Book review: The Other Side of the Table by Madhumita Mukherjee

Circa 1990.
A world drawn and woven with words.
A bond punctuated by absence and distance…
Two continents. Two cities. Two people.
And letters. Hundreds of them.
Over years. Across oceans. Between hearts.

I was delighted, and a little apprehensive, when I read the back cover. Delighted because three of my favorite books are epistolary works – May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude; Helene Hanff’s 84, Charring Cross Road; and Mary Ann Shaffer’s The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Apprehensive because I am generally wary of Indian authors, even though there are some excellent novels out there – Indu Suderasan’s brilliant Taj trilogy comes immediately to mind. But then, there are also disasters, like I, Rama or How About A Sin Tonight. And telling a story through letters isn’t the easiest thing to do.

The Other Side of the Table tells the story of Abhi, who is training to become a neurosurgeon in London, and Uma, who has just entered medical college in Calcutta. They write to one another about medicine and life, love and friends, about travels and family, and things that are close to their hearts and about nothing at all. Each letter reveals a tantalizing glimpse into their lives.

We learn that Abhi lost his parents in a car accident when he was very young; that he’s known Uma since he was a child living in Calcutta; that since he’s gone to London, he feels that there’s nothing to tie him to India, except his friendship with Uma.

…I have not gone back to India ever since I came here. What do I go back to? Whom do I come home to? Dadu and Didu are gone. Come to think of it, there is no one there for me but you. You are my only link to India, a continuum from my youth.

We learn that Uma has dreams and ambitions, which she isn’t willing to sacrifice just because they aren’t conventional; that she’s spirited and fiery and unafraid of speaking her mind no matter what the consequences.

“Don’t be ridiculous Uma,” Dr. Bose said without preamble. “Girls don’t do surgery. What is this all about?”
…I heard myself say, “With or without interruptions, I hope to become a very good kind of surgeon, sir.”
“You think it is easy.” His lips curled with sarcasm.
“No, sir. I think it can be done, and I think I can do it.”

Mukherjee scoffed at my apprehensions with the first letter itself. She uses beautiful language without falling into the trap that most Indian authors find themselves in – that of convoluted sentences and big words. Just read this wonderful description of Abhi’s impression of the human gut:

…the glistening, frilly, vulgar and voluptuous beauty of the gut.

This is a beautiful story of dreams and love and loss. Each letter peels back the layers of Abhi’s and Uma’s lives, laying bare their innermost thoughts and desires. Each letter gives us a glimpse of their personalities, their little quirks, finely breathing life into the two protagonists, until you feel like you’ve known them all your life. She crafts a story that will make you laugh with them and cry with them. One in which your heart contracts with sorrow and then, a few letters on, surges with joy.

Part of me wanted to devour the book in one sitting, the other part wanted to stretch out the experience. I took the middle ground – I read the book in two days, and then, once it was over, I started it all over again, so I could savor it one letter at a time.

Highly recommended if you enjoy epistolary novels. If, like me, you are generally wary of Indian authors, pick this book up – I promise you won’t regret it!

Book Reviews: I’ve Got Your Number by Sophie Kinsella

When Poppy Wyatt loses her engagement ring in a hotel fire drill she goes into a state of panic. After all, who wouldn’t? That’s the one thing you’re really not supposed to lose, especially when it’s been in your fiancé’s family for three generations! To add insult to injury, in the panic that follows the loss of her ring, her phone is stolen. As she paces around the hotel lobby in a state of borderline hysteria, Poppy chances upon a phone in a trash can. After a quick internal debate, she picks the phone up and passes the “new” number around to the hotel staff and…gets a call. From the phone’s owner, businessman Sam Roxton, who isn’t amused that she has “stolen” his PA’s phone. Somehow, Poppy manages to convince him to let her keep the phone just until she finds her ring, and promises to forward all messages and emails that come on that phone to him at once. But sharing a phone isn’t easy, as both of them soon find out.

