Monday, March 28, 2005
A Farewell to Arms - Ernest Hemingway
Its a very moving book. But at the same time it gives a sense of being aloof that prevents the author from letting go totally. Its a book based in the Italy of World War (I) but it is about love.
Fredric Henry is injured in the war. Recovery from his injury is a long, arduous process which consists of surgery, rebuilding and lots of therapy for his knee. A lot of his recovery is also aided by his love Catherine (Barkley) who is with him. A bout of jaundice later - though not fully recovered, he is back at war. Halfway through an attack he decides to come back to his love Catherine who is going to have his baby.
Henry is serving in the Italian troops though he is an American. Abandoning the war is of course a punishable offence. Both of them manage to escape into Switzerland ina very Enid Blyton like adventure. Here they live together untill she comes to term with her pregnancy. She goes into labour, loses her baby and he loses her.
There is a certain despondent air about the entire book, like from the first mention of the their love, you know it is doomed. Nothing in the author's explanations or descriptions ever conveys Henry's depth of feelings for Catherine. Some lines though express a lot of the anguish felt by the protagonist for his love, because of his love.
"I guess we're both conceited," I said. "But you are brave."
"No. But I hope to be."
"We're both brave," I said. "And I'm very brave when I've had a drink."
[...]
"And maybe I'd look lovely, darling, and be so thin and exciting to you and you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said, "That's what I want too."
[...]
Its vivid, its touching and at the same time it feels like a third person account, despite being a first person account.
Fredric Henry is injured in the war. Recovery from his injury is a long, arduous process which consists of surgery, rebuilding and lots of therapy for his knee. A lot of his recovery is also aided by his love Catherine (Barkley) who is with him. A bout of jaundice later - though not fully recovered, he is back at war. Halfway through an attack he decides to come back to his love Catherine who is going to have his baby.
Henry is serving in the Italian troops though he is an American. Abandoning the war is of course a punishable offence. Both of them manage to escape into Switzerland ina very Enid Blyton like adventure. Here they live together untill she comes to term with her pregnancy. She goes into labour, loses her baby and he loses her.
There is a certain despondent air about the entire book, like from the first mention of the their love, you know it is doomed. Nothing in the author's explanations or descriptions ever conveys Henry's depth of feelings for Catherine. Some lines though express a lot of the anguish felt by the protagonist for his love, because of his love.
"I guess we're both conceited," I said. "But you are brave."
"No. But I hope to be."
"We're both brave," I said. "And I'm very brave when I've had a drink."
[...]
"And maybe I'd look lovely, darling, and be so thin and exciting to you and you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said, "That's what I want too."
[...]
Its vivid, its touching and at the same time it feels like a third person account, despite being a first person account.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Skinny Legs and All - Tom Robbins
Skinny Legs and All is his fourth book that I am reading. Its his way of writing. Any book. Any subject matter. All pertains to today. All relevant now. It does not matter when it was written.
All seeking salvation. Isn't that what we all aim for? Look to? Call Nirvana instead? Ellen Cherry heads to New York ('s art world) with the brand new husband Boomer Petway in a welded together "turkey" and reaches there losing only a spoon, a can o beans and a really dirty sock, along the way.
"I'm twenty-four, jilted and work in food service; I'm free to be as free as I please." It occurred to her that despite the failure of her marriage, the failure of her career, despite her hangover and chronic horniness, she suddenly was feeling rather light and giddy. She couldn't understand it. Was she simply too shallow to suffer indefinitely, or was she too wise to become attached to her sufferings, too feisty to permit it to rule her life?
Life's secrets exposed veil by veil.. Salome's seven veils... Boomer's career taking off as a sculptor forces Ellen to reconsider her stock of painting talent and survive as a waitress at Isaac & Ishmael. The restaurant started by Roland Abu Hadee & Spike Cohen across United Nations. A restaurant by a Jew and an Arab. Considered a threat to the conflict in Jerusalem, this place symbolizes what nobody wants to acheive in the "Middle East".
