Marghanita Laski - Little Boy Lost

So, you start a book which is meant to result in emotional upheaval, and you keep your distance to begin with, but then the book sucks you in, and you feel your emotions getting the better off you, while the writing itself remains simple and straightforward, with almost no sentimentality. And as you keep turning the pages, you just want the happy ending; the fairy-tale happily ever after. And then the book ends, and you're just sitting there holding it, stunned into disbelief by the response evoked by a book less than two-hundred-and-fifty pages long.

It's Christmas Day, 1943, when Hilary, a poet and an intellectual, learns that his little boy, John, is lost. Lisa, his wife who was involved in the Resistence, was killed in Paris by the Gestapo, but before her death, she had asked a friend to look after her baby, who Hilary had seen but once. But on that fateful Christmas Day, a stranger (a Frenchman named Pierre) knocks on the door of Hillary's English home, informing him that his son has disappeared without a trace, and he would like to help Hillary find the boy.

Post-war, Hillary reluctantly heads to Paris upon Pierre's request, in order to commence the search for the lost boy - a search that has already been initiated by the resourceful Pierre. But Hilary is not prepared for the war-ravaged Paris that greets him.

Yes, it was familiar again - until the bus creaked past the bombed factory, the makeshift bridge, the shattered rusting locomotives, and the English in the bus shamefacedly whispered to each other, "Do you think we did that?" and then wondered if there could still be friendship between the destroyer and destroyed.

Simply, eloquently put.

Hilary starts following the trail which could potentially lead him to the son he lost about two years ago - almost unwillingly - for, with time, he's made himself invulnerable to emotions, and is content to live in his memories. The search leads him to a convent in a small town in France, where a boy who might be his son lives. It's not definite, but the age and blood type match. The hope is that on seeing the boy, Hilary would recognise his son.

Hilary visits the boy (called Jean) in the convent, and starts spending a couple of hours each day with the boy, his affection for the slowly mounting, but the uncertainty as to whether the boy is actually his son not really diminishing. The first meeting is confusing, as at first glance, he thinks that's his son, but on second glance, he stares at the child in horror and repulsion, certain that the child isn't his...

...and thus begins the journey of trying to determine if he's found his little boy...

...But then, Hilary is detached, pragmatic and almost like an icicle at times, that one just wants to physically shake him into finding his human emotions - diametrically polar to some other moments where he buys the child expensive gloves, and gauges his reactions, without the child having to say much, if anything at all.

As the relationship evolves during the course of the week, the child transforms from a shy nervous boy to an excited happy one around Hilary. You can make out that he doesn't want to disappoint Hilary, and when Hilary comes across as impatient, the boy withdraws into himself. There are moments where, as a reader, you just hate Hilary, for how can someone be so heartless?

Hilary said nothing. He stood there watching the child, feeling only hate for the creature who had put him in this predicament, through whose interventions he had made a fool of himself. The little coward, he was saying, the little coward.

Jean whimpered, "I want my red gloves back."

You're finding out you can't buy happiness, thought Hilary coldly. Aloud, he said, "You can't have them back. Once you've given a present, it's a present forever."

Jean stopped whimpering, only stood there shaking and staring. You're finding out what desolation means, thought Hilary savagely [...].

But - but it's the absolute last line of the book that makes it so... touching and heart-rending. Just the last line. Honestly, words cannot describe the impact they make.

While the heart of the book is about the father looking for his lost son, Laski pays attention to the rampant corruption existing in Paris at the time, and the black market, which emphasised the difference between the haves and the have-nots, and the whole "survival of the fittest" philosophy. She also highlights the slight disconnect between the locals, as they attempt to determine on which side their counterparts stood during the Occupation.

"But at least the Occupation showed each man what he was capable of. Don't you think it was something to be able to find out?"

"No, why?" said Pierre. "Some found they were better than they thought, some worse. We are finding that out all the time in our everyday lives."

"But we're not conscious of it all the time," argued Hilary. For some reason, this point seemed of vital importance to him. "Surely occupation or battle or something like that brings the whole thing to an inescapable point - a sort of judgment by ordeal?"

If you haven't yet, please do read this book.