This is my first Sophie Kinsella novel and I must say I enjoyed it. Poppy’s character is brilliant. She’s like this lost babe in the woods with a heart of gold who couldn’t bear to hurt a fly. And if this sounds really clichéd, just trust me when I say this – you will end up falling in love with her. Guaranteed! Sam is diametrically her opposite – a hard-nosed businessman who seems to have no time for friends and family. He sends one-word responses to emails and ignores most of his correspondence – something that drives poor Poppy totally bonkers. In fact, all of the characters in this book are properly three-dimensional, not cardboard cut-outs or “stock characters”.

Also, if you think chick lit is nothing but mushy romance, this novel will put that thought to rest. There are a lot of subtle underlying messages through the book. One is our dependence on technology. When Poppy loses her phone, she feels like she’s lost a part of herself, like an arm or a leg. Then, as she starts reading through Sam’s emails while forwarding them (after all, it’s difficult not to give in to curiosity and read an email when you’re opening it to forward it on, isn’t it?) she forms an image of him as a hard-nosed businessman who has no time for friends or family. But that turns out to be incorrect, as she finds out to her utter humiliation. Kinsella also warns against meddling in other people’s affairs, as Poppy makes one blunder after the next, all in an effort to – as she sees it – help Sam. Then there’s Poppy’s unwillingness to confront people, which Sam points out to her when he goes through her messages. After all, if you remember, the phone does belong to him! Quite a tangle, wouldn’t you agree? The development of their romance is gradual, making you believe that their love is meant to last as they both balance each other perfectly.

Kinsella is now on my list of go-to authors for a relaxed holiday read, just behind Mave Binchy. If you’re looking for a light-hearted read, I would heartily recommend this book.

Book review: Bartimaeus: Ring of Solomon – Jonathan Stroud

British versions of the Harry Potter series (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve developed a love for fantasy fiction. It started with JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series, which I read through college and into adulthood. After a long break from this genre, I returned to it with Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series, which was recommended to me by a colleague in the US. (I don’t understand the hysteria around these novels – after reading the first book I wanted to gag, but they did seem to get better. Or maybe I knew what to expect.) Then came Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy (Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, The Amber Spyglass), the brilliant and complex Fire & Ice series by George RR Martin and Joanne Harris’ novels based on Norse mythology (Runemarks and Ruinlight), and I was firmly hooked onto the genre.

 

So when I got the opportunity to review Bartimaeus for RHI, I jumped at the chance.

 

The novel starts with one of King Solomon’s 17 magicians commanding the demon Bartimaeus to search “the known world for objects of beauty and power” at the behest of the king. But keeping charge of a demon is no easy task. You have to be sure that your commands are worded without any loopholes that can be exploited and that you are always within your pentacle, or the demon will be quick to kill you to gain its freedom.

 

“Rizim had put the other eye out on a rare occasion when our master had made a slight mistake with the words of his summoning. We’d additionally managed to scorch his backside once or twice, and there was a scar on his neck where I’d come close with a lucky ricochet, but despite a long career commanding more than a dozen formidable djinn, the magician remained vigorous and spry. He was a tough old bird.”

 

A feat that Bartimaeus accomplishes within the first few chapters of the novel. And that earns him the retribution of Solomon, who orders the magician Khaba to summon and enslave him. At the same time, he tasks Khaba with constructing a marvellous temple with a workforce comprising of a bunch of demons, including Bartimaeus. But true to form, Bartimaeus manages to irk King Solomon yet again, getting Khaba kicked off the temple project and sent to the desert to hunt bandits.

