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.

Vladimir Nabokov - Laughter In The Dark

Congratulate me, for I've finished my first Nabokov. Some four years back, I attempted to read the much acclaimed Lolita, but failed to finish it for it was way too disturbing. I must give it another try. My second foray into Nabokov's world was far more successful though. Not only did I race through the book, but I was absolutely floored by so many aspects of it, that I don't even know where to start.

The story is quite simple. Albinus, a wealthy man, decides to give up his family for Margot, a precocious manipulative teenager who is an aspiring actress. Completely smitten by her, he moves in with her, in an apartment he sorted out for her, while she works towards her end-game: ensuring his riches are hers, or using him to progress her non-existent acting career. The opening lines pretty much sum up the book:

Once upon a time there lived in Berlin, Germany, a man called Albinus. He was rich, respectable, happy; one day he abandoned his wife for the sake of a youthful mistress; he loved; was not loved; and his life ended in disaster.

Albinus comes across as a really nice man, adultery and abandoning his family aside. He's innocent, naive and just... wrapped around Margot's little finger. The way his relationship with his wife just fizzles out is...lamentable, really. It's not very often when one finds themselves sympathising with the adulterer, but in Laughter In The Dark, one is compelled to - it's not like there is an alternative. He has no backbone, he has no say, and he's like a little puppy - eager to please.

On the other hand, Margot comes across as a little devil. Accustomed to getting her own way at every turn, and ensuring that Albinus is willing to jump through hoops to please her, she milks the situation to the fullest. She really is despicable, and her child-like personality and selfishness is both, cringeworthy and horrific. With each page read, Margot just becomes more and more reprehensible.

The beauty though lies in Nabokov's writing - despite being a Russian author*, the translation is easy to read, but so beautifully poignant. To tell such a tragic story, with a tinge of humour, and no pity or heartache is quite impressive.

A certain man once lost a diamond cuff-link in the wide blue sea, and twenty years later, on the exact day, a Friday apparently, he was eating a large fish - but there was no diamond inside. That’s what I like about coincidence.

I enjoyed this book tremendously, and despite the fact that the subject was slightly disturbing, I was completely enthralled. On finishing this, I'd like to read all of Nabokov's works (in good time), specially when I read some other thoughts on the book, and they inform me that it's not one of his best.

*In my world, Russian authors are near impossible to read, and completing a book by one of them feels like a great accomplishment.

Muriel Spark - The Driver's Seat

Oh, for such a small novella (tautology?), The Driver's Seat covers so much, with a dark plot, completely mental characters and just bizarreness all around! Lise, a thirty-something year old woman, is stuck in a dull office job for a decade or so, and she's about to embark on her first vacation. At the very outset, we discover that Lise is completely and utterly nuts. Like flips out in a shop, while looking for a dress to travel in, when the salesperson tells her it's made from stain-resistant material... so much so that she walks out of the store, as she is affronted by the insinuation that she does not eat properly. When she finally finds an outfit to wear ("a lemon-yellow top with a skirt patterned in bright V's of orange, mauve and blue.' and a coat over the top 'narrow stripes, red and white with a white collar") during her travels, the reader is left truly bewildered, by the sheer garishness of it, which she justifies easily.

The colours go together perfectly. People here in the North are ignorant of colours. Conservative; old-fashioned. If only you knew! These colours are a natural blend for me. Absolutely natural.

Okay, so possibly, Lise is on the verge of a breakdown of sorts, but she does seem to have an agenda. She insists she's meeting her boyfriend at the destination, but one wonders if she knows the man in question, for she does incessantly use the phrase, he's not my type while interacting with any of the strange men she encounters from the start of her break till... well... her death. Again, early on, Spark lets us know about the fate of her character. Not the who, not the why, just the what.

She will be found tomorrow morning dead from multiple stab-wounds, her wrists bound with a silk scarf and her ankles bound with a man’s necktie, in the grounds of an empty villa, in a park of the foreign city to which she is travelling on the flight now boarding at Gate 14.

Lise's behaviour becomes increasingly erratic as the novella progresses. She lies glibly, steals a car, and just seems to have lost all regard for any semblance of normality. Everything as per her convenience. Everything on her terms. Bizarre, uncomfortable, gripping.

