Bookblah

The Six Spellmakers of Dorabji Street

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 09:01:00 +0000

Remember that old saying - If you want something badly enough, the universe conspires to give it to you? In “Six Spellmakers…”, author Shabnam Minwalla has the universe doing just that, aiding a group of children in their battle against the dark forces lurking in their apartment complex.

Now if you’re one of those readers whose eyes glaze over at the prospect of yet another tweeny fantasy about a group of perky kiddos saving the world from malevolent, power-hungry baddies , with the aid of magical sprites, mysterious relics and the odd spell, – be warned. But also, be heartened. For, ' Spellmakers..' is a fresh,funny and contemporary take on those old tropes, that also manages to throw in a cheery shout out for the hidden powers of faith, friendship - and unsightly bric- a- brac.

Nivi Malik, new kid on the block, finds friends –both human and arboreal – at Cosy Castle, an apartment complex bristling with some wildly eccentric individuals. Unfortunately, she finds enemies as well , chiefly in the form of three elderly women, collectively keeping the flames of snobbery and curmudgeonry blazing . When the women, purely out of spite, threaten the existence of the two beautiful ’bimbli’ trees growing near the building, she steps in to the rescue. (Wizened witch trios? Trees? Seamy politicking? - Who else yelled ‘Macbeth!’ But I digress. )

The garden, Nivi insists, is enchanted, and home to mysterious invisible beings that keep the magic alive. But how do you keep magic alive when a building full of adults can’t help (or won’t dare to), your friends don’t share your fascination with fantasy , and even Google comes up near-empty? Easy, says Nivi – we go ask the magical beings how. With her loyal –if skeptical - posse in tow, she does just that.

Sure enough, invisible powers set a cosmic Plan B in motion, and help arrives from the most unexpected quarters. Newspaper scraps yield the email ids of anonymous advisers (no, not the Nigerian uncle kind); strange cookware salesmen appear, Gandalf-like, at Nivi’s door with powerful gifts, tattoo artists at kiddy parties make surprising revelations - even the enemy camp yields an ally, albeit an extremely distracting one (described as “..cute. Seriously cute. Runner-up to Daniel Radcliffe cute.” I was partial to the Weasley twins myself, but hey, who’s complaining.) The kids supplement these efforts with their own – a little light thievery, some creative interpretation of a list of sacred offerings ( best use of an electronic mosquito racquet in juvenile fiction, ever!!) . But most of all, by exercising that most obscure of mental muscles - Belief.

‘Spellmalkers..’ is a breezy, well paced read that had me grinning from go. I enjoyed its wit, and its keenly observed kids’- eye view of the silly adults they must endure. It also deftly captures the complex hierarchies and rituals of modern day apartment living. In fact, the oddball adult characters in the book, and the few bits of their back story that ‘Spellmakers..’ tosses our way, stayed with me longer than the uniformly pleasant (and occasionally dishy) kids. Which is why (SPOILER AHOY!) I felt a little cheated by the actual Plan – surely an interesting triad of such legendary power would need more than glow paint and a fake portent to bring them to their knees ? And surely, such riveting creatures as the Cyclops, the stair-dwelling Gattu, and the hapless kids of the ‘vuwuvuwu’ chorus practically scream out for more airtime? Then again, perhaps author Minwalla intends to take on that mother of all fantasy tropes – the multi-volume series?

Masala Murder - Madhumita Bhattacharyya

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Fri, 30 Nov 2012 08:46:00 +0000

Madhumita Bhattacharyya’s debut novel, ‘Masala Murder’, is literally that – a murder committed over spices. And it lives up to its name in other ways as well since there is a bit of everything in the book including tons of money, lots of sleaze, an ex-boyfriend and a new romantic interest, and not one, but two mysteries in the form of a kidnapping and of course, murder. Almost as if having named it Masala Murder, Bhattacharyya has determined to give her readers a dash of every spicy element she can think of!

Reema is a private detective – not of the mystery solving kind although that is what she would like to be. Instead she is Kolkata’s expert on infidelity cases. But PI work does not pay her bills hence Reema Ray is a food critic by day. She is also a part a group of do-gooders – the ‘Calcutta Crime Fighters Club’ who are instrumental in helping her solve the two mysteries that land on her doorstep.

The first mystery is the sudden death of a gourmet food exporter – from a suspected case of food poisoning. The doctor who treated him reports a suspicious death but later backtracks and claims that all is as it should be. Reema, who has met the victim earlier as part of her day job as a food critic, is drawn to the case. And because one mystery is not just enough, her ex-boyfriend turns up, asking her to help him find his kidnapped wife and free him from suspicion of kidnapping her.

While Reema works on both the cases, the supporting cast of actors, mainly from her group, turn out to have answers to everything she needs. Image enhancing – ask the detective with the high end software. Previous legal complaints? Ask the lawyer dedicated to just causes. Inside information on what the police force is thinking – ask the policeman.

If this big a support cast is not enough, there is also a very high up police official – Reema’s Uncle Kumar - who is willing to listen to all that Reema has to say. Why someone who has spent years in the police force let a rank amateur take so much of his time just because she is a friend’s daughter is rather confusing, especially since Reema has done nothing in her detective career to earn that kind of trust. To be fair, Reema does make some clever deductions that eventually lead to solving of both cases –but with all the help she had, it is hard not to think that she had it pretty easy.

The other mystery that Reema is keenly interested in is the identity of Shayak who is rather unnecessarily cagey with details. I dislike detective novels that attempt to distract the reader by inserting romantic episodes – romance after I have read the book, I say, and I won’t complain. But when I am following the clues to find a murderer, I am very displeased with tall, dark, handsome men attempting to derail the plot.

It is hard to feel menace or dread – after all there is a murderer on the loose – when the investigating detective is gushing about how sexy she finds a man she just met. Plus the whole deal with her ex- boyfriend who attempts to seduce her so that Reema is distracted from finding out the truth is frankly just sleazy. Like Reema is so weak and desperate for a man that a few kisses will leave her unable to think straight although that nearly happens before she manages to wake herself up out of her romantic stupor and get on with solving the case.

And I think this is where the book failed for me. I would have appreciated it better as a simple whodunit. Bhattacharyya only makes Reema look defocused and rather easily distracted – and while it is Reema who saves the day, for me as a reader, she did too little, too late!

Masala Murder is likely to be the first of a series – hopefully Reema Ray will spend less time on men and more on detecting in her next book!

Ape House - Sara Gruen

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Thu, 29 Nov 2012 08:24:00 +0000

Ape House is the story of six bonobos and the humans who take care of them. In her author’s note, Sara Gruen reveals that the book is based on her visit to a Great Ape lab which “astonished” and “changed” her.

This novel could have been a serious discussion of the philosophy and ethics behind the capture and training of great apes. And there are some indications through the book of a deeper thought process – for example in its analysis of the sheer vulgarity of pop culture, the possibilities opened up by human and ape communication and particularly the scenes presented inside the Ape house which are both touching and amazing to the reader. But sadly, Gruen has merely showed the presence of deeper issues here. The novel is much more of a thriller with intricate plot twists and jam packed action.

Isabel Duncan is the scientist working with the bonobos, communicating with them in American Sign Language (ASL). She loves the apes and thinks of them as family. To meet Isabel and to get a look at the apes, comes confused reporter, John Thigpen. Like most of Gruen’s readers, Thigpen has had no contact with apes before this and his awe, fear and complete unpreparedness for the sheer humanness of the great apes - Bonzi, Mbongo, Sam, Makena, Jelani, and the baby, Lola, are well documented by Gruen.

The book picks up pace soon after, leaving the reader little or no time to be contemplative. The lab is blown up, Isabel is seriously injured and one of the animal activist groups claims responsibility for the attack. The apes are bundled off campus and no one knows where they are until they appear on TV in a reality show.

Isabel is not about to give up on her family though and with the help of Thigpen and a host of secondary characters, manages to win the apes a home again with her. A rather bald plot summary, but if you take away the sudden coincidences, the galloping action and much of the melodrama, this about sums it up.

Personally, I would have been happier to read more of the apes and less of the humans. Particularly since the main characters, Isabel and John, are so uninteresting and lack depth. Isabel only becomes real when she is shown interacting with the apes, at other times, she is weak, slow to reason out and easily spooked and often too upset to act. Similarly John Thigpen is not much of an investigative reporter, and is, for most of the novel, busy being overwhelmed by his relationship with his wife and her desire to have a baby.

Not even the villain of the piece gets the distinction of being a strong character. The biggest mystery in the book is how no one, including Isabel, did even the most basic research on his past! And there is not much role for him in such an overcrowded cast of characters and he seems more of a walk on character who conveniently gets caught near the end of the novel so that all loose ends are neatly tied up. Convenient, yes - but convincing, not at all.

The redeeming character in the human cast is Celia, a colorful lab intern originally suspected of the crime, and her group of eclectic, eccentric friends who actually unravel the true story behind the explosion with some electronic wizardry, otherwise known as hacking. The supposedly minor group of characters is more interesting and action oriented than the main characters who mostly seem to be lost in the woods.

Read Ape House for its tantalizing and enthralling glimpses into the life of the great apes. Everything – and everyone else - is just ordinary.

What, no houries? - the Taliban according to Mainak Dhar's 'Zombiestan'

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 04:01:00 +0000

Zombies – what’s not to love? The undead - rising up from their graves in various stages of unsightly decay, shuffling down the streets in silent hordes with a serious case of the munchies- have captured the collective imagination since their first appearance on the horizons of pop culture. As a confirmed undeadhead, I have devoured (eh, what pun?) my share – and then some – of paperbacks, comics, films, and even the odd hit TV series celebrating that kitschy genre.

But for all my fangirlyness, I have to concede that sooner or later, you can pretty much predict plot trajectories in your sleep - the dead rise for whatever reason (usually bioweapons dunnit) , start chomping on the living and pretty much ring in the apocalypse. The world falls apart, the unbitten band into unlikely posses of survivors and slowly journey towards some distant safe haven rumoured to be free of zombies. They also discover that, menacing as the zombies are, the humans they meet on the way prove infinitely worse. There is always one person in the team whose DNA is vital to the survival of the human race, prompting several others to sacrifice their lives to keep him/ her alive. The cast – human and undead- will be pruned in various gory ways, heroes will discover themselves, bonds of friendship forged and one last confrontation occur before said Mecca is found and claimed. One last thing - when killing zombies, always, always aim for the head.

Mainak Dhar, author of Zombiestan, seems to have done his homework, and added some touches of his own. His book follows pretty much the usual plot; his bioweapon, on the other hand, is nothing short of the Taliban’s Last Stand. Unwittingly unleashed during an American assault on a terrorist camp, the bioweapon swiftly slays its victims, only to make them rise again as rabid foot soldiers of the holy war (called Biters hereafter) , obsessed with wearing black turbans, yelling stuff like ‘Jihaaaaaaad’ and ‘Kafiiiiiiir’ at regular intervals and increasing their fold by biting (NOT eating, mind you) every hapless human that stumbles into their path. They also evolve rapidly, learning (or perhaps, remembering) to use weapons, drive vehicles and coordinate attacks on the unbelievers still standing. And the headshots don’t work, guys.

In the middle of all this mayhem, a US Navy Seal, a pampered teenaged boy and an elderly romance novelists come together in zombie-torn Delhi , trying to stay alive. They are joined soon after by a young girl and her brother, a toddler who just might be the key to humanity’s survival. Overcoming all kinds of odds – especially the ones posed by other humans – they struggle to make their way to an army base in Ladakh that just might be the only safe haven left in India.

