In Tolstoy’s short story “God Sees the Truth but Waits” Aksionov spends over 2 decades in prison for a crime he did not commit. And he does not have aIn Tolstoy’s short story “God Sees the Truth but Waits” Aksionov spends over 2 decades in prison for a crime he did not commit. And he does not have a happy ending.
But Thajudheen does. Shevlin Sebatian narrates the chilling, true story of Thajudheen’s ordeal in “The Stolen Necklace.” One night, Thajudheen is hauled away by the police in the small town of Chakkarakkal in Kerala. They had found a CCTV grab of a man of Thajudheen’s appearance on a bike snatching a gold necklace. Bewildered, Thajudheen and his family try to convince the police that they were all busy with a wedding in the family at the time. The police, desperate to close the case with a culprit (anyone will do) refuses to consider anything the family says. Thajudheen ends up in jail for nearly 2 months. But he is determined to prove his innocence.
The Stolen Necklace reads like a gripping thriller in most places. At times, it was hard to believe that these incidents were all real. It’s one of those books where I reached the end and literally said “phew.” Because not everybody is as resilient or lucky as Thajudheen.
The writing is simplistic at best and is not really the book’s strongest point. Most of the snippets and experiences from Thajudheen’s life made for an interesting read as it gave me a picture of his colourful past. However, the book does call for some deft editing as some of them were not relevant or needed at all, and drags the book unnecessarily.
People already familiar with the Thajudheen case may not find it as intriguing because the plot is driven by twists and turns. If you didn’t know Thajudeen through news channels and newspapers, then do get acquainted through this book. ...more
I read the first part of Fabien Toulme’s book ‘Hakim’s Odyssey’ more than a year ago and I was immediately drawn into Hakim’s all-too-real gritty expeI read the first part of Fabien Toulme’s book ‘Hakim’s Odyssey’ more than a year ago and I was immediately drawn into Hakim’s all-too-real gritty experiences. My parents gifted me the remaining 2 volumes in the trilogy and I finished reading them in quick succession.
At over 750 pages in total, Toulme has taken plenty of time and space to recount Hakim’s harrowing ordeal in joining his family in France in great detail. The three volumes cover his journey from Syria to Turkey to Greece and eventually to France and the material has come from hours and hours of interviews that Toulme had with Hakim.
Hakim’s problems begin when he is arrested for helping protestors. Although he is released, he doesn’t feel safe in Syria, his homeland. He escapes to Turkey where he meets his wife Najmeh and they have a son named Hadi. Najmeh’s father manages to move to France from where he makes arrangements for other family members to join him. Najmeh is able to go but is forced to leave Hadi and Hakim behind as their paperwork is not yet up to speed.
Then starts Hakim and Hadi’s terrifying journey where they have to wend their way through treacherous seas, heavily guarded land border crossings, and poorly maintained refugee camps.
Hakim’s stories have reached me through three layers of narration - that of Toulme listening to them, then writing them in French, and Hannah Kick translating them into English. Yet, at no point did I feel the distance. I felt the fear, the mental and emotional strain, and high anxiety that Hakim must have gone through. There are also little moments of relief and happiness when strangers became his friends, helped him out, and kept him going onwards.
It’s an account that highlights the difficulties of refugees and at the same time juxtaposes them with the power of humanity.
Engrossing and deeply moving at the same time. I had written a review for Part 1 earlier but had to write another one to sum up. Please do make space for Hakim in your reading list. ...more
I read the first part of Fabien Toulme’s book ‘Hakim’s Odyssey’ more than a year ago and I was immediately drawn into Hakim’s all-too-real gritty expeI read the first part of Fabien Toulme’s book ‘Hakim’s Odyssey’ more than a year ago and I was immediately drawn into Hakim’s all-too-real gritty experiences. My parents gifted me the remaining 2 volumes in the trilogy and I finished reading them in quick succession.
At over 750 pages in total, Toulme has taken plenty of time and space to recount Hakim’s harrowing ordeal in joining his family in France in great detail. The three volumes cover his journey from Syria to Turkey to Greece and eventually to France and the material has come from hours and hours of interviews that Toulme had with Hakim.
