Reading Wednesday
Feb. 12th, 2014 10:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhWhat did you just finish?
Freedom Song by Amit Chaudhuri. Three short stories which are connected by all clearly being based on the author's barely fictionalized personal experiences. There's not much plot here, or change, or character development, or any of that sort of thing. At least the writer is doing it on purpose, as he describes early on in the first story:
But why did these houses- for instance, that one with the tall, ornate iron gates and a watchman dozing on a stool, which gave the impression that the family had valuables locked away inside, or that other one with the small porch and the painted door, which gave the impression that whenever there was a feast or a wedding all the relatives would be invited, and there would be so many relatives that some of them, probably the young men and women, would be sitting bunched together on the cramped porch because there would be no more space inside, talking eloquently about something that didn't really require eloquence, laughing uproariously at a joke that wasn't really very funny, or this next house with an old man relaxing in his easy-chair on the verandah, fanning himself with a local Sunday newspaper, or this small, shabby house with the girl Sandeep glimpsed through a window, sitting in a bare, ill-furnished room, memorizing a text by candlelight, repeating suffixes and prefixes from a Bengali grammar over and over to herself- why did these houses seem to suggest that an infinitely interesting story might be woven around them? And yet the story would never be a satisfying one, because the writer, like Sandeep, would be too caught up in jotting down the irrelevances and digressions that make up lives, and the life of a city, rather than a good story- till the reader would shout "Come to the point!"- and there would be no point, except the girl memorizing the rules of grammar, the old man in the easy-chair fanning himself, and the house with the small, empty porch that was crowded, paradoxically, with many memories and possibilities. The "real" story, with its beginning, middle, and conclusion, would never be told, because it did not exist.
At least the writing is pretty? But yeah, I pretty much did want to yell "Come to the point!" The first short story is about a young boy visiting with relatives in 1970s Calcutta; the second about a young man who's a graduate student at Oxford and his memories of family in Bombay and Calcutta; and the third is about an extended family and friends in Calcutta in the early 90s (with the very, very minor mentions of Ayodhya in the background). None of them have much action or stuff happening, which makes them hard to review. I suppose if you like very slow-moving, detailed descriptions of daily life, this is the book for you!
The Gods of Gotham by Lyndsay Faye. A murder mystery set in 1845 in New York City. It's hard to say exactly what the mystery is without spoilers, because a significant part of the book is dedicated to the main character just figuring out what's going on, but it involves child prostitutes; religious clashes between Protestants and Catholics; clashes between American-born natives, Irish immigrants, and free blacks; the very beginning of the Irish potato famine; and contemporary medicine. All of this is complicated by the New York City police force being absolutely brand-new, which means no one really knows how to go about things like arresting a suspect or investigating a crime.
I had a few quibbles with the book, particularly with the use of contemporary slang. If a character says "Wow, this is flash!", I don't actually need the narrator to stop and explain to me that flash means good. It's obvious from context. And even if it wasn't, there's a glossary in the front of the book; having the narrator constantly translate the slang in-story is just distracting and irritating. There were a few things I didn't like at the opening- mostly characters who seemed to be very much cliches- but it turned out actually to be a case of the narrator making assumptions that were later proven wrong, so I liked how that developed. Not the greatest book, but definitely interesting enough that I'll be checking out the sequel.
What are you currently reading?
Dangerous Women edited by George R.R. Martin and Gardner Dozois. I wanted to read the new ASOIAF short story (turns out it's terrible!) and then figured that I may as well read the other stories. Short stories of all genres (so far Western, fantasy, historical fiction, noir, and urban fantasy) focusing on "dangerous women".
The Adventures of Feluda by Satyajit Ray. Short stories about the Bengali version of Sherlock Holmes. This is, uh, incredibly 70s-esque.
Freedom Song by Amit Chaudhuri. Three short stories which are connected by all clearly being based on the author's barely fictionalized personal experiences. There's not much plot here, or change, or character development, or any of that sort of thing. At least the writer is doing it on purpose, as he describes early on in the first story:
But why did these houses- for instance, that one with the tall, ornate iron gates and a watchman dozing on a stool, which gave the impression that the family had valuables locked away inside, or that other one with the small porch and the painted door, which gave the impression that whenever there was a feast or a wedding all the relatives would be invited, and there would be so many relatives that some of them, probably the young men and women, would be sitting bunched together on the cramped porch because there would be no more space inside, talking eloquently about something that didn't really require eloquence, laughing uproariously at a joke that wasn't really very funny, or this next house with an old man relaxing in his easy-chair on the verandah, fanning himself with a local Sunday newspaper, or this small, shabby house with the girl Sandeep glimpsed through a window, sitting in a bare, ill-furnished room, memorizing a text by candlelight, repeating suffixes and prefixes from a Bengali grammar over and over to herself- why did these houses seem to suggest that an infinitely interesting story might be woven around them? And yet the story would never be a satisfying one, because the writer, like Sandeep, would be too caught up in jotting down the irrelevances and digressions that make up lives, and the life of a city, rather than a good story- till the reader would shout "Come to the point!"- and there would be no point, except the girl memorizing the rules of grammar, the old man in the easy-chair fanning himself, and the house with the small, empty porch that was crowded, paradoxically, with many memories and possibilities. The "real" story, with its beginning, middle, and conclusion, would never be told, because it did not exist.
At least the writing is pretty? But yeah, I pretty much did want to yell "Come to the point!" The first short story is about a young boy visiting with relatives in 1970s Calcutta; the second about a young man who's a graduate student at Oxford and his memories of family in Bombay and Calcutta; and the third is about an extended family and friends in Calcutta in the early 90s (with the very, very minor mentions of Ayodhya in the background). None of them have much action or stuff happening, which makes them hard to review. I suppose if you like very slow-moving, detailed descriptions of daily life, this is the book for you!
The Gods of Gotham by Lyndsay Faye. A murder mystery set in 1845 in New York City. It's hard to say exactly what the mystery is without spoilers, because a significant part of the book is dedicated to the main character just figuring out what's going on, but it involves child prostitutes; religious clashes between Protestants and Catholics; clashes between American-born natives, Irish immigrants, and free blacks; the very beginning of the Irish potato famine; and contemporary medicine. All of this is complicated by the New York City police force being absolutely brand-new, which means no one really knows how to go about things like arresting a suspect or investigating a crime.
I had a few quibbles with the book, particularly with the use of contemporary slang. If a character says "Wow, this is flash!", I don't actually need the narrator to stop and explain to me that flash means good. It's obvious from context. And even if it wasn't, there's a glossary in the front of the book; having the narrator constantly translate the slang in-story is just distracting and irritating. There were a few things I didn't like at the opening- mostly characters who seemed to be very much cliches- but it turned out actually to be a case of the narrator making assumptions that were later proven wrong, so I liked how that developed. Not the greatest book, but definitely interesting enough that I'll be checking out the sequel.
What are you currently reading?
Dangerous Women edited by George R.R. Martin and Gardner Dozois. I wanted to read the new ASOIAF short story (turns out it's terrible!) and then figured that I may as well read the other stories. Short stories of all genres (so far Western, fantasy, historical fiction, noir, and urban fantasy) focusing on "dangerous women".
The Adventures of Feluda by Satyajit Ray. Short stories about the Bengali version of Sherlock Holmes. This is, uh, incredibly 70s-esque.
