Shantaram
by Gregory David Roberts
Hiding his past, and making friends quickly and with apparent ease as he learns to survive in this new world, Gregory (under the alias of "Lin") gets immersed in what seems to be almost every section of forgotten Indian society- the drug dealers, the slum-dwellers, the lepers... As these people become part of his new reality, Lin is forced to move with the tide. But how far into the ocean of the Bombay underworld can Gregory safely go? And will there be anything other than an empty prison cell waiting for him on shore when he gets back?
Review:
Right from the very first sentence, "It took me a long time and most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured", you get the feeling that this is a very sincere book. Evocative descriptions throughout the first chapter will convince strangers to the Indian subcontinent that they are walking through the chaotic streets of a steaming hot afternoon in India's largest city.
For the romantically squeamish, you should be warned that, at times, "Shantaram" does look like it's getting a bit... you know... "Eat. Pray. Love."-esque, especially when describing Karla who, to a standing ovation from every Hollywood director in history, encounters Gregory by pulling him out of the way of the path of a bus. Cue the eyes meeting... two smiles- hers joyful, and his love-struck; her a successful, ambitious soul who's fallen in love with India and been accepted by the locals, him a lost and bewildered foreigner who despite escaping from prison can't master the art of basic road safety... Sadly, the flowery metaphors about his unrequited love for her don't subside- get ready for them to pop up and visit anytime!
Still, the periods between his inability to truly win her heart are filled with some amusing stories, such as bear hugging (of the literal kind), bear incarceration (of the literal kind), bear smuggling... and I think there's something about a blood-thirsty search for revenge for his unfair imprisonment, which was most inconvenient as it means that we hear (in graphic detail) about a hellish 4 months in an Indian Prison system without even a single anecdote about a bear to lighten the mood!
It's always a joy when Prabaker, Lindsay's first friend in India and trusted Bombay tour-guide, comes back on the scene. Roberts captures his broken English without making him sound to much like Apu from The Simpsons. As you can probably already tell, there is quite a lot of "soul-searching", going on throughout this novel. From the time he visits like Prabaker's village, and makes undeniable tangents between the insightful way that the villagers measure the height of the river and how they make the same delineations in him as a man, to the pathetic fallacy of the Palestinian Khaled walking into the snowy Afghan night having committed murder. And as for his chats with Khader, his mafia boss/amateur Yoda, about the complexity of the universe- let's just say, there's a reason that it's over 900 pages long! However, his vivid and thoughtful description of the "leper slum" is truly heartbreaking, and any resentment you feel towards Gregory David Roberts for laying on the sentiment and spirituality a little too thick is instantly washed away as soon as you finish chapter 10.
It's certainly a great achievement, considering it took him 13 years to write (the first two copies having been trashed by Indian prison guards)... Sadly (and not to the books detriment), the tale is nothing new or surprising- to anyone who's visited the developing world, it's a story of daily hardship and inequality that's far too common to be denied, and way too familiar to many travellers to be surprising.
Like so many descriptions of India, it's in danger of falling into stereotype at times- the romantic idea of India, the place where "the soul is king"... basically the same kind of sentiment you could get from watching Slumdog Millionaire. However, to be fair to a very well written book, it takes the time and opportunity to show the true tragedy behind the romance- aside from the obvious extensive poverty, there's the gang violence, cholera epidemics, drug addiction (which Roberts describes vividly and openly). All this wound into a pretty thrilling (if not always convincing) apparently true narrative means the summary can be as short as: "A pretty good read".
Score: 7/10
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One hundred years of solitude
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Synopsis: Starting at the birth of a tiny, isolated village deep in the Colombian jungle, the book takes you through the highs, lows, and inevitable death of this endearing and yet tragic mini-society. Focusing on the Arcadio family, it touches on a number of ideas throughout, and is more than just a story. It's a reflection of society, family life, and the journey that our short time on earth picks up from and that our descendants will carry on...Review: It's easy to see why this won a Nobel Prize- it holds the weight of a great novel, and is quite unlike anything previous. Garcia moves quite quickly through their lives, successfully covering the hundred years, and yet still giving the reader the appropriate glimpse into their contribution to the village. A tip, however- it would be worth having a copy of the family tree beside you when you read the book, to keep track of who's who... Names are frequently repeated, and without a visual aid for guidance, you could find yourself asking "Who's he, again?" "What did he do when he was young?" quite a few times throughout.
Oh, and also- there's A LOT of incest...!