 

Meanwhile, in far away Sheba, the Queen receives a messenger from the King. Seeing as she has refused his offer of marriage multiple times, Solomon now orders her to pay him a tribute of frankenseince or see her city destroyed at the hands of an army of spirits. What makes Solomon’s threat so ominous is the ring that he discovered years ago, which allows him to summon an untold number of spirits and command the forbiddingly powerful Spirit of the Ring. The threat of this ring brings a number of magicians to Solomon’s court, whose summoned demons are used to build temples, maintain law and order and keep the peace. It’s a ring that everyone wants…but no one should have. Anyway, back to Sheba. To save her country, the queen sends Asmira, a loyal captain of her guard, to Jerusalem to kill the king and take his ring. And this is where the real fun of the novel begins.

 

Jonathan Stroud’s version of Jerusalem is peopled with monstrous djinnis, marids and afrits, all of whom are enslaved to a magician and must carry out their every command. He’s taken stories about King Solomon from the Old Testament and given them a magical spin, with Bartimaeus cooking up trouble, cracking humorous wisecracks and causing mayhem wherever he goes. The story has some interesting twists and turns, with evil getting its due reward (or rather, punishment) in the end.

The principal character of the novel is Bartimaeus, and he is absolutely delightful! He’s got this wicked sense of humour

 

“Then again, Solomon was human. And that meant he was flawed (Go on, take a look at yourself in the mirror. A good long look, if you can bear it. See? Flawed’s putting it mildly, isn’t it?)”

 

with a side of sarcasm

 

“It’s the same with spirit guises; show me a sweet little choirboy or a smiling mother and I’ll show you the hideous fanged strigoi it really is. (Not always. Just sometimes. *Your* mother is absolutely fine, for instance. Probably.)”

 

along with a healthy dose of boastfulness

 

“‘The Evasive Cartwheel’™ ©, etc., Bartimaeus of Uruk, circa 2800 BC. Often imitated, never surpassed. As famously memorialized in the New Kingdom tomb paintings of Rameses III – you can just see me in the background of The Dedication of the Royal Family Before Ra, wheeling out of sight behind the pharaoh.”

 

Jonathan has also taken care with his human characters. Asmira, for instance, goes from being convinced about her mission to kill Solomon, to feeling helpless and worthless, and finally finding her sense of purpose as the story unfolds. King Solomon too, despite being a known figure, has been given some rather interesting character twists.

 

Most of the chapters are narrated by Bartimaeus, and these include back stories and explanations of various magical (and other) terms – told in the form of footnotes – in his distinctive (read: witty and sarcastic) voice. Some of the chapters are narrated by Asmira and others are in third person – and all of these transitions are handled well.

 

What I enjoyed most about the book, though, was Bartimaeus and his wit! The Ring of Solomon is the prequel to the Bartimaeus trilogy, which I haven’t read. So, I can say with full confidence: if you haven’t read the trilogy and don’t think you want to get into one, read this one book – it works perfectly as a stand-alone novel. Me? I’m going to be reading the rest of the trilogy – I need to know what trouble Bartimaeus cooked up in modern day London!

Disclaimer: I got a copy of this book from Random House India, but the review and opinions expressed are my own.

Book review: Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

Midnight’s Children (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Midnight’s Children tells the story of “Saleem Sinai, later variously called Snotnose, Stainface, Baldy, Buddha and even Piece-of-the-Moon,” who was born on 15 August 1947 at the stroke of midnight – at the same hour that India won her independence. It is a story that first chronicles 32 years of his grandparents’ and parents’ lives, before focusing on Saleem’s life in Bombay, Pakistan and Bengal. It is also a novel about India; tracing her journey from the heights of independence (infancy) to her ordinary adulthood, culminating with Indira Gandhi’s Emergency rule.

But this bland description doesn’t do justice to Rushdie’s sweeping novel. It says nothing about his magical prose, about the explosion of colors and smells and sights and sounds. So let me tell you a little more about Snotnose.

