May book update

I ended my last post with a note on how I was going to read Doris Lessing’s Going Home.

It was not to be.

Doris Lessing is probably a very good author but this book was not for me. I could not quite get her descriptions on moving back to her native Zimbabwe after a brief stint in Britain. So I had to abandon her.

I moved onto John Steinbeck’s East of Eden, a book that has been in my bookshelf since 2006 (as per the inscription from the thoughtful and better- read friend who had gifted this to me on my birthday that year). Somehow I was finally ready to read it and once I got into the book, it was unputdownable. It was just as well that I had the holiday in Penang and a work trip to Jakarta to finish the 500+ pages. During holidays, I can read in the time I would normally be at work. During work trips, I can read in the time that I would normally spend with Bobo. All travel is good for solid bouts of reading.

East of Eden tells the saga of the Trask and the Hamilton families. It is set in the early part of the Twentieth century and starts off in the East before moving to Salinas Valley in California. Samuel Hamilton is a jack of all trades, blessed with a large family but not much money. He leads a life rich in friends. Adam Trask starts off with hard beginnings and despite the good things that happen to him he also takes quite a few falls. The book is based on real life families that Steinbeck had heard about while growing up. The story takes its time to trace the life of its principal characters, following their ups and downs, all of which are ordinary, human and yet so interestingly described. A really rich account of human foibles and follies.  

Since I had still not made another trip to the library despite the mounting concerns about mounting fines, it was back to reading from my own collection. I had bought Tina Fey’s Bossy Pants and Mohsin Hamid’s How to be filthy rich in rising Asia in the Jakarta airport under the mistaken impression that books are cheap in Jakarta. They are not. Using my brains to work out the exchange rate would have helped.

Tina Fey is funny. She is also hardworking, dedicated, professionally focussed and sometimes, cutthroat and self centered. Fey gives a good idea of how comedy works. She is also unabashedly feminist and makes a great case for female comedy writers, a species that is very rare and encourages the myth that men are funnier.

Mohsin Hamid’s book is styled as a self-help book. It traces the meteoric rise of a poor village boy, ostensibly in a big city in Pakistan but could have been equally located in India, and presumably in other parts of Asia as well. It is a story of enterprise to capture a slice of the growing Asia pie. Enterprise does not mean merely hard work, intelligence and luck. In Asia it is also knowing how corruption works, how hired goons are a necessary business expense, how political influence is necessary when businesses reach a certain scale and other such tricks that are described in a matter-of-fact manner. A quick read and one that had me nodding along in agreement most of the times.

By this point, I had finally managed to find the time to go to the library and was relieved to find that D had thoughtfully renewed my books and hence I was not stuck with a large fine. I borrowed another arm load of books.

I returned to an old favourite, P.D.James and was quite looking forward to reading a slow-murder mystery. I carried Death of an Expert Witness alongwith me on an office team-bonding  trip to Macau. Unfortunately I found myself sitting next to a top level person from my office. She was friendly and we chatted for a while and then she entertained herself with word games on her phone. I turned to my book but part of my mind was wondering ‘Should I be networking harder? If I talked to her, would she be disturbed? Anyway, is a 9 p.m. ferry to Macau the best time to keep up a constant chatter with someone jetlagged from a transatlantic flight? Oh god, I am going to throw up if this ferry does not stop shaking soon’. In the end, I read the first few chapters in a half-distracted manner and ended up not fully enjoying a perfectly good book. I am going to give it a few years and reread the book again and hope I don’t remember the ending any more. All travel is not necessarily good for solid bouts of reading.

My next book was Nora Ephron’s I feel bad about my neck and other thoughts on being a woman. The title was not something that quite enamoured me. It sounded a lot like some shallow, aging person cribbing about their aging in a shallow manner. However I had read very good reviews of the book and in the end, it turned out to be a great read, with several ‘yes, I get it’ and ‘that is so funny’ moments. Ephron has lead quite an exciting life with a journalism and writing career and having been married three times (the last one successful). Hers is the kind of effortless-looking, wry humour that makes you think that you could probably be a bestselling writer too if you just tried a bit. She is smart, funny, honest and eminently likable and I guess coming across as all of this is a tougher than it seems at first sight. I particularly enjoyed her chapter on how much she loves reading and how it felt when she read a good book. It was as if she had peered into my head and put down the thoughts on paper. A nice collection of essays.

The collection of essays that has been disappointing on the other hand is PJ O’Rourke’s Holidays in Heck. I think I had read a long ago essay of his in an old Reader’s Digest and the name had stayed with me. I remember that essay being quite funny. And PJ O’Rourke has lived the life of a frontier journalist, so he should probably have many interesting observations to make. Unfortunately this book is from his post-retirement avatar where he writes about fairly benign activities like skiing in Ohio. I am not sure if he himself feels the lack of excitement in this activity compared to say, finding his way around Baghdad. In any case, the humour feels a bit forced at times. I have still not gotten through all the essays and I may end up liking the book in the end. So far though, it has not been a great find.

