Category Archives: The Book on The Nightstand

After the somehow heavy and oppressive narrative of Burmese Days, I felt the need for something cheerful and while browsing through my to-read pile, came upon this little classic by Louisa May Alcott and decided it would make for a nice change.

The book tells the story of the March family, with a focus on the four sisters: Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy. The setting is New England, Massachusetts, during the Civil War. The March household is a happy one, in spite of the privations they have to endure, as the father is away at war and the mother tries to make sure the girls are taken care of and raised the “proper” way on modest means. The sisters have different temperaments and artistic pursuits: Jo writes, Amy draws, Beth loves music and Meg, oh well, she just wants to be rich.

The story follows the sisters as they are growing up, from their childhood games of improvised theater plays at home (another nod to Charles Dickens – his Pickwick Papers come to attention once again, reminding me of my wish to read more of his work) and to their daily tasks of keeping the house in order, as the family is not rich and they only have one servant, Hannah.

After the first hundred pages or so I thought this book was so nice and proper and sweet it made my mind ache and my motivation to keep reading waned considerably but I kept going and hoped for a little improvement. I gave the book the name The Good Girl’s Bible because it’s full of advice on different subjects, from being good and “loving thy neighbor” to keeping a family happy and helping each other in good times as well as bad. Even the little family “skirmishes” appeared too good natured to be true and I kept hoping for something to liven things up a bit. There was tragedy and heartache but even that did not feel real – it was just too perfect for my taste.

And finally, I got my happy ending.

I knew next to nothing about the author so I read the preface, which was mercifully short, and to my surprise found that Louisa May Alcott did not particularly enjoy writing Little Women, which sprang from a publisher’s suggestion that she write a “girl’s book”.  Isn’t it ironic when a writer’s most famous book is one they didn’t write because they wanted to but rather because it was more in accordance with the times…. Alcott had loosely based the story on her own family, and considered Jo to be more like herself, abrupt, speaking her mind, always reading or writing, running around and not caring much about social obligations and refusing to be forced into what society deemed “proper” for a girl.

I did enjoy reading the letters, as I’m discovering more and more that the epistolary form appeals to me because it gives the story a very personal touch and I like that in a book. Amy writes them from her trip abroad, and Jo does the same and it was easier to read them than the rest of the book – somehow it lent a nice touch of credibility to the story.

In the end I can’t say I disliked this novel, I guess I’m somehow on neutral ground; what I can safely say is that it’s a nice book and it made for a good respite from the tragic atmosphere of Burmese Days.

*read in June 2011

This novel can be considered a good companion to The Glass Palace by Amitav Ghosh – they both deal with the British rule in Burma and this would make for a good reason to read them together even if the style varies. Orwell seems to be more focused on the dramatic lives of the characters (as opposed to Amitav Ghosh, whose book is about the story rather than the people), and there’s just enough of them to keep the action going at a nice pace without creating a confusion as to who’s who.

The action takes place in the 1920’s in a Burmese district where a select group of British officials are doing the Empire’s work. We get a good look at what the life there was like for the expats – their attitude towards the Burmese people, their privileged status and the way they spend their time. There are innumerable passages which describe the land and its people and how they perceived the English (“the holy one’s breakfast is ready”), and I was struck, yet again, by how totally different and sometimes bewildering the Asian culture is.

Usually I tend to pick a favorite character from the start and follow his/her adventures, cheering quietly from behind the pages and this time was no exception. My favorite character was Flory, a 35 year old British man who divides his time between his work, the Club, and occasional visits to Indian Dr Veraswami, his friend, where he can vent and talk about what he really thinks of the British Empire and its minions, and the way he feels about his life has struck a chord in me. Such loneliness and despair, such efforts to try and fit in and be happy or at least content! His trouble is that he doesn’t despise the locals – like most of his colleagues. He seems to be the only one who truly understands his position in the country and that only makes it more unbearable. Then Elizabeth arrives, a 22 year old English girl who has come to stay with her relatives and possibly find a husband. Flory sees her as his savior, the one who will bring meaning to his lonely life, and he wants to marry her and almost succeeds if not for a series of unfortunate events that seem to explode around him at the worst possible times.

