In Ravana's case his 'sole' trespass is the kidnap of Sita. Here, we see more complex, intricate portrayals that convey the extent of tyranny that would require God himself to take human form and come among us physically to pull us out of nightmarish depths. It is no simple, on-off sin that requires elaborate defiance and warfare; it is cruelty in its highest form, cruelty that makes life hell for many. As you read of this cruelty, you find yourself awaiting deliverance as desperately and as eagerly as the victimized citizens.

I felt that Vasudeva was beautifully drawn in Slayer of Kamsa. He becomes far more than a good man who fathered Krishna; he becomes a 'hero' in his own right. There are splendid conversations between Devaki and Vasudeva as they try to resolve the menace that her brother has become. Vasudeva, who is rational, and yet idealistic and non-violent, does not agree to catch Kamsa off-guard and kill him. He wishes to try to talk to Kamsa, to reason with him and negotiate. Devaki is aghast, telling him that Kamsa is well past listening to reason, but Vasudeva refuses to be convinced. Kamsa tries to kill him, not once but thrice. Each time Vasudeva is miraculously saved, the weapon either coming to a standstill in front of him, disintegrating, or even turning on its user. The first time Vasudeva stands his ground, trying to reason with Kamsa even as his comrades try to warn him of Kamsa's rising temper. Vasudeva's strength of conviction and courage are remarkable, as he fights for what is just regardless of what he believes the consequences of his actions may be.

Dance of Govinda was considerably lightened by the presence of the infant Krishna and Balarama. The joy he brings his parents (both real and foster) and Vrajbhoomi resonates through the book, overshadowing the grim realities of Jarasandha's rule through Kamsa, and giving you many smiles. Being superhuman, Krishna communicates to Yashoda (his foster mother) - and on occasion his father and real parents - telepathically. His dialogues are calming, teasing or innocent as the occasion may require. Somehow, despite the fact that Krishna has supernatural abilities, and knows far more than any normal infant ever would, Banker manages to give his actions an undertone of innocence and sometimes even a childish gaiety. Things are still grim in Mathura, but the citizens know as well as the reader now that deliverance is on the way.

I am unable to decide which book cover I like better. The Slayer of Kamsa cover is more sophisticated, but the Dance of Govinda has a beautiful Krishna on it...

Coming up next: Krishna Coriolis, books three and four.

Sunday, 7 July 2013

Inferno


So, Inferno. I have a feeling that just mentioning it will boost my pageviews the way The Devil Wears Prada did.

I had only read two Dan Brown books before Inferno. Someone had told me the story of The Da Vinci Code beforehand, so I didn't find it as fascinating or engrossing as many people seem to find it. I found Angels and Demons more interesting, but the way in which the Cardinals were murdered was a little gruesome and sensational for my tastes. So I hadn't much experience with Dan Brown before Inferno. I didn't go in with a bias because critics always tend to be snobbish and delegate Dan Brown's prose to the trash pile. True, his prose isn't exceptional, and he does mix his metaphors occasionally, but I didn't find him as unbearable as all that.

My biggest takeaway from this book was Dante's Inferno. I learnt so much about Dante and Inferno that I feel quite cultured now. As for the writing, well - some grammatical errors niggled at me occasionally - but I read the book because I was out of town and it was the only one I could get  my hands on, and it suited the purpose of filler entertainment quite well. I thought it was adequately interesting. It was what you'd expect from Dan Brown - what else could you ask for?

Some of the plot twists were a little hard to digest. I won't give in to the temptation to include spoilers here.

I am not sure how much I liked Sienna Brooks, the ultra-brainy, 208-IQ (208? I'm not even sure that has happened in the real world) female doctor lead. She seemed - unreal. And I just didn't like her much. I'm not sure why I didn't though. Langdon was fine.

There's not really much you can say about Inferno without giving away the plot. I wanted to say something about the rogue bio-scientist in the book, but can't figure out how much is too much. But I was a little disappointed by the ending. In trying so hard to give the plot a twist that truly shocks the reader, Dan Brown deprives us of a truly satisfying ending. Things feel slightly incomplete and anti-climactic.