Penang holiday

The good thing about Penang is that it can be visited anytime of the year. Much like Singapore, the weather is mostly muggy and humid and hence there is no particularly good or bad time. So we set off during the Easter weekend, a holiday I normally used to waste in India because it used to be too hot to go anywhere except the hills and then the travel would make a three-day trip tiring.

We took the hour-long flight to Penang and were in our hotel well before noon. The hotel was in Batu Ferringhi, the popular beach area. We had initially contemplated staying in Georgetown, the UNSECO World Heritage area, since the idea was to soak in the architecture and the food. In the end, mindful of the 16-month- old who was tagging along, we decided to stick to the beach zone. Ironically, said 16-month-old turned his nose up at the beach and did not play there much.

The first day, we relaxed by the beach and the pool. Hmmm…I think we did that most of the second day and the entire third day till it was time to leave.

We did manage to step outside and visit Georgetown on the second day in the morning. We  hired a taxi for the morning. Our first stop was Fort Cornwallis, which is a beautiful fort right by the sea and reminded me of every British fort I had seen in India. Given our limited time and energy, we decided to focus on the Peranakan pleasures instead.

The next stop was the Pinang Peranakan Mansion on Church Street. The mansion belongs to a private family which has owned it for several hundred years. The place was a lovely example of what a wealthy person lived back then. Plush furniture and artefacts dotted the enormous place. There was a lovely jewellery exhibition.  A free guided tour was going on when we went and we happily joined for a while. We initially began by letting Bobo run around. Once we had mentally tabulated how much even a small damage would cost us, we firmly tucked him in our arms.

From here, we went to the New World Hawker centre for lunch. An acquaintance who is a local, had helpfully given a huge list of eating places and this was in the recommendation. The food was cheap and tasted different from the same fare available in Singapore.

Post lunch, we stopped by the Khoo Kongsi clan house belonging to one of the oldest clans in Penang. The décor was intricate and the wide courtyard gave a lovely sense of space. Clans no longer play a big role in the local Chinese society but once upon a time they were quite powerful and the house did send an impressive message. From there, D popped into the nearby Armenian Street while I quickly nipped with Bobo into a souvenir shop.

It was nearing two by then and we decided to head back for Bobo’s nap. Except we got caught in terrible Saturday-afternoon traffic (why aren’t people napping at home on Saturday afternoons! It is the one time of the week I really look forward to). By the time we reached our hotel, all of us were tired and ready to hit the bed, which we did promptly.

We stayed at the Holiday Inn, which is located right on the beach. The famous Batu Ferringhi night market was right outside, selling fake Louis Vuitton bags and various pointless trinkets. The hotel itself was a bit old but very well maintained and I could not actually put my finger on why I had a vague feeling of dissatisfaction till D remarked ‘ Well, atleast with a Holiday Inn you know what to expect’. That was it. We had turned into the family travellers, seeking familiarity over adventure.

Nevertheless predictability is good when travelling with a child (as I have stated before and as I am going to repeat ad nauseum).

Penang made for a good three day trip. I liked the relaxed feel of the place. There was something laidback about the place. I could have easily spent more time wandering through the streets of Georgetown had we been located closer to that part of town. What little I saw seemed lovely.

Still, I am also slowly getting addicted to the pleasures of relaxing by the pool with a book in my hand. And I did plenty of that 

Boboread

We started reading to Bobo quite early. For nearly eight to nine months of his life, the only bedtime reading for him was Goodnight Moon. D and I had the words down pat and could recite it in an insipid manner as Bobo began to chew the cloth book, began to learn how to grab it and then eventually learnt how to turn the pages.

Then one fine day, he yawned and turned his attention to other things. So we had to begin the ritual of reading different books to him every night.

While Bobo was bored with Goodnight Moon, he was by no means a keen reader in the day time. He steadily chewed his supply of books. Then he began to stand on them and break their spines. They were one of his toys.

I let it be, figuring out that a love for books could only begin with a close association with them. Even if it meant being physically aggressive with them. (Though I am happy to report that once he passed that phase, he has never torn a page deliberately. His mom has given him sufficient warnings about getting a tight one if he attempted that).

