Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver.

 

Those who have read and enjoyed David Copperfield by Charles Dickens can relate to the characters in this book. That said, while David Copperfield is a classic on its own, Demon Copperhead, deals with modern day travails like drugs, drug abuse, foster care and how depressing the foster care system proves to be for many children.

This tale is about how the protagonist feels the need for love, how drugs wreck his life and for those around him. Though harrowing to read through many pages, I was glad the protagonist had it in him to fight all odds and tries hard to realize his dreams and ambition.

The story is about Demon Copperhead who loses his mother who made wrong choices in life. He is then shunted to foster homes where he had to work and still was starved for food most times. He had a Good Samaritan in the Peggots who time and again fed and took care of him and he found a friend in their grandson, who too turned to drugs as they grew up.

One day Demon decides to find his paternal grandmother and hitch hikes his way to her house and she in turn introduces him to a basket ball coach and his daughter Angus and things turn out to be alright only to turn for the worse. Demon injures his knees and soon drugs take over his life. However, he finds a good mentor in his art teacher and slowly he figures out a way to wean himself off drugs with the help of his friends.

While David Copperfield was melancholic and touching, Demon Copperhead is harrowing and uplifting.

This book was unputdownable.

Brotherless night by V.V. Ganeshananthan

 

The story is set-in war-torn Sri Lanka of the eighties. The story is about a girl Sashi who wants to become a doctor. How her ambitions turn off course as her beloved brothers and friend K are sucked into the war as violence mounts in the country, is what the book is about.

While Sashi wants to help the movement, she keeps questioning her own moral stand in this situation. She accepts her friend K’s invitation to work as a medic in a field hospital. Soon the tigers murder her favourite teacher, then the Indian peace keeping force arrives not to help but commit more atrocities on people and women. She begins questioning her own path in this.

Soon her Tamil feminist professor invites her to join her project, to document human rights violations in the country. She thus embarks on this dangerous assignment that will change her life forever. 

This book is a very compelling read. It is a passionate account by the author narrated in the first person by the protagonist Sashi. Though certain parts were difficult to read, imagining the trauma of the people, it was unputdownable.

This book triggered a lot of memories as I lived in Sri Lanka towards the end of the war. I had the chance to tour all the cities except Jaffna which was still reeling under the aftermath of war.

The Book binder of Jericho

It's been ages since I updated this blog. My reading has been very sporadic. This book has been with me for ages and I finally completed it. Here goes my thoughts on that.

This book is about a young woman working in a book bindery in the year 1914 when war erupts and men are drawn to fight for their country. Peggy and Maude are twin sisters who work in the bindery, sorting pages. Peggy collects damaged pages binds them and sneaks them into the narrow boat where they live in Oxford. Peggy is intelligent and wants to pursue education if and when she gets the chance. She nurses the ambition to attend college and is delighted when she gets access to the library in Sommerville college.

However, she feels compelled to watch over her sister Maude. Soon refugees arrive in train loads from Belgium and new people arrive in the lives of the sisters. Peggy finds love and see a possible future with a Belgian soldier and also a way to educate herself.

This novel is an exploration of lives during the war and what women went through in those times in pursuit of knowledge.

Please look after Mother by Kyung-Sook Shin

 

Please look after Mother is the story of Park So-nyo, who gets separated from her husband in a crowded subway station in Seoul. The story begins with her children beginning a search for her by printing and distributing fliers all around Seoul, in the hope that someone would help them find their mother.

 

The story is narrated from the perspectives of the mother, daughter, son and husband. Initially, the style of the narrative (in second person) is tedious to read, but once you settle into a rhythm, the story goes on smoothly. The premise of the story is true universally for all mothers and especially so in an Asian setting. In general mothers are taken for granted by children and in this story one can relate to the sacrifices made by Park So-nyo for her family all the while not expressing her thoughts on her situation even when her health is failing.

 

The characters of Hyong Chol, her favorite child and Chi-Hon the writer daughter are the ones who begin the active search for their mother. And this leads to them wondering how well did they know the woman who was their mother. It is heart rending when they find out that they do not have a recent photo of their mother.

 

The book feels melancholic as it progresses, mainly because it makes you reflect on your own relationships. It also makes you realize that we should take the time to know those we love.