I've read two books by Laski so far, and have two more to go (which have been printed by Persephone) - her writing is amazing, and I can't wait to read the others.

Philippe Claudel - Brodeck's Report

If there was ever a book that just made you feel slightly uneasy, a tad queasy, very uncomfortable, but still had you hooked, this would be it. You have Brodeck, who survived being treated like a dog - literally - in a prisoner-of-war camp, in France, during an unnamed war, albeit implicitly it suggests that the war is World War II. He returns to his village, a changed man, and as he goes through the motions of ordinary life, he is still haunted by the past. The growing xenophobia and animosity in the village doesn't really help either.

We had to go down on all fours, like the dogs, and eat our food without using anything but our mouths, like the dogs.

Most of my fellow prisoners refused to do it. They are dead. As for me, I ate like the dogs, on all fours and using only my mouth. And I am alive.

Sometimes when the guards were drunk or had nothing else to do, they amused themselves by putting a collar and leash on me. I had to crawl around like that on all fours. [...] I had to strut and turn round in circles and bark and hang my tongue out and lick their boots.

The book has two parallel narratives (jumping from one to the other): one of Brodeck's present, and one of his past. In the present-day, Brodeck has been requested by his fellow villagers to write a report on the Ereigniës (i.e. "the thing that happened") with Anderer, the Other. Anderer was a stranger that arrived in the village, in colourful robes, on a donkey and a horse, with artistic skills. His name remains an unknown, and the initial friendliness of the villagers soon descends to animosity, so much so that he is murdered. The unmentioned refrain is, it had to be done. At the outset of his report, Brodeck states that he had nothing to do with it, and left to him, he'd never speak of it again.

As he recounts the events that transpired since the day the Other arrived in the village, he takes various unpleasant trips down memory lane, remembering the horrors of his past, and the choices he made to survive. Survival of the fittest mutates to survival of the ones willing to do anything to survive, no matter how degrading or self-abasing it is; and the thing - the only thing - that encourages this complete submission from Brodeck is his adoptive mother, and his lover, and to return to them, safe and sound.

"Those were two years of total darkness. I look upon that time as a void in my life - very black and very deep - and therefore I call it the Kazerskwir, the crater. Often, at night, I still venture out on to its rim."

The writing, the metaphors, the imagery is both, beautiful and poignant. And of course, heartbreaking. The mind boggles, that people can be so cruel, and on reading about some of the events, my stomach churned, and I had to remind myself that this was fiction. To quote Wordsworth, have I not reason to lament what man has made of man?

If you have an interest in WWII literature, I really can't recommend this book enough. I don't know if Claudel has written anything else or not, but I would be curious to read some of his other works, to see how they hold in comparison. Any ideas?

This was read for Paris in July, hosted by Karen at BookBath and Tamara at ThymeForTea. It's not a cheery happy summer book, but it was a fantastic read, and most of the times, that's all that matters.

Marghanita Laski - To Bed With Grand Music

I've been meaning to read a Laski for a long time, and I finally picked this book out of my shelf, just to help me return to the world of reading - one of my many loves that I've been ignoring recently. And on finishing it, I was gently reminded as to why I love reading so much. I've spent the past couple of months literally obsessing over things, and trying to make a life-changing decision (career-wise). However, while reading (and on finishing) this book, I almost immediately started focusing on the points it raises and the questionable character of this book's protagonist. Annoyingly, I can't seem to make my mind up about where I stand.

On the eve of Graham's departure to Cairo for an office job in the midst of the War, his wife (Deborah) and he are lying in bed talking. Graham is likely to be away for a few years, and right up front, he tells Deborah that while he doesn't think abstinence is likely, he will promise not to fall in love with anyone else, thereby remaining faithful to his wife. Deborah, the model wife, on the other hand, promises to be faithful on all fronts, and devote her time to looking after their baby, Timmy. Yet, within days, Deborah is bored to death by the banalities of life as a mother and home-maker, and it only takes minimal persuasion from her mother for Deborah to abandon life in the small Hampshire village, and head to London for an office job.