Jitterbug Perfume - quest for immortality; Villa Incognito - the need for disguide and masquerades; Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates - the intelligent US interference in all world affairs and now Skinny Legs and All which talks about the conflict in the Middle East. Though dominant through the 90s as an issue, the book still holds true. That, on some level, is dismal.
A superb read, this book, like all its precedents, is a delightful read. Language is handled perfectly to mask and unmask the veritable secrets to salvation and a assured trip to heaven. But yes you have to read the book for it.
Beauty! Wasn't that what mattered? Beauty was hardly a popular ideal at that jumpy moment in history. The masses had been desentized to it, the intelligentisia regarded it with suspicion . To most of her peers, "beauty" smacked of the rarefied, the indulgent, the superfluous, the effete. How could persons of good conscience pursue the beautiful when there was so much suffering and injustice in the world?
Inanimate objects that prophesise the doomsday and righteous preachers who are willing to do anything to make sure doomsday happens (sounds familiar?). A welder accidentally discovering God? Art is ordinary mundane things seen through a skewed vision? How wars serve no purpose and how The Truth is out there?
The book is a bubble, escapsulating everything and every person. There is art, religion, sex, relationships, deviants, fetishes (a predominant theme in all of Robbin's books - remember vaginas in seventy different languages from Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates), politics, satire and a sign of things to come.
All seeking salvation. Isn't that what we all aim for? Look to? Call Nirvana instead? Ellen Cherry heads to New York ('s art world) with the brand new husband Boomer Petway in a welded together "turkey" and reaches there losing only a spoon, a can o beans and a really dirty sock, along the way.
"I'm twenty-four, jilted and work in food service; I'm free to be as free as I please." It occurred to her that despite the failure of her marriage, the failure of her career, despite her hangover and chronic horniness, she suddenly was feeling rather light and giddy. She couldn't understand it. Was she simply too shallow to suffer indefinitely, or was she too wise to become attached to her sufferings, too feisty to permit it to rule her life?
Life's secrets exposed veil by veil.. Salome's seven veils... Boomer's career taking off as a sculptor forces Ellen to reconsider her stock of painting talent and survive as a waitress at Isaac & Ishmael. The restaurant started by Roland Abu Hadee & Spike Cohen across United Nations. A restaurant by a Jew and an Arab. Considered a threat to the conflict in Jerusalem, this place symbolizes what nobody wants to acheive in the "Middle East".
Jitterbug Perfume - quest for immortality; Villa Incognito - the need for disguide and masquerades; Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates - the intelligent US interference in all world affairs and now Skinny Legs and All which talks about the conflict in the Middle East. Though dominant through the 90s as an issue, the book still holds true. That, on some level, is dismal.
A superb read, this book, like all its precedents, is a delightful read. Language is handled perfectly to mask and unmask the veritable secrets to salvation and a assured trip to heaven. But yes you have to read the book for it.
Beauty! Wasn't that what mattered? Beauty was hardly a popular ideal at that jumpy moment in history. The masses had been desentized to it, the intelligentisia regarded it with suspicion . To most of her peers, "beauty" smacked of the rarefied, the indulgent, the superfluous, the effete. How could persons of good conscience pursue the beautiful when there was so much suffering and injustice in the world?
Inanimate objects that prophesise the doomsday and righteous preachers who are willing to do anything to make sure doomsday happens (sounds familiar?). A welder accidentally discovering God? Art is ordinary mundane things seen through a skewed vision? How wars serve no purpose and how The Truth is out there?
The book is a bubble, escapsulating everything and every person. There is art, religion, sex, relationships, deviants, fetishes (a predominant theme in all of Robbin's books - remember vaginas in seventy different languages from Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates), politics, satire and a sign of things to come.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Page numbers
Reading books is a tremendous passion of a lot of people I know and people they know and this even includes the strangers who frequent bookstores all over the world. Whoever says that books are being replaced dont know what they are talking about.
