David Mitchell - Utopia Avenue

Under different circumstances, I’d say I finally got ‘round to reading this book published last summer. But, that would be an incorrect use of ‘finally’. After all, I only read Slade House earlier this year, and that was published—and has sat pretty on my bookshelf—since 2015. But, usually, I devour Mitchell’s books as soon as they are released. I mean, how can one not?

Reading Mitchell is like meeting an old friend in a hidden old-forgotten bar (or the Eagles-esque sad café) talking about old friends you used to know and where they are now. It’s familiar, it’s comfortable, it’s peaceful. People you got to know in old novels make an appearance, descendants of people you previously read about show up, as do fictional literary works that only exist in Mitchell’s metaverse.

And, in the case of Utopia Avenue, so do some of my favourite artists from the 1960s and 70s, be it David Bowie or Syd Barrett. Heck, even John Lennon is spotted at a party.

Wait, let’s backtrack a bit.

Set in the 1960s music scene, during the Vietnam war, a little-known band called Utopia Avenue is trying to break into the music scene. Four very talented, very different personalities with very different backgrounds come together, handpicked by their quintessentially non-sleazy manager. There’s Dean Moss, the vocalist who writes songs and plays the bass guitar; Jasper De Zoet (if you’re familiar with Mitchell’s work, that family name will ring a bell), a (psychedelic) guitar genius, with autwho also writes his own songs; Elf Holloway, a folksy songwriter who plays the guitar and keyboard and had some success in the folk music scene; and finally Peter “Griff” Griffin, the drummer. Moss and Griff are both working class, De Zoet has family money and comes from Dutch aristocracy, and Hollway is middle-class from London.

Together, they form Utopia Avenue, a band that pulls from all the genres its members splash in, and don’t box themselves into a single genre. A band that doesn’t thrive on conflict or competition between the songwriters, but sometimes just let the roll-of-a-dice decide what the next single will be. A four-member band with one woman who gets exasperated with how she is often-ignored, but also has tremendous empathy for every single one of her bandmates who through the course of the novel admire and respect both: her talent and personality.

Through all of this, the individual members of the band go through their own struggles, battling their own demons. The story is written mostly chronologically with plenty of flashbacks—flashbacks that often drive the creative process of composing new song and verse—where each chapter focuses on one of the songwriters and their headspace, be it with respect to their career trajectory or their past or their life.

There are chapters that will make you cry, painfully beautifully written, capturing the horrors of human life and death. There are chapters that will make you wonder if one of the bandmembers is having psychotic episodes or if Knock-Knock actually does reside in his head and the Mongolian monk successfully cauterised Knock-Knock. If this sounds familiar, it’s because it builds upon characters and concepts introduced in Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet and The Bone Clocks.

Reading this 550+ page book in just under a week, I was rooting for the success of the band, and eagerly looking forward to reading about their next set of escapades. The characters are flawed, but mostly decent. Their love for music and admiration for each other (whilst occasionally being frustrated with each other) drives the story, and makes them all seem very real and very human. And, you don’t know which 60s rockstar is going to make a cameo appearance next.

But, also, since it’s been about seven years since I read The Bone Clocks and maybe 10 years since I read Thousand Autumns, I really just want to dive back into the Mitchell metaverse, as we wait for his next book (which, sadly, might be a while, as he’s working on the Matrix 4 movie).

Gabriel García Márquez - Leaf Storm

It's been just over a year since I read Of Love And Other Demons, so I figured it's time to read another book by one of my favourite authors. Well, not exactly. I had just pulled out four books from my bookshelf as I headed for a week long respite from reality, and ended up talking to one of my colleagues about the books I was taking with me. So, he mentioned that his favourite authors were Camus and Calvino (neither of which have any presence on this blog, embarrassingly - I really need to catch up on their works! I've only read the one Calvino!!). I automatically replied that Márquez is one of my favourites, and then realised that I have an unread book by him on the shelf, so surely - surely, it should travel with me. And so it did. Leaf Storm is Márquez's first published work, and it took him seven years to find a publisher for the book, before it was eventually released in 1955. While Márquez claims this is his favourite work, ambivalence floods me. I can categorically state that this isn't my favourite work by the Nobel Prize laureate. It's not even in the top three, but, the novella does still wow me. Márquez seems to have that effect on me every single time.

The entire novel is set in a single room, on one afternoon. Three voices from three generations - the Colonel, his daughter, and his grandson - take centerstage, as the Colonel attempts to keep a promise made a long time ago: give the much-disliked French doctor a Christian burial.

The doctor arrived in Macondo, a village one might know from One Hundred Years of Solitude, on the same day as the village priest, and while the latter became an influential part of the society, the doctor made himself fairly unpopular. He lived with the Colonel for eight years, and then, moved two houses down with the housemaid. Through all the time the Colonel knew him, he never knew his name.

