NOSE BETWEEN THE PAGES

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!

Serendipity….

The gift of a book coupon found me searching for Kitab Khana.  A helpful assistant at the end of a phone line directed me to Davar’s College and a brisk walk later found me on unfamiliar familiar ground.  The area had been a haunt in earlier times, but the years in-between had wrought changes.

I expected to find the usual tired entrance lined with dusty shelves and well thumbed books – a memory from past visits to other stores.  Instead, I was greeted by a frontage straight out of a movie (or a dream?).  Bemused, I entered upon a most delightful scene: books on shelves, books on display, books arranged here, there and everywhere. Crisp, newly minted, fresh off the press books.  Hardbound, paperback, spiral bound books.  Colourful, sober, titillating, serious books.  Books of every kind. The silence was welcoming as were the comfy sofas, some already occupied by browsers with noses deep in – yes - books.  And, the fragrant aroma of printed paper intermingled with that of freshly brewing coffee from the coffee bar at the end of this huge Aladdin’s cave. Or, heaven.

Like a child in cookie paradise, I skipped from display to display lifting covers and sampling snippets.  I was certainly going to use that gift coupon: what I wanted was that one special book - one that would count as both a discovery and a memory.  I came across old friends among the titles and encountered many new ones and then, almost at the end of the ‘cavern’, I found it. The illustration on the cover and the intriguing title brought on that old familiar feeling – love at first sight! 

Among my treasured experiences are the verses of Ogden Nash and Hillaire Belloc and the quirky humour of James Thurber: the ultimate gateway to imagination, the involuntary chuckle and the Walter Mitty experience (if you haven’t had that, you’ve really missed something).  And now, I have added Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends. A turn of the pages takes you to a magical, whimsical place where the author says what he means and means what he says with childlike honesty and adult wisdom. Who could resist this invitation?

            “If you are a dreamer, come in

            If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar

            A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…

            If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire

            For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.

            Come in!

            Come in!”

           

Have you ever sat on the seashore at sunset and imagined an enchanted place beyond the horizon? No? Then, be tempted.  Do it.

On Reading – II

Do you believe in coincidences? The next title I picked up gave me a feeling of déjà vu. Once again I travelled the corridors of corruption in our country’s capital. (When I was very little, I always stated with aplomb that I was born ‘in the Capital of India’ – it sounded so much more important than, ‘I was born in New Delhi’!)

I was told by a friend, whose opinion I respect, that I would find Aravind Adiga’s ‘White Tiger’ very readable. And indeed it was. This was a re-acquaintance with all that is familiar; I was enticed by the first person narrative that was so authentic in language, setting and context that I found myself reading way into the night, only to pick up as early as possible the next day. A day spent in the life of India’s teeming underbelly. This book is not for those who prefer fairy tales. It is, however, an excellent read for those who are inured to reality as represented by the daily news.

A fresh scan of the bookshelf showed me the ‘heavier’ reading which was on my ‘when I have the time and inclination’ list. My head was a little clearer, so I hefted the tomes and decided that a few pages at a time should do no harm. Umberto Eco had stimulated interest in the medieval, and the historical Church has always held its own special fascination, so I picked up the intriguingly titled ‘Holy Bones, Holy Dust’ - a scholarly work on how relics shaped medieval Europe. A few pages at a time? Perish the thought. As each chapter concluded, I would venture a few pages further. Here was history unfolding: a link to the past, and a slice of my own heritage reaching right back to the time of Christ. There was also irony, suspended belief and humour – all ingredients for an excellent read. Now, why wasn’t history taught this way when we were in school? To think that I avoided this fascinating subject for so many years all because of tutoring with tunnel vision! Even when done, I turned back to chapters that held some appealing tidbit or the other, just so that I could savour them again.

More history. Elizabeth I belongs to everyone, even though she was England’s queen. Her life holds a unique fascination not least because of her parentage but also because of her authoritative reign. For me, the definitive Elizabeth is the one described by Jean Plaidy. ‘Legacy’ by Susan Kay was leant to me by a friend; it came to me strongly recommended, but I was skeptical of what it could offer. But offer it did. Fact was fleshed out by description and conversation, attitudes and actions which could only have been imagined and yet sounded unquestionably sincere. Walls can hear but not speak. Perhaps the author gleaned something from the ghosts of London’s bloodied Tower? It certainly seemed as if she had been there on the spot. Another ‘unputdownable’ (my word for it!) read.

After this, there was one more treat in store: Orhan Pamuk’s ‘Other Colours’. I had read bits and pieces in other places, and I was hooked. This was an author whose deeper acquaintance I looked forward to. And I was delighted when I eventually got the chance. The books is a collection of essays: Pamuk has written about his beloved Turkey, his youth, his family, his daughter, his thoughts and aspirations, his writing and in every piece, he has invested himself so completely that the sincerity in the writing lends it a rare integrity. There are books which once read are read; there are others which you are loath to let go. This book belongs to the latter category - a book that will be a cherished companion.

