Jostein Gaarder - The Christmas Mystery

This time of the year, I like reading at least one Christmassy book; one that propounds the Christmas spirit and is essentially feel-good, and festive. A Norwegian friend of mine fleetingly mentioned how, while he was growing up, his family would read this book together, reading one chapter on each day of the Advent calendar. Intrigued. Curiosity piqued. Specially as I've loved everything else I've read by Jostein Gaarder so far. I did race through this book in two days though, instead of reading it patiently, over twenty-four days. But, in my defence, I *needed* to know what happened next. Clearly (and possibly slightly embarrassingly), Joachim, the child protagonist, has more self-control and patience.

On 30th November, Joachim and his father go into a bookstore, looking for an Advent calendar. They walk out with a hand-made calendar, a one-of-a-kind that the bookseller doesn't quite recognise, and attributes its presence to John, the flower seller, who occasionally leaves things at the store as a thank you.

When Joachim opens the first door of the calendar the following day, not only is he greeted with a pretty picture, but also with a piece of paper that flutters out, that tells a story. The story is of a little girl called Elisabet, who spots a lamb in a department store, and is so keen to stroke it, that she runs after it, calling "Lambkin, Lambkin".

She had decided to follow it to the ends of the earth, but the earth was round, after all, so they might go on running around the world for ever, or at any rate until she grew up, and by then she might have lost interest in such things as lambs.

As she chases after the lamb, she notices the hues of the sky changing, and the clock going back in time, at which she ponders,

...perhaps the clock hands had become so tired of going in the same direction year after year that they had suddenly begun to go the opposite way instead...

En route, she meets Ephiriel, an angel, who informs her that they are going to Bethlehem, to witness the birth of Christ, and the journey continues through space and time. And each door of the advent calendar reveals a little bit more about this journey. More characters from the Bible, including the three wise men, the shepherds and the sheep join the journey, as they progress towards Bethlehem.

While the tales of their travel unfolds, Joachim and his parents get caught up in another mystery - the mystery of the little girl who disappeared in 1948. Could she be the real Elisabet, the girl who this story was written about? Or inspired by? They try getting in touch with John, but he seems to have disappeared off the face of this earth as well, popping up every now and again, to speak to Joachim, but not shedding any light on the mystery.

There are twenty-four chapters in this book, each representing a day on the advent calendar. There are stories inside the story, and advent calendars inside the advent calendar - multi-layered, much like Sophie's World. It's an engrossing, fascinating book. The only flip side was, the mystery of the real Elisabet rushed to a close, and ended almost too abruptly. But, that's a small small flip side, considering all else.

Vladimir Nabokov - Laughter In The Dark

Congratulate me, for I've finished my first Nabokov. Some four years back, I attempted to read the much acclaimed Lolita, but failed to finish it for it was way too disturbing. I must give it another try. My second foray into Nabokov's world was far more successful though. Not only did I race through the book, but I was absolutely floored by so many aspects of it, that I don't even know where to start.

The story is quite simple. Albinus, a wealthy man, decides to give up his family for Margot, a precocious manipulative teenager who is an aspiring actress. Completely smitten by her, he moves in with her, in an apartment he sorted out for her, while she works towards her end-game: ensuring his riches are hers, or using him to progress her non-existent acting career. The opening lines pretty much sum up the book:

Once upon a time there lived in Berlin, Germany, a man called Albinus. He was rich, respectable, happy; one day he abandoned his wife for the sake of a youthful mistress; he loved; was not loved; and his life ended in disaster.

Albinus comes across as a really nice man, adultery and abandoning his family aside. He's innocent, naive and just... wrapped around Margot's little finger. The way his relationship with his wife just fizzles out is...lamentable, really. It's not very often when one finds themselves sympathising with the adulterer, but in Laughter In The Dark, one is compelled to - it's not like there is an alternative. He has no backbone, he has no say, and he's like a little puppy - eager to please.

On the other hand, Margot comes across as a little devil. Accustomed to getting her own way at every turn, and ensuring that Albinus is willing to jump through hoops to please her, she milks the situation to the fullest. She really is despicable, and her child-like personality and selfishness is both, cringeworthy and horrific. With each page read, Margot just becomes more and more reprehensible.

The beauty though lies in Nabokov's writing - despite being a Russian author*, the translation is easy to read, but so beautifully poignant. To tell such a tragic story, with a tinge of humour, and no pity or heartache is quite impressive.

