Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking - 3 stars

There are many different kinds of powers in the world. One child is given a light saber, another a wizard's education. The trick is not to amass all the different kinds of available power, but to use well the kind you've been granted.

Quiet had been on my radar ever since Susan Cain's popular TED Talk on introversion. I am an introvert myself; one who never minded disclosing the fact when the topic came up. Usually, that led to responses ranging from "Oh, I never would've guessed!" to "Gosh, that can't be easy". All from well-meaning people who conflate shyness with introversion - traits which sometimes go together, but are wholly different at a fundamental level. So I was very excited to find someone out there, on such a wide-reaching platform, attempting to clear up some facts about what introversion actually is and is not. Since it is a subject close to my heart, I couldn't resist adding my perspective - in case you're wondering why this review is longer than usual. :)

So what does it mean, anyway, to be an introvert, and how is it different from being an extrovert? The differences lie mostly in how we, as introverts and extroverts, process information, how we perceive demands on our time and attention, and how we recharge our faculties. From a neurobiological perspective - on which Quiet places heavy emphasis - several factors come into play. (This is easily the most fascinating section of the book, and one that led to many aha! moments and much vigorous nodding every time I came across something that resonated with my experiences.) 

For introverts, the neural pathways that transmit information are apparently not only different but also longer; the frontal cortex - governing abstract thought, planning and decision-making - is larger and denser with gray matter. In layperson's terms, it means that new information or external stimulus is processed within more sections of the brain, its purport is weighed more carefully, and more associations with existing information are attempted. But before you rejoice or feel jealous (depending on who you are): all this cool computing doesn't come for free - introverts tend to display slower response times to new and complex information; nor does it necessarily infer a superior brain - what an extrovert may perceive as a manageable and engaging amount of stimuli can easily overload an introvert's brain. 

Of course, it's not as scary as it sounds. You don't see introverts everywhere melting down from shorting their brain circuits. The brain is way more resilient - it doesn't take much to bounce back from the overstimulation of crowded parties or loud concerts. Such experiences can be a lot of fun even for introverts, albeit in smaller doses. Extroverts, on the other hand, are fueled by such activities, and find themselves completely in their element. How do they thrive in high-stimulation environments? The answer is dopamine: the neurotransmitter responsible for regulating mood and reward-seeking behaviour. As it turns out, extroverts have low sensitivity to this mood-boosting chemical. Not only can they handle more of it, their circuits are wired to crave more of it. 

I've seen this in action with the numerous extroverts among my family and friends. (On a side note, this pairing happens quite often, be it with close friends or partners. Probably because we have much to fascinate, and also learn from, each other.) They are high energy folks, who turn strangers into friends with relative ease. They range from warm and personable to frank and opinionated, but they never lack things to say, nor are ever hesitant to express themselves. They put themselves square in the onslaught of people and activities, unfazed and even excited. 

When it comes to the positive traits of extroverts, I admit to being a bit jealous at times. For many introverts, it would be fascinating to truly feel how an extrovert feels like, to jump headlong into new experiences, to pause the ever-churning thoughts for a bit and live in the moment. On the other hand, an introvert's high sensitivity and low reward-affinity bring a gamut of traits like introspection, perseverance, prudence and best of all: imagination. Building a rich inner world and toying with ideas at length can give birth to amazing and powerful ideas; ideas that make the world a better place. The work of Gandhi, Einstein, Bill Gates and J.K. Rowling might vouch for that. 

I'm not silly enough (and neither is Cain) to presume that these traits are exclusive to introverts, just as openness to experience and ease of expression are not the domain of extroverts alone. If that were true, what a dull world we'd be living in! In reality, there are no full-blown introverts or extroverts - we all fall somewhere along the scale. The extremes are just abstractions that exist to clarify the concepts. Moreover, every trait is learnable by everyone; the brain is not a static organ but an ever-evolving entity. It's just that based on temperament and environment, some qualities come relatively easy to people, while others can only be hard-won. 

But even as we celebrate the contributions of well-known introverts, as a society we are dismissive of introversion as a way of living. The book raises important concerns about how we've come to lionize the extrovert ideal. Instead of seeing the two types as natural variances, we placed extroversion on a pedestal and relegated its counterpart to second place. In doing so, we've labelled introversion an inconvenience, an impediment to overcome. Luckily for me, this was not true while growing up; even Cain notes that in eastern countries, which are more traditional and collective-based, it is extroversion that is usually shunned. Children are taught to think before they speak and exert caution in general. But taken to an extreme, that too is not ideal, as it stunts extroverted kids from being their true selves.