All in all, I liked the book for the tidbits I gained, and for the way it helped me pass my time when I didn't have a number of books to pick from. It isn't boring, which is a lot more than can be said of a lot of books. So, Inferno = good time pass if you are able to ignore notoriously bad prose.

Coming up next: Reviews of Ashok K Banker's Krishna Coriolis series.

I intend to end all my posts like the above hereafter.

Edit, 31st Jan 2014: Inferno shows a terribly simplistic, unsophisticated and inaccurate understanding of over-population and population problems. For example, developed countries, certainly don't need fewer children being born; in fact, many of them are suffering from aging populations and larger burdens on the workforce.


Saturday, 6 July 2013

The Devil Wears Prada


As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, I don't usually read books like The Devil Wears Prada. Barring the Shopaholic series by Sophie Kinsella, I therefore have no experience with this genre. However, I enjoyed this book. It was light, funny, sarcastic and interesting enough that I finished the book pretty fast. The other book in the omnibus I borrowed, however, (Everyone Worth Knowing, also by Laura Weisberger) did not hold my interest. It somehow seemed a bit too similar to The Devil Wears Prada, even though the plots are quite different. The protagonist did not capture my sympathy immediately, and I did not persevere, because I have a lot of books on my list right now.

It is easy to feel sympathetic towards Andy. As the under-dog, and apparently a virtual slave to her demonic boss, Miranda Priestly, she inspires sympathy. As someone working for a company whose views/principles she does not agree with or endorse, she inspires liking as a victim of a scenario that is - sadly - very familiar. I have not had a job yet, but I still understand (and am very familiar with) the thinking that leads one to take up a job one hates, because it will one day lead to greener pastures. The book has a very clear message - Priestly's powerful and prestigious position gives her no right to trample over her underlings and whoever she believes to be her inferior in class and taste. The author also seems to believe that fashion is a field that is given far too much importance (the gravity with which Miranda's myriad eccentric orders are treated is heavily satirized in the book), and that it endorses many unhealthy fads including the belief that one has to be stick-thin to be attractive. The book is reportedly partly based on the author's experience working as an assistant to the notorious, fur-endorsing editor of Vogue, Anna Wintour. The author however, refutes any allegations that Priestly is based on Wintour. Anna Wintour makes a small appearance in the book, but we are told she and Miranda dislike each other.
Doesn't Meryl Streep look amazing as Miranda Priestly? I haven't seen the movie yet, though.

Miranda Priestly is a very one-dimensional character. It is impossible to like her or feel any understanding, because we see her through Andy's eyes, and Andy constantly fantasizes about killing or otherwise maiming Miranda. Although the author makes valid points about the unhealthiness of endorsing, and creating, the view that girls need to be razor-thin to wear good clothes and look beautiful, and the pettiness and hypocrisy that sometimes exist in Priestly's world, it seems that she is biased against the fashion world, and believes it to be shallow and undeserving of the attention it receives. It would have been nicer if she had made Miranda a more complex character, and developed her a bit, but the book is, after all, written in first-person from Andy's point of view, and in Andy's view, Miranda is the Devil who wears Prada.

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

The Spanish Bride


The major difficulty I had while reading this book was a lack of understanding of the military terms and maneuvers and a very shallow knowledge (actually almost non-existent) of the Napoleonic wars. So I did not understand at least half the book. However, the rest - the interactions between the characters and the descriptions of the conditions tolerated by soldiers and their suffering in certain environments and battles - was easy enough to understand.

The Spanish Bride, by Georgette Heyer, starts off with the marriage of Brigade-Major Harry Smith and Juana. Juana is married at the tender age of fourteen. However, the marriage is not forced; Harry Smith and Juana fall in love almost on sight. Thankfully Harry Smith is only twenty three; if he had been in his thirties or forties, I think I would have abandoned the book then and there. Juana travels with Smith while he campaigns and does battle, sharing all the privations and inconveniences of army life. She is tough and determined, never complaining about what she has to face, or despairing because she has no contact with her Spanish family (I actually found this very strange. Juana is married at the age of fourteen - fourteen! - and loses contact with her family so totally that she is effectively orphaned, and she seems to forget all about them as soon as she is married. She doesn't as much as mention that she misses them). The book follows their life until the defeat of Napolean, with some very interesting insertions of what Wellington said and did at different times, and depictions of what his soldiers and generals thought of him.

