Haruki Murakami - South of the Border, West of the Sun

This is the fifth book by Murakami that I have read, and excluding What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, I have to say it's the most subtle. The magical realism and bizarreness that I expect from Murakami's writing is missing, which is almost disappointing. However, this book is strangely reminiscent of Norwegian Wood, in that the title is inspired by a song (Nat King Cole's South of the Border), and that the middle-aged protagonist still thinks of his first love. Hajime, thirty-seven years old when this novel starts, is the narrator. An only child in the 1950s, when most families had at least two children, Hajime is often considered to be the stereotypical only child: spoilt and selfish. While for the most part, he does come across as a decent introspective narrator, some of his actions and thoughts lead us to believe he does actually fit the "only child" bill.

Hajime and Shimamoto, a twelve year old girl left lame by Polio, meet when the two are twelve years old, and instantly strike up a friendship. Shimamoto is an only child as well, and the two children feel perfectly at ease with one another, until the inevitable happens: Hajime moves to another town at the end of the school year, and the two lose touch.

Hajime has his first girlfriend, and the first girl he sleeps with is her cousin, hurting his girlfriend at the time beyond repair. He attempts justifying it, saying

From the first time I saw this girl, I knew I wanted to sleep with her. More accurately, I knew I had to sleep with her. And instinctively, I knew she felt the same way. When I was with, my body, as the phrase goes, shook all over. [...] The magnetism was that strong. I couldn't let this girl walk away. If I did, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

He still stumbles through life, till he reaches this point: happily married to a placid loving woman, Yukiko, with kids, running two successful jazz bars. He is content, for the most part, but something is missing. Cue, Shimamoto enters his bar one day, and the two childhood friends are reunited, much to their joy. The attraction is mutual, and he is ready to give up his content happy life to spend time with her. However, her life remains a dark mystery throughout the book - she doesn't talk about her past, or the troubles she's undergone. She comes and goes, sometimes disappears for months unending, with no explanations, but that's enough to make Hajime's life tumultuous as he obsesses over her, how he can't live without her and how he's ready to sacrifice everything for her.

The title itself is indicative of that, with the "West Of The Sun" referring to a madness that affects Siberian farmers which causes them to forget about the bare necessities of life, but just keep walking towards the land west of the sun, till they drop dead out of fatigue, hunger and thirst. It's this self-destructive streak that made him endearing, and almost stopped me from judging him for his actions, and his susceptibility to infidelity. Also, it did make me ask the question: is this selfishness and obstinacy a result of him being an only child - a point Murakami's emphasises abundantly in this book? He does ponder the repercussions of his actions, but at the end of the day, he's predominantly thinking of himself.

Infidelity is never forgivable as per my moral compass. And then, we see the lives of women destroyed - of happy women transforming into unemotional stones, of women full of life feeling compelled to kill themselves, of married women willing to accept infidelity - and that makes me wonder, why on earth is it that women are normally shown to be that weak and fragile, so much so that men can break them so easily?

The one thing that did really annoy me about this book was that as a reader, I have no idea as to what Shimamoto's story is! What is she hiding and why is she being so secretive? So coy? So precocious?

I enjoyed the flow of this book, specially in the second half, where Murakami describes the imagery and the emotions oh-so-poetically.

Every once in a while, as if remembering its duty, the sun showed its face through a break in the clouds. All we could hear were the screeches of the crows and the rush of water. Someday, somewhere, I will see this scene, I felt. The opposite of deja vu - not the feeling that I had already seen what was around me, but the premonition that I would some day. This premonition reached out its long hand and grabbed my mind tight. I could see myself in its grip. There at its fingertips was me. Me in the future, grown old. Of course, I couldn't see what I looked like.

but I did crave some of the kooky outlandish writing that I've come to know and love Murakami for.

Guess The Wind Up Bird Chronicle is the next Murakami on my list. Will it be bizarre enough?

John Green - Paper Towns

It feels like ages since I've read a young-adult book, so when I read a review of this book over at Claire's (@Paperback Reader), I wanted to read the book. Plus, I loved the cover! Reason enough to order this book after a self-imposed four month book buying ban? I think so. I've read a couple of reviews on John Green's books, Looking for Alaska and An Abundance of Katherines, and the reviews have been quite positive as well, so, unsurprisingly, I had high expectations of this book. Luckily, it didn't disappoint. It was a fast-paced page-turner, with incredibly well-drawn out characters, an intelligent plot, and all-in-all, it was just great fun to read.

The way I figure it, everyone gets a miracle. Like, I will probably never be struck by lightening, or win a Nobel Prize, or become the dictator of a small nation in the Pacific Islands, or contract terminal ear cancer, or spontaneously combust. But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us. I could have seen it rain frogs. I could have stepped foot on Mars. I could have been eaten by a whale. I could have married the Queen of England or survived months at sea. But my miracle was different. My miracle was this: out of all the houses in all the subdivisions in all of Florida, I ended up living next door to Margo Roth Spiegelman

Quentin (or Q), the narrator, has been in love with Margo since forever. As children, they were friends, until they stumbled upon a dead body at the local park. Discovering the dead body changed the relationship between the two nine-year-olds. That night, Margo stood outside Quentin's window, to let him know of the "investigation" she had carried out as to the cause of the death. She loved mysteries and adventures, so much so that, in Quentin's words, she became one. After that night, the two friends just drifted apart.