Her first day in London results in a drunken one night stand, which she is disgusted by, and returns home and devotes herself to Timmy. In general, she has a better temperament, much to the relief of her mother as well as her housekeeper, Mrs. Chalmers. However, she returns to London soon after, and shares an apartment with her college friend, Madeleine, leaving Timmy in the capable hands of Mrs. Chalmers. Initially, she spends the evenings alone in the apartment, despite Mady's best efforts to coax her into the life of glamour: going to parties and having fun, adamant that she should not even be tempted to be unfaithful to her husband. At this point, I sympathised with her, despite her abandoning her son, and looking for a more exciting life in London during the war.

Her adamance crumbles though when Joe, a married American, knocks on the door of her apartment, and convinces her to go out for dinner. While Graham promised Deborah that he would not fall in love,  Joe's promise to his pregnant wife was the inverse, i.e. he would not cheapen his relationship with his wife by sleeping with cheap women. They both appear to be on the same page when it comes to their marriage and their thoughts on infidelity. They do sleep together though, which they justify by saying they are still faithful to their respective spouses, as they are not in love. Many expensive presents and dinners and drinks later, the line between love and companionship blur, and Deborah is very much in love with Joe. Yet, when he has to leave the city, Deborah accustomed to a life of glamour and ostentation, finds another lover and then another - which is all too disturbing. It gets sickeningly worse when she asks men to visit her at the her cottage in Hampshire over the weekends, and it's evident that she's lost all her moral standards and naivety when she requests one of the men to teach her how to be a good mistress - only because it's a trait that Mady possesses, and Deborah envies that. The way she convinces herself that she's not in the wrong and justifies each and every action of hers is mind-boggling, for initially she does come across as someone with high principles and moralities. One can account for a weak character easily being dispossessed of all their virtues, but someone who is as uptight and "holier-than-thou" as Deborah morphing into a greedy tart almost seems to defy logic.

Overdrawing from her bank account, moving from man to man, to the extent that one man introduces her to another, and manipulating men at will to buy her fancy things and take her to restaurants and clubs which Graham would never be able afford seems to business-as-usual for her, and this hedonistic superficial lifestyle is all she cares about. Even her son takes second place. Yet, she manages to justify it.

"You're at least the third person," she said, "who has asked me if I mightn't be better if I went home to my chee-ild. Well, darling, that's just one of the things I've really thought out for myself and I know it's better to be happy than unhappy, and not only for me but for my baby as well. I like this sort of life, in fact, I love it, and seeing as how I'm hurting no one and doing myself quite a lot of good, I rather think I'll carry on with it. I've come to the conclusion that conventional morals were invented by a lot of unattractive bitches to make themselves feel good."

One does wonder though: is it the aftermath of war that prompts people to abandon their principles? Or, is war just an excuse for people to let loose their inner inhibitions an do what they want? If Graham hadn't been called up, would things have turned out differently, or was Deborah only looking for the easiest way out of a life of commitment and stability only to plunge into glamour and deceit? And, how exactly is it, that people who initially come across as so prudish are so quick to turn themselves into the "anti-prude", driven by envy and hedonism, and then, even justify it? Or, does the need to justify the actions arise from the prudishness, or the need to believe that they haven't done any wrong?

I was very much in love with Graham when I married him, conceded Deborah, who was determined not to be one of those low girls who denied a love as soon as it was over, but there's no reason why the person who suited you at twenty should still be the right person for you at twenty-five, when you've both developed and changed and in different directions too.

But honestly - the way Deborah's character spirals downwards is scary, and just... worrying. The transformation from naive and innocent to vice is so rapid, that I couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed and contemplative. Is it only a matter of circumstance? Can circumstance really justify this sheer selfish extravagant hedonism? And with no regrets? Actually, I lie - Deborah did end up regretting the fact that the war had ended, and she would be forced to go back to the mundane life of hers, and leave behind the thrills of London.

According to the introduction, this book is not entirely fictional, but an account of someone Laski knew who did transgress similar to Deborah. Initially, it was written under the pseudonym Sarah Russell, as, according to Laski's daughter, Laski was "fascinated and upset at seeing what the war had done to this person" but didn't want the person to figure out that she was the anti-heroine of the book. The person Deborah's character was inspired by managed to get a divorce from "Graham" and she re-married a rich man - probably one who was able to afford her extravagant way of living, and who liked showing off his trophy wife (the last bit's pure conjecture on my part).