This is the third book by Muriel Spark that I have read, and it couldn't be more different than the other two. It's significantly darker, to begin with, and suspenseful. The characters are just - wow - I really hope I never have to interact with people like them! Honestly! And despite it being a mere hundred-odd pages, Spark covers a lot of ground, and the ending just fits perfectly. Almost as though everything makes perfect sense.

William S Burroughs - Junky

Junky is William S. Burroughs semi-autobiographical story, about being a drug-addict - a "junky," if you will - in the 1940s in the good ol' US of A. At less than two hundred pages, this is an extremely short, albeit insightful read. This first-person narrative is an unapologetic unemotional documentary of Burroughs' experiences, the friends he made, and the encounters with the law, as they tried to clamp down on drugs, addiction and peddling, with the help of "pigeons".

Originally published under the pseudonym, William Lee (Lee being his mother's maiden name), at the very outset, the reader is told that the narrator is an Ivy League graduate (Harvard), with a trust-fund to his name. So, the theories of a "troubled childhood" or "hard-times" or "bad company" are almost instantly cast aside.

The question is frequently asked: Why does a man become a drug addict?

The answer is usually that he does not intend to become an addict. You don't wake up one morning and decide to become a drug addict. [...] You become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in any other direction. Junk wins by default. I tried it as a matter of curiosity. I drifted along taking shots when I could score. I ended up hooked.

Burroughs does not make any excuses, but instead writes about the junk community with a kind of objectivism that would make a good journalist proud. His tale takes him through New York City, and then Kentucky, New Orleans and finally Mexico. However, in spite of the change in location, the paradigm remains the same:

Junk is often found adjacent to ambiguous or transitional districts: East Fourteenth near Third in New York; Poydras and St.Charles in New Orleans; San Juan Létran in Mexico City. Stores selling artificial limbs, wig-makers, dental mechanics, loft manufacturers of perfumes, pomades, novelties, essential oils. A point where dubious business enterprise touches Skid Row.

What makes this a truly tremendous feat is that Burroughs managed to get it published in the anti-drug America of the 1950s, where books like this, in all likelihood, got censored. However, despite being unapologetic, this book is almost a narrative on why addiction is bad, and how difficult a habit it is to kick, despite one telling oneself they have it all under control.

From junk sickness, there seems to be no escape. Junk sickness is the reverse side of junk kick. The kick of junk is that you have to have it. Junkies run on junk time and junk metabolism. They are subject to junk climate. They are warmed and chilled by junk. The kick of junk is living under junk conditions. You cannot escape from junk sickness any more than you can escape from junk kick after a shot.

The singular focus of the book is junk, despite it being autobiographical. Trysts with law, friends Burroughs scored with, friends he relied on and how he got the money to score are all detailed impeccably - you could say, it's almost documented. Morphine, coke, heroin - how to procure them and the high you get off them - you name it, it's there. However, the one complaint I had with the book is, the reader is not privy to the author's personal life at all. For example, in a passing statement, we learn that Burroughs has a wife - wait...hang on... what?! Some of those bits were slightly confusing, but then, one must take a step back and remember that this is all about the addiction, and everything else is secondary.

I quite enjoy the Beatniks, in an almost perversive sense - from Kerouac's On The Road to this. As Kerouac says:

But yet, but yet, woe, woe unto those who think that the Beat Generation means crime, delinquency, immorality, amorality ... woe unto those who attack it on the grounds that they simply don’t understand history and the yearning of human souls ... woe in fact unto those who make evil movies about the Beat Generation where innocent housewives are raped by beatniks! ... woe unto those who spit on the Beat Generation, the wind’ll blow it back.

Have you read any Beatnik literature? Or, do you have any on the to-read pile? I suspect my next one would be another Burroughs...Naked Lunch.

Virginia Woolf - Mrs. Dalloway

Claire {@ kissacloud} and three friends are doing a Woolf In Winter read-along. The first book they're tackling is Mrs. Dalloway, and it's being hosted by Sarah {@ what we have here is a failure to communicate}. I picked up the Vintage classic last year, while idly browsing a second hand book store, and have since been extremely ambivalent about it - mostly because I've never read a book by Virginia Woolf, and I have an inexplicable fear of the unknown, specially when it comes to much-acclaimed classics. Mrs. Dalloway is probably the most difficult novel I've ever read. And, I'll go out on a limb and say it's probably (one of) the most difficult book(s) I'll ever read.