Zombiestan takes a while warming up, then breaks into an energetic canter that it sustains till the end. The characters are interesting, and young Mayukh Ghosh, our teenaged hero, is both likeable and believable as he falters, then stands tall, on the threshold of adulthood. He also gets his first shot at romance, courtesy Swati, the girl he saves. (Sadly her character is rapidly reduced to ‘frail, victim girl who makes kissyfaces at boy hero every few pages’ - this is very clearly Mayukh's story. ) I also enjoyed the character of Hina Rahman (even if she is too obviously the token ‘good Muslim’among the, um, kafiiiiirs) and the brief cameo by a band of ex-armymen who spiritedly join Mayukh and gang in fighting off the Biters.

Right, now the things that made me go hmm (or should that be ‘Hmmmmmmmmm’ in the style of our rotting, biting brethren) – several aspects of ‘Zombiestan’ had me gritting my teeth. The zombies’ penchant for black turbans seems ridiculous and is certainly pointless to the plot; it also reminded me of the innocent Sikhs and Muslims targeted across America by lynching mobs immediately after 9/ 11, simply because they were wearing turbans. And what’s with the constant refrain of ‘Jihaaad’ and ‘Kafiiiir’, when the zombies can’t seem to say anything else? Dhar seems to have succumbed to the easy charms of racial stereotyping here, much like those mobs. Other slips up are equally glaring - the disease initially starts off as airborne, then mysteriously switches to spreading only through biting . And Dhar just can’t seem to make up his mind over whether guns will fell his zombies or not.

For a book based in India and peopled with very Indian characters, the lead players of Zombiestan’ seem curiously genial and heroic. At the best of times, most of us tend to stay divided over our religion, caste and class prejudices, yet Mayukh and gang manage to instantly bond and stay together till the end. A terrific opportunity to explore those differences, utterly lost in all the gunfights . Romance is all very well, but (spoiler alert!!) in a book aimed at young adults, having your teenaged characters getting engaged seems both prudish and misguided – another black turban moment, methinks. And why, why, why does India’s first homegrown zombie thriller need a blond all-American war hero stepping in as savior - given who kickstarted the apocalypse anyway ? Allegory or another black turban - I'll let you decide.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

Artemis Fowl and the Last Guardian

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Wed, 31 Oct 2012 16:29:00 +0000

Going out with a bang – that is how I would describe the eighth and the last book in the Artemis Fowl series. As always Eoin Colfer manages a fine juggling act between plot and characterization. Through the books, characters grow dynamically as do relationships which allows each book to stand independently yet rewards faithful readers of the series with an understanding of the characters now and earlier.

Nowhere is that clearer than with Artemis Fowl himself. From arch enemy of the Fairy people, to friend and equal partner - in Artemis Fowl and the Last Guardian, AF stands in stark contrast to his selfish, cynical, lonely self of the first book. Here he has moved on from being the youngest criminal mastermind in history to juvenile genius (as he prefers to style himself!). This is an Artemis who is very much part of the world – he is close to the fairies (having saved the world multiple times in their company), is a doting elder brother to his twin brothers and generally more connected to the world around.

Colfer does not neglect some of my old favorites from the older books either. There is N°1 – demon warlock and fairy friend who first appeared in Artemis Fowl and The Lost Colony and continued to make appearances in the later books. N°1 makes a brief appearance here to tell us that he is going to be busy on the lunar colony for a few years. There is Commander Trouble Kelp– doing a good job of being LEP leader. And there is Mulch Diggums – kleptomaniac dwarf and provider of many laughs who continues to do what he has done best – steal from the Mud people.

But this is not some sentimental revisiting of friends. Like every other Artemis Fowl novel, this novel is packed with action and loads of adventure. There is nail biting suspense and enough fiendishly clever plot twists that assure us that Artemis may have mellowed but certainly hasn’t lost his touch!

Opal Koboi, imprisoned and apparently powerless, has not given up her plans to conquer the world. With typical cunning and impeccable planning, she comes with an idea that sets her free and she will only stop when she has destroyed the world as we know it and most of the fairy folk down below.

Unwittingly helping Queen Opal, as she now styles herself, are the Berserkers, the spirits of long dead warriors, sworn to protect the fairies against the Mud people. Schooled by Opal who pretends that she is the saviour of the fairies, the Berserkers possess the bodies of Juliet Butler and Myles and Beckett Fowl – Artemis’ twin brothers.

How will Artemis fight against his own brothers? Or Butler harm Juliet even knowing that warrior spirits possess them? At their side stands Captain Holly Short, loyal and brave as always. With the help of Mulch Diggums and the wizard of all gadgets, Foaly, can our brave trio stop Opal before she succeeds?

It is a close run affair, I tell you. But if Artemis cannot pull a few dozen aces out of his sleeve, then who can you depend on this side of the earth? Only this time, the price for the aces may seem too high. The action never slows for a moment and Artemis Fowl and the Last Guardian is a fitting ending to a grand series.

A fairy land underground and real fairies (although you won’t find them in any fairy tale ever heard!), an interesting hero, some science fiction, extreme fantasy, lots of hi- tech gadgetry, humor (some of it of the really gross kind, read sections on Mulch Diggums and his flatulence for example!) action and adventure – what is there not to like in an Artemis Fowl book?

The last book also includes a sneak peek at a new series Colfer is writing – it features a young hero, Riley and if the first chapter is anything to go by, and large dollops of adventure and magic to help the plot along.

I confess I will miss Artemis Fowl dreadfully. Especially Colfer’s trademark irreverent, tongue in cheek humor. But like millions of other people around the globe, I expect I will hang on to the series for an occasional dip into its pages… after all, the world is infinitely richer for Artemis Fowl’s know it all take on it!

The Casual Vacancy, J.K. Rowling

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 09:25:00 +0000

It takes courage to end an immensely successful series. Especially one that gave its author fame, glory and much money – it would have been easier to sit back and enjoy it. Rowling however has chosen to break away completely and write a novel for adults. I am not sure that any other book of Rowling's will reach the same dizzy heights of the Potter series but I think many people, like me, will be curious enough to read The Casual Vacancy.

This is a novel that takes a hard, long look at reality and discovers that life is – in the main - unfair and depressing. It is a straightforward story of the residents of Pagford – adults and children who live in disconnected universes from each other except when tragedy pushes them into making tenuous connections.

When Barry Fairweather, a parish councilor, dies unexpectedly, the adults of Pagford clumsily plot to gain his seat on the council (the casual vacancy of the title). The book captures Pagford at a crucial moment in its history and presents its residents at their worst.

There is Simon Price, a wife beater who terrorizes his children with words and physical violence, Gavin Hughes, weak and unlikable, who is not interested in the parish seat but in the wife of the dead man, Colin “Cubby” Walls, who is paralyzed by his own internal demons, ‘extravagantly obese’ Howard Mollison, who is only able to see people in terms of what use they are to him, his son, Mike Mollison who cannot grow out of his parents’ shadow… the only male who is remotely appealing - in terms of looks and personality - is the Sikh surgeon, Vikram Jawanda who makes brief appearances through the book.

Rowling is not kind to the women either. At one end of the spectrum is Terri Weedon, heroin addict and sometimes prostitute who is unable to break free from her destructive downward spiral. But at the other end, the women with careers and socially acceptable relationships (like Kay Bawdon, the social worker or Ruth Price, guidance counselor) don’t seem to be doing much better either.

Their relationships are at best about an ability to deny the truth and at their worst, about physical and emotional abuse. These are adults who do not know how to be happy and consequently fill their lives and those around them with misery and pain.

Uniting them is a common thread of snobbishness, of being better than ‘those’ people found in the Fields – ‘Pagford’s unwanted burden’ - which houses the poorer sections of Pagford. There is deep resentment that “the offspring of scroungers, addicts and mothers whose children had all been fathered by different men” should study in the same school and enjoy the same benefits as Pagford’s brightest and best. Pagford likes to pretend that it is an idyllic paradise but Rowling is pitiless in her exposure of their pretensions.

The children of Pagford are delineated clearly and come alive with Rowling’s pen – she has after all had much practice at that! But these are not the loved, socially adjusted, nice children of the Potter books. These are children of the 20^th century – sex, drugs and computers are the key forces in their lives. Their parents suck all the fun out of their lives, and make them nasty and mean. Andrew Price copes with his father’s abusive bullying by creating a secret life and posts anonymous online messages revealing his father’s dishonesty on the parish website, Sukhvinder deals with her mother’s angry disapproval by repeatedly cutting herself… But hiding beneath the abnormal actions are normal teenagers who want to get on with their lives but are still learning how.

Krystal Weedon, a child of the Fields (and a symbol of all that is wrong with Fields for Pagford’s residents), is one of the most likeable characters in the book. If one is willing to look beyond her abrasive personality and her abundant swearing, Krystal has pluck and determination. She also genuinely cares about her younger brother and may make something of herself if given a few chances.

But Rowling denies her the opportunity. Darkness dominates as the novel moves to its inexorable end. Darkness, as a trend, is clear in the later Potter books as well. The difference here is that the good people don’t stand a chance – no matter how much they try, their efforts to make a difference are but a temporary and fragile barrier against the dark, harsh and ugly world that Rowling sees as reality and has uncompromisingly presented.

I read this book because it has Rowling’s name on the cover. The plot has few surprises and it is clear, early on, that tragedy waits to spread her wings. It is not all dark in the end, to be fair - there is some redemption for Andrew who is moving out of Pagford and is hopeful that his new locale will be better. Sukhvinder has mastered her hatred of herself and risen above her family’s patronizing attitude to her, Kay walks away from her dead end relationship and may begin anew, creating the possibility of something better for her daughter Gaia.

The renewals are tenuous though and – and frankly, I found the focus on the inevitable march of life towards death and early, untimely deaths that the novel presents rather depressing. Not a book I would read more than once!

Miss Moorthy Investigates - Ovidia Yu

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Wed, 03 Oct 2012 07:57:00 +0000

It is Singapore of the 1970s and the Singapore Strangler is on the prowl, targeting single successful women. While the police hunt desperately for clues, the newspapers frontpage his gruesome murders. With characteristic wit and dry humor, Yu explains how the Strangler has captured public imagination.

“The Strangler’s terror-hold on the female imagination had had unexpected social repercussions. Single, successful career women were stampeding to get married to a man, any man.”

Miss Moorthy, former entertainer, now pursuing her career of choice as a school teacher was content to read about the infamous Strangler in the paper and double check the locks on her doors. But when a teacher, Evelyn Ngui, working in her school is murdered, the story acquires a personal angle for Miss Moorthy.

Miss Moorthy has a personal run in with the Strangler when turns up at the apartment she shares with a former school friend, Connie, a producer of popular TV serials. The Strangler was apparently looking to murder Connie because she fits the profile of a single, succesful woman, but hunter turns into hunted, as he is efficiently apprehended by the two women. As Miss Moorthy tells us, catching burglars is easier than seen on TV.

“All it took was a little presence of mind and a good brick. Nothing to it, really.”

Miss Moorthy finds out from her boyfriend, Dr Anthony Tan, the Forensic Pathologist in charge of the case, that the Singapore Strangler, has not killed Evelyn and that the suspect list includes a friend of Anthony’s, who was once dating Evelyn.

Miss Moorthy takes it upon herself to find out who murdered Evelyn. Was it the married man Evelyn was having an affair with? And why is David, Anthony’s friend and former boyfriend of Evelyn edging towards a nervous breakdown if he had nothing to do with the murder?

On a parallel track, Miss Moorthy is faced with belligerent parents who want to ensure their children get the best marks, inquisitive students who believe their teacher has all the answers, a girl who will not speak, a mysterious money transfer into Evelyn’s account and a blue and white rabbit that goes missing.

There are enough clues in the story for the reader to figure out the murderer. This is not a classic whodunit in the sense it fails to keep up the suspense to the end. But read it anyway for its interesting glimpses of life in newly independent Singapore, cheeky wit, a feminist take on society and entertaining characters whose oddities and eccentricities are worth a few chuckles.