 

However, among the five children of which only four are alive, the book describes the view of just two children and fails to mention the views of the other two children. That said it is a bitter sweet but interesting story of post war Korean society and the burden women carry single handedly on their shoulders.

 

 

The Stationery Shop of Tehran

The Stationery Shop of Tehran by Marjan Kamali was on my "to be read" list for a long time. This novel deals with love, loss and characters that fill your thoughts long after you have finished reading the book.

The story is about Roya and Bahman Aslan who meet in a stationery shop for the first time and fall in love. The shop run by Mr. Fakhri has translated books of literature from all over the world. While their relationship blossoms, Tehran is in turmoil. Soon violence erupts in the country, and Roya rushes to meet Bahman at a place where in a letter he had asked her to meet. When Roya reaches the place,  violence erupts and gun shots are heard. While she looks for Bahman in the crowd, Mr. Fakhri rushes to meet Roy in a bid to rectify his mistake in miscommunicating their meeting place. In a twist of fate Mr. Fakri dies as he comes in the way of a gun shot.  

When she is unable to meet Bahman and is depressed over it, Roya's father decides to send his daughters abroad for higher studies. Did Roya get over her love for Bahman? Did they meet in the end? Did they marry somebody else and move on in life, makes up the rest of the story.

The story is beautifully written with a few twists and with a bitter sweet ending.

Kitchen

"Kitchen" by Banana Yoshimoto is a book about mothers, grief, love and tragedy and Kitchens. The protagonist of this novel uses the kitchen in times of grief and loneliness.

Satsuki is taken by a friend's family when she faces grief due to the death of her grandmother. How she tackles her grief, does she recover from remorse to lead a better life, makes up the rest of the story.

Overall a well written novel.

Alias Grace

When I picked up The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, I thought it was a little slow moving and I gave up reading after 50 pages. So it was with great trepidation I picked Alias Grace by the same author and it was unputdownable. It's a fictionalised true story that happened in the 1800s.

Grace the protagonist of the story is somehow involved in a double murder and her partner in crime is hanged for it. Grace due to behavioural disorders is sent to a lunatic asylum. She is then shunted to the penitentiary and serves time. She also works as a maid in the governor's house. Twenty years into her imprisonment, a doctor arrives and listens to her tale at the behest of the Reverend of the church.

Dr. Simon Jordan arrives daily at the governor's house and tries to understand Grace and her story. He meticulously writes down her story, hoping that he would be able to get her a pardon and release from the penitentiary.

Does Simon succeed, did Grace get out of the penitentiary, makes up the rest of the story. Atwood's writing is outstanding, with a deep understanding of human behaviour. Each character is well etched that it  will remain in memory for a long time. 

I am glad I read the book before watching the series of the same name on Netflix.

Now I have to read The Handmaid's Tale next.

Do you remember?

 

Do you remember how we tended the Edward rose bush, thorns scratching our skin?

Do you remember how after a few minutes of pruning the garden, you would shimmy-up the neem tree and jump down crying out loud after getting bitten by red ants.

While you gave up pruning altogether, I continued, plants flourished under my green thumb.

Years later, my green thumb passed on to you. Your garden flourished and my balcony perished.

Do you remember when we fought, you would curse that one day my garden would perish? Did that unintended childish curse come true?

I smile sadly at the withering fern in my balcony at the memory.

Do you remember? ...

 

The Sorcery

It all started when I enrolled in math tuition. I had to walk along a narrow trail. The sides of the trail were dense with a few thorny bushes and the dreaded parthenium. Also known as broom weed or rag weed, the pollen from this plant can exacerbate bronchitis/asthma in people. This plant also helped students spew a variety of excuses to bunk classes, while my weak excuse of skin rashes didn’t draw any sympathy. I had to walk this trail for about 500 meters to reach the main road.

As I entered the main road, I saw two of my classmates walking ahead of me. I slowed down, staying a few paces behind them. My classmates were from distant villages and went there for their vacations. They returned with a lot of stories of incidents they encountered back there. I wished that my folks too had a home in the village.

 

I gathered from their conversation that there had been a robbery in one of their villages. As they talked, one of the girls turned and spotted me. They waited for me to catch up and we crossed into an adjoining lane together, leading to the teacher’s house. The classes were held in our teacher’s home on the weekends, and on evenings before an exam.

