A Review: Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn.

Navigating relationships can easily be one of the toughest things that each one of us has to tackle every day. What is that person thinking? How do we approach this? Is this acceptable to everyone? We are plagued by doubts day in and day out, regarding the people we are surrounded by. No matter how independent, we can never fully shake off the influence of the people we are surrounded by.

But how much can one person influence the other? Can they be or not be such an impact on you? From doing things together, unconsciously picking up and reflecting those around us, to setting expectations, the inside joke, figuring out what the other person is thinking, to where we stand, relationships are fraught with ups and downs that are tough to navigate. But what extremes can it go to?
Gillian Flynn gives us a glimpse of such a relationship in her book, Gone Girl.




Two people, Nick and Amy, get together in New York. They fall in love, get married, face recession, and move to the country, and time reveals that they are not the persons they fell in love with, nor were they completely honest with each other. A failing marriage in small town America and unfaithfulness is a prelude to Amazing Amy’s disappearance n their anniversary. With nothing but Amy’s customary treasure hunt as their clue, th police and Nick try to find her, in the face of increasing evidence of foul play, pointing to Nick himself . 
Will Amy be found? What happened to these two people? Can they complete each other? In what way?

This book virtually topples the concept of marriage upside down, a bleak, destructive relationship that cannot be broken. Everything held sacred in a relationship is thrown out of the window. In fact, it shows us why we get caught in the very things that can destroy us, and why we hold on to those. The book offers no answers, just a unique look into the other side of human relationships, of mutual misunderstanding, distrust, of complements and two halves of a whole. It merits us to look back, and try to find patterns in our own lives (hopefully for all of us, never as extreme in the book), but somewhere, find resonance. For the author bravely uncovers everything that can go wrong between two people in the worst way, tackling relationship issues that are in the depths of our hearts and swept under the dignified rug but never spoken aloud.

A tad scary, but brilliant plot by the author. If anything, it reads better than either, thriller, mystery or suspense, and has taken a hybrid of these genres to a new level. The scope of the novel itself sends us spinning. It makes you rethink all relationships ,for better or for worse. Best read in breaks, and don’t let it give you nightmares. Goosebumps are unavoidable.

Cheers. Happy reading. Or not.

A Review:The Devotion of Suspect X by Keigo Higashino

I first came across this book a long time back, when I was fresh from reading Haruki Murakami and was eager to discover other Japanese authors. . the description for this book said Keigo Higashino-san was the Japanese Steig Larsson. . Not really ready to believe it, I finally picked the book up here in Dubai.

As a feminist, I have a special place in my heart for Steig Larsson. So I wasn't sure how  the comparision would work. Anyway, it became time to see how Japanese suspense literature read.  

 

 

The story opens with a middle aged single mother, Yasuko Hanaoka, coming home from work to  her high school going daughter., when their evening sees the undesirable intrusion of Yasuko's ex husband. When things go out of hand, they only have their neighbor, a middle aged schoolteacher for help. The events of that night puzzle Detective Kusanagi of the Police Department, for nothing seems to add up. The clues lead everywhere except to a solution. And when traditional methods fail, he falls back on his old friend, , Professor Manabu Yukawa, a physicist at the University. 

Will they find a solution to this maze of a crime, where information only seems to throw them further off track? Will the Suspect X be named, and will that person' devotion bear fruit?

The story was well written, and was an interesting read. However, it lacked the intensity that whodunits typically have. The characters are typically Japanese, very local, . However, the nature of the crime itself and the solution offered aren't. . The typical elements of a crime, which are motive, and opportunity, and alibi, are central to the plot. Opportunity and alibi are evaluated at length. But the true motive of the character is a rather selfless one, which is rare in this day and age.  In that sense, it does justify the name..

A novel with a rather ingenious plot. But for non Japanese readers, very original? I don't think so, perhaps because the setups and relationships otherwise seen, leave us with a sense of Deja vu of other whodunits. This book reads rather dry in comparision to most detective novels, and perhaps the depth of relationships could have been further elaborated. But in review, , Keigo Higashino stands in  his own league, and may be a Mar Higgins Clark or a John Grisham, but is certainly no Steig Larsson. Best read at a stretch, so as to not lose track of the narrative. . ..  . . 

