“Letters are just pieces of paper,” I said. “Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.”
Norwegian Wo...more“Letters are just pieces of paper,” I said. “Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.”
Norwegian Wood is supposed to be Murakami’s realistic novel; there are no mind-bending revelations, or even cats that talk, but a strong sense of ephemerality pervades the novel in a way that is at times surreal. There is nothing extraordinary about Toru Watanabe, the first-year student protagonist; he is studying drama, though he seems to have no real passion for it, he is apolitical in the age of worldwide student revolts, a middle-class kid from Kobe and a mediocre student who works part-time in a record shop to make ends meet. He is also at that precious age on the cusp of adulthood when everything that happens takes a looming significance. The central drama of his adolescence revolves around Naoko, the pretty but fragile girlfriend of his best friend who committed suicide at the age of 17, and Midori, an outgoing fellow student who is a tenacious survivor of both her parents’ deaths from cancer. Torn between the two, Watanabe navigates through the haze of love and lust, life and death, only to find himself at “the dead center of this place that was no place”. Yet, for all the tragedies that it contains, the story ends on a note of battered hope, flitting though it is, just as ephemeral as a firefly’s fading light.
We also get a fascinating glimpse of Japan in the late 60’s/early 70’s, when the country was well on its way to become a mighty economic power --- a Japan with bullet trains and hostess bars, where the soundtrack was The Beatles and almost all the artistic references were Western. A Japan full of model students and overachievers, who most often than not ended up losing their souls. Hence the suicides are given a sort of poignant dignity; they just happen to see the pointlessness of it all and calmly, rationally, opt out. Here today, gone tomorrow, like petals that fall away with the rain and are swept away the next day, or perhaps, as in that old Beatles song, the “bird has flown”. (less)
In Juliet, Naked, Nick Hornby returns to his favorite stock character: the emotionally stunted fanboy. He’s considerably older, though, and somehow mo...moreIn Juliet, Naked, Nick Hornby returns to his favorite stock character: the emotionally stunted fanboy. He’s considerably older, though, and somehow more distasteful in his petty obsessiveness, perhaps because we are finally allowed to see him through the eyes of the long-suffering woman who wasted the best years of her life hanging around him. Duncan’s obsession with Tucker Crowe, an obscure singer-songwriter who has not released any new material after his seminal 1986 album, Juliet, is not just a weekend hobby. He drags Annie, his live-in girlfriend of 15 years, through obscure corners of America in a voyeuristic quest for his reclusive idol. At one point in their trip, Duncan asks Annie to take a photo of him pretending to pee in a smelly rock club restroom where he thinks something pivotal had happened to Crowe. Annie is glad that the toilet couldn’t talk, because otherwise, “Duncan would have wanted to chat to it all night”. It doesn’t get better back home; Duncan is also a self-appointed world-class ‘Crowologist’ who spends an inordinate amount of time on his website about the singer with his fellow obsessives. They have no time for marriage and children, and now, herself pushing forty, Annie feels that her chance for happiness has withered away along with their dead-end relationship.
When Crowe unexpectedly releases a demo tape of Juliet (subsequently known as Juliet, Naked by fans), Annie gets her double chance at revenge: first by listening to the album ahead of Duncan (unthinkable!), and then by writing a negative review of it on Duncan’s website (how dare you!). Duncan considers her lack of appreciation for the new album to be a fatal moral failing and leaves her for another woman. Surprisingly, the great Tucker Crowe himself agrees with Annie’s assessment and begins to write confessional emails to her, divulging nuggets of information that Duncan would give his right hand for. His own marriage failing, Crowe heads to England to visit one of his numerous children from former relationships, taking his youngest with him. Then, in a bid to escape reunion with assorted abandoned children and ex-spouses, he goes to stay with Annie in Gooleness, the dreary coastal town where Annie and Duncan live.
Will Annie find a second chance with Crowe? Will Duncan be cured of his obsession after meeting his all-too-human idol in the flesh? Will serial husband /absentee father Crowe finally gets it right? If this were an earlier Hornby novel, say High Fidelity, or About a Boy, the answer to these questions (after a certain amount of angst) would be a resounding Yes. But we are in a different territory here. The landscapes of middle age are different from those of early adulthood, and some people are probably just too set on their way to tread another path.
I am giving this novel four stars, but actually it’s more like three and a half stars. Hornby is in a fine form here, but the ending somehow feels anticlimactic after so much build up earlier on, and some parts with Crowe and Annie feel redundant to the point of dullness. There is no laugh-out-loud moments, instead, the humor comes from Hornby's ribbing of the internet fanboy culture and the earnest errors that it propagates. "Dear God", indeed.
I suppose that a story that is so ubiquitous during Christmas time as this one needs no introduction. I can see why it has been constantly popular for...moreI suppose that a story that is so ubiquitous during Christmas time as this one needs no introduction. I can see why it has been constantly popular for more than one hundred years. I appreciate the writing and craft that goes into the story, the social commentary, the worthy morals, and the affection that generations of readers have for it. But I hated it. Yes, it's official, I'm the Grinch and (pre-reformed) Scrooge rolled into one. I have a heart made of stone, or at least something equally hard, immune to the plight of tiny, poor, crippled tots and destitute Victorian families who couldn't afford a stuffed goose for their Christmas tables.
I found the story to be simplistic, with sketchy, largely one dimensional characters, and so drenched in sugary sentimentality that it made my teeth hurt. I can deal with sentimentality, but such a massive, industrial-strength dose of it renders me comatose, instead of being genuinely moved.
*slinking away to hide under a rock until Christmas is over* (less)
What I learned from this book (in no particular order)
1. Phosphor was accidentally discovered when a scientist tried to turn human urine into gold. Th...moreWhat I learned from this book (in no particular order)
1. Phosphor was accidentally discovered when a scientist tried to turn human urine into gold. The similarity in color seemed to have been a factor in his conviction that this was possible. Like, duh. I’m no scientist, but shouldn’t it be obvious enough?
2. “In the early 1800s there arose in England a fashion for inhaling nitrous oxide, or laughing gas, after it was discovered that its use ‘ was attended by a highly pleasurable thrilling’. For the next half- century it would be the drug of choice for young people.” How groovy is that?
3. If you are an average-sized adult, you contain within you enough potential energy to explode with the force of THIRTY very large hydrogen bombs. Assuming, that is, that you KNOW how to actually do this and REALLY want to make a point. Talk about a monstrous temper tantrum.
4. We are each so atomically numerous and so vigorously recycled at death that some of our atoms probably belonged to Shakespeare, Genghis Khan or any other historical figure. But no, you are NOT Elvis or Marilyn Monroe; it takes quite a while for their atoms to get recycled.
5. When you sit in a chair, you are not actually sitting there, but levitating above it at the height of a hundredth millions of a centimeter. Throw away those yoga mats, your ARE already levitating without knowing it.
6. The atomic particles that we now know as Quarks were almost named Partons, after you know who. The image of Ms. Parton with her, uh, cosmic mammaries bouncing around the atomic nuclei is VERY unsettling.Thankfully, that scientist guy changed his mind.