The first book that fascinated Bobo sufficiently for him to actually look at the pages and turn them one by one was Hug. The book has absolutely lovely and colourful drawings that fill out the pages, with not a sign of blank space. It tells the story of a little gorilla (coincidentally also called ‘Bobo’), trying to find his mummy and get a hug. Unfortunately Mummy is nowhere to be seen and instead he comes across various mother-child pairs in the forest – elephants, giraffes, snakes, chameleons and so on – hugging each other.  As an increasingly despondent Bobo bursts into tears, Mummy bursts through the trees and hugs him. All is well that ends well. While the book moved me when I read it (Thank you, Mummy hormones), Bobo (the boy, not the gorilla) loved the pictures.

It was a proud moment for me, watching him sit down and ‘read’ a book.

We kept reading all his other books to him.

The next big step happened when reading the classic Moo ba la la, a book on various farmyard animals. It follows the usual patterns of children’s books – the cow says moo, the sheep says ba etc etc. Except there is a twist and in one page ‘three singing pigs say la la la’. When you turn the page, the universe returns to order with a ‘no no, you say. The pigs say oink’. Our little boy, in love with the word ‘no’, surprised us by saying ‘no no’ one day when we turned to the right page.

He was absorbing what we were reading out to him.

Bobo has rapidly learnt to point at things from his books and makes the link in other situations. One day, he pointed at my night shirt and said ‘cow’ (pronounced ‘kau’). Yes, there was my night shirt with a picture of a cow! (and saying ‘grumpy cow’ below it, but Bobo does not have to know that).

Bobo has recently started to slowly comprehend ‘stories’. His books are fairly simple and are oriented towards teaching him things. The plainer ones merely state the facts. Pictures of butterflies, bugs, spider etc would be labelled ‘butterfly’, ‘bug’, ‘spider’. The smarter ones try to build a story.

One of the best is The Hungry Caterpillar

A tiny and very hungry caterpillar pops out of an egg on a Sunday (lesson – day of the week) and eats a leaf. Then he proceeds to eat one apple (lesson – number, fruit) on Monday, two pears on Tuesday and so on till he has consumed five oranges on Friday but is still hungry. So then he goes berserk. On Saturday he has one piece of chocolate cake, one ice cream cone, one pickle, one piece of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage and one slice of watermelon.

As the concerned parent, you palpitate a bit about why this binge eating is happening (Have the authors been spying on me? Do they know that I deny Bobo all sugary and salty treats while tucking them in myself once he goes to sleep? What is going on here?

Luckily it turns out the caterpillar ends up with a stomach ache (lesson – no snacking. Whew). So he goes back to eating leaves, builds a cocoon and emerges a beautiful butterfly.

The first bedtime that Bobo began paying attention to what I was reading to him (instead of randomly turning the pages and sticking his finger at only familiar pictures), he listened fascinated. I must say, I was also doing a rather good job. I patted Bobo’s stomach to show the caterpillar was still hungry. I counted out each of the fruits. And I salivated when I began to read the list of Saturday snacks.

This, in retrospect, was not a good idea.

Bobo made me read the book again. And then again. By the third reading, I had become considerably low key, a bit worried that we may be up all night hearing the story of the hungry caterpillar. The repeated readings were making me a bit hungry too. 

We have since been reading this book many times during the day and in the night. 

It turns out Bobo’s favourite page is the one with all those snacks. We now seem to skip the fruits and just read about the snacks. I have been also trying to dramatise the caterpillar’s stomach ache by holding my stomach, doubling over and groaning. Bobo ignores me.

Well, the kid has to learn. And books are meant to teach. And if he wants to reread his favourite bits, who am I to stop him?

It is fun reading with Bobo. His book collection has grown tremendously. We made the initial purchases but friends and grandparents have generously contributed. His room has a book shelf now with two racks and he has a shelf in the TV stand to hold his books. He likes to pull out the books from his shelf and flip through the pages. I like to look out for recommendations and buy more.He does have a few duds. And he has a few gems which parents of other younger readers have picked out for us.

Last weekend, we also borrowed a book for him from the library for the first time.

So Bobo turns into a little reader.

I hope when he grows up, he will be a big reader too.

Books update

After having discovered Kate Atkinson, I got on to the job of catching up with her body of work. The library only had Emotionally Weird, which is not a mystery novel at all (which is what I thought she wrote) and is advertised as a comic work. The story revolves around a mother-daughter pair exchanging stories about each other’s lives in a cold and remote island in Britain where a dilapidated family home is situated. The daughter’s story is all about her days in college and meanders slowly through student characters and small incidents. The mother’s story is kept very concise and like the daughter, you want to know more. In the end, you do. I would not necessarily call this a comic book but it is well written and if you are the kind who likes slice-of-life stories, then this one is apt

Next on my list was Cuckold by Kiran Nagarkar. P had mentioned that she was reading this book and Nagarkar being a favourite author, I decided to give it a shot. The book is located in 17th century Mewar. The central theme of the crown prince being cuckolded is mostly an anchor to the story rather than being the main story itself.  Instead the book delves in depth on power play, intrigues, plots and politics. It also gives a good sense of history around that time. I have rarely seen Indian historical fiction combining history and fiction so effortlessly.  (Not that I have read too many of them. Are there any good ones by the way?). Not surprised to know that it is one of the author’s most famous works.

