Margaret Atwood - Oryx and Crake

It was in September 2009 when I purchased Atwood's Oryx and Crake, and it's been sitting on my shelf since, feeling slightly neglected. I've heard mixed reviews about the book, so procrastination played its part in the delay, but I finally did pull it out, being in the mood for some post-apocalyptic fiction. My Atwood point-of-reference is The Handmaid's Tale, a book I can't recommend enough, and considering that, I thought this fell slightly short of my expectations. It might be because The Handmaid's Tale sets an incredibly high standard. I mean, all said and done, Oryx and Crake was shortlisted for both, the Booker Prize and the Orange Prize.

There's Jimmy, who has witnessed (and played a part in)the apocalypse, and is the lone human survivor, along with the children of Crake (called Crakers), and many genetically modified animals, including pigoons (a cross between pigs and raccoons used to harvest organs), rakunks (a cross between rats and skunks, which have no purpose but to serve as pets) and scary wolvogs. He reflects on the past and how he's ended up where he is, as he tries to figure out a way to survive this new reality.

Jimmy's childhood is an exaggeration of life as we know it: Online gaming and communities, pornography, watching live execution channels, playing chess and just hanging out with Crake, his closest friend. Yet, he grows up in a compound where pigoons were created and continue to be genetically modified so as to harvest more organs, and he has a rakunk as a pet. Negligent parents, no siblings, same story.

Yet, where Jimmy is ordinary, Crake is extraordinary. He is competitive, intelligent, and envisages a futuristic society where immortality can be contemplated.

Immortality [...] is a concept. If you take ‘mortality’ as being, not death, but the foreknowledge of it and the fear of it, then ‘immortality’ is the absence of such fear.

And, he conceives a world where the inhabitants are inherently nonchalant about sex and violence. They are stronger, prettier, more resilient, and can handle the stronger UV rays after the ozone layer depletes. Then, he plays god, and so, the children of Crake are born. Crake's focus on science and complete disregard of humanity as is (must end the world to create a better one philosophy) is almost scary. At what point does anyone have the right to play god? And who, if anyone, is there to check him? It might not be possible as things stand, but what if a couple of centuries later, someone did figure out how to bring "better" people into the world? Or, why not just leave life to evolution? Is that being too boring?

"As a species we're doomed by hope, then?"

"You could call it hope. That, or desperation."

"But we're doomed without hope as well," said Jimmy.

"Only as individuals," Crake said cheerfully.

"Well, it sucks."

"Jimmy, grow up."

Crake wasn't the first person who had ever said that to Jimmy.

While the Crakers were still being "developed" and taught, the deadly virus strikes, killing everyone but Jimmy, who has never interacted with them earlier, but has promised Oryx that he would take care of them, if disaster struck. It's almost as though she knew what was coming...

Oryx - the sole female protagonist - stayed calm, composed and unearthly throughout the book. Not prone to any extremisms, and in a state of perpetual indifference, Oryx almost came across as a robot. Strange as she had been sold by her parents to a gentleman, and eventually ended up as a child porn star, after which she encountered a string of unpleasant things. But her lack of emotions just made her seem too far and too distant from reality (whereas, I think, the gross exaggeration of Jimmy's childhood gets the reader closer to him).

And so - when Oryx and Crake, and everyone else die, Jimmy starts looking after the Crakers and answering the multitude of questions they throw his way - most of the answers he just makes up as he goes along. Crake has a god-like status amidst his "children" and Jimmy (or Snowman as he is now known) a demi-god-like status. He tries to use it to his advantage, but he really does try to do the right thing. That's what makes Jimmy's character slightly blasé: things happen around him in spite of him. He is not a catalyst, he is not the chemical - he's just the neutral, watching things unfold.

I think that's where my problem with the book lay  the characters! I found I cared little, if at all, about them. Honestly, the only character that seemed to have a real role was Crake, but the narrative was such that it didn't give us much insight into him. Instead, the narrative centred around Jimmy and his battles as he lives with the Crakers by the beach, trying desperately to just - survive. Just thinking aloud - I think it would have been extremely interesting if the book was written from the point of view of Crake, and what was driving him. We get a high-level insight into his philosophies, but... I felt as though I needed more.

What are your favourite dystopian novels? Which would you recommend over all else?

