Recently Read – Life of Pi

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agnosticism, atheism, books, life of pi, recently read, religion, yann martel

Today the sun has been lovingly elbowing its way into the sky, despite the stubbornness of winter and I just know that the green is yearning to push its way up through the earth and adorn the shivering branches – and did you see the naked trees dancing in the mischievous wind?

I know that the sun stays relatively still, a burning entity far off in space with no thought as to our situation in this little spot on earth. I know that the “green” is not one thing but many which probably do not feel any kind of collective yearning. I doubt that the trees have an idea of dance and the wind probably does not think much about what it does, for earnest or mischievous purposes.

Yet I can enjoy the story without believing in its literal truth. I do not have to make the choice to believe it to find it nice. Isn’t there, after all, something rather lovely about knowing the facts – the truth if you will (or at least a part of the truth) – about the sun and still being able to view it in a fanciful, story-type way without having to claim that the sun is a god, or pulled through the sky on a chariot, or put in place by some master decorator of the universe.

I’ve put off writing about Life of Pi because of uneasiness about this. Just because the story is nice, doesn’t mean you should put all your faith in it. On the other hand, being aware that it might not be true doesn’t mean you have to reject it fully.

Listening to the story even if you don’t necessarily believe it can be helpful sometimes. Like when you’re frustrated with the endless gray and cold after a late winter snowstorm. Or when you’ve had a day where you’ve seen too much cruelty and need to have a glimpse of the possibility of goodness.

Martel is very black and white. Pick which story you believe – if you can’t decide, you’re a worthless coward. But the thing you can’t do is find  value in both sides. It is a sign of weakness to consider the merit of both.

Despite this uncomfortable conclusion, there is much of value in Martel’s representation of religiosity. It is on the whole engaging and very effective. The prose at times can seem a bit pretentious and sometimes drags, but does not detract too much from the pull of the story.

On a side note, I noticed that I found several books recently to be written in a tedious sort of way. Very celebrated books that seemed to drag (to be precise: The Round House, Life of Pi and, to a lesser extent, Flight Behavior). I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. Then I started reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith and am utterly enchanted, so nope. Just something grating about these books to me.

My Moons

And in the todays and in the tomorrows
and in the mornings that linger
the evenings that fly
and in the unforgettable moons -
collecting like children’s artwork
and school papers
in the attic of my memories
and in the basement of my thoughts -
the moons that guided me home
in lonely winter and in lazy summer
in all these days,
under and above all these memories
and all these moons
I try to remain.

And these moons that linger -
of many colour and many shape -
Orange, hanging low, soothing and delighting,
a gentle melody of autumn dying and summer laughter.
Silver, huge, suspended high above,
promising fervid nights of ecstatic inspiration,
and of solid soothing friendship.
Yellow and soft, cat’s eyes moon,
watchful and waiting, too often unobserved,
the moon that shows up unexpected yet oddly welcome
in all its sneaky truthfulness.

All these moons and more,
watching over my nightdreams and my daydreams
Beloved friends, unchained from space and from time.
Helping me to remain, as me, in now and then and yet to come.

Recently Read: Floating in My Mother’s Palm by Ursula Hegi

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books, floating in my mother's palm, Germany, recently read, Ursula Hegi

On Amazon

A beautiful and touching collection of stories, Floating in My Mother’s Palm invokes a small town on the Rhein in post-war Germany. The book is driven by characters, from the all-too recognizable neighbor resting her elbows on a pillow as she gazes out the window all day long to the dwarf librarian who fuels the town’s gossip mill. Although described as a novel, the stories are fairly disjointed, with each one focusing on different characters and situations until we emerge at the end with an idea of the town’s inhabitants. We examine closely, then draw away a bit and find ourselves with a full and vibrant picture.

The narrator is a young girl, varying in age from not quite born in the first story, to a teenager at the end. As she discusses the world she grew up in and the people she knew, she herself is strongly influenced by her adventurous artist mother, who is constantly painting images of the town just as Hanna, the narrator, paints the town in words. It is clear in the end that she is her mother’s daughter – impulsive, sometimes rash, yet caring and with an eye for the beautiful and the unseen.

Each character and story is memorable, as is the town itself. The picture, hazy at first, becomes clearer and clearer as the same vistas are evoked in different stories and moods, until the whole town is built solidly in your mind.

A lovely book which I will surely revisit in the future.

Books in Popular Culture

As I browse discussions on goodreads, I’ve noticed that people are constantly bringing it back to a core set of books – Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Twilight, some vampire stuff I’ve never heard off – and while I find the limitation personally frustrating, there is something fascinating here.