Born at midnight, at the precise moment of India’s independence, Saleem was “mysteriously handcuffed to history…thanks to the occult tyrannies of those blandly saluting clocks.” His birth was celebrated with fireworks. His picture was printed in the newspaper. Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru sent him a letter saying “We shall be watching over your life with the closest attention; it will be, in a sense, the mirror of our own.” He grew up with a sense of his own importance. He grew up wondering about his purpose. And in his quest for a quiet place in which to think, he found himself retreating to his mother’s laundry hamper. Where one day he discovered his gift for telepathy. From the age of nine, he could enter into other lives at will. And finally, he found all the other magically gifted midnight children scattered across India. At the age of 10 he set up a Midnight’s Children Conference, where he hoped the children could come together to discuss the fate of the nation. But like all 10-year olds, they were overtaken by petty squabbles and dissonance.

As you read Saleem’s story, the “chutnification of history” and “the pickling of time”, you can see parallels with India. Allegorical though they may be, some of them are only hinted at, but they are there. The signs of the potential that India could achieve at birth, the quest for purpose, the slow, inevitable decline to mediocrity. Of course, a lot of events take place because of Saleem. After all, the reason for the Indo-Pakistan war was the annihilation of the Sinnai family!

What more can I say about Stainface? He’s pompous, arrogant, self-centered, grandiose, and somehow loveable. As the narrator of this audacious novel he is absolutely brilliant. He jumps around from one time period to another. When he makes his tall claims, his companion Padma tries to ground him to reality, but of course, he refuses to be so grounded.

In this sweeping canvas of a story, Rushdie brings in the details of a miniaturist. The places and times are captured down to the last detail. Like the Pioneer Café, where Saleem’s mother meets her first husband Nadir Khan.

“…with filmi playback music blaring out from the cheap radio by the cash till, a long narrow greeny room lit by flickering neon, a forbidding world in which broken-toothed men sat at reccine-covered tables with crumpled cards and expressionless eyes.”

The characters, even the minor bit players, are finely detailed. No player, or event, has been tacked on as an afterthought just because an “India novel” would be incomplete without it. There is a lot of history, even though the timelines may not always be right, because Saleem admits that “Memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events…”

In the hands of an inept writer, it would have been an impossible book to read. But Rushdie’s fine art of storytelling turns it into a rich and magical tapestry. Saleem (and through him, since this is magic realism, India) “have begun to crack all over like an old jug–that my poor body, singular, unlovely, buffeted by too much history, subjected to drainage above and drainage below, mutilated by doors, brained by spittoons, has started coming apart at the seams. In short, I am literally disintegrating, slowly for the moment, although there are signs of an acceleration.”

But it does end on a note of hope. Although Saleem, who holds the dream of India within himself, believes he will “eventually crumble into (approximately) six hundred and thirty million particles of anonymous, and necessarily, oblivious dust” as national unity seems like an unachievable dream, he does leave the reader with a sliver of hope. His son Adam, gifted with “elephant ears”, is also inexorably tied to India. In him lies the future of the nation. And who knows what feats he might achieve.

Having read the book, I am now all the more eager to watch the movie, which is slated to release in December 2012. Since Rushdie has been closely involved in the movie making process, I have high hopes from it! Overall, I think this is an excellent book, and I highly, highly recommend it.

Disclaimer: I got a copy of this book from Random House India, but the review and opinions expressed are my own.

Book review: Turquoise by Ayshe Talay-Ongan

“Set against transcendent love, unrelenting hatred and loyalties to friends and family, Turquoise is the story of an enduring and passionate love affair between Yasmin and Renan, which spans two decades, two marriages and three continents.”

This opening blurb was enough to pique my interest in the novel. That it is set in Turkey just added to my curiosity. Yasmin, the main protagonist of the novel, is an independent Turkish woman who refuses to follow tradition to find a husband and settle down to married life. The daughter of a Turkish diplomat, she’s been brought up in a liberal environment, sheltered from the ethnic differences between Turks and Armenians. After completing her degree in psychology and working in New York for a few years, she returns to Turkey, where she runs into her Armenian classmate Ani and her husband Renan. As soon as Yasmin locks eyes with Renan, she knows she has found her Love. But seeing as he is a married man, and is married to her one of her closest friends, all she can do is love him from afar. Though her love is reciprocated, neither of them will do anything to jeopardize Ani and Renan’s marriage.

