Albert Camus - A Happy Death

The title, a contradiction in terms, was the first novel written by Camus, when he was in his mid-twenties. However, it was only published post-humously, and is considered to be a precursor to Camus' more widely-acclaimed The Stranger(also known as The Outsider, to obfuscate matters). It has been a long time since I've read The Stranger, and the details are a bit sketchy, so I shall refrain from comparing the two books, but instead focus solely on this one, which Camus never intended to publish. This book does not read in chronological order; in the opening chapter, the protagonist Mersault murders a man in a wheelchair, and steals his fortune. The crime is committed in seemingly cold blood, and as Mersault leaves the man's house, clinging to his newfound fortunes, the environs is detailed.

Millions of tiny white smiles thronged down from the blue sky. They played over the leaves still cupping the rain, over the damp earth of the paths, soared to the blood-red tile roofs, then back in the lakes of air and light from which they had overflowed. A tiny plane hummed its way across the sky. In this flowering of air, this fertility of the heavens, it seemed as if a man's one duty was to live and be happy. 

The means justify the end, is the stance that Camus takes. Kant's deontological premise that the motivation or will behind a person's action drives whether an action is morally good or not, does open up a plethora of interesting questions. What motivated Mersault to kill Zagreus? While the above verbatim snippet represents sheer hedonism, as one reads on, the conclusion drawn drifts from the original opinion formed. In a philosophical conversation, the victim told the murderer:

"You see, Mersault, for a man who is well born, being happy is never complicated. It's enough to take up the general fate, only not with the will for renunciation like so many fake great men, but with the will for happiness. Only it takes time to be happy. A lot of time. Happiness, too, is a long patience. And in almost every case, we use up our lives making money, when we should be using our money to gain time."

It was in that conversation that Zagreus revealed that he was tempted to take his own life, and he had built his fortunes prior to the accident that led to him being a double leg amputee. He conceded that in his present state, he did not have a shot at happiness, but as long as Mersault wasn't weighed down with monetary obligations and necessities, Mersault should undertake the quest for happiness. Could one almost look at this as a case of assisted suicide? Or, considering Zagreus was physically capable of taking a gun to his own head, but emotionally not, this was plain simple murder. Mersault does walk scott-free though. No ramifications, no repercussions.

Mersault's quest for happiness is not smooth-sailing though. He travels through Europe, visits old friends, gets married to a woman he does not love, and buys a house in the country. For a long time, through his journey, his conscience pricks him, and he is unable to truly indulge in epicureanism. Yet, eventually, while consciously  attempting to create happiness, it dawns unto him:

He realized now that to be afraid of this death he was staring at with animal terror meant to be afraid of life. Fear of dying justified a limitless attachment to what is alive in man. And all those who had not made the gestures necessary to live their lives, all those who feared and exalted impotence—they were afraid of death because of the sanction it gave to a life in which they had not been involved. They had not lived enough, never having lived at all.

I was intrigued and fascinated by the first half of this extremely short book. While some threads (how Zagreus and Mersault met) came across as far-fetched, the character developments, and the conversations between the two were mind-blowing. Mersault is the antihero who is not really likeable. Through the book, it is impossible to sympathise or empathise with him, and when as the end of the book approaches, as a reader, I almost hoped for an ironic ending, which did not tally with the title.

The second half of the book I struggled through. His friends and his wife were not memorable, and their characters fizzled out as quickly as they emerged. Their lives bordered on mere fatuousness, and were abundant with selfishness (as Comte would define it, not Rand). Existentialism is at the crux of the novel, and yet, the emphasis on living in a meaningless world, and seeking out happiness at any cost, just leaves one contemplating humanity. Not in a good way.

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?

Toni Morrison - Sula

Spanning almost forty-five years (1921-1965), Sula revolves around two best friends: Sula and Nel, and how their friendship evolves and implodes over the years. Growing up in a poverty-stricken black town in Ohio called Bottom, Sula is accustomed to men coming and going, as they please. Her mother and grandmother are fiercely independent women, and after her father died, her mother (Hannah) is keen for companionship, and doesn't really care if the man is married or not. Still, Hannah is well-liked, despite sleeping with half the married men in the town... That stands testimony to the richness of the characters - that Morrison can make someone quite despicable come across as a lovely person.

Sula is a complex character though. Straight after Nel's wedding, she leaves Bottom, and goes off to college and to enjoy the city life. She returns some ten years later, and carries on where her mother left off - sleeping with the men in the village and living a purely hedonist life.