Juana seemed strangely like a female lead from one of Eva Ibbotson's books - fiery, passionate, short-tempered, able to get on with just about anyone, almost able to talk to animals and sing with the birds. While hugely enjoying Ibbotson's books, I always had the idea that such women did not exist in the real world. If Heyer's portrayal is any accurate, it seems that Juana was hugely charming and charismatic - liked by everyone - and also very democratic, brave, and compassionate. Descriptions of her actions and words and interactions with Smith were entertaining and enjoyable. Harry Smith comes across as impetuous, brave, boyish, hot-tempered, and a little immature. The chemistry between the two is wonderful, and seems very real. There were also some very nice secondary characters, including Cadoux and George Simmons, some of Smith's superiors, and Smith's family.

There is a bias towards the English in describing the wars. I always have difficulty rejoicing when one side wins a battle in a book (especially when the battle has really occurred) because I am always thinking of the other side and its casualties. But despite the background, the book wasn't too heavy or depressing. Overall, I enjoyed the book, but I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I understood the historical background and the military terms and maneuvers.


Sunday, 9 June 2013

Guide

I haven't been able to read much since my last post, so I'm going to write about some books I've already read. But I've got a good stack of books ready for my next post(s), including Gone With the Wind, Summer Moonshine, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Devil Wears Prada. I don't generally read the last type of book at all, but I've decided to give it a try...


I read Guide by R K Narayan for IB Literature. So far, I've only read Talkative Man, the Malgudi Days collection of short stories, and Guide by R K Narayan. I think I liked Malgudi Days best. I liked the other two, too, but so far I haven't been able to feel the love he seems to inspire in so many readers. It is a shocking gap in my repertoire as an Indian reader that I have begun to read R K Narayan (and other Indian authors) only recently, and I plan to begin to remedy that (I hope I used the word repertoire correctly).

If you've already read the book, you can skip the detailed summary in the next three paragraphs.

The Guide's storyline is pretty fascinating. Raju, the son of a small-time shopkeeper, grows up to become 'Railway Raju,' the owner of a railway shop and a tourist guide. He becomes quite well-known, and Marco, a learned tourist who wants to study some caves in Malgudi arrives with his wife, Rosie and asks for Raju. Rosie is a talented dancer, but Marco doesn't appreciate her gift; in fact he forbids her to dance at all, because he thinks it's a remnant of her lowly background (she is from a family of temple dancers). Raju, however, does appreciate her, and encourages her to continue dancing. They begin an affair, and when Marco finds out, he is furious and disowns her. Rosie then lives with Raju and his mother. Raju's mother disapproves of her, and the talk in the village is that a 'snake-dancer' has ensnared Raju. Eventually Raju receives an ultimatum from his mother at the prodding of his uncle: if Rosie continued to stay in the house, she would leave. Raju refuses to make Rosie leave, and this causes a break in his relationship with his mother that is never repaired. Raju then concentrates all his energy on supporting Rosie's career, and she eventually becomes famous as 'Nalini' (as 'Rosie' is not an appropriate name for a classical dancer). Nalini is brilliant, but Raju becomes extremely full of himself, convinced that he is the reason for her success. He is very controlling, booking all her appointments, controlling the finances, the household, even breaking up Nalini's time with friends by telling her she should rest. He becomes greedy and power-hungry, and she, dissatisfied; she begins to feel that she is selling her art - like a 'monkey on a rope' (that is a paraphrase, as I don't remember the exact wording). Raju is puzzled by her attitude. By now, his only goal in life is to keep making more money to support the lavish lifestyle he has created and to maintain appearances with the powerful friends he has made. Nalini, however, doesn't see the point in making so much money if they can never enjoy it. Raju tries to comfort her by telling her they will take a vacation as soon as all her present appointments are fulfilled, but she is not satisfied.