Hakim’s problems begin when he is arrested for helping protestors. Although he is released, he doesn’t feel safe in Syria, his homeland. He escapes to Turkey where he meets his wife Najmeh and they have a son named Hadi. Najmeh’s father manages to move to France from where he makes arrangements for other family members to join him. Najmeh is able to go but is forced to leave Hadi and Hakim behind as their paperwork is not yet up to speed.
Then starts Hakim and Hadi’s terrifying journey where they have to wend their way through treacherous seas, heavily guarded land border crossings, and poorly maintained refugee camps.
Hakim’s stories have reached me through three layers of narration - that of Toulme listening to them, then writing them in French, and Hannah Kick translating them into English. Yet, at no point did I feel the distance. I felt the fear, the mental and emotional strain, and high anxiety that Hakim must have gone through. There are also little moments of relief and happiness when strangers became his friends, helped him out, and kept him going onwards.
It’s an account that highlights the difficulties of refugees and at the same time juxtaposes them with the power of humanity.
Engrossing and deeply moving at the same time. I had written a review for Part 1 earlier but had to write another one to sum up. Please do make space for Hakim in your reading list. ...more
I enjoy a good coming-of-age story, and Elba Iris Perez’s “The Things We Didn’t Know” made my reading heart sing.
Andrea and her brother, Pablo, are tI enjoy a good coming-of-age story, and Elba Iris Perez’s “The Things We Didn’t Know” made my reading heart sing.
Andrea and her brother, Pablo, are taken away by their mother from Woronoco to their home country of Puerto Rico. The reason? Their mother finds Woronoco too suffocating. There’s no public transport, her husband doesn’t allow her to touch the car, and there’s hardly anything else to do in the tiny industrial town. She leaves them with her sister in a little village in Puerto Rico promising to come back for them when she finds a job. But she never does. Their father finds them and brings them to Woronoco later where they find that they have readjust parts of themselves. Together, they navigate culture clashes, friction due to generation gaps, and the general pains of growing up. Until, there’s a twist in the tale, and their already-fragile life comes apart at the seams.
My heart went out to the two children who had to go through so much hardship. At first, Andrea is the strong older sister watching out for the sensitive Pablo. Through the years, though, we see a shift taking place in their characters, where Pablo becomes more hardened and comes into his own. Andrea, though a strong woman unto herself, does stand on shaky ground many times when it comes to breaking the rules and going against their father’s orders. Both Andrea and Pablo struggle through the no man’s land that lies between Puerto Rican traditionalism and American liberalism. And eventually, they choose one but they pay the price in different ways. Some good, some bad. While the other key characters remain more or less static, I loved how the two kids grow up through the pages with slow changes in their character creating a lovely arc.
It’s difficult to believe that this is Perez’s debut novel. She writes with an assured hand, recreating America through the decades starting from the 1950s to the present.
Immigrant struggles, family ties, parenthood, coming-of-age, it’s all there, all well woven together. A lyrical read, and one I definitely recommend.
“We arrive in the blizzard of 1993, coming from rice paddies, mango trees, and the sun to February in the Empire State.”
That’s how Ly Tran’s transport“We arrive in the blizzard of 1993, coming from rice paddies, mango trees, and the sun to February in the Empire State.”
That’s how Ly Tran’s transportative and heartbreaking memoir “House of Sticks” starts off. Tran traces her childhood from the age of 3 when she comes to the US as part of a resettlement program. Tran and her 3 older brothers and her parents live in a little apartment and try to build a life. Their father finds a job sewing cummerbunds and the entire family gets involved in the painstaking work. The more they deliver, the more money they get. Later on down the road, her mother opens a nail salon where Tran works during holidays and in the evenings. She starts off as the translator for her mother but soon becomes an apprentice, as well. Eventually, Tran enrolls in college, overcoming challenges that she never foresaw. But there were more to come.
Tran’s memoir is deeply emotional. Many of her traumatic experiences are a result of behavioural issues stemming from her father’s PTSD due to years spent in prison in Vietnam. And then, there’s racial discrimination she encounters quite frequently - when people mock her mother’s English, when people tell Tran that her ‘English is so good’.