While the premise is straightforward, and the scope of the book tightly contained, the wonder of the book lies in the stream-of-consciousness narration of the three protagonists, as they reflect on the current state of affairs, what brought them here, and how their actions here (to bury the doctor) will influence their future in a village, which once prosperous, has gone back to being poverty-stricken, after the leaf storm passed. Amidst other things, the reader is privy to the circumstances surrounding the Colonel's daughter's wedding, the thoughts of the child as he encounters death for the first time, the commitment of the Colonel, and of course, the explanation behind why the doctor is as unpopular as he is.

What was incredible was being re-introduced to the fictional village of Macondo, and Colonel Aureliano Buendía making an appearance again - even if it was only as the writer of the letter which the doctor gave the Colonel on first arriving in the village, which led to the Colonel extending an invitation to the doctor to stay at his house. There is something quite special about finding old friends in new books, and being on familiar ground. Of course, in this case, Leaf Storm is the predecessor to One Hundred Years Of Solitude, but, that's a small detail.

For me, the difficulty in this book arose while trying to figure out which character was narrating at any given point in time. For the most part, it was not that laborious, albeit at times, passages had to be re-read, in order to determine who the narrator was, and personally, I found that diminished the reading experience.

All in all though, as a one-shot, and as a first novel(la), this really must be read - specially by fans of Márquez. Have you read this novella? What did you think? And more importantly, which of Márquez's works should I read next?

John Updike - The Widows of Eastwick

Updike's Rabbit series has been on my to-read list for a very long time, so I'm not quite sure how my foray into his world started with his final book, published in 2008. And, as the blurb on the back didn't say anything about this book being a sequel of sorts to The Witches of Eastwick, which is also kind-of unfortunate for I approached this book as standalone. Which it possibly isn't. That said though, this book can easily be read in isolation. It's just that, sometimes, context is a good thing. But, anyway... The Widows of Eastwick follows three witches who used to be friends in their youth, but have since gone their own separate ways, in marriage and parenthood. However, once their husbands have died, and the children move away, the "three old ladies, gone brittle and dry in their corruption" reunite.

As widowed Americans, they travel - first it's Alexandra who goes to Canada alone, and then it's Jane and Alexandra who go to Egypt together, and finally, the coven come together with Sukie, as they travel to China. This part of the book reads more like a travel brochure than a piece of fiction, and while descriptions are normally a good thing, this was just incredibly slow-moving, and had me longing for an uptick in pace.

The wait didn't last too long, for when the witches visit the hometown they had run away from one summer, things start getting interesting. They gather that their crimes from the yesteryears would be forgotten by now, and nostalgia coupled with curiosity leads them back home. It doesn't sound plausible, but as a reader, you go with it, for you want to see why Updike is taking the witches back to the scene of their past crimes - is it atonement, or is it for the victims to exact revenge?

The homecoming isn't quite what they imagined. Eastwick has unsurprisingly changed over the years, from the fun hick place they all remember,  to a homogenised one. For the most part, they are forgotten, but they meet Christopher Gabriel, who blames the witches for the unfortunate demise of his sister - and he is looking for recrimination by casting spells on the witches using electricity. This is serious mumbo-jumbo territory. The witches look to magic, in an effort to protect themselves, but... is it too little too late?

I hate saying this, but the book really did leave a lot to be desired. None of the protagonists were in the least likeable. Forget likeable, I couldn't even relate to them at any level. The story came across as forced and instead of witchcraft, the theme seemed to be about three old ladies repenting their past - or the past they couldn't have.

From the reviews I've read, this does not sound like Updike's best work, so I suspect there will be more Updike on my reading list soon, for if nothing else, his writing is quite accessible (which surprised me). What would you recommend? And, should I go back to read about the shenanigans of the witches in their youth?

Haruki Murakami - The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

I'm not quite sure where to begin, but after finishing a Murakami novel, that's not altogether too surprising. The Wind Up Bird Chronicle is oft' touted as Murakami's best and most notable work, and that's what I was hoping for - to be completely blown away. And yet, despite the book being bizarre and ambitious in equal measure, I was left disappointed. The book starts out with Toru, the protagonist, looking for a cat adopted by him and his wife, that's gone missing. Toru has quit his job, has no real ambition, and is just drifting through life, trying to figure out what is it he wants to do, while his wife brings home the money.

When the initial search for the cat is fruitless, he ventures further out to the "alley", and ends up meeting a high-school dropout, May Kasahara. His relationship with May evolves, and is almost bordering on pedophiliac. Still no luck finding the cat, so, he ropes in Malta and Creta Kano - the two psychic sisters, both of whom have interesting life stories, and end up visiting Toru in his dreams, as well as in reality.

And then, as things go, his wife leaves home for work one day, but never returns. In due course, our protagonist discovers that she's left him, without  a word. As one does. And then, a sequence of extraordinary events, and interactions with fascinating characters sees his life spin (or should I say, tailspin?) out of control, where he's no longer the master of his own destiny; instead, he's struggling to figure out what on earth's going on.

