Book resolution

After I told myself I wouldn't make any resolutions this year, here I am again. Que sera sera and all that. My book resolutions...well, A and I made one towards the last quarter of last year that we'd be a little more stingy about buying books. In fact we went on a book diet, and only bought books for book club reading in the last 3 months, as a disciplinary and cost cutting measure. let's face it, it was also because our library is already overflowing with books and we don't know where to store them.

Anyway, my new resolution is to blog about every single book I read, even if it's just a couple of sentences. So here goes...

In December I read...

The Millennium Trilogy by Steig Larsson

Raiders from the North: Empire of the Moghuls by Alex Rutherford (juhu book club)

The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (delhi book club)

The Silent Raga by Ameen Merchant (delhi book club)

Cary Grant, A biography, by Marc Eliot

Ava Gardner, Love is nothing, by Lee Server

2 States - the story of my marriage, by Chetan Bhagat

That's a pretty short list, by my usual standards so I'm going to cop out by saying that the Millennium trilogy was a pretty thick set of three, not to mention my crazy schedule in December. I also started reading The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende but haven't finished yet.

When I began the Millennium trilogy, I have to admit that I wasn't all that impressed with the Girl with the dragon tattoo. I read murder mysteries on a regular basis so apart from the somewhat dysfunctional or at the least unconventional lives that the characters lead, the 'surprise' ending didn't really surprise me. But I was intrigued by Liz Salander. The Girl who played with fire, on the other hand, just reeled me in from the very first word. I just gulped it down, so engrossed was I in Liz Salander's past and in wondering what would happen to Michael Blomkvist and her. The third book continued the magnificent obsession and I spent sleepless nights submerged in their world of icy Swedish fields and hospitals, police conspiracies and internal politics. I thought as a series it was superbly written and the characters became more and more...well, I can't say likeable because sometimes you can't identify with their emotions or what they are doing, but people that you cared about and wanted to succeed and emerge with victory at the end. It sounds more than a little shallow to say you're sorry the author died and there can't be any more books in the series, but I am that shallow and greedy.

What's interesting is that in typical murder mysteries, say by Mary Higgins Clark and the like, the heroine is always someone who subscribes to middle or upper class values - she usually hetero, for one thing, she's attractive, dresses well thought not necessarily expensively, has a regular job and then unwittingly gets drawn into a world of chaos and evil, and in love with or falling in love with someone and finding resolution to that in the book. In Liz, we have a character who lives by her own rules, dresses punkily most of the time, is bisexual and casual about sex, falls in and out of love with Blomkvist, seems to not care about what happens to herself, doesn't trust the system and yet emerges as a character for whom you have such sympathy. Not just because of what happened to her, but because of her feisty take-no-prisoners attitude, for pure spunk, for her independence, for her cheek...even when she goes outside the law you feel like cheering her on.

I had been meaning to read Raiders of the North, having bought it in October, but had been lazy about it till it came up as the required reading for the Juhu Book Club. I've always wished someone would take up the cause of Indian history and bring periods of it to life like Jean Plaidy has done for British and French history, so I was quite excited about this one. Overall, I was disappointed by the quality of writing. It was extremely functional and pedestrian, and just didn't live upto the richness of subject matter. I got a better idea of what his life was like, his ambitions and all that but I didn't end up identifying with him and feeling with him through his triumphs and defeats. I wonder if the Genghis Khan book by Conn Iggulden is better - I have been eyeing that for a while.

The Palace of Illusions I already blogged about and I'm going to save The Silent Raga for after the book club meeting this month. So on to the biographies. I learnt a lot I didn't know about Cary Grant who would be on my list of 5 if he weren't dead. I've always loved his screen persona and it was fascinating to go behind that and learn more about him. Interestingly, he was one of the first stars to go idnependent of the studio system in Hollywood, apart from United Artists, and that's why he never won a single Academy award, except for Lifetime achievement which he won when Gregory Peck headed the panel and insisted on it. All the powerful producers of the day apparently resented him for striking out on his own so he could get a better deal for himself. He had quite a turbulent life, from a mother who was committed to a sanatorium by his father so he could get married to someone else, to being bisexual, having a strong of marriages and constantly needing to fall in love with the heroine of the latest film he was starring in. It's sad to think that someone who was that famous and that attractive constantly needed reassurance as to his own worth.

Ava Gardner's story was also an interesting one. I've never watched too many films of hers and so didn't really know too much about her. It came as a surprise to me to learn that she was once married to Frank Sinatra. She was another classic Hollywood story - a girl from a really poor family who was discovered and then became a superstar in Hollywood but also a victim of both the studio system which in those days gave all the power to the producers - moguls like Louis B Mayer - and of the Hollywood lifestyle. Too many men, too much hurt, too many nasty surprises, too many questions about self worth...eventually, the siren who was a phenomenon world over lived and died alone in London, apart from a loyal maid and her pet dog. It was sad reading about her but also interesting to read about Hollywood's heydays, which is one of my areas of curiosity.

2 States was a book I bought and read while Bojjandi was in hospital, and I have to tell you that even under those horrendous circumstances, there were passages which made me laugh. The north-south divide is something I've lived with all my life, being a South Indian brahmin born and brought up in Delhi. First of all, hardly anyone can place me as a Southie, since I don't sport the stereotypical dark complexion, singsong Hindi accent and oiled hair. My husband is a Northie, so I have had to fend off irritating comments from his uncle about 'idli-vada-sambar khaati ho' to his family friends wondering when I was going to start eating meat. Some of my rellies on the other hand were worried about the 4 marriages funda, since A is Muslim, and one of them said I'd have to wash the sacrificial goat every Id. Well, we've never owned a goat, and I think with three kids A has his hands and bank account full, so that's that.