“Have I made myself at all clear to you? Have you got some picture of the life we live here? The foreignness, the solitude, the melancholy! Foreign trees, foreign flowers, foreign landscapes, foreign faces. It’s all as alien as a different planet. But do you see – and it’s this that I so want you to understand – do you see, it mightn’t be so bad living on a different planet, it might even be the most interesting thing imaginable, if you had even one person to share it with. One person who could see it with eyes something like your own. This country’s been a kind of solitary hell to me – it’s so to most of us – and yet I tell you it could be a paradise if one weren’t alone. Does all this seem quite meaningless?”

This paragraph alone summarizes the book for me – to be so utterly alone, and hope, and have those hopes shattered; to finally realize there’s no escape and coming to this conclusion to do the one desperate, violent act – I felt a kind of despair and an unimaginable sadness, as if I knew him and I thought, if only she would have understood, if only she would have made the effort…if only she was different, if only…

It was not an easy book to read. After I put so much of me into reading “living” the story, I came out weary and a little depressed. I so wanted a happy ending, at least this time, or even a little hint of one, but in a way I was also relieved to see my favorite character had found his peace, at last.

*read in May 2011

The story continues on its twisted little way through the 1860’s now, and we get to see (as much seeing as a book can provide, which in this case is plenty) how the events unfold. The search for the elusive Drood continues and if not for the frequent mentions of the opium that seems to be a constant companion to Wilkie, it would be hard not to believe every word of the story. The opium provides a good excuse for disbelieving the narrator’s account of those years. Wilkie’s frustration at not being able to describe the way he feels about the use of the drug is very apparent:

“Each week I could see in King Lazaree’s dark-eyed look his absolute knowledge of both my growing divinity and growing frustration at not being able to share my new knowledge via the dead bulk of letters being set down and pushed around on a white page like so many ink-carapaced and quill-prodded beetles.”

Doubts begin to creep in. Does this Drood really exist or is he a made up man conjured by the shaken and traumatized mind of Dickens? He claimed to have first seen the man on the day he was involved in a train accident, an event from which he never fully recovered until his death five years later. He survived without sustaining any apparent physical damage, and so did his companions, a young actress and her mother, whose identities he was most careful to protect. The author sets that event as the starting point of the novel, and also as the event that will change the course of many lives. Drood becomes the enigma in the two friends’ lives, but seems to take over Wilkie’s with a force he can’t seem to resist. It’s no secret that Wilkie and Dickens have a sometimes strained friendship, due to both authors’ inflated egos which leads to many discussions and not all of them pleasant.

Should we forgive Wilkie’s harsh words or should we agree with him? Somehow I felt like I had to take sides and maybe I did from time to time. I felt won over by Dickens’ passion as a performer on his reading tours, by his thirst for life, by the depth of his feelings and sometimes even by his cruelty.

We get to see Drood – the author provides a full description of the man’s lair and of the man himself, his unusual appearance, his speech with the hisssing sssounds of a slithering snake, his rituals and old gods he presumably serves.

The end left me a bit confused, as I was looking forward to find out who this Drood really was. If Dickens’ confession of mesmerism (a subject I found particularly fascinating) was true, if Wilkie’s imagination – fuelled by countless glasses of laudanum and opium dreams – was too much for his own good, who’s to say… The fact that Simmons makes it so that the reader is offered an excuse for this incredible tale makes it all the more believable.

*Read in May 2011

I consider reading to be one of the greatest pleasures in life,  so accessible and so utterly rewarding it never fails to delight and amaze me. I have been known to read in buses – either seated or standing up, one hand holding on to dear life while with the other trying to keep the book as steady as possible, at the bus stops – raising my head every few words to make sure my bus doesn’t just speed by (in Thailand you have to signal for the bus to stop, otherwise, if nobody wants to get off, the bus goes on its merry way) in short breaks at work, in the city while waiting for friends, not to mention the songteaw which is the most challenging of all vehicles to read in because of the constant jolts and breaks which make my eyes jump from the page. If I could read on the back of a motorcycle-taxi (I have to take one daily on my commute home) I would, but as much as I love reading I love my own safety even more so I decided to pass on that particular experience.