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?

Andrea Levy - The Long Song

I apologise for my thoughts on this book at the very outset. I'm going through a bit of a stressful phase right now, and while normally, it doesn't affect the way I approach books, I'm not completely convinced that it hasn't this time 'round. I mean, The Long Song was longlisted for the Orange Prize, and it's on the Booker longlist as well. It's got to be a good book, right? Well, I didn't finish it, and it wasn't for lack of trying! I put it aside at 150 pages - my edition had 308 pages, so I did read about half of the book, and it failed to engage me at any level. Strange, because the subject matter is intense and well, more often than not, I end up empathising and sympathising with the protagonists and narrators of such stories. This time - absolutely nothing.

Set in the early nineteenth century, this book focuses on the final days of slavery in Jamaica. The primary voice is that of July, a slave born on the sugar plantation called Amity, after her mother was raped by the overseer of the plantation. July was separated from her mother, Kitty, when the plantation owner's sister, Caroline, found her utterly charming and wanted to groom her to be a lady's maid. Caroline, new to Jamaica and the rampant slavery, depended much on July, and the slave girl often took advantage of her mistress' dependence.

Personally, I thought that the writing lacked the intensity that the subject matter deserves, and almost treated the subject frivolously. I also did cringe, occasionally, on reading some of the lines, although I'm willing to bet that Levy intended to have that effect on the reader.

"Stuff up her mouth with rags, come on, come on," he insisted once more. Rose took a rag, dipping it in the water from the pail and brushed it against Kitty's lips. But Tam Dewar, exhaling with annoyance, commanded, "Not like that!" He snatched at the rag that Rose held, then forced the damp cloth down into Kitty's mouth. "Like this, you fool, like this."

Rose protested, "Massa, she birthin', she birthin'!" as Kitty choked to accommodate the bulk of cloth in her mouth.

I don't think I got used to the style of writing either, where the narrator constantly addressed me as "Reader," and it switched between first person (present) and third person (past). And, I really didn't care what happened to the characters - who survived, who didn't.

Maybe I'm being harsh, but despite the writing being simple, I found reading this book a chore, and didn't feel inclined to pick it up. I wish I'd finished this book, to see what the end objective was - and maybe, just maybe, the second half of the book would end up redeeming itself. Have you read this book? Do you think the second half is better/more engrossing than the first?

Have you read Levy's Small Island? I think it's her most talked about book. Would you recommend that over her latest?

J.M. Coetzee - Life and Times of Michael K

Life and Times of Michael K won the Booker Prize in 1983, and it's been one of Coetzee's books that I've wanted to read for a really long time. The name intrigued me: who is Michael K? And, what is it about his life and times that merits a novel?

The first thing the midwife noticed about Michael K when she helped him out of his mother into the world was that he had a hare lip. The lip curled like a snail's foot, the left nostril gaped.

Due to his disfigured cleft, his mother institutionalised him at a young age, and when he grew up, a simpleton, he became a gardener in Cape Town - a lifestyle that suited him, with his social inhibitions and lack of intelligence. However, when his ailing mother requested him to take her back to her hometown, when the country was ravaged by war, he agreed without even thinking twice.

Unfortunately, when his mother dies on the way, and all Michael K is left with is some of her belongings, and her ashes, he continues his journey to her hometown. While many unpleasant events occur en route to Prince Albert, once Michael finds the farm (which he thinks is where his mother grew up), he makes himself comfortable there, and begins gardening again: planting his seeds, and looking after them. He's away from the world, and he quite likes that.

Every now and again though, the story takes a turn, and Michael is forced to live in prisoner camps, and work for his food - something he just cannot fathom. As far as he is concerned, he should not be forced into a life, but choose his way of life. He understands there is a war going on around him, but then again, he just figures he's not a part of this war, for he doesn't want to be. Gardening is in his blood - all else is secondary.

Irritation overflowed in me. "You are not in the war? Of course you are in the war, man, whether you like it or not! This is a camp, not a holiday resort, not a convalescent home: it is a camp where we rehabilitate people like you and make you work!