Fast forward to the future, a few weeks before their high school graduation: one night, Margo re-appears at Quentin's window, looking for an ally on a crazy retribution mission - against an ex-boyfriend and two former best friends - which also includes breaking into Sea World, just for fun! Quentin's grown up to be more cautious and circumspect, whereas Margo's the polar opposite, and during the night out, the two reconnect, and Quentin's convinced that things will be different in school from the next day.

But - Margo's a no-show at school the next day. And the day after. She's basically just disappeared into the oblivion, and no one has any idea as to her whereabouts. But she's left a trail - breadcrumbs, if you like - and it's up to her friends to follow them, for her parents aren't overtly concerned, considering she's pulled the disappearing act before.

This book is about Quentin - and his search for Margo. It's about Margo - and her search to resolve the issues she's battling. But it's more than that for both the teenagers. It's about Quentin figuring out who Margo really is, underneath her ultra-cool demeanour and totally chilled out perspective on life, and eventually, unraveling the mystery that is her. And all this is done with immense story-telling, including observations on paper towns and paper people and Whitman's Leaves of Grass, as well as scattered references to TS Eliot and Moby Dick.

"Here's what's not beautiful about it: from here, you can't see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made of plastic. It's a paper town. I mean look at it Q: look at all those cul-de-sacs, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer that some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters."

Thought this was a fabulous book, that I really enjoyed reading, and immersing myself in. I'll be looking out for Green's other books, and can't wait to read them, based on this! Have you read any of the others? What's the verdict?

Also, have you read many books which have loads of Whitman references? If you'd asked me two months ago, I'd say no, but - I've read about three books in the recent past (Specimen Days, Paper Towns and Tipping the Velvet) with numerous Whitman references, which makes me wonder. And it's not just Whitman, but specifically, it's Leaves of Grass. Have any of you read that? I'm planning to, but it's been ages since I've read any poetry, and I'm not convinced Whitman is the way to make my way back to the world of poems?

Gabriel García Márquez - Chronicle of a Death Foretold

After reading One Hundred Years of Solitude some four years back, I decided to read one book by the Nobel laureate, Gabriel García Márquez, every year. This is the fifth book by Márquez that I'm reading, and I found it as brilliant - and different - as the previous four. The plot of the book is revealed with the title of this novella, and the first line:

On the day they were going to kill him, Santiago Nasar got up at five-thirty in the morning to wait for the boat the bishop was coming on.

So, Santiago Nasar was going to be killed, and most of the people living in the small unnamed Columbian village knew the details : the perpetrators, the reason, the place, and the way in which the murder was going to be carried out. No one warned the victim, and by the time the people likely to warn him found out about the plan, it was too late.

Written in first person, this is a 'chronicle' of Santiago Nasar's death, as the author goes about interviewing the locals, some twenty-seven years after the incident, in order to figure out why no one attempted to stop this event. To cut a short story shorter (sorry!), Bayardo San Roman, a wealthy out-of-towner, married the beautiful Angela Vicario. On their wedding night, he discovered that she wasn't a virgin and subsequently, returned her to her parents' house. Her brothers, Pedro and Pablo Vicario, coerced her into telling them who the man responsible for this act was, and her reply was Santiago Nasar. In order to defend their sister's honour (and their family honour), the brothers decided to kill Nasar. However, it seemed as though it was tradition that prompted them to plan the murder, as opposed to any real desire to kill Nasar. Tradition that dictated that the brothers must always avenge their sister's honour.

The writing is repetitive, in a way, as it follows the same event from many different perspectives. It's almost like a mystery story going backwards, with the crime, the criminals and the motive being laid out at the very outset, and the "investigation" (i.e. the interviews conducted by the narrator) happening later. The pivotal question remains: how did the locals of the village allow the Vicario brothers to kill Nasar, despite knowing all the details of their plans?

The writing is precise and to-the-point, almost as though it's a journalist doing the writing, not an author. The flowery poetic language found in One Hundred Years of Solitude is completely absent, as this book seems to be more factual. It's completely engrossing, and I thought it was a non-fictional account. However, a quick search on Google told me otherwise.

I enjoyed this book, and for those of you who are intimidated by Márquez, this might be a good place to start, as it's quite short, and the language isn't overwhelming. The story is fantastic, and it lets the reader interpret certain key moments/events in their own way.

Have you read any Márquez? Which is your favourite book by him?

Michael Cunningham - Specimen Days

I absolutely adored Cunningham's The Hours, and couldn't wait to read another book by Cunningham. And then - then I saw the cover of this one, and I was in love! I knew I just had to read the book. And so, I did. Essentially, Specimen Days is a collection of three novellas, as opposed to one novel. Like The Hours, there are three inter-linked stories, and like The Hours, a famous literary persona makes an appearance (in this case, it's Walt Whitman).