One of my favorite places to read (if not the favorite place – I haven’t decided yet) is on the spacious balcony of my house where I keep an old beach chair whose color was once a striking red but has now faded due to the many rains that have repeatedly drenched it. When the rain starts I always tell myself I should go and rescue the chair from the downpour and I always forget – and if I don’t do it at that precise moment then I might as well not do it at all, because within minutes the chair is soaked anyway.

This afternoon I spent a few hours in that sun-bleached and water washed chair, reading Drood by Dan Simmons, a book recommended to me by a friend whose reading tastes are so similar to mine that it is almost sure my feelings about this book will only echo his. I am up to page 270 out of a 958 pages’ book and thought it a good number to stop at and write a few words about the story within. With some books it’s a challenge to pin down a few words in a short review but with others the words spill forward when I’m not even halfway through.

Drood is a mysterious character in the novel that bears his name – a tall, disfigured, solitary man with secrets to hide and with none other than the famous Charles Dickens on his trail trying to discover them. The story is told from the perspective of Dickens’ friend Wilkie Collins, another famous author, best known for writing The Woman in White.

The events take place in the mid 1850’s London and the author does a very believable job of describing the life within that city – I could imagine myself right there at the heart of the action. Wilkie’s account of his relationship with Dickens, the Inimitable, and particularly of their quest in finding the mysterious character Drood, is a journey I found myself drawn into with very little effort on my part. Dan Simmons mixes fiction with real facts and real people and this makes the story even more believable and intriguing and that is one of the first things I look for in a book: to make me believe. No matter how farfetched, strange and twisted and maybe even gross the story is, if I can believe, then I am almost sure I will enjoy the book. My only regret is that of not having read more of Charles Dickens’ work to fully appreciate the references in the novel, before embarking on this reading experience, nor have I had the pleasure of enjoying Collins’ the Woman in White, but that is something to be remedied in the future.

With some books there’s love at first word, but with others it’s more like a friendship. That was the case with Nation. I grew to like it and as the story unfolded page by page I found myself looking forward to finding out more about Mau’s trials and adventures.

The story revolves around him, a boy who is about to become a man, but as he follows his people’s ritual of going to the Boys’ Island (where his abilities will be put to the test) and coming back, anticipating the great celebration that will surely await him on his return, something terrible happens: his world as he knows it, is no more. This puts Mau in a new situation, one that he is trying to make the best of, with the help of a “trouserman girl” and a handful of survivors who have their own roles to play in the narrative.

I was captivated by Mau’s determination to build a new life, by his need to question things in order to understand, by his open mindedness and caring attitude. The “trouserman girl”, Daphne, as she liked to call herself, was just too perfect to make me believe – too strong and determined and she seemed to do just the right things at the right times. The occasional humour and the misunderstandings that ensued from their strange circumstances brought a lighter note to the story. I particularly enjoyed the “beer-making” ritual and also the fact that the author took the time to explain the apparent “magic” involved in the process. Also, the stories of the gods Imo and Locaha completed the image of this fantasy tale and I liked them better than the voices of the “grandfathers” and “grandmothers”.

Even though I read this book before Phantastes, the words have been slow in coming together for the review. Maybe it was because of a feeling of disconnectedness from the story, of being somehow not as involved as I would have liked. Oddly enough, I found both books dealt with the same main idea, that of a boy coming of age through some sort of “test”, even though Mau is a lot younger than Anodos and their worlds are quite different. This goes to show that sometimes we are meant to read certain books in a certain order.

Overall it was an interesting book and I look forward to reading more of Terry Pratchett’s novels. Maybe this is just the beginning of a friendship…who knows…

*Read in April-May 2011

“But Love is such a Mystery

I cannot find it out:

For when I think I’m best resolv’d,

I then am in most doubt.”

(Sir John Suckling)

I have just finished Phantastes and was immediately compelled to put my thoughts to paper. What attracted me to the book was, beside the title, the blurb at the back which said the story is a “fairy tale for adults” and I needed no more persuasion.