At this point, Marco sends Raju and Nalini a copy of a book he has written on the caves in Malgudi, as thanks for Raju's help. Paranoid about the effect this will have on Nalini (she believes that the fault is entirely hers, and he thinks that Marco's 'kindness' will make her regret being with him and cause her to idolize Marco), Raju does not show her the book. Nalini also receives a letter from Marco telling her to sign a document that will allow her to retrieve a jewellery box that is in his possession. However, Raju comes across this letter first, and instead of giving it to her, keeps it to himself in the same spirit of paranoia. Ultimately he forges Nalini's signature (she now signs herself 'Nalini Rose') and posts the document himself, rationalizing that she wouldn't mind, that what belongs to her belongs to him...This forgery is found out, and Nalini is aghast when the police take Raju aside at one of her programmes. She finds out that all of the money she has earned has been put into maintaining their expensive lifestyle, and she works very hard and sells off jewellery and other personal possessions to hire an expensive and reputed lawyer to fight Raju's case. She has, however, lost all faith in him, and after he is found guilty, she breaks off all contact with him.


Two years later, Raju is released from jail, having been the model prisoner, helping the warden with his garden, being very obedient, and never getting into altercations with any of the other prisoners. He is too ashamed to go back to Malgudi, and stops at a village, where he is mistaken for a sadhu (a saint) by a man named Velan. When he is able to solve Velan's problem (a recalcitrant sister), Velan spreads the word, and soon all the villagers are coming to Raju, bringing him fruits, clothes, and problems. He begins to give discourses everyday, pulling mythological episodes from his memory and imparting lessons. Raju never has a problem with talk. He is always able to say what the listener wants to hear. This way of life is very convenient for Raju, until drought strikes the village. The villagers get into a fight over some food, and Raju tells a dimwitted brother of Velan's that he will not eat until they cease to fight. This dimwitted brother twists the message, and informs the villagers that Raju will not eat until it rains. The villagers cease to fight, and rush to him, believing they are saved. He tries to explain what he actually said, but he is overwhelmed. And so begins Raju's epic fast, that results in the book's famously ambiguous ending.

The narration skips between first (Raju's point of view) and third person. This happens very effectively, and without inspiring any confusion. It allows the reader to see both Raju's mentality, and gain an insight into the viewpoints of other characters. The narrative style does not in anyway hamper the interesting-ness of the story. It does not bore anywhere, and keeps the reader quite hooked till the end.

The characters are all beautifully drawn. Raju, charming, corrupt, manipulative, adaptive, clever; Rosie/Nalini, loyal (I know that sounds odd considering she strays from her husband, but she refrains from abusing him after he disowns her, and helps Raju when he is caught, despite the fact that he is in the wrong and she really has no obligation to), passionate, frank, able to independently sustain herself once she has no men in her life; Marco, pedantic, cold, coldly just, indifferent, dispassionate; Velan, loyal and trusting; and a number of colourful supporting characters.


One of the nice things about the book was Raju's realization that Nalini had no need of either him or Marco. After he is out of her life, she continues to be successful and famous, handling her life perfectly by herself. Her passion and intelligence are more than enough for her to thrive on independence.

The Indian setting is nicely captured, although the social environment has far more importance than the political environment (the political environment actually does not play any role whatsoever). There is humour in the book, and Raju's transformation is moving. Raju is very likeable, despite  his dishonesty and manipulations (he is the 'lovable rascal'). As for the significance of the title - 'Guide' is a very fitting one, in both a literal and metaphorical sense. Raju becomes something of a spiritual guide towards the end, doling out advice. As for the ambiguous ending, it is a little bit difficult to live with. I suppose, as a reader, one must just decide what one wants the ending to be, and settle with it.

Monday, 3 June 2013

The Great Gatsby

Well, so much for my grand announcement to post something everyday. I've been wanting to post for a week now, but this is an auspicious season, and I've been attending a number of family functions, besides attending music classes, an Art of Living course (which was amazing) and having my little cousin over, so this post was sadly delayed.