By the time Tran reaches college, her past is a minefield of shame, guilt, masking, anxiety, and, finally, deep depression. Through the kindness of strangers, people who saw her potential, and friends who did not give up on her, Tran manages to rise through the very darkest depths and find light.
Tran excels at introspection, consistently telling us how it feels to navigate belonging and finding an identity in America. At its core, "House of Sticks" is a profound meditation on otherness and the malleable, ever-evolving nature of identity shaped by displacement. Tran explores this with incredible nuance, whether describing her father's refusal to accept her need for glasses, or her hesitation to correct the million little microaggressions she encounters like mispronunciations of her name out of a need to prioritize others' comfort.
I also loved the simple, conversation writing which evokes the struggles and small victories that defined her family's early years.
Such an elegiac read. I couldn’t put it down. ...more
M Mukundan’s novels are a revelation. Whether I was walking along the banks of the river Mayyazhi or watching Father Alphonse weave his magic (God’s MM Mukundan’s novels are a revelation. Whether I was walking along the banks of the river Mayyazhi or watching Father Alphonse weave his magic (God’s Mischief), his stories have always transported me elsewhere.
In Delhi: A Soliloquy, Mukundan paints a gritty portrait of migrant life amidst political upheaval. Set between the early 1960s and 1980s, the story revolves around a small group of characters from Kerala who somehow come to be interconnected. Sahadevan is a young man who has come to seek his fortunes in Delhi with hope in his heart. Then there’s Sreedharanunni and his wife Devi, who hold a low-paying government job, Kunhikrishnan, a journalist, and his wife Lalita, Rosily a sex worker, and Vasu, a bohemian artist. Together, they go through some of the darkest periods in the country - the China war, the Emergency, Indira Gandhi’s assassination, etc. - supporting and sharing each other’s woes.
Unlike the other 2 books where the narrative was lilting, poetic, here, Mukundan matches it to the mood of the novel. The writing is staccato and there’s a sense of gloom or urgency. The atmosphere is moody and matches the general sense of fear and uncertainty that various events brought on.
All the main characters are given a lot of visibility and depth. Sahadevan is the hard working narrator of the entire novel. He is a reflective, observant man, and is one of the key drivers of the plot. He lives a life of struggle, and his aim is to earn money solely to support his sisters and mother back home. He is unselfish and, though, goes through poverty initially, is always there as support and protection for those undergoing more misfortune than him. Vasu’s character is the exact opposite of Sahadevan. He lives unapologetically for himself and himself alone. He is a brilliant painter with no home or possessions to call his own and leads an odd existence.
Delhi: A Soliloquy is grim. It’s blue most of the time as the characters battle against circumstances to survive. There are very few pockets of joy here. And yet, it’s one of those rare novels that doesn’t drag you down. In that lies Mukundan’s mastery. He manages to keep you reading through all the misery and immerse yourself in Delhi’s lanes. And he tells a story that sparkles with the tenacity and resilience of its characters and moves you with their emotions as if they were yours....more
I am not sure how to review this book, and therefore I am just going to just leave my thoughts as they are in my mind.
I liked the pace. I liked the oI am not sure how to review this book, and therefore I am just going to just leave my thoughts as they are in my mind.
I liked the pace. I liked the overall story. I liked the depiction of a Delhi neighbourhood - the helpful aunties and gossip that come along with them. In many ways, it's a picture of growing up. I also liked how mental health attitudes in Indian society are accurately portrayed along with the aftereffects of trauma and the battle with depression.
But the power of these positives was hugely diminished by the endless repetition of incidents. Appachana is probably trying to give different points of views to a particular incident but it just felt so tedious. At times, I struggled to understand who is speaking what.
I kept reading this book only to know what eventually happens. And I really, really was disappointed with the ending. It wasn't lovely at all.