Woolf's meanderings is essentially a stream-of-consciousness-style narrative to provide an insight into the lives of a few Londoners, including the protagonist: Clarissa Dalloway, who is preoccupied with the last minute details of a party she is to give that evening. Yet, the book digresses between reality, flashbacks as well as imaginary visions of the characters, and these digressions are helped greatly by the complete absence of chapters, so that the reader is left trying to figure out which character's on centre-stage at any given point in time, and how their story fits in the grand scheme of things, the grand finale, the party.

Set in London, a few years after the first World War, Mrs. Dalloway unsurprisingly starts off with the spotlight on the protagonist herself, the wife of a politician, who is planning to throw a party. Yet, as the book progresses, and the clock on the Big Ben ticks, the spotlight falls on a myriad of characters including Peter Walsh, an ex-boyfriend of Mrs. Dalloway, who has just come back to London, and brings back old memories; Septimus Smith, a war veteran, who seems disconnected from the story, as he slips into insanity, haunted by the ghost of one of his friends who died during the war; doctors who attempt treating Smith; his worried wife, Rezia; Mrs. Dalloway's daughter Elizabeth, and Mrs. Dalloway's enemy, Miss. Kilman.

The story, in real terms, lasts just one day, but, with the many different perspectives that Woolf weaves in, it seems to last a lifetime (in a good way). It's sensitive, philosophical even, giving an insight into human nature as we don't really know it, but, emphasising, ever so subtly, on the appreciation of life, and the eventuality of death.

So, he was deserted. The whole world was clamouring: Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sakes. But why should he kill himself for their sakes? Food was pleasant; the sun hot; and this killing oneself, how does one set about it, with a table knife, uglily, with floods of blood - by sucking a gaspipe?

It's a relatively short novel, at 172 pages. However, it took me over five hours to finish it, and all my concentration. There were sentences about fourteen lines long, there were connotations long-winded and intense, there were provoking thoughts that stayed on, long after you'd flipped the page. Yes, Mrs. Dalloway's primary preoccupation was with the party, and exulting in life's wake. She had married a man she presumably didn't love as much as she loved someone else. Yet, her character is anything but superficial, flawed with merits - or, should that be meritorious with flaws?

She muddled Armenians with Turks; loved success; hated discomfort; must be liked; talked oceans of nonsense; and to this day, ask her what the Equator was, and she did not know.

All the same that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; walk in the park; meet Hugh Whitbread; then suddenly in came Peter; then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was! - that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all; how every instant...

The other thing I loved about this book was it's glimpses into London in the early 1900s. I thought that Woolf captured the heart and soul of central London beautifully (this book is mostly based in and around Westminster), and I actually felt that I was accompanying the characters, as they ambled the streets, or rode the Omnibus, or napped in Regents Park, or, for that matter, enjoyed the hustle-bustle at the Strand.

I am really pleased that I read this book, and I will be seeking another Woolf book sometime in the future, albeit, I don't think I can do four Woolfs in eight weeks - it's seriously hard work! Hats off to all those of you who are! Claire {@ Paperback Reader} and Rachel {@ Book Snob} recommended reading Michael Cunningham's The Hours after reading Woolf's masterpiece. Subsequently, I'll be reading it later this month.

Thanks to Claire {kissacloud}, Sarah {what we have here is a failure to communicate}, Emily {evening all afternoon} and Frances {Nonsuch Book} for hosting this wonderful read-along.

John Christopher - The Death Of Grass

Background: While this month, my blog entries seem to be focused a lot on the Take A Chance challenge, it's only because the challenge is up end of month, and I am actually trying to finish it. After this, I only have one more challenge to tackle, and I've already started the final book (David Guterson's East of the Mountain).

This is challenge#1, i.e. "Random Book Selection". My random directions included going to the fiction corner at Waterstones, and selecting the fourteenth book from the third shelf on the second book-case. Coming up with a Penguin Modern Classic, I think, was a shade of luck.

I don't normally compare or contrast books, but, the best way to define this book would be Lord of the Flies meeting The Road. Considering The Death of Grass was published in the 1950s, and The Road in the 21st century, it might not be the fairest statement, but, when I finished the book, that's the first thing that came to my mind.