I loved this book, and I really do want to read some more books by Laski. There are four published by Persephone, so I guess I have three more to go. Which would you recommend next?

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?

Bernhard Schlink - Homecoming

 This is another one of my reviews that have been pending for over a month. While I'm reading the super-chunky Midnight's Children, I thought it's a good time to get up-to-date with some of the reviews which really should have been written earlier.

Homecoming was my attempt to get familiar with Schlink's writing, before I read The Reader - Schlink's much acclaimed international bestseller, and unfortunately, I was fairly disappointed, so much so that, I've put off reading The Reader 'til next year. 

Another book that originates in the post-war Germany, this one traces the life of Peter Debauer as he struggles to find his 'home'. Born and brought up in Germany, by his mother, Peter has never known his dead father, although he spent his vacations with his father's parents in Switzerland, while growing up. 

His grandparents were editors of a series called Novels for Your Reading Pleasure and Entertainment. However, they were insistent that young Peter never read these manuscripts, and instead, they would provide him with books more suitable for children his age. However, Peter disobeyed them only the once, and coincidentally, stumbled upon a story that would change his life... 

The story revolved around a soldier who escapes from Russian imprisonment, and starts his journey home, overcoming obstacles on the way. Yet, when he reaches home, he finds his wife married, with a child. What transpires next is unknown, as the last few pages of this story are missing. 

Years later, Peter finds the story again, and is filled with an urge to determine what happened next in the story. So starts his quest to look for the novel, and its author. However, he is unable to find a published copy of the manuscript, but, he is able to identify the building in Germany which used to be the soldier's home, and he rings on the apartment. Typically, a woman opens the door, and Peter ends up falling in love with her. And in due course of time, she tells him that she is already married. 

When they meet again, a few years on, Peter proposes to her, and they decide to tie the knot. However, the legal documentation cannot be completed, as the authorities are unable to find anyone with Peter's name born at the time/place of his birth. In theory, he doesn't exist. When he goes back, to ask his mother the details of his birth and early life, he finds out that she hasn't been totally honest with him, about his father, or his early life. In fact, his father might be alive. Another coincidence: the author of the manuscript might just be the man who fathered him! 

And so he sets off to New York, to find out who he really is, where he's come from, and the mystery surrounding his father. 

The book is well-written. However, it's a hackneyed unbelievable plot, with too many coincidences; most of which seem far-fetched. Also, Schlink's tried way too hard to allude to the Odyssey, drawing parallels between the protagonist's life and the classic masterpiece. In fact, it looks like he's tweaked and tucked his plot to match the Odyssey's. I also think this might be one of those books, which suffers from losing a lot of its brilliance due to translation. The words just don't flow easily, and at the end of the day, it seems like a rigid forced novel, instead of an easy free-flowing one. 

Overall rating: 4/10

Philip Roth - The Plot Against America

This review has been outstanding for about a month and a half, and for that I apologize. I read it back when I was working towards a big deadline, and I just didn't find time to review it back then. But here it is, now...

I stumbled on to this book by chance. One of my colleagues recommended The Man In The High Castle to me, fleetingly, and it sounded quite interesting. However, by the time the day had come to a close, and I got home, I just couldn't remember the name of the book. So, I googled something like 'World War II alternate reality", and guess what I found: Philip Roth's The Plot Against America. I still haven't read The Man In The High Castle, but this, this was fantastic! Is this what they call 'serendipity'? A fortunate mistake? Because, it sure was. Barring the classics that are Gatsby and A Clockwork Orange, this has been my favorite book in 2009. 

The premise of the book is both, credible and simple: what if Lindbergh had won the 1940 Presidential election, instead of Franklin D. Roosevelt? In an interview, Roth says he stumbled upon a sentence in Schlesinger's notes, which stated something along the lines of: Some Republican isolationalists wanted Lindbergh to run for President in 1940. And so, the book was born.