 . . .  .   ..  ,

The fields of revolution country

The rickety bus moves through

The green cotton field of black soil

On a long grey rust road

Rattling on the weak strength of the

Agony of the normal task stretched

The quiet dignified towel turban

The wiry dark skin, eyes of mistrust

Strength with no other option

And the vestiges of right and wrong support

The many burdens these hunched shoulders

That hand over the crumpled note

And get down gingerly stop by stop.

Debt and dignity run you dry

Working is your biggest burden.

The final solution is a rope

Doubly sure with fertilizer

You are in cotton country.

You wear a saree.

The nose ring you got when married

Was to carry you through tough times

When it is ripped from your nose

Your saree next, as your helpless ones

See you dragged away to be tied

And abuses hurled, the distance

Stinging worse than the stones they chose

To teach you a lesson.

The solution is tears and endurance

You are in outcast country.

When you get up

Clothe yourself with the last shred of strength left

Pick up your children, wipe their tears

And tell them it’s going to be ok

Ignoring the stone hurt and the indifference

As you go home to the severed rope

The permanent absence of the man you married

And nothing to feed, sell ,make money,

The rusted plough, the empty sack

The seized and failed cotton

Debt and dignity wrung dry

The solution is some water, sleep and tomorrow

You are in a bereft country.

Your wits take you to

The person in a white shirt who watches you

Distaste at your starved condition

and the children on your hip

as he asks you questions

and for proof,  which you have none

And no piece of paper from

The Government of the Independant country

Telling you

You are born

You are married

You are a mother

You have rights

You have children

You own the land you till

You feed all of us

You are acknowledged

You will be cared for

As you pick up a pen for the first time

And don’t know how to use it.

The solution is a long line,

Some forms and thumbprints and lots of money

You are in denial country

And when years and years of anger

Pile up into a shrunk body

Flowing into the gruel your children drink

And strapping angry men

Come to urge revolt

What are you revolting against?

Hundreds of years of anger

Of money dignity and strength run dry

And all that is left is an oil lamp

To be replaced by the bribed kerosene lamp of

The portly politician in white

Whose Namaste is the biggest whip

And servility irony

The solution is the intense desire

To turn all to dust and start over

You are in revolution country

It is time to get up.

A Review: The Cuckoo Calling, by Robert Galbraith

It has been a while since I've last updated, and I would like to apologise. A move to a new place isn't easy and it took a while to settle down. But change is scary and new jobs carry with them a kind of uncertainty that takes time to figure out, after the initial euphoria of graduating and landing a job settles down.  In short, I felt a bit similar to Robin, a lead character in Robert Galbraith's first mystery novel, The Cuckoo Calling.

 When Robin goes to work temporarily for a private detective, she discovers many things, about the detective, the work they do, and her own abilities. Her boss, Cormoran Strike, was an ex-army intelligence officer , a beefy man who was trying to establish himself as a detective.

So when the brother of an old friend of Cormoran Strike's turns up, requesting an investigation into the alleged suicide of his celebrity sister, Strike and Robin are thrown into the mayhem of the celebrity world, of inheritance, family and motive, to try and solve the crime at hand when few cooperate and everyone has something to hide.

We are introduced to a detective with no abnormal observation powers or Sherlock Holmes-ian attitude, but a sharp man working hard at his job. He has hangups and stories, and none of the mysterious aura. As the story progresses, we know more of the person solving it.  Robin is no Dr Watson, but Della Street of Perry Mason's make, and with a story of her own . They are real rounded characters who enrich the story from a human angle. Who is the murdered girl, really? And why did things turn out the way they did?

Galbraith's writing is mature, for a first time writer, too mature perhaps. The descriptions are lucid, imagery like a painting , of industrial , grey, multicultural and many-faceted London. The city is written about with a lot of love. The people woven into the story are flesh and blood as well, we may encounter them at some point, and they are each specimens on their own. A lot of research seems to have gone into it, and if I dare say, one of the few murder mysteries lovingly written.

It is a refreshing departure from the caper stories that come out these days. I was left wondering not only about the story, but also of the choices and fates of the lead characters themselves. Things follow to a logical conclusion, but not in the deductive manner of Poirot, or Holmes, We can't really solve the mystery alongside Strike, but have to wait for the literature to yield the answer.

A Dickensian detective story overall. And it left me with the hope that perhaps, good literature isn't dead after all.