The book relates the story of Anodos, a young wealthy man who, on his 21^st birthday receives the keys to a mysterious secretary which belonged to his father. He opens it and so begins his journey into adulthood. It is really the story of his coming of age through challenges he has to overcome, of joy and love and sadness and despair, for he must go through all of that. His journey takes him to a fantastic land – he meets a birch-tree that is not really a tree, statues that are not really statues, giants and knights and kind old ladies. He is imprisoned but escapes, he fights for a noble cause and wins, he meets all sorts of creatures, good and evil, all meant to make him understand and learn life’s lessons. Learn that sometimes we do harm and are forgiven by those whom we have hurt, that love can be of many ways, that beauty does not equal purity of soul, and friendship has wonderful rewards. Each adventure is meant to teach him something and he comes out of this experience an adult.

Although the language was not very easy to read (the book was, after all, published in the mid 1850’s) and I found myself going back to re-read certain passages, the story had a melody which made me want to keep going. Imbued with wonderful bits of poetry and very vividly described scenes, it took me to another world where everything was possible and nothing was left to chance, to a land where beauty goes hand in hand with ugliness and where weeping is the companion of laughter. In other words, life.

“Fight on, my men, Sir Andrew sayes,

A little Ime hurt, but yett not slaine;

Yle but lye downe and bleede awhile,

And then Ile rise and fight againe.”

(Ballad of Sir Andrew Barton)

I believe magic still exists in the world and it lives in the books. There is something special about being in a library or a bookstore, with so many stories around, waiting to be read, to be rescued from the shelves and taken home.

It strikes me how very like Zafon’s “Cemetery of Forgotten Books” (a concept I’ve read about in two of his novels, Angel’s Game and The Shadow of The Wind) the whole process of choosing a book is. You go into a bookstore and all the books on the shelves are waiting patiently, waiting to be touched, opened, read. Waiting for you to choose. The air is heavy with the scent of anticipation and the joy of discovery. And every time I’m looking for that special book, the one that will tell me more than all the other books around, the one that will take my hand and never let go.

This time it was Fahrenheit 451 that caught my eye. I have heard of it, of course, but never knew what it was about and I opened it and read the first sentence. Need I say more? The book had cast its spell on me and I was lost, couldn’t resist, didn’t want to, so I sat down there near a shelf and began reading, feeding on the words, that first sentence revolving in my head over and over again: It was a pleasure to burn.

At almost 200 hundred pages (including the interview with Ray Bradbury at the back) the book is a quick read and the prose is wonderfully charged with emotion. The reader is introduced to a world where books are hunted down and burned like witches at the stake, where people are more or less machines going through motions, a life without meaning and individual thought, with lots of visual distractions and repressed anger. And Guy Montag, fireman, fits the pattern beautifully. That is, until one day he meets Clarisse, who is different, who likes to think and walk outside and look at people when she talks to them. Their encounter has the effect of a spark in Montag’s soul, igniting his curiosity, making him wonder and question and search for answers. But it’s not easy breaking away from the neat monotony of life, and this he finds out soon enough. With the help of Faber, an old English professor, Montag is determined to find out more about the long lost world of books and as memories come back to him and he starts feeling again, his actions have terrifying consequences, making him a fugitive, running to stay alive.

The more I read the more I thought of OrwelI’s 1984, a novel describing a dystopian world where the communist regime controls everything and where everyone has its specific place. But whereas Orwell’s novel dealt on a larger scale, Fahrenheit 451 is more concentrated, focusing on books, the consequences of their disappearance from the world in favor of the media. Visuals versus thought. Readily made ideas versus imagination.

The end is reminiscent of “The Book of Eli” (the movie), in which the main protagonist carries a book with him and then loses it, but it’s not really lost. I’m afraid saying more will give away too much so I’ll stop here and just add: it was a pleasure to read.

Read in May, 2011

I got The Glass Palace from a colleague at work and I had no idea what to expect.

In the beginning, the book has the feel of a memoir, a personal story put together with historical facts, starting with the British invasion of Burma at the end of 1885, then going through the Second World War and ending almost in the present day. It spans across generations and several countries, and it begins with introducing Rajkumar, an Indian boy orphaned from an early age who uses his ambition and determination to rise from his humble origins as a poor boy in a foreign land, to a prosperous teak merchant.