The town-folk treat her as a pariah - the yardstick against which they measure good and evil. The truly godawful people in the town turn over a new leaf, and Sula continues to do as she pleases.

"When you gone to get married? You need to have some babies. It’ll settle you.'

'I don’t want to make somebody else. I want to make myself."

The glimpses into the lives of the villagers, through the years is not pleasant. Accidentally killing people, murders, a mother setting her own son on fire, and a daughter watching her mother burn with indifference, infidelity, broken promises and Suicide Day - this book really doesn't make for comfortable reading, but then again, that's not what Morrison's aim was, with this book.

Instead, it's a glimpse into the trials and tribulations of the African-American society in America in the early 1900s, where they are left to themselves and their own superstitions, trying to figure out where they belong. It's a world where racism is rampant, and even the proudest African-American is subservient to the white people, when they are forced to interact.

The richness of the characters, and the depth of the story, despite it being a short book (174 pages) is incredible and it does show why Morrison is considered to be one of the most talented authors out there. While my first experience with Morrison wasn't exactly amazing (I hated it), with time, I am slowly beginning to love her writing as much as some of the other bloggers out there, and I reckon with time, I will read her entire backlist. Love is next for me. And for you? Which is your favourite book by the Nobel Laureate?

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?

Gabriel García Márquez - Chronicle of a Death Foretold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doris Lessing - The Fifth Child

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ernest Hemingway - The Old Man And The Sea

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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....

Toni Morrison - A Mercy

I finished this book over two weeks ago, and have been struggling to write the review ever since. I honestly hoped I wouldn't have to drag it into the new year, but there you have it... This is the first Toni Morrison I've read, and I started the book with great trepidation. I've heard phenomenal things about Toni Morrison, and I was intimidated... unsure of what to expect. I really hoped I'd enjoy the book, and it would make me go out and buy more books by Morrison instantaneously, but unfortunately, I was left feeling fairly indifferent. I didn't like the book. I didn't dislike the book... and I'm not accustomed to having that kind of a reaction to a book - especially as I've mulled over it for about two weeks!

A reasonably short book (almost a novella), A Mercy is the story set in the 17th century, and provides insight into the life and times of four women living under Jacob Vaark's roof, prior to slavery becoming commonplace. Vaark is a Dutch trader, who has a farm in rural America, and he gets Florens (a young slave girl) as payment for a bad debt. Rebekka (his wife from England), Lina (a Native American who survived small pox, and now runs the farm), and Sorrow (another servant, who survived a shipwreck, and is grossly incompetent) make up the other three women.

The book starts with Florens' first person narrative, as she leaves the farm in search of the blacksmith, who has medical expertise - expertise needed to save the life of her mistress, Rebekka. However, Florens' primary reason for finding the blacksmith is her unequivocal love for him.

The narrative of each chapter  focuses on one or the other of the female characters (as well as Vaark). We hear their story, determine their origins, and figure out their co-dependencies on each other, as well as their insecurities. Be it Rebekka's ambivalence when she first arrives, and see that Lina runs the farm, or Lina's annoyance with Sorrow's lack of commitment to the jobs at hand; be it Lina's overprotectiveness about Florens, or Florens' desire to wear shoes - just like a lady!

There are multiple layers; a multitude of relationships and emotions explored; events of historical significance weaved into the story. However, I found the book lacking depth, and the characters to be fairly two-dimensional. There was a lot packed into the book, and I found that I couldn't relate to them. Frankly speaking, I didn't really care much about them... other than Florens. The opening chapter had me fascinated, and I found the final chapter to be redeeming, to an extent. But - can a book really tick with just two chapters, and some other captivating events?

Maybe I didn't get the book. Maybe it's just too intelligent for me. Or maybe, it's not one of Morrison's better works. I don't know - it's the first Morrison I've read! Would you recommend trying out another book by the much acclaimed Toni Morrison? Okay, that was a rhetorical question. The main question is: which one?

Rating : C

J.M. Coetzee - Summertime

And so, my Booker shortlist (2009) journey continues with Coetzee's fictional memoir, which completes the trilogy, already containing Boyhood and Youth. I haven't read either of them, so, I wasn't sure what to expect with Summertime, although my experience with Coetzee told me it wouldn't be a very "summertime" book. Needless to say, I was right! However, this is a well-written, clever book, which comes across as part fictional, part real. A research student, Mr. Vincent, is planning to write a biography of the Nobel Prize winner after his death. After scouring the late author's journals, and reading his books, Vincent interviews five people he deems important to Coetzee in the 1970s - the time this novel focuses on.

