Sémantique

There are so many books, and so little time to read. Maybe that’s why it’s quite difficult to read more than one book by the same author (unless you’re a die-hard fan of the writer). Avid readers usually read the most well-known book by an author. In Khaled Hosseini’s case, it has to be The Kite Runner, the book that shot him to fame. Although my initial opinion of The Kite Runner was quite positive, looking back at the story and his style, I don’t think it was as great as I might have thought. What I did remember was that the book was really easy to read (a luxury one needs to indulge in every once in a while). And I knew that his second book would be equally simple as a book. I was proved right and wrong at the same time.

As a story and as a narrative, A Thousand Splendid Suns was easy enough to follow. Hosseini’s style was quite similar to his first novel, although the historical upheavals of Afghanistan and its effect on poor families are much more detailed and nuanced. Hosseini’s interest in the lives of two young girls and their familial situation reminded me a lot of the films of Majid Majidi. Majidi’s films are based in Iran, and although have a tinge of sadness, are always somehow rooted in hope and joy.

Hope was a huge part of Splendid Suns too, however, I soon got tired of how depressing the story was. It’s hard enough to read about a husband abusing his teenage wife; it gets really frustrating when he marries another teenager and abuses her too. There was too much violence, inside and outside their homes. There was hope, but one knew that you had to wait for it.Without giving too much away, I was bothered by the fact that the women in the story had to depend on another man to finally find vindication and freedom. I was annoyed by the fact that one character had so much power over the female protagonists. And when the protagonists finally break loose from him, it’s too little, too late. Or so it seemed to me. The novel dragged a little towards the end, and much of what happened was quite expected.

Over all, Hoesseini’s second work elicited a reaction that one often has when you read an author’s second work. It rarely stands up to the high expectations set by the first work, and yet is endearing to you because you’re familiar with the author’s style and it’s fun to read the similar patterns. I’d still recommend one read The Kite Runner and only read Splendid Suns if you’re looking for a quick yet interesting read.

A few pages into Michael Cunningham’s The Hours, I knew that this would be one of my favorite books of all time. However, with a caveat. Unlike other “all time favorites,” I don’t think I’d re-read this book in the future. The reason for both those statements is the heart-wrenching subject-matter of the book. Centered around three women at three different time periods – Virginia Woolf in the 1920’s, Laura Brown in the 1950’s and Clarissa Vaughn in the late 1990’s – the book does not go beyond their routine for a day, yet manages to cinch the attraction to death and the curious grip that depression has on the characters. Death and depression – two words I’d use to describe the book, and I think those two words are enough to guess why I wouldn’t dare to touch the book again.

Cunningham is an exceptional writer. Just a few days ago I was telling a friend about my preference for dialog-driven narratives, rather than narratives that are heavy on description. Cunningham is very, very descriptive. However, I managed to stay interested; heck, I loved his descriptions. I would have never guessed that I’d enjoy an extended metaphorical description of a headache! You got to read it to believe it.

I love multiple narratives, and it works wonders here too. The stories of the three women are parallel and seemingly unconnected, and I loved the fact that Cunningham doesn’t try too hard to link them all together. I absolutely admire the author for converting  into fiction the day in the life of a non-fictional Virginia Woolf and the amount of research that that might have needed. The other two women – although not as enigmatic and awe-inspiring as Woolf – hold their own, and one wants to read more about them.

It seems a vain effort to praise a book that’s so beautifully written. Cunningham spins a tale with the most sublime words, but the tale is about the most morbid topics. That’s the dichotomy that makes the book work. If you’re not afraid of melancholy, go read this book. If nothing else, you’ll learn a few new words!

In an inconspicuous street in downtown Hamilton in Bermuda, there is a quaint little shop called Twice Told Tales. This ingeniously named store obviously sells second-hand books. One might not imagine going to a bookstore while on a vacation to Bermuda, but that’s exactly what I did. I love non-commercial bookstores, especially “adopting” books that have been abandoned by their first users. Also, how can one let a good deal on a book slip by? Twice Told Tales was small, also functioning as an internet café. Most of the books there were larger volumes about travel, which I gladly overlooked. The interior of the store, however, had several paperbacks and I spotted Nick Hornby’s About a Boy and Michael Cunningham’s The Hours. Incidentally, I’ve heard about both these novels due to their film adaptations, and I really liked both the films.