I do wish Quiet had a more balanced perspective and appreciation of the "other side". Given that its main focus is to clarify the nature of introversion and give a boost of validation to us folks, I did not expect to find a lot about what makes our counterparts tick. But the subtle and insidious belittling of the extroverted way was off-putting. Many references to extroversion indirectly reinforced the benefits of being an introvert (or having one on board), and highlighted the regrettable choices of extroverts, who were portrayed to act on impulse and the desire for reward-buzz. Regardless of disclaimers, I couldn't help feeling that Cain's writing came from a place of believing the introverted nature to be better. It did prompt me to find out more about extroversion on my own, and I learned quite a few interesting facts that I wouldn't have known otherwise, indirectly thanks to this book. 

Quiet meanders into self-help territory at times, doling out one too many workplace case studies of introverts (the arc invariably being: X was dissatisfied and unsure of her place, but she eventually understood how to leverage her unique traits, and ended up bringing a new perspective to her work environment). However, it never turns into preachy self-help, with advice on how to "unearth your hidden exuberance" and "blossom into your true poised self" (à la "How to Win Friends and Influence People"), as if one wouldn't be a fully functioning member of society otherwise. For not encouraging that narrative alone, I feel compelled to give it extra points. 

Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore - 3 stars

A man walking fast down a dark lonely street. Quick steps and hard breathing, all wonder and need. A bell above a door and the tinkle it makes. A clerk and a ladder and warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.

How to attract a bibliophile's interest? Write a book about books; insert 'book', 'bookstore' or 'library' in said book's title; design a gorgeous cover filled with books - oh, and make them glow in the dark for good measure. Way before actually reading it, I fell in love with Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore for the same reasons - in more or less the same order.

The first thing that came to my mind after actually reading it: the universe loves throwing a wrench into excitement of any kind. You see, in my mind this was somehow the book meant to usher in an year of amazing reads, the One Book that would break my reviewing dry spell. And of course it's the one I ended up being most unsure of - ever. So... where to even start?

Don't get me wrong: Mr. Penumbra's stays true to the promise of its most fascinating title. A bookstore that's never closed, not once in all its history. Narrow stacks of bookshelves so tall they go up, up and away into the shadows. Thousands of volumes by unknown writers, in an unrecognized language. Eccentric customers dropping in at odd hours, requesting obscure books. Never to purchase, but to check out using member cards printed with the store's mystical logo, as if it were a secret library of sorts.

And that's just a sample of the bookstore's allure and mystery, as revealed by the observations of Clay Jannon. He is an out-of-job web designer who lands the position of night clerk at the bookstore. Intrigued by the unusual happenings, he enlists the help of some friends to make sense of what Mr. Penumbra's patrons are up to. The discovery leads to some wholly unexpected and drastic consequences.

A story so steeped in century-old bookstores and leather-bound books, I assumed, would be charming in a vintage way. I'm happy to be wrong; Mr. Penumbra's is a love letter addressed to gorgeous hardcovers and sturdy kindles, to secret knowledge gained by persistent minds and the power of open technology to solve problems. Some of the key events even unfold within Google's headquarters, romanticized as a citadel of human intelligence and technology. In many ways, Mr. Penumbra's is a delightful meeting point of old and new worlds, and becomes increasingly riveting as more and more astonishing layers are peeled away.

So, why just 3 stars for what sounds like a wonderful read? Well... for one, the element of surprise and thrill could have been handled way better. In spite of enormous scope for heart-thudding-in-ribcage moments, they end up being wasted opportunities. The core premise is also predictable - given that it's a book about books, more than anything else. Roadblocks are resolved too easily, with just the right connections and resources coming along as and when needed. But the main problem is irksome and unrelatable characters.

Clay comes across as boring and detached - even in the middle of exciting events. Mr. Penumbra and Kat Potente, Clay's super-smart romantic interest, start off as interesting characters. But like everybody else, they are seen only through Clay's perspective, making them fuzzy and one-dimensional. And then there's Neel Shah, that awful amalgamation of two bad tropes: hero's token Asian friend and geek obsessed with female anatomy. But instead of a fat white geek living in parents' basement, we get a successful Indian health-junkie entrepreneur. And that's my biggest grudge: you can't just flip outward traits to whitewash a poorly written stereotype. One bad portrayal of geeks is no less derogatory than the other. In a book so awash with geek culture, it's especially disheartening.