The Talisman Ring was an enjoyable read. I think Heyer is good for a light, pleasant, humorous read. I like her style of writing and her language, and am looking forward to reading more of her books.


The next book I read was The Great Gatsby. I've had the book for a few years, and the Baz Luhrmann movie spurred me to finally read it (although I haven't seen the movie yet). I have to confess that the book went largely over my head, although I think I understood the themes well enough. I think I would have to read the book another time to fully grasp it. So I may possibly say things that are utterly obvious or completely wrong.

My opinion on the characters and my sympathies are mixed. I'm not sure to what extent I liked whom. I know I didn't like Tom at all, and I also came to dislike Daisy towards the end. I liked Jordan Baker. I'm not sure about Nick Carraway; he seemed decent enough, but he seems a bit - taken in? - by Gatsby, and he behaves abominably to Jordan Baker after the clash between Tom and Gatsby.

When it comes to Gatsby himself, I think he is charismatic and magnetic. His devotion to Daisy is in a way touching, but also seems delusional, and a waste of his enormous talent (that he uses it solely to find and please Daisy). He gives these fantastic, showy, extravagant parties, and then, when he finds that Daisy doesn't like them, he stops completely. I also think that it would have been easier to be sympathetic towards Gatsby if he'd come about his wealth in an honest manner. Nick constantly skirts the issue, but the means Gatsby  uses to become wealthy seems to taint Gatsby's love (atleast for me), make it more of an obsession, something dangerous (he will do anything for her or to reach her). He loves an idea of Daisy, an impression of a lovely time in his past that he simply cannot let go of and tries his hardest to bring back. And yet, he comes across to the reader as a much better man than Tom, who is violent with Myrtle, and who is hypocritically aghast at Daisy's affair although he has one of his own.

I did not like Daisy. In the end, she doesn't seem worth so much devotion. She is cowardly (or careless and reckless) enough to let Gatsby take the blame for the accident. And when he does so without complaint, after he dies, there is not so much as an acknowledgement from her. I find Jordan Baker far more admirable (despite her being dishonest and a liar) because she knows her own mind, and I get the feeling that she would not have behaved like Daisy were she in Daisy's position.

I feel somewhat doubtful about the objectivity of Nick Carraway as a narrator. As a reader, you can't be sure about what he glosses over, what he emphasizes, what he exaggerates...you know, however, for a fact, that he mostly ignores how Gatsby came across his wealth, that he is fastidious, and unable to take any sort of blemishes on situations or characters he has idealized or formed an idea of (symbolized by his wiping off the dirty word that someone has written on Gatsby's doorstep at the end of the book).

I shan't talk about the themes, because whatever I have to say has probably already been said. I also didn't understand the book well enough to come up with any new inputs.

I understand that Fitzgerald made the description of the accident graphic to create a certain impact, but I still didn't like it. It almost put me off my food for a few days.

On a side note, can anybody explain to me why it is that most so-called 'great' novels have to be depressing, tragically ending, and/or somehow dispirited, devoid of hope in life, and convinced that humans are a species for which there is no hope? Do books have to be cynical to be considered of literary merit? I read The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (for IB English Literature) and absolutely hated it. I'm sorry if anyone reading this has a different opinion and is offended. She does write well, but I didn't enjoy the book at all. I do not like any book that makes me feel that life is not worth living, and it seems to me that all the 'great'  works I've read in the past two years have left me feeling this way. To me, a great book is one that inspires you to live happily or in a principled, strong manner no matter what, or that makes you think in a way that develops your knowledge or understanding. Perhaps I am being simplistic, and I am not in the least suited to 'literature'; in that case, so be it. In the particular case of The God of Small Things, it seemed to me that so many tragic things could not possibly happen to one family or in one story. It seems to me, that even just one of the many 'bad' things that happen in this story would be a strong enough focal point to base a book on. Also, she simply bashes you on the head with a number of issues and themes, from love to politics to caste-ism to abuse. It just left me feeling heavy and wishing that I had never read the book. The Booker Prize did not convince me otherwise. I also felt that if even one of the characters had survived these ordeals in a healthy manner, I might have been able to tolerate the book. As it was, I felt as if something ugly and nightmarish had been imprinted on my brain. I do not have the attitude that ignoring ugly things makes them disappear. But I also do not have the attitude that focusing solely on ugly things would somehow solve problems. 