7. The indigestible parts of a giant squid, in particular their beaks, accumulate in sperm whales’ stomachs into ambergris, which is used as a fixative in perfumes. The next time you spray on Chanel No. 5, you’re dowsing yourself in the distillate of unseen sea monsters. * Note to self: must throw away sea monster perfume collection*
8. The ‘maidenhair’ in maidenhair moss does NOT refer to the hair on the maiden’s head.
BUT SERIOUSLY,
this is a fascinating, accessible book on the history of the natural sciences, covering topics as diverse as cosmology, quantum physics, paleontology, chemistry and other subjects that have bedeviled a science dolt like me through high school and beyond. Yes, it’s true, I failed BOTH chemistry and physics in high school. I can't judge how accurate Mr. Bryson represents the sciences in this book, but it surely beats being bogged down in A Brief History of Time and their ilk.
"...when it comes to books, conventional morality doesn't exist."
The Club Dumas is ostensibly a mystery, but the real mystery here is the depth of our...more"...when it comes to books, conventional morality doesn't exist."
The Club Dumas is ostensibly a mystery, but the real mystery here is the depth of our obsession with books, not just for what is contained therein, but also for their physical selves: the luxurious vellum or shagreen bindings, the fading gilt letters on their spines, the linen papers that would stay fresh for three hundred years, the rare first editions and complete serials that cost a small fortune. And what is written inside can change our lives, influences our perception of reality and even drives us mad with forbidden knowledge.
The other mystery inherent in all narratives is the narrator. How faithful is he to the reality of his subject? How much embellishment does he add to the bare bones of the story? Is he telling us the unvarnished truth or instead coddles us with beautiful lies? Did Borja ever meet the devil? Who really killed Enrique Taillefer? Was the girl who called herself Irene Adler really the devil incarnate? How reliable is Boris Balkan, the 'nearly omniscient' narrator?
A page-turner of a mystery with some loose ends. The conclusion is either briliant or a cop-out, depending on your taste.
The Big Sleep has a compelling enough mystery, although it’s a rather convoluted one, with some loose ends (...more“Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.”
The Big Sleep has a compelling enough mystery, although it’s a rather convoluted one, with some loose ends (what happened to that chauffeur guy? murder? suicide?). Chandler never bothered to explain it, and Marlowe is similarly indifferent to his fate. But the plot takes a back seat to the real stars of the novel: the hard drinking tough guys, the gun-toting dames, and the city itself, a tarnished golden metropolis where the glamorous mansions of the nouveau riche stand cheek by jowl with swanky gambling dens, illegal drinking establishments and smutty photo studios. All described in a crisp, laconic voice punctuated with vivid metaphors that are as startling and polished as the gleaming barrel of a gun. “The light hit pencils of rain and made silver wires of them.” “ He had tight brilliant eyes that wanted to look hard, and looked as hard as oysters on the half shell.” “A screen star’s boudoir, a place of charm and seduction, artificial as a wooden leg.” Much of the pleasure of reading this crime classic come from such delicious observations, and the atmospheric evocation of a vanished time when men were men and women were nothing but trouble.
Note: this review is for the entire three-volume novel.
What I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1.“They are the cauldron and we are the...moreNote: this review is for the entire three-volume novel.
What I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1.“They are the cauldron and we are the deer”. For the common people, the subjects of Empire, their role is to be the deer. If the Emperor doesn’t like somebody, he is going to be put in the cauldron and boiled, just like a deer that is caught in a hunt. This is the meaning of the book’s title.
2. “Extreme confinement since infancy for Emperors surely led to many of the hideous excesses perpetrated by tyrants down the ages.” As imperial subjects, you are extremely lucky to get a monarch who is not merely sane but is also intelligent and capable.
3. Death by a Thousand Cut, or Lingering Death, is the worst way to die in Qing Dynasty China. You are not immune from it, even if you are a Jesuit priest. Better whip up that canon-making skills, Father.
4. ‘Losha’, otherwise known as Russia, is a huge empire to the north of China with a pesky habit of creating trouble at the border. It is a primitive country, inhabited by wild Cossacks and boorish foreign devils, but it needs to be placated, as it possesses muskets and cannons.
5. Russian Orthodox priests are equally adept at writing erotic love letters and Letters of State. When the Russian sovereign is also your lover, both types of communication can be conveniently merged in a single letter.
6. Russian women are beautiful, except for their noses, which stand up far too prominently from their faces. The blonde ones also have bodies that are disgustingly covered with yellow down.
7. Indecent assault is a legitimate Kungfu move, especially if you are too lazy to learn proper martial art.
8. “All emperors had sisters who were a bit crazy”. For ‘crazy’ read ‘nymphomaniac’. The great empires of Russia and China both have at least one of them.
9. All languages except Chinese is gobbledygook and every alien script is nothing but squiggly lines. Of course it doesn’t help if your good self is illiterate in any language.
10. “The tendency to insult the virtue of an adversary’s mother is more or less universal”. ‘Tamardy’ is an abuse, and NEVER call a Chinese person ‘turtle’ --- it is a grave insult.
11. Outlandish praises and idiotic slogans (such as ‘Long Live to Our Leader’ and ‘Victory to Our Great Leader’, etc.) are music to tyrants and cult leaders. Run-of-the-mill flattery will do for lesser personages.
12. Simultaneously impersonating a palace eunuch AND a Shaolin monk is surely no fun for a red-blooded teenage male, but it doesn’t matter if you can slip into a whorehouse for some serious romp. Get rid of that monkish habit first, though.
BUT SERIOUSLY,
In his last novel Jin Yong (Louis Cha), the undisputed master of wuxia (Chinese martial art fiction) brilliantly subverts the conventions of the genre that he had done so much to popularize with his previous 14 novels. For a start, the protagonist of the story, Wei Xiaobao (‘Trinket’ in this English translation --- huh?!), is nothing like the typical wuxia hero. He is no patriotic Guo Jing who defends Song China from the Mongol hordes, or Yang Guo, the great xia (knight-errant) from The Return of the Condor Heroes (Shen Diao Xia Lu). Nor is he Zhang Wuji, the hero of Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre, who led a successful rebellion against the Yuan Dynasty. Trinket is a bastard born and bred in a Yangzhou brothel. He is illiterate, foul-mouthed --- and too lazy to learn any kungfu, despite having the opportunity of learning from the best masters. He is also an inveterate gambler, a habitual liar, and a lecher who managed to marry seven (!) beautiful women. In another word, he is a lovable rascal.