However, unlike The Hours, this novel is set in entirety in New York, and it's set across time. The first story goes back to the era when Whitman was still alive, during the time of the Industrial Revolution; the second story is almost current-day set in a post 9-11 New York haunted by terrorist threads and the final story is set in a futuristic society of half-humans and aliens.

In an almost Cloud Atlas-esque fashion though, the protagonists across the stories seem to be re-incarnations of themselves. There's Simon and Catherine (Cat, Catareen) as the two adults and Lucas (Luke) as the adolescent. A bowl makes a reappearance across the ages as well, as does the poetry of Walt Whitman.

The first story, In The Machine, is set during the time of the Industrial Revolution (nineteenth century), where Lucas, a young boy, starts working in the factory where a terrible accident led to his brother's unfortunate demise. Lucas, who spouts Whitman (a present-day poet at the time) incessantly, reaches the haunting conclusion that the machines are evil and are trying to pull the living in, as they did to his older brother (Simon). His innocence and adamance is almost heart-breaking as he tries to convince Simon's fiancee, Catharine, to stay away from the "machine."

And then we move to The Children's Crusades, where Cat plays the leading role, as a woman who is a police psychologist. Amidst other things, she mans the phone line where would-be terrorists and assassins call up and drop hints about potential upcoming bombs. The latest set of terrorism seems to be coming from a group of children, who quote Whitman's Leaves of Grass, hug a random stranger, and then the bomb detonates...

Finally, there's Like Beauty, set in a post-apocalyptic New York, swarming with aliens and androids. Simon, an alien, who is programmed to recite Whitman at the unlikeliest of times, runs away with Catareen, a lizard-like alien, in search for the man who created him. They take a trip across the country, along with Luke, and manage to find a place on a spaceship that will take them to paradise - a different planet.

The characters are wonderfully drawn across all three stories, and the rapport between them is extremely real. Some of them are outsiders, whereas some of them are searching for a place where they belong. The way things are described had me nodding along in agreement, specially in the second novella.

"Look around," she said. "Do you see happiness? Do you see joy? Americans have never been this prosperous, people have never been this safe. They've never lived so long, in such good health, ever, in the whole history. To someone a hundred years ago, as recently as that, this world would seem like heaven itself. We can fly. Our teeth don't rot. Our children aren't feverish one moment and dead the next. There's no dung in the milk. There's milk, as much as we want. The curch can't roast us alive over minor differences of opinion. The elders can't stone us to death because we might have commited adultery. Our crops never fail. We can eat raw fish in the middle of the desert, if we want to. And look at us. We're so obese we need bigger cemetery plots. Our ten-year-olds are doing heroin, or they're murdering eight-year-olds, or both. We're getting divorced faster than we're getting married. Everything we eat has to be sealed because if it wasn't, somebody would put poison into it, and if they couldn't get poison, they'd put pins into it. A tenth of us are in jail, and we can't build new ones fast enough. We're bombing other countries simply because they make us nervous, and most of us not only couldn't find these countries in a map, we couldn't tell you which continent they're on. [...] So tell me. Would you say this is working out? Does this seems to you a story that wants to continue?"

The title itself is inspired by one of Walt Whitman's works - something I'm not very familiar with, which makes me feel slightly guilty, for I don't think I missed a lot in the book. Some of the references though seemed unnecessary, but I think that might be a result of me not really seeing the whole picture, as I'm not well-versed with Leaves of Grass, or much of Whitman's work/thoughts.

Have you read Specimen Days? Or any other Cunningham?

If you've read Specimen Days, do you think knowing a lot more about Whitman's work would improve the reading experience manifold?

Christos Tsiolkas - The Slap

A Gen-X story, The Slap is set in Melbourne with a Greek family at the pivot point. Hector, the protagonist, is married to Aisha, an Indian girl. The two of them are the envy of their friends, set in their perfect lives, with two children. Of course, there is no such thing as perfection, once you peel away the layers, but on the face of it, they are pretty much "perfect." Aisha is vet; Hector is a bureaucrat. The two of them host a barbecue one afternoon, inviting their friends and family as well as the children. Disagreements between the kids (Spiderman on TV?), unease with the in-laws, and tensions building between some friends sums up the afternoon, although again, on the face of it, everyone seems to be having a good time. But then, the facade falls when Harry, Hector's cousin, slaps a brattish four-year old across the face, and that's the tipping point.

The drama that unfolds is almost unbelievable, with the parents looking to press charges - the mother is one of Aisha's best friends - and Hector and Aisha trying to maintain some kind of decorum. Hector sides with his cousin, and Aisha with her friend. Stalemate.

But, this linear narrative isn't just focused on the slap. One could argue for days as to whether the slap was deserved or not, and still not reach a verdict. Instead it focuses on the people at the barbecue, their reaction to the slap, and which side they're on. It also gives us a peek into the lives and thoughts of a bunch of people living in the middle-class Melbourne community. Apparently, affairs are rampant, alcoholism and recreational drugs common and racism and homophobia normal. Oh, and the slang is profanity-intensive.