The march of the British forces into Burma’s city of Mandalay is the catalyst that sets things in motion and it is at this time that Rajkumar has his first encounter with the Royal family. In the pandemonium that ensues he sees Dolly, one of the queen’s maids and she makes such an impression that years later he goes to search for her. From this love story events start to unfold, and it is their descendants’ lives that the author is following in his narrative.

The author introduces the characters gradually but by the end of the book all of the family connections and their ramifications made it difficult to keep track of how they were related.

One of the themes running through the novel is that of the dispossessed. People separated by war, forced to abandon their country (as was the case with King Thebaw and the royal family – one of my favorite stories within the story), trying to adjust to a new life in a new land.

The action progresses at a steady pace with very few changes. The glimpse into the art of photography, used to add more depth to the romance between two of the characters, was interesting. As I delved deeper into the narrative, I had the feeling that the author manipulated the characters to describe the events of the time, rather than letting their stories become part of the history. Although the roles they had to play were focal points in the narrative, I wish there was more of their stories, rather than the story of the times they lived in. But that’s just me.

The end is touching and provides a suitable finish to the tale, bringing back that intimate feeling from the beginning of the book.

Sometimes I like to get to know a book backwards. Just turn to its last pages and see what I can find. And at the end of this one, I found the following:

“I meant to put my hands on her shoulders to hold her still but when I reached for her they found her smooth neck instead.”

First impression may not be the most accurate but it is the most powerful. I had one of those feelings of- I need to get this now– that happens every now and then but not too often. And in this case I was glad to see my first impression was also accurate.

And so, it wasn’t until later on when I got home and read the words again, that I noticed the author of the story that got my attention was none other than Joe Hill, and his little weird story was called “The Devil on the Staircase”.

Stories brings together 27 short horror tales into a beautiful collection. It starts with Roddy Doyle’s “Blood”, a rather funny and chilling story that’s a very strong first step on this horror journey.

Neil Gaiman contributes with “The Truth Is a Cave in the Black Mountains”, a story that builds up slowly in an odd folk-tale like fashion until the unexpected conclusion at the end.

“Catch and Release” is another one of my favorites. It is a seemingly normal tale and I was deceptively lulled into complacency as I began to care about the main character and at the end it delivered such a turn as to send tendrils of fear down into my very soul. It made me think a chilling thought: yes, this could very well be true.

“Juvenal Nyx” is quite a nice twist on a vampire story whose end left me wanting more.

Jodi Picoult’s “Weights and Measures” was an amazing story of grief and loss and how it can transform people and not just in the psychological sense.

“Unwell” and “Parallel Lines” are about the relationships between two sisters and how those blood ties become thick ropes of bitter emotions.

“Human Intelligence” started out rather slowly but the end was so unexpected and funny, it made me smile.

There were a few stories I didn’t care much about but they made me appreciate the ones I liked even more.

A very entertaining book with gripping tales and unexpected endings and a just below the surface feeling of the surreal which makes one wonder, for a fraction of a second, if they couldn’t very well be real.

Read in April 2011.

Once in a while I like to just go into a bookstore and choose a book at random. It has to be a title I’ve never heard of before by an equally unknown author. It’s like a little game, my little book-game. The name of this particular book sounded intriguing so I bought it.

This is a book about travelling back in time and getting a second chance.

Alice, the main protagonist of the story, is a busy mom with a tight schedule and an even tighter outlook on life. She’s organized and always rushing about with a million things to do, until one day she suffers an accident that erases the last ten years of her life from her memory. She doesn’t remember her children, friends, or why she’s divorcing her husband who she was crazy about but now doesn’t seem to be the fun-loving amazing guy she married all those years ago.

We get to see the story from the point of view of different characters and in different forms: Elisabeth’s (Alice’s big sister) letters to her psychiatrist and the “honorary” grandmother’s blog (a nice touch that comes to emphasize the times we live in).

The plot unravels at a slow pace, as Alice starts to remember bits and pieces of a former life that seems very strange to her. Her efforts to fit in the life she’s apparently had for the last years are touching and she tries very hard to erase the word “divorce” that now stands between her and her husband Nick. And then one day something happens and she gets all her memories back.

This book has more or less the feel of a modern fairytale, even though the end is not as convincing as I hoped for. It makes one think about how much things can change in a decade and how it is possible to have it all back if you really want to.

Read between April 8-10, 2011