There's the experiences as he sits in solitude at the bottom of the dry well, and then there's the mysterious phone calls; the dreams which aren't really dreams, and the reality that's a tad distorted. All of it is a bit confusing - I'm all for magical realism, but this is just a little too over the top; a little too cryptic.

The book does cover a lot - from World War II, and the story of the solider and the spy, which had me absolutely gripped, to World War II, and the story of the animals that were heartlessly massacred, which had me depressed and lamenting.

'The officer gave his order, and the bullets from the Model 38 rifles ripped through the smooth hide of a tiger, tearing at the animal's guts. The summer sky was blue, and from the surrounding trees the screams of cicadas rained down like a sudden shower.''

It has the obligatory contemporary political slant, which most books by Murakami (that I've read) touch upon, if not focus on. And, again, as expected, there's romance that fades away; and female characters all carrying way too much baggage. Add on strange names for some of the characters (Cinnamon and Nutmeg), and even stranger life stories, and it's all Murakami.

The thing is, I just really struggled to comprehend what was going on, and why. And then it all fizzled out, and became even more ambiguous and abstract - the second half of the book, that is. Normally, I love ambiguity and magical realism, but here, it just didn't "fit", I thought. Sometimes, it be that way. All the more disappointing, as I was glued to the first third/half of the book.

Have you read this much-acclaimed book? Were you as underwhelmed as I am, or is it just me?

Angela Carter - Nights At The Circus

When you start a book by Angela Carter, there's only one thing that's certain: you have no idea what you're in for; nothing's too crazy, nothing's too bizarre. And of course, that's why you love Angela Carter. Okay, scratch that. That's why I love Angela Carter. A story partly inspired by the myth of Leda and the swan, Nights at the Circus is a dazzling story about Fevvers, the winged aerialiste, who's bamboozled the world, and has everyone questioning if the wings are real, or a mere trick.

The story starts in London in 1899, in Fevver's dressing room, where Jack Walser - an experienced journalist - is interviewing Fevvers. As she recounts the story of her life - being born (or hatched from an egg), abandoned by her real parents; and brought up in a brothel, having an ordinary childhood, her wings sprouting as she hit puberty - Walser is enamoured, as is the reader. However, every now and again, an element of doubt creeps in: how much of this story is fabricated, how much is real?

As she continues her tale, of how she ended up at the circus, as an aerialiste, she weaves a magic tale, which is totally unbelievable but still makes you wonder... could it be?! Walser, still in search of the truth, at the end of the first section, decides to go undercover, and join the circus act as a clown.

The grand imperial tour takes the protagonists to Petersburg, where the action actually commences, as opposed to London, where it was almost like a long monologue from Fevvers, with very few interruptions from Lizzie (her adoptive mother) and Jack. In Petersburg though, the story becomes downright incredulous (yes, even more incredulous than the first bit!). The tale that Carter weaves, the imagery it evokes, the scenes from the circus act that are detailed - it's all breathtaking.

Outside the window, there slides past that unimaginable and deserted vastness where night is coming on, the sun declining in ghastly blood-streaked splendour like a public execution across, it would seem, half a continent, where live only bears and shooting stars and the wolves who lap congealing ice from water that holds within it the entire sky. All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be used or touched. Horrors! And, as on a cyclorama, this unnatural spectacle rolls past at twenty-odd miles an hour in a tidy frame of lace curtains only a little the worse for soot and drapes of a heavy velvet of dark, dusty blue.

...And then there's the characterisation; rich characters, with colourful histories and overwhelming personalities. Take Mignon, for example:

She had the febrile gaiety of a being without a past, without a present, yet she existed thus, without memory or history, only because her past was too bleak to think of and her future too terrible to contemplate; she was the broken blossom of the present tense.

In the world of Angela Carter though, her luck does take a turn for the better, and one does believe that there can be happy endings. At least, for a few moments. But as we continue in the surrealistic world so artfully conjured up (am I gushing?), a tiger must be shot, a murder attempt is made during an act, and Fevvers continues to astound everyone (and eventually get herself in trouble), while Wolser is no closer to determining the veracity of her story.

As the show wraps up in Petersburg, and moves on to the bleak forests of Siberia, the narrative continues in its bizarre vein, where a railroad "accident" caused by the outlaws has resulted in memory-loss striking a chief character, the circus disintegrating, but the protagonists looking forward to the turn of the century as a sign of hope, and new things to come. It's that last line though, that confuses the living daylights out of me, and makes me re-question everything I've read in the book. I read this book about a month back, but the mind still boggles; the implications are still hazy.

Magical realism at its best, the strong female characters - an anomaly in the nineteenth century, the sexuality and the sheer madness of it all is fantastic. You question everything, deliberate on each sentence, try sizing up the characters, but there is no stereotyping them. It's a parody on all the fairy-tales you know and love; it's inspired by all the myths that don't add up, but still exist in our world; it's just - Angela Carter.