Several titles down the line, I am, as you can see, firmly back in my favourite groove – the world of the printed page. It is a world that I had to leave for a while, and I am really glad to have found my way back.

On Reading - I

I am grateful to a mosquito. Bizarre but true! I was the perfect host, providing my uninvited guest with that nourishing drop of blood and, in return, it deposited in my veins the larvae and the consequent malarial fever which all of us try so hard to avoid. Mosquitoes are persistent little buggers* and despite all the precautions, there was I feverish, cross and confined to bed.

Doubters would wonder how I could possibly find the silver lining. Chills and sweats and bitter quinine are hardly the harbingers of halcyon skies. But there is one thing one can do very comfortably while lying in bed – read. I looked at all the titles on my bookshelf (some borrowed, some owned) waiting for that opportune breathing space. Was this to be it? Why not?

I picked up a light and frothy whodunit by an unfamiliar author (recommended by the library) which took care of day one. I found myself mulling over the kind of reader who could gush over such appalling triviality, a sketchy plot, oodles of amazingly wondrous settings and much too much gratuitous sex. And the blurbs on the dust jacket were ecstatic to say the least! Who was that who said, ‘Never judge a book by its cover’? I turned with alacrity to the familiar and well thumbed Agatha Christies and shed much of my irritation. On to PD James who bids fair to oust Christie from her ‘favourite’ position. James’ language and descriptive sketches – not least of the personalities that walk through her novels – are so wondrously absorbing. The reader actually meets the person and appears to live in the setting. And the prose is impeccable.

Lulled into a false sense of comfort, I became a little more adventurous and decided to sample another new author. Once again, the blurbs used adjectives in the superlative. Once again, I was left wondering about integrity in the world of publishing. Reviewers are supposed to be objective; though it is hard not to bring personal tastes to bear, surely if the work is not up to scratch it should not be foisted onto the unsuspecting reader? Peer reviews, which are a common trend, tend to put the reviewer in an invidious position and are therefore, in my very considered opinion, compromised!!

The book, which brought all this on, was nothing more than a collection of newspaper columns reporting various crimes. Since each successive report of the same crime was included, there was so much repetition, and the phrases ‘he said’, ‘he opined’, ‘he reiterated’ ‘he indicated’ concluded every sentence. Surely, the reports could have been collated and rewritten in more readable prose without negating the ‘true crime’ element? If this is what is required to write a ‘bestseller’, then all one has to do is accumulate clippings from the local newspaper and collate them into a single volume.

Perversely, I tried yet another new author. This time I laughed my way from cover to cover. No literary pretentions here. Another whodunit set in New Delhi, the narrative evoked the sights, sounds, smells and personalities of the locality so colourfully that it was impossible not to enjoy. Good ‘time pass’ to use a local phrase. I may not seek out this author (Tarquin Hall), but if another of his works comes my way, I will not turn up my nose. The review (in a magazine) was honest and reality met expectation.

I love to read and will continue to dip and delve and explore. Reading is like life – you have to take the bad with the good. Forget the first and savour the latter.

*One of the recent reference texts that came my way was titled ‘Teaching the Buggers to Write’, so I guess that’s one bit of slang that is now mainstream and I have taken the liberty of using it!

Indomitable Spirit

I have just returned from a funeral. One more farewell scripted by the Big C – Cancer. A long illness well fought and patiently borne.

It has been my privilege to have known cancer patients, some directly, some through their writing and others through friends of friends. I use ‘privilege’ advisedly, because people who battle with cancer are very special – they know that they have an inner enemy who is part and parcel of their daily living. An enemy that sets the terms and conditions. An enemy that makes no concessions. An enemy that can be obscure and is insidious. Cancer patients face ultimatums which test them to the limit of physical, emotional and spiritual endurance. They become shadow boxers overnight, without the special benefit of training or prior experience.

A recent encounter sent me back to The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. I first came across this indomitable spirit in TIME’s 10 Questions. Intrigued by the answers he gave, I went on to read what was, literally, his last lecture – he was fully aware that due to advanced pancreatic cancer the clock was ticking and he has since passed away. His lecture is his legacy to his family and his students. A book that can be completed in a single sitting, this ‘last lecture’ is full of hope, humour and possesses an incredible energy. The Last Lecture is not about dying, it is about living.

Another article excerpted from a forthcoming book by Dame Maria Boulding, a nun and hermit, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer in her 80^th year is more spiritual, in tune with the rhythms of living and dying and the will of God: “….everyone will have to let go of his or her ideas about how the journey should work out, and accept another, far more baffling, itinerary.” Cancer is, indeed, a bend in the road, a route that is often unlit and seldom signposted. But, strangely enough, cancer can be a giving enemy too. It allows friends, family, doctors and nursing staff and even complete strangers to give of their time, their love, their encouragement and support. It brings people closer and makes bonds visible, tangible.