 

We were a little early that day. We sat down in the open verandah which was also our classroom. A mud pot filled with water was kept in a corner, a blackboard and chairs occupied one end of the verandah. We sat on the plastic chairs and heard animated voices from inside the house. A piece of jewelry and some cash had apparently gone missing that morning, and the teacher’s wife suspected the house help.

 

As the voices faded away, my friend began her story of a robbery in her village. Apparently, her grandmother had a huge house where she lived with her three sons and their families. She had taken care of all the finances and the management of the farm from the time her husband took ill. One day, she found the money in the cupboard missing. Among her three uncles in the house, the middle one usually got into trouble due to his wayward nature. He was prone to drinking or gambling and all fingers pointed towards him. The money in question had been set aside to construct a new wing in the backyard for guests when they came visiting. 

 

When things like this happened, my friend explained, villagers didn’t go to the cops but used their own methods. Her grandmother had sent word to the village priest, who would be able to use his power of sorcery to find the culprit.

 

Soon, a short man with flowing beard and a large vermilion dot on his forehead entered. He had a wooden staff, the head of which had an engraved skull. He waved the staff about as he walked around the house. He stopped under the white gulmohar tree and looked up. Then he bent down, picked up a pod and stared at it. While the kids found his antics funny, the adults watched in reverence.

 

“He then bowed to my grandmother and asked her to lead him to the puja room,” said Parvati  eyes gleaming with excitement. “In the center of one of the walls, there’s a bronze pedestal where the family deity is kept. Apparently, this rock was found by our ancestors when tilling their land about a hundred years ago. They believed that this divine rock was the mother who would help them flourish.”

“A decorated seat had been placed for the priest. He sat down and asked for various tools which were brought and placed before him. Finally, he asked for two large betel leaves and an empty coconut shell. He then lit the large lamp in the room. Taking some cotton, he dipped it in ghee and showed it to the flame. As it lit up, he placed it in the coconut shell and covered it with a silver plate. 

 

Soon he began chanting something under his breath. As we waited, he took the plate off the coconut shell. It was covered with soot on one side. Taking a betel leaf, he painted it with the soot using his finger and chanted some more. Soon he opened his eyes and looked around. He called my grandmother and said he was ready to find the culprit. He then looked at the blackened betel leaf and said that he could see the culprit standing under a mango tree, waiting at a bus stop. The man was wearing a yellow shirt and a dhoti. My cousins and I didn’t believe a word he said, but my grandmother waited for the man, who was still staring at the betel leaf, to finish. 

“There he is! he yelled. “Go right away and you can catch him.’’ 

“My grandmother immediately sent her farm hands, who returned with the culprit. He was fleeing to the next town with the money. The man was related to the middle uncle’s wife. He then apologized for taking the money and was let off with a few beatings.

 

Soon the teacher arrived and our class began. As we were getting ready to leave, after the class, a boy’s father came by to pick up his son. He had already heard the news of the missing jewel. He asked our teacher if he wanted help in finding the culprit. When the teacher said he was thinking of going to the cops, the man said he knew a person who would be far more efficient than the cops. He said he would send such a person, and left.

 

The next day, as we arrived at the teacher’s house, the house help was being fired. We found out she had returned the goods she had stolen the previous day. 

 

 

 

Zikora

 Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Zikora is a quick Kindle read. It's a well written story of a woman who finds herself pregnant and abandoned by her boyfriend. Though she has a less than affectionate relationship with her mother, it is her mother who helps her get through her situation and in birthing her child.

Reading this story made me feel that this story will resonate with women throughout this world.

My Evil Mother by Margaret Atwood

 I found this delightful short story My Evil Mother by Margaret Atwood while, browsing for books. Earlier, I had begun reading the Handmaid’s Tale and gave up halfway. So I wondered briefly if I should read this. But since it was a short story I went ahead and was not disappointed.  

The narrator, a teenager believes her mom to be a witch. While the mother leads her on to believe so and assures her daughter that she does it for her good. 

There are several instances where a one can actually relate to the mother -daughter relationship. 

The mother and daughter soon grow apart as the girl grows up and moves to go to college. Only later in life, they get together. The story ends with the daughter having a teenager to deal and how she uses similar instances to stop her daughter from doing things.