In a time when so many are worried about the future of books and literature, when many fear that technology has taken the place of reading and people just don’t have the patience to sit down and read a book, a time when the educational system is accused of failure from all angles – in this time, we are actually getting back to a point of books as popular culture. Some might argue that many of these books are not worthy of this stature. But that doesn’t matter – what matters is that reading has become a culturally unifying activity in a way it hasn’t been since the advent of television and possibly before.

Today, there are some television shows that people share. Downton Abbey and True Blood seem the most dominant with the people I encounter. But television watching is much more scattered now. People don’t watch the same things. Even the more popular shows are not so widely watched. Fewer than half of the people I work with watch the shows mentioned above, and in my wider circle of friends the ratio is even lower. Sherlock is popular among my group of friends, but not as much with people I encounter elsewhere.

 Now, I won’t go so far as to argue that everyone reads the cultish books. However, people who read books are going overwhelmingly in this direction. Even those who are reluctant to jump on the bandwagon will end up engaging eventually. Such as myself. I finally read the Harry Potter books in 2008 (all in one weekend) just to understand what the fuss was all about. I haven’t gotten around to the Hunger Games yet, but as soon as it’s available at the library, I will.

Naturally, I would love for people to branch out more and read a greater variety of books. However, I think it’s marvelous that books are becoming such a part of shared culture because that does encourage people to read more. I also think that many of the books that become popular are harmless and sometimes even have some interesting ideas to get people thinking.

The exception is Twilight. From all I’ve heard about this and the lack of agency of the main character, I refuse to ever read the books or watch the films. 

Recently Read: The Round House by Louise Erdrich

Perhaps my reading was somewhat impacted by all the praise I’ve heard for this book. It maybe that the book I read right before this was a Hermann Hesse, whose prose always manages to seize my whole being and mesmerize me. Whatever it was, I have to admit The Round House just never grabbed me. 

All the pieces were there and the story was extremely good. The writing was detailed and pleasant at times, though tiring at others. The problem was, I never felt it. I felt like I was looking at the characters through a cloud. I was being told what their emotions were but was never drawn in and made to feel them. I wanted to – as I mentioned, the story underlying the book was very good. But it never happened. Also, tellingly, when took a break from the book I didn’t think about it. The characters never really popped into my head. I never felt the urge to get back and find out more. I dutifully read it and recognized its qualities. But I never felt like staying up just another hour or two to keep reading … 

And so, while it has many qualities of a great book, it just didn’t quite get there for me. I think that I won’t remember it much. It won’t stick with me. It will pass away from memory. The one thing that haunts me about it is that I feel there was something wasted. All the pieces that should have fit together perfectly to form an outstanding, emotionally haunting book – I kind of wish it could be rewritten, put together again to form that whole. If it were a mediocre book in all respects, it wouldn’t bother me so much. It just feels like it should have been the kind of book that you can’t stop thinking about, the kind of book where your heart is exhausted as you experience the emotional pain of the characters, the kind of book where the characters jump out and talk to you … 

Recently Read: The Girl in the Garden

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books, girl in the garden, literature

Sometimes, you read a book and you don’t know why you don’t like it. All the pieces fit, it should be a great book. Well-written, good story, interesting characters. And yet there’s something cold about it, it never manages to engage you. Is it the book, you ask, or is it me? Maybe there’s just something wrong with me. That’s how I felt when I read The Tiger’s Wife. I really felt like I should have loved it but somehow it was a struggle up to the very last page.

The Girl in the Garden is quite the opposite. It’s the kind of book where, while you know why you like it, you don’t know why you like it as much as you do. It hooked me early and kept me hooked. I was so addicted to it that I ended up reading it far too fast, skimming over the lovely writing because the story kept dragging me along. I liked it so much that I will have to read it again, very soon, to make up for what I missed in my hurry to finish it. It’s the kind of book where, although it’s the perfect length, I somehow want more. I want to know more of the characters, particularly Tulasi. Just when you think the book might indulge in a bit of Secret Gardenish empowerment, everything is ripped apart.

There is of course a problem with having a ten year old narrator. The story has to be seen from ten year old eyes and I think that necessitates that some characters are underdeveloped. It was well-executed and addictive, but this is probably why it feels like some characters are a bit flat – Sadhana Aunty and Dev, in particular, were the main villains of the story. It’s implied that at least Sadhana Aunty has some depth, but not explored. The grandfather, dead during the time of the story, was actually one of the most intriguing characters.