Soon enough, political tensions in Turkey force Renan and Ani to immigrate to Sydney, and eventually, Yasmin also decides to move to San Francisco. It helps that her brother lives in California and that her father has been posted to Los Angeles as the Turkish Consul General. She soon finds a job and a house and settles down into her new life. Through her group of friends, she meets Curly, a Stanford professor, who she eventually marries even though she is still in love with Renan.

While in the US, her father is assassinated by Armenian terrorists, who were fighting to compel the Turkish government to acknowledge its responsibility for the Armenian genocide. That tragedy impacts her life in numerous ways, forcing her

“to make a choice between the passion that defines her and the reason that guides her. When so much is stacked against Yasmin and Renan, how can love possibly triumph?”

I quite liked Yasmin’s character. She’s independent, thoughtful and caring; a go-getter, unafraid to take unconventional decisions; someone who isn’t afraid to turn her professional dreams into reality. I could identify with her to an extent – the easy life (sure, there are struggles, but none really depressing or gloomy), her independence and ability to look at the bright side of things, to have faith that things will work out for her (like when she was looking to buy a house in San Francisco, she knew exactly the kind of house she wanted and was sure she would find it even on her limited budget – and find it she did), her engaging social life and the support of friends, and her many soulful, self-reflective quests.

She’s also believable, thinking things that a lot of us would do or think about in real life. Like when she thinks to herself, “Dear God, let him be jealous of me!” as her obsession for Renan deepens. I think that’s honest – I don’t see why a novel should take the high road.

Or her thoughts after they make love for the first time:

“My eighteen hours with him…skin on skin, breath in breath. Pristine and ordained. Our bodies feel like a Homecoming with one another, like a cherished poem remembered verse and line. A sense of deep familiarity, of knowing and awaiting for from a time immemorial.”

I thought that was beautiful, especially when you see how deeply connected they feel to one another.

That said, there were times when I also found myself getting irritated with her – if she loved Renan so much, why would she do nothing about it? Why did she settle for Curly? Why the continuous soul-searching and yearning? And then I would have to remind myself that the novel is set in the 1980s, when some of today’s more direct approaches probably wouldn’t work. Moreover, for all her liberal environment, she also belonged to a conventional society, so there were those limitations as well.

A few of the others characters, including Renan, aren’t very well-developed, but seeing as they play fleeting roles in the novel, it doesn’t make much of a difference. Since Yasmin has such a large circle of friends, developing all of them would be pointless in any case. Another character that is really well-developed is that of Yasmin’s mother. She’s a lady of strength and such a huge support system for Yasmin. In a lot of ways, she reminded me of my mum.
If you pick this one up hoping for a regular romance, you will be disappointed. The novel, which is told from Yasmin’s viewpoint, unfolds at a languid pace. Although Renan plays more of a cameo role in the book, her love for him permeates her entire life, and therefore the entire book.

This isn’t a page-turner; it isn’t a quick read or a book that you can skim through – it’s a long, leisurely account of Yasmin’s life, of her overarching love for Renan, and the many life choices she makes. It delves into the many facets of her marriage with Curly, who can only ever be second best to Renan; and her struggle to keep her love for Renan compartmentalized so that it wouldn’t hurt his marriage or hers. This isn’t just romance between a man and a woman either; it also delves into Yasmin’s relationship with her mother, with her husband Curly and Sam, the son from his previous marriage.

This book requires patience…and if you need to take the time to savor it…and remember that it’s set in the 1980s in a more conservative era and society, it’s totally worth your while. Yasmin is a well-developed and very real character – by the end of the novel, you feel like she’s a friend! The story unfolds slowly and languidly, and again, is very realistic.

If you enjoy literary fiction, this one’s for you.