Really then, 3 stars? For a book that takes on so many topics with aplomb, yes. From stimulating conversations ranging from startups to The Singularity, speculations about codes and secret societies, unleashing the power of data visualizations and Hadoop, Mr. Penumbra's has it all. What's more, embedded within this book about books is - a book! It's a fictional fantasy series enchantingly named The Dragon-Song Chronicles. Snippets of it are quoted as clues, as uncanny connections arise between events in the two books. So meta! 

Mr. Penumbra's is a lovely read, if you manage to block out the silly things characters sometimes do, or say, or are. For all its flaws, it redeems itself by underscoring the sweet and memorable connections forged with people over books. 

The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins

Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it's contained.





The first I'd heard of The Hunger Games was three years ago, when the movie had just hit theatres. I remember it being one of the most awaited movies of the year. After all, it was based on the most successful Young Adult novels in recent times. The studio's extensive publicity combined with fans eager for an on-screen adaptation had led to much hype. But even with high expectations, I found it to be a well-made and riveting film. However, it's nothing like the sucker punch to the gut that the books deliver.

The story is set in Panem, a dystopic future version of North America. It comprises twelve districts and a dictatorial Capitol that wields all the power and wealth of Panem with a heavy hand. A thirteenth district had once existed, but the Capitol obliterated it as punishment for a failed rebellion and warning to the remaining districts which were all involved. As an additional reminder of its power over them, the Capitol orchestrates the titular Hunger Games every year. A boy and a girl from each district are "reaped" as tributes, to participate in gruesome fights to the death until a lone survivor remains. These televised games become a source of much entertainment and speculation to the Capitol's citizens, who seem all but oblivious to the unimaginable distress and perverse sadism involved.

The premise is revolting to say the least. I could not get over how inconceivable it is for such games to be used as a device for coercing people into submission. If anything, they would only serve to keep the rebel fire alive, inciting further attempts to topple the Capitol. Right? And what sort of civilized society would be entertained by the spectacle of hungry, scared children forced to kill each other?

Right.

As if empires in history never used cruelty and violence to keep citizens in line. As if war victors of our past never subjected the surrendered to ghastly horrors. As if gladiator games never happened.

Themes of war and its consequences, Roman gladiator games and distorted reality television had apparently been major influences on Collins's writing. Sadly, the movie does not often delve into such complex issues. The focus is instead directed on maintaining a fast-paced, action-packed narrative. It makes for an engrossing cinematic experience, no doubt, but demands a certain suspension of disbelief.

Not so with the books, which seem to have been crafted with the intent to strike hard and resonate deep within the psyche. Collins perfects the task of creating a believable world within an improbable framework. Panem, however distressing it may be, pulls you in.

Katniss Everdeen, our young protagonist from District 12, triggers events beyond her control by volunteering to be a tribute in place of her sister. With sharp survival instincts gained from years of hunting - after her father dies in a coalmine explosion, she's had to take it up to keep her mother and sister alive - she may actually stand a chance of surviving the first few days. Maybe even a remote chance of winning. Katniss has never killed a human before, but as her friend and hunting partner Gale reflects, how different would it be, really?

In the arena, there is no time to grapple with the philosophical implications of murder; no place for friendship or mercy. But Katniss encounters them all, in herself and a few others, most notably in her partner tribute Peeta. Her dynamic with Peeta is further complicated by her feeling indebted to him, for a simple act of kindness in their past that gave her much needed hope in a difficult time. But to win, she would have to kill him, or at least hope for his death at the hands of another tribute. Could Katniss really do that and still be herself? How much of their own self does a victor return with, anyway?

Uncomfortable questions, and not just for Katniss. Collins's stance comes across as anti-war, especially where children are used as pawns in battles. As for the notion of Panem being so impossible to exist, enough elements emerge from the story to show disturbing parallels in our own world. In brainwashed teenagers ready for war in conflict-torn countries. In regimes that force children to be their first line of defence. In organizations killing children to supposedly prove some twisted point. In debilitating poverty and hunger that compel children to grow up before their time. Need I go on?