Survival of the fittest. That's what it's about - even if it means civilised people killing their fellow citizens, contemplating leaving a young boy to die, heartlessly killing a couple, and keeping their eyes on reaching a "safe haven" of sorts. Finding comfort in the fact that they will be able to re-acquaint themselves with humanity upon reaching this haven, the protagonists (and their countrymen) resort to barbarism and anarchism, just to survive.

He stared up at her, incredulously, while she did so, and was still staring when the bullets began tearing through his body. He shrieked once or twice, and then was quiet. She went on firing until the magazine was exhausted. There was comparative silence after that, broken only by Mary's sobbing.

A developed country, England, is in turmoil, after the Chung-Li virus has wiped out all their "grass" and "grass crops," including rice and wheat. The Chung-Li virus has already caused widespread disruption in Asia, and the Europeans had seen them resort to their worst sides as the resulting famine ensured the lack of food for everyone. However, they attributed the disaster to the "lack of thoroughness" of the Asiatics, and figured that being in a developed country, they would never stoop so low.

The ecosystem is collapsing, but the government issues some false press that the virus is in control, in order to calm the civilians, and prevent them from panicking and acting out of haste. However, what the government has in mind is, for lack of better words, scary. Atomic bombs can deplete life; subsequently drastically decreasing the number of mouths to feed. Aid from the United States has come to a halt, and now, England is battling alone.

John Custance, an architect in London, on a heads up from a close friend, decides to make a break for his brother's farm in the North, with his family and close friends. There, he figures, they will all be safe, until the crisis is over, and they can return to normalcy.

However, what ensues begs the question: Can their lives ever return to what it used to be like? The journey up North is difficult, violent, and life-changing in every way imaginable. People kill for food, for shelter, for survival. The fall of the government has just led to people's darker sides taking over, and we see brutal scenes of rape, as well as, pure cold-blooded killing. Some members of the group are trying to hold on to their humanity. Some have left it behind, with the single goal of reaching the farm in mind.

This is a bleak depressing book, which makes me question my faith in humanity. When push comes to shove, will we resort to killing our own to survive? When the ecosystems break down, will we sacrifice everything that supposedly differentiates us from other beings, just to make it? Will we do anything in the world to protect our friends, families and loved ones? Even if it means compromising on the ideals we've always believed in?

Just as most of the book is bleak and disheartening, the ending is unbelievably despondent, and you're just left gaping, wondering how on earth did humanity end up like this. And then, you thank your stars that this is merely fiction...

...But, for how long?

Can you imagine killing someone in cold blood, just because they have shelter and food? And how would you react when you knew the odds were against you, but, you knew exactly what you had to do if you wanted to live another day?

Rating : A

George Orwell - Animal Farm

An anthropomorphic anti-Soviet social satire, this book stirred up a fair bit of controversy, and initially, a multitude of publishers refused to print it, fearing the repercussions of the act. The book focuses on the animals of Manor Farm, and how they go the full circle, from being owned by men and working for them, to being an animal democracy, and then the balance of power shifting again, to one of the species...

In the opening chapter, the Old Baron summons all the animals of Manor Farm one evening, after the farmer - Mr. Jones - has retired for the night. He then tells the animals of a dream where the animals are independent, and working for themselves, and not man. He then encourages them to plan a revolution to overthrow man, and take their fate in their own hands.

And that is exactly what these animals do, by running Mr. Jones out of the farm, and creating a democracy, with seven commandments:

1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend
3. No animal shall ever wear clothes
4. No animal shall ever sleep in a bed
5. No animal shall ever drink alcohol
6. No animal shall kill any other animal
7. All animals are equal

This is the new improved farm - the Animal Farm - where the animals join forces and work for themselves. Pigs, deemed the most intellectual of all animals, are mutually considered to be the species who would educate the others, as well as plan out the best course of action for the farm. All in all, the animals were ecstatic that they had achieved this utopian dream, and news of their success spread far and wide.

However, soon enough, the pigs became the 'rulers' of this utopia, and started setting down the rules, often overriding the commandments, or adding an exception clause, without informing the other citizens. Napoleon, the elite ruler (who was meant to represent Stalin), with the help of Squealer (supposedly Molotov) started slowly brainwashing the other animals, and confusing them greatly; so much so, that, eventually a totalitarian regime emerged, but the animals didn't even realize what was happening. The final commandment was altered by the pigs to

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

No animal was informed of this change, and none of them realized what was actually going on - be it because of their inherently trusting nature, or because of the pack of lies they were fed by the pigs-in-charge. I don't want to give away the ending of the book, but suffice it to say that the last line pretty much sums up the book in a nutshell.