In Malayattoor Ramakrishnan’s “Roots,” Raghu is married to Geetha and they have 2 children. He is a man who delights in the simple things - his motherIn Malayattoor Ramakrishnan’s “Roots,” Raghu is married to Geetha and they have 2 children. He is a man who delights in the simple things - his mother’s sambar, a quiet evening. Geetha aspires for more. “Geetha had been brought up in the lap of luxury. Her father was an industrial tycoon in Madras…Geetha talked incessantly of her father’s ‘status’.” She has only contempt for Raghu’s perceived lack of sophistication. When he decides to build a new house, Geetha insists it be a big one. But Raghu didn’t have the funds for the kind of house she envisioned. Finally, unable to bear her persistence, Raghu decides to go to his village in Kerala, where he grew up, and sell his ancestral land.
Raghu sets off in his Fiat from Trivandrum to the little village where he spends a few days. As soon as he turns onto the dusty approach road to his home, the memories start flooding in. He remembers his five-mile walk to school, his teachers, his friends, and the mischief they would create. He passes by the post office and remembers the postmaster there.
It seems like every tree, every nook, every room has a story. They all come flooding back to Raghu as he revisits his childhood and adolescence. There were people he had forgotten about, who now are resurrected through the stories his family tells him.
Through Raghu’s past, we see how he has come to be the person he is. We meet a variety of characters, each of them having played a role, small or big, in shaping him and his thinking. I loved how, like matryoshka dolls, I got a story within a story within a story. It felt like I was sitting on the verandah with Raghu and listening to a favourite uncle narrating little nuggets of family history.
The brilliance of “Roots” lies in the way the plot effortlessly dips in and out of the past, weaving story after story without ever once throwing me off track. The narrative appears to be an uncomplicated nostalgia trip on the surface. It is actually an incisive look at a way of life and the importance of ancestral land. It is as much about the fragility of life, the strength of family, and the pain of loss. “Roots” goes quite deep.
I cherished every page of this beautiful novel, a Sahitya Akademi winner, translated very capably by V Abdulla. ...more
It is now safe to assume that I am a fan of Levison Wood. Yet, the latest book that I read, “Arabia”, failed to captivate me as much as the others didIt is now safe to assume that I am a fan of Levison Wood. Yet, the latest book that I read, “Arabia”, failed to captivate me as much as the others did.
In “Arabia”, Wood sets out to explore the Middle East a la British explorer Lawrence of Arabia. His travels take him to Syria, Iraq, Kuwait, Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and other places. As is his wont, he finds himself in danger zones, including a time when he gets caught in an ambush.
The atmosphere is tense in many places and some of the incidents made my heart race. But for most parts he didn’t seem to observe or discover much about the people or culture, qualities that made his other books stand out for me. It mostly felt like he was happy to fulfil some of his boyhood dreams - like discovering railway tracks that Lawrence of Arabia had blown up in 1917.
Wood’s other books had a certain authority and perspective, which I found lacking in this one. There was also only a bare understanding of the regular citizens and their lives in these places with the focus mostly on the violence and wars.
He does redeem himself in places where he openly talks about his weariness with life, with what he has seen, and his yearning to see his family. And in some places where he does demonstrate the reporting he is good at.
Read it if you have read Wood’s other books, so you can be forgiving....more
Mario Cesare’s “Blessed Cure” is one of those books that you term as a “find.” I chanced upon it in my library and I almost didn’t pick it up because Mario Cesare’s “Blessed Cure” is one of those books that you term as a “find.” I chanced upon it in my library and I almost didn’t pick it up because I wasn’t sure if I had space in my bag for this big-sized book. Somehow I did. And after reading the book it was like I did what the book was asking all of us to do - make space, to accommodate.
Blessed Cure tells the story of Acacio, a closeted gay man from the 1960s to 2017. The story with Acacio sitting at a gay bar as an old man. He starts talking to one of the young women who get him to tell his story. Acacio liked playing all the “girls’ games” as a child, he liked dressing up, and he was always…different. Acacio’s parents, who strongly believe in traditions and are devout Christians, worry about their son’s demeanour. They are ashamed of him and try to “cure” him of his proclivity. They try beating it out of him, getting a psychologist to talk it out of him, and finally getting him married because isn’t marriage the ultimate cure for everything? Of course, nothing works and it leads to Acacio ending up frustrated and angry all the time. How does he break through it all?