I'm not sure I enjoyed the peek though. While some seemingly perfect characters had a massive fall from grace, the lack of self-awareness to the degree of coming across as complete morons was evident in others. Some people had over-inflated opinions of themselves, and some had haunting pasts. As the narrative progressed, we learnt more about all of them, and for the most part, they became more and more unlikeable. I'm an idealist, hate the very idea of cheating and don't really care about the boxes that society puts people in. As long as someone's "nice," it's good enough for me. So, reading this book had alarm bells jangling in my head almost like there's no tomorrow.

It's not a literary novel, and personally, I think the author tries too hard to be too controversial. Each chapter is written from the point of view of one of the characters (including Hector, Aisha, Harry, Hector's father, the slapped child's mother etc), and each chapter brings with it a plethora of expletives. Do parents, grand-parents and children actually use four letter words with one another as part of normal conversation? Again, maybe I'm super-conservative, but I don't think I've ever sworn in front of my parents... and vice versa.

I was really looking forward to reading this book, and I guess I had extremely high expectations from this book, which were unfortunately not met. Maybe I would've enjoyed this book a lot more if I hadn't opened it with about a million pre-conceived notions! That always happens to me!

What did you think of The Slap? Do you think badly behaved children deserve to be slapped? And does it have a place in the Booker shortlist?

I'm inclined to reply in the negative to the last question, but hey! What do I know?!

Paul Murray - Skippy Dies

Paul Murray's second book, Skippy Dies, has been long listed for the Man Booker Prize 2010, and to be honest, that's the main reason why I picked up this book. I had added it to my to-read list when claire (@ kissacloud) mentioned it ages ago, but it just kind of sat on the list, till the Booker long list was announced earlier. Don't get me wrong - I'm not planning on reading the entire long list. In fact, truth be told, once I read The Slap, I think I'll be done with the Booker for this year, although there are two caveats:

• If the winner is one of the books I haven't already read
• If I stumble upon an amazing review of one of the books on the longlist that I haven't already read

I digress again - back to Skippy Dies:

Daniel "Skippy" Juster is nicknamed so due to his buck-teeth which makes him resemble a kangaroo. He is one of the main characters of this ambitious tragicomedy, which is set in Seabrook, an expensive Catholic school for boys in Dublin. In the prologue itself, Skippy dies during a doughnut eating race at a local hangout, with his best friend, the genius Ruprecht. Skippy collapses, and in his final moments, he squeezes raspberry syrup out of a doughnut, and writes, 'TELL LORI'.  The rest of the book goes back in time, and then forward, with the incident described above as the pivotal point.

Seabrook is run by Holy Paraclete Fathers, although Greg "Automator" Costigan, the acting principal who is a thoroughly vile character, intends to change that. Then there are the teachers, the bullies (who are en route to becoming full-fledged criminals), the perverts, the sex-obsessed students and of course, the fairer sex - girls!

In this 661-page chunkster, various stories intertwine, to create a book that goes well beyond a boarding school story. There are the obligatory school bullies in Carl and Barry, who start dealing drugs. Carl borders on being totally psychotic - his hands are scarred with cuts, he hates competition and he has his eyes set on Lori, an attractive student from the all-girls school next door. Then there's Howard the Coward, who was a student at Seabrook. Currently, Howard is the history teacher, living with his American girlfriend, Halley, but infatuated with the new geography teacher, Aurelie McIntyre, "an investment banker not used to that kind of unbridled depravity." There's a slight play of words when it comes to the unlikeable French teacher, Father Green, whose name in French translated to Pere Vert, and there's the typical friendly teacher cum coach, Tom Roche - another teacher who used to be a student at Seabrook, and was on his way to become a national sportsperson before an injury robbed him off those dreams.

Ruprecht the genius has already been mentioned - he is a genius, single-handedly responsible for raising the average grade of the class by four percent. He wants to go to Stanford, has a role model in Professor Tamashi (who doesn't seem to exist, if I google his name?) who is a professor of m-theory (an extension of string theory that says there are eleven dimensions), and spends his time looking for extra-terrestrial life. He comes up with grand plans on how to draw the aliens into conversation or open the portal to the parallel universe(s), and dreams of winning the Nobel Prize, or studying under Prof. Tamashi.

"When you think about it, the Big Bang's a bit like school, isn't it? Well, I mean to say, one day we'll all leave here and become scientists and bank clerks and diving instructors and hotel managers - the fabric of society, so to speak. But in the meantime, that fabric, that is to say, us, the future, is crowded into one tiny little point where none of the laws of society applies, viz., this school."

And what about Skippy? Well, he's on the swim team, a good student, who seems to be going wayward due to some things going awry in his personal life, the details of which we aren't privy to until much later in the book. In a way, he's the glue that holds a bunch of the boarders together - boarders who don't take kindly to Ruprecht but still befriend him because of Skippy. The buck-toothed boy is in love with Lori, a girl he's never met in real life, but seen through the lens of his genius friend's telescope. At a school dance, he finally talks to her, and they leave the dance together.