So, if you enjoy a foray into the world of surrealism and magical realism, and want to be completely blown away, give this a go!

Téa Obreht - The Tiger's Wife

Téa Obreht, at the age of twenty-five, won the Orange Prize for her debut novel, The Tiger's Wife, which was given to me as a birthday present on my twenty-sixth birthday. In the blogging universe, the opinions on the book were widely divided, and I wasn't quite sure what to expect.

Almost immediately, I was struck by how direct and wonderful the writing is - it's emotive without being sensational, and it's beautiful without being hyperbolic.

Set against the backdrop of the Balkan civil wars, Natalia, the narrator traces back to her childhood and recalls the stories her grandfather told her, after she finds out about his death in a strange city from her grandmother. He had told the family that he was going to visit Natalia, but... that was not the case.

As Natalia embarks on a journey to figure out who her grandfather was, she realises that there are two stories - two legends, if you like - which sum up her grandfather's life.

Everything necessary to understand my grandfather lies between two stories: the story of the tiger’s wife, and the story of the deathless man. These stories run like secret rivers through all the other stories of his life – of my grandfather’s days in the army; his great love for my grandmother; the years he spent as a surgeon and a tyrant of the University. One, which I learned after his death, is the story of how my grandfather became a man; the other, which he told to me, is of how he became a child again.

Her grandfather was an avid animal lover, with a special place in his heart for tigers, and he oft' took Natalia to see the tigers at the local zoo, before war erupted and the zoo was forced to shut down, resulting in a strain in the relationship between the two - a strain that they conquered with time. I found myself completely floored by some of the thoughts put forward by Natalia's grandfather, who, despite being the secondary character, took centerstage.

"You must understand, this is one of those moments."

"What moments?"

"One of those moments you keep to yourself," he said.

"What do you mean?" I said. "Why?"

"We're in a war," he said. "The story of this war -- dates, names, who started it, why -- that belongs to everyone. Not just the people involved in it, but the people who write newspapers, politicians thousands of miles away, people who've never even been here or heard of it before . But something like this -- this is yours. It belongs only to you. And me. Only to us."

The multiple narratives that transpire - the story of the deathless man, the story of the tiger's wife, the present-day mission that Natalia is on (to help young children at an orphanage across the border) and the story of her grandfather's life - on her quest are handled effortlessly and had me gripped throughout. Perhaps some of the stories were fictional fables, perhaps some were plain superstitions. Indeed, some were not even believable, but all of that took a backseat while I read the legends and tried to work out how they all fit together.

While the relationship between the grandfather and granddaughter was the essence of the book, what had me captivated was the awe and reverence that the scenes about the tiger invoked. Tigers are one of my favourite animals - they are definitely the most regal, and command all the respect in the world. However, to be completely honest, I've never once spared a thought to how wars affect animals.

The tiger did not know that they were bombs. He did not know anything beyond the hiss and screech of the fighters passing overhead, missiles falling, the sound of bears bellowing in another part of the fortress, the sudden silence of birds. There was smoke and terrible warmth, a gray sun rising and falling in what seemed like a matter of minutes, and the tiger, frenzied, dry-tongued, ran back and forth across the span of the rusted bars, lowing like an ox. He was alone and hungry, and that hunger, coupled with the thunderous noise of bombardment, had burned in him a kind of awareness of his own death, an imminent and innate knowledge he could neither dismiss nor succumb to. He did not know what to do with it. His water had dried up, and he rolled and rolled in the stone bed of his trough, in the uneaten bones lying in a corner of the cage, making that long sad sound that tigers make.

I loved this book, and would recommend it greatly... and I look forward to Obreht's next book.

Gabriel García Márquez - Of Love And Other Demons

Last year, I mentioned how I'm trying to read one book by Gabriel García Márquez every year. That was a resolution I made on reading my first novel by the Nobel Prize laureate (One Hundred Years of Solitude), but now - now, I'm thinking, why shouldn't I read them back-to-back? That gives me ample time to go back and enjoy each of his books again, and again, and - you get the idea, right? This novella re-affirms the conclusion I reached. At only 160 pages, it's a fairly quick read, but I already feel like re-reading it, and losing myself in the wondrous world so skillfully created by Márquez.

Set in Latin America in the eighteenth century, this bleak story is about a twelve year old, Sierva Maria, who is brought up by the slaves in her parents' estate. She imbibes the cultures, languages and traditions of the slaves, and is closer to them than to her own parents who have little, if any, time for her. Subsequently, she's also prone to fabricating stories and exaggerating the truth, as per her convenience - sometimes, for no rhyme or reason ("She wouldn't tell the truth even by mistake").