Mario Cesar’s story is set in Brazil, where the public attitude to gender was strongly religious and traditional. He shows the predominant anti-LGBTQI approach that prevailed until recent times and how the struggle for acceptance was filled with suppression and violence. The translation is excellent and I felt like I was reading a very personal memoir rather than fiction. I loved the artwork, which complements the powerful narrative with bold strokes and colours. Cesar cleverly uses blues and pinks as the dominating colours to represent the gender-assigned colours and then mixes them later on in the story to also represent difference and acceptance.
After a painful journey, Acacio does find hope and beauty in the end. His story is one that must be read because we still have Acacios in every country even today.
Do make space for this book if you find it somewhere.
“But my mind struggles to bridge the gap between the two ideologies. I’m fat, and I celebrate other fat people, but I don’t quite celebrate me. It mak“But my mind struggles to bridge the gap between the two ideologies. I’m fat, and I celebrate other fat people, but I don’t quite celebrate me. It makes me feel like a fraud.”
Charlie Vega’s dilemma is so relatable. Replace the struggle with weight with any other issue and I’m sure we are nodding our heads. “Fat Chance, Charlie Vega” is a YA novel by Crystal Maldonado exploring the peer pressure, stigma, and other issues attached with a person’s weight. And Charlie is Latina and brown to boot with a mother who is obsessed with being skinny. Plus, her best friend seems to be a vision of perfection - smart, thin, kind, and beautiful.
So now you can imagine where Charlie’s confidence levels would be at. Charlie has a crush on Brian, a Korean boy with lesbian mothers, whom she meets at the office where she works. Of course, she is mortified at the thought of ever expressing as much to Brian because he is tall, athletic, and good-looking.
I thought this was a sensitive book where Charlie’s struggles, both internal and external, and her rocky relationship with her mother, were well-portrayed. There are romantic issues that crop up for both Amelia and Charlie but, refreshingly, the focus is not just those.
The characters were quite real, in that they evoked many emotions in me. For instance, I felt annoyed with Charlie’s mother but also felt sad for her. She was lost and had her own struggles. Brian, the lead male character, is not just eye candy but a warm and thoughtful person. And there’s diversity in terms of race, gender, culture, and so on, which makes the story that much richer. What’s more, although the book deals with some weighty topics, the reading experience never felt heavy.
I immensely enjoyed reading this book. I think you would too. ...more
“I felt like I was shining, and this time I thought maybe it wasn’t just the moon. Maybe the light was in me.”
In Dusti Bowling’s “Insignificant Events“I felt like I was shining, and this time I thought maybe it wasn’t just the moon. Maybe the light was in me.”
In Dusti Bowling’s “Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus” Aven Green was born without arms but she doesn’t let that stop her from living the life she wants. Her adoptive parents have brought her up to be resilient and independent and Aven truly believes that having arms is overrated. Because why do you need them when you can do everything anyway? However, Aven’s hitherto confidence is rattled a bit when her parents get a new job working at a crumbling old theme park. They make the move from one end of the country to the other, from Kansas to Arizona. Now Aven needs to find friends who will accept her like in Kansas, and she needs to find her way around. Literally and figuratively.
I absolutely adore books whose stories are founded on empathy, kindness, and acceptance. And this is one such. Aven is such a likeable character. She has loads of self-deprecatory humour which made me chuckle. She faces challenges and though she does go through periods of downtime she emerges back out with confidence. She makes friends with Connor and Zion who are each grappling with something of their own. Connor has Tourette’s Syndrome while Zion gets bullied frequently.
I thought it was a fabulous way of highlighting disorders and giving a voice to people who live with body shaming and bullying just because they are different. Connor, in particular, had resigned to being on the margins of life when Aven came along. It’s endearing to see their friendship develop and thaw Connor’s prickliness and anger at the world.
Disabilities and shortcomings can be awkward and mentally and emotionally debilitating. But if you get friends like Aven, Connor, and Zion, the world can be a brighter place. I am so glad to have found this lovely middle-grade read. We need more books like this to help young children accept people for what they are.