The novel is essentially paraphrasing the interviews, with the interviewees comments interlaced with the interviewer's questions, so that it reads as a conversation. Through these conversations, we get a glimpse into the life and times of John C (see what I did there?), as he perceives himself through the eyes of his cousins, friends, lovers and acquaintances.

Coetzee's well-known to be a recluse, and this novel affirms that, with its self-deprecating prose, and harsh insights - some of which may be true, and most of which is pure fabrication!

"Coetzee was never a popular writer. By that I do not simply mean that his books did not sell well. I also mean that the public never took him to their collective heart. There was an image of him in the public realm as a cold and supercilious intellectual, an image he did nothing to dispel. Indeed one might even say he encouraged it.

Julia, the first interviewee, refers to John as a "cold fish", while his cousin thinks he's "stuck up". A lady he was supposedly in love with says, "Not sexless. Solitary. Not made for conjugal life. Not made for the company of women," while one of his teaching partners describes his writing as being far from great: "Too cool, too neat, I would say. Too easy, too lacking in passion. That is all."

However, while this is almost a fascinating revelation on Coetzee, it does raise a number of pertinent questions: Just because Coetzee won the Nobel Prize, does he deserve the attention he's getting? Specially, as Vincent is looking for a "story", and all he's getting is snippets that show Coetzee's unsocial, slightly disembodied personality.

And, what drives us to look after our parents, after a certain age? Is it a responsibility? Is it a necessity? And, can we run away from that filial duty? Or, do we succumb to it? More importantly, is it about love? Or, the right thing to do?

Again, in a typically Coetzee fashion, he touches upon life in South Africa in the 1970s, as the social climate was slowly changing, but the gap between the Afrikaner and the white man was still vast. He talks of how people fled the country, in "stormy times", and how people returned when they had nowhere else to go. There's also an element of the interests of black students, and white students, and how they differ - specially when you toss in the "radical black students".

It's a thought-provoking gentle book - not as hard to read as some of his other books - but, it still draws you in, and lets you peep into the heart and mind of someone who's almost considered socially inept, despite his genius. He might not be the most loveable person out there, but his self-criticism, romanticism, affection and determination really grew on me, and I half-wish I had the opportunity of knowing him, and arguing with him: principles over pragmatism. That makes two of us.

Rating: 4.5

J.M. Coetzee - Disgrace {Weekly Geeks Q&A}

This is the final post on the Weekly Geeks Q&A from 13th June. It's taken me about a month to 'catch up', and I will still have a trilogy to go. As I'm planning on re-reading His Dark Materials in August, I'll hold off until then. Yes, I tend to procrastinate ever so often.

I read Disgrace last year, and really enjoyed it, mostly because the story starts off on one note, but just spins off, and the sequence of events that follow seem very surreal.

On with the questions... Well, umm, question (singular) in this case.

From gautami tripathy:

Disgrace: what is it about? Do you recommend Coetzee to your readers? Is it your first by that author?

'Disgrace' is about a professor, David Lurie, at the Technical University in Cape Town. He has an affair with a student, and her parents lodge a complaint with the University. At a formal inquiry, he admits to sleeping with the student, but refuses to seek clemency or admit that he was wrong. Instead, he resigns to his daughter's farm in rural South Africa, as he waits for the whole thing in Cape Town to blow over.

This, according to me, is where the story starts: about Lurie's relationship with Lucy (his daughter), and their life on the farm. It touches upon them being victimized by racial attacks, where Lucy is raped and Lurie burnt, and its aftermath, which leads to Lurie's perspective on life and women changing.

I recommend Coetzee to anyone who listens to me! I loved this book, and its straightforward simple writing, that touches on many thought-provoking and difficult subjects: racism, rape, redemption, reality. It doesn't offer a quick-fix to the disgrace of apartheid, but, it does end on a note of hope...

Nope. I read Diary of a Bad Year before I picked this one up. I was completely enthralled by that book, due to its quirky writing style. It might be one of the most 'intelligent' books I've read in the recent past, and hence, when I saw Disgrace, I had to pick it up.

I have both, Youth and The Life and Times of Michael K on my TBR. The latter is supposed to be Coetzee's best book 'til date, so I'm really looking forward to that.