Basically, it’s a wonderful story that works myth into a pretty logical ten year old’s perception of reality in a very real way. Most of the characters are a blend of likeable and non-likeable traits, and each fairly unique. It’s charming and effective and nicely written – poetic at the moments you expect poetry and straightforward when the story is simply advancing.

Spoilers after cut.

Recently Read: Bernini: His Life and His Rome by Franco Mormando

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art, Bernini, books, Franco Mormando, recently read, Rome

Bernini: His Life and His Rome by Franco Mormando

[amazon]

This is not just a biography of an artist. It is the story of a city and a time – of Rome in the Baroque.  It is the story of Rome and glimpse into the culture and events of the fascinating period that give the book its particular power.

As a biography alone, the book would falter. The author makes it clear that there are frustratingly few sources about the more intimate details of Bernini’s life. Of these, one was a biography sponsored by the family and another written by Bernini’s son Domenico, both of which naturally try to mythologize Bernini and take out all the fascinating and scandalous bits. Mormando puts those parts back in and strives for an honest vision of the artist’s character.

Viennese Apple Cake

I bought some apples at the supermarket and was wholly disappointed by their mediocrity. So, I decided to use them for baking and buy some better apples for munching at Whole Foods. (Or perhaps I can stop by an orchard on the way back from Thanksgiving next weekend).

Here is the result of my efforts:

Recently Read: The Descendants

I first heard of this one while flying on a plane and browsing the film selections. The storyline seemed fascinating, but I chose not to watch it, as it starred George Clooney. I have nothing against George Clooney himself, but the attachment of such a name to a film implied Hollywood, and I don’t often watch Hollywood movies anymore, as I find them dull – overly flashy with no real substance. Still, the plot was tempting. I had no idea it’d been a book first, until I noticed my local library had the ebook.

I recently started reading ebooks through the Kindle Cloud Reader – while I still prefer physical books (mostly to get a reprieve from computers and devices for awhile), I enjoy borrowing ebooks as a way to explore things I wouldn’t otherwise read. Even this one: I wasn’t sure I’d be interested. Borrowing the ebook was immediate and allowed me to sample it without any effort. If I didn’t like it, I could likewise return it immediately and not think of it again. Yes, it is possible to do this by going to the library and browsing, finding a nice corner to read a few pages before deciding. However, sometimes you feel like finding something new to read at 11pm.

Recently Read: The Inheritance of Loss

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books, fiction, India, Inheritance of Loss, Kiran Desai, recently read

Perhaps the thing that fascinated me most about this book was that it was written the way life is experienced. Too often in novels – especially those dealing with particular historical situations – the author tries to tell too much about how the characters feel and think, tries to sculpt the characters in stone with immutable characteristics and clean narratives. Real life is much more messy. Often, we do not quite know what we think or feel or why and might change from day to day. In this book, two memorable examples of this lack of clarity are the sensation of falling in love and the political leanings of the frustrated youth. The story of the emigrant son is also profound as we are exposed to his sense of being unpinned. The messiness of the characters’ emotions feels real – we drift through life, hardly knowing what we feel or why we act, and it is through society with others that we attempt to give it meaning, interpret and assume. This intuitive realness and the beauty of the prose are enchanting, though the resulting novel is fairly different from what one expects a novel to provide. The characters are not carefully sculpted, as character itself is fluid. The stories are halting and incomplete, as life often feels. Even where the narrative is strung through the book – as in the story of the Judge’s life – there is no explanation in it. Why his cruelty, why his disdain? It seems, always, of the moment, and the character does not much evolve, does not learn, does not regret in the way we would want.  Yet all the love he is capable of is focused on his dog, Mutt. As cruel as he is, he is pitiable. The lack of carefully explicated character and plot is effective – it supports the themes of unmoored identities and post-colonial struggles while creating a world that feels a little too real.

The Inheritance of Loss is a novel set in the Darjeeling area of India in the 1980s, as the lives of the inhabitants of a small town are affected by the Gorkhaland uprising. The story shows the post-colonial upheaval, the effect of colonialism on identity and culture, and offers up a society of uncertain relationships. The story is fascinating, sad, and frustrating – there are no easy answers, if there are answers at all. Yet the beauty of the prose and the now-ness of the experiences create something vivid and breathtaking. It is simply so very human, as beautiful and horrific as that can be.

This one is definitely worth a read, though it takes some dedication. The prose is lovely but intense – it deserves true attention and appreciation, as does the story with its array of characters and stunning detail. It is not a book to fly through, but one to savor.