This book explores the failure of communism, and how, while in theory it's utopian; in practice, it just ends up being a totalitarian dystopia (in the context of the Stalin rule, at least). It shows naivety of people, and how easy it is to muddle their thoughts by stretching the truth, or talking so confidently that they start doubting their own memories. For example, when the pigs moved into the Jones' house, and started sleeping on the beds, one of the animals was sure that there was a commandment that denounced this. When he went to the 'wall' where all the commandments were details, what he read was

No animal shall ever sleep in a bed with sheets.

Of course, the pigs denied using sheets.

What is really scary, though, is that the book is so convincing; that the animals are so quick to believe everything. Even when their food rations are decreased, their working hours increased, and the pigs are getting all the apples, they do not revolt against the pigs, for, they believe that it's better than working for the Jones'. Of course, no one quite recalls what that was like, and whether that was a better life, or worse.

While this book sounds political, it's not, really. As in, one can easily read it as a piece of fiction (a fairy tale, as one of its alternate titles suggest), and contemplate on some of the many points raised without matching up the main characters with their corresponding historical figures. Of course, the matching makes the book more interesting, but... I only ended up looking into who each character was after I finished it; more out of interest in the history of the Soviet Union, as opposed to because the book demanded it.

This book is a classic, and I think a definite must-read. It's practically been on every 'list' of must-reads and best books, and there's a reason why.

An 8 on 10, with my only complaints being that the book is overtly simplistic, and, not the reader is not completely clear as to who each character of the book is. Of course, if it was abundantly clear, the reader would complain that little is left to the imagination....  Also, I can't help but wonder how would things have materialized if the pigs were capitalists, not communists... any ideas?

Anthony Burgess - A Clockwork Orange

O my brothers, this book is real horrorshow. You must have slooshied about it, and in my opinion, it's a must read. Apologies for the nadsat, i.e. teenage Russian slang, but I think this is partly responsible for making this book just as good as it is (and I really can't rate it high enough). Initially, the book is challenging to read. The language is full of slang, that takes some time to get accustomed to. I was confused and felt that I really needed a dictionary (or, the book needed a glossary) to make some sense out of this book. However, within a couple of chapters, the slang started to make sense, and I just couldn't stop reading it, to see how it ends.

The book revolves around Alex, who is fifteen when the book starts. The opening scene seems innocent enough - Alex and his three droogs are hanging out in a milkbar (where the drinks are laced with drugs), one evening. Once they leave the milkbar though, we get introduced to the violent streak in these four teenagers. They decide to beat up a man leaving a library, just for the sake of it; get into a bloody fight with a rival gang; steal a car; enter some random home of a couple - beat the husband up, and gang rape the wife. And if that's not bad enough, they then tolchock the car into the river below. Real nasty stuff, and that point, you can't help but feeling that the four teenagers are despicable and deserve severe punishment.

Later on that evening, we get a glimpse of another side of Alex, the gang privodevat, as he goes home, and in total darkness listens to some classical music. That's when we discover his unequivocal love for Beethoven, and some other classical geniuses. Who knew their crime-minded malchicks appreciate music as much as they do violence?

When the gang decides to overthrow Alex as their leader, and get George, one of the droogs to replace him, Alex challenges George to a fight, which he wins, thereby retaining his title. That night, they decide to get up to some serious mischief, and rob a rich woman. However, things don't quite go according to plan, and Alex's violence costs the woman her life. The three droogs abandon Alex there, letting him take the fall for it while they run away... and Alex is charged with murder.

Good riddance, you say? A boy like that deserves no better? Well, read on...

Alex spends two years in jail, where he shares a small cell with some other inmates. When a new inmate is brought to their cell, and starts throwing his weight around, Alex, with the help of the other inmates, end up killing him (accidentally). As things normally pan out, the other prisoners deny responsibility, and Alex takes the fall. He volunteers for the Ludovico Technique, a procedure that is supposed to change the criminal mind, to that of a peace-loving citizen, in just two weeks. Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?