While reading a book, the ideal situation is of course sitting at length and finishing the book - wishing away other wordly responsibilities. Would that not be the best way to spend time? But alas, but it cannot be that way.
So whenever in school/college my reading was interrupted, I promptly whipped out my bookmark (needed to be snazzy, with a wisecrack on it and lotsa colour) and placed it on the page where I left the reading. I had my own little system. The better ( or glossier or more colourful or wittier) side faced the page I wanted to get back to. But I soon realised how much bookmarks were damaging the binding of the book.
At that point I told my self that I would remember the page number where I left the book. I mean one small two or three digit number. How difficult can it be? if it would be that much of a problem, I would note it down on the first available surface in my bag or in my wallet. Little did I know what I was committing myself to.
At first I started noting these page numbers down. Very soon I had a scraps of paper floating around in my bag and jammed in corners of wallet with numbers scrawled on them. No reference of which book and when and why. Phew! That solution soon wore itself out.
Then came the idea of remembering page numbers. I mean really! Slowly I developed a love hate relationship with these page numbers. It was a small victory everytime I remembered the correct page number. Victory of me over math!
Slowly it began to get deeper. I started being partial. Only books that mattered (read serious) got the luxury of me taking pains to remember page numbers. Really difficult ones got more than a few seconds of my thought time.
I started making it a lesson in algebra with me making up "word problems" to remember the page numbers. If Jack is 3 and his brother is twice his age, what is his brother's age plus 2?" 368.
275 would be first digit plus last digit equals center digit. 311 ha.. did not need anything to remember it. 193 the number totals ten. Initially it was simple for me. Make some sort of connection or story to go with the number. Some association and it would not be a problem opening the book the next time.
But that was not be. When I would come across a number like 241, I would wish it was 240. When it was 102, why not 100. Of course the inevitable did happen. I started remembering the numbers I wished it to be. More often than not, I land up reading huge portions of any book again because my memory serves me the previously remembered number.
Have given up trying to remember page numbers and am waiting for a new idea to strike.
While reading a book, the ideal situation is of course sitting at length and finishing the book - wishing away other wordly responsibilities. Would that not be the best way to spend time? But alas, but it cannot be that way.
So whenever in school/college my reading was interrupted, I promptly whipped out my bookmark (needed to be snazzy, with a wisecrack on it and lotsa colour) and placed it on the page where I left the reading. I had my own little system. The better ( or glossier or more colourful or wittier) side faced the page I wanted to get back to. But I soon realised how much bookmarks were damaging the binding of the book.
At that point I told my self that I would remember the page number where I left the book. I mean one small two or three digit number. How difficult can it be? if it would be that much of a problem, I would note it down on the first available surface in my bag or in my wallet. Little did I know what I was committing myself to.
At first I started noting these page numbers down. Very soon I had a scraps of paper floating around in my bag and jammed in corners of wallet with numbers scrawled on them. No reference of which book and when and why. Phew! That solution soon wore itself out.
Then came the idea of remembering page numbers. I mean really! Slowly I developed a love hate relationship with these page numbers. It was a small victory everytime I remembered the correct page number. Victory of me over math!
Slowly it began to get deeper. I started being partial. Only books that mattered (read serious) got the luxury of me taking pains to remember page numbers. Really difficult ones got more than a few seconds of my thought time.
I started making it a lesson in algebra with me making up "word problems" to remember the page numbers. If Jack is 3 and his brother is twice his age, what is his brother's age plus 2?" 368.
275 would be first digit plus last digit equals center digit. 311 ha.. did not need anything to remember it. 193 the number totals ten. Initially it was simple for me. Make some sort of connection or story to go with the number. Some association and it would not be a problem opening the book the next time.