Accidentally brought to the Forbidden City at the age of thirteen, Trinket impersonates a palace eunuch and strikes an unlikely friendship with the boy-emperor Kang xi. Aided by his natural cunning, he rapidly rises through the ranks to become Kang xi’s right-hand man, traveling all over China, Manchuria and Russia as His Majesty’s secret agent. In the process he gets himself tangled up with the Triads (in its incarnation as an anti-Qing resistance movement), the Mystic Dragon Cult, Mongolian lamas, Jesuit priests and Russian spies. At one point, he is simultaneously a top Qing mandarin, the master of a Triad lodge, the marshall of the Mystic Dragons and a Shaolin monk. Trinket has to use every guile and dirty trick in the book to manage his increasingly complex allegiances. For a while he manages to play his various patrons against each other to his personal advantage, and we are alternately appalled by his misdeeds, laugh out loud at his antics and marvel at his astonishing ability to bullshit his way of (almost) any situation. However, his high-wire act eventually fails and Trinket, a man with multiple, often conflicting identities, is forced to choose sides. Through the choices that he makes, Jin Yong questions the values of patriotism, primordial allegiances and conventional morality.
This novel was written during the height of the Cultural Revolution, and it is not difficult to detect allusions to the political situation in Mainland China at that time. The persecution of the dissident scholars involved in the writing of Ming history at the beginning of the book has an all too familiar ring. The leader of the Mystic Dragon Cult, with his outsized personality cult and fanatical, brainwashed young followers, bears a certain resemblance to Mao and his Red Guards. The story itself can be enjoyed on several different levels: as a rousing martial art romp, hilarious farce, historical fantasy, or cynical satire. Or you can just read it for pure narrative enjoyment. Hundreds of millions of Chinese readers can’t be all wrong. You will not be disappointed.
What I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1. You can use duct tapes to close up serious wounds; they keep the blood in and the germs out....moreWhat I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1. You can use duct tapes to close up serious wounds; they keep the blood in and the germs out.
2. You can be shot in the head and STILL have photographic memory, though annoyingly, you will forget the solution to that pesky Fermat's Theorem that you have just discovered.
3. Congenital analgesia is a useful condition to have for mafia henchmen and Bond villains.
4. Muscular, one meter eighty-four tall Latina policewomen who can out-wrestle a man are HOT.
5. Middle-aged, out of shape Swedish journalists are powerful chick magnets.
6. Threesomes and other bedroom antics involving leather, especially if you are stupid enough to record them, WILL come back to haunt you.
7. “Statistics showed that the absolute majority of people who harassed women were men.” Yes, we know it, that barring a few notable exceptions, most men are SADISTIC PIGS, PERVERTS AND RAPISTS!
8. ”The majority of poison pen artists were either teenagers or the middle-aged.” Only people between 26 and 54 years of age are crazy enough to become stalkers.
9. Amazons are cool because they were willing to cut off their right breasts to be better archers. They also liked to copulate with random men to make babies.
10. Meatballs with potatoes and Lingonberry sauce are good Swedish food.
BUT SERIOUSLY,
this final book in the Millennium Trilogy is a let down compared to its predecessors. The conspirators who protected Zalachenko and committed Salander into the asylum are revealed early on in the novel, thus removing any sense of mystery. The pair of elderly, terminally ill men who lead them are so out-gunned, out-maneuvered and out-hacked by the good guys from the beginning that there is hardly any suspense left. Salander herself spent the majority of her time on a hospital bed, convalescing from the shot in the head that she received from Zalachenko. The previous books were able to succeed largely because of the peculiar originality of her character and the outrageous stunts that she pulled. With those elements missing, what is left is a rather predictable police procedural filled with tedious bureaucratic wrangling and dull talking heads. The pace picks up a bit with the trial and the novel ends with a sorely needed action piece that provides a closure to Salander’s dark past, but it is nowhere near the level of the exciting episodes that preceded it. Still, if you have read them, you will want to read this one too, if only to get a satisfying ending for Salander, Blomkvist and other characters that we have came to know from the series.
What I learned from this book (in no particular order) :
1. Italians are excitable, dedicated to the opera, and most likely to be in...more Beware of spoilers!
What I learned from this book (in no particular order) :
1. Italians are excitable, dedicated to the opera, and most likely to be involved with organized crime.
2. Beware of fat, jolly Italian counts with submissive wives and fondness of white mice and canaries.
3. Watch out if your newly wed husband lives in a stately pile with an abandoned wing full of creepy Elizabethan furniture. If the said ancestral house is surrounded by dark ponds and eerie woods, expect the worst.
4. A Baronet is not always noble, and his impressive manor and estate might be mortgaged to the hilt. Instead of being the lady of the house, you might be forced to pay HIS debts. Make sure that the marriage settlement is settled in your favor before marrying.
5. Never marry for convenience or enter into any legal agreement when you are: a. under age; b. sentimental and easily persuadable; c. prone to swooning and fainting.
6. Intelligent, resourceful women are likely to be mannish, and even actually HAVE a mustache, but are strong and have good figures. They can also be relied on to provide intelligent conversation when your beautiful but fragile wives are too busy swooning.
7. Shutting yourself up in a medieval vestry full of combustible materials with a candle for lighting is NOT advisable. Always have your minions do the dirty work.
8. Being ‘feeble in mind’ is enough reason to get you committed into an asylum for the mentally ill. So is knowing some secret that you might accidentally blurt out to strangers.
9. You CAN marry someone who is legally dead. Nobody bothered to check the civil registry records in those good old days.
10. A ménage a trois is fun, but you have to marry at least ONE of them first to preserve Victorian propriety.
Postscript
Lately, I have received several personal messages that accused me, based on point#1 in my review above, of being prejudiced toward Italians --- something which couldn't be further from the truth. For those who hold such view, I would like to point out that my review is a parody which involves humorous, satiric or ironic imitations of the plot, characters or point of views set forth in the novel.The "This is what I learned" heading is a part of the whole exercise, and does not mean that I personally subscribe to the points enumerated therein. Obviously, I don't believe that "intelligent, resourceful women are likely to be mannish, and even actually HAVE a mustache" (point 6) or that "being ‘feeble in mind’ is enough reason to get you committed into an asylum for the mentally ill" (point 8) --- just as I don't believe that "Italians are excitable, dedicated to the opera, and most likely to be involved with organized crime".
I'm aware that my sense of humor is not to everyone's taste, but it has never been my intention to denigrate Italians or any other ethnic groups in this review (or any other review of mine).
In The Siege of Krishnapur, J.G. Farrell exposes colonialism as what it really was: a Victorian folly riddled with hypocrisy and exploitation, a fact...moreIn The Siege of Krishnapur, J.G. Farrell exposes colonialism as what it really was: a Victorian folly riddled with hypocrisy and exploitation, a fact that gradually became apparent during the Great Mutiny of 1857. The various characters holed up inside the Company’s Residency in Krishnapur each represent the different faces of the British colonialism: the Collector, a conscientious bureaucrat whose mission is to bring Western science and civilization (as exemplified by the Great Exhibition of 1851) to India; the Padre, who wants to deliver the people of India from heathenish superstitions; Harry Dunstaple, a young soldier whose sole interest is his military career in the Company’s army; the Magistrate, a cynical official obsessed with the ‘science’ of phrenology; and Fleury, an aspiring Romantic poet who has recently arrived in India with his widowed sister, Miriam. The whole lot of them, including Harry’s sister Louise and a band of loyal Company servants, spend increasingly desperate months being besieged by mutinous sepoys.