Vivek Shanbhag’s latest, “Sakina’s Kiss”, starts with Venkat opening the door to two strangers who are looking for his daughter Rekha. Venkat pacifiesVivek Shanbhag’s latest, “Sakina’s Kiss”, starts with Venkat opening the door to two strangers who are looking for his daughter Rekha. Venkat pacifies them saying she is visiting their village and is not reachable due to network issues. Soon, Venkat and his wife Viji learn that Rekha is now missing and they set out to find her.
As the mystery unfolds over the next 4 days, so does Venkat’s life. Through flashbacks and reminiscences we are introduced to Venkat’s extended family. His mild-mannered father who cheated his mother and usurped her brother’s property. An uncle given to angry outbursts. We get to know him more - his childhood life, going for higher studies, meeting his wife, and having their daughter.
Ordinary lives and small incidents are interwoven brilliantly to give a superb composite of middle class life. Just like in Ghachar Ghochar, a simple incident spirals into more and more until family secrets are laid out in the open. There’s also toxic masculinity, patriarchy, betrayal, and everything that appears dramatic when described but is common in all families. We see all this through not just Venkat and Viji’s stories but through Rekha’s, Venkat’s brother’s, and his mother’s. While Rekha is the voice of modernity, Venkat and his family embody traditional concepts. The ensuing discontent due to a changing society are very portrayed through Venkat’s increasing isolation within his own household.
Shanbhag is a master at sending the most powerful messages through the ordinary. And his brilliance shines once again in this book, which is flawlessly translated by Srinath Perur.
“It took me too long to find my voice and I’ve silenced myself for so long (it is in our Asian nature to stay quiet), but I don’t want this to be the “It took me too long to find my voice and I’ve silenced myself for so long (it is in our Asian nature to stay quiet), but I don’t want this to be the case for the next generation. My parents risked everything to migrate to a Western country to create a better life and now it’s our turn to tell the story of our immigrant parents, to embrace our culture and to speak up in order to fight racism.”
Angela Hui’s memoir “Takeaway: Stories from a Childhood Behind the Counter” is a thoroughly engrossing read. Set in rural Wales, Hui shares her memories about growing up with her parents and two brothers managing their Chinese takeaway named ‘Lucky Star’. Since childhood, Hui has struggled with her identity - is she Welsh or Chinese? For years she resisted Chinese culture and its work ethics as she tried to fit into the Welsh community. The memoir traces Hui’s growth, both emotionally and intellectually, through her childhood years right up to adulthood.
Family dynamics are tough as it is. I am sure it would be tougher if your family became your work colleagues. That was something Hui could not get out of. As a child, Hui only had time for school and work. It was an endless repetition of drudgery where she went to school in the morning, came home in the evening, and got in straight to work until later in the night. Her routine made it impossible to foster good social connections and, later, isolated her from forming meaningful romantic relationships too.
As is common among Asian families, Hui’s parents, especially her father, never overtly displayed affection. Their care manifested in different ways but not in the ways that Hui ideally wanted. Hui ends up having a love-hate relationship with her parents. These were my favourite bits along with the family recipe she shares at the end of each chapter.
Hui also talks about the community around them - there were kind people but there was also intense racism. Slowly, though, change and modernity does come to the little village too and other takeaways start giving them competition. Her brothers and Hui move out of their home going to different places in pursuit of higher education and work. And then it’s time for her parents too to make a decision about where they need to be. In their hometown of Hong Kong or in their adopted home of Wales.
I found this memoir so fascinating and riveting. It had so many layered perspectives on culture, society, and immigrants. It also had the enduring warmth of relationships, a no-holds barred view of the good and bad in families. It’s at once a celebration of her culinary heritage and a reflection on life at hand.
Levison Wood has easily zoomed to the top spot among my favourite contemporary travel writers after I first read his Eastern Horizons and now his “WalLevison Wood has easily zoomed to the top spot among my favourite contemporary travel writers after I first read his Eastern Horizons and now his “Walking to the Himalayas.” In a six-month undertaking, Wood walks from Afghanistan to Nepal via Kashmir along with his guide Binod. The book opens with Wood’s memories of visiting Nepal as a 19-year-old, when he first met Binod. Over the years, he keeps in touch with Binod, and 14 years later embarks on this trip with his guide/friend. Malang joins them as an Afghan guide for a large part of the journey and takes them through the Pakistan border and along Karakoram. Wood goes through war-torn Kashmir, reaches Dharamsala where he meets the Dalai Lama, comes to India where he visits Varanasi and ends his trip in Nepal.