Some of the scenes were classic ones out of my own experience, though my parents don't live the stereotypical Southie life. I remember way back when a new South Indian family had moved into the government colony where we lived and mom sent me over to say hello and ask if they needde anything. I stepped in and it was like I'd gone through a time/ geography machine. The room - same size as our drawing room - was bare, save for 4-5 of those folding-type steel chairs, made expressly for the purpose of causing maximum discomfort to the sitter. The light fixtures were naked of shades, and 20 watt bulbs, at max, were dangling from the wires. There was also a straw chaape or mat rolled up in one corner. Pictures of Gods and Goddesses lined the walls. It looked like a room transplanted straight out of Basavanagudi or Mylapore, and the only things missing were the red oxide flooring and the pastel pink, blue or green walls. It didn't take long for me to run out silently screaming to myself and vowing never to return. I thought this bok was a fun look at the stereotypes that operate and the ones that are true too. I'd recommend the book to anyone from a mixed-up marriage.

This month, I've been reading lots of Asterix and Blake-Mortimer comics. I have also been reading some Danielle Steel books and rediscovering them. I just finished one called Bittersweet, in which a woman gets married to her sweetheart, gives up her career when they have kids and move to the suburbs and about 14 years down the line, finds herself missing a piece of her own identity. What shocks her is that her husband never once realises that she has made a sacrifice in giving up her career and never gives her points for it, and then the book moves on to a slightly more predictable love story. But I found the central theme very resonant.

I'm planning to read a book called When it's raining in Brazil, buy Starbucks, hoping to rev up my investing skills. I also have on my list Jeffrey Sachs The End of Poverty. And I still gotta finish Isabel Allende's book. But one thing that cropped up on my reading list last night after watching an episode of The Cosby Show, was the plays of Shakespeare. A weird thing happened to me a few years ago. I was flipping through my copy of The Complete works of Shakespeare, and all of a sudden, the prose was as clear to me as if it had been written in contemporary language by a contemporary author. I figure while the going is good, let me enjoy this serendipitous gift!

Shakespeare

I just finished an incredibly interesting book about Shakespeare by - surprisingly - Bill Bryson. I expected Bryson to use his characteristic wit to make his point about Shakespeare, and I wasn't disappointed, but I also found a scholarly work that proves an intimate knowledge and understanding of all the many books and analyses of Shakespeare over the years, and uses that to create a vivid picture of Shakespeare. Well, it might be more correct to say of his time, because so little is known about Shakespeare himself, that almost anything we say about him as a person could be called pure conjecture.

In a way, I quite like that, because I really respect the bard and consider his works seminal - as do millions of people around the world - and to find out that in reality he was a pompous popinjay, dirty and unshaven, stingy and rude and money-grubbing, churning out plays for a profit motive would have quite destroyed my pleasure. Somehow we human beings like making Gods of our accomplished and finding out the God has feet of clay mars the accomplishments themselves.

So basically all we know is when he died, probably when he was born and the date of his marriage. Even all the words of the plays may not be the ones that he wrote because editorial ethics and proof-reading were conspicuous by their absence. Many later editors who put together his works apparently deleted or changed whatever they didn't approve of or understand, and some of the purported words from his plays have still not been deciphered.

However, what does come through is that it was a strange and complex world of the theatre that Shakespeare inhabited. Theatres were placed outside the city, along with 'noisome' industries like dyeing and tanning of leather ( interesting but yucky fact - tanners used to soak leather in dogpuddy to soften it!), and the city gates were closed at dusk, which in winter fell at about 4 pm, and were only reopened the next morning. So god alone knows how people got to the theatre and how they got back home.

Plays used to go on for 4-5 hours, with breaks between the acts to trip the lights in the theatre. There was no set pattern as to how many scenes in an act or how many acts in a play. In order to make money, the theatre needed to be full day after day, so the play enacted changed almost daily, and the actors used to have to memorise parts from several plays at the same time. Moreover, due to the limited number of actors and the pay available for them, each actor used to play multiple roles within the same play. One of the factors that enabled the prolificity of playwrights was the constant demand for new material with which to woo back the audience. Given the miniscule pay that most people got, it's a wonder that so many of them seem to have thronged the theaters, but a rough calculation indicates that something like 50 million people - ten times the population of England - saw plays in a span of two years.

Shakespeare was not by any means a lauded man in his own lifetime - that was given more to Christopher Marlowe ( played unforgettably by Rupert Everett in Shakespeare in Love), and to a host of other writers including Fletcher and Beaumont, many of whom are obscure today or known only to scholars. However, he was an incredibly inventive genius who came up with thousands of phrases which now are so often used as to have become cliches - one fell swoop, vanish into thin air etc. He also excelled at creating words - like hereditary or critical, for example - and more than 800 of them are still in use and in the Oxford dictionary.

The book is well-writted, vivid and fast-paced. It very quickly takes you through the years that Shakespeare has inhabited and points out the unnerving lack of factual, verified material about the man known as English literature's genius. And it cobbles together the few facts from a host of sources and yet coherently knits them together to paint a picture( and I know there are 3 mixed metaphors in that sentence). So you come away with an interesting insight into the times that the man lived in, while having reached no further in undertsanding the man himself. Which, as I said earlier, is probably all the better - now we're free to imagine him as the idealistic young lover played by Joseph Fiennes in Shakespeare in Love.