Roth has gone to great lengths to keep all the other events as historically accurate as possible, so much so that the book actually seems like real history. The political characters, the speeches, historical events - they all seem to add up. He even chose Winchell to lead the opposition against Lindbergh, as he hated the latter; calling him pro-Nazi from the moment Lindbergh propagated the cause of America not intervening in events geographically far away from them. I concede that the thought of Winchell ever running a political opposition against the President of the United States is scary, but, then again, you can say the same about Lindbergh becoming President. Nonetheless, one can also see why Lindbergh becoming President was not as incredible as it sounds: an aviation hero (making the first transatlantic flight in the late 1920s), he gained public sympathy when his child was kidnapped and murdered. He said 'Hitler was a great man,' but simultaneously voiced what must have been a very popular opinion: No American should die on foreign soil! So, yes, what if Lindbergh occupied the White House in 1940... 

While some of the historical accuracies makes the book 'real', what makes it magnificent is that Roth chooses to write it in first person, in a direct way, where the narrator is Roth's younger self - all of seven when the book starts. Living with his parents, his older brother and his cousin, Roth's narration is a mixture of childhood pains and adult intelligence.

The book opens with:

Fear presides over these memories, a perpetual fear. Of course no childhood is without its terrors, yet I wonder if I would have been a less frightened boy if Lindbergh hadn't been President, or if I hadn't been the offspring of Jews. 

One of the so-called pains is when one of the neighboring kids tries to befriend him, but Roth only has disdain for him, even after Seldon saves his life. In fact, the greatest tragedy of the book is orchestrated by Roth, inadvertently, and one ends up feeling the greatest sympathy for Seldon's loss. 

While Roth is fighting these childish personal battles, he is also aware of the political environment, that seems to be pulling his family apart, as all its members are dealing with Lindbergh as President in their own world. His cousin runs away from home, to fight the War, and comes home with a prosthetic leg and anger - anger at how things turn out. His brother idolizes Lindbergh, and uses his artistic talents to create amazing portraits of him, which he keeps hidden under his bed. His father is furious with the turn of events - specially, when he takes his family on a holiday to Washington, and their hotel room is rendered unavailable. Bess (his wife) is embarrassed, as he reminds the people around him of the Gettysburg principle : All men are created equal. It's no avail, and they are forced to find another hotel room. They live the dream, Philip's father says, and we live in a nightmare.

As the book progresses, and more anti-Semitism is introduced through programs like 'Just Folks', which encourages Jewish city boys to go and work on a farm for a summer. Philip's older brother, Sandy, is one such member, and he is later requested to encourage other Jewish boys to do the same. Bess' sister, Evelyn, has a boyfriend who is a Rabbi, a Rabbi who propagates Lindbergh's cause, insisting what's happening in Germany is completely different to what's happening in America; i.e. the Jews should enter into a country life, and disappear into it. This adds more friction to the family relationships. 

Can you imagine this? A fascist America? The President of the Free World being anti-Semites? America siding with Germany during the War, and signing non-aggression treaties? I can't, not for the life of me. But Roth, he's managed to a spectacular job of bringing something we can't imagine to life, and making us grateful that for once, the 'what if' didn't quite pan out. 

Overall, a 9 on 10.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - Half Of A Yellow Sun

War destroys all that is left of innocence. It pulls people together, and it drives them apart. People are left asking questions, as they pine for their loved ones, as they try and contemplate the horrors of war, and as they struggle to survive - just so that they can see a better day.

And it is this aspect of war that Adichie focuses on in her much-acclaimed novel, Half of a Yellow Sun. The story, based in the 1960s, revolves around the Nigeria-Biafra war - a historical event that has escaped the chapters of most history texts outside Africa - and the massacre, starvation, illness, and fear it brought in its wake, as the Igbo people battled for their independence, which was short-lived. Biafra (even my spell-check doesn't recognize it!), in 1970, returned to Nigeria, and as the book stated: a million people died, in the process.

The story's main protagonists are the twins: Olanna and Kainene, who are poles apart, both in looks and in attitude; their lovers: the 'revolutioary professor' Odenigbo, and the awkward introverted Richard - an expatriate writer, enchanted by Igbo history. And then of course, there's Ugwu, a poor village boy who has come to serve the professor, as a house-boy.