Wood’s writing flows easily and keeps you turning the pages. It’s a mix of poetry, philosophy and gritty realism. He effortlessly combines his reflections on life around him with lyrical descriptions of the natural beauty he sees along with some glimpses into his inner world. Despite being somewhat of a loner, Wood is great at seeking out people, chatting with them, and learning more about the region. He also fills us in on snippets of history and facts, giving us the context for any goings-on in the current moment. There are many hair-raising moments in the book too, which includes being caught in a rebel attack and surviving a death defying car crash down the mountains. The story takes many twists and turns and reads like an action thriller many times except that everything is true to life. This all makes up for a slow-burn start which stretches a tad too long.
At times, Wood can come across as quite insensitive and unsympathetic to his fellow travellers or guides. But having gone on tough treks and terrains myself, I also feel it’s what such arduous travel does to you. You become focused on getting out of icky situations and sometimes lose perspective. I think Wood redeems himself at other times with his acts of generosity in the book.
I came across very different opinions about his books. Some adore his writing and some find him uninspiring because there isn’t much insight or enough depth. I think it depends on what you seek from the book. I go into travelogues looking to learn about the place and to read about the personal experiences that shaped the author’s journey. For me, what he shared was sufficient and I thoroughly loved reading his tales.
I would definitely ask you not to miss reading this book if you find it. ...more
Becky Albertalli's "Imogen Obviously" delves into the complexities of identity, friendship, and the blurred lines between truth and perception. At theBecky Albertalli's "Imogen Obviously" delves into the complexities of identity, friendship, and the blurred lines between truth and perception. At the heart of the story is Imogen Scott, a high school senior who is a heterosexual but has a close group of queer friends. As a dedicated ally, Imogen is well-versed in queer media discourse thanks to her queer friends, including her newly-out best friend, Lili.
The narrative takes an intriguing turn when Lili, revelling in her newfound freedom and queer community at college, drops a surprising revelation on Imogen. In an attempt to fit into her new environment, Lili has informed her college friends that she and Imogen were once a couple. Imogen goes along with the story to support her friend loyally and finds herself entangled in a web of half-truths and self-discovery.
Albertalli portrays Imogen's journey wonderfully and with great nuance as she grapples with her own identity and of telling little white lies or just tweaking truths for the sake of friendship. Imogen's internal conflict unfolds as she spends time with Lili's vivacious friend, Tessa. With each interaction, Imogen questions the certainty of her sexual orientation, challenging the preconceived notions she held about herself.
The strength of "Imogen Obviously" lies in its exploration of allyship beyond surface-level support. Albertalli delves into the complexities of genuine understanding, portraying Imogen as a flawed and, therefore, a very relatable character. Albertalli deftly captures the vulnerability that arises when one's self-image is called into question, and the narrative becomes a poignant exploration of authenticity.
The dynamics between the characters are warm, readable, and resonated with me. Imogen's relationships with Lili, Tessa, and her fellow high school senior, Gretchen, add much depth. Gretchen, in particular, serves as a moral compass for Imogen, helping her navigate the ethical challenges posed by Lili's revelation. I liked how the friendships go through their own arcs, with ups and downs as is natural.
Albertalli's writing is witty and charming, and she tackles serious themes with a light touch and much humour. The dialogues are sharp, reflective of authentic conversations. And I learnt so many new words! I felt like I got a primer on important terms and jargon from the queer world, which I would otherwise not have come across.
I really enjoyed this book and I think you would too....more
“Roses would be annoying weeds if the blooms never withered and died. Beauty resides in the knowledge that it doesn’t last.”
Abraham Verghese’s “The Co“Roses would be annoying weeds if the blooms never withered and died. Beauty resides in the knowledge that it doesn’t last.”