This is an incredibly sad poignant book, which resonates within you long after you've finished it. It's not overtly verbose, it's not overtly descriptive; but perhaps, a more verbose book would not do justice to the character of Michael K - considered a simpleton, but still clever enough to run away from the government and not get caught? So, what is it about the life and times of Michael K during the War? Is it his refusal to succumb to the government's way of working, as he doesn't want to partake in the war? Or, is it his quest to find a place where he belongs, even if it is far away from humanity? Or, maybe it's simply that he will go to any lengths to not bow down to the metaphorical machine, even if it means harming himself?

Have you read this book? Was Michael K a simpleton, or simply someone hellbent on getting his own way, at any cost?

Have you read anything else by Coetzee? What would you recommend?

James Scudamore - Heliopolis

Ludo, born in the favela of Heliopolis (a shantytown), is "lucky." He's escaped a life of squalor, on being formally adopted by the extremely rich Carnicelli family, who have also hired his mother as a cook in their farmhouse.

When she had nothing but a handful of beans to her name, the tough nugget of pride at her core sustained her. Then along came Ze and Rebecca, and took away that pride, replacing it with impotent gratitude. Like the mythological pelican slashing open her breast to sustain her young, my mother fed me her blood, and she took a mortal blow for me in the process.

Now in his mid-to-late twenties, Ludo reflects on life, the city he lives in, and his rags-to-riches story, which puts him in the awkward role of supposedly knowing both worlds : the squalor and the wealth, and trying to figure out where he belongs.

He's in love with his adopted sister (who he sleeps with occasionally, despite her being married), thinks his job (in advertising) is completely pointless and is mostly passive about most things - almost to the point of the passiveness being criminal! However, he's an insightful narrator, who sometimes has you nod in agreement and sometimes, just chuckle.

Practise your confidence tricks on the street and you risk getting shot by trigger-happy security guards; do it in the office and you get put on the board.

The other primary character, in my opinion, is Sao Paulo itself. The epigraph of this novel is a quote by Marlene Dietrich: Rio is a beauty. But Sao Paulo - Sao Paulo is a city. From a social perspective, the class divide that's shown, the general acceptance of it by the public, and the dignity with which the shantytown dwellers are portrayed makes the novel so much more colourful. Ze (Ludo's adoptive father) has not stepped on the grounds of the city for fifteen years, as his helicopter is his only mode of transportation, as nobody who's anybody gets driven to work in the city these days.

And then of course, you have the ambience of the Brazilian city, which is captured, almost to perfection:

Since the city took off in the nineteenth century, wave after wave of developers have ripped through it, obliterating what lies in their path. But occasionally, the past remains in isolated fragments that seem as if they have escaped the halo of a nuclear explosion.

The novel is fast-paced, and incredibly easy to read. It's not a translation, and Scudamore, in my opinion, has done an amazing job of making the book sound "Brazilian" enough, without anglicising the content overtly - a massive bonus! The other thing that I quite liked about this book was that each of the chapter headings reference food, be it Mango or Orange Juice; Crab Linguine or Feiojada. The food referenced in the chapter heading invariably appears in the chapter, and also plays a role in defining both: the social and cultural aspects of the city.

This is the first book I've read, that's based in Brazil, and I'd love to read more books set in Latin America. Do you have any recommendations? Possibly not a rags-to-riches story (although, I did read an interesting fact : the President of Brazil was buffing shoes and selling peanuts on the streets when he was ten years old! It's a city where the rags-to-riches story aren't always only a fairy-tale!), as I've read a fair few them in the recent past?

Muriel Spark - Loitering With Intent

There's a thin line between reality and fiction; they oft' reflect each other very closely, so much so that the line is indiscernible. But - what happens when reality starts imitating fiction? That's the basic premise of Spark's 1981 novel, starring Fleur Talbot: an aspiring writer in London in the 1950s. She's writing her first novel, Warrender Chase, but she needs a job to get by while she finishes it. And so, she takes up the position of the secretary to Sir Quentin Oliver, and his brainchild: The Autobiographical Association.

The Autobiographical Association comprises of a bunch of people who write their memoirs, which are to be published in the future, when anyone and everyone mentioned in the autobiographies are dead. In a manner of speaking, it's almost like a time capsule.

A myriad of entertaining characters are created by Spark, to fill in the roles of the members of the Association - each more warped than the other. Fleur, the narrator, ends up "enriching" their otherwise mundane autobiographies. However, right before her eyes, the scenes from the office start resembling her novel - which she had started before taking the job! What's is Sir Quentin's end goal? And to what lengths is he ready to go to in order to achieve his end goal?

