The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes - Book Review

The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Losing all hope was freedom. - Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
...

Normally, I tend to form the review of a book halfway through the book and then it gets a finer shape as I complete the book. Sometimes the review that I have in mind suddenly metamorphoses into a completely different set of words. But with this book, I just am not able to collect my thoughts to pen them down.

I really liked the book. After completing it I decided that someday, when I grow older than what I am right now, I will read this book again. I will look back at how I felt while reading the book for the first time. I will see if I have aged with time or I have just amassed some more memories and modified some other.

But for now, I am at a loss for the right words. The book is unlike any other book I have read so far. In a slim package of 150 pages, Julian Barnes presents an intense, thought provoking book. It makes you think and recollect the fond memories that you had. It prods you further in the direction of the scenarios that worked in your favour and others, probably the ones you desired more, that didn't work out in your favour. It gives you some time and teaches you tricks to play around with the what-ifs and whether-thats... and suddenly takes you tumbling down the rabbit hole along with Tony Webster.

Maybe I shouldn't be drawing parallels just because I read these novels in succession, but I felt that there was a characterial overlap between Gatsby's Nick Carraway and Sense of an Ending's Tony Webster. Both of them are observers. Both of them are the metaphorical hubs of the story's wheel. Whereas in Nick's case external forces turn the wheel, Tony makes the wheel move by himself and yet feels that there are external forces acting on him. In Veronica's well-iterated words, Tony just doesn't get it! Nevertheless, Tony does get it, eventually...

Ok, back to the book... Sense of an Ending speaks in terms of logic as applied to human behaviour, common sense as humans try to apply to their behaviour, abstract behavioral mathematics, and ever questioned rationality, but the book leaves you with a feeling that is nowhere as straightforward. It's as misty as a mountain top during monsoon and leaves you in an intoxicated state to find your way through all that haze.

Relationships. Complexities. Reactions. Consequences.

We keep moving back and forth through past and present (metaphorically), try to perceive time and memories linked to a time, understand the dynamics of our behaviour as opposed to what might have happened and just play along. Tony Webster does the same. He looks back at himself, he reminisces, he wonders; he tries to change the mistakes of the past and realizes that the seeds of his previous actions have grown into fierce, road-blocking trees, unknowingly shadowing his motives and hopes. He tries to understand the consequences of his actions. He tries in vain to rekindle the fire. He tries to split remorse in chunks of guilt to tackle them individually, while searching for a stamp of forgiveness. He senses the end and begins the search for corroboration that affirms his memories, life, and the way everything happened. Eventually, Tony gives up his quest.

Adrian's Diary was just a time machine that forced Tony to look back. Veronica was just a force that kept Tony thinking and making modifications to his actions. Veronica's Mom represented the very human nature of unpredictableness. Margaret was the laugh that we need, the smiles that carry us through. Adrian, a mathematical anomaly. Tony, all the while, a hub in the wheel of something called as life. Life, as it happens to some, and as some make it happen.

I loved the book for what it was. The lovely poetic, poignant lines, the melancholy trip through memories, and the wry humour that brought a smile or two at the needed times. I will definitely read this book again and will recommend it to anyone who has thought about the past, not just to change it, but to really think if that change would have been worthwhile as compared to the present. Because who can really predict happenings?

---

It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
- P.B. Shelley, Mutability

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The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald - Book Review

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Who is John Galt Jay Gatsby?
What is Great about Gatsby?
---
...I wear this crown of thorns,
Upon my liars chair,
Full of broken thoughts,
I cannot repair,

Beneath the stains of time,
The feelings disappear,
You are someone else,
I am still right here...

- Hurt, Nine Inch Nails and more poignantly by Johnny Cash.
---
This story belongs to a long gone era. An era where opulence was regarded supreme, where identities were hushed behind a veil of grandiose, material happiness. A part of the book belongs to that era... A part has trickled down. Leading to confusion. Just like the confused Nick Carraway. Unsure about things to believe and things to ignore.

Is Gatsby that part of Nick who is in love with Daisy, but has to be buried eventually because things have changed and past cannot be undone? Is it Gatsby or Nick who stunningly describes the beautiful Daisy and her enchanting, alluring voice?

It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again.

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.

Nick, who slowly paints the characters, the surroundings, the sub-textual philosophies, and weaves the story that moved him so much. Nick, caught in the ever-shifting world of sudden changes brought by a man's strong, undying love for a woman. Nick, caught in a contradiction of beliefs, of trust.

Everything is melancholy, and then the emotions are rapidly flattened out... hinting at the things to come. A haziness brought just before the music fades, the alcohol is drunk, and the people go home, before words are scattered along like used tissues... Papers with words and distended feelings that are eventually broken into pieces. Love is put to test. Love loses against fate. Love loses against the past. Too much contention.

Love is mostly on the losing side.