The last book was Robert Jordan’s first book from the Wheel of Time series, the Eye of the World. I have always wanted to read the series but never got around to it. I finally got started. Robert Jordan used to author Conan the Barbarian stories. That should give you an idea of the depth and entertainment value of the story. (I think I am judging too harshly and hastily). Unlike a Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter or even a Game of Thrones series, the book gives no indication of having thought through an entire parallel universe. Instead it almost feels like the author just kept writing on a whim, throwing in lofty sounding names from time to time. Just as the story reaches a point when you think there is going to be some mild philosophy or a character is going to be disposed off, the story bounces back into lighter territory. But then, I suspect that a series containing twelve parts will only slowly reveal its world. In the meantime, I enjoyed the pace, the characters and the gimmicks. The book suited me well because by the time I reach the end of the day, which is when I have time to read my book, my brain is too tired to process anything too thoughtful but also too annoyed to read something trashy. Looks like I have hit jackpot with this series.

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This book began as ‘January book updates’ but considering it is April, quite some time has passed. As usual I have already forgotten some of the stuff I read. 

I continued to search out Kate Atkinson’s books and ended up with the much acclaimed Life after Life. This book ponders different ways in which a person’s life can turn out. Or different ways in which a character’s life can be shaped by the author. The protoganist, Ursula Todd, dies as soon as she born in one version. In another version she signs out in childhood. In another version she has lead a full life. The story follows roughly the same trajectory and incidents. Atkinson is honest to her character’s personality and in no version does she do something that make her seem like an altogether different person. It is just the choices that Ursula makes or that fate throws to her that set the course of her life. It is a very well written book and left me with a slightly hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. How many choices have I made that have brought me where I am? What are the other possible universes in which I exist leading a slightly different life?

With the hollow feeling continuing in the pit of my stomach, it was a while before I laid my hands on another book. This was a pity because the other books I had borrowed from the library remained untouched and finally I had to return them with a hefty fine.

The next book was picked up during a trip home. I was visiting J who had reviewed Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl in her blog. I borrowed it from her and sat and read it cover to cover. The book was quite fast paced and the author generously throws in elements that are meant to make you go ‘wow, I did not see that coming’. Though I thought the author had been a bit manipulative to achieve that element of surprise. The book tells its tale from the point of view of the husband and his wife who has disappeared. What happened to the wife? Was she kidnapped? Done away with? Did she disappear on her own? Was their marriage what it seemed to be? A good holiday page turner

In the airport on the way back to Singapore, I picked up Monisha Rajesh’s Around India in 80 train journeys. The book covers the 80 train journeys that the author undertook in India. The author is a Brit of Indian origin. Having lived briefly in India in her childhood, she does not have very pleasant memories but decides to rediscover her country. And what better way to do it than by traversing its length and breadth in the vast Indian railway network. She covers luxury trains, trains in the back of the beyond, toy trains, local trains and every kind of train that you will. The book could have easily veered off into the territory of shallow, wide-eyed NRI observations. Luckily the author avoids that trap and keeps the pop philosophy out for most part. Her observations make an effort to understand the general cultural context in which events occur. Besides, I love trains myself and while I would have loved to have these experiences first hand, I was glad to atleast read a well-written account.

When I finished this book, I suddenly got the feeling that perhaps I was living a bit too much in my books and a bit too less in the outside world. Mommy guilt stuck. While I did most of my reading after Bobo went to bed, I stayed up so late that I was not functional in the couple of hours I spent with Bobo in the mornings before heading off to work. (Warning – if you are planning to have a child, remember you can have totally random guilt trips). Anyway the long shot was that I decided to give myself a break.

In my next trip to the library, I borrowed what was definitely trash and a Doris Lessing. Both books seemed to be the kind that I would easily put away when I felt sleepy or when life intervened. Obviously for very different reasons.

My first choice (Wolves in Chic Clothing) proved me right. The book sticks purely to superficial territory when it comes to detailing the lives of rich, educated and intelligent Trust-fund heiresses. Surprisingly, it is also quite prudish. The protagonist is tempted to carry on an affair with her boss’s husband but their hot, two hour sessions are always confined to kissing. Target reader segment – Tweens? 

Next is the Doris Lessing, which I am hoping will be too heavy to be gripping. In a nice coincidence a friend brought her up at lunch yesterday and lavished high praise. So I am quite looking forward to get started