Tolkien's Tour de Force: The Silmarillion

Imagine this: you are running a marathon. Not just any marathon, but one of the most daunting ones out there, stretched over many long days (imagine!). You trained hard and managed not to be put off it when people said it was impossible to do, or worse: an utter waste of time. The big day has finally arrived! You'd just rocketed off the starting line, very determined to see this through. Agreed, you had trouble staying on track in the beginning; a lot of gear was laid out at every turn, to be picked up before going any further. It was part of the rules, but you reasoned it out as just an initial hiccup. Surely all that heavy gear would help you navigate the arduous path later, right? So you did what you had to do: Stop, pick, proceed. Rinse and repeat.

Many hours later -- you are in a daze, wondering how you're ever going to reach the finish line. You realize no amount of training could have prepared you for this. It's the additional gear that appears every so often - even after all this time - that you are compelled to take. It's the treacherously winding road, putting a brake on your pace, making you consider every turn carefully. But more than anything, it's the sheer breathtaking old world beauty that surrounds you, engulfing your mind and senses. Every single step brings forth a new delight. You find yourself slowing down, backtracking your steps every so often, despite winding track and heavy load, to take in everything so slowly that it's imprinted on your mind. Beauty of this sort you never knew existed. You drink it all in, knowing you won't come across anything like this once you step out of this path into the outside world.

You are now lying somewhere by the track, wallowing drunkenly. It has been a while since you thought of proceeding, but the thought slowly starts niggling you, prodding you up. You dust yourself, gather the bundles, tighten your laces and get back on track - ready to be knocked again, off your feet and off your mind. That is how my experience with The Silmarillion has been for the past few days, as anticlimactic as the marathon analogy may seem :P I'm currently at [The tale] Of Beren and Lúthien - hands down the most painstakingly crafted story in the book. (For those who've read/watched Lord of the Rings: its Elvish version is sung by Aragorn one night in The Fellowship of the Ring. He says it's about an elf-maiden named Luthien who fell in love with a mortal man, and gave up her immortality to be with him.) It's admittedly a bittersweet tale, but also has some of the best exchanges of all time. My absolute favourite is this one between Beren and Thingol, father of Luthien:

Then breaking the silence Thingol said: 'Go your way therefore! Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown; and then, if she will, Lúthien may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel; and though the fate of Arda (Earth) lie within the Silmarils, yet you shall hold me generous.'

And those that heard these words perceived that Thingol would save his oath, and yet send Beren to his death; for they knew that not all the power of the Noldor had availed even to see from afar the shining Silmarils of Feanor. For they were set in the Iron Crown, and treasured in Angband above all wealth; and Balrogs were about them, and countless swords, and strong bars, and unassailable walls, and the dark majesty of Morgoth.

But Beren laughed. 'For little price,' he said, 'do Elven-kings sell their daughters: for gems, and things made by craft. But if this be your will, Thingol, I will perform it. And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown; for you have not looked the last upon Beren son of Barahir.'

Now tell me that wasn't majestic as hell! This story is also a significant token of Tolkien's love for his wife Edith, who was the inspiration behind Luthien - supposedly the most beautiful of all the creator's children - right from when Beren first encounters her in the woods and forgets all memory of pain. So close was this story to his heart that when his wife died, Tolkien had 'Luthien' written on her gravestone, "...which says for me more than a multitude of words: she was (and knew she was) my Lúthien". After his death, 'Beren' was engraved on it beneath his name. No other eulogy could have said it better.  (I will go weep in a corner now.)

A Bend in the River - V. S. Naipaul

To be among the ruins was to have your time-sense unsettled. You felt like a ghost, not from the past, but from the future. You felt that your life and ambition had already been lived out for you and you were looking at the relics of that life. You were in a place where the future had come and gone.

How do I even begin to describe my reading experience with Naipaul? His snide views on female writers and absolute jerk-like behaviour towards women in general (among many other things) had always given me second thoughts while picking up his books. But as compelled as one may feel to boycott his work, his Nobel-endorsed literary merit infuriatingly works in his favour! Which is why I finally relented and ended up reading A Bend in the River: a bleak and hard-hitting commentary about the uprooting effects of colonization in post-colonial Africa. The narrator is Salim, a merchant of Indian origin who migrates from Africa's coast to a recently freed bush country