Farrell has a fine eye for the ridiculous as well as the macabre; while pariah dogs and vultures feast on human and animal carcasses outside the ramparts of the Residency, Fleury and Dunstaple have to figure out how to scrape off swarming insects from a young lady’s naked body without outraging Victorian modesty. A Cholera epidemic rages while the two resident doctors argue about its cause. And during a desperate bout of fighting, the Magistrate, feeding his obsession, surreptitiously feels up other people’s heads.
The only native character that Farrell describes in some depth is Hari, the English-educated son of the Maharaja of Krishnapur, a passionate advocate of ‘progress’ that comes from the West. However, his sole encounter with Fleury ends up in mutual misunderstanding, and while visiting the Residency to offer his support, he is taken hostage by the British. The sepoys and the rest of the native population are as alien and hostile as the vast Indian plains that threaten to engulf the tiny British enclave. Ultimately, despite all of their efforts to impose their values on the Indians, the colonials are simply irrelevant to a country that they barely understand. A lesson that could very well apply to modern day Western powers that occupy foreign countries in the name of progress.
In 1987, I went to China and visited, among other places, the tomb of the Wanli Emperor near Beijing. It was the only royal tomb open to the public in...moreIn 1987, I went to China and visited, among other places, the tomb of the Wanli Emperor near Beijing. It was the only royal tomb open to the public in the Ming Tombs complex at that time. Our Chinese guide led us down a ramp into a subterranean, vaulted chamber clad in white marble. Inside there were thrones carved with dragons and phoenixes, also of the same white marble, and huge blue-and-white porcelain urns. The chamber led into other chambers, just as massive and cold. One contained numerous lacquered boxes of all sizes containing grave-good treasures. The main chamber held the enormous coffins of the emperor himself and two of his consorts. Our guide stopped in front of the royal coffin and told us that the man whose remains it held was ‘the most venal emperor in Chinese history’ and also that his ‘feudal excesses had bled the Chinese people dry’. No doubt he was parroting the official party line at that time, but he made me curious about the Wanli Emperor.
The interesting thing is that he began his almost five-decade reign (one of the longest in Chinese history) as a conscientious young sovereign. Raised by top Mandarins according to strict Confucian principles, the intelligent and sensitive young man was prepared to devote his life to being a model ruler, guided by grand-secretary Chang Chu Cheng. However, Huang tells us, he gradually grew disillusioned with the hypocritical and impersonal nature of the administration that he was the titular head of. By about halfway through his reign, he stopped attending court functions, letting important posts stay vacant and otherwise engaged in a passive-aggressive war against his own ministers.
China’s vast bureaucracy was infinitely more ancient than the emperor and the dynasty that he represented. It was unique in that it was more or less a meritocracy, and that it governed by moral principle. The latter, according to Huang, is the very factor that ultimately led to its collapse. On the one hand, Confucian principles expected the mandarins to serve the people selflessly, to live simply on subsistence wages. On the other hand, the wages were so ridiculously low that most officials had to supplement their incomes by taking advantage of their position. The opportunity for graft and corruption was virtually endless. Huang argues that the most successful officials were not the most honest ones --- who most often than not created more problems because of their overzealousness --- but the ones who could balance the two opposing directions. Shackled to Confucian moral tenets, the judicial system remained ineffective and arbitrary. The army was not organized according to proper military practices and was helpless against Japanese pirates and nomadic marauders. All of these factors eventually led to the collapse of the Ming dynasty in the 17th century. Wanli was not the cause of it but he was a part of a dysfunctional system that was tottering towards its demise.
I wonder if other historians are as lenient to the Wanli Emperor.
This book is a well-illustrated, very readable introduction to the Silk Road and the various countries that it traverses. Wood's brisk narration is li...moreThis book is a well-illustrated, very readable introduction to the Silk Road and the various countries that it traverses. Wood's brisk narration is lively, and she has a knack for selecting interesting passages from various travelers’ reports on the area, from Marco Polo (who Wood believes to have never traveled to China at all) to Aurel Stein, whose controversial excavations at Dunhuang shed light on esoteric documents that had been sealed up in a cave for a thousand years. Besides Western travelers, we also hear from Asian sources such as Faxian and Xuantang, the famous Tang-dynasty monk who brought Buddhist scriptures to China. For those enamored of the romance and mystery of the Silk Road, this book does not disappoint in its generous depiction of lost cities, buried treasures, exotic goods and ancient legends. (less)
“How many lies did it require to make The portly truth you here present us with?”
Randolph Henry Ash, the fictional Victorian poet whose life and secret...more“How many lies did it require to make The portly truth you here present us with?”
Randolph Henry Ash, the fictional Victorian poet whose life and secrets form the heart of Possession, is called ‘The Great Ventriloquist’, a sobriquet that could very well be applied to A.S. Byatt herself, for her astonishing rendition of all the different voices of the novel’s various characters. From her pair of Victorian poets, for whom she crafted numerous period poems and letters, to excerpts of Professor Cropper’s self-aggrandizing biography, and Leonora Stern’s feminist diatribe, each voice is distinct and fully articulates its owner’s peculiar character and idiosyncrasies.
The characters (some of which are more caricatural than others) also serve as mouthpieces for various issues that are dear to the author, such as infighting in the academia and faddish literary theories (check out the hilarious send-up of ‘feminist’ literary critique in the Stern essay), but these are never allowed to obscure the main theme of the novel, which is our propensity for obsessions and possessions.
Cropper, an American scholar whose zeal in collecting everything Ash compels him to dig up the poet’s grave, is a poster boy for unhealthy obsession that has no regard for any kind of privacy. But when everyone else --- including our protagonists Maud and Roland --- agree to read the letters that he exhumed from the grave, aren’t they all (and we readers by extension) complicit in his vice?
There are as many kinds of possessions as there are voices in this novel; possession of a lover, of a child, of knowledge, and of reputation. The various doomed romances illustrate how fraught with difficulties are our feeble efforts to possess another human being. Likewise, the scholar-detectives’ possession of knowledge is ultimately shown to be incomplete, for no private life can be completely known to others. Academic reputation, built up over a lifetime, is also fleeting, as it could be very easily overturned by new discoveries.
Byatt’s story is rich and multi-layered, and perhaps could be best appreciated by those who have some knowledge of Victorian poetry and contemporary literary theories, but it still can be enjoyed as a compellingly told, ultimately moving tale. Her staggering erudition about subjects such as Norse mythology, Breton folk tales, Victorian science, theology, and other aspects of 19th century life is prominently displayed on every page --- which could be either off-putting, or be an inspiration for further studies. I personally find it fascinating, although they need time to be properly digested. Likewise her faux Victorian poetry, some of them quite long epic poems, which contain clues about the mystery of Ash’s relationship with Christabel. Skim through them if you must for, in Ash’s own words, “we are driven by endings as by hunger”, but return to them later for they really are worth reading. Possession is a book to read quickly for the first time and lingeringly the second and perhaps third time.