A Review: The Silkworm, by Robert Galbraith

The Silkworm is the second book written by Robert Galbraith, the first being The Cuckoo Calling, in which we are introduced to ex-army Intelligence veteran, Cormoran Strike, private detective, and his pretty assistant, Robin. They operate a private detective agency in cold, grey smoggy London, where business has taken a lucrative turn owing to Strike's recent success in a very public, tricky case.

When Leonora Quine, the wife of absentee eccentric gothic gore writer Owen Quine , reaches out to Strike, to find her abconding husband, Strike begins to trace Quine's footsteps. Central to this is unravelling the mysteries of a book that Quine recently wrote,  Bombyx Mori , which has angered and alienated fellow writers, publishers and loved ones, the pages of which contain clues to his disappearance. When his body is discovered in an empty house, mutilated,  Strike must unravel the clues he is presented with, both literary and physical, to find his killer.
him, asking him to find her missing husband, Strike and Robin enter the literary world, to try and track him down. Central to his disappearance is the last book he wrote and aimed to publish,

We move through Strike's headspace, London through his eyes, however grimy, made picturesque through the author's writing. Elaborate sentence construction, vivid descriptions and plenty of attention paid to the protagonists' personal lives gives us  a different detective . Cormoran Strike is not Sherlock Holmes, and he certainly isn't Hercule Poirot. He is a normal man with a past, a present and preoccupations, who happens to solve puzzles and play private eye for a living. He worries about crime, loves football, alternately drinks tea and coffee, broods over an ex,visits his sister and worries about the bills.

In a highly descriptive book, focusing on the investigation itself wasn't easy, the book , while a literary treat to read and sink into, lacked the necessary brevity of a mystery novel. Most mystery novels become exciting because the readers get to think alongside the action in the book , and the suspense heightens when you reach the solution, and see what the detective has to say. Things are not so clear in Silkworm, for Galbraith scatters evidence mired in long literature, and perhaps only a highly alert reader would have the whole story fall into place alongside reading.

In that sense, the writing here is really mature, and Galbraith writes like a pro. (She's a pro, really, Robert Galbraith is a pseudonym for a very well known writer. Go check. ). Even if it weren't revealed, the writing style hasn't been very different from that person's other best sellers, though it may have worked in other genres, it might still need to evolve to suit mysteries.

Galbraith's writing is reminiscent of a Dickensian approach, and the emotional graph of the toll a mystery takes on the people involved, is reflected too, for which the writer has my respect. Galbraith has successfully avoided the racy pattern of the current generation of mystery and thriller writers, or the unwitting protagonist model (I've honestly wondered why Dan Brown's Robert Langdon never wonders why these weird adventures happen only to him, but that's for later) . The characters are cmfortable with social media and use it to their advantage.  Characters are actually quite solid. We can actually imagine living through the controversies, the pain and uncertainities accompanying them, and I should say, one can really admire Strike's will to act decisively , regardless of the many things dragging him down, both in the case and personally.

The characters grow on you and maybe, once we read the book, we feel as if we've made new friends. It is a good read, best read slowly , paying careful attention, on a cold Sunday morning with a hot cup of tea.

Exercising Choice.

We , Indians, are citizens of the world’s most populous democracy. We have recently been boasting of voter turnouts in millions, and of making elections phenomenal. Our elections are the sites of major drama, and our politics the stuff of black crime film. A sizeable percentage of our population is currently comprised of young people, below the age of twenty five, starting out, finishing education, embarking on careers.

We the youth want memorable college with money to spend and no one to question where it goes. We want to pick the people we bond with, we want to gain what we want. We want to be able to prove first to ourselves and then to the people around us that we are truly progressive, all the while wallowing in lifestyles of irresponsibility and decadence. And we sure as hell don’t want to have anything to do with politics. Because politics is for thieves who prove themselves incompetent everywhere else.

A recent statistic showed what the youth actually thought. That over forty percent thought that a certain degree of violence is inevitable in relationships. Never mind that doing so is breaking the law to begin with. And a whopping 60 percent  felt we needed a dictator, a stable central authoritarian figure to rule decisively, if we were to develop.

The last observation worries me to no end. Because it proves a worrying trend that has only intensified.

The youth of the nation are not decisive. They lack the conviction to form opinions, to stand up and defend their opinions with integrity. They simply do not want to be burdened with the necessity to make a decision. They also refuse to take responsibility for things that lie beyond their immediate doorstep, things they clearly affect both directly and indirectly.  Decisiveness and responsibility are not traits. They are habits that need to be formed, cultivated and reinforced.  Habits shape the person, and the person shapes society. A youth, where decisiveness and responsibility are no longer important reinforceable habits, we see an unstable society.