Score: 9/10
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1984
by George Orwell
Review: A terrifyingly accurate prediction of the future (which is now the past and the present!), this book has been referenced multiple times since it was written, and has become as much part of our society as the governmental tricks-of-the-trade that it deplores. The media control, the "Two minute hate" (in which citizens are shown a daily video of Emmanuel Goldstein, Big Brother's elusive enemy, in order to persuade them to focus their anger on him, rather than rebel against their true oppressor), the state of constant war which the state perpetuates in order to produce for the economy, only to have the products disappear in a cloud of smoke, or sink to the bottom of the ocean rather than being given back to the people... these are all realities that we are living today in the 21st century. This isn't meant to be a political rant, but it's impossible to review this book without mentioning them. It is also impossible to read 1984 without stopping frequently to look up and murmur "Oh, my God..." to yourself, and you realize that you've witnessed a method of The Party that very day.
On the one hand, it's tempting for me to write the following: "Had people believed that this future was possible back in 1948, no doubt some (if not many) would have tried to have it banned. It's only the fact that it was well ahead of it's time that it wasn't subject to a book burning". However, this is only the half truth, as there are clear and obvious references to both Hitler and Stalin's regimes throughout, therefore making it as much of a historical analysis as a gloomy futuristic fore-telling. As I'm sure many political thinkers at the time observed, though, the wheel of history revolves by it's very nature and design, and it was only a matter of time before the memories of those terrible times started to fade, and the attitudes of oppression, lying and scape-goating could creep their way back into the public sphere (I'm looking at you, Thatcher and the post 1982 British Establishment!).
These apocalyptic predictions, and the frequent eye-opening insights which challenge the reader to review their own political conscience, combined with Orwell's consistently engaging tempo and page-turning writing style make for a simply fantastic read. As I've always thought of Orwell (and as 1984 proves)- his writing style was so ahead of his time that you could be forgiven for thinking that this book had been written within the last decade. He recognizes the modern reader's lust for a constantly moving story-line (especially applicable to the post-WW2 generations, who are famously more attracted to instant gratification than their predecessors). In this way, as you're reading 1984, you start to realize that as you rush down the white-water river of the story-line, buzzing with the excitement of getting soaked and trying to avoid the rocks, that you are also collecting valuable philosophical and political insights along the way. Seldom can a writer achieve both- either he lumbers along the river in a steam-boat, pausing frequently to ponder existence and genuinely taking his time about life, or he goes down the hill as fast as he can on a toboggan, believing that every second counts in order to get the reader to the end as quickly as possible, and therefore skipping huge areas for literary insights. Orwell, as mentioned, strikes a balance, and does both, therefore appealing both to the philosopher and the story-junkie within me.
As my closing, I have to share with you a segment, which I think of as a direct route to the message of 1984:
"Did I not tell you just now that we are different from the persecutors of the past? We are not content with negative obedience, nor even with the most abject submission. When finally you surrender to us, it must be of your own free will. We do not destroy the heretic because he resists us: so long as he resists us we never destroy him. We convert him, we capture his inner mind, we reshape him. We burn all evil and all illusion out of him; we bring him over to our side, not in appearance, but genuinely, heart and soul. We make him one of ourselves before we kill him...
... By the time we had finished with them they were only the shells of men. There was nothing in them except sorrow for what they had done, and love of Big Brother. It was touching to see how much they loved him. They begged to be shot quickly, so that they could die while their minds were still clean".
Orwell is saying that, no matter how small your protest, how minute your resistance, as long as you have the words "I don't love Big Brother" or (in plainer terms), "I am not happy with the way things are" written on your heart, then Big Brother can never truly destroy you. On the other hand, no matter how grand your gestures, or how many people may think that you are rebelling, as long as you have the mantra "I love Big Brother", or "I am content for things to stay the same, as I am benefiting from them" chanting in your soul, then your actions are mute, and you are a slave to The Party.
Read this book, and when you've finished, see how differently you look at the world.
Score: 9/10
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A Farewell To Arms
by Ernest Hemingway
Review: As soon as you learn even a little about "Papa" Hemingway , you know he's going to write well. His life story oozes with adventure- every corner of it seems to be crammed with entertaining anecdotes that make you think that if you'd ever met him in a bar, there's a strong possibility that you'd never ever leave that bar (as long as you could keep up with his drinking pace, that is!). An 18 year-old volunteer injured during WW1 in Italy, cutting his teeth in inter-war Paris with only Pablo Picasso, Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein for drinking buddies, countless (mainly bullfighting, but also Civil war reporting) adventures is Spain and hunting in Africa, being a war-correspondent actually AT the D-day landings in 1944 (where he was labelled "precious cargo"), and retiring to write in post-revolution Cuba- just the tip of an incredibly well-travelled, war-wounded, bull-fighting, lion-shooting, bi-plane-flying (probably- it fits), yacht-sailing book-selling iceberg. His life itself is almost the stuff of fiction. And it's with little amazement that he's considered one of the most important American writers ever.
Ernest Hemingway, from "Midnight in Paris"
So, "A Farewell To Arms" is off to a good start... much like Frederic Henry and the Italian army! All's going well on the campaign to defend the newly recognized Kingdom of Italy against the remnants of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Austria, a country which to many in the 19th century appeared to have been invented with the sole purpose of giving Napoleon a place to swing his sabre and fire off any spare cannon balls he had lying around, was at somewhat of a loose end. Hemingway himself says:
"The Austrian army was created to give Napoleon victories; any Napoleon".