When she is bitten by a rabid dog, despite not showing any signs of hydrophobia, people assume that she's either rabid, or possessed by a demon.This changes her father's attitude towards her, as he showers her with more love and affection, and tries to save her, but is forced to listen to the bishop, who believes that an exorcism is to be performed to cleanse the girl, despite the famous Jewish physician, Abrenuncio, dismissing the possibility of any such possession. In a world of wild beliefs and crazy superstitions, Abrenuncio is one of the few pragmatic minds, but the Bishop's belief that rabies is one of the forms the demon can adopt to enter the human body is popularly accepted.

Subsequently, Sierva Maria is incarcerated to the convent at St. Clara, where the Cayetano Delaura, the chief exorcist, is assigned to her. Delaura, almost typically, falls in love with the girl, and tries to figure out a way to save her life, with the help of Abrenuncio. However, because the girl's ways is so different from what they accept, it's almost impossible to cast the accusations aside. Her familiarity with the slave traditions, and the ease with which she speaks their languages and blends in with them is essentially why no one believes that she is perfectly unblemished, despite the bite.

Delaura, an extremely religious person, and the Bishop's trusted subordinate, tries sticking up for the girl, as love for the girl thirty years his junior, possesses him, but in a world where superstitions are predominant and rational reasoning dismissed, he is fighting a lost battle.

What are the demons though? Rabies? Traditions? Superstitions? Clashing of cultures - the Christians and the slaves? Or, love? And how does one overcome these demons? More importantly, can they be overcome?

People are desperate to cling on to the supernatural in order to explain some of the calamities that occur in their lives, at the expense of ignoring completely rational explanations. Is it that they don't know better, or that they choose not to know better? In this incredibly dark and gloomy book, Marquez again creates a world that shows the class divide and how the religious customs take precedence over all else. Despite this being a comparatively short read, the depth of the story and the emotions it evokes linger on long after you put the book back on the shelf.

Have you read anything by this incredibly talented Nobel Laureate? Which book is your favourite?

Mikhail Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita

It's taken me a little over a month to finish this book, and I must say, it's probably one of my greatest reading accomplishments 'til date. I found the first eighty-four pages tremendously trying, the next one-hundred-and-fifty odd pages amazing, and I was actually totally hooked to the 'Book 2' of this intimidating classic. At the very outset, I am compelled to admit I don't think I understood the whole book. Large portions of it had me baffled, and I questioned my resolve to continue reading it more than once. At the end of the day, though, I am glad that I read it, for a multitude of reasons which I'll explain further down. In fact, the book is already begging for a re-read, just because I think I, as the reader, will benefit greatly from the re-read.

Set in the 1930s Moscow, where Stalin was the head of state, the basic premise of this book is that the devil (Satan) strolls into Moscow with his entourage to wreak havoc. In case you're wondering, Stalin and Satan aren't interchangeable here, despite this book being a political satire.

In the opening chapter, two members of MASSOLIT (a literary organisation in Moscow) are debating on the existence of god by the Patriarch's Ponds. A foreigner introduces himself to them, apologises for the intrusion but justifies it by saying that the subject of your learned conversation is so interesting that...

The foreigner who goes by the name of Woland is the devil, and he predicts the impending unexpected death of Berlioz, one of the writers. His theory was that Jesus did exist, a theory that the two writers refuted. Berlioz's tragic death is only the first of a series of unexpected events that hit Moscow. There's a seance where money rains down, and the women of the city end up walking the streets in nothing but their undergarments, people get teleported to Yalta, the phone lines break, and devil knows, something bizarre is going on...

So, where do "the Master" and "Margarita" fit in? It's a good question, and it takes a while for that to be addressed, as the first part of this book essentially deals with the chaos and confusion created by Woland and his gang, which includes the unforgettable talking cat in the bow-tie, Behemoth. The first book also goes back in time, and has a semi-fictional account of Pontius Pilate, and the role he played in Jesus' persecution followed by the crucifixion itself.

It's Book Two that revolves around the titular characters. Margarita is the grieving wife of an unsuccessful author, "the master," who has disappeared into the oblivion and she has no idea as to where he is; is he dead or alive. In reality, he's gone over the edge, and is in a psychiatric institution. Now, Satan needs a woman called Margarita to host a midnight ball, where the catch is, the woman has to be native to the city. There are a hundred-and-twenty-one potential hostesses but the master's Margarita is the chosen one. She builds up a rapport with the devil himself, becomes a witch, in return for something...

It's the entire exchange between the devil and Margarita that had me wondering about the first half of the book, where the devil was shown to be an entity toying with the lives of people, without reason. The second half of the book did, in a manner of speaking, highlight the kind of people the devil was victimising in the first half. It was the greedy and the selfish, the people who were successful due to their vices, not their virtues, the people who we'd call weasels, the bureaucrats and the opportunists. People, who in my humble opinion, deserve to be reprimanded, deserve to be punished. Even today, the weasels seem to be the ones who are successful and go far in their lives, whereas the hardworking ones seem to be stuck in a rut, and I think that's unfair... excuse the slight aside, but when realisation hit me towards the end of the book, I was sympathising with the devil himself!