Wait. Hold on.

Cool it woman, you say. Just where is this coming from? Sit down and tell me what’s bothering you.

For a very long time, I have come across and been surrounded by people who talk more than quite a bit and do not take action. They come up with endless analyses, complain loudly enough for passers by to get hearing aids, about anything and everything; the weather, the state of the roads, the crappy food, the laundry lady, the lack of hygiene, traffic, their annoying boss , their annoying co-workers, the nosy neighbours, and the traffic, the state of illegal construction, the bribes they had to pay to get the job done, and how India’s a corrupt country that’s going to burn in hell, politics, dirty politics and fat corrupt politicians and how nobody is doing anything about it and how nothing can be done about it at all since India’s a corrupt god-forsaken country that’s going to burn in hell.

All in all, they were complaining about the very things they pay taxes to achieve, but refuse to make decisions about, or take responsibility for decisions that have to be made at some point on an individual level, for things to succeed nationally. We wanted the right to vote universally, but we refuse to position leaders citing lack of choice.  In the absence of choice, when the right thing to do would have been for a responsible citizen to stand up and take up the mantle, the voting youth elected a government that promises to be decisive, and had a plan in place, and set out to make things happen, in contrast to the previous ruling government, which was characterised by indecisiveness arising out of coalition compulsions, however good their intentions may have been. And few well educated citizens, decisive leaders with a plan to match, or responsible youth stood up in the elections to challenge either. 

Guys, the elections are perhaps the single biggest chance to for people to pick a leader. A leader who would take responsibility for their position, and act decisively.  By wishing for a dictatorial form of government, we are suspending the fundamental right that makes us a democracy , the right to choice. The right to choice is the underlying axiom that governs our existence today worldwide, and has framed the Human Rights laws that every country is expected to follow without fail. The same laws that make it possible to do the many things that we take for granted today, and make it possible for us to live, with the guarantee of a modicum of safety, security and dignity. And we are wishing away precisely the action of making that choice, of deciding, and being responsible about the decision. Educated people in the country who have the expertise to make decisions and take responsibility are shying away from doing so.We are comfortable with someone else making crucial choices for us, that we don't want to concern ourselves with, but are happy to criticize once decisions are taken. 

I suppose it has to do with the kind of conditioning we receive. I see kids across the country not participating in activities, because parents don’t want to exhaust them with the need to participate, to learn , grow and take responsibility. They prefer a silent kid , head bowed over a book while the mother runs the errands , the father works double shifts to pay bills, fetches the kid a glass of milk, coddle and coo over a report card while sending them to expensive tutoring . Even social sciences, civic sense and political and historical awareness take a back seat in favour of the sciences and Mathematics, things that are factual , and can be learnt with empirical analysis, but will not teach you righteousness, decision making or judgement.  And what do these children grow up to be?

 Raj Koothrappali.

Every instance growing up, where a child plays, learns, interacts, make decisions, gains confidence, learns to take responsibility, acts with maturity, interacts with people, grows to gain integrity, and becomes a well polished human being are systematically eliminated by well-meaning parents who are under the deluded impression that a perfect score hat trick report card is a direct passport to a big fat wallet , a fancy job title under a fancy large firm and the right to brag. This is for their future , parents argue.  Right, who wants to hire a person who cannot take a quick decision, wants to cover his back, cannot work with a team, cannot handle diversity, does not know how to go around challenges , and more importantly, is not a responsible human being? I can name hundreds of instances where a rosy report card was passed over for a person who was both decisive and responsible. I myself am not the paragon of the virtues I desperately wish to see, but I do recognise those flaws in me as something that needs urgent address.   

All of this points to a youth in India, who are endowed with everything pampering hardworking well-meaning parents want to bestow, but with none of the spine and the pluck that deserves it.

Responsibility and decision.

Two traits that could pretty much fix all of the problems this country is facing. We need one responsible individual for every hundred at the very least, to step up and take the mantle. We need the hundred people to pick out the one person, to be responsible and have the back of the one person who is entering the arena. And we need to make that decision. The decision to support the decision making of the person we entrusted responsibility to . The responsibility to carry out the spirit of these decisions of our leader to the last letter.  And take the decision and fulfil the responsibility of holding the person who does not fulfil their responsibilities accountable.