Friday, 24 May 2013

The Talisman Ring

Having reflected on my impetuous announcement, I have decided that perhaps a target of a book a day (plus review) is a little over-ambitious. I have joined a photography class, and I have also started the process of cleaning my room and arranging my books by author (both of which are no small tasks, I assure you. I am making an inventory of my books so as to be able to keep a miserly track of them. I have only reached number 117, and I was nowhere near done before I gave up in despair.) So should I be unable to finish a book in a day, I will still post - it will just be an ongoing process - a continuous reflection while reading. Sort of like a book journal.

I was going to (finally) read The Great Gatsby first, my curiousity pricked by Baz Luhrmann (although I haven't seen the movie yet). But I felt an even more insistent pricking by a review of The Talisman Ring by Georgette Heyer in the Captive Reader blog I mentioned in my earlier post. I have never read Georgette Heyer before. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was absolutely delighted. I am still only about halfway through (didn't get much time today, sadly). But I have already laughed out loud several times. 

After the death of Lord Sylvester (bear with me, I am not good with the nobility, so I shall be conveniently vague on details), Eustacie (half-french) is engaged to Lord Tristram (a nephew, I think) by Lord Sylvester's last wishes. The actual heir, Ludovic, fled the country after being involved in gambling and (allegedly) a murder involving the possession of a priced heirloom - the talisman ring. Nearly everybody is convinced of his guilt, and Tristram helps him flee. Eustacie, however, considers him the only 'romantic' figure in her family. Very soon, Eustacie and Tristram realize that they do not suit each other at all, and Eustacie decides to run away and become a governess. She unexpectedly stumbles upon Ludovic, who is now a smuggler, and becomes almost instantly convinced of his innocence. She is unable to go through with her plans, and goes with Ludovic to an inn (after a thrilling chase in which Ludovic is shot in the shoulder). There, the ruckus attracts the attention of one miss Sarah Thane, who has stopped, with her brother Hugh, at the inn for the night. Sarah becomes instantly and inextricably involved in the 'adventure.' Tristram arrives at the inn the next day, demanding to know if Eustacie is there. He finds her and Ludovic (after they manage to fob off a policeman who comes looking for Ludovic), and not finding the ring in his possession, also becomes convinced of his innocence. That is as far as I have got.

I love Tristram and I adore Eustacie. As for Sarah Thane, I think it is marvelous how she is 'romantic' enough to suit Eustacie and 'sensible' enough to talk to Tristram. This sentence, said to Eustacie, I found absolutely priceless:
"At all events there seems to be some doubt about Sir Tristram's guilt. I think, if I were you, I would not marry him until we can be positive he is the murderer."
Taken out of context, how that sounds! But that is only one of many gems. The minute Eustacie opens her mouth, you can be sure you'll laugh. Tristram's reactions are almost more priceless (if something can be 'more priceless').

'Eustacie drew a deep breath. "I see that I have misjudged you, Cousin Tristram," she said handsomely. "One must make reparation, enfin. I will marry you."
"Thank you," said Sir Tristram, "but the matter does not call for such a sacrifice as that, I assure you." 
He saw a certain raptness steal into her eyes, and added: "Don't waste time picturing yourself in the role of a martyred bride, I beg of you! I haven't the smallest desire to marry you." '

So far, I have enjoyed every sentence. And finding a romance novel that is not utterly predictable and capable of humour apart from the usual, cliched, 'romantic banter,' is very refreshing. I look forward to reading the rest of the book, and more books by Heyer as well.

Thursday, 23 May 2013

Charlotte Bronte on Jane Austen

Addendum 11th June 2015: I later changed my opinion - refer to this blog post - Hello again!

