As part of our ongoing story reading sessions we read today ‘If on a Winter’s Night Traveler‘ – by Xia Jia – a sci-fi and fantasy writer from China.
A library receives a donation of a trove of books of a deceased old man and the young librarian in cataloging the books finds a chapbook of exiqusite poems. He is completely taken in by the aesthetics of the poems but also realises that the poet is not very well known. In the book he also finds the library card of a patron of the library. This patron visits the library and proceeds to the newspaper archives and while there, acts suspiciously with his back to the cameras of the library. The librarian engages the patron in a conversation on his way out about the book of poems. This results in a brief conversation about the poet during which the patron collects the phone number of the young librarian. After a few days the librarian gets a call from the patron asking her to meet at a local bar. At the bar, the librarian finds that there are about 15 people in an informal meeting all sitting around a coal stove. The patron introduces the group to the librarian and tells the librarian that they all are great admirers of the poetry and meet regularly to read it in a group. The patron then explains to the librarian that there are many such anonymous groups in the country trying to expand the popularity of the poems but not the popularity of poet as it was the wish of the poet to remain anonymous. The librarian also learns that these groups are trying their best to remove any traces of information about the personal details of the poet and it is for this same reason the patron acted strangely in the library for he was tearing out an article from the news archives about the poet knowing pretty well that it is destruction of public property. The patron offers the torn article to the librarian who throws into the stove indicating his interest in not only joining the group of admirers and also their intentions of the keeping the poet anonymous.
I chose the story not only for its theme of fame vs. anonymity but also for the narrative style. In five short pages Xia Jia tells a story that is deep and makes on think. The title of the story is actually the title of a novel by the great Italo Calvino and the novel too deals with writers, writing and their world.
Children had mixed opinions. While they felt they liked the story they thought they have read better stories in the group.
As part of our ongoing story reading sessions, we read ‘That Spot‘ by Jack London.
Normally London’s stories are gritty, brooding and dark involving situations of man vs. nature, man vs. man or animal vs. nature and continue to be quite popular among readers across the world even after a century. In contrast to those stories is this story which is a lighthearted one in which two gold prospectors in Klondike region are trying to get rid of a dog called ‘Spot’ and simply fail to do so. London writes all the instances of magical reappearance of the dog after every attempt to get rid of it in a way that is credible and engaging.
The story evoked a mixed reaction from children. One thing that is becoming clearer to me is that children are looking for more serious content that carries gravity and depth with it. Should it be seen as an evolution in their reading taste ? I am not able to determine conclusively…..
As part of our ongoing story reading sessions we read yesterday ‘No Particular Night or Morning‘ by Ray Bradbury.
Clemens and Hitchcock are space travelers on a long journey and Hitchcock develops a strange disdain for his past and memories of his past. The pain of his memories is so intense that he refuses to believe in anything that is not physical and in his presence. When he is in New York feels Boston is dead and vice versa. And the only place he can avoid anything physical is space. He describes his idea of space as follows: “So much space. I liked the idea of nothing on top, nothing on the bottom, and a lot of nothing in between, and me in the middle of the nothing.” His fellow travelers on the spaceship find him and his notions strangely unhinged and try to help him. In the meanwhile, the spaceship meets and recovers from a scary encounter with a meteor. Everyone thinks that it has added to the woes of Hitchcock and drove him to walk out into the fathomless vastness of space. But the last few radio messages from him as he drifts into the space indicate that he was clear in his notion of the meaninglessness of physicality and memories associated with them and that he found an escape into what he was looking for in space.
Ray makes the ending of the story a thoughtful and haunting one with its subtlety: “Space, thought Clemens. The space that Hitchcock loved so well. Space, with nothing on top, nothing on the bottom, a lot of empty nothings between, and Hitchcock falling in the middle of the nothing, on his way to no particular night and no particular morning…”
I was not very sure if children would like this story but to my surprise many voted this as a good one. Children also compared this story with another story of Ray called ‘Kaleidoscope‘ – both these stories deal with the idea of the vastness, directionlessness and loneliness of/in space.
How nice it would be if all libraries in India had this stanza from the stirring poem “Madhushala (Tavern)” written by Harivansh Rai Bacchan as their anthem !
