A
recent bout with viral fever made bed rest compulsory and, since I had a full
quota of books from the Library, this turned out to be a not so bad thing.
‘Gilead’
– a Pulitzer Prize Winner by Marilynne Robinson – came strongly recommended by
review and expressed opinion. So I opened
the cover with eager anticipation. It is a letter from a father to a son – to the
young man that the present little boy will become. The father is a pastor, from a long line of
pastors, and the letter meanders slowly – even ponderously – between the past,
the present and musings on what the future could probably hold. There are insights which beg re-reading for
the philosophy they express, but I was left wondering how the young man would
receive this communication. Youth is
always urgent, needing the immediate solution, living in the moment. The reading would necessarily – as was my own
– have to be intermittent. Quiet pauses
in the activity of the day. And at the end of it all, would he understand that
it was time well spent? That he had shared the memories of one who had passed
on but was still present through his words? What kind of a reader would he be?
For readers bring their own perspective to an author’s work – their own colouring,
interpretation and reaction. There have
been books that left me untouched and yet other readers could wax lyrical on
the riches to be plucked, showing me nuances that had somehow passed me by.
The
jacket on my next book says ‘winner of the Somerset Maugham award’. I am not too sure whether this refers to the
author or this specific book of his – First Love, Last Rites by Ian McEwan. It
is a collection of short stories each one dealing with sexual obsessions, the ‘private
fantasy and nightmare’ of each and every protagonist from the paedophile to the
coming of age teenager. Each story speaks from ‘inside the head’ and raises the
uncomfortable question – ‘how real?’ We encounter strangers every day. What is
really going on in their minds? Or for that matter, in the minds of those whom
we claim to know?
The
last book was reassuringly familiar.
Caroline Graham’s ‘A Place of Safety’ brought back DCI Barnaby of ‘Midsomer
Murders’ fame. How I enjoyed that TV Series in all the seasons we were
privileged to receive. Here was simple
reading: meet the characters, look at what they did, watch events unfold and
the murders pile up till they are solved either by detection or by natural
resolution. At every stage we are, with the ‘criminal’, one step ahead of the
hapless Barnaby and in the process, we meet the interesting personalities and
private lives of village folk who are never ever dull.
Three
books, one that demanded reflection, the other disturbing and the third pure
entertainment. As I look forward to
breaking open the cover of my next read – Malcolm Gladwell’s ‘What the Dog Saw’
– I wonder what awaits me.
Reading
is such an adventure!