I started reading About a Boy that night at the hotel room and continued reading it on the long journey back and a few days of the New Year in Houston. Usually an easy read like this doesn’t take me a long time, and although I was slow, I relished the book’s every page and incident. I am in love with the British way of conversing, their lifestyle and attitude, which seeps through the pages of this book. Will Freeman, one half of the protagonist duo, is a womanizer you can’t help but love. Your heart goes out to Marcus, the other half, who is a dysfunctional, precocious boy. Anyone who has gone to school and been singled out for being different will identify with Marcus’s loneliness at and fear of school. But we’ve lived through it, and want to cheer Marcus to get over it too.

The conversations between the various characters are the highlight of this book: the ones between Will and Marcus being the craziest and funniest of them. The narrative is in third person, but the chapters alternatively focus on Will and Marcus’s POV. It is especially interesting to read one single incident through the POV of both of these characters. Will’s mind is a hilarious place and it is a joy to know what’s going on in it. If you’ve bullied a kid in school, you must get to know Marcus, a boy who is a misfit for no good reason.

If you’ve seen the movie, be warned that the end of the movie was completely changed for apparent commercial reasons. The end of the book is much les… climactic. Like any good book, the end of this one makes you want to stay a little longer in the lives of the characters. You are not ready to leave them just as yet and you take solace in the fact that even if you’ve closed the book and kept it away, the characters are still there, living their life.

First of all, I need to ask forgiveness to the handful of readers that this blog might have, for my prolonged absence. For one reason or another, I’ve been reading books that I don’t want to read, but must read. As a friend pointed out, it’s a little ironic that I read to study and I read for fun. The joy, however, of reading a book for the pure, headonic pleasure of reading is indescribable. So although, Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies was first on my reading agenda, its higher level of prose tired my already weary brain, and I just had to squeeze a pulp-fiction-ish work in between. That’s how I came about reading Vikas Swarup’s Q & A.

I had heard about the book first in terms of its movie version, Slumdog Millionaire, which sounded pretty interesting. Naturally, I had to precede the movie with the reading of the book. I didn’t go in with too many expectations and that helped in the reading of the book. The story was attractive – a poor, boy-of-the-streets hits the jackpot when he is able to answer all twelve questions in a Who Wants to be a Millionnaire? type program. But how does he do it? Is he an undiscovered genius? Has he managed to cheat? Surprisingly, no. Ram Mohammad Thomas, the protagonist and winner of a billion bucks, is just plain lucky. In a series of twelve chapters, we come to know that the twelve questions that lead Thomas to his win had an uncanny relation to twelve incidents of his life that helped him know the answers to strange questions like “Who invented the revolver?” or “In which play by Shakespeare do we find the character of Costard?”

I must reiterate that conceptually the story seems fascinating. However, one can suspend disbelief to only a certain extent, and as the  narrative goes on, it gets harder and harder to link the questions to Thomas’s life. The stories by themselves are nice to read and have touches of the writer’s flair; but when you read them in the context of the quiz show, it all becomes a little too far-fetched. Also, it did not help a person like me, who is a staunch believer in either hard work or intellectual capabilities, that Thomas was just so lucky as to have at least 11 of the 12 questions directly related to what he has learned from life. Luck shmuck aside, Thomas must have the memory of an elephant to remember those specific incidents and answer the questions.

I don’t want to be too hard on the book, because as I said earlier, it’s a fun story to read and you’re rooting for Thomas throughout the book. The characters are likeable and there are some really well-written, funny incidents. On the other hand, I must nit-pick on the fact that the writer often flails between writing in the past tense and present tense when he is relating an incident of the past. That really got on my nerves, but I had to ignore it. It’s probably not even the writer’s fault but just shoddy editing.

If you find the movie interesting, I’d suggest you read the book first. Although it seems like I’m saying the contrary, it’s not such a bad book.