Long before Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal for his beloved, there was a Great Moghul who began it all: Babur, a descendant of both Genghis Khan and Ta...moreLong before Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal for his beloved, there was a Great Moghul who began it all: Babur, a descendant of both Genghis Khan and Tamerlane who first established Mughal rule over India. His claim to fame rests on three things: the story of his death, the controversy over the mosque that he built, and the Baburnama, the first and only autobiography in Islamic literature until the 19th century. It is a vast, complex narrative of an extraordinarily eventful life, full of battles and conquests, as befit his status as a Timurid prince in search of a realm, but also of moonlit drinking parties filled with poetry and music. The first Mughal emperor is both a sensitive man of culture deeply versed in Persian classical literature and a ruthless Ghazi (‘Slayer of the Infidels’) who reveled in erecting towers of skulls from the severed heads of his enemies. He sees no contradiction whatsoever between these different aspects of his personality, and is disarmingly frank, even at times confessional, about his weaknesses, such as his fondness for wine and the narcotic ma’jun, which he often indulged in between bouts of hunting and military expeditions.
Born as a minor prince in what is now Uzbekistan, Babur is a scion of the Timurids, a dynasty established by Tamerlane, which had ruled over much of Central Asia since the 14th century. The Timurid princes were constantly engaged in territorial battles, and from his early teens, Babur had been embroiled in the complex, ever shifting intrigues between his blood relatives. More than once he had succeeded in holding and losing Samarkand, and on several occasions, desperately holding on to his life after being defeated by stronger rivals. Necessity turned him toward the north, to Afghanistan, which he conquered at the age of 23. Several years later, he made his first foray into Hindustan, a much larger and wealthier realm that he finally conquered more than two decades later. He famously loathed his new realm, complaining about its heat and dust, pining for his beloved Kabul, where he was eventually buried. A man of lively curiosity, he wrote about the flora and fauna of India, its landscapes and rivers, and of its native princes and their palaces and temples. He destroyed naked idols that offended his Muslim sensibility, and allegedly built a mosque in Ayodhya, which later became a bone of contention between Muslims and Hindu extremists (who believed that the mosque stood on the birthplace of Rama, an avatar of Vishnu).
He died at the age of 47, not long after conquering India. The following is Amitav Ghosh’s retelling of the legend of Babur’s death.
“Of the many stories told of Babur none is more wonderful than that of his death. In 1530 Humayun, Babur’s beloved eldest son and heir-apparent, was stricken by a fever. He was brought immediately to Babur’s court at Agra, but despite the best efforts of the royal physicians, his condition steadily worsened. Driven to despair, Babur consulted a man of religion who told him that the remedy "was to give in alms the most valuable thing one had and to seek cure from God."
Babur is said to have replied thus: "I am the most valuable thing that Humayun possesses; than me he has no better thing; I shall make myself a sacrifice for him. May God the Creator accept it." Greatly distressed, Babur’s courtiers and friends tried to explain that the sage had meant that he should give away money, or gold or a piece of property: Humayun possessed a priceless diamond, they said, which could be sold and the proceeds given to the poor...
Babur would not hear of it. "What value has worldly wealth?" Babur is quoted to have said. "And how can it be a redemption for Humayun? I myself shall be his sacrifice." He walked three times around Humayun’s bed, praying: "O God! If a life may be exchanged for a life, I who am Babur, I give my life and my being for a Humayun." A few minutes later, he cried: "We have borne it away, we have borne it away."
And sure enough, from that moment Babur began to sicken, while Humayun grew slowly well. Babur died near Agra on December 21, 1530. He left orders for his body to be buried in Kabul.”
Baburnama is a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a medieval warrior and emperor, especially for those with interest in Indian history, but parts of it is also a challenging read for the general reader. As E.M. Forster observed, the greatest difficulty in reading it is not caused by the language (which had been translated into modern, even colloquial English), but is caused by the seemingly relentless onslaught of unfamiliar names of people and places. (less)
Jane Austen's life might be one of the most elusive of major English writers; she left no diaries (although she almost certainly kept them at differen...moreJane Austen's life might be one of the most elusive of major English writers; she left no diaries (although she almost certainly kept them at different points in her life) and many of her letters (no doubt including those which are most pertinent to biographers) were destroyed by her sister Cassandra or other heirs, either deliberately or through simple carelessness. Even the memoir written by her nephew is closer to hagiography then the truth, thus further obscuring her true character. Tomalin acknowledges this difficulty in writing about her in this brisk, page-turner of a biography, and wisely refrains from speculating too much beyond the few known facts about her. The result is that we read almost as much about her numerous relatives, neighbors and friends than the main subject herself. The story of their lives provides us with a panoramic view of Austen’s milieu, and the historical and social events which served as the background of her novels. That said, at times one feels that the profusion of details about these other lives threatens to overwhelm Jane’s story, which remains rather shadowy in contrast to the her siblings’. This lack of details is compensated by Tomalin’s empathetic and sensitive assessment of her character; the Jane Austen that appears before us is a tough, intelligent woman who could be both kind and defensively prickly, an astute observer of life who also longed to retreat into her imagination from time to time. She suffered from depressions, and did not always bear her lot as a poor spinster aunt with equanimity. Her literary success in her late thirties brought her joy and a modest income, things that were sorely needed in her life. An illness cut short her life at 41, and Tomalin poignantly tells us about her stoicism in the face of death. The book ends with a short section on Austen’s changing literary reputation through the centuries and some postscripts about the various characters that we have been following, some of them almost as interesting as Jane herself.(less)
What I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1. Brief, nameless lives are of no import whatsoever…to Galactus.
2. True gangsters live lives p...moreWhat I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1. Brief, nameless lives are of no import whatsoever…to Galactus.
2. True gangsters live lives phony rap acts can only rhyme about.
3. Never write checks with your mouth that your ass could never hope to cover.
4. Trujillo, El Jefe, the Failed Cattle Thief, and F***face: they all refer to one man. A VERY bad man.
5. Some men are so very bad that not even postmodernism can explain them away.
6. Trujillo is the creator of the first modern Kleptocracy. He is also the USA’s favorite anti-commie boy in the Caribbeans.
7. Fuku killed Kennedy, not Lee Harvey or the ghost of Marilyn f****** Monroe, and also caused the US to lose to a Third World country, Vietnam. It is divine retribution for USA invading the Dominican Republic --- TWICE.
8. Weighing 307 pounds and talking like a Star Trek computer won’t get you any hot morena. And you can’t blame it on Sauron either.
9. It’s very un-Dominican for a dude to never have much luck with the females. The average Dominican male has four kids with three different women. No Dominican male has ever died a virgin.
10. Overheated libido is a Fuku on all Dominicans, be they residing in New Jersey or the Dominican Republic.
BUT SERIOUSLY,
The secret of this book’s success is the lyrical, scatological, and at times hypnotic narrative voice that convincingly tells the story of multiple generations of Dominicans, both in New Jersey and their homeland. The multi-generational immigrant saga with all its trials and tribulations is nothing new, and so is Oscar, the stereotypical fat nerd who could never get the girl. Magical realism (which is used sparingly --- and successfully --- in this novel) has been a familiar device for Latin American novelists since the 60’s. What makes the book is the voice; street-wise, angry, swaggering, funny, sad and poetic. It makes the story compulsively readable and renders the poignant climax believable.