भावुकता अंगूर लता से खींच कल्पना की हाला, कवि साकी बनकर आया है भरकर कविता का प्याला, कभी न कण-भर खाली होगा लाख पिएँ, दो लाख पिएँ! पाठकगण हैं पीनेवाले, पुस्तक मेरी मधुशाला
Rough translation: From the grapevine of emotion, the poet brewed the wine of imagination and has come like a wine dispenser with a flagon full of poetry. The flagon is inexhaustible despite lakhs of people who drink from it. The readers are the tipplers and the book is my tavern.
Perfect and memorablly chiseled lines that are transporting. The metaphors of the poet as saaki, of readers as tipplers and book as an inexhaustible tavern is superbly rich….
As part of our ongoing story reading sessions, we read today Satyajit Ray‘s “Two Magicians.” This story was first published in Bengali in 1963.
Surapati is a passionate and upcoming magician who is deeply inspired by his mentor Tripura Babu. But Tripura Babu belongs to a school of thought which believes that magic should be driven by dedication, diligence and concentration and not by using clever gadgetry. Surapati on the other hand is influenced by new age thinking of gadgetry, glamour and showbiz. Despite his best intentions, Surapati drifts away from Tripura Babu and begins to earn a name for himself. His fame begins to spread outside of Bengal and he is now on his way to shows in various parts of India. Knowing this streak of thinking in Surapati, Tripura Babu holds back a fascinating trick – of moving things with mind power – from Surapati. On his way to Lucknow and in a coupe reserved for himself, Surapati meets Tripura Babu who is in dire straits financially. Tripura Babu proposes that Surapati allow him to perfom on stage in Lucknow in place of Surapati (for half the proceeds) which he finds unacceptable. The desperate Tripura Babu threatens Surapati with paralyzing him on the stage while the show is in progress. Both arrive at a rapproachment where Tripura Babu will teach the special trick to Surapati and in return will be allowed to perform on the stage. En route to Lucknow and at Burdwan, Surapati’s assistant enters the coupe to find Surapati fast asleep. He wakes up Surapati who realizes that Tripura Babu is gone but has taught him the trick he desperately wanted to learn. Surapati performs the trick on stage giving credit to his master and announcing to the cheering crowd that it is truly an original Indian magic trick.
I chose this story to introduce more Indian writers to our reading group.
Personally I felt it was an extremely well written story which had a touch of originality to it. However, a majority of children expressed the view that while it is a good story there were many other stories that we have read in the past which were better.
With summer vacations on, almost all of the children appeared relaxed and eased from the worries of school.
As part of our ongoing story reading sessions, we read today a Chinese fantasy story called ‘A Hundred Ghosts Parade Tonight‘ by author Xia Jia and translated by Ken Liu.
Ning is an orphan who does not know who his parents are. He does not even know if he is human or a machine for he is brought up by the legendary warrior ghost Yan Chixia and Yan’s companion Xiao Qian on the now famous and quaint Ghost Street. Both Yan and Xiao are preparing Ning for the real world but are deeply affectionate to Ning to the point of being enormously indulgent. Legend has it that all the ghosts are ghosts in all respects except for their souls which are transplants from humans. Legend also has it that every thousand years the God of Thunder (he surprisingly is a Yaksha) comes for the ghosts and drives them out of existence. The ones who are exempted are the ones who have a real human heart at the time the God of Thunder’s encounter. One by one the God of Thunder takes all the ghosts of Ghost Street. Ning manages to hand over his heart to Xiao and enables her to live another thousand years. In the process he also establishes to himself that he was a human with a real heart which is capable of love and sacrifice and not an animate heartless and soulless machine.
I was a bit experimental in my choice but went ahead taking into consideration the alien but impressive atmospherics, strength of the plot and the opportunity it gave me to enable children encounter elements of a culture that they are not too familiar with. Xia Jia‘s narration is definitely absorbing and Ken Liu does a great job in presenting this story to non Chinese audience.