The Upanishads taught Einstein all he knew, and other truths from The Krishna Key

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Mon, 24 Sep 2012 13:08:00 +0000

Ashwin Sanghi’s books are really all about the research and the intricate theories he likes weaving out of historical trivia and popular lore. As with his debut, The Rozabal Line and that ponderous political yarn The Chanakya Chant, this book too is a smorgasboard of wild theories, historical factoids delivered with mind numbing regularity by one or more cast members, a plot brimming with contrived dialogue and coincidences , and some remarkably clunky writing. It’s almost a pity that Sanghi needs to present his fantastic ideas to us as fiction, as his characters, plotlines and writing skills never quite match the ambitious arc of the conspiracy theories he spins our way in The Krishna Key. None of this theorizing is really his own , of course, but pieced together from the reams of research he has painstakingly plodded through, all of it listed at the end of this book. But it is intriguing nonetheless, makes compelling arguments for some very far out notions, and waves high the bright yellow flag of Hindu supremacy (with one belated namaskar to Hindu-Muslim unity) .

The Krishna Key begins with a quest for four seals and a base plate, supposedly clues to an artifact of immense power handed down to the world by Krishna himself. Rather predictably, the one person with all the answers is murdered by a psychopathic killer (the kind who will leave bracelets engraved with his name lying around crime scenes), and all blame is at once placed on the shoulders of a respected academic with connections to the dead man. As fast as you can yell ’Ha! Desi Da Vinci Code!’, the academic, Dr. Saini, hares off on a race against time to follow a trail of clues across India, save some fellow academics from similar grisly deaths and prove his innocence. Joining him on the ride are a motley crew – comely doctoral student Priya, shady lawyers, hapless cop Rathore and his boss , a bizarre policewoman with a penchant for squirreling away nuts and prayer beads in her pockets (never seems to have a gun in there, though). Livening things up a smidgeon are our killer with aspirations to being the Kalki avatar, the mysterious puppetmaster Mataji and a side dish of the usual suspects –corrupt cops, strange all-knowing fakirs , even stranger gangsters with a yen for history. There is also this deeply puzzling monologue supposedly by Krishna himself, that precedes each chapter, and that makes absolutely no contribution to the meandering plot.

By the halfway mark, Sanghi gives up all pretence of writing anything but an academic dissertation on the location of the elusive artifact– the baddies stand revealed, our killer is reduced to no more than a gullible student of the year, and every conversation leads to a prolonged and very tedious discourse on history and the undeniable supremacy of Hindu philosophy over Everything. By the time the grand finale - in the basement of the Taj Mahal, no less - whimpers by, you can almost sense Sanghi’s impatience to be done with irritating diversions like plotline and character, and get on with the real business at hand - the key to the Key, as it were.

If you like your fiction garnished with a bit of everything –in this case, everything from history and philosophy to metallurgy and quantum physics – and unrelentingly saffron, The Krishna Key is a book you will enjoy. If you'd prefer a sound story under all that garnish, look elsewhere.

This review is part of the Book Reviews Program at Blogadda.

About "Bring Up the Bodies - Hilary Mantel

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 07:57:00 +0000

‘Bring Up the Bodies’ takes up where ‘Wolf Hall’ left off - Anne Boleyn is established as Henry’s Queen – Katherine, the former Queen, is banished and imprisoned, her daughter, Mary, is separated from her and kept distant from court until she will acknowledge Anne as Queen and beg the King’s forgiveness for taking her mother’s side in the quarrel.

‘Wolf Hall’ was high in intrigue and drama, both of the personal and political kind; hence it is not surprising that its sequel should continue the tradition. ‘Bring up the Bodies’ narrates the rise and fall of Anne Boleyn, as seen through the eyes of another character who has grown strength to strength to become all powerful himself – Thomas Cromwell. It is also the story of King Henry’s desperate search for an heir, which Anne is unable to provide.

As always, the personal is juxtaposed with the political – so the petty drama of Anne Boleyn being nasty to Jane Seymour is set against the background of England’s troubles with France and Rome. From the personal to the national from the domestic to the international political scene, Hilary Mantel captures Tudor England effectively with her broad and detailed canvas.

Thomas Cromwell is an interesting figure – a man of humble origins who is despised by his better born peers but is nevertheless essential – because King Henry will listen to him. A man of decisive action, Cromwell even while doing exactly what the King wants, manages to further his own cause as assiduously. Cromwell is sharp and honest in his understanding of himself and as incisive in describing the people of his time. And because Cromwell is everywhere and sees or hears everything, it is but right to present the story of the age through his eyes.

A peculiarly restless time and a king who is for change – both in his personal life and in changing the face of England as it was. There is never a moment of repose - the times between events is merely one of waiting and everyone is watchful of themselves and others. Mantel however does not limit herself to capturing the intrigue of court.

“But look never mind all this. Queens come and go. So recent history has shown us. Let us think about how to pay for England, her king’s great charges, the cost of charity and the cost of justice, the cost of keeping her enemies beyond her shores.”

Running a nation is about finding out who has the money and trying to balance the accounts – a task Cromwell is peculiarly suited to. But it is not just financial accounts he balances in the long run – as the Boleyn family finds out to their cost, Cromwell is not bought by anyone or tied to them by loyalty. He is devoted to his country and to doing what his king wants – people are dispensable and Cromwell will help Henry cut his losses whenever the king chooses.

A ruthless but practical philosophy of life - one completely true to the age it is from. This is a book about larger than life people and their struggle to stay relevant in an age where anyone can fall out of favor with the king – suddenly and irrevocably. No one is safe and there are no guarantees about tomorrow – for there is little to be done if the king decides you are best left to rot in prison or even beheaded.

History as it has happened is an oft narrated story but it is hard to not be swept into and carried away by the sequence of events that Mantel narrates. And that is Mantel’s greatest gift – to take the story of the long gone past and make believe – successfully - that they are new and unfolding in the here and now.

Love in the time of alQaeda : Thoughts on 'When the Snow Melts'

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Sat, 01 Sep 2012 18:17:00 +0000

Other than Shashi Warrier and Anirudh Bahal – and, ex-diplomat Maloy Krishna Dhar, author of the controversial ‘Operation Triple X’ – no Indian fiction writer seems to have considered the thriller genre worthy of their talents. So author Vinod Joseph’s book ‘When the Snow Melts’ deserves some credit for taking the path less trodden, with its tale of a veteran Indian secret agent caught up in a game of intrigue on foreign shores. The book boasts an enticing back cover too, liberally peppered with pulse-quickening phrases like ‘double agent’, ‘global terrorism’, ’al Qaeda’ and - the motherlode itself –‘ the hunt for bin Laden’ (a premise dampened, no doubt, by his real life slaughter, but let’s not quibble, shall we?)

However, the snows of plot paralysis never quite melt in the case of this book, leaving us with a narrative slow as molasses, starring Ritwik Kumar, ace spy- turned- defector, a bunch of astonishingly naïve and technologically backward terrorists , and the poky little house they must share for the next 200 pages , before one rather contrived final encounter and a denouement designed to surprise our compromised hero, if not anyone else .

The book begins promisingly. Ritwik seems to have hit skid row – he is drunk, broke and this close to being brought to book for embezzling funds from his employers. Desperate for cash, he goes over to the dark side, defecting to an al Qaeda sleeper cell in London with a wealth of covert information in his head. For a few weeks, he is kept incarcerated while the powers above decide what to do with him.

“Finally, when we catch.. (him)… we won’t just kill him,” threatens an al-Qaeda operative midway through the book. “We will have a chat with him.”

That inadvertently funny exchange pretty much sums up most of this book - a series of interminable conversations between Ritwik and the baddies, interspersed with scenes of torture, peeing, and Ritwik making cow eyes and chaste, everlasting luuurve to Nilofer, the luscious and long suffering wife of one of his tormentors/ housemates. You’d think someone touted as a “veteran spook” and noted for his acumen in reading peoples’ faces, would show both restraint and a better sense of judgment, especially if his life were on the line. Not our Ritwik, however, who swings like a rabid pendulum between battering his rather bewildered housemates, pining for Nilofer - or at the very least, a good book to read- and then screaming like a petulant schoolgirl when said pals fail to believe he is truly their ally. In fact, it wasn’t long into the story before I found my sympathies defecting towards the sad, sorry bunch forced to put up with their obnoxious Indian guest , and struggling against their better judgement to shoot him dead.

‘When the Snow Melts’ has some flashes of humour (not always intended, I suspect) that livened up my reading of the book. And Ritwik does make for an interesting character study . For the most part, the book reminded me of those old 70s Hindi ‘jasoos’ flicks, like the original ‘Agent Vinod’ (starring one Mahendra Sandhu, whose impressively flared bell bottoms are remembered in ways he never will be). It has all the ingredients that made those movies camp classics - flamboyant wisecracking hero, stereotypical ‘dushman’, one seemingly helpless babe/ vamp, the blossoming of unlikely love in the midst of violence. Heck,the book even boasts a’ firangi’ spy boss, which was all the cue veteran actor Iftekaar ever needed to light up his pipe, slip into a natty suit and swing by on behalf of INTERPOL.

My point with this digression? Just that this book could have been a terrific spoof on the genre itself- god knows, there are several times when it feels close to being just that. And Ritwik is a character complex enough to retain reader interest. The book is open ended enough to suggest a sequel; perhaps Ritwik will surprise us in round two? With or without bell bottoms.

This review is part of the Book Reviews Program at Blogadda.

Tittering on the edge : Thoughts on 'It's your move, Wordfreak!"

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Sat, 19 May 2012 14:12:00 +0000

Wordfreak aka Aryan and Worddiva aka Alisha hit it off as opponents in an online Scrabble game. Several steamy chat sessions later, they decide to meet and find – oh happy fates! – that neither is a fat, hairy, psycho/ serial killer/ rapist. Even better, they are both impossibly gorgeous, breath-takingly tall, super rich, conveniently single and utterly besotted with each other . And I haven’t even mentioned their socially useful careers yet - Alisha helps women escape abusive marriages, while Aryan builds green homes by day, swings with Mumbai’s swish set by night and sweet talks them into financing his rural projects.

One gaudy Punjabi wedding straight out of a Karan Johar film- and several bouts of coyly described sex – later, Aryan and Alisha seem all set for the happily ever after. Except that Scrabble is promptly replaced by Squabble. Alisha is attacked by a client’s disgruntled ex, and Aryan chooses the opportunity to unleash his inner caveman. He yells. She weeps. He disappears. What is a smart , independent no-nonsense girl with a successful career , to do?

Drop everything and follow in his manly and troubled footsteps, according to Kothari. For despite Aryan revealing himself to be a chauvinist, alarmingly violent and contemptuous of the law (all in the name of love, cries Kothari), Alisha packs her bags and hares off to London with his Nani , where she helps her true love confront his troubled past, patch up with his estranged father and half-siblings, and realize just how badly the plot needs another gaudy Punjabi wedding - sorry, how much he loves her. KJo would approve. I don’t.

Wordfreak is a book that tries to be a lot of things, in a half hearted sort of way. The first half swings from ‘hot (well, tepid actually) Mills and Boon choli-ripper’ one second, to ‘ sensitive look at a modern day relationship’ the next; the second aims for full blown Bollywood melodrama. It also offers up randomly scattered observations about everything from gender equality and India’s spiraling divorce rate, to green design and differing skin tone ( “the quintessential difference between them – he was a North Indian Aryan, and she was a South Indian Dravidian.”) . The book does have some interesting characters – Diya, Uncle Sam, Alisha herself – but they soon disappear in this unreal world where everyone is thin, beautiful and loaded, and loyally served by a retinue of smiling servants. Also slaves to filmi stereotype - The North Indians are perennially overdressed , swinging at weddings or travelling abroad; South Indian Alisha seems to eat nothing at home besides idlis and dosas .