I wish that there were a glossary at the back of the book for all the Spanish, though. No doubt the Spanglish successfully conveys the Dominican-American patois spoken by the characters, but as a non-Spanish speaker I also feel that I’m missing chunks of the dialogue and thus some of the nuances of the story.
I feel rather underwhelmed by this book, my first by Allende. This is a story about the making of Zorro, and it has all the incidents that we might ex...moreI feel rather underwhelmed by this book, my first by Allende. This is a story about the making of Zorro, and it has all the incidents that we might expect in such an account. Shoshone shaman grandmother who concocts magic potions; mute Indian sidekick/ milk-brother; Barcelona fencing master who is also the head of a secret society; lovely but fickle love interest; evil, sneering antagonist; fat Sergeant Garcia; gypsies; and even pirates. Everything that should make this a fun, swashbuckling ride that Zorro should be are there, but Allende writes of them in the driest, most uninvolving way possible. The prose is bland, cliche-ridden, and the characters, including Zorro himself, are scarcely more than cardboard cutouts. The bits of history that the author slip in to provide background to the story are somewhat interesting, but this is not a history book. Zorro should be the literary equivalent of a rousing, action-adventure matinee offering; in this respect this book fails miserably. Or perhaps I was expecting too much from the union of a character who is essentially a pulp fiction creation and a respected South American author. I expected better of Zorro, and I expected better from Allende. (less)
It is surely an understatement to call Les Miserables a sprawling epic. In fact, it is perhaps the loosest, baggie...more"Conscience is the highest justice”.
It is surely an understatement to call Les Miserables a sprawling epic. In fact, it is perhaps the loosest, baggiest monster of all those great 19th century novels. This monster contains everything: morality play, melodrama, political tracts, religious polemic and urban history. Hugo’s great bag of a novel is big enough to contain all those and more. He has a healthy ego, and is perpetually eager to pontificate on subjects as diverse as the battle of Waterloo, monastic history, the jet jewelry industry, the development of the argot and the sewer system of Paris. The effect is like having a retired professor camping out in your living room, always ready with an impromptu lecture or two. These mini-lectures, which are almost encyclopedic in their details, give a fascinating picture of the different aspects of French life at that time. But every time Hugo gets up on the soapbox to talk politics, he bores me to tears. These political lectures are delivered in a polemical, disjointed style which nuances are hard to grasps unless you are intimately familiar with French history of the period. And these digressions tend to occur in the middle of the exciting parts of the main story. What happens at the barricade? Is he killed? Wait; let’s wax poetic about flowers for a few pages first. Jean Valjean escapes through the sewer! Wait --- you’ve got to read this dissertation on the sewer system of Paris first. You get the idea. Yet, somehow, it doesn’t matter, as these digressions (except for the abovementioned political op-eds) are often as absorbing as the main narrative.
And what is the main narrative? At its heart, Les Miserables is a moving parable of mercy and redemption, a meditation on justice and conscience that makes us reflect on our own lives. Hugo’s France, with its crumbling tenements, abandoned street children and revolutions may be history to the Western world, but it is still alive and well in parts of the developing world. The barricades still have resonance today. Yes, Hugo could be sentimental and verbose, didactic and pedantic. He is not averse to use improbable coincidences (or divine providence, as another fellow reader had kindly pointed out) to tie up his storylines. He could have used a good editor with a big red pen. But again, it doesn’t matter in the big picture, as we are swept away in the stories of Jean Valjean, Bishop Myriel, Gavroche, Marius, Cosette and Eponine. Their stories, despite the melodrama and Romantic trappings, are the eternal story of man’s struggle against himself and society to live a good life, to be kind and forgiving to his fellows, to sacrifice one’s life selflessly for the good of others. Conscience is the highest justice, indeed.
Now I know why Charlotte Bronte said this of Jane Austen: "The passions are perfectly unknown to her: she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with th...moreNow I know why Charlotte Bronte said this of Jane Austen: "The passions are perfectly unknown to her: she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy sisterhood". I love Jane, but Charlotte REALLY knows how to write about passion, romantic or otherwise. If Jane’s books are stately minuets in which the smallest gesture has its meaning, Charlotte’s is a spirited, sweeping tango of duty and desire. A perfect blend of passionate romance, gothic mystery, romantic description of nature, social commentary and humor, all rendered in vivid, gorgeous prose. One cannot help to admire Jane Eyre, the little governess who could. She rises above her harsh upbringing to become a governess, poor but ever fiercely independent. Even the promise of love and comfort with the man that she worships is not enough to sway her from the path of integrity. One cannot help to admire Charlotte, who makes her intensely human; a woman of virtue, yet one who is not above jealousy and doubts, and who constantly struggles with the personal cost of her decisions. A deeply felt, and ultimately moving story of love and redemption that will linger long after the last page is turned.
This story has all the ingredients that should make it wonderful : Akbar, one of the most intriguing of Mughal emperors and his mysterious Fatehpur Si...moreThis story has all the ingredients that should make it wonderful : Akbar, one of the most intriguing of Mughal emperors and his mysterious Fatehpur Sikri, Renaissance Florence in all its colorful glory under the Medicis, Machiavelli, Jannisarries, grim Ottoman sultans, epic battles, and even a murder or two. But somehow all these elements fail to gel into a cohesive story. The exotic locales and historical figures are ably rendered in lush, sometimes breathless prose, but they lack character that make us care for them. They are little more than richly caparisoned puppets that mechanically move through the narrative, symbolic articulators of the author's ideas, but of little substance themselves. Which is a pity, since the themes explored --- the power of travel and the imagination, truth and deception, East and West, religious tolerance --- are inherently compelling.
The other thing that strikes me is the treatment of the female characters; they are either whores, concubines or wives, but virtually all of them are defined in terms of their sexual desirability to the men. Even Qara Koz, the titular Enchantress who is described as the most powerful woman in the story, derives her power and security solely from the powerful men that she has affairs with (oh, she is also a secretly a lesbian, but that hardly makes her a feminist paragon, Mr. Rushdie). That and the rather tedious smut and jarring profanities coexist uneasily with the lyrical writing and attempts at magical realism. Finishing this book is like waking up from a dream, which though wonderful in parts, leaves an odd, and slightly distasteful aftertaste.(less)
**spoiler alert** To Mr. Philip Pirrip, Esq. ______________, London
Dear Mr. Pirrip,
I have just finished reading your remarkable memoir, titled ‘Great Ex...more**spoiler alert** To Mr. Philip Pirrip, Esq. ______________, London
Dear Mr. Pirrip,
I have just finished reading your remarkable memoir, titled ‘Great Expectations’, and I am compelled to lift my humble pen to write to you about it. Oh, before I proceed, may I ask your permission to call you ‘Mister Pip’? After all, that is how you refer to yourself in your history, not to mention that it is a name that you are legally bound to use under your benefactor’s terms. So, Mr. Pip, I must say that I have been enthralled by your story, beginning with your account of your childhood in the marsh country. A most hardscrabble childhood that you had, sir, with you being an orphan and raised ‘by hand’ by your sister, Mrs. Joe. Fortunately, you had Mr. Joe Gargery, a constant friend and protector. I was surprised that you could tell of your harsh childhood with such a sense of humor. You made me chuckle, sir, as when you said that you were a ‘connubial missile’ being passed from wife to husband. As a child you helped an escaped convict, an act which consequences later changed your whole life.
