01.12.14
by

A Passage to India

Page-turner: 7/10
Heart-tugger: 7/10
Thought-provoker: 8/10
Overall: 4 stars

Reading A Passage to India has been a bit like watching the tide come in, on a dark summer night. There is an inevitable slowness to it that builds strongly and beautifully but never (can’t) break out of its own rhythms.  And at the end I feel quite washed away by it.

I am speaking in metaphors, but can’t quite stop myself as I only put the book down a few minutes ago. It is a beautiful and powerful book. Just not a ‘loud’ or ‘obvious’ one. The plot is very, very simple; the book is interesting purely because of its characters. They are developed to be thoroughly and completely human.  They are flawed, irrational, thoughtful and mean but compassionate and totally a product of their own cultures. Discourse – between Indians and Ango-Englishmen, Indians and Indians, or Englishmen with the Anglo-English – always contains subtext, emotion, and misunderstanding. It’s incredibly frustrating. But all the more ‘real’ for it. I Believe in the book.

First published  in 1924, A Passage to India is ranked 25th on the Modern Library’s top 100 books of the 20th Century. And, I agree it should be on that list (though don’t feel particularly entitled to put it in a ranked order). It takes place at about the time it was published in Imperial India. And the book is the story – a study – in how the ruling race and the indigenous one manage to cohabitate a continent in a way that neither fully understands. There is some talk of love, though it isn’t a love story, and politics though it is by no means a polemic. It’s just a story about people – prejudices – and how they clash.

The subtly with which Forster develops the main characters is stunning : aptly named Miss Quested whose own quest causes disaster for all around her, school master Mr Fielding, and ‘Oriental’ Dr Aziz. Forster’s Oriental imbues an Otherness that would likely irk a modern anthropologist, but I think it is more of a trope than a truism. He makes Aziz’s preference towards the emotional and dramatic to be a product of a different human culture, rather than innately irrational and primitive.

It is fair to say that not a huge amount Happens in the book, but that doesn’t really matter. And coming from someone who generally believes that a good book is just a very good story – that’s pretty impressive. Its beauty and slowness and repetition is engrossing. The heat is languid. You just can’t expect that much to happen when it is so hot. And even when it does, there is a distance to it that makes the book have something of a surreal quality. The chant of ‘Esmiss Esmoor’ is still echoing in my brain. I won’t spoil why that’s important, but I will say that the character it refers to clearly my hero of the book. The one who understands it all the best. And it is nice for an old woman to be ‘right’ and pseudo-heroic where others are silly and small and wrong.

Certainly read this book. It isn’t a Wow book, but it is a deep one. I am impressed by it. It also made an impression on me. I also (bizarrely) think reading this first might have made me a bit more compassionate towards some of the characters in Midnight’s Children – though at the same time reiterate to me how much more palatable a book is to me if it takes time to be crafted, controlled, and made human.

01.01.14
by

Portnoy’s Complaint

Pager turner: 6/10
Heart tugger: 5/10
Thought provoker: 6/10
Overall: 3 stars

Portnoy’s Complaint is funny. And a relief! It isn’t (I don’t think) a book that I would put on the top 100 list of the 20th century (it came 52nd), but it is enjoyable and I appreciate it for its unconventional and ballsy approach to writing.

Alex Portnoy is the narrator, and frankly, the book is a massive diatribe. He is a 33-year-old Jewish man in New Jersey/New York living in the ’60s and obsessed with sex. His life – his overbearing parents, scorning of God whilst maintaining Jewish customs, everything – fulfills all stereotypes. But he still has a few good adventures as he recounts his life stories and rails against his misfortunes and his psyche. And did I mention he was obsessed with sex? Let’s just say there were a few moments reading on the morning train that I was concerned about what other passengers might think of me if they were reading over my shoulder.

If you are put off by a little bit of explicitness, definitely don’t pick this up. And imagine how it must have been received in its day! It caused a tremendous stir, and I can’t but respect him and his publishers for putting it to press. If you are able to push past some obscenities and offensive words to catch the humor (and a bit of irony) of Alex screeching in all caps, ‘LET’S PUT THE ID BACK IN YID’, then definitely give this book a go.