Wordfreak managed to annoy me with repeated references to Alisha’s “chocolate eyes”, as well as her various pet names – “Lee-sha” and “Sunshine”. There is also plenty of unintended humour, thanks to the prissy –or downright careless- wording in all those sex scenes. Sample – “He groaned, loving what she did to him..How was he supposed to moderate this?” Where are you, dude, at a high school debate? Or, “He aroused them… until they tittered (sic) ..on the edge of annihilation.” I tittered too.

And what is one to make of all the misplaced snippets of information throughout the plot? Why, in the midst of an emotional moment, do we need to know the details of Aryan’s post graduate studies? And why, after a deluge of ‘kuttis’ and ‘sahodarans’ – not to mention all those idlis – are we helpfully informed that Alisha speaks Malayalam, exactly two pages from the ending?

Your move, editor?

This review is a part of the http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Reviews Program at "http://www.blogadda.com">BlogAdda.com

No dots on this forehead

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Mon, 14 May 2012 13:35:00 +0000

Un Lun Dun

Written and Illustrated by China Miéville

China Miéville is best known for the bleak, dystopic worlds he creates in his books. I discovered his work after reading ‘Kraken’, a dark and gripping tale of a London under siege from rival gangs of supernatural forces fighting for control of – wait for it! – a gigantic pickled squid preserved in the British Museum. After that surprising take on Cthulhu, I have read his short stories and am slowly working my way through the Bas-Lag trilogy – all of it impressive, but undeniably dark, disturbing and exhausting . Imagine my surprise, therefore, to discover “Un Lun Dun”, a YA fantasy by the creator of all that Baroque grimness. It is a wild, whacky pun-a-minute tale with a crackling pace, and is definitely one of the most inventive books I’ve read in a while, as it busies itself with cheerfully subverting just about every trope you can think of in the YA fantasy genre - starting with the Chosen One.

It’s just another day in the life of twelve year old London schoolgirl Zanna Moon – until animals start paying her homage, and perfect strangers approach her and call her “Shwazzy”. With best friend Deeba Resham by her side, Zanna finds out that “Shwazzy” may in fact be “choici” – French for “the chosen one.” Soon after, Zanna and Deeba travel through a mysterious portal to UnLondon , a bizarre alternate version (or ‘abcity’) of the metropolis they call home, peopled by some of the most inventive characters to have graced fantasy fiction in recent years. Zanna’s glorious destiny is revealed to her, and she steps forward to claim it. And why not ? She is tall, blonde, striking looking, troubled to just the right degree, and singled out by UnLondon’s book of prophecies – enough, by the rules of popular kidlit, to justify her place n the pantheon of fictional world saviours, right?

Right?

Wrong.

For Zanna is vanquished in her very first brush with the evil plaguing UnLondon – Smog, a poisonous sentient cloud banished from London, that is bent on consuming everything in its path before moving back home. What now, you ask. Why, time for the loyal sidekick to step forward and get her moment in the light. For as UnLondon quails in the wake of Zanna’s failure, it is unassuming Deeba – short! dark! plump! Asian!! – who steps forward to shoulder Zanna’s responsibility when no one else will. Faced with an entire city of strange creatures whose very leaders seem to be conspiring against them, a bunch of prophecies that progressively turn out to be wrong, and even high level intrigue from the human world , Deeba becomes the UnChosen One.

Leading a band of some of the most unlikely warriors to grace the pages of an adventure story – a couturier with a penchant for paper, a sarcastic half-ghost who periodically goes nude, a bungee-jumping bus conductor , an animated milk carton, even the aforementioned Book of Prophecies who spends most of the book in depression before finally redeeming itself – Deeba sets out to defeat Smog and his cronies. Along the way, she strikes a blow for the marginalized and voiceless as well – repeatedly through the book, we find her inspiring all manner of enslaved critters to liberate themselves. And even as she discovers the hero within herself, she inspires her ragtag crew to do the same as well for, by the time the final confrontation trundles around (the one trope Miéville is happy to pay homage to) they have evolved from scared and skeptical sidekicks into valiant individuals in their own right.

Un Lun Dun is frequently funny, sometimes sad and always breath-taking in its imagery and wordplay. Sample - an army of dustbins adept at martial arts called, quite aptly, binja. Skool, who isn’t a person at all but a group of plucky fish populating an ancient diver’s costume. A Manifest Station that takes citizens of UnLondon to other abcities like Parisn’t, NoYork, Lost Angeles, Hong Gone. Entire houses made of human rubbish , using MOIL technology (Mildly Obsolete in London). Words literally coming to life when uttered by the fantastic Mr. Speaker. And did I mention the carnivorous giraffes? Miéville doesn’t just create these strange and wonderful creatures – he draws them for us as well. Un Lun Dun contains some excellent black and white drawings, made by the author himself, that bring some of his weirder creations to life.

If you’ve worked your way through the Harry Potter series, or the brooding ‘His Dark Materials’ trilogy by Philip Pullman, this is a book you will enjoy. It is a book brimming with ideas, surprises and wit. In a world plagued by that other trope - the multi volume saga - Un Lun Dun is a refreshing respite. Gaiman fans might draw parallels to London Below, the weird citadel under London’s streets that features in ‘Neverwhere’. Indeed, Miéville acknowledges both the series and its author in the afterword to this book. But rest assured, Un Lun Dun is entirely child appropriate and far more cheerful and wholesome than Gaiman’s (or even Rowling's) vision. It is not childish, however; Miéville weaves in a lot of sub text and some political commentary.

Foremost of these is, of course, the whole idea of a child hero predestined to save the world. Nonsense, says Miéville. The best heroes aren’t born that way; they are ordinary people who risk their necks for a cause that they may not even believe in. By the end of Un Lun Dun, practically everyone of its citizens – not to mention umbrellas, fish and ghosts - feels like a Shwazzy. As for his choice of an Asian girl as hero - Huzzah, I say! Especially one devoid of all the twee cultural stereotypes so beloved to mainstream Western fiction (no dots on this forehead!) Miéville, a noted socialist, takes some potshots at British bureaucracy as well. He gives both Londons incompetent and manipulative bureaucracies to deal with. People in power deliberately side with Smog, others try to strike deals with it. The Concern, a shadowy group of individuals trying to profit from the presence of Smog are clearly a caricature of the carbon emissions trade. There is even a sharp take on the racism that tinged Western anti terrorism measures post 9/11 - a bunch of policemen from London attempt to arrest Deeba for being a terrorist (because she ‘terrifies’ a corrupt official), and threaten to harass her family in London if she resists.

It’s hard to miss Un Lun Dun’s environmental message either – London may think it is rid of Smog and all its rubbish simply because these have been sent to UnLondon. But Smog clearly has other plans. Sooner or later, Miéville seems to warns us, your rubbish will return to consume you.

So recycle. Walk to work. Be your own Shwazzy. And if unconventional fantasy is your thing, read Un Lun Dun.

Vyasa 101: Ashok Banker's Mahabharata

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Sat, 17 Mar 2012 05:07:00 +0000

The Forest of Stories : Mahabharata Series Book One

Ashok K. Banker

There is both peril and pleasure involved in retelling an epic tale like the Mahabharata to an Indian audience. We all think we know it intimately, we each have our favourite scenes, characters and interpretations and, despite being bombarded ad nauseam by countless print, soap opera and animated versions of the story over the last fifty years – not to mention our fading memories of Dadima’s moral stories- we still find place for a new one. Despite Banker’s modest disclaimers of commercial success in the writing of this series, I suspect he expects exactly the opposite – this is a story whose allure has not dimmed with age, and legions of readers will, no doubt, plough painstakingly through the eight books of this series, just to relive its very familiar wonders and horrors. Bollywood might come calling too, given Amish Tripathi's recent exchanges with that chronicler of all things familial, Karan Johar. Then again, we aren’t very receptive of experimentation either, are we, preferring stories that fuel our nostalgia rather than challenging our beliefs, or even suggesting our heroes (real and mythical) might be less than perfect.

Banker decides to steer clear of controversy with his new Mahabharata series. In his preface to ‘ The Forest of Stories’, he takes pains to assure his readers he isn’t here to ruffle feathers, or reinvent wheels, but merely translate the Sanskrit original as faithfully as he can. Where’s the fun in that, you might ask. In his own contemporary voice, says Banker, before making some allusions to the book being his MBA, briefly flirting with Shobhaa De lingo (“khichdi –pulao curd-rice mélange”..) then sternly shooing away any fantasy junkies and speculative fiction readers who might have unwisely strayed into this most holy of Indian literary terrain.

If you aren't of that irksome ilk, Banker’s ‘Forest..’ will not disappoint. His translation is well written, competently edited and, based on what I could gather from my own miniscule research, very close to the original. It is also pretty much a Vyasa 101 of sorts , introducing us to the mind of a man whose work continues to inspire and influence writers, management gurus, and military honchos around the world. We meet him indirectly, of course - this book is voiced by the venerable bard Sauti , our narrator over the next seven books of the series. It is through him that we understand Vyasa’s position on ethical and socio-political issues (as also a certain penchant for “slender-waisted” wenches) and witness the slow unraveling of the Mahabharata’s intricate narrative structure - a mind boggling cast of thousands, each with their own backstory, motivations and particular curses, all of them indispensable to the great things to come. Sauti’s story weaves back and forth, sometimes offering sneak peeks into the meatier bits of the tale, sometimes lingering on anecdotes about the fickleness of human nature , occasionally jumping back aeons to delve even deeper into backstory. And, in a couple of memorable scenes, dwelling with great relish on scenes of carnage that recall nothing less than ‘Kill Bill’ (arguably a mini-Mahabharata in its own right, and probably Tarantino’s MBA too). Given the detachment and formal prose with which Sauti narrates the stories of characters like Kadru, Jaratkaru and Shakuntala), the blow by blow accounts of Parashurama’s bloody rampage took me utterly by surprise. Sauti, till that point, sounds like a rather sanctimonious and humourless dude ; Parashurama’s tale transforms him into an eager eyed kid – you can almost picture him leaping around before his awestruck audience in a darkening forest clearing, waving an imaginary sword and hacking away at invisible opponents as he plays out the story for them.

You could read this book cover to cover, as a straightforward story, or dip into it at a random page, to discover a forgotten creation myth or cautionary tale from long ago. And for those undaunted by the sheer size of its cast, the occasional tedium of its narrative , the misfortunes of its many female characters (hardly Banker’s fault, of course), the absolute lack of any reinterpretation or invention, or the number of notches the author could potentially crank his inner Tarantino to once the Great War dawns - ‘Forest..’ is a promising first act to the books that will follow.

This review is a part of the http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Reviews Program at http://www.blogadda.com">BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

The Magic of Oliver Jeffers

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 05:00:00 +0000

What are little boys made of?

In the universe according to Oliver Jeffers, little boys are one part adventure, two parts resourcefulness and all heart. They find the fantastic awaiting them at their doorstep, or in their cupboards, and step right up to seize it. They overcome fear and loneliness with élan, ford choppy seas and scale mountains to help a friend, and still find time to catch their favourite TV shows. And they also learn – and teach us – some remarkable lessons about companionship, patience and the art of being human.

‘Once there was a boy’, begin three of Jeffers’ best known books, chronicling the astonishing and heartwarming adventures of a nameless little boy and some truly surprising companions. Each of these books – ‘How to Catch a Star’, ‘Lost and Found’ and ‘The Way Back Home’ is, at its heart, about the same theme – the power of true friendship. Each book has our diminutive hero set out on a journey that ends with him discovering both a new friend, and something special about himself. ‘How to Catch a Star’, the book that marked Jeffers’ debut in 2004, follows the boy’s quest to do just that – catch himself a star he can play with and talk to. He spends the entire book in wild and fruitless pursuit, before realizing that good things do in fact, come to those who sit back and wait. ‘’The Way Back Home’ has the boy set out on a cruise into outer space before engine trouble leaves him stranded on the moon. But he isn’t alone – a little alien just like himself lands there too and what follows is an engaging and ‘awww’ – inducing story about overcoming differences and helping each other. And ‘Lost and Found’ has our little hero rowing all the way to the South Pole to get a lost penguin back home, only to realize that home might, after all, be where the heart is.