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Bachchan's Sharabi

Just yesterday P and I were discussing about Bachchan's Sharabi.

The question was whether this movie influenced people to let go of their lives just the way their screen idol did. I, out of my love for the tipple, tried to assuage by saying that the movie does show the hero's downfall.

She asked, "So what if an alcoholic wants to imitate that exact downfall?"

-

I posted this as a comment on this lovely post about movies and their links, if any, with the society.

On a related note:

Mere paas Ma(lt) hai...

The Call of Cthulhu by H.P. Lovecraft - Book Review

The Call of Cthulhu by H.P. Lovecraft
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

What is it that empowers writers with prose that penetrates the deepest mysteries to bring forth a bone-chilling story that plays on your mind? It can't be pure imagination, or is it? How is it that the author can write such intense, engaging, awe-inducing log of a mountainous monster-priest, which ironically makes you eagerly wait for the Thing to make an appearance?

"The Thing cannot be described, there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked
or stumbled."

I have read this story alright, but the all the pieces are spread out in my mind like the hidden cults. Surely, they will chant and remind me of the vagaries of human imagination based on circumstantial evidences. As the narrator says, "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents."

Phew. H.P. Lovecraft is a master of words and worlds. I can see how he has influenced so many writers. Every paragraph is laden with ideas and mysteries that other authors write books about. I agree that his prose is heavy and at times it get's redundant, but it has an intense mysterious magnetism that pulls you right in. The very nature of build up of the story, and how the narrator weaves the facts together is engaging. It's OK if I had to read some lines twice or more times than that, the effect some of them had was deep.

"The time would be easy to know, for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel and enjoy themselves, and all the earth would ame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom."

I wonder if I can describe the story as a bildungsromanightmare. A coming-of-age-in-your-dreams story. An inception of a conviction of the presence of the surreal, eldtrich being. The narrator convinces himself and us of the presence of the great Cthulhu, submits himself to fate, and concludes the story with the line: "Let me pray that, if I do not survive this manuscript, my executors may put caution before audacity and see that it meets no other eye."

And, here we are:


---
On a lighter note, the chant "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn" kept reminding me of Korn's Twist.

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Cupcake Story

Adam and Eve were happy in their den in Eden. Eating apples, playing snakes and ladders, and busy watching the angels do Shimmy, they never realised how fast the seasons changed and how time started overtaking itself. They thought they were so busy that forced the the instant messenger people to remove the status 'available' from the list. Needless to say, they did not register the appearance of a man in their neighbourhood.

His name was Odd. Odd was not odd, as his name suggested.He was rather normal.He was on a hunt for a girl named Even. One day when he was sitting in a bar, his friend Biro told him about this place called Eden that has Eve. Eve in Eden did sound odd to Odd and Odd decided to move to Eden and check with Eve if she knows Even. Odd, was resolute. He had to find Even. Specially since his enemy, Dice, had mockingly said, "Odd, you will never get Even." He had to get Even to get even.

Odd found Eden rather odd. He was so used to Prime - his hometown, Square Root - his dog and Nigella - his cook, that he found Eden very boring. He went to the local bar and ordered an apple cider. Convex, the bartender started conversing with Odd.

"Odd"
"Yes?"
"Very Odd"
"What?"
"Adam and Eve are splitting up!"
"Pass me another cider please."
"You are odd!"
"Yes, that's me."
"Very odd!"

Odd actually didn't take the news very well. If Adam and Eve split up, Eve will not have time to entertain him, thought Odd. Scared, he warily approached Eve.

"Ma'am."
"Who are you?"
"I am Odd."
"You certainly seem to be!"
"Do you know Even?"
"No!"
"That's odd!"
"Just like you!"
"Huh?"
"Go away, I need peace"

A dejected Odd, started walking away. He went to the bar again. After ordering his drink, he noticed that a beautiful girl was sitting alone by herself in one corner of the bar. She had lovely wavy brown hair, radiant olive skin with a golden sheen, soft lips shaped like rose petals, and the most mysteriously misty eyes that Odd had seen.

Odd approached her.
"Hello, I am Odd."
"Hi, I am Even."
Odd stood dumbfound. He had never imagined Even to be so beautiful.
"Hey Even, what made you come to Eden?"
"I want to start a cupcake business and Eden is a place where I can break even."
"I can help you. I am a baker."
"Oh."

They fell in love, got married started living happily ever after.

After some years, Odd met Dice and told him, "Odd Numbers got Even!"
Dice stared rather oddly.
"So Numbers is your last name?"
"Yes," said Odd.