Abraham Verghese’s “The Covenant of Water” is a multigenerational tale set in the sprawling estate of Parambil. It starts off when Big Ammachi comes to Parambil as a 12-year-old bride at the turn of the 20th century. She is to marry a widowed 40-year-old man who has a son. They go on to have two children, Baby Mol and Philipose. And then there is the parallel storyline of Dr. Digby Kilgour, a Scotsman, who arrives in the little village and finds his life intricately entwined with the people there after a while.
Covering the years from 1900 to 1977, Verghese’s epic is a study. An entire society and each era comes vividly alive through his words. Everyone has a story and everything gets a voice. Caste, gender, family hierarchies, relationships. At first it seems overwhelming. There are many characters and different plots but they all converge at some point in the book.
What struck me was the physicality of everything. People are described through tangible traits - disfigurements and diseases. There are descriptions of births, deaths, and surgeries. It is through these descriptions that the story advances and we are informed of memories and incidents.
“When her fingers curled to her palm, her husband chased her out before she could say goodbye to her children. She cackles at this memory, a solitary tooth flashing in her mouth like a lone tree in a cemetery.”
Vergehese then leaves us free to attribute the mental and emotional state of being for each of these characters. We can make them as devastated or as indifferent as we want them to be. I also never felt deeply stirred by any character. All of them had their trials and tribulations but they never particularly appealed to me enough.
I felt that the couple of twists in the tale towards the end were not needed. They felt forced, as if Verghese was determined to make everything fall into place and have a purpose.
But after reading 700 odd pages, The Covenant of Water rises above these little kinks. It’s extremely immersive and I was transported for a few days to different worlds. Like Philipose says, “Ammachi, when I come to the end of a book and I look up, just four days have passed. But in that time I’ve lived through three generations and learned more about the world and about myself than I do during a year in school. Ahab, Queequeg, Ophelia, and other characters die on the page so that we might live better lives.”
Travelogues can be written on so many different levels. They can introduce you to the people and culture through anecdotes. Shed light on the geo-poliTravelogues can be written on so many different levels. They can introduce you to the people and culture through anecdotes. Shed light on the geo-politics through factual narration. Give you an insight into the author’s personal journey.
Erika Fatland’s “Sovietistan” covers most of these. Fatland, a Norwegian writer, sets out on a journey covering the five relatively obscure Stans - Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan - countries that were once part of the Soviet Union. Fatland travels alone to these countries and takes the aid of interpreters and guides to help her converse with the locals. Fatland combines in-depth research and anecdotes to form an intriguing and engrossing narrative.
The narrative is segmented by country, and each segment contains a handful of essays exploring different aspects of it. While there are some commonalities that connect all the countries - formerly governed by the USSR, currently not democratic, rooted in corruption and censorship, difficult for foreigners to access, etc - there are distinctive qualities that do set each of them apart too. For example, Turkmenistan is all wide-laned highways and marble buildings while Kazakhstan is vast steppes.
Fatland talks about current culture too, apart from elaborating on the history of the regions she visits. She touches upon the practices of bride kidnapping and eagle hunting, crafts like silk-making, and gives us glimpses inside family life as she meets and interacts with the locals. Being a woman, albeit white and not knowing the language, she is able to converse and connect to the women through her translators about their lives and sensitive topics, which otherwise would not be spoken about in such male-dominated societies.
Unlike some of the other travel writers I’ve read in recent times, Fatland does not display much emotion in her writing. She merely reports and she does that well. In that sense, this is a clinical read but never a dry one. We also don’t know much about her inner thoughts or personal journey through these lands but that can be forgiven in the light of the wealth of knowledge she gives otherwise.
Kari Dickson’s translation is excellent, one that didn’t make me feel like I was reading a translated book at all.
This book was so immensely disappointing that I cannot find the words for a review. There's nothing to review or recollect in this.
It's a dump of theThis book was so immensely disappointing that I cannot find the words for a review. There's nothing to review or recollect in this.
It's a dump of the author's essays collected from different sources (looks like it to me) and just put together hastily with no editing or flow. Shabby, lazy work from the publishing house.
The essays themselves offer no insight into the soul of Bangalore. Too many unwarranted comparisons with Tamil Nadu. And too many digressions into unnecessary things, which make the reading a jarring experience.
I delighted in the author's previous works and this book made me land with a painful thud from that high. ...more
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