 

It is a humorous read, as you begin to wonder if the mother really was a witch.

 

A quote in the story that resonated with me was the mother saying “why would I care about the tittle-tattle of the uninformed? Ignorant gossip. I could so imagine my own mother having said this when I was a teenager.

 

This short story brought a smile and all daughters and mothers should give it a read. 

  

The Family at No.12 By Anita Waller

 

No one has secrets like The Family at No.12, by Anita Waller was again a random pick. 

It was a quick read about a lone artist Janette, who runs a dog sitting business. One day a man knocks on her door to enquire about her dog sitting services and ends up raping her. In an act of self defence, she kills him and locks the body in her cellar. Soon she finds that she is pregnant and delivers the baby all on her own. She decides to kill the child  if it was a boy, but it turns out to be a girl. So she raises the child, but keeps her locked away in a room for thirteen whole years.

She is also an artist who keeps an illustrated diary of her days, as she is not much into words. She suddenly dies due to a heart issue. What happens to her child after her death, will the child be sent to a good foster home and how the child turns out in the end is what the story is all about. 

When I began reading the book I felt it was an implausible plot. Some of the characters I felt were thrust into the story. But the writing moves at a good pace, with twists and turns and though I did feel it was implausible in places, I was curious enough to go ahead and finish reading the book. It is an OK read for a quick time pass.

The Widow by Valerie Keogh

Set in England, Allison, the protagonist of the story, craves for parental love and hopes eliminating them would give her another set of parents who would be more loving towards her. These thoughts make her commit a crime during her childhood. She grows up in various institutes for such children and as an adult works as an accountant trying to put her past life behind, though her “monster” nature lurks in the corner. 

The story picks up a steady pace as she meets Peter, (who despite his own set of problems loves her) and marries him for his money. Just when you wonder that Allison has turned a new leaf, she faces a tragedy. Her husband dies. Slowly, the drama unfolds, how he dies, how her friend Portia turns out, Jo a new entrant in her life…., characters with similar monstrous natures are introduced. Does Allison overcome her circumstances and does she turn an angel is what the rest of the story is all about. 

I liked the ending and would have been disappointed if it had been otherwise.

While browsing for books to read I came across The Widow by Valerie Keogh. I haven’t read any book by this author. Usually, I pick up books that others have recommended or after reading a compelling review. I hesitated a bit, and picked it as I hadn’t read a thriller in a long time. The book didn’t disappoint me. It starts off at a good pace and keeps you hooked till the last page. 

 

Bear Town and Us Against You

When you like the book of an author, there is a natural urge to read the rest of his books. This has been my habit since childhood. I loved "My grandmother sends her regards and apologises" by Fredrik Backman and followed it with "Brit Marie was here." There was also a connection to the books and its characters. Both the books were unputdownable and I fell in love with the characters. This led to my reading "A man called Ove" and then "Anxious People."

When I spotted "Beartown" and "Us Against You" in my local bookstore I had to pick it up. Like how Ove lingers in your head long after the book is shelved, the characters in these two books also remain for a long time in your thoughts. The way the characters are etched in each of his books appeal to me. 

In Beartown, the story is built around a small town located amid a large Swedish forest which for most of the year is covered in snow. The only sport in town is ice hockey and the people of the town are obsessed with the sport. The people are close enough, but a violent act by a player and what happens afterwards to divide the people and how hatred fills up in their minds make up the rest of the story. The characters of Benji, Fatima and Jeanette the teacher, Maya and Ana help in keeping you hooked to the book till the last page.

It is better to read Beartown before Us Against You as you would get a better picture of all the characters and families that are involved.

Us Against You talks about two teams from Hed and Beartown. The story is about the aftermath of the violent act of a star player of Beartown, who leaves town when things get ugly. A devious politician enters the town to make things further difficult for Peter the general manager of the hockey club. How politics affects the ethos of the small town, how some people despite their personal differences try and pull it together and form a team to play their favourite sport of ice hockey makes up the rest of the story.

The story reveals how the sporting society is even prepared to let people live above the law if it could be useful to the economy.The characters in the book feel trapped by their careers, circumstance and their sexuality and they struggle to cope with it. How each of the characters manage to overcome their situation and try to move on is the crux of the story.