In Fleur, we have a witty likeable narrator, who says it as she sees it.

I always desired books; nearly all of my bills were for books. I possessed one very rare book which I traded for part of my bill with another bookshop, for I wasn’t a bibliophile of any kind; rare books didn’t interest me for their rarity but their content. I borrowed frequently from the public library, but often I would go into a bookshop and in my longing to possess, let us say, the Collected Poems of Arthur Clough and a new Collected Chaucer, I would get into conversation with the bookseller and run up another bill.

She befriends Sir Quentin's mother, Lady Edwina, who is an eccentric character, with a mischievous side. And then there's the despicable Beryl Tims - the apparent love interest of Sir Quentin - who works with him, and finally, Sir Quentin himself - a character who's extremely unlikeable and becomes a shade more repulsive with each turn of the page. It's these characters that carry this work of metafiction, and makes it a fascinating read.

I think I didn't get enough out of the book, by virtue of not knowing much about a couple of authors (Benvenuto Cellini and John Henry Newman) whose works Fleur (and a couple of other characters) refers to at regular intervals (quoting passages as well), setting them as model autobiographies.

I also thought Warrender Chase sounded like a pretty dreadful book (not one I'd like to read, anyway). Maybe in a parallel universe, where novels are actually a byproduct of reality, this book exists, and the "lucid readers" are singing a different tune. If not that, maybe it has a "cult" following. What do I know?

David Mitchell - The Thousand Autumns Of Jacob De Zoet

In terms of books being confusing and complex, this one ranks right up there. New characters being introduced every couple of pages, the story taking dramatic turns, changing from showing corruption while trading in the 18th-19th century to a surreal adventure story, and there's a love story thrown in, just for good measure as well. But no - that's not all. In fact, that's simplifying it much.

The book has one of the most graphic opening chapters, where a child is coming into the world, already dead. However, by some miracle, Orito (a midwife) saves the life of the child (and the mother). It's 1799 and the place is Nagasaki. Christianity is banned, most of the women are "wives" or prostitutes, and the locals and foreigners interact with the help of "interpreters," as the Dutch aren't allowed to study the local dialect.

The importance of the birth and the sequence of events it triggers isn't obvious in a first chunk of the book. Instead, we're introduced to the Dutchmen who inhabit the artificial island of Dejima - the corrupt greedy Dutch, working for the Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie (VOC, or Dutch East India Company). Most of them are corrupt, trying best to figure out how to forge the books for their own personal gains, but there's the one employee/clerk who puts honour above all else : Jacob de Zoet.

Things get complicated when he falls in love with Orito, the midwife, and they get even further twisted when she's abducted and sent to the Shrine of Shiranui - where she's set to become a nun at a convent. The Shrine isn't really a convent though, and the Goddess isn't really a Goddess. Think The Handmaid's Tale... with a twist.

And here, we've just finished part one of the book! I don't want to give too much away, but the rest of the book is a whirlwind, with things happening at the blink of an eye: power trips and struggles, love, betrayal, tragedy, courage and a thirst for the truth.

The writing is extraordinary - something I've come to expect from David Mitchell's books (despite reading only the two). The ambience he creates almost seems to transport me back to the eighteenth century Dejima/Nagasaki. Considering most of my historical association with Nagasaki stems from August 9, 1945, this was a pleasant change. Mitchell even gave a nod to the growing friction between the English and the Dutch in their quest for power in Asia, and the extent to which the respective parties would go. Fantastic, as it almost seemed like text book stuff - but so much more gripping.

I enjoyed the book, but not as much as number9dream, nor as much as Cloud Atlas. I thought this book was less "fun," and more "serious" - the experimental style of Mitchell's writing does still exist, but I think, the ambition of this novel lay more in the plot than the surrealism or ambiguity that I've come to associate with his writing. I've still got two unread books by David Mitchell, and I'm curious to see how this would compare with them.

Do you have a favourite book by David Mitchell? What do you think makes the book stand out?