Subtlety is not Roth’s strength; by the end I definitely felt I had ‘gotten it’ about 5 times over. But he does manage to capture Alex’s great frustration and outrage as he sits, fuming, on the psychologist’s sofa. I was outraged with him, if occasionally somewhat more amused and embarrassed by his anecdotes than he was.

I suspect this book is on the list because it was so unprecedented when published. A trailblazer, of sorts, in socially accepted digs at religion, americana, and sex. And it is done in good humor, or so at least I choose to read it. But, given that after all it really is a massive rant I don’t quite think I can give it more than a solid 3.

12.12.13
by

Vernon God Little

Page turner: 4/10
Heart tugger: 3/10
Thought provoker: 6/10
Overall: 2 stars

I got frustrated and read the last chapter of Vernon God Little when I was about half way through the book.

I got a serious telling off at work: ‘…who *does* that!?’

But I just couldn’t help it! What at first seems edgy and full of well-deployed vernacular just gets tedious. Everything everything is ‘fucken’ this and ‘fucken that’ and ‘up your asshole’ ‘shit shit shit’. Vernon, the teenage boy whose story you read, also has something of a bum/butt/ass/anal obsession going on. The book is a satire on the worst parts of American culture; so anything ‘obsessive’ is understandable in the characters, but I have my limits of understanding. So, I wanted to know if the story was really going to go anywhere, or if it would be an annoying, whiny, book. The good news was that I actually liked the ending. It’s sharp.

Having read the pretty good ending, I read the few chapters before that. They were alright. Shed a lot of light on the plot and in so doing, also were a lot more fluid that the jilted curse-word-narrated style of the rest of the book. As it happens, the book is about a high-school shooting in Texas. The teenage Vernon is the childhood friend of the murder (indelicately named Jesus), and is heavily implicated as a second shooter in the massacre. The book features homophobia, xenophobia, obesity, reality TV, gun ownership, and the death penalty for minors. And it is set in Texas. And of course his mother is a weirdo.

In the end, I did read the book. Just a bit see-saw like. At the end of it I do respect Pierre for ‘going for the jugular’ and for managing to tell a story with such harsh language. But I really just felt it lacked finesse, which to me, is what a satire should really be able to say is its forte. The story is simultaneously out-there and predictable; to the point where it became nearly impossible to empathize. And, given the subject matter, for all of the occasionally humorous quips – it wasn’t fun.

I can see potential in a daring author, but I’m not sure the execution (pardon the pun – but I can’t resist) worked this time.

12.01.13
by

Offshore

Page turner: 6/10
Heart tugger: 5/10
Thought provoker: 6/10
Overall: 3 stars (but on the low side of 3)

I liked Offshore, which won the Man Booker prize in 1979. I was tickled by the tendency of the characters to refer to each other by the names of their boats; and particularly pleased by the character, Maurice, who changed the name of his boat to Maurice in response to this.

The book is about a small group of people who live in house boats at Battersea Reach on the Thames, London in the early 1960s. Quite pleasingly, I coincidentally discovered that the modern-day bus route 319 passes has a stop at Cheyne Walk, right where the characters are traipsing about.

The characters are, to say the least, an eclectic bunch. The best two, by far, are the 11 and 6-year-old daughters of Nenna, the abandoned wife. They are both feral and precocious, which is an improbable and impressive combo.

The trouble is, I just didn’t quite ‘buy’ any of the characters. They were a bit too … out there. Some of their inner monologues are clever and convincing, but as a set, I just never quite got Into the book. I never saw myself amongst them. And so, in spite of the fact I actually KNOW where the book takes place, I kept getting tangled in location, time, and events. Which is actually a bit embarrassing given that nothing particularly unusual or exciting happens. Yes, one of the characters is a male prostitute, but the author, Penelope Fitzgerald, steers clear of any sordid details. So the characters – apparently doing deep-and-meaningful things – to me just seemed to be bopping about.

As it is an award-winning book over a certain age, my edition of the book has an introduction. I usually try not to read them until after I’ve reviewed, so that I’m not unduly influenced. But this time I did, and I am going to borrow the term ‘tragi-farce’, which describes the tone of the book well. It’s dark, but not depressing. It would make an excellent Christopher Guest film.

*Anything* after 17 days of Ulysses would be a pleasure, but on reflection while I liked Offshore (and enjoyed my personal connection to it), I would think it was average overall. And the ending was thoroughly unsatisfying (again, fab for a movie, but…)