But that was not be. When I would come across a number like 241, I would wish it was 240. When it was 102, why not 100. Of course the inevitable did happen. I started remembering the numbers I wished it to be. More often than not, I land up reading huge portions of any book again because my memory serves me the previously remembered number.
Have given up trying to remember page numbers and am waiting for a new idea to strike.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Manto Naama: The Life of Sadat Hasan Manto by Jagdish Chander Wadhawan
A strictly okay book. Its a very interesting subject matter but not very well presented or written.
Sadat Hasan Manto, a very popular Urdu writer, lived a trying life. All through his life his works were constantly judged, penalised or even banned. But today over forty years later, his works are hailed as landmark in Urdu literature.
Dealing with a variety of themes, mostly reflecting his current mental well being, his works include short stories, novels, plays especially for radio and sketches. Dhuan, Kali Shalwar and Thanda Ghosht ka Tukda are some of his more (in)famous works.
The book per se, does not do justice to the phenomenon called Manto. It moves back and forth with the subject matter in the book not quite properly organised therefore one sees a lot of repetition of information which could have been woven in much more skillfully.
The demarcations or categories listed are in some places quite abstract. His stint with the Mumbai film industry ( I could not tell how long it lasted) but was very fleetingly mentioned, only to be measured by the number of people he called his "friends". Also Manto, according to the book, valued friendship a great deal but depsite this the friends who perhap had a negative influence on him are not mentioned at all. Though this could be intentional, his erratic mood swings, attributed to his friends, are not suffiently explained.
But you do get to know a lot about Manto's life - his inspirations, his loves, his abject poverty on some days, his pride and his love for his family. One comes away feeling like it is a narrative about Manto's life than the writer actually getting under Manto's skin.
Some particularly nice lines:
He makes no distinction between caste and creed, which reflects he wide sweep of his mind and how it worked. Saughandhi of his story Hatak and Gopinath of his story Babu Gopinath are Hindus. The central figure of his story Toba Tek Singh is a Sikh while Sultana of Kali Shalwar is a Muslilm. Mozel is a Jew and Mummy is a Christian. The woman of Sarak Ke Kinare has an affinity with all religions. She is the primeval daughter of Eve, having no religious label.
Sadat Hasan Manto, a very popular Urdu writer, lived a trying life. All through his life his works were constantly judged, penalised or even banned. But today over forty years later, his works are hailed as landmark in Urdu literature.
Dealing with a variety of themes, mostly reflecting his current mental well being, his works include short stories, novels, plays especially for radio and sketches. Dhuan, Kali Shalwar and Thanda Ghosht ka Tukda are some of his more (in)famous works.
The book per se, does not do justice to the phenomenon called Manto. It moves back and forth with the subject matter in the book not quite properly organised therefore one sees a lot of repetition of information which could have been woven in much more skillfully.
The demarcations or categories listed are in some places quite abstract. His stint with the Mumbai film industry ( I could not tell how long it lasted) but was very fleetingly mentioned, only to be measured by the number of people he called his "friends". Also Manto, according to the book, valued friendship a great deal but depsite this the friends who perhap had a negative influence on him are not mentioned at all. Though this could be intentional, his erratic mood swings, attributed to his friends, are not suffiently explained.
But you do get to know a lot about Manto's life - his inspirations, his loves, his abject poverty on some days, his pride and his love for his family. One comes away feeling like it is a narrative about Manto's life than the writer actually getting under Manto's skin.
Some particularly nice lines:
He makes no distinction between caste and creed, which reflects he wide sweep of his mind and how it worked. Saughandhi of his story Hatak and Gopinath of his story Babu Gopinath are Hindus. The central figure of his story Toba Tek Singh is a Sikh while Sultana of Kali Shalwar is a Muslilm. Mozel is a Jew and Mummy is a Christian. The woman of Sarak Ke Kinare has an affinity with all religions. She is the primeval daughter of Eve, having no religious label.