Sarah Waters - The Night Watch

Sarah Waters' The Night Watch is the third novel I've read by her, and it's as different as the previous two as it can be. While one was a gothic ghost story set in Warwickshire (The Little Stranger), the other was a Victorian thriller (Fingersmith). And then we have this: a book set (mostly in) London during and after World War II. The book moves chronologically backwards - the opening section starts in 1947, followed by a chunk set in 1944 and finally in 1941. While nothing much happens in the opening section, it does define the state of the main protagonists, and how the years of war have led to their present situation - which isn't exactly joyous.

Maybe it's right after all, what the newspaper prophets say: that one gets paid back in the way one deserves. Maybe we've forfeited our right to happiness, by doing bad things, or by letting bad things happen.

There's Kay, a lonely figure, who is a lesbian and spent the war years being a female ambulance driver, and playing hero. Now, she wanders the streets and goes to the cinema, sometimes just to watch half the movie.

Then we meet Duncan, a young boy who lives with his "Uncle." During the years of war, while most men were being drafted, Duncan was in another kind of hell, which led to his relationship with his family deteriorating further. He now draws comfort from his older sister, Vivian, the only person in the family who still seems to care about him. However, Vivian is fighting her own battles - in a relationship with a married soldier - a secret she harbours closely; Duncan being the only one privy to it. She works with the fourth primary protagonist, Helen, in a matchmaking office, as they try to find the "right" person for whoever enters their office.

Helen, also a lesbian, is in a loving relationship with Julia, a famous author. Yet, her jealousy and paranoia seems go beyond the natural, and one has to wonder as to why...

1944, when the war was at its worse and "blackout" was enforced, the characters real stories come to life, and it's not pretty. Nothing about war is pretty. Kay's work as an ambulance driver sees her recover as many carcasses as people who can actually be helped... maybe even more. She tries to protect those younger and less impressionable, and seems to do the humane thing, as opposed to being a stickler for rules. In the end, she was my favourite character - by far.

We see a horrific botched abortion, by a dentist, and its consequences; discover the houses which are now merely rubble and stone; walk the streets of London with the characters - be it with two women starting an affair, or two other women trying to rescue as many people as they can! Not only do we discover Duncan's past, but, we also witness the meeting of the "glamour girl" Vivian with the soldier, Reggie, in a train lavatory!

Little symbols are scattered through the book - Vivan clutching a gold ring in her hand, and then transferring it to its rightful owner; the most beautiful pair of pyjamas as a birthday present which were never worn; Duncan's job making night lights. The significance of each of these symbols, despite being introduced in the first section, isn't quite apparent immediately. Yet, as you read on, the jigsaw starts coming together and making more sense.

Yet, for everything I liked about this book, I didn't actually love it. Not at all. The lesbianism was overdone, and some of the descriptions was unnecessary. There seemed to be more emphasis on the sexuality of the characters than the actual horror of war, at times. Also, to me (and I might be wrong here), the inclusion of Duncan was simply to have a male perspective as well, but his character, despite being an interesting one, didn't really add much to the story. The authenticity of some of the intertwining stories defied logic (e.g. Reggie-Vivian), and I was left feeling quite confused about Duncan and "Uncle" Horace's relationship.

If you're a Sarah Waters fan, I'd suggest reading it, but, if not, I'd give it a miss. It's nowhere near as good as Fingersmith, so like me, if you are seeking a repeat of that experience, I'd suggest heading in the other direction.

David Mitchell - Cloud Atlas

In January 2009, I was introduced to the wonderful world of David Mitchell by a friend, who lent me the surreal number9dream - a book I absolutely loved. She proceeded to lend me Cloud Atlas next, and it's been sitting abandoned on my unread shelf for about a year now, as I've been reluctant to pick it up for a myriad of reasons - book bloggers everywhere rave about it calling it a favourite, it's considerably chunky at 529 pages, and, well, it's Mitchell's most acclaimed book yet. Anyhow, I finally picked it up about a week back, and rode the long roller-coaster that is this book - it's a heck of a ride, you're almost begging for it to finish (as, all said and done, it is a difficult book to read), but when you eventually do turn the last page, you want to experience it all over again.

The book comprises of six independent stories, that span centuries and the atlas, of which five are told in "halves," revolving around the central tale of the post-apocalyptic future, where humans are living as savages, after The Fall. In the first set of "halves", which goes chronologically, each story is read/seen by a character in the subsequent one. In the second set, the stories start moving backwards, so the characters end up reading/seeing the story that follows. Hence, the opening chapter of the book (the first incomplete half-story) is completed in the last chapter.