And yes, the lyrics of the Stones' Sympathy for the Devil did come back to me at that point. I love the Stones, I love Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and Brian Jones and... Have you ever heard the lyrics? I did look up the song on Wikipedia once I'd finished this book, and it didn't really surprise me that part of it had been inspired by this work of fiction!

Please allow me to introduce myself I'm a man of wealth and taste I've been around for a long, long year Stole many a man's soul and faith

And I was 'round when Jesus Christ Had his moment of doubt and pain Made damn sure that Pilate Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Pleased to meet you Hope you guess my name But what's puzzling you Is the nature of my game

So, yes, this is a satirical confusing bizarre story, where too many characters are introduced, and too many of them have too short a role to play. I found myself questioning the introduction of some of these characters, considering their short life in the novel, and couldn't really come up with an answer. It's humorous in bits, and thought-provoking in chunks. The characters are mesmerising and some of the scenes incredible.

And an unheard-of thing occurred. The  fur bristled on the cat's back, and he gave a rending miaow. Then he compressed himself into a ball and shot like a panther straight at Bengalsky's chest, and from there on to his head. Growling, the cat sank his plump paws into the skimpy chevelure  of the master  of ceremonies and  in two  twists tore the head from  the thick neck with a savage howl.

The banter is hilarious, and it does provide some relief from the otherwise confusing bewildering narrative.

'Well, what's all this now?' exclaimed Woland. `Why have you gilded your whiskers? And what the devil do you need the bow-tie for, when you're not even wearing trousers?'

'A cat is not supposed to wear trousers, Messire,' the cat replied with great dignity. 'You're not going to tell me to wear boots, too, are you? Puss-in-Boots exists only in fairy tales, Messire. But have you ever seen anyone at a ball without a bow-tie? I do not intend to put myself in a ridiculous situation and risk being chucked out! Everyone adorns himself with what he can. You may consider what I've said as referring to the opera glasses as well, Messire!'

'But the whiskers? ...'

'I don't understand,' the cat retorted drily. 'Why could Azazello and Koroviev put white powder on themselves as they were shaving today, and how is that better than gold? I powdered my whiskers, that's all! If I'd shaved myself, it would be a different matter! A shaved cat - now, that is indeed an outrage, I'm prepared to admit it a thousand times over. But generally,' here the cat's voice quavered touchily, 'I see I am being made the object of a certain captiousness, and I see that a serious problem stands before me - am I to attend the ball? What have you to say about that, Messire?'

Have you read this book? Or attempted to read it? What did you think? Worth a read? I'd recommend it...

What's the most confusing bizarre book that you've read? I think this is mine, hands down, beating Murakami's Kafka on the Shore...

Haruki Murakami - Kafka On The Shore

Surrealism. I've reached the conclusion that it's the only word that can be used to describe Murakami's books. Kafka on the Shore is no exception. Leeches and fish rain down, there's a character called Johnnie Walker, and another called Colonel Saunders (of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame), a mysterious childhood "accident" results in one of the characters being able to speak to cats, and there's a portal to a parallel universe. The book follows two characters in interleaving chapters: Fifteen year old runaway, Kafka Tamura and Nakata, an elderly man who is considered "dumb" by most as he is unable to read or write. While neither of them are aware of the other's existence, there's a greater (almost supernatural) force that connects them.

Kafka ran away from home, after this father had cursed him with the Oedipus prophecy: that he would kill his father, and sleep with his mother and sister. His mother and sister had left home when he was merely four years old, and he has no recollection of them whatsoever. He figures he just has to be the toughest fifteen year old boy. Or, so "a boy called Crow" tells him.

And I bet the longer I live, the emptier, the more worthless, I'll become. Something's wrong with this picture. Life isn't supposed to turn out like this! Isn't it possible to shift direction, to change where I'm headed?"

Then there's Nakata, who fell unconscious after a bizarre attack while he was still at school. This so-called "attack" left sixteen children unconscious, but when they came to, their memories and intelligence was left intact. They simply had no recollection of the event itself. Nakata, however, lost all his intelligence, and his ability to read or write. Instead, he was bestowed with the ability to talk to cats, which led to him earning a little money by finding lost cats, in addition to the government "sub city" (subsidy) he received.

Kafka runs away to Takamatsu in Shikoku, and starts working in a small private library. He befriends the librarian, Oshima, as well as gets closer to the beautiful albeit melancholy Ms. Saeki, the manager - a lady who still mourns the demise of her long lost love, who was killed about thirty years previously.

Nakata, on the other hand, runs into a dangerous man, Johnnie Walker, in Kafka's hometown, who is kidnapping cats, and then killing them brutally in order to make a flute of their souls. In order to save the cats, Nakata ends up killing the man and then following his "fate" - he doesn't know what it is, but he'll know it when he sees it.