So yes - all the typecasting has been done, all the stereotypes introduced. But, the manner in which Murray brings them all together is anything but typical. It's not Harry Potter, but then again, it's no Malory Towers! The characters are real twenty-first century characters, and despite the stereotypical roles that have been created for them, they do step outside the boundaries every now and again. None of the characters are perfect, although some are likeable and some loathsome. However, I did find myself rooting for Skippy throughout the book - not sure if it was a direct result of the book being entitled Skippy Dies or if he was actually a sympathetic character though, or ...

This book is funny and tragic - the banter between the students, the dialogues between the friends had me smiling a fair bit, but in equal measure, I found myself shaking my head. I don't really know if I should be asking this question, but seriously, how much time do fourteen year old boys spend thinking about sex? Or all the double entendres? I shouldn't have asked that, should I have?

It's really difficult to sum up this book in such few words - the book encompasses so much more. We learn more about the characters, their histories and their future. We see Howard through his obsession with World War I, and we see Lori alternating between two extremes of innocence and provocativeness; we see Skippy from being morose and obsessive to being jubilant and we see Ruprecht doing a complete metamorphosis from looking for life beyond earth to compulsively eating doughnuts. More importantly, we see how one event can change things so dramatically - almost like the butterfly effect - even if people haven't been directly affected by the incident in question. We contemplate questions - what's more important, punishment or honour? reputation or justice? reality or the version of history provided in our text books? the "right" thing or what people expect? And the list goes on and on...

Despite being massive, I found myself flying through this book - specially the first two chunks, Hopeland and Heartland. The penultimate section, Ghostland, was probably the most thought-provoking section though, and I found myself reading that chunk slower than the previous two - which is kind-of ironic, as I normally like flying through the last bit of the book, and taking my time with the beginning to settle in and acquaint myself with the book, the characters and the environment.

Have you read Skippy Dies? What do you think its chances are to make it to the shortlist? If it did, to be honest, I wouldn't have any complaints, despite the fact that parts of the book are colloquial, and I did want to scream when some of the students were texting each other, and textspeak filled the page. And, have you read Murray's debut novel, An Evening of Long Goodbyes? Recommend it?

How's your Booker reading coming along so far? Or, do you avoid the prize-winning hype just because it's not worth it?

Emma Donoghue - Room

This is probably one of the most gripping books I've read this year. I almost feel guilty that I didn't take Audrey Niffenegger's advice, scrolled across the book cover:

Room is a book to read in one sitting.

That's what working life does to you, I guess. I did read the last fifty pages or so at work though, ignoring the people who asked me if I was there to work or read. Hopefully, even they figured it was a rhetorical question. Anyway, as I couldn't agree more with the rest of the quote, I thought I might as well share it:

When it's over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.

Room is a novel "triggered" by Felix Fritzl, the five year old son of Elisabeth Fritzl. Elisabeth was locked in the basement by her father for twenty-four years,  raped repeatedly and had seven children. Three of them were imprisoned with her, and the five year old had no clue about the world beyond the basement they were locked in.

Normally, one would expect such a book to be a money-making gimmick, with the author milking the tragedy of another family. Realising that it was narrated by the five year old might add to that sentiment. However, with Room, Donoghue creates a wonderful "unputdownable" novel, with great insights and contemplations from the five year old, Jack, who was under the impression that the world existed in his eleven feet by eleven feet room he lived in with his mother (Ma), and had no clue as to the reality beyond the locked door and the skylight.

Ma, a twenty-seven year old, protects him and tries to bring him up right, by schooling him with the limited resources she has at her disposal. So, Jack's narration is actually reasonably articulate, although it is still from the viewpoint of a five year old, who has never experienced life outside the closed quarters of the room, and initially thinks himself and his mother are the only two human beings in the world. He has "friends" in the television, but as far as he's concerned, that's not real.

This morning it's Dora, yippee. She's on a boat that nearly crashes into a ship, we have to wave our arms and shout, "Watch out," but Ma doesn't. Ships are just TV and so is the sea except when our poos and letters arrive. Or maybe that actually stop being real the minute they get there.

Animals are TV except ants and Spider and Mouse, but he's gone back now. Germs are real, and blood. Boys are TV but they kind of look like me, the me in Mirror that isn't real either, just a picture.

In a way, it's almost a  relief that the book is written through the eyes of the child, and not the mother, for, if it was written through the eyes of the mother, it might have been one of the most heart-wrenchingly painful and scary reads. The innocence of Jack alleviates the horror of this book a great deal, as he doesn't understand some of the more delicate issues that his mother has to deal with, in her captivity.

When Old Nick creaks Bed, I listen and count fives on my fingers, tonight it's 217 creaks. I always have to count till he makes that gaspy sound and stops. I don't know what would happen if I didn't count, because I always do.