Back to the dictator we wanted.

Who is a dictator really? A person with absolute power. A person who knows he has absolute power , because he acts. He is decisive. He is responsible to his decisions. But the sense of responsibility towards his people fizzles out because no one holds him accountable. He has free reign, we have given it to him. There is nobody else like him, taking and executing the same visions as he is, in parallel in the same situation. Need I remind you about what happened the last time a dictator came into power? The second World War took place. Because Hitler decided he was going to be decisive but not responsible toward the communities that were excluded. And exactly how many other Germans rose to challenge him at that time? Would Hitler have gotten away with what he did had other equally decisive, responsible visionaries risen on German soil to challenge him? Maybe Germany would have been equally developed as it is today, but would have stood with an easier national conscience.

When we ask for a dictator, we are suspending our rights to take a decision, and own responsibility for that decision. Something that is a larger symptom of a daily lethargy to make decisions and take responsibility towards all areas of our own lives.

The right to choice was something India and Indians did not have decisively until 1947. Both men and women, regardless of community, cultural leanings, received the right to vote. The right to put people into office was a hard earned freedom. They knew the value of making decisions. Decisions were made every single day. Responsibilities were upheld every single day, starting from cleaning up at, home, getting paperwork done and paying the bills, to deciding who stands for office, what policies to put in place, how to face challenges and alleviate distress in the face of disaster.

It is time for us to do the same. Take responsibility, people. Step up. Make the decision to be the best person you can be and do the best that you can do. If you have the right to complain, you have the responsibility to address the complaint, and find a solution to the problem. Start with your own lives.

Arise, awake and stop not till the goal is reached.

A Review: Half Girlfriend, by Chetan Bhagat

Chetan Bhagat once remarked that English is India's new caste system. He couldn't be more correct. This view point is aptly put across in his new book, Half Girlfriend .   Having been at the helm of a new wave of contemporary Indian writing, his books have been filled with gritty experiences supplemented with a very Bollywood-ish optimism, making them very easily readable by young Indian masses.  The plots are not complicated, the characters have something relatable, and there is an element of fundamental upbeat hope in his stories better than any Slumdog Millionaire. I had read some of his books before, some enjoyable, others uncomfortable, but this one will be the first reviewed formally. 

The story is that of Madhav Jha, descendant of the royal family of the Princely state of Dumraon , in Buxar, Bihar. Over generations, having lost their family wealth, the respect and honour of the title and the responsibilities it bore for the people of their region were what he and his mother were left with. A rather unsophisticated Bihari boy with little command over english, he secures a sports scholarship for basketball in St Stephens, one of posh Delhi's elite colleges. He meets the lovely, sophisticated english speaking Riya, from a wealthy business family through basketball, and is instantly smitten.

 But Riya isn't . She sees him as a friend, while he wants a serious relationship. His halting english, relative lack of sophistication, no obvious wealth, and perceptions, are but some of the hurdles that  have to be crossed.  As time and distance become a new barrier, Madhav tries to fight to sustain his love, while being a prince to his people back in Bihar. Will he succeed in winning her love? Will he be  the Prince his people need? 

The struggles in this book are very real, as are the characters. The not so subtle discrimination between the have and the have-nots, between the english speakers and those that struggle with the language, perceptions o community and background are very real, and have been captured well. The way these dynamics affect the way a relationship is viewed is also seen. The plot is decent, and the storytelling language simple, in keeping with the protagonist's headspace . The intensity of emotions has not really come through though. Bhagat's strength here is his clear character creation of the protagonist. 

We don't see the female lead as well developed , in contrast. Her actual development comes towards the end of her story, but even those parts are predictable and cliched, with little to give her solid outlines. We see what the characters go through, but we can't feel them as well. His male characters are clear, but his female characters are superficial. Bhagat would do well to try and cross the age old barrier of "understanding women", and actually write a character a woman reader would give her thumbs up to and want to empathise with. 

I should say, romantic , or upbeat endings seem to be Bhagat's forte. This book is something easily adaptable to a Bollywood script, and is along the "Swades" lines. It carries the optimistic vision of social change that is characteristic of today's metro educated urban under forty Indians who want a transplanted Singaporeistic vision of tomorrow. 

A fun read on the whole, and can be finished in a single sitting of a few hours. Best enjoyed in short breaks in the office, with a cup of chai, or on the commute home.