Hello everyone who does me the favour of reading this blog (if there is anyone),

I have decided on a project to fill my summer vacation days. Inspired by this beautiful blog: http://thecaptivereader.wordpress.com/, I have decided to review a book a day. However, they shan't be new books; they will all be from my bookcase. There are many tragically unopened books on my shelves, and I intend to get cracking. I also intend to review many favourites (or, if 'reviewing' some classic greats seems too presumptuous, I shall merely write my reflections on them).




Before I get started, however, I want to talk about something I came across quite recently. I learnt that Charlotte Bronte disliked Jane Austen - in fact she was very vehement in her criticism :

"Anything like warmth or enthusiasm, anything energetic, poignant, heartfelt, is utterly out of place in commending these works: all such demonstrations the authoress would have met with a well-bred sneer, would have calmly scorned as outré or extravagant. She does her business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously well. There is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature delicacy, in the painting. She ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him with nothing profound. The passions are perfectly unknown to her: she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy sisterhood ... What sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study: but what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death--this Miss Austen ignores....Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete and rather insensible (not senseless - woman), if this is heresy--I cannot help it."

I was absolutely astonished and a little bemused when I came across this. I have never thought of Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen in the same train of thought - they are so radically different in style that it never occurred to me to compare them. Had it, however, occurred to me do so, I have no doubt that I would have, without hesitation, concluded that Austen is far and away the superior. Austen's wit, humour, beautiful prose and  her 'normal,' yet so remarkably memorable characters - are unrivalled, in my opinion, not just by Bronte, but by any other author I have read. I have to admit that I have read only Jane Eyre by Bronte. But if this is indicative of her style and talent, why, then, they are, simply, not on the same plane. This is not to say that I dislike Jane Eyre; I like it well enough. But it has never been one of my favourites, and it has never filled me with awe at its mastery, or delight at the wit that I missed when I was younger. While reading Jane Eyre, one is quite carried away by the passion and emotion of it all. But, when one stops to reflect – what is there in Jane Eyre? I suppose Jane Eyre is very likeable; and for some mysterious reason Mr.Rochester captures the imagination of many girls, too – despite being rough, unprincipled (don’t tell me that you can justify his trying to marry Jane despite his already being married, because I think his reasoning there is twisted – ‘eccentric,’ Jane would say – and quite unsupported) and quite heavy-handed in his pursuit of Jane. But the plot, I think, is quite unremarkable, despite all the drama. And, while it is supposed to defy many conventions, it espouses many others. There is hardly any humour in Jane Eyre – or if there is, I have missed it – and when you actually think about it, this wild passion between two people of such different ages (Mr. Rochester is actually old enough to be her father) is slightly disturbing. Emma and Mr. Knightley are of different ages too, but there hardly seems to be anything ‘wild’ about their love, and I find their affection a lot more palatable. Mr.Rochester and Jane don’t ever seem to converse without undertones of something.  And when they disagree, it is on an issue of great moment, and Jane is about to be very heroic and sacrifice her love for principle and duty. Despite Bronte’s evident opinion that Austen’s works are bloodless, Austen’s characters seem somehow so much more real. They aren’t heavily dramatized or heroic – Mr. Knightley is noble, as is Mr. Darcy, but not so noble as to be un-relatable or unlikeable. And I heavily disagree with the opinion that there is no passion or poignancy in Austen’s works. These elements are simply far more subtle and understated in her books. Who could possibly say that Knightley or Darcy have no passion for their respective lady-loves? It is also incomprehensible to me that Bronte could fail so thoroughly to see the beauty of Austen’s seeming un-sentimentality, and the uniqueness and humour this lends her writing. Bronte’s characters take themselves so very seriously. Bronte’s tragic situations are unrelieved by any sensible, objective viewpoint. I can be engrossed in Bronte, but never delighted or surprised. Austen, to me, is an artist beyond compare; Bronte is a wonderful writer, but flawed, overly emotional (it seems to me) and definitely without the wit to match Austen’s genius.