This was an obscure novel, which on finishing, I had more questions than answers. Who is "the boy named crow"? Did Kafka succumb to his fate, or did he manage to avoid it? Can ghosts of living people exist? Can ghosts of people's past exist? What connected the two characters? And, what actually happened to Nakata in his childhood, that left him bereft of his intelligence?

Don't get me wrong - I enjoyed this book, as I do most Murakamis. And, I would recommend it. Just remember, if and when you read it, it'll be a hell of a ride, and you'll be second guessing everything right till the last page - and beyond. While some bits were tedious to read, all in all, the characters and the surrealism made it a must-read for me.

Note: Kafka on the Shore is the first Murakami I ever had on my shelf. It was given to me as a present sometime in 2008, and I kept "saving it" for the right occasion. I planned on reading it when I went on holiday to Barbados last year, as part of the Japanese Literature Challenge 3 hosted by Bellezza last year, and a couple of other times as well. Finally read it about a year later, while the Japanese Literature Challenge 4 is being held. Have been meaning to write a post about the challenge itself for awhile, but kept getting sidetracked. Apologies.

Anyway, head over to Bellezza's, to find more reviews of Japanese Literature, and to see what everyone else is reading. Hope to see some of your reviews around as well. :)

José Saramago - Death At Intervals

Death At Intervals (also published as Death With Interruptions) is an extremely surreal book by the Nobel Laureate, José Saramago. In a country (not necessarily futuristic), people have stopped dying one new year's day, in spite of illness, accidents and life in general. The different strata of society react differently: people are initially joyous as they contemplate immortality; the religious people and the philosophers try debating it out - without death, what is the point of religion - and, the politicians, who try and figure out the socio-economic repercussions.

However, the implications of immortality are far severe than people initially realised, and while they resort to euthanasia, and taking relatives outside the country, in order to die a natural death, a new criminal organisation, the maphia, come into action, who provide the services of ensuring old, ill and suffering family members die.

The maphia would not be what it is had it failed to find a solution to the problem. It really is a shame, if you will allow us a brief aside, that the brilliant intellects leading these criminal organisations should have departed from the strait and narrow path of respect for the law and disobeyed the wise biblical precept that urges us to earn our daily bread by the sweat of our brow, but facts are facts, and while repeating adamastor's sad words, ah, but my heart is sick to tell the tale, we will set down here the distressing news of the trick deployed by the maphia to get round a difficulty which was, to all appearances, insoluble.

While the first half of this book asks the important philosophical questions about the importance of death, and debates euthanasia, the second half of the book has the anthropomorphic death herself as the narrator. The significance of "death" signing off with a "d" instead of "D" is also discussed, when she (yes, death is anthropomorphised as a female) sends a letter to a newspaper editor, where she says Death is far scarier and omniscient than she, herself.

She changes tactics, from ensuring no one dies to sending a letter to the victim a week prior to his death, so that he has sufficient time to wrap up his affairs. Of course, when it comes to death, a heads up might not be the best way forward....

I can't say I enjoyed the book despite its interesting premise though. It's not that I didn't enjoy it - I just found the writing really difficult to read at times (above quote withstanding). The punctuation is random, and even long conversations lacked quotations, so much so that I had to go back and re-read chunks to figure out the flow of the conversation.

Don't get me wrong - it is a fantastic book with captivating debates on politics, religion and economics, and I think it's one of those that would definitely be worth a re-read.

Have you read this book by Saramago? Or, any others? How do they compare? I think I'd like to try Blindness next....

Haruki Murakami - A Wild Sheep Chase

The amazing thing about Murakami's books is, you never know what you're going to get - when that bridge between reality and surrealism will get crossed, and, what avenues the surrealism will take. Past experiences with Murakami have also taught me that the story is not going to be like anything I've read before. Experience is a great teacher. A Wild Sheep Chase, originally published in the early 1980s, is literally the story about a young man (who is a partner at an ad agency and PR firm) and his girlfriend's (a girl with the most sensual ears) quest to find a sheep - not just any sheep, but a sheep with a star on its back; a sheep that, by all rights, shouldn't exist in Japan, where all sheep breeds have always been monitored and documented closely. You could say that their search is a metaphorical wild goose chase, but....

So, what's special about the sheep with the star on its back? Well, he's this omnipotent super-intelligent power, that takes over human beings, and makes them immense despite their innate mediocrity. However, when the sheep's finished using one person, it leaves the body, in search for its next target, leaving the previous inhabitant sheepless.

In the story, the sheep had inhabited inside the right-wing Boss, a character who sat at top of the Tokyo food chain. Boss was mediocre; there was nothing special about him, until the sheep took over, and made him the single power that controlled almost all the advertising, stock markets and even information services in Tokyo. In 1936, Boss had been diagnosed with a fairly large brain tumour, which hadn't killed him - the miracle lay in him still being alive! Now, sheepless, the boss is at the brink of death, and his right-hand man manages to corner the book's narrator to search for the sheep, so that the Boss can be effectively replaced at the top, and the network built over the years will not disintegrate into nothing. The narrator does attempt putting a feeble fight, when he's cornered, but, the rest, as they say, is history.