This is a universe Jeffers draws with breath taking beauty – spare , child like drawings rendered in amazingly rich colour. The text is much the same – a mere handful of words that seem determined to play sidekick to the drawings, though still conveying the author’s gentle humour. The first time I picked up a Jeffers book, I was struck by how solitary his characters seem – they are little more than small blobs of colour in a vast, empty expanse of white space. His boy seems almost marooned in a world of lollipop trees, surly birds and some of the prettiest skyscapes I’ve ever seen in kids’ books. Adults are peripheral at best, or just plain absent – these are books where a child takes charge , makes independent decisions and some pretty profound moral choices. Of course I speak as a nitpicking adult , and you should enjoy these books just for their lovely art, their whimsical stories, gentle humour and the unexpected twist that always, always awaits you at the end. Then again, Google these books and you will realize that Jeffers’ books strike a chord not only with children around the world but millions of adults as well.

Take ‘Lost and Found’, easily the most beloved of all Jeffers’ books. This multiple award winning book has inspired a short animation film that is itself recipient of some sixty awards, innumerable fan videos and quite possibly the most beautiful fan song ever. You are drawn right from the opening frames into the boy’s dilemma – how to help his mute and lonely friend. Faced with a world that can’t – or won’t – help, the boy decides to take the penguin home himself. And so he does. It is difficult not to be moved by his simple heroism, awed by his tremendous (and sweetly paternal) courage, or get all teary eyed when the boy and his friend make their surprising discovery at last. (Move over, Forrest Gump.) In just a few words and images, Jeffers manages to tell us a story about some universal human fears – loneliness, alienation, the inability to communicate – and the extraordinary powers you just might find in the most ordinary people around you.

Jeffers ‘ fourth book, ‘The Incredible Book Eating Boy’ is very different in style and story, taking a tongue in cheek look at a boy with a unique problem. Henry discovers, quite by accident, that he likes eating books. He starts with a word, then tries a sentence, then moves on to gulping down an entire page. What’s more, he discovers that the more books he eats, the smarter he gets, as he begins spouting all the wisdom he has quite literally digested. Thrilled by his new found genius, Henry begins eating books even faster. But all this gluttony comes with a price, and soon Henry finds himself in trouble. With its mixed media collage drawings – including the pages and covers of old books that have been directly painted upon – this story felt to me like a sly parable about the perils of rote learning. Look out for the delicious little detail built into the end of the book itself – trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.

This review merely scratches the surface of Oliver Jeffers’ impressively prolific career. Besides being an acclaimed artist, he has a whole bunch of other well received books out. There is his most recent one, ‘Stuck’, about a boy who attempts to dislodge his kite from a tree – by throwing other stuff at it. There is ‘The Great Paper Caper’, that manages to work a message about environmental conservation into a hilarious yarn about a paper plane competition among the residents a of a forest. ‘Up and Down’ continues the saga of the boy and his penguin.

And then there is ‘The Heart and the Bottle’, a book that gracefully addresses the issue of bereavement in its story of a girl who seals her heart in a bottle so she won’t hurt anymore.

Much like Henry, I await my chance to gulp these down.

Image Courtesy

Crossposted here

The Wednesday Soul

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 11:20:00 +0000

‘Deliberately moronic’, ‘brilliantly silly’ – The back cover is as much an invitation as it is a warning of things to come, with this debut novel by Sorabh Pant, a stand-up comedian of some renown. If you like your fantasy grim, your mythology revered and unsullied by contemporary cheek, and the fictional battle lines between good and evil clearly drawn, then this is not a book for you. Author Pant takes tremendous liberties with multicultural mythology in this reimagining of the afterlife, with irreverent swipes at everyone from Gandhiji and Jesus Christ to Manoj Night Shyamalan thrown in for good measure. Pant is clearly inspired by Douglas Adams, author of the terrific ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ series , and seems to have attempted to capture the madcap pace and brilliant humour of that classic in his book. Sadly, he doesn’t succeed.

‘The Wednesday Soul’ starts off promisingly enough – Nyra Dubey, aka the Delhi Belle, prowls the streets of Delhi by night, wreaking her own brand of vengeance on sexual predators who have escaped the law. She finds true love in the arms of fellow crime fighter Chitr, a bashful fridge- sized man with a curious immunity to pain and a penchant for blue suits. But just when you think things are looking up for our burly and very surly girl wonder, she finds herself dead. Well, murdered actually, though that fact is strangely overlooked when she is labeled a Wednesday Soul – a subconscious suicide – by the denizens running the afterlife.

And what an afterlife it is – chaotic, confusing, bristling with unnecessary procedures and pointless queues and policed by overly aggressive dog warriors – in other words, your average Indian government office. Add to this a seemingly endless cast - sundry winged beings (Garuda doing what he does best; Ayrawat quite literally turned into a jumbo carrier), cranky Ancients, bickering Council of the Afterlife members,a curiously erudite rescue dog turned bodyguard called Bari , the Sanskrit-speaking shade of Dame Agatha Christie, even Che. Nyra is soon knee deep in action, attempting to thwart a coup by celestials turned rogue, while also trying to survive nasty fates as varied as free fall in space, reincarnation as a beaver and suppression between the butt cheeks of a sumo wrestler turned capo. Things get even more confusing when bickering Ancients Chitr and Kutsa return to the afterlife, where they proceed to wage war over control of the afterlife, banishment of Wednesdays and, almost as an afterthought, destruction of the human race as well.

‘The Wednesday Soul’ brims with potential – interesting characters, crazy action sequences, some inspired takes on mythological characters . It keeps up a brisk pace, and has plenty of snappy dialogue. But it is hobbled by a patchy story line, bad grammar, clunky sentences (“Nyra felt as if her body would explode with the blood that this stranger had awoken inside her”) and very poor editing. Factual errors and typos abound; all kinds of intriguing ideas pop up through the course of the book, but seem to have been either forgotten or just abandoned as the storyline hurtles along. The narrative itself switches routinely from the main story to textbook mode explaining obscure sub plots and backstory, which struck me as rather lazy storytelling . The plot is also strangely preoccupied with that anatomical part the author terms ‘the badlands’ – the backsides of characters routinely double up as emergency exits, cubby holes for lost passwords or temporary holding cells. (Douglas Adams, it may be noted, managed to sustain reader interest in the riveting saga of Arthur Dent over five volumes without once descending into crassness.) Also a little hard to stomach was the celestials’ fascination with Nyra’s taser – come on, we are talking supreme beings with limitless powers and more than a nodding acquaintance with far superior mythical lightning bolts, vajras and astras.

Far more interesting is the parallel love story unfolding on earth, between the hapless Inspector Sharma and morgue in charge, Dr. Tashiding. Infact, Sharma emerges as the most likeable character in this novel – a Sanskrit speaking Chulbul Pandey, if you will – attempting to navigate a new romance, unexpected fatherhood and communication with the dead, armed with little more than bad English and well-honed skills at torturing suspects. Sadly, this odd couple doesn’t get the airtime it deserves in Pant’s prose. But the open end of ‘The Wednesday Soul’ seems to suggest the possibility of a sequel – or several – and perhaps the ballad of Sharma and Tashiding will get a chance to play out in the wake of Nyra’s new adventures.

Thanks to Blogadda for the review copy of this book.

This review is a part of the http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Reviews Program at "http://www.blogadda.com">BlogAdda.com

Participate now to get free books!

The Iron Tooth

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 07:37:00 +0000

The latest entrant in the children’s fiction genre, Prithvin Rajendran’s ‘The Iron Tooth’ is a tale of fantasy and adventure set in the fictional land of Goodabaiya. The book begins by narrating the story of a young girl, unmarried and pregnant. She is thrown out of her home and makes a new home for herself at the foothills of the Mala Mountains, where few people dare to live. When she gives birth on a dark stormy night, she has two babies – one human and one troll.

The girl’s story that forms the prologue of the book is then linked to the events in the story at the end. Meanwhile Chapter 1 opens with the story of Dashter, a great and mighty kingdom ruled first by a good king, Dashtum and then by his equally strong but evil son, Darum.

King Darum is hated by his people who repeatedly rebel against his unfair and tyrannical practices. Darum does not really care for the opinion of his people, he is happy to enjoy the luxuries of being the most powerful man in the kingdom.

Princess Nova, Darum’s eldest child, is exactly like her father – arrogant, selfish and rude. When she insults the master magician, Faerum, he curses the entire kingdom of Dastur and imprisons Nova for the rest of her life.

The book then introduces us to the kingdom of Greatix, which is also the home of our protagonist, Princix and his family. Setting out on an adventurous quest for fame and wealth, Princix, who is both kind and brave, wins magical weapons that help him to become the Champion General for the kingdom of Greatix.

Princix’s first duty as Champion General is to find out who has cursed the neighboring kingdom of Dastur and help them lift the curse. To this end he sets out with two other Imperial Guards, Candelbre and Hammil. How Princix fulfills his quest and discovers the all-important iron tooth, (from which the novel gets its title), forms the rest of the story.

The story begins rather slowly, but becomes more readable as it devolves into the customary framework of fairy tales - that is, sending off a hero to a quest, in the course of which he also finds out about an imprisoned Princess and chivalrously decides to rescue her.

Other elements that help create the fairy tale atmosphere include the hero who does not know his own heritage, the sage who foretells the destruction of the kingdom and its resurrection by a stranger, an evil magician who will curse the kingdom, the Princess who will directly or indirectly cause the trouble, brothers who are jealous of their youngest brother who is vastly more successful, grateful strangers giving magical weapons in return for help rendered… all well entrenched examples from popular fairy tales. Rajendran has faithfully followed the fairy tale genre to give us a tale full of the fantastic and displays his own rich imagination and inventiveness in the process.

In the introduction to this, his first book, Rajendran tells us that his influences are the stories of mythical creatures that his mother used to tell him and the action figure toys that his dad bought for him.

The pages naturally are filled with fabulous, mythical creatures. There are vampires, trolls, Medusas, fairies from the Saxeaxs family, an immortal Custodian of the First Light, zombies, ghouls and creatures from the author’s own imagination such as the elite soldiers, the Baks.

I certainly felt that the cast of characters was overcrowded. Some of these mythical beings have very little to do in terms of furthering the plot but on the plus side, no one is going to complain that their favorite fantastic species is not mentioned in the book!

In terms of characterization, some stereotypes are inevitable because of the fairy tale genre, and do not detract from the book. I am surprised though that Rajendran was happy with such a tame portrayal of the Princess. After all, this is the 21st century, where princesses no longer sit around waiting for rescue. Quite often, they are the ones doing the rescue act so to meet someone like Nova who cannot do anything but repent her actions is a bit of an anticlimax for me!

Rajendran uses a medley of languages in the novel – there are brief snatches of various languages including one invented by the author, the language of the Bak. Both old and modern English are used throughout the book. And verse finds a prominent place in the text as well. I sometimes found the variety bewildering but the challenge may appeal to a younger audience.

In terms of plot, there is certainly completeness to the novel. The story gallops from one adventure to another, neatly picking up loose ends along the way so that by the end of the book, everything is neatly tied up. There is loving attention to detail both during the story and after the book, in the appendices which include a chronology, maps, a translation of the Bak language,Nivthrip and more.

‘The Iron Tooth’ is definitely an interesting read and I look forward to seeing how Rajendran’s next book turns out! Thanks to Blogadda for the review copy.