The twins, at the outset, are estranged and distant, for no reason whatsoever. Olanna is about to move in with Odenigbo, and teach in Nsukka, whereas Kainene is looking to take her father's business to greater heights. However, as things turn out, due to love and betrayal, the twins' rift grows deeper, and Olanna finds herself avoiding Kainene. She does, however, adopt Odenigbo's love-child from a brief one-night affair, and finds herself devoted to Baby's health and happiness.

When war breaks out, and strains some of the relationships, while simultaneously bridging the gap in some, we see the weakness and strength in the characters as never before.

Richard, an Englishman (and Kainene's lover) remains in the warzone, and writes articles for the international media, propagating the cause of the Igbo, instead of returning to his motherland. He is disgusted when some white journalists show up, and ask about the unfortunate death of another Englishman. His sarcastic comment at that point is along the lines of: one white person is equivalent to a thousand Biafrans.

Odenigbo finds comfort in his papers, and his theories, but when war breaks out he resorts to alcohol. Olanna, and Ugwu set up a small formal school, as all the schools around them are closed down, and transformed into refugee camps. Kainene, on the other hand, sets up a refugee camp, and tries to ensure that there are enough protein pills and food for everyone - specially the children.

As the characters are introduced, and their role in the story starts shaping up, I couldn't help but marvel at how Adichie's writing shifts from prosaic to poetic. And that, at times, is disconcerting. For example, in the opening chapter, Ugwu is overwhelmed by the richness of his new environment:

He looked up at the ceiling, so high up, so piercingly white. He closed his eyes and tried to reimagine this spacious room with the alien furniture, but he couldn't. He opened his eyes, overcome by a new wonder, and looked around to make sure it was all real. To think that he would sit on these sofas, polish this slippery-smooth floor, wash these gauzy curtains.

and I think that's a beautiful piece of writing - so vivid, and I can close my eyes, and actually imagine Ugwu's wonder, just by the above line.

But then, later on in the book, after the war had started, the descriptions were enough to make me, as a second-hand observer, feel queasy. The below is a snippet when Olanna was on a train, heading back home to her revolutionary lover, after the war had broken out, and the Igbo people were being found out and massacred.

Olanna looked at the bowl. She saw the little girl's head with the ashy-grey skin and the plaited hair and rolled back eyes and open mouth. She stared at it for a while before she looked away. Somebody screamed.

The woman closed the calabash. 'Do you know,' she said, 'it took me so long to plait this hair. She had such thick hair'.

And then there's the scene Richard witnessed at the airport, on landing from England, where his cousin was getting married.

Richard saw fear etched so deeply on to his face that it collapsed his cheeks and transfigured him into a mask that looked nothing like him. He would not say 'Allahu Akbar' because his accent would give him away. Richard willed him to say the words, anyway, to try; he willed him something, anything, to happen in the stifling silence and as if in answer to his thoughts, the rifle went off and (his) chest blew open, a splattering red mass [...]

My favorite character of the book has to be Kainene, just because she's offbeat, and has no illusions (read delusions) of grandeus about herself. While Olanna was occasionally self-piteous, Odenigbo was a character I couldn't relate to. He was an intellect, but came across as a know-it-all. Ugwu was a character I had grown quite fond of, as I could actually relate to some of his thoughts (hats off to Adichie for creating one of the most 'real' characters I've come across, in a long time), but without giving much away, I will say that there are certain things that make a character somewhat irredeemable. And Richard, well, I admired him for sticking to the Igbo people, as though they were his own, but, his character was probably the blandest of them all, if you know what I mean?

In this story about love, loyalty, betrayal, redemption, and survival, Adichie brings up the painful reality of war; unflinchingly discussing gang-rapes, starvation, children dying, and the horrors of air-strikes, where everyone tries to hide in a bunker. In an ironic statement, we see how everything is held together, precariously, as a girl's belly starts to swell, and her mother wonders is she pregnant or is she dying. (a swollen belly indicates 'kwashiorkar', or protein deficiency).