And there is the ‘return gift’ of courage. Because it takes courage to accept, to fight, to engage with life such as it may be, to smile through the tears, to hope against the odds. Yes, it takes tremendous courage. Courage that is the real Big C. Courage that is contagious.

A Saint for Every Purpose

Being Catholic means an intimate relationship with the saints, from our christening till we depart this earth.

The first saint we encounter is the one chosen as our patron saint and this saint’s name forms part of our own. And as we grow and are able to understand, we are told why this particular saint was chosen for us – either because we were born on the saint’s commemoration day, or because the name belonged to a family member from an earlier generation, or because the saint was someone’s favourite recourse.

In Europe, the name day is more significant than the birthday because of the connection with the respective saint. My husband was thrilled to know this because his birthday and his name day are one and the same – he is named for St. Albert the Great.

But I digress. I started this piece not because of the saints we are named after but because of those we encounter throughout our lives. For example, it must be a rare person who has not pestered St. Anthony to find a lost possession. Then we have St. Christopher to intercede for us when we travel and St. Jude for desperate situations; St. Joseph for help in examinations (provided we have put in a little sweat of our own!); St. Francis of Assisi to watch over a beloved pet (if you have not read Gallico’s The Small Miracle, please do) ; the Little Flower, patroness of the missions and the list goes on. Then there are the saints connected with our Alma Mater, familiar names being: Francis Xavier, Ignatius of Loyola, Magdalene of Cannossa, Claudine Thevenet. Some are easier on the memory based on the situation and others belong to recall from the Lives of the Saints – recommended reading for every Sunday School attendee.

St. Rita, I must confess, was one never encountered till now. A bulging envelope in the Sacristy, spilling out its contents, invited curiosity. And, on exploring further, I discovered that it contained holy pictures – relics of a dimly remembered time when these were highly prized collectibles – with an accompanying biography and prayer of supplication: St. Rita, intercessor for ‘the impossible’. In present time, on our frantic planet, when everything does seem insurmountable, who could resist? I was happy to find that Rita was a saint after my own heart. A real person, who faced the kind of situations we encounter in the daily news: a forced marriage, a difficult husband, wayward sons and a life of submission. The difference lies in the fact that she ultimately achieved her desired goal through steely determination and faith-filled prayer. Firmly tucked into my hymnbook, to be retrieved in time of need, St. Rita’s picture is a timely reminder that faith, hope and charity were alive and well 500 odd years ago and should never be allowed to die.

Exams are Easy!

Exams are over, so why am I telling you this now? Because, while browsing among the shelves at the Examiner Press Bookshop, the other day, I came across this slim compilation Exams are Easy (When You Know How) by Mike Evans. I generally avoid ‘how to’ books because they usually turn out to be ‘how to make money’ for the authors. The tension generated by exams for students – and parents - prompted me to take a look, and I liked what I saw.

While the book’s target audience is the student – school, college, mature – who will have to take exams at the end of an academic year or professional course, here’s why I think the book is a must read for students, parents, teachers and for anyone who has an interest in education:

The guidelines provided are what any good teacher should tell exam-takers but often fails to in the pressure-cooker situation of today’s educational scene. The approach is common sense and practical, which means that the ideas are easy to follow. What is more, each chapter has a wrap of the important points, as a bulleted list, and the 84 pages are little enough to get through, even for the most reluctant reader.

Among the important points that the book covers is the one that the student must understand that preparation for exams starts on day one of the course and does not involve last minute cramming. Other important points that are reinforced are: rest and recreation time are essential; familiarity with the syllabus and hence confirmation of completion of the course or otherwise; study habits: understanding question papers and allocation of time for both study and tackling the question paper on the day.

For example, comprehending the question paper by ‘identifying’ the verbs in the question is dealt with by explaining the meanings of ‘account for’, ‘analyse’. ‘criticise’, ‘prove’, ‘review’, to mention a few, and the author shows which action is required by the examinee. The art of making notes (requiring external study and research) as against taking notes (jotting down important points which the teacher makes) and using these to reinforce learning and recall is an exercise that has served – and continues to serve – me well and I was very happy to find this mentioned in the book, along with the other useful tips. Harnessing drawbacks in order to make them work for you and tackling common problems, round off the advice. A quote: Exams have become a problem through myth, irrationality and as something to blame by those who have not worked and, therefore, do not deserve to pass.

The book suffers a little from want of editing – the author is rather repetitive with the phrase ‘we will be talking more about this later’. This is a standard lecturing technique to recall and reinforce important points and could have been left out in the print edition. All the same, it is a minor glitch.

Exams may be over for now, but a new academic year looms and this would be the right time to invest in some useful reading.