This review is a part of the <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Reviews Program</a> at <a href=""http://www.blogadda.com">BlogAdda.com</a>
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Sequels, prophecies ..and socialism 101

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 10:32:00 +0000

Is there a literary trope more tiresome than the prophecy? Just about every fantasy novel I’ve picked up these last few months has been about children variously marked, feared or heralded as ‘The One’ and mysterious strangers swooping in on them to convey them to their destiny. And honestly, shouldn’t ‘The One’ be picked for some reason greater than the accident of birth, or just plain being in a certain place at a certain time (aye, Boy who Lived, that means you.)? Meanwhile, what is it with prophecy-oriented stories and their inability to fit into a single tome, leaving us poor readers scrounging around bookstores and library waiting lists for Books 2 to gazillion? So I should have shied away from ‘The Midnight Charter’ which, apart from concerning itself with not one but two ‘The Ones’ is also clearly only part one of a series, meaning of course that a hundred narrative threads will be left dangling on the last page. As will I, waiting for Book 2.

Then again, when have I ever taken my own advice?

Well, for once that worked out alright since ‘ Midnight ..’ turned out to be a page turner, with a good story ,great pace and the kind of steadily darkening atmosphere that makes you simultaneously cringe and start reading faster . It is set in Agora, a grim medieval city ( imagine a very dark Lyra’s Oxford) that keeps its citizens walled in, where free trade is the reigning-and only- deity. There is no money in Agora, but anything can be bartered – emotions , children, lives (rather fittingly, murder is called ‘life theft'), even a woman’s voice. Children are considered property until they are legally emancipated at twelve, when they are left to fend for themselves, expected to improve their prospects either through marriage or slavery; the slightest hint of disapproval from their masters/ mentors could have them thrown into the streets and deemed unfit for employment. And all the while, the sinister and invisible Dictator does a Big Brother, tracking every move its denizens make.

Half dead from the plague, eleven year old Mark finds himself sold by his own father to Theophilus, the kind doctor tending to them. Nursed back to health by the doctor and Lily, a young orphan and employee of Theophilus’ grandfather, Count Stelli, Mark then begins his apprenticeship with the doctor. But fate has other plans for him; he finds himself being mentored by Stelli, a respected Agoran astrologer while Theophilus and Lily move out into the slums where they unleash a truly subversive weapon in the heart of materialistic Agora – philanthropy.

Mark narrowly escapes public humiliation after he discovers he is nothing more than a pawn in Stelli’s politicking. Rather serendipitously, Stelli’s life is destroyed while Mark inherits his wealth and becomes the toast of Agoran society, where he swiftly learns to be as unscrupulous and manipulative as his old employer. Meanwhile Lily tries to learn more about her mysterious origins even as she struggles to keep the shelter from being shut down .

Tides will turn, of course – it is only a matter of time before Mark falls out of favour with the powers that be, while Lily’s radical notion of giving away property for no reason other than the good of others, catches on and wins her many benefactors. But both children are unaware that they are part of a much larger game, overseen by shadowy figures, and that their fates are linked with that of Agora itself.

‘Midnight..’ does an interesting take on the age old Capitalism vs Socialism debate - Lily and Mark come to represent diametrically opposite points of view , and it is clear that some sort of confrontation lies ahead, even if they are allies at the end of the book. I liked the way Whitley’s characters develop, especially Mark – he goes from confused and scared waif to scheming and manipulative social climber, fuelled mostly by rage at his own abandonment. It is this angst that leads him to forge an unlikely bond with Cherubina, the infantile woman he almost weds in a marriage of convenience, and I would like to see their story evolve in future books in the series.

Rather like Philip Pullman’s ‘His Dark materials’ trilogy – though nowhere as dense, pedantic or exhausting - this is a book about the death of ideas – a society based on free trade sounds ideal on paper - a …“..vision of a city where all are equal..where balance, barter and give and take were woven into its very heart and soul…society where value was judged by every individual and no one could force something out of nothing.” But it is, like all other great ideas, easily corrupted and how Lily and Mark either strengthen or destroy the idea of Agora remains to be seen.

Josephine Tey – Inspector Alan Grant Mysteries

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 06:54:00 +0000

Josephine Tey and Gordon Daviot are both pseudonyms of Elizabeth MacKintosh. She has written 8 mystery novels between the years 1929 to 1952, five of which feature Alan Grant. A quick search on Gutenberg is sure to throw up a fair collection of novels. The first of the Alan Grant mysteries is ‘The Man in the Queue”, which did not really capture my attention. But it created just enough interest for me to pick up the second book, ‘A Shilling for Candles’ and then, I just had to find out what Grant does in the next book!

I suppose I need to mention that Tey’s books are accused of political incorrectness. There are claims that the author’s prejudices are passed on to her characters. To me, so many years removed in time, all that matters is a good mystery and on that count, Tey certainly scores high on my list.

Her detective, Alan Grant, does not astonish à la Sherlock Holmes; he does not have the flamboyance of a Poirot or the elegance of a Peter Wimsey. What he does have is ordinariness and a dogged determination to find the truth. He is an Everyman detective, albeit a clever Everyman.

Grant is well educated, as seen from his quotes from the classics, he is conscientious and will worry over a case even after he has reached a conclusion that is acceptable to all and perfectly logical. In The Man in the Queue, for example, after arresting the man who he has believed to be the murderer and listening to his story, Grant starts to wonder if he has indeed caught the right suspect. Evidence is never infallible and often Grant persists even when no one else can see the point.

Because he is essentially a kind and fair man, Grant finds devoted hero worship from his nephew and his sergeant, Williams. And that explains Grant’s appeal – he is no awe inspiring superhero – just a nice man trying to do his job and use his powerful position to fight for the cause of justice, succeeding against difficult odds.

In the novel, 'The Daughter of Time', which is Tey’s most famous Alan Grant mystery, Grant finds himself in hospital with a broken leg. He is bored to death and has no patience with the magazines and other trivial pursuits that are commonly provided to hospital patients.

Grant has a strong belief that the face is a true mark of the man. And considers himself an expert in the art of understanding the character through studying the face. As he says,

“It was a strange thing how much the meaning of a countenance depended on eyebrows. One change of degree in the angle this way or that and the whole effect was different.”

Knowing his interest, Grant’s friend, Marta Hallard, an actress, brings him some portraits to study. Grant does not recognize these people but the face that attracts his attention is that of Richard III.

Now if you know English history, then you also know that Richard III was king for only two years. He is remembered for the ignoble way he came to the throne. Richard III was supposed to the guardian of his brother’s son, Edward V, who was to be crowned king after his father’s death. Instead Richard III managed to have both of Edward 1V’s sons declared illegitimate and crowned himself as ruler. And the Princes? Why, no one saw them again, leading to speculation that Richard III had murdered them.

But when Grant looks at the portrait of Richard III, he sees not an evil murderer but a man of power, one used to both responsibility and suffering. So why is Grant’s analysis of Richard so different from what history has to say?

With the help of the ever faithful Sergeant Williams and reputed scholars, Grant investigates the true story of Richard III, so many years later, and concludes that this image of a murderer was created mainly as Tudor propaganda (with the help of dramatists like Shakespeare who portrayed the king as a power hungry despot, hunch backed and monstrous in appearance). Grant makes a persuasive case for Richard III as a brave, courageous warrior king by the end of the book.

An enjoyable book just like the rest of Tey’s mysteries. Interesting and ingenious plots that test Grant and the reader, loving attention to detail and varied settings all written in a pleasant prose make Tey’s novels necessary reading for those of us who like mysteries.

And when you are done reading Alan Grant’s cases, do look for Tey’s other books including ‘Miss Pym Disposes’ and ‘The Franchise Affair’ – both first class mysteries!

Mrs. Pollifax mysteries - Dorothy Gilman

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 07:03:00 +0000

A kind reader sent me a list of mystery writers that I hadn’t read. These are old school mysteries and the indescribable charm of these writers, their clever plots and their very appealing characters make reading a totally satisfying experience. Some of these books are available on Gutenberg as well.

Maybe this will turn into a series of posts – but for now, I am starting with Dorothy Gilman (1923 -) – focusing specifically on her Mrs. Pollifax mysteries – Gilman has written other general fiction that are vastly different from the Mrs. Pollifax books, so go ahead and explore the rest of Gilman’s repertoire if detective fiction is not your genre.

There are 14 books featuring Mrs. Pollifax and each of them have certain characteristic features – Mrs. Pollifax always sets out on simple jobs which however turn complicated, dangerous and generally end with her barely cheating death and very content with her adventure. Along the way she discovers reserves of strength she didn’t know she had and meets some outright villains, makes friends with a vast number of characters, some relevant to her case, some just because Mrs. Pollifax loves people. No wonder her postman is amazed by the letters she gets from exotic locales.

The exotic locale is also a given – Mrs. Pollifax on safari, in Albania (where she wasn’t supposed to be!) or watching the dance of a whirling deverish, in a rest cure in Switzerland, Italy, Turkey… I suppose that in today’s world where travel is so common, these locales are not always exotic any more… but the magic of reading about a different place in each book still exists and Mrs. Pollifax’s innocent joy at being in a new locale is hard not to share.

In ‘A Palm for Mrs. Pollifax’ she describes herself as “too cushiony”. And that is exactly what she is. Comfortable and reliable, just like your grandma. What makes a grandmother who looks more suited to being part of the garden club run around on missions for the CIA? It turns out that even grandmothers need some excitement in their lives – that the boredom of routine and the aloneness caused by faraway, grown up children and a husband who died over 8 years ago, can be depressing and make Mrs. Pollifax wonder if life is worth living.

In such a scenario, what can Mrs. Pollifax do? She makes a trip to Washington to the CIA building and offers herself as an agent. Through a case of mistaken identity, she is hired and sent on her first assignment which you can read about in The Unexpected Mrs. Pollifax. She surprises herself and her superiors with her inventiveness, courage and physical stamina ensuring that she is a regular on the CIA rolls.

So the prize winning geranium gardener and member of the local Save our Environment Club also adds yoga and karate (brown belt) to her repertoire. And Mrs. Pollifax becomes a very successful agent for the CIA. Of course, the bad guys who do not know her like we readers too, generally underestimate her, thinking that there is just a fluffy old lady beneath those fascinating hats (there is always a paragraph devoted to Mrs. Pollifax’a latest hat in each book!). And that is part of Mrs. Pollifax’s charm – she does not act like a professional agent but still gets the job done most efficiently.

And so through each book, Mrs. Pollifax takes a simple case, apparently uncomplicated, and turns it into a geographical, physical and mental odyssey. As her boss, Carstairs, tells his assistant, Bishop,

“One must be philosophical about Mrs. Pollifax, Bishop. We sent her off to Bulgaria to deliver a few passports to the underground and she proceeded to arrange prison escapes and the arrest of a Bulgarian general. We sent her to Mexico City to bring back microfilmed information and she ended up in Albania.”

Extraordinary, resourceful, funny, unconventional and a very good human being, the adventures of Mrs. Pollifax are a must read for every fan of detective stories.

The Ring of Solomon - Jonathan Stroud

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 07:25:00 +0000

I confess that I am a big fan of the Bartimaeus series. I read all of them and was unhappy it had to end at book number 3. The magicians in the trilogy are frankly unlikable. And I am not sure I like Nathaniel, the other central character of the Bartimaeus trilogy. I thought he was annoying, too full of himself, childish and a complete idiot most of the time. But Bartimaeus? Well, as Bartimaeus would be the first to say, “What’s not to like?”

Would Bartimaeus be as brilliant without the foil provided by Nathaniel in the trilogy? That was the only concern I had when I picked up Bartimaeus and The Ring of Solomon, a prequel to the trilogy.