This is a very well-written profound book, and it really wouldn't surprise me if it became a classic of our times. However, in critique, the couple of things I will say are:

In my opinion, the flow of the book was disrupted by how the first section was based in the early 1960s, the second in the late 60s, the third in the early 60s again, and the final section was based in the late 1970s. I didn't quite understand why that was done, because I'm not at all convinced it enhanced the story in any way.

Second, why on earth was a six year old referred to as Baby throughout the whole book? Fair enough, it worked for Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing, but, in a warzone, even if you're trying to depict the innocence of a child, the name 'Baby' really doesn't do it. Well, it didn't for me!

And also, I found the last paragraph a weak ending to an otherwise great story. I really do not want to give much away at the time, but, it was an ending that left a bit to be desired. In fact, the way it came about was almost rushed.

Overall, a 7.5 on 10.

Michael Morpurgo - Waiting For Anya

Twelve year old Jo, a shepherd boy, lives in a small French mountain village, during the late 1930s-early 1940s. World War II's broken out, and Jo's father is away in action, while Jo is assuming some of his father's responsibilities, and simultaneously attending school. The War is far away from this village, and to Jo it almost seems quite unreal, and he's unsure of his opinion about it. What Jo thought about the war and about the occupation seemed to depend on whether he had just talked to Maman or to Grandpere: he could never make up his mind.

His mother just wanted the War to end, and his father to come home, whereas his grandfather was eyeing victory.

However, things change drastically for Jo, when he discovers that Widow Horcada and her son in law are smuggling young Jewish children into Spain, in order to help  them escape a worse fate at the hands of the Germans. The Widow is supposed to be an unpopular woman in the village, due to her sharp tongue and dislike for children - The children in the village called her 'The Black Widow', and not just on account of the long black shawl she always wore over her head.

Bernard, the son in law, and the Widow insist that Jo keeps a secret, and Jo, albeit unhappy about lying to his mother and grandfather, agrees to do so. He even takes on the responsibility of helping the Widow with her food-shopping, as more and more children find shelter in her barn. However, when the Germans start patrolling the Spanish border, danger for the children and the adult pair seems imminent. Jo continues to stick to his convictions to help them, at all costs, and earns the trust and respect of the Widow as well, over time.

This is an adventure story, a story about the Holocaust, and World War II. More importantly, it's a story about unity, human nature, bravery, friendship and a child's innocence. It talks about the pointlessness of War, and how both parties stand to lose. It touches upon how some Germans don't understand what they're fighting for, and how they are losing their families and loved ones as well. It poignantly shows the difficulties a soldier faces on coming back home, after four years, when life has moved on for this family, despite his absence. And it is essentially a story about a few people who are ready to sacrifice everything to do the right thing.

A descriptive, eloquently written text, Waiting For Anya is one of those books that is bound to bring a tear to the eye, specially right at the end, when Jo is introduced to Anya, Bernard's daughter. Anya and Bernard left Paris together, but got separated en route to the Widow's place. They had a promise that they'd wait for each other there, and Bernard had full faith that his daughter would be back one day: Two years, ten years, however long it takes. She'll come. And when she does, we'll be waiting for her just like I promised her.

Overall, a 7 on 10 - probably a notch below the likes of The Book Thief and The Boy In The Striped Pajamas, when it comes to children's books based during the World War II era, but, a must-read anyway.

Michael Morpurgo - WarHorse

I don’t know why I picked up this book. It might have been because I’ve got The Butterfly Lion and Private Peaceful on my reading list. It might be because it was the only book that looked tempting at Waterstones the other day (and I couldn’t find a copy of The Great Gatsby - the book I actually wanted to purchase). I don’t know - but, I picked it up, and silently cursed myself, for... the last couple of times I’ve picked up a book without reading any reviews, I’ve regretted it (Suspicions of Mr. Whicher being a prime example). But, this book ended up restoring my faith in impulsive book buying.