After he turns five, Ma finally tells him about Outside, but unsurprisingly, Jack doesn't believe his mother initially, and who can blame them? If you've known only one world for five years, and you're suddenly "unlied" to, and told about the wonders of a whole new world which exists, but you were never aware of, how would you react? It's too strange, too surreal, to be true, and I really felt for Jack when he was told the truth, and subsequently become the focal point of his mother's grand escape plan, which "scaved" (a "wordsandwich" meaning scared and brave) him!

More themes about society and values emerge as the book progresses, and each one evokes an emotion of either sadness or anger or sympathy. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but from the start of the book, when you're made aware of the situation, you can't help but hope and pray for a happy ending - no adult and no child should ever have to go through that kind of hell.

I was utterly hooked to this book, and I can't recommend it highly enough. I've not read a story like this before, and I doubt I'll come across one even remotely as engrossing and irrepressible as this work by Donoghue.

Have you read Room? Or, any other book by Donoghue? What did you think? Would you recommend any of the others?

And, what do you think are the odds on this book making the Booker shortlist?

Lisa Moore - February

Melancholic - that's the first word that came to my mind when I finished this book. I'm guessing that's how Helen, the protagonist, felt for a major part of her adult life. Her husband, Cal, had been on the Ocean Ranger that sunk in 1982, off the coast of Newfoundland - there were no survivors. Fast-forward to 2008, which is when this book starts: Helen, now a middle-aged woman, is battling loneliness and misery, as she tries to find some kind of solace in looking after the grandchildren and sewing beautiful wedding and prom dresses as a career. She's tried her hand at online dating, after being persuaded by the children; she's tried yoga; working in a corporation and all in all, it just sounds like she's tried a myriad of things to get over the grief - but to no avail. Does one ever actually get over losing a loved one?

The narration isn't linear though - it's almost like a series of random flashbacks and memories that have made up some of the happiest, saddest and most poignant moments of Helen's life : be it receiving a Valentine's card from her husband, days after the Ocean Ranger sank or, contemplating his last moments - did he at least get to play a last game of cards post-supper?

There is no plot - at least not one that I could find. It was essentially focusing on Helen's despondence, as well as the lives of her children and grandchildren: her daughter getting pregnant at the age of fifteen, her daughter coming home drunk and escorted by the police. It's also a very "twenty-first century" novel, with references to Cosmo and Vogue, eBay and online dating. I'm still not quite accustomed to seeing them in books - even though, for once, it didn't sound like those references were forced. It was just part of the narrative, and it made the book more real somehow.

Did I enjoy this book - not really. It depressed me, and made me ponder on things that I ordinarily wouldn't (e.g. do you ever get over the loss of a loved one, specially a husband?). It was just so - sad, for lack of better words! Well-written, descriptive, emotional, but sad! One of my favourite poems is Dylan Thomas' Death Shall Have No Dominion, but clearly, those left behind beg to differ, as this book reminds us, not very subtly! Who knows how life can change by things we have no control over, when we least expect it to?!

Have you read anything by Lisa Moore? I've heard Alligator is worth a read - would you recommend it?

As for this book being on the Booker longlist - well, I personally don't think it'll make the shortlist, but hey! What do I know?! What do you think - does the shortlist have a place for February?

David Mitchell - Black Swan Green

About five years back, with the launch of the iPod Shuffle, Apple declared "random is the new order" to the world, as "life is random" so we should "give chance a chance." What does any of this have to do with Black Swan Green? Well, nothing, really! However, it does have a lot to do with the way I've approached the works of David Mitchell - Unlike some book bloggers (e.g. Kerry), I haven't read his works in any kind of order; just as and when I got my hands on one of his books. I never had a chance though. I didn't even know who David Mitchell was (yes, I was living in a black hole of sorts) until one of my friends shoved number9dream in my hands, and insisted I read it. From the opening line, which I can still repeat off the top of my head, I was hooked. The rest, as they say, is history.

And so, I started my fourth book by David Mitchell eagerly, not quite knowing what to expect. I knew it was a coming-of-age story, and I half wondered if it would be similar to the surreal number9dream, or well - I didn't really have an alternative.

Black Swan Green is much more of a "traditional" coming-of-age story. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would have assumed it was Mitchell's debut novel - not because of the quality of writing (seriously, I don't think you can fault Mitchell's quality of writing!), but more because the book was a lot more conventional than I'd have expected, specially considering it was released on the back of Cloud Atlas.

It's 1982, the year of the Falklands War. Havoc is wreaking on that front, but thirteen year old Jason is fighting another battle: against bullies, against a stammering problem he can't seem to get rid of, and harbouring a secret that might make him the laughing stock of the school: a secret desire to be a poet. Closer to home, his sister refers to him as "thing," and his parents' marriage is rocky - thirteen, it's a "wonderful miserable age!"

Bluebells swarmed in pools of light where the sun got through the trees. The air smelt of them. Wild garlic smelt of toasted phlegm. Blackbirds sang like they'd die if they didn't. Birdsong's the thoughts of a wood. Beautiful it was, but boys aren't allowed to say "beautiful" 'cause it's the gayest word going.