Bartimaeus of Uruk is an ancient spirit of ‘great resource’, fourth level djinni, summoned from the Other Place by human magicians. His modesty never prevents him from telling us about the renowned masters he has served and the buildings that are testimony to his architectural and artistic skill. He has many a battle to his credit and has defeated djinni, afrits, madrids and many more powerful beings. If a lot of these victories seem to be sheer luck, it doesn’t matter! As Bartimaeus tells us, “I have a high enough opinion of myself already not to need extra flattery from you.”

It is Jerusalem, 950 B.C. Solomon rules over his kingdom with an iron hand. He controls a group of elite magicians with his ring of power. Just turning it can conjure up spirits that are both powerful and deadly. The magicians are chafing at being controlled by Solomon, they are a mean spirited, evil and vicious bunch of people, and no one epitomizes this better than Bartimaeus’ master, Khaba.

While on duty, Bartimaeus meets Asmira, who is on a secret mission to assassinate Solomon. Queen Sheba, whom Asmira serves, has decided that Solomon must be destroyed. Is a hereditary royal guard actually equipped to deal with a powerful ring of power, dangerous spirits and wily magicians? Highly unlikely. But when Asmira tricks Khaba and rescues Bartimaeus, she begins an action packed adventure that is managed by Bartimaeus with his customary, insolent élan. She may not succeed but you can bet she is having the time of her life!

Bartimaeus has a unique ability, the ability to get into trouble. He follows the letter of the order given to him (when he absolutely has to) but never the spirit. There is chaos when Bartimaeus is around and the only person having a hearty laugh about it is Bartimaeus himself.

Magic, a dash of mischief, a few misunderstandings and a lot of mayhem best describe Bartimaeus´ working style. When Khaba orders the spirits under his control to build Solomon a great temple, Bartimaeus needs but a few minutes to create total disorder in the ranks. Bartimaeus tells us,

“My work was done. The argument was going nicely: all discipline and focus had vanished, and the magician was a nice shade of purple….

Khaba gave a cry of rage. ‘All of you! Be still.’

But it was far too late. Our line had already disintegrated into a bickering melee of shaking fists and jabbing fingers. Tails whirled, horns flashed in the sun, one or two previously absent claws slyly materialized to reinforce their owners’ points. “

Although Bartimaeus would have you believe that he is a poor, oppressed spirit merely pining for the Other Place, he is having loads of fun misinterpreting orders and driving his masters wild by pointing out how puny, unintelligent and powerless they really are.

Add to this a satirical wit, a wicked sense of humor (at the expense of other spirits and magicians), and a love of adventure (while following orders; of course), and you get a djinni with attitude a mile high! He has you chuckling, laughing out loud and glued to the book – and never bored.

Sadly, the rest of the book is not as entertaining. The chapters that have Asmira on her way to Solomon’s court are, in particular, a bit of a drag but the ending, spectacular and tricky, much like Bartimaeus himself, is outstanding.

And much as I disliked Nathaniel in the trilogy, he was at least doing what he did because he was ambitious and good at heart. Here, Asmira’s enthusiasm comes merely from her belief that she must follow the Queen of Sheba’s orders at all costs. True, you cannot doubt her courage or her bravery, but ultimately she is just a slave like Bartimaeus, a fact he constantly reminds her of.

As is typical of Stroud’s books, there are serious undertones to the book – the corruption caused by power, slavery, the individual versus the role given by society… and you can think about these themes at leisure. But as with the trilogy, this prequel, for me, is firstly about Bartimaeus!

Put on your bookshelf if you haven’t already.

The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party - Alexander McCall Smith

noreply@blogger.com (nitya) — Thu, 19 May 2011 15:56:00 +0000

The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party is the twelfth book in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. And if, like me, you have faithfully bought or borrowed each of the previous books, then you know the strength of the book is in its characters. The creator of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, Mma Ramotswe, associate detective, Mma Matutski, apprentice Charlie, master mechanic Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, and the pushy Mma Potokwani are all old friends. The book narrates more life experiences of these familiar faces, ensuring we participate in their happiness and share their surprise at unexpected twists of circumstances.

The plot is typically crowded with stories and events – the big wedding party is Mma Matutski’s, who as Mr J.L.B. Matekoni points out, not unkindly, is ‘at long last’ getting married. Clovis Anderson’s The Principles of Private Detection, continues to guide Mma Ramotswe in her quest to find answers for her clients. Charlie is in trouble as usual but this time it really looks like he is in over his head. There is even mention of the hated Violet Sephotho who has broadened her ambitions – she is now attempting to get herself elected as a Member of Parliament. And to add to the practical difficulties of organizing a wedding, solving mysteries and stopping Charlie from making more mistakes, there is an apparently supernatural element introduced with repeated sightings of Mma Ramotswe’s old white van – the same van that was given up as only good enough for the scrap heap.

This is also the mellowest book in the series - there is less sermonizing and fewer criticisms. Even the abrasive Mma Matutski loses some of her rough edges thanks to her happiness in the soon-to-be wedding. Despite the loud altercation with Charlie at the beginning of the book which indicates a further worsening of the relationship, there are unexpected reconciliations all around.

At least part of it is engineered by Mma Ramotswe who gently reminds Charlie (and indirectly us) of his forgotten self-worth.

“She looked at him. For all his faults - and she had to admit they were manifold – he was a well-meaning young man. And much as he could be frustrating, he could also be amusing and generous and attractive.

‘Don’t change too much,’ she said gently. ‘We like you the way we are, Charlie.’

He stared at her incredulously, and she realised that he might not have heard many people say that. So she repeated herself: ‘We like you, Charlie, you just remember that.’

She looked down. He had clasped his hands together, his fingers interlaced. It was a gesture, she thought, of unequivocal pleasure—pleasure at hearing what all of us wanted to hear at least occasionally: that there was somebody who liked us, whatever our fault, and liked us sufficiently to say so.”

Near the end, the book has mutual apologies by Charlie and Mma Matutski and a hint that things could be smoother in the future. Yet another prickly problem is solved by a drastic change in the behavior of Mma Potokwani towards Mma Matutski. There is a newfound regard because a married woman is, in Mma Potokwani’s eyes, definitely worthy of respect. Typically in character, Mma Potokwani manages to wrangle an invitation to the wedding even when she was not on the original guest list and once she has got what she wanted all along, she uses her outstanding organizational skills to ensure that every aspect of the wedding party is memorable. A high note to end on - with so much more happiness in store for the characters.

This is not the best book in the series, certainly. And much of its richness would be lost if one is not familiar with the books that went before. But there is much to take away, the grace and elegance of Botswana shines through and a profound lesson on how simple kindness and understanding are sometimes all that is needed to make us better human beings.

Wounds already there

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Thu, 10 Feb 2011 18:15:00 +0000

In Kevin Brockmeier’s new book, as stunning as it is disturbing, the Illumination refers to an inexplicable phenomenon that overtakes the world, where physical pain begins manifesting itself as a brilliant light emanating from the wounds on everyone’s bodies. Overnight, the world is awash in the dreadful beauty of lambent tumours and corroding tissue, luminous ulcers and glimmering schoolyard scrapes.

"The world had changed in the wake of the Illumination", Brockmeier writes. "No one could disguise his pain anymore. You could hardly step out in public without noticing the white blaze of someone’s impacted heel showing through her slingbacks; and over there, hailing a taxi, a woman with shimmering pressure marks where her pants cut into her gut; and behind her, beneath the awning of the flower shop, a man lit all over in the glory of leukemia.”

How would a world like this adapt to its newfound incandescence? Some turn voyeurs, rushing to capture the art, the unmistakable beauty in suffering. Hospitals evolve new triage rules; photography gains momentum like never before. For others, like the teenaged ‘cutters’ , self mutilation becomes an expression of angst, the inspiration for a whole new sub culture . “We’re not creating wounds”, a character says after a particularly grisly photo opp. “We’re uncovering the wounds that are already there.” Some see variety in the light around them, and in some, it inspires empathy. But for the most part, people just learn to look away. “You would think “, a character observes, “that taking the pain of very human being and making it so starkly visible – every drunken headache and frayed cuticle, every punctured lung and bowel pocked with cancer – would inspire waves of fellow feeling all over the world, at least ripples of pity…”.

Brockmeier gives us a world ripe with potential, a scenario that surely demands examination. Yet he prefers to breeze by this aspect of his tale, choosing instead to focus on individual stories. So we follow the trajectory of a journal through the lives of six unconnected people as they struggle to cope with their pain. The journal is a compilation of love notes written by a man to his wife. I love watching you sit at your desk, it reads. I love your gray coat with the circles like cloud covered suns. I love how easily you cry when you are happy. I love your many doomed attempts to give up caffeine. I love the way you shake your head when you yawn. I love the way chocolate makes your eyes light up.

It is a litany of endearments made all the more poignant by her untimely death, and it touches each of these six lives in different ways. For data analyst Carol Ann, whose life “seemed like one long litany of wounds”, it is the salve that helps her move on from a painful marriage and divorce. For Jason Williford, author of those notes, it is his one connection to the love he has lost, until his pain becomes his diversion and, ultimately, his salvation. Ten year old Chuck Carter, victim of bullying at home and in school, can see the pain in inanimate objects as well, and the journal’s radiant pages spur him to become its protector. For writer Nina Poggione, literally wounded by her words as she endures oral ulcers through successive book readings, the journal inspires a parable that leads her toward love and healing, however fleeting. And for used book peddler Morse Strawbridge, “..fascinated, yet vexed by the book”, the journal is a comforting presence, his sole companion in a momentary respite from his impoverished life. “Between each sentence, it seemed, there was a gap, a chasm, a whitening away of meaning. He did not understand how something so sweet, so earnest and candid, could also be so wayward and enigmatic. He kept expecting to return to the book and discover that it had pondered all his questions while he was gone and then fortified itself with the answers.”

In a world lit up by suffering, evangelist Ryan Shifrin is an anomaly – a man untouched by the Illumination, seemingly immune to disease and disaster. Bound to his vocation not by faith but the burden of obligation, his life is spent questioning God’s intent. Is the Illumination a sign of His love , in which case, he himself has been left bereft? Or is it a sign that His love is decorative, a particularly arduous test of faith? The journal resonates with a simple love he can never hope to feel, that he has, in fact, deprived himself of, and that he can only yearn for in “..a Heaven of starting over, a Heaven of trying again” .

‘The Illumination’ traverses terrain familiar to readers of Brockmeier’s earlier work – alienation, silent heartbreak, grief. This is also a book about the fleeting connections we make , or miss, the ephemeral encounters that leave one’s life forever changed. It is one of those books that you will either love or hate unconditionally, the kind that will work its way under your skin and into a stubborn corner of your head and stay there. There are times when Brockmeier’s chronicle of suffering feels like a dark reflection of Jason’s words, an unrelenting chronicle of damage and disfigurement – severed thumbs, mouth ulcers, the aurora of a million ruined hearts, livers and kidneys. His characters are offered little respite and certainly no redemption. The section on Jason Williford is especially hard to read, as we watch him apprentice himself to a teenaged cutter, learning how to release his grief in the incandescence of his pain.

And yet, for all its bleakness, it is hard to remain unmoved by this book’s raw and tragic beauty or Brockmeier’s considerable skills as a storyteller.

Race, rage, redemption - and pirates

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 07:41:00 +0000

Take One Candle Light a Room

by Susan Straight

Pantheon Books

“You a lie!” someone yells in the opening chapters of this powerful book about family ties, the notion of home and one woman’s search for redemption . And in many ways, Fantine Antoine, successful travel writer and narrator of this book, does feel like one. Secretive about her origins, camouflaged by a skin tone that confuses most people about her racial lineage, she makes her home among strangers, distancing herself from her roots with education and a lifestyle her family can neither comprehend nor appreciate.