Then one day you came into the attention of Miss Havisham, a rich, eccentric recluse, who wanted you to come to her house to play. How odd that was, and how odd was Miss Havisham, with her yellowing bridal dress and strange habits! Your description of her and her gloomy house, where the wax candles burned in broad daylight and beetles “groped about the hearth in a ponderous elderly way, as if they were short–sighted and hard of hearing, and not on terms with one another”, was unforgettable. There you met Estella, a girl-child not much older than yourself, who was destined to become your life-long love. There you also became aware of a loftier world than your own and honest Joe’s; a world of gentlemen and ladies, of wealth and privilege. You wanted to partake of that world and win Estella for yourself, but alas, you were a common laboring boy and seemed destined for nothing better than to become Joe’s apprentice at his forge. That is, until a certain Mr. Jaggers, lawyer, came to apprise you of your good fortune. A mysterious benefactor desired to turn you into a gentleman!
So off you went to London to lay claim on your new position in life. I must admit that I did not find you entirely sympathetic during this period in your life, Mr. Pip. You were profligate and snobbish. You were embarrassed of your own kin and wanted nothing to do with them. But you evidently still retained a few positive traits, for you soon gained steady friends in Mr. Herbert Pocket and Mr. Wemmick. Meanwhile, your whole being was consumed with the pursuit of the lovely Miss Estella. Somehow you believed that old Miss Havisham intended her to marry you, despite numerous evidence to the contrary. You were not aware, sir, that Miss Estella had been bred to break men’s hearts, hearts that were far more hardened than yours.
The day came when you were to meet your mysterious benefactor, and he was not the person you had always thought he was! I must confess that I was just as surprised as you were. Despite your initial disgust at his uncouthness and criminal past, you grew to like and respect him. You aided him, at great personal cost to yourself, to escape the law’s justice. Alas, his attempt at freedom failed and he expired, under your tender care, in prison. As a criminal, his possessions reverted to the Crown, and thus you lost your expectation. You fell gravely ill, and who else but the faithful Joe who nursed you back to health.
After losing your expectation, you seemed to have learned a valuable lesson, Mr. Pip, and you spent the next decade working hard for your living in the East. Upon your return to England you accidentally met Miss Estella, now a widow after years of being ill used by her brutish husband. You were reconciled to her, despite her coldness to you over the years. And thus your narrative ended. I wonder if she will stay true to you, or whether she is yet another expectation in your life that shall remain unfulfilled? I, of course, fervently hope for the earlier.
I must warmly thank you for the enjoyable and instructive hours that I have spent in perusing your remarkable memoir and I remain,
1. If a young lady is not born into either rank or fortune, she will be looked down upon by...moreSpoilers!
Miss Rebecca Sharp's Guide to the Regency Society
1. If a young lady is not born into either rank or fortune, she will be looked down upon by good society and forced to exist in a humiliating dependency on others for life, unless the said young lady is willing, nay, not merely willing, but most strenuously strive to improve her situation.
2. If the said young lady, despite being a poor orphan, happens to have the good fortune of being admitted into an exclusive academy for young ladies as an articled pupil, she has to ensure that she makes the utmost effort to learn everything that she could in that fine establishment. The modern languages, Greek, Latin and the rudiments of Hebrew, as well as music and dancing are important subjects that need to be mastered by an accomplished young lady, but most important of all is the ability to speak good French with the purest Parisian accent, for it enables the speaker to pass herself off as a daughter of the French aristocracy, even though in reality her mother is a mere stage actress.
3. “A woman with fair opportunities, and without an absolute hump, may marry whom she likes”. A wealthy husband should be prospected immediately after the young lady completes her education. The brother of a school friend is most suitable, even if the said young man is a fat dandy and not very sensible, as long as he is of ample inheritance. Beware of the gluttonous young buck though, for an overindulgence in a bowl of punch might thwart a young lady’s designs on him!
4. “Schoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted no more nor less than churchyard epitaphs”. There are notable exceptions, it must be admitted, but they are exceedingly rare. Nevertheless, the young lady, should she fail in her initial effort to land a wealthy husband, should endeavour to gain a letter of introduction that would recommend her as a governess to the most respectable of households. Such households, though populated by dissolute aristocrats, might house a number of potential spouses. A younger son of a baronet, even though he is a scoundrel, gambler, swindler and murderer, is a most suitable prospect, provided that he is to inherit an elderly relative’s fortune.
5. “Let them show ever so little inclination, and men go down on their knees at once: old or ugly, it is all the same”. A little sweet talk and a wink, and they all fall on your feet bearing trinkets of pearls and gold. It doesn’t matter a whit if he happens to be your best friend’s husband, nor if you yourself is somebody’s else’s wife. It is best, however, if the gentleman admirer is a wealthy, powerful nobleman, for the advantages that a clever lady could get from him, financially or otherwise, is great indeed. Why, not only is he able to provide the lady’s household with a thousand-pound cheque at a whim, he is also able to bestow a profitable colonial governorship on the lady’s husband. Beware of the jealous husband, though, who through an imaginary affront to his honor might destroy all of the lady’s clever schemes!
6. How To Live Well On Nothing A Year. Appearances must be kept: a residence in Mayfair, a smart carriage, the best game and wines for one’s entertainments, and the latest Parisian fashions. How to afford all these when one has no regular income? Not to despair, the ingenious lady always has means to do so. Prevail upon the generosity of friends and relatives. Impose upon your landlord and your greengrocers, washerwomen and other domestics. Unlike banks or Hebrew money-lenders, these little people are very unlikely to set loose a bailiff upon your respectable self, especially if they are in awe of your noble family.
7. If all these schemes fail, and both your husband and gentleman admirer abandon you in a cloud of scandal, despair not! A lady of some talent can always flee abroad and sing for her supper, if necessary. Better still, if you could rekindle a relationship with a former beau, now older and ailing, who though his own fortune is much encumbered, would take a life insurance naming your pitiful self as a beneficiary. The small fortune that ensues from such a settlement is surely enough to tide you over until your estranged son succeeds into his baronetcy and is finally able to provide you with a generous allowance. Then you can spend your declining years as an admirably pious and charitable society lady. Thus a penniless orphan girl need not condemn herself to a life of servitude and penury, but instead rise into the pinnacle of society through her industry and ingeniousness!