As opposed to a linear narrative, this book is essentially a set of snapshots in Jason's life as a thirteen year old, focusing on the events that help him mature, as he realises some hard truths about life, be it about his friend's father's alcoholism

"[...]Tell you what it's like, it's like this whiny shitty nasty weepy man who isn't my dad takes my dad over for however long the bender lasts, but only I - and Mum and Kelly and Sally and Max - know that it isn't him. The rest of the world doesn't know that, see. They just say, Frank Moran showing his true colours, that is. But it ain't" Moran twisted his head at me. "But it is. But it ain't.[...]"

or, about the cruelty of war, and how it ruins lives

War's an auction where whoever can pay most in damage and still be standing wins.

Okay, maybe that's a little too profound for a thirteen year old, but the point still stands! Speaking of profundity, how's this:

I've never listened to music lying down. Listening's reading if you close your eyes. Music's a wood you walk through.

And then, you have some mixed with a desperate call for anger management:

Me, I want to kick this moronic bloody world in the bloody teeth over and over till it bloody understands that not hurting people is ten bloody thousand times more important than being right.

Oh! To be thirteen again...

I enjoyed this book, and the various episodes of Jason's life, despite the fact that at times, he really did seem older and wiser than his years (above excerpts withstanding). It was an easy read, but delightful at the same time, and it was a story I could relate to - being someone born in the eighties myself! I got most of the music references, be it Duran Duran, Beatles, Sex Pistols, Joy Division or the infamous "Do the Locomotion". It took me back a long way, and I was reminiscing away about my life and how things were about a decade ago! I could identify with Jason's preoccupations and concerns at times, and I sympathised with him on the whole rivalry with the sibling - been there, done that! My brother and I couldn't possibly be closer now. Oh, how times change...

Have you read any David Mitchell? Any favourites? I still have Ghostwritten to go, so I'm really looking forward to that.

Also, do you have any other favourite coming-of-age stories? I do love reading them - they almost always take me away to a simpler easier time. Do you feel the same as well about comfort reads?

Just as an aside for you David Mitchell fans out there who've read Cloud Atlas as well:

Madame Crommelynck, the daughter of the famous composer in Cloud Atlas, makes an appearance in this book, when she attempts to introduce Jason to European literature. She plays Robert Frobisher's Cloud Atlas Sextet for the teenager, who is awed by it (see quote above). I loved that bit! Any idea if there are any more references to other characters from his previous books that I've missed?

Rachel Ferguson - The Brontës Went To Woolworths

The Brontës Went to Woolworths is one of those utterly bizarre books, with quirky characters and a story which makes the mind boggle. The thin line between fact and fiction is erased by the Carne sisters - the protagonists of this book - as they let their imaginations run away with them, and create a wondrous warm world of friendship, happiness and make-believe. A dog who used to be Pope, a doll who used to live in Paris and friends in high places, including Judge Toddington ("Toddy"). You also have their mother, who indulges them and the prudish governess, Miss Martin, who judges them, as she can't quite fathom what's going on inside the bubble the family has created for themselves, probably to cope with grief and sadness after their father's unfortunate demise. To be fair, one can't really blame Miss Martin for being confused about what's going on in this 1930s household - I was utterly baffled by what was going on for the first fifty odd pages, and I kind-of had an inkling of a clue. However, once I figured out the line that the Carnes had erased, things suddenly became much clearer...

...and while they became clear in my head, things got slightly more complicated for the Carnes, when Deirdre (the eldest sister) met Lady Mildred (Toddy's wife) at a charity bazaar, and ended up befriending the older lady and subsequently, her husband - the father figure that Deirdre had created for herself. The "Saga" the Carnes had created for themselves was suddenly moving closer towards reality, and the emotions that ran through the book were both, endearing and heart-rending. Shiel, the youngest daughter, practically had no grip on reality, and her older sisters were extremely protective of her - not only that, but, they themselves spent most of their time in the nursery, escaping their own reality.

The other thing I loved about this book was the irony and humour present throughout. There were a fair few chunks that had be laughing out loud. For instance, the opening paragraph, as narrated by Deirdre, reads:

How I loathe that kind of novel which is about a lot of sisters. It is usually called They Were Seven, or Three-Not Out, and one spends one’s entire time trying to sort them all, and muttering, ‘Was it Isobel who drank, or Gertie? And which was it who ran away with the gigolo, Amy or Pauline? And which of their separate husbands was Lionel, Isobel’s or Amy’s?

How can you not love the irony, when this book is about the three sisters, for the most part?

Another bit that absolutely had me in splits was when Deirdre talks about a proposal she received:

I couldn't accept the man, much as I liked him, because I was in love with Sherlock Holmes. For Holmes and his personality and brain I had a force of feeling which, for the time, converted living men to shadows.

I did enjoy this book thoroughly, and would recommend it highly. It's not very twenty-first century, though, so it's almost like a fairytale. The cynic in me did kick in from time to time, but, I just brushed it aside, for I couldn't help but hope for a "happy ending" for the kooky family, that resorted to escapism to find their solace.