Children had mixed opinion about the story. While they felt it had an interesting plot and overall flow, they also felt that at places it dragged. Widening the reading topology of children comes with risks of rejection but the only way out of this situation is to enable children experience it and then decide for themselves. And that precisely is what I tried to do with ‘A Hundred Ghosts Parade Tonight.’
In the novel ‘The English Patient,’ one of the characters makes a wise comment about sadness:
‘You have to protect yourself from sadness. Sadness is very close to hate. Let me tell you this. This is the thing I learned. If you take in someone else’s poison – thinking you can cure them by sharing it –you will instead store it within you.‘
I have begun to realise that it is the same with regret. I am coming to believe that we ought to protect ourselves from regret too. We ought to learn to ring-fence thoughts that give birth to regret. Easier said than done as regret is linked to desires. This realization came to me after reading this moving poem by the Hindi poet Gopaldas Neeraj. The sheer depth of thought, feeling, the rhythm, the choice, simplicity and cadence of words, the quality of introspection is extraordinary. A slightly longish one but a memorable one…. Took three days for me to learn it by heart. Now this great poem is all mine……Wish it were translated into other languages for wider reception. (There are days I feel blessed for knowing three languages viz. Telugu, Hindi and English). Here it is….
स्वप्न झरे फूल से, मीत चुभे शूल से – Gopaldas Neeraj
स्वप्न झरे फूल से, मीत चुभे शूल से लुट गये सिंगार सभी बाग़ के बबूल से और हम खड़े-खड़े बहार देखते रहे। कारवाँ गुज़र गया गुबार देखते रहे।
नींद भी खुली न थी कि हाय धूप ढल गई पाँव जब तलक उठे कि ज़िन्दगी फिसल गई पात-पात झर गए कि शाख़-शाख़ जल गई चाह तो निकल सकी न पर उमर निकल गई
गीत अश्क बन गए छंद हो दफन गए साथ के सभी दिऐ धुआँ पहन पहन गए और हम झुके-झुके मोड़ पर रुके-रुके उम्र के चढ़ाव का उतार देखते रहे। कारवाँ गुज़र गया गुबार देखते रहे।
क्या शबाब था कि फूल-फूल प्यार कर उठा क्या जमाल था कि देख आइना मचल उठा इस तरफ़ जमीन और आसमाँ उधर उठा थाम कर जिगर उठा कि जो मिला नज़र उठा
एक दिन मगर यहाँ ऐसी कुछ हवा चली लुट गई कली-कली कि घुट गई गली-गली और हम लुटे-लुटे वक्त से पिटे-पिटे साँस की शराब का खुमार देखते रहे। कारवाँ गुज़र गया गुबार देखते रहे।
हाथ थे मिले कि जुल्फ चाँद की सँवार दूँ होठ थे खुले कि हर बहार को पुकार दूँ दर्द था दिया गया कि हर दुखी को प्यार दूँ और साँस यूँ कि स्वर्ग भूमी पर उतार दूँ
हो सका न कुछ मगर शाम बन गई सहर वह उठी लहर कि ढह गये किले बिखर-बिखर और हम डरे-डरे नीर नैन में भरे ओढ़कर कफ़न पड़े मज़ार देखते रहे। कारवाँ गुज़र गया गुबार देखते रहे।
माँग भर चली कि एक जब नई-नई किरन ढोलकें धुमुक उठीं ठुमक उठे चरन-चरन शोर मच गया कि लो चली दुल्हन चली दुल्हन गाँव सब उमड़ पड़ा बहक उठे नयन-नयन
पर तभी ज़हर भरी गाज़ एक वह गिरी पुँछ गया सिंदूर तार-तार हुई चूनरी और हम अजान से दूर के मकान से पालकी लिये हुए कहार देखते रहे। कारवाँ गुज़र गया गुबार देखते रहे।
In a seminal essay titled ‘The Simple Art of Murder‘ – Raymond Chandler lays out the landscape and boundaries of the detective fiction genre. He elegantly debunks some of the popular notions about this genre classified as being low-brow while also throwing light on the personality of an ideal detective and logical flaws in some of the well known and popular books of this genre. Famous names like A.A Milne, Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, Agatha Christie and Dashiel Hammet get discussed. It is a spirited essay full of perspective and nudged me to rethink some of the conservative views I entertained about the genre as a whole. That also led me to try out his book ‘The Big Sleep.’