I picked up Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife at a bookstore in Calicut because I was quickly finishing Lahiri’s short stories and needed something the pass my time in the humid, sultry days in Kerala. I was in the mood to read some Anita Nair, taking into consideration my location, but when I couldn’t find what I was looking for, I asked one of the enthusiastic attendants to hunt for The Time Traveler’s Wife. He soon came back to me with the only copy in the bookstore and I was pleased that my next few days were ensured in the companionship of a thick book. Any other time and place, I would’ve cringed at the sight of a lengthy book, but not this time.

The blurb on the book’s back flap was quite interesting, stating: “This is the extraordinary love story of Clare and Henry who met when Clare was six and Henry was thirty-six, and were married when Clare was twenty-two and Henry thirty.” Thanks to Henry’s capacity to time travel. Essentially I’m not a sucker for sci-fi, nor really for a romance; but a healthy combination of the two can seem to offer quite an appealing package. I was hooked on to the first one-third of the book simply because it was difficult to keep a track of time and chronology. However, once I broke the code of time, the story unfolded to be a simple one – and I don’t mean simple as a compliment. Clare and Henry’s love story is definitely extraordinary, in that Clare has known Henry since she was six and Henry only gets to know her when she is twenty-two, later traveling through time to get to know the younger Clare. (I can’t explain this well, I know, you’ll have to read the book to demystify my words.) But Clare and Henry only seem to love each other for the tale to move forward. I, as a sane romantic, need to know why someone loves someone. Niffenegger doesn’t convince me about their love, however she does over-do their sexual and romantic feelings for each other. I do have to hand her the fact that she handles the science-fiction bit well. I like the fact that Henry and Clare cannot change anything about the past or future, giving the story a touch of reality.

But overall, I’d only recommend the book to people who would suspend disbelief for the sake of a mushy romantic tale. At the core of Niffenegger’s book is a fantastic idea, but I don’t think she’s a talented enough writer to handle it. I do believe that lengthy books should only be undertaken by exceptionally gifted authors and this book could well have been a hundred pages shorter. Her characters’ interspersed discussions on politics and art come across as pompous. The repeated description and mention of Clare’s thick, long hair gets tiresome.

Last thoughts? Read it if you’re really bored and want to read something that won’t chew on your brains too much. But don’t expect a life-changing experience of a read.

I  was  surprised to see  Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth for 30% off sale when I went to the bookstore last week. I intended to buy the book for in-flight reading from Houston to Mumbai, knowing my impatience on the plane, and thinking that short stories would serve my attention span well.  I’ve not been a fan of Lahiri, and so spending a substantial amount on a new  book was unlike me; but there’s a different pleasure in reading a book that’s just out. I started reading the first story in the store itself and was intrigued, so I bought the book and finished the rest of the story at home. Part of the allure of the title story, for me, was the father-daughter relationship that Lahiri explores. She handles the story really well, etching out the characters in the story’s span, making sure that they don’t appear shallow.

Although the first story did please me, I was not going to transform into a Lahiri-fan just as yet. But the second story “Hell-Heaven” is good too – not too ambitious, yet giving away the agony of a married woman in love and giving the story a satisfactory climax.  The third story, “A Choice of Accommodations” was strictly okay – what I hoped would be a bridge between two great sections of the book. But “Only Goodness,” the fourth story fell flat. I am not sure what I disliked about it most – the Namesake reminiscent, shallow, aggravatingly-lost characters; or Lahiri’s need to make a profound story about a brother-sister relationship; or just the plain simplicity of it. The book builds itself up until this point, and the reader comes crashing down. Sigh! The last story of part one, “Nobody’s Business” is long and very forgettable.

I am not sure what to make of part two of the book. It is a section made of three interconnected stories, involving Hema and Kaushik. Again, these stories are a very pleasant read, but do drag in parts. What I liked about these stories was they gave me a chance to really get to know the characters – directly and indirectly – but still, the section wasn’t so long as to tire me of them. I was drawn to the central characters, which says a lot. However, I was disappointed with the trite and run-of-the-mill ending.

I would say, nevertheless, this is my most favorite work of Lahiri’s. Third one’s a charm, I suppose!