Doris Lessing - The Fifth Child

By virtue of Doris Lessing being a Nobel Laureate, her books have always intimidated me. The size of the one book I've heard about the most, The Golden Notebook, hasn't really helped. However, when I stumbled upon The Fifth Child at the library, I felt as though I had to try reading at least one of her books. I've read Nobel Prize winners before, and more oft' than not, I've enjoyed the reading. Also, the blurb at the back of the book intrigued me. It reminded me of Lionel Shriver's We Need To Talk About Kevin. No, this isn't a book about a high school shooting. Instead, it's a book about a child being born into a perfectly happy family, who is violent and uncontrollable, with a vicious streak in him from the time he was in his mother's womb. Set in the 1960s, this book revolves around two social "oddballs," David and Harriet, who meet at an office party, and almost immediately decide to get married, and have loads of children ("six, eight, ten"). They buy a massive house in the suburbs which they can just about afford, and Harriet gets pregnant, on the first viewing of the house! In the six years that follow, the couple have four children, and depend on their family for support. Yet, they're happy, which is the important thing.

Despite the family's constant advice, the couple are adamant to have more kids, and so, the fifth child is born. Even before the birth, Ben seems to be a violent child. According to Harriet:

sometimes she believed hooves were cutting her tender inside flesh, sometimes claws.

And when Ben is finally born, he resembles a goblin or a troll more than a human - Harriet's thoughts again! Nothing is safe from the little Frankenstein. Not the pets, not the other children, not the house they live in. His parents hate him, his siblings hate him. And so, the idyllic life that Harriet and David have built with such conviction starts falling apart.

Harriet was wondering why she was always treated like a criminal. Ever since Ben was born it’s been like this, she thought. Now it seemed to her the truth, that everyone had silently condemned her. I have suffered a misfortune, she told herself; I haven’t committed a crime.

This book raises more questions than it answers. In a family, what is the concept of consequentialism : the good of the entire family, or the good of every child? In a warm loving environment, how is a child like Ben born? And more importantly - why? Is happiness merely transient? Or, did David and Harriet tempt fate with their constant utopian life? Oh, and of course, it takes us back to the age old question: nurture or nature?

I found The Fifth Child to be a fascinating gripping read, and was amazed by how much Lessing had packed in in such a short novel (160 pages). The language wasn't complicated, and the plot moved fast. Even before the first chapter was over, David and Harriet had met for the first time, and decided on their marriage!

There's a sequel to The Fifth Child called Ben, In The World. Have you read it? If yes, is it worth reading?

Have you read any other books with a "monster" child, that you'd recommend? It does seem to be a crop up a fair bit in the world of literature. I'm just hoping it's not that common in reality.

Ernest Hemingway - The Old Man And The Sea

I have an absolutely ancient copy of this book lying around, and it's actually bizarre that I've not read the book yet - it's just 114 pages long! Published in 1974, the book cost just 30p at the time (US$0.45)! The book costs £7.99 now... let's keep that musing for another day! The Old Man and the Sea is an extremely 'concise' book, for the lack of a better word. The plot is uncomplicated, with minimal dialogue. It's literally about an old man and the sea, as the old man (Santiago) tries to change his luck, after going eighty-four days without catching a fish.

Santiago's protege, Manolin, has moved on to a "lucky" boat, as per his father's wishes, and so, when the old man heads out to the waters on the eighty-fifth day, he's all alone, without the boy he trusts.

On this fateful day though, Santiago's luck does change, as he catches what appears to be a giant fish, and an epic battle begins at sea between the fish and the man, as he is not able to haul the fish onboard. Thus begins a great game of waiting and patience (and impatience) as the old man bides his time, and ponders upon many-a-thing, including how useless his left hand his (when it starts cramping), how much he misses the old boy, and how he would have made some changes in his journey, had he known better.

He could feel the steady hard pull of the line and his left hand was cramped. It drew up tight on the heavy cord and he looked at it in disgust.

'What kind of a hand is that,' he said. 'Cramp then if you want. Make yourself into a claw. It will do you no good.'

While I'm glad I read this book, I still thought it dragged on a bit, by recounting the story of the old man's stay at the sea and his battle with the fish. Ironic that I'm saying the above about a book which is only 114 pages long, but there you have it. I guess I'm not interested in fishing, and while I understand the basic jargon, I don't really get what a lot of it means. For that matter, I don't quite understand fishing techniques either. So, maybe that's just me!

The old man's characterisation was fantastic though, as was his dialogues with the various natural things around him, including his victim - the fish. The way he handled exhaustion, cramps, hunger and thirst was mind-blowing, and I couldn't help but sympathise with him at those times. Even when I finished the book, I felt slightly despondent - but I reckon that's an emotion the book is expected to evoke.

The writing was brilliant - not poetic, but very real. The language was simple, and easy to read, while simultaneously bringing alive some of the scenes from the book. There was no superfluity, but all the words came together as though essential to form the whole story.

It's the first Hemingway I've read (yep, I know that's embarrassing!), but was wondering if you have read any of his works. If yes, what would you recommend?