Beyond the plot, ‘The Big Sleep‘ stands out on two fronts: First, the portrayal of Philip Marlowe – Chandler’s detective – the metrics of measurement of his personality are insightfully outlined by Chandler himself in the essay when he writes:
“But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor—by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world. I do not care much about his private life; he is neither a eunuch nor a satyr; I think he might seduce a duchess and I am quite sure he would not spoil a virgin; if he is a man of honor in one thing, he is that in all things” – Marlowe is all this and more and he is more by being human, vulnerable, considerate and a man of scruples with an endearing sense of humour. Marlowe has a personality as unique and as memorable as Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot.
Second is Chandler’s styling of language. Forget about detective genre, in any genre in contemporary English literature, there are very few who can write as stylishly as Chandler does. It is , engaging, entertaining, curt, absorbing, ironical and humorous with some great conversations, descriptions, one liners and similes. Chandler is a class act in his detailing. Here are two great examples. The first is when Marlowe meets the ravishing Mrs. Regan – the wayward daughter of General Sternwood:
“I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs. Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble. She was stretched out on a modernistic chaise lounge with her slippers off, so I stared at her legs in the sheerest silk stockings. They seemed to be arranged to stare at. They were visible to the knee and one of them well beyond. The knees were “dimpled” (!!!), not bony and sharp. The calves were beautiful, the ankles long and slim and with enough melodic line for a tone poem. She was tall and rangy and strong looking. Her head was against an ivory satin cushion. Her hair was black and wiry and parted in the middle and she had the hot black eyes of the portrait in the hall. She had a good mouth and a good chin. There was a sulky droop to her lips and the lower lip was full.”
In a different book and a different setting, Tolstoy does something very similar while describing Anna Karenina (Check out the scene where Count Vronsky sees Anna for the first time in a railway compartment). Here is another:
“There was a small ivory pushbutton beside the door marked “405.” I pushed it and waited what seemed a long time. Then the door opened noiselessly about a foot. There was a steady, furtive air in the way it opened. The man was long-legged, long-waisted, high-shouldered and he had dark brown eyes in a brown expressionless face that had learned to control its expressions long ago. Hair like steel wool grew far back on his head and gave him a great deal of domed brown forehead that might at a careless glance have seemed a dwelling place for brains. His somber eyes probed at me impersonally. His long thin brown fingers held the edge of the door. He said nothing.”
The book is littered with such writing. It is not just his ability to observe but his ability to depict what he observes in its fullest sense appropriate to a scene that makes Chandler’s fiction deeply engaging. Chandler’s prose reaches a kind of perfection in his similes and one liners. Here are some I found which are a master’s work:
Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
He was like Caesar, a husband to women and a wife to men.
I was as empty of life as a scarecrow’s pockets
“You leak information like a radio announcer,” she said
“Two coffees,” I said. “Black, strong and made this year.”
She brought the glass over. Bubbles rose in it like false hopes
Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form itself on the edge of consciousness
She bent over me again. Blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house.
He sounded like a man who had slept well and didn’t owe too much money.
Another army of sluggish minutes dragged by
She gave me one of those smiles the lips have forgotten before they reach the eyes.
The giggles got louder and ran around the corners of the room like rats behind the wainscoting.
It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in
There was a thick pinkish Chinese rug in which a gopher could have spent a week without showing his nose above the nap
A few windows were lit and radios were bleating at the dusk
She was as limp as a fresh-killed rabbit.
The purring voice was now as false as an usherette’s eyelashes and as slippery as a watermelon seed.
Her hand was small and had shape, not the usual bony garden tool you see on women nowadays.
Chandler makes his conversations engaging, entertaining and a pleasure to read. The plot largely is the working of devious, scheming, lying people who take law into hands driven by circumstances some of which are beyond their ken and with men like Marlowe bent on setting things right.
Overall, ‘The Big Sleep‘ was an engaging read and I am looking forward to reading his other books like ‘Farewell, My Lovely,’ ‘The Long Goodbye,’ and the ‘The High Window.‘
Excursions Of A Bibliophile 