A certain man once lost a diamond cuff-link in the wide blue sea, and twenty years later, on the exact day, a Friday apparently, he was eating a large fish - but there was no diamond inside. That’s what I like about coincidence.

I enjoyed this book tremendously, and despite the fact that the subject was slightly disturbing, I was completely enthralled. On finishing this, I'd like to read all of Nabokov's works (in good time), specially when I read some other thoughts on the book, and they inform me that it's not one of his best.

*In my world, Russian authors are near impossible to read, and completing a book by one of them feels like a great accomplishment.

Margaret Atwood - Oryx and Crake

It was in September 2009 when I purchased Atwood's Oryx and Crake, and it's been sitting on my shelf since, feeling slightly neglected. I've heard mixed reviews about the book, so procrastination played its part in the delay, but I finally did pull it out, being in the mood for some post-apocalyptic fiction. My Atwood point-of-reference is The Handmaid's Tale, a book I can't recommend enough, and considering that, I thought this fell slightly short of my expectations. It might be because The Handmaid's Tale sets an incredibly high standard. I mean, all said and done, Oryx and Crake was shortlisted for both, the Booker Prize and the Orange Prize.

There's Jimmy, who has witnessed (and played a part in)the apocalypse, and is the lone human survivor, along with the children of Crake (called Crakers), and many genetically modified animals, including pigoons (a cross between pigs and raccoons used to harvest organs), rakunks (a cross between rats and skunks, which have no purpose but to serve as pets) and scary wolvogs. He reflects on the past and how he's ended up where he is, as he tries to figure out a way to survive this new reality.

Jimmy's childhood is an exaggeration of life as we know it: Online gaming and communities, pornography, watching live execution channels, playing chess and just hanging out with Crake, his closest friend. Yet, he grows up in a compound where pigoons were created and continue to be genetically modified so as to harvest more organs, and he has a rakunk as a pet. Negligent parents, no siblings, same story.

Yet, where Jimmy is ordinary, Crake is extraordinary. He is competitive, intelligent, and envisages a futuristic society where immortality can be contemplated.

Immortality [...] is a concept. If you take ‘mortality’ as being, not death, but the foreknowledge of it and the fear of it, then ‘immortality’ is the absence of such fear.

And, he conceives a world where the inhabitants are inherently nonchalant about sex and violence. They are stronger, prettier, more resilient, and can handle the stronger UV rays after the ozone layer depletes. Then, he plays god, and so, the children of Crake are born. Crake's focus on science and complete disregard of humanity as is (must end the world to create a better one philosophy) is almost scary. At what point does anyone have the right to play god? And who, if anyone, is there to check him? It might not be possible as things stand, but what if a couple of centuries later, someone did figure out how to bring "better" people into the world? Or, why not just leave life to evolution? Is that being too boring?

"As a species we're doomed by hope, then?"

"You could call it hope. That, or desperation."

"But we're doomed without hope as well," said Jimmy.

"Only as individuals," Crake said cheerfully.

"Well, it sucks."

"Jimmy, grow up."

Crake wasn't the first person who had ever said that to Jimmy.

While the Crakers were still being "developed" and taught, the deadly virus strikes, killing everyone but Jimmy, who has never interacted with them earlier, but has promised Oryx that he would take care of them, if disaster struck. It's almost as though she knew what was coming...

Oryx - the sole female protagonist - stayed calm, composed and unearthly throughout the book. Not prone to any extremisms, and in a state of perpetual indifference, Oryx almost came across as a robot. Strange as she had been sold by her parents to a gentleman, and eventually ended up as a child porn star, after which she encountered a string of unpleasant things. But her lack of emotions just made her seem too far and too distant from reality (whereas, I think, the gross exaggeration of Jimmy's childhood gets the reader closer to him).

And so - when Oryx and Crake, and everyone else die, Jimmy starts looking after the Crakers and answering the multitude of questions they throw his way - most of the answers he just makes up as he goes along. Crake has a god-like status amidst his "children" and Jimmy (or Snowman as he is now known) a demi-god-like status. He tries to use it to his advantage, but he really does try to do the right thing. That's what makes Jimmy's character slightly blasé: things happen around him in spite of him. He is not a catalyst, he is not the chemical - he's just the neutral, watching things unfold.