For Fantine's family is bound by ties far stronger than blood – they are brought together by the shared trauma of rape, decades of racial prejudice and violence, and the insularity that comes from being unable to trust anyone outside of their tribe. But though to outward glance she has walked away from it all, she still wears the scars of her heritage close, in her inability to commit to relationships, in the distance she must necessarily keep even from those closest to her.

All this changes, however, when her godson, the academically gifted Victor – and the one family member who seems to be following in her footsteps - becomes involved in a random act of gang violence. As she races against time to reach him and save him from the dark future that claims so many young black men of his generation, Fantine finds herself reconnecting with her estranged family and confronting, at last, the memories and dark secrets she has tried to leave behind. After years of being ‘invisible’ in her neutral complexion, carefully chosen clothes and the privileges her job offers, Fantine discovers, as she drives across America with her father, the reality of being black , when even an act as innocent as driving at night comes fraught with danger. “You just a nigger,”, her father says, a man who has survived great violence and meted out his version of it. “You not a writer. You with me.You tite souri (mouse). For them.” And sure enough, despite her laptop and vocabulary, she is mistaken for a prostitute (“a low-rent Halle Berry”) by a passing white couple and duly propositioned.

As a writer Straight is known for her extraordinary ear for dialogue, and ‘Take One Candle..’ moves effortlessly between patois , street jargon and Fantine’s articulate, writerly voice. ( ‘You made me fall in love,’ a professor tells her, after reading her work. ) Through the anguished inner voice of her protagonist, and the stories of the resilient men and women who came before her, Straight does even more. In an essay I read a while ago,about Haitians who dared raise their voice against political oppression, writer Edwidge Danticat defines ‘ guapa’ - the ‘courageous beauty’ she sees in the actions of these artists, writers and activists. With ‘Take One Candle..’ Straight gives us a glimpse of hers, returning to issues she has so eloquently examined in her earlier books – race; prejudice; the burden of painful cultural memory and its crippling effects across generations; the weight of love, often as damaging as it is redemptive.

At the heart of this book is the relationship Fantine shares with Victor - complex, fraught with tension, laced as much with a frail resentment as it is affection. In many ways, it springs to life only when she realizes she may lose him. Until the moment this happens, you can sense a diffidence on her part to bridge the gap she keeps between them, and his own pained , but silent acceptance of it. She brings him gifts, expensive mementos from the places she visits, yet is unable to offer him shelter the one night he needs it the most. For, much as he is like her, Victor is still a painful reminder of the past for Fantine – his doomed mother was once her best friend, the secrets of his parents’ death her unshed burden. Growing up, Victor has survived abuse and severe deprivation, scraping by only because of the largesse of the clan. Fantine, black sheep of this family, has rarely stepped in to help him; yet, she notes, as much with pride as regret, she seems to be the person he wants most to emulate. “People like us were not meant to measure success in the same way our families did,” Fantine observes. "We were failures to them.. And now Victor wanted… to be me.” But what they do have in common is a love of words, and it is this love that forges the tenuous bond that keeps Fantine on Victor’s tracks as he hurtles across America towards his doom, with little more than his cellphone in hand.

Fantine does eventually catch up with Victor, only to lose him again when he inexplicably starts behaving like the boys he has been trying to escape till now, and sets out on a hair brained treasure hunt of his own. Given how gripping the story has been till this point, and how drawn I was into Fantine's world, Victor's volte face made no sense whatsoever to me. It also alters the trajectory of the plot , taut and grounded until now, to embrace, in one great swoop, pirate yarns, flood waters (dame Katrina herself) death defying rescues, romance, ghosts , even the odd miracle.

Yet stick with Fantine - and Straight - as they negotiate this strange terrain , for a finale as satisfying as it is cinematic.

Love in the Time of Paranoia

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 21:35:00 +0000

Who shall live and who shall die
Who at the measure of days and who before
Who by fire and who by water
Who by the sword and who by wild beasts
Who shall have rest and who shall go wandering
Who shall be brought low and who shall be raised high.

Mitchell James Kaplan’s debut novel, which takes its name from the words of this sacred Hebrew piyyut , follows the fortunes of one man at a time of great social and political turbulence. 15th century Spain was the epicenter of some world-changing tremors – the conquest of Muslim-dominated Granada by Queen Isabel; the establishment of the Inquisition to reinforce the power of the Church while displacing thousands of Muslims and Jews across the world, and- that most famous of nautical goof ups, Christopher Columbus’ ‘discovery’ of the New World .

Into these historical facts, Kaplan deftly weaves a story of a man caught in a crisis of faith. This is no ordinary man; Kaplan ambitiously chooses as his protagonist the powerful and charismatic Luis de Santángel, an influential member of the court, unscrupulous accomplice to King Ferdinand in his quest for power, and financier to the gamble that was Columbus’ quest for Asia. But Santángel was also a third generation converso, or New Christian-his forefathers having abandoned the Jewish faith - who was implicated in the murder of an Inquisitor and lost several members of his family to the Inquisition.

History shows that the conversos were never entirely accepted, their status as former Jews or Muslims always making them suspect .“You think you’re one of them…”, Santángel bitterly observes to his brother Estefan, a man who hides behind a boisterous show of Christian feeling. ”But neither you nor I shall ever be one of them, no matter how much we drink or take confession.”.

Kaplan interprets Santángel as a man whose revulsion at the horrors and hypocricy of the Inquisition gradually turn him from skeptical converso to covert Jew. (“ Where they see a conspiracy of New Christians,” he says, “I see… history. Shared history. And history, memories, how can you escape them?”) He turns to the comforting fold of his abandoned faith, secretly practicing Jewish rituals and studying ancient Hebrew texts with the help of a young scribe. When the scribe is betrayed and tortured by the Inquisition into confessing his ‘crimes’ and naming accomplices, Santángel has the Inquisitor murdered. He soon finds that his power and wealth are little protection, given his suspect status as a New Christian. He is arrested, before his proximity to King Ferdinand comes to his aid, but is helpless to prevent the punishment of his son and the torture and murder of his brother.

Running parallel to Santángel’s story is that of Judith Migdal, a young woman living in the Jewish quarter of the Muslim kingdom of Granada. Judith, a devout Jew, defies social convention by refusing marriage and single handedly taking over her murdered brother’s business and the care of his family. Santángel meets her on a visit to the vizir of Granada, but theirs is a romance doomed; Santángel is arrested, while the Christian occupation of Granada turns Judith and thousands of Jews like her into homeless refugees. Also playing a role in Santángel’s persecution is the Toledoth Yeshu, a Hebrew scroll of unknown origins, that Colon gives to him. Suggesting an alternate version to Jesus’ origins, the scroll ,though hardly comparable to the hate mongering of anti-Semitic propaganda like the Fortalitium Fidei ,has often been misrepresented as anti–Christian, and becomes, in this book, a powerful stimulus in Queen Isabel’s fanatical desire to conquer Granada.

The story moves seamlessly between theological debate, moments of intimacy and graphic violence, with the odd burst of florid prose'. Kaplan’s rendering of Santángel reminded me of Thomas Cromwell, flawed star of ‘Wolf Hall’, Hilary Mantel’s literary juggernaut – amoral, conniving, as much a power hungry opportunist as the monarch he supports, then blackmails. In Kaplan’s assured hands, however, Santángel is also an intriguing character, tortured by his love and the consequences of his beliefs. By contrast, Kaplan’s vision of Colon/ Columbus is far more flattering – devious, yes, in his single-minded dedication to his vocation, but also intellectually curious, and tolerant of cultures foreign to his own (in a sub-plot, he secretly supports Judith’s business at a time when anti-Semitic feeling runs particularly high).

But the character who stands out as truly heroic is one who starts off as an underdog - Estefan, a man who feigns an affinity to primitive Christian rituals, only to openly defy the Inquisition when his young nephew is arrested. “No one cares a straw what you believe, Luis,” Estefan tells his brother, rather prophetically, at the beginning of the book. “No one cares what I believe, in the black dungeon of my heart. That’s the outrageous joke behind this madness.” And later, “Where’s the other cheek?” he taunts the men arresting him for a drunken tirade against Torquemada’s ‘splenetic choirboys’ and their zeal for violence.”Where is He?” Needless to say, the Inquisition’s response is brutal.

‘By Fire, By Water’ makes for compulsive reading with its lucid prose and strong characters, in a narrative where the research never overpowers the story.

Thanks to Mitchell James Kaplan for sending Bookblah a review copy of his book.

Emma Freke.. as is everybody!

noreply@blogger.com (wordjunkie) — Tue, 07 Dec 2010 09:42:00 +0000

I, Emma Freke

Elizabeth Atkinson

Carolhoda Books

The best coming of age stories are often about great voyages and life-changing encounters, yet are really about internal journeys – about children making that first, significant step towards maturity, and away from the fears that have curbed them. ‘I, Emma Freke’ is about one such journey, and a girl’s struggle to find her place in the world.Released early last month, the book has already won a Moonbeam Children's Book award.

Emma Freke is smarter than anyone she knows. Right from the opening chapters of this story about a child’s quest for family and a sense of belonging, where she bemusedly endures a school counsellor’s ham - handed attempts to boost her ‘socialization skills’, we know she is different – knowing, self aware, and possessed of both the smarts and a wry sense of humour. And yet, she finds herself defined, and utterly trapped, by the connotations of her name.

For Emma would like nothing better than to be shorter, dumber and invisible. At twelve she is, by her own admission, the “..tallest, palest and saddest girl in all of Homeport.” Often mistaken for an adult, saddled with her awkward moniker, - “My mother forgot to say it out loud when I was born”, she explains to everyone who says ‘Am a freak’ for the first time - her alarmingly red hair and mortifyingly great height (“like a target visible from space”, she rues), school is an ordeal of sniggering classmates and insensitive teachers.

Sadly, home isn’t much better - a father she has never met but whose unfortunate name she is stuck with, a cranky grandfather she often has to look after, and a flighty irresponsible mother who will think nothing of passing her daughter off as an employee in order to hang on to a younger boyfriend. Worse, her best – and only – friend Penelope possesses everything she lacks – two doting mothers, a lovely house, irresistible charm and unwavering optimism. Is it any wonder that she desperately hopes she is adopted? But though her mother manages to shatter that one illusion as well, she does give Emma something else instead – a chance to meet the Frekes, her father’s side of the family.

What follows is an account, by parts sad and funny, of Emma’s discovery of herself among the Frekes . Surrounded for the first time in her life by people as tall , red headed and obsessive about order as she is, befriended and admired at last by girls her own age , Emma finally feels she belongs . Yet all is not well with the Frekes ; not only do they shy away from the family name (Frecky, they insist. Rhymes with Becky.) and cower before the family matriarch, they seem to dislike their own freaks too – short, dark haired and very irreverent Fred Freke. It will take a twelve year old’s wisdom and spirited stand in defence of a fellow freak for the Frekes to begin acting like a family, and for Emma to realize the worth of her own.

Atkinson keeps it real, and writes from the heart – reading this book, I was drawn right into Emma’s sad and lonely world, feeling all of her pain and heartache with her. Who, after all, has not felt this keen sense of isolation at some time or other in their youth? Emma’s is also a world sorely lacking reliable adults, save for the friendly neighbourhood librarian or Penelope’s mothers (a very matter of fact inclusion of an unconventional marriage in this story about embracing diversity, that had me nodding in approval as I read); yet, Atkinson’s crafting of these fumbling, fallible and very believable grown ups makes them difficult to dislike, be it Emma’s mom with her fetish for all things New Age, her elusive father or the domineering Aunt Pat. By the end, as Emma finally makes her way home and gracefully embraces her life (and name) for what it is – unconditionally her own, and defined not by other people and their ideas, but her own altered vision of herself - you realize that this simple action has changed their lives as much as her own.

Heart warming, self affirming, funny – a book for the freak in each one of us.

Thanks to Skye Wentworth sending me a copy of the book to review.

Crossposted here.