And with that epic burn, they decided that the 20th century was going to be different. And what better way to celebrate the new century than with a bit of imperialistic expansion? It turns out that this empire building lark isn't like moving your fence a foot into your neighbour's garden when he's on holiday, though, as the Italians decide that being forced to wear pointy hats and grow outrageously overgrown mustaches isn't for them. Hence, the Austrians call on their younger, harder, German brother.
"It's the Germans that are attacking," one of the medical officers said. The word Germans was something to be frightened of. We did not want to have anything to do with the Germans".
Hemingway describes the chaos that ensued as a result of the Italian defeat at Caporetto so well, that many real-life survivors of the retreat swore that the only way he could have written such accurate details correctly is by actually having been there (he wasn't). It's no wonder he made himself a successful career as a war reporter- he lavishes the reader with a real sense of the disorder, disarray and general lawlessness of an army on the back-foot... Now, if only Frederic's countrymen would jump in and get involved in some politically motivated mass-murder for a change, then maybe we could enjoy the world as one, peaceful humanity. However, as he realises that he's more likely to die by being executed by a handful of rebellious Italian subordinates than by Kaisers Bill and Charles (of Germany and Austria respectively), he jumps headfirst into a river to avoid execution, and the wishful idea of some good ol' American intervention must seem like a very long way away for him... Still, after his well-timed and supremely executed "Sod this!", Frederic gets back to Catherine, leaving the Italian army to scratch their heads over a missing ambulance driver while simultaneously face the fact that they're at the pointy end of a German bayonet...
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| "We've been sitting here since Christmas 1914, during which time millions of men have died, and we've moved no further than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping"- Captain Blackadder critiques the war |
If you haven't read Hemingway before, then the first lesson you will learn from the master is that by eliminating almost all punctuation, you can turn something as mundane as hooking up and getting pissed in a hotel room into mini-novella, such as the following:
"Maybe she would pretend that I was her boy that was killed and we would go in the front door and the porter would take of his cap and I would stop at the concierge's desk and ask for the key and she would stand by the elevator and then we would get in the elevator and it would go up very slowly clicking at all the floors and then our floor and the boy would open the door and stand there and she would step out and I would step out and we would walk down the hall and I would put the key in the door and open it and go in and then take down the telephone and ask them to send a bottle of capri bianca in a silver bucket full of ice and you would hear the ice against the pail coming down the corridor and the boy would knock and I would say leave it outside the door please."
Try it out. On the downside, you'll give your English Writing teacher a seizure, but... well, actually maybe there are only plus points to it! XD
It's a fantastic book... but it's not a 10/10... and here's why. Read this passage, and tell me what's missing:
"I order you to come back to the car and cut brush," I said. The one sergeant turned. "We have to go on. In a little while you will be cut off. You can't order us. You're not our officer."
"I order you to cut brush," I said. They turned and started down the road.
"Halt", I said. They kept on down the muddy road, the hedge on either side. "I order you to halt," I called. They went a little faster. I opened up my holster, took the pistol, aimed at the one who had talked the most, and fired. I missed and they both started to run. I shot three times and dropped one"...
All without a flicker of emotion, apparently! It's difficult to believe that even a war-weary veteran such as Frederic/Ernest could kill a man (let alone a man on his own side) without feeling something. A little low on the human-feeling front, I must admit (and just wait till you read the last page!!!)...
This week, retired war criminal and got-away-with-it mass murderer Tony Blair has said his next project will be to support the Bremain camp, to channel deep into the psyche of the British public and remind them that a little red-tape in Brussels is a small price to pay for booze runs to Calais and £15 mini-breaks to Barcelona. However, having Tony Blair in your camp for ANY kind of contentious issue is a bit like Charles Manson supporting your demonstration to raise the minimum wage. The way you react to the news of both of them backing your cause is the same, namely:
"Oh... well, thanks... but no... no no no....no...
THANKS, though!
But, most importantly, no... a hundred thousand times, no...
no, no no..."
I mention this because, as we head towards an almost inevitable Brexit, and possibly afterwards a "Byegium", a "Departugal", a "Czechout", an "Italeave", a "Nethermind", a "Latervia", a "Fruckoff", a "Splitzerland", an "Austria La Vista", and a "Germany thanks it's been a blast", what is really only left are the following pertinent questions: have we really learned anything since 1918? Are we the more enlightened and tolerant generation that we simply assume we must be? And, if so, then can we reasonably claim a warm hearted sympathy for Frederic Henry and Catherine Barkley, two fictional refugees from a war which ended 100 years ago, whilst concurrently showing the cold shoulder to refugees who are taking strikingly similar journeys across Europe today?
Food for thought.
Score: 8/10
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