I would recommend both books as "Must Read."

 

Street Smart

He was holding bouquets of roses. The signal turned red and he weaved his way through idling cars. He begged drivers and passengers to buy. The signal turned green and he returned dejected.

She walked up to him and took the flowers. When it turned red, she tapped a window. The passengers refused and she teared up. He couldn’t hear what she said, but could see her offering all five bouquets.

A woman in the back took all of them. She accepted the money and thanked the lady profusely.

She thrust the money into his hands.

“And that’s how it’s done.”

By Srividya Ganapathy

(This was published on June 6th, 2022 in 101words.org)

 

Role Reversal, by Srividya Ganapathy 22/4/2022   Having a professor as a grandfather had its advantages and disadvantages. She even found it endearing at times when he would ask her to tell him the story after she finished reading or write a paragraph about the film she had watched. She was on her best behaviour with him unlike with other grown ups. As he aged and began losing memory, she brought him books to read. He read the same page several times. Now, she reminded him to tell her the story after he finished. He smiles at her. A flashback perhaps?... a fleeting memory reminding him of the past? This was published on April 22,2022 in Friday Flash Fiction

 

Relief, by Srividya Ganapathy 15/4/2022   Ammini was married off at the age of 12 to a tyrant, who beat her for his coffee not being hot enough or if she read his magazines before he could.  He fathered four kids and none of them batted an eyelid when he hit her with firewood. She wished that she could cook on kerosene stoves and dreamed of reading peacefully under the mango tree. One sunny morning as he sat for his meal, he choked on a drumstick and fell dead. She didn't cry for losing him. She was glad all the firewood were taken for the pyre. This was published in Friday Flash fiction on April 15th 2022.

 

The Gift, by Srividya Ganapathy 29/4/2022   The coconut grove was sold to a builder. The old trees shed dried coconuts. As construction began, kids of workers started playing there.  I noticed that they were playing football with a dry coconut. I was reminded of a time when a neighbour who had seen me playing with a broken ball, gifted me a new one. The next day as I stood watering my plants, my help arrived with an old football. She yelled “boys”! When a few of them looked up, she threw the ball to them. They caught the ball beaming and clapped their hands in glee.  (This story was published in Friday Flash Fiction on 29th April 2022)

An Evening at the Concert

Some moons ago a cousin wrote an article in The Hindu about how madisar mamis struck alliances for their son or daughter during the December season in the sabhas of Madras. Then years passed by with writers writing about the bane of ringtones blaring songs like “Harivarasanam” from the phones of the middle aged and “Appidi podu” from the youngsters. Today I guess I should write about mamas watching cricket during concerts.

Yesterday I happened to attend the concert of Ranjani & Gayatri. Since the duo is very popular the venue was packed. A few minutes into the concert, Camboji sounded like a commentator in English. I turned around to see the old man sitting behind me had the gall to watch the cricket match without muting the phone. Turning around and glaring at him, didn’t bother him one bit. Then I turned around and said “Will you stop that?” he wasn’t fazed. Another person two seats away had to say it loudly once again before he put it back inside without an apology. However, to his credit, the next time he wanted to see the scores he walked out and came back after a few minutes.

There was a time when the old didn’t want to learn how to use a smart phone. Once they learnt how to use it, they seem thrilled to watch movies and TV serials on it. I wish they would also learn to use a headphone so that they don’t disturb others.  While I did find it cute when the old tried selfies with the artistes in the background I wish they restrict its use in a concert hall.

On the lighter side not much has changed in the concert scene. When the artistes began ‘Hamsanadhanam,’ the all knowing mamas said ‘Kanada’ in a loud voice, while the mamis in the row before them sniggered. After Gayatri announce the raga, the mamis laughed and said “kettuda.” (Did u hear?)

While Chennai sabhas have canteens, Bangalore doesn’t boast of one in each sabha. This could be the reason that I found mamis distributing fruits, murukkus and biscuits time and again to their coterie. The crunch of murukkus along with the Manoj Siva’s mridangam and Sukanya Ramgopal’s ghatam blended well.

All in all it was a great concert slightly marred by cricket crazy old men.