Nor do you know where you stand. Now listen, I thought it over last night. And it struck me. What have I got to feel threatened about? Next to nothing. I broke up with my wife, I plan to quit my job today, my apartment is rented, and I have no furnishings worth worrying about. By way of holdings, I've got maybe two million yen in savings, a used car, and a cat who's getting on in years. My clothes are all out of fashion, and my records are ancient. I've made no name for myself, have no social credibility, no sex appeal, no talent. I'm not so young anymore, and I'm always saying dumb things that I later regret. In a word, to borrow your turn of phrase, I am an utterly mediocre person. What have I got to lose? If you can think of anything, clue me in, why don't you?

And yes, that's the narrator for you! You might have noticed I haven't used any names - just references - and that's because Murakami himself doesn't use any names in the books.

The book is a timeless universal one, where the narrator could have as easily been running an ad agency in the States, as in London, as in... well, Tokyo! Quoting Murakami:

There's not a branch of publishing or broadcasting that doesn't depend in some way on advertising. It'd be like an aquarium without water. Why, 95 percent of the information that reaches you has already been preselected and paid for.

The journey taken by the nameless narrator and his girlfriend takes them to places far and remote, where the population is in the thousands. They meet plenty of fascinating people referred to as the Sheep Professor - someone who was once inhabited by the sheep, but is now sheepless, and has devoted the rest of his life searching for the sheep; the Sheep Man - a person who is half-sheep, half-man; and Rat - an old friend of the narrator, who actually lands the narrator in his present situation.

While the narrator undergoes a physically challenging and mentally exhausting journey (peppered with sex, cigarettes, alcohol, and Sherlock Holmes), the reader embarks on a philosophical journey, in order to determine what the search is actually for. What does the sheep symbolise? Totalitarian power? The devil? And, what is the sheep searching for, that makes him constantly discard people and occupy others? Sufficient weakness to takeover, and turn the victim's weaknesses into a thing of the past? And, what will the outcome of this search be? Will sheep end up ruling the world, by occupying people, through their supreme intelligence?

Murakami's casual style of writing, filled with modern day references and thought-provoking allegories makes for a good read. Add to that the surrealism, the randomness, and the incredibly fascinating characters, and the good read becomes and extremely captivating one.

Carlos Ruiz Zafón - The Angel's Game

I absolutely loved The Shadow Of The Wind when I read it back in April, with its glimpse into old Barcelona, fantastic story-telling and hyperbolism extraordinaire. When The Angel's Game hit the stores a few months back, I picked it out almost greedily, and stacked it on my bookshelf, waiting for the "right" time to pull it out, and lose myself in the magical world of Zafón's writing.

The Angel's Game takes us back to old Barcelona, towards the end of World War I, through the eyes of David Martin, an aspiring writer. The opening lines set the mood for the book:

A writer never forgets the first time he accepts a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood, and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.

The narrator starts off as a sensationalist story-writer; his thrillers are first published weekly in a newspaper, and he goes on to assume a pseudonym, to write a monthly series of books entitled City of the Damned. While his stories were well-received, David's attempt at a serious novel met with bad reviews, and a combination of disappointment and enticement led him to make a deal with the devil himself : Andreas Corelli, a Parisian publisher, who offers David a small fortune, in return for David writing him an epic book, a book that would create a brand new religion, to which Corelli would play god (or, in this case, the devil).

David inadvertently gets sucked into Corelli's game, digging up secrets from years gone by, witnessing murders, being a subject of police investigations, and almost living a life that existed in his series, City of the Damned. His best friend marries his lover, an adolescent moves in with him in order to find a writing mentor, and subsequently turning his life upside down, and his residence, a creepy tower in the sinister dark side of the city, holds infinite mysteries of its own.

The book also takes us back to the Cemetery Of Forgotten Books, an incredible concept that Zafón introduced in his debut novel, and it sounds equally fantastic. This time, David goes there to hide a book, and is subject to the same rules as Daniel was in The Shadow Of The Wind.

However, that's where the similarity ends. The book has some great characters, with Isabella (the adolescent who seeks David out to be her mentor) being a personal favourite, but the story was disjointed, and had way too many bizarre things happening, leading to a disappointing ending, where the loose ends remain untied. The book started promisingly, and is quite fast-paced, but in my opinion, it's at the expense of things not being explained coherently, or the writing being rushed.

Zafón's a talented writer, and there are phrases and sentences that leapt off the page and made me chuckle, or nod in agreement. Like his protagonist, he seems to be a sensationalist writer, enjoying the luxury of hyperboles and scandal. In fact, in parts the book, I thought that some of David's experiences were first hand accounts - the way David is treated by his publishers, the art of procrastination, and the way of research.

It's unfortunate, so, that his second book didn't live up to all the hype that the first book had created.

Rating: 2.5