This technique is essentially conditional programming/aversion therapy. Alex is forced to watch videos of gruesome violence, and is injected with some nauseating medicine simultaneously. The idea is, every time the subject (in this case, Alex) thinks of violence, he ends up feeling nauseous. However, Alex is never told what the treatment actually entails, and he assumes it's something nice and easy, that gets him out of prison in two weeks - the only reason why he volunteers.

When Alex goes back to life outside prison, he is not prepared for what greets him, and you can't help but feel sorry for the boy, as he tries to figure things out. Stripped off everything, even his greatest love, we see a struggle, and we're forced to ask some serious ethical questions: Are treatments like the Ludovico Technique justified? If someone shows a violent streak, is the government entitled to brainwash them? And what if the primary reason to get people undergo this treatment is that the prisons just don't have enough space to hold all the convicts? Do two wrongs make a right? Does the end justify means? Do the means justify the end?

This dystopian novel is incredibly well-written. I don't think the reader is supposed to relate to Alex. While Alex's description of Beethoven's music might just be one of the most beautiful things I've read in literature, his violent streak and some of the criminal acts he's conducted might be the most horrific. As I flipped the last page of the book, I couldn't help but admire Alex just a tad, and I also regretted that the book was over. Definitely one of the most thought-provoking books I've read in recent times.

Dare I say, a 10 on 10?

F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby

Glitz. Glamour. A love that has survived the War. Extra-marital affairs. Grand parties. Opulence. Alcohol. A yellow Rolls Royce. Chauffeurs. Friendship... and New York in the 1920s (the 'Jazz' age). This pretty much sums up 'The Great Gatsby' - a classic piece of literature from the 20th century.

The story revolves around the rich and glamorous party-goers in New York in the 20th century - in a time when alcohol has been prohibited, when the economy is buzzing (post World War I), and when people are enjoying life to the fullest

The book starts off on a note that grabs the reader's attention, and instinctively makes them want to flip over the page, to figure out what the narrator is 'reserving judgment on':

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. 'Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,' he told me, 'just remember that all the people in the world haven't had the advantages that you've had.'

And then the story kicks off, with the introduction to Jay Gatsby - the narrator's (a 22 year old Nick Carraway) wealthy neighbor. Gatsby is an important part of the circle of the rich and famous socialites in New York. Holding alcohol-heavy parties regularly, which carry on 'til the wee hours of the morning, where people turn up, invited or otherwise, Gatsby seems to be at the heart of the socializing. However, ironically enough, he never seems to be drunk or an active part of these parties - instead, he seems to be a mere spectator. No one seems to know who he is, and when Nick asks, people look at him puzzled.

However, there are rumors about Gatsby - his lineage, where he comes from, and where he has earned his money. People indulge in hyperbolic assumptions and wonderings, which Nick himself is fascinated by. However, as the story progresses, Gatsby tells our narrator about why he purchased his place - it's bang opposite Daisy's house across the river. Daisy, Nick's cousin, used to be Gatsby's lover prior to the war, but when Gatsby left for the War, she married Tom. Tom, also opulent, comes across as obnoxious and arrogant; much unlike Gatsby. He boasts of his mistress, and in fact, insists that Nick meet her.

Gatsby clearly has just one mission: to sweep Daisy off her feet, and make her leave Tom. Tom, in all his arrogance, cannot deal with this, and the book ends tragically, where we come to see that all the wealth in the world doesn't buy friends, and people are quick to judge based on nothing; where people act without thinking of the consequences, and how jealousy and anger combined result in an act of ultimate unfairness. It's this ending that makes the book as heart-achingly sad and depressing.

This beautifully written book vividly brings to life the society of New York in the 1920s. From the fact that women are meant to be beautiful and not much else (I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool -- that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool. -  Daisy on her daughter) to, people indulging in idle gossip about their host. It highlights the jealousy of a jilted lover, and the passion of an old one. It stresses on pride and money, of opulence and fair-weather friends.

The prose itself is almost like poetry, with some philosophical meanderings, and thought-provoking quotes. A powerful book, this book has made an impression me, like very few other books have.

Overall, an 8 on 10, and a must-read. I'm off to find another book by Fitzgerald now, and it's much to my dismay that due to his death at a relatively early age, there aren't that many.