The gist at the back of the book only lets you know that it’s a story of “truest of friendships in the worst of wars”. What it doesn’t tell you is, the book is written in first person, and the protagonist is a horse. Does the title of the book give it away? Maybe so - but, frankly speaking, it wasn’t what I expected when I started reading the book, and for a moment I despaired - I mean, not every author is like Sewell, who succeeded in making the story of Black Beauty one of the most loved horse-stories ever. I was prepared for a painstakingly unimaginative pathetic fallacy, where the story has been done in a gazillion other equine-books. But... like I’ve already indicated: the book was a pleasant surprise.

The book follows the story of Joey, a half-thoroughbred, who was bought by a drunk farmer during an auction, only to outsmart one of his rivals. However, the farmer’s son seems to be the diametric opposite, and trains the horse with love and care, and surely enough, the horse reciprocate the feelings:

They (father and son) stood together at the stable door. I noticed with infinite pride and pleasure that my Albert was already taller than his father, whose face was drawn and lined with pain.

One does wonder why on earth they’re training a half-thoroughbred to be a plough-horse, but there you have it.

War (World War I) is on the verge of breaking out, and when it finally does, the farmer sells Joey to the Cavalry, without letting Albert know. This is probably the only time in the book where we see the softer, more remorseful side of the farmer, as he apologizes to Joey, saying he is desperately in need for the money. And so it is - Joey becomes part of the Cavalry, and instantly befriends Topthorn (another Cavalry horse).

The horse, with a penchant for poetic language, describes the horrors and destruction that War brings in its wake, focusing on the emotions, the hardships, the frustrations and the futility of it all, as he sees horses and people dying, guns being fired endlessly, and people (and horses) struggling to find food or warmth in the bitter winter.

Still the guns bellowed out their fury and the ground shook beneath us. We passed the field hospitals and the light guns before trotting over the support trenches to catch our first sight of the battlefield. Desolation and destruction were everywhere. Not a building was left intact. Not a blade of grass grew in the torn and ravaged soil.

As the war progressed,horses were used for transport, as opposed to for charges. When Joey and Topthorn (and their respective riders) are taken as German prisoners of war, the two fine horses end up pulling German ambulances. At that time, they’re kept in stables, for the first time since the war began, and their care-taker is a young girl, who pours affection on them, and always wants the best for them. Again Joey describes why horses like children, their softness and gentleness unparalleled, and allows the reader another glimpse into the psyche of the horse.

The book is heartwarming, and sad, as people die, horses die, and there seems to be a remarkable injustice. But, to be fair, that just about sums up war: where people sometimes lose track of the reasons they’re killing others, and kill only because the other man wears a different color uniform, and speaks a different language. As tragedy strikes, as Joey loses multiple owners, as he’s starved and freezing in the winters, and as he sees his friends losing the will (and strength) to go on, he ends up pushing himself and the reader cannot help but admire the horse: the loyalty, the sense of friendship, and the determination.

This is a story of a horse (surprise!), but more than that, it’s a story of affection, trust, and love - between master and horse, between horses, and between people. The ending stands testimony to that, and somehow, it ends up being a feel-good book, despite the horrors and atrocities detailed and described by the war horse, and war veteran?

Overall, five stars! And yes, I’ll definitely be reading more by Morpurgo.

Anne Holm - I Am David

A young boy, with the help of a prison guard, escapes from a concentration camp and tries to find his way to Denmark. David is convinced that there is some kind of catch, and there will be people waiting to catch him, punish him and throw him back in the camp, at every point during the initial stages of the escape. Only then does he start believing he can actually escape, and leave the horrors of the concentration camp far behind.

The book almost reads like an adventure story, as it depicts the innocence, kindness and bravery of the twelve year old, who has never experienced the outside world, who does not know what most fruits are, and who actually voluntarily asks for soap as one of the things he’d like to have when he escapes. We read of how paranoia makes him run away, how he risks his own life to save that of a young girl, of how he sticks to his ethics and morals through everything, and how he still manages to find pride in what he does and does not succumb to being treated with contempt (in this case, by an American couple who reckon he’s a mischief-maker).

The end of the book is beautiful and happy, unlike some other children’s books based in the same era, and lots of questions that probably come to the mind of the reader are answered (why did the prison guard help his escape, being the key one).

A feel good book. 6.5 on 10.