Persuasion, Austen's last completed novel, has little in common with her earlier, more celebrated works. There is comparatively little in the way of s...morePersuasion, Austen's last completed novel, has little in common with her earlier, more celebrated works. There is comparatively little in the way of surprising plot twists, clever witticisms, or amusing comic moments. It even lacks a heroine that we could look up to, or even identify with. It is as if Austen had dispensed with nearly all conventional means that novelists use to hold the reader's interest. Shorn of literary ornamentations, Persuasion is instead a moving story of lost love and regrets, second chances and reconciliation, told with remarkable economy and precision. What is lost by the exclusion of the qualities that are usually present in her works, is amply compensated by a greater clarity of focus and depth of feeling. The mature Austen was no longer interested in amusing us with her cleverness, or with being a moralist, but instead chose to delve into the secret depths of men and women's inner lives, resulting in a deeply affecting contemplation of the limits of romantic love and devotion.
My Wordsworth edition contains an earlier draft of Chapter Eleven of Volume II, which omits Captain Wentworth's letter (surely the mother of all love letters!) and the fascinating discussion on the constancy of love among men and women between Anne and Captain Harville. Fortunately, Austen changed her mind and rewrote that part. The ending would have lost much of its impact without them.
The other surprising element in the novel for me is the 'feminist' (or perhaps proto-feminist?) depiction of Mrs. Croft and her marriage to her husband the Admiral. While criticism of society's treatment of women, particularly women who are either poor or low in rank, has always been implied in her previous novels, it has never been as explicit as in this one.
It is a tragedy that Austen passed away soon after completing Persuasion, and thus we are left with a mere glimpse of her mature style. It would have been fascinating to know what her subsequent novels would be like.(less)
What I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1. Swedish billionaires furnish their multi-million dollar apartments with IKEA ---...moreILLUSTRATED!
What I learned from this book (in no particular order):
1. Swedish billionaires furnish their multi-million dollar apartments with IKEA --- well, at least ONE peculiar Swedish billionaire.
Poang Chair $40
2. Asperger's Syndrome may give you the idea that a T-shirt that says ‘I’M AN ALIEN’ is acceptable office wear, but also photographic memory and phenomenal mathematical ability.
3. "Sweden is one of the countries that imports the most prostitutes per capita from Russia and the Baltics". Naughty Swedes.
4. The best computer in the world is a Mac, but no matter what computer you have, Asphyxia WILL suck up all your digital secrets.
5. You can live on Billy's Pan Pizza for days on end and STILL look like an anorexic teenager.
6. All rapists and violent sex offenders should have these words tattooed on their stomachs: "I AM A SADISTIC PIG, A PERVERT AND A RAPIST". The tattoo should be done by an amateur and not be removable even by laser. Repeat offenders will be tattooed on their foreheads. It is recommended that the subject be tasered first before undergoing this involuntary procedure.
7. "There were not so many physical threats that could not be countered with a decent hammer". Buy a good-sized one from the hardware store and keep it in your bag always.
8. Failing that, a girl must always have the following ready: a. keys (to scratch an opponent's face); b. a can of mace, though it's illegal in Sweden; and c. a taser (a 50,000 volts jolt to the crotch will incapacitate even the burliest of men).
9. "Men could be as big as a house and made of granite, but they all had balls in the same place". A crucial fact to remember in a fight, especially if you are fighting a 300 pounds, six foot six giant with hands as big as frying pans.
POTENTIAL SPOILER
10. A cigarette case is a useful tool for digging yourself out of a grave.
Critics might accuse Miss Austen's works of being too narrow in scope, and perhaps in Emma --- surely the smallest bit of ivory that she had ever work...moreCritics might accuse Miss Austen's works of being too narrow in scope, and perhaps in Emma --- surely the smallest bit of ivory that she had ever worked on --- that criticism might be justified. But one cannot accuse her of recycyling her heroines, each of them distinct individuals in her own right, with her own peculiarities, strengths and weaknesses. Probably none of them is as flawed as Emma, though, the rich, rather spoiled girl whose bossy meddling wreaks havoc on an otherwise bucolic (but oh so claustrophobic) English village. We watch her blundering as a hapless matchmaker, insulting Miss Bates (an admittedly annoying character!), being jealous of 'Miss Perfect' Jane Fairfax, falling prey into Frank Churchill's machinations, and finally almost stumbling in the pursuit of her own romantic destiny. Throughout it all, we are alternately astonished, appalled, and occasionally tickled pink with laughter, but we somehow never lose our sympathy for her. For Emma, with all her glorious imperfections, is perhaps the most relatable of all of Austen's heroines. We all might wish that we are the witty Elizabeth Bennet, or the sensible Elinor Dashwood, but who among us is totally immune of Emma's blunders and mistakes? At the end, she learns her lesson and tries to make amends for her previous errors and misjudgments. Something that should not be taken for granted, especially for the rich, spoiled girl that we first encountered at the beginning of the novel.
Apparently Emma was written in reaction to criticisms of Mansfield Park, and is no less a moralistic tale as the latter, but instead of being preachy, its message is delivered with subtlety and entertaining wit. Instead of the sanctimonious Fanny Price and Edmund Bertram, we get the blundering Emma who has to reform herself to be worthy of our respect. If Miss Austen intend her amusing tale to educate, she succeeds much more abundantly in this novel than in the previous one. And in such wonderful prose, too.
When I think of Swedish industry, I think of IKEA, Volvo and Erricson. After reading this novel, I also think of the Vangers, whose secrets are darker...moreWhen I think of Swedish industry, I think of IKEA, Volvo and Erricson. After reading this novel, I also think of the Vangers, whose secrets are darker than just the usual corporate sin of fake accounting, money laundering or embezzlement. Mikael Blomkvist is a muckracking financial journalist who has just been convicted of libelling an industrialist, whom he had accused of corruption. In his nadir professionally, he accepts an unusual assignment from Henrik Vanger, the 82-year old patriarch and former CEO of the Vanger corporation. The Vanger corporation, a family-owned conglomerate which has been a major player in Swedish industry for generations is in trouble. But Vanger does not hire Blomkvist to dig out corporate skeletons, rather, he wants him to solve the four-decade old mystery of his niece's disappearance. He is soon joined by a 'research assistant', Lisbeth Salander, the tattoed, pierced computer hacker with a tangled past.
Salander is the most interesting character in this novel; a ruthless, somewhat amoral, seemingly cold problem child with her own unpredictable agenda. She operates on her own terms, beholden to no one except to herself, vicious to her enemies, yet intensely vulnerable. The other major characters are also ably fleshed out with some depth to them. The murder mystery is compelling enough, although it barely intersects with the other major plot. Larsson's animosity towards rapists, Neo-Nazis and corporate crooks animates the sometimes clunky narrative (an effect of the translation?). Some passages seem to have been lifted verbatim from business articles or encyclopaedia entries. However, it succeeds abundantly as a thriller and kept me reading well into the night.
Oh, and there is a (gruesome) punishment, courtesy of Salander, which should be mandatory for all rapists/sadists.
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