I think that's where my problem with the book lay  the characters! I found I cared little, if at all, about them. Honestly, the only character that seemed to have a real role was Crake, but the narrative was such that it didn't give us much insight into him. Instead, the narrative centred around Jimmy and his battles as he lives with the Crakers by the beach, trying desperately to just - survive. Just thinking aloud - I think it would have been extremely interesting if the book was written from the point of view of Crake, and what was driving him. We get a high-level insight into his philosophies, but... I felt as though I needed more.

What are your favourite dystopian novels? Which would you recommend over all else?

Haruki Murakami - South of the Border, West of the Sun

This is the fifth book by Murakami that I have read, and excluding What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, I have to say it's the most subtle. The magical realism and bizarreness that I expect from Murakami's writing is missing, which is almost disappointing. However, this book is strangely reminiscent of Norwegian Wood, in that the title is inspired by a song (Nat King Cole's South of the Border), and that the middle-aged protagonist still thinks of his first love. Hajime, thirty-seven years old when this novel starts, is the narrator. An only child in the 1950s, when most families had at least two children, Hajime is often considered to be the stereotypical only child: spoilt and selfish. While for the most part, he does come across as a decent introspective narrator, some of his actions and thoughts lead us to believe he does actually fit the "only child" bill.

Hajime and Shimamoto, a twelve year old girl left lame by Polio, meet when the two are twelve years old, and instantly strike up a friendship. Shimamoto is an only child as well, and the two children feel perfectly at ease with one another, until the inevitable happens: Hajime moves to another town at the end of the school year, and the two lose touch.

Hajime has his first girlfriend, and the first girl he sleeps with is her cousin, hurting his girlfriend at the time beyond repair. He attempts justifying it, saying

From the first time I saw this girl, I knew I wanted to sleep with her. More accurately, I knew I had to sleep with her. And instinctively, I knew she felt the same way. When I was with, my body, as the phrase goes, shook all over. [...] The magnetism was that strong. I couldn't let this girl walk away. If I did, I would regret it for the rest of my life.

He still stumbles through life, till he reaches this point: happily married to a placid loving woman, Yukiko, with kids, running two successful jazz bars. He is content, for the most part, but something is missing. Cue, Shimamoto enters his bar one day, and the two childhood friends are reunited, much to their joy. The attraction is mutual, and he is ready to give up his content happy life to spend time with her. However, her life remains a dark mystery throughout the book - she doesn't talk about her past, or the troubles she's undergone. She comes and goes, sometimes disappears for months unending, with no explanations, but that's enough to make Hajime's life tumultuous as he obsesses over her, how he can't live without her and how he's ready to sacrifice everything for her.

The title itself is indicative of that, with the "West Of The Sun" referring to a madness that affects Siberian farmers which causes them to forget about the bare necessities of life, but just keep walking towards the land west of the sun, till they drop dead out of fatigue, hunger and thirst. It's this self-destructive streak that made him endearing, and almost stopped me from judging him for his actions, and his susceptibility to infidelity. Also, it did make me ask the question: is this selfishness and obstinacy a result of him being an only child - a point Murakami's emphasises abundantly in this book? He does ponder the repercussions of his actions, but at the end of the day, he's predominantly thinking of himself.

Infidelity is never forgivable as per my moral compass. And then, we see the lives of women destroyed - of happy women transforming into unemotional stones, of women full of life feeling compelled to kill themselves, of married women willing to accept infidelity - and that makes me wonder, why on earth is it that women are normally shown to be that weak and fragile, so much so that men can break them so easily?

The one thing that did really annoy me about this book was that as a reader, I have no idea as to what Shimamoto's story is! What is she hiding and why is she being so secretive? So coy? So precocious?

I enjoyed the flow of this book, specially in the second half, where Murakami describes the imagery and the emotions oh-so-poetically.

Every once in a while, as if remembering its duty, the sun showed its face through a break in the clouds. All we could hear were the screeches of the crows and the rush of water. Someday, somewhere, I will see this scene, I felt. The opposite of deja vu - not the feeling that I had already seen what was around me, but the premonition that I would some day. This premonition reached out its long hand and grabbed my mind tight. I could see myself in its grip. There at its fingertips was me. Me in the future, grown old. Of course, I couldn't see what I looked like.

but I did crave some of the kooky outlandish writing that I've come to know and love Murakami for.

Guess The Wind Up Bird Chronicle is the next Murakami on my list. Will it be bizarre enough?