The common theme that runs through the book is the presence of a "comet-shaped birthmark" - a distinction present in the protagonist of each story. Does this suggest reincarnation? The existence of the soul across generations? Or, is that merely coincidental?

Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies, an’ tho’ a cloud’s shape nor hue nor size don’t stay the same it’s still a cloud an’ so is a soul. Who can say where the cloud's blowed from or who the soul'll be 'morrow?

The Pacific Journals of Adam Ewing {1850s} : A journal written by an American notary in the Pacific, who befriends an English surgeon as well as a stowaway Moriori. This story is cut off mid-sentence (and comes together nicely as the last chapter)...

Letters from Zedleghem {1931} : A young aspiring bankrupt composer, Robert Frobisher, goes to Belgium to apprentice with a famous composer, hoping to make some easy money, and simultaneously finding some success. Here, he discovers The Pacific Journals in the library...

Not only are there some romantic (and otherwise) twists in the tale, but, as Frobisher details his life in the Belgian estate to an old friend, Sixsmith (in the form of letters), the reader is introduced to Frobisher's biggest work, revolutionary or gimmicky: The Cloud Atlas Sextet.

Half Lives : The First Luisa Rey Mystery {1970s} : We move across the pond for this one, where Luisa Rey is a journalist, and is focusing on a big expose on the Swannekke Island Nuclear Plant in California. Sixsmith is the scientist who gave her the lead for the story, and in time, she reads the letters written to him by Frobisher. Luisa, trying to follow in her father's footsteps, seems to be hellbent on justice (consequentialism), even if it is at the expense of her own life.

The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish {present-day} : The focus shifts to present-day United Kingdom, where Timothy Cavendish is a struggling not-so-moral publisher, but, when he is tricked into admitting himself in an old-age home, with no way out, he starts trying to figure out the best way to escape, which leads to more trouble for him. A manuscript of The First Luisa Rey Mystery was sent to him by an author, and he's contemplating publishing it...

An Orison of Somni 451 {near future} : In this dystopia, where fabricants are slaves to purebloods, Somni 451 has ascended, and managed to develop her own personality, by acquiring immense knowledge. It's a story about the struggle of powers, the violence that emerges and the unfortunate state of things as they stand. She's not a partaker though, merely an observer, who recites her life-story to an Archivist. She was watching the film of Timothy Cavendish, when she was taken away...

Sloosha’s Crossin’ an’ Ev’rythin’ After {Post-apocalyptic future} : Zach'ry is the protagonist here, in a civilisation that considers Somni god, and Ol' Georgie the devil. Zach'ry and his family are savages, in awe of the Smarts, believing that the Soul either reincarnates or gets set to stone. Technology is a myth in this civilisation, and, the people mainly herd goats or the like, living in tribes in forests, fearing invasion and power struggles by the terrifying Kona.

This book is immense - the writing style in each of the stories changes significantly, so much so that they read as completely different stories : from Victorian formal english, peppered with ampersands and other shorthands, to pidgin english which I personally found quite annoying to read. However, each style seems to reflect the age it it set in, appropriately, as well as, the structure of each story seems to be similar to its genre. For example, the Luisa Rey mystery is written in numerous short chapters, much like an airport thriller, whereas, the post-apocalyptic narration is written as a rather long rant.

The common theme that binds these stories together soars above and beyond the comet-shaped birthmark. It's a story about power, domination, and the ultimate quest to rule. The stories stress on the selfishness of people, and how ultimately, this will lead to the inevitable apocalypse.

Yes, the devil shall take the hindmost until the foremost is the hindmost. In an individual, selfishness uglifies the soul; for the human species, selfishness is extinction.

While I enjoyed this book, parts of the stories just didn't grab me, and I was left quite unsure as to what's going on, and how these stories are inter-linked together. Why isn't it just a book of short stories? A much less author might have done that... or, attempted six different novels, with completely different themes. However, Mitchell, managed to tie most of the loose ends together, and left me questioning my own existence, and the power of one individual. It's an ambitious work, but, in my opinion, Mitchell's managed to pull it off surprisingly well.