"Don't Choose My Books"

When members in a reading group I follow ask for recommendations for children’s books for different age groups, I read them with a smile. I had done the same thing ten years ago. As mothers we feel that the child should not miss out on new books. So we always look for books that inspire and then try introducing them to new authors. I am still not able to forget the day my present teen told me categorically not to recommend any book to her. She said she was capable of using Google and finding new books. I was rather taken aback. Well, that would be an understatement. But I did recover quickly as she was the one at the “ripe old age of four” had shocked me by asking me not to read to her at night. She had refused to look at picture books with two lines of prose. She quickly ventured into chapter books. Soon she began choosing books of her own. In fact, now she suggests young adult books that I should read. While I feel sad that I am no longer needed to choose books, I am also happy and amazed at her transformation into a voracious reader forming her own opinions.

I don’t remember my parents having read any book to us when we were growing up. One of them would tell us a bedtime story or my grandmother would step in to tell a story if they were busy. There was also a constant supply of children’s magazines like Chandamama, Champak and Gokulam (the Tamil version), so that we could also read the vernacular. Then there were the Amar Chitra Kathas that reached us without our having to ask for it. I truly consider myself richer for these books that shaped us. My daughters used to read these magazines once in a while but were not keen to subscribe to them at all.

Apart from the children’s books that we hungrily devoured, there were Tamil magazines like Ananda Vikatan, Kumudam, Kalki and Kalaimagal, which would arrive each week. Those days, believe me, they were good when compared to its present day avatar. As I grew up my parents thought I should not read these Tamil magazines and the ones I could read would have to be vetted by them.  I could never agree with their theory and when they were not around I would sneak a book and read it cover to cover. While I don't tell my daughter not to read a particular book, I do discreetly make a note of her choices. Kalaimagal was a great magazine for short stories with literary merit. My dad had quite a ritual to follow once the novels in the magazines ended. He sat down to tear up all the serials from the magazine before giving them to the paperwala. The torn pages would be bound, covered and labelled with the name of the novel and the author.

My father was a professor of literature and many publishing houses sent him books that he could choose and order for the college library. Some publishing houses sent complimentary copies and I got to read them. During this period my dad got ambitious that I read all the classics. While I am glad that I was able to read several of them ahead of my peers in school, I was annoyed when my dad forced me to read the unabridged version of Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens. I think this is the only book where I skipped several pages in between and said that I completed it. Recently when I read Nicholas Nickleby, I wished my dad had given an abridged version so that I wouldn’t have missed this wonderful story.

With the arrival of the children I found that both were different in their reading habits. The older one read anything and everything lying around but if I suggested that she read a particular author she didn’t bother to glance at it. Also she didn’t take much to comics except for Amar Chitra Katha. While I was happy initially, there came a time when she totally shunned reading Enid Blyton after a couple of books and Indian authors. Then Harry Potter happened. I have lost count of the times those books have been read. In fact it is such a well thumbed and tattered book that a new book of one of the series was bought recently. With the arrival of fantasy, the new genre of fan fiction has totally consumed her and she closed her mind to any other kind of writing whatsoever. However, the younger one is different. She listens to the suggestions and makes her choices.

Except for the classics I don’t remember being forced to read a particular genre. Which was also one of the reasons I was open to my child choosing a book and genre of her choice. I was open to reading any genre and derived pleasure in choosing my preferred genre as I grew up.  While I am glad my daughter reads a lot, I am also alarmed at the rate at which fantasy has consumed her and it has become her only preferred genre. She scoffs at recommendations of any kind. Indian authors are taboo. When a friend suggested I read Payal Kapadia’s Horrid High, she reluctantly agreed to read and surprisingly wrote a review of it. However, that was the last Indian author she read. However, I am glad the younger one is slightly open to reading other genres too. She enjoys Enid Blyton and Harry Potter equally. So I hope all is not lost. I rarely recommend or look for titles for the girls now. I just stand back and let them make their choices hoping that things will change.

I recently read an essay by Neil Gaiman where he says that children should be around books so that they would get hooked to the habit of reading. He also mentions that he once recommended Stephen King’s book to his daughter. His daughter didn’t like it all. So I take comfort in the fact that I am not alone.

But is there a magic wand, which can help them be open minded while choosing authors and genres. I haven’t found an answer to that.