Beyond Lies the Wub by Philip K. Dick - Short Story Review

Beyond Lies the Wub by Philip K. Dick
My rating: 4 of 5 stars


While reading this short story, my first Philip K. Dick work, this song kept playing in my mind:

Big man, pig man
Ha, ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel
Ha, ha, charade you are

- Pigs (Three Different Ones) by Pink Floyd

I was wondering if the travesty was really apt. I wondered if there was something in this story that crossed the gravitational force and escaped me. All I know is that here is a nice, short story about a wub (A rather stout, big pig-like being) that is picked up from Mars for an amount of 50 cents, fated to land on the tasty plates of the hungry space travelers. What happens then is for you to find out. How the hungry earthling captain is fed and satiated? Does he return back, like Odysseus?

I am sure reading it will take less time than eating your Eggs and Bacon. (The story is available on Project Gutenberg)

At that, yes, more PKD will be devoured.

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Right Ho, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse - Book Review

Right Ho Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

"Stimulated by the juice, I believe, men have even been known to ride alligators."

With lines like these, it is definitely not difficult to love a Wodehouse book. Right Ho, Jeeves sits right there amongst the best of Wodehouse that includes almost all of his books. :)

Right Ho, Jeeves goes on to narrate a story about the suggestively piscine Gussie Fink-Nottle (or as Aunt Dahlia prefers to call him eventually Spink-Bottle, and you will know why!) and his problematic betrothal to Madeline Bassett and along with that a story about the lover's rift between Hildebrand AKA Tuppy Glossop and Cousin Angela. Thrown in are some sub-plots about Aunt Dahlia and her gambling issues, the sensitive cook Anatole (god's gift to gastric juices), the paranoid Uncle Tom, and the overall happenings at Brinkley Manor.

Who takes charge of solving all of these cases? No, not Jeeves, it's Bertram Wilberforce Wooster! (For an insight into the Woosters, do take a gander at the Wooster Guide: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/....)

Bertie believes that Jeeves is unable to pull swift ones as before and decides to take over the reign. So, then the Unstoppable farce meets the Immovable object:

Unstoppable farce: "You see now how right I was."
Immovable object: "Yes, sir."
U.f: "It must have been rather an eye-opener for you, watching me handle this case."
I.o:"Yes, sir."
U.f:"The simple, direct method never fails."
I.o:"No, sir."
U.f:"Whereas the elaborate does."
I.o:"Yes, sir."
U.f:"Right ho, Jeeves."

When the farce, better known as Bertie, is aggressively convinced that the supreme spin-doctor, problem-solver Jeeves is not in his right elements, and decides to take control of the thoughtful steering wheel, all falls down. Or at least some of them do.

Wodehouse, in his own inimitable style, then goes on to describe the fun and at times laugh-out-loud events that happen and things tumble down, and eventually rise up. It's fun to read his descriptions about a certain fishy chap who become highly inebriated and delivers a superb speech!

Eventually, Bertie has to shake off his illusion about the not-in-form Jeeves after he sees how everything is solved by the trustworthy chap. Jeeves actions thoroughly convince us about the aberration that the Wooster spirit is. As Sheldon Cooper would say, there seems to be too much chlorine in the Wooster gene pool!

Oh and not to mention about the white mess jacket! All it took was a hot instrument...

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Cat's Crade by Kurt Vonnegut - Book Review

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

To write a review of this book in three words:
'busy, busy, busy'.
But there is no such restriction, so...

I have a strong belief that Vonnegut was a really baroque spider who weaved webs more intricate than any other. And these cobwebs are not normal ones. They are fractal webs. Designs within designs. The more you understand, the more there is to understand. The deeper you go, the meaninglessness of everything comes about.

Some authors elicit direct questions in the reader's minds. Some elicit questions under the garb of strange humour. Vonnegut belongs to the latter. He makes you think about religion, men of god, politics, science, society, utopia, dystopia, metaphysics, human behaviour, and some more topics without explicitly speaking about them. All of this indulgence goes along with the story of a man, who preferred to call himself Jonah, and his quest to find out what the scientist, who designed the atom bomb, was doing on the day the bomb was dropped. From then on, there are threads revealed. Some are very obvious, most hidden under the seemingly funny lines. Then, things happen and keep happening, and then some more things happen.

This is not Sirens of Titans, neither is it Slaughterhouse-Five. Cat's Cradle stands on a different track. Though it has style. Vonnegut has style. A style that opens the keys to the warehouse where every little thing makes you think. Makes you wonder and question and eventually come with an answer "There is no damn Cat, and there is no damn Cradle". Ensuring that you get the the futility of it all.

As with the previous two Vonnegut books I have read, this one really needs a reread. Maybe to understand it more, or maybe to find out that there is actually nothing relevant in the book, that everything is just made up. Made up just like life seems at times.

The other day, I was thinking what an interesting conversation Vonnegut and Wodehouse would have in the Bar of Heaven over a couple of drinks. Talking about the pitiful humans and their actions, humans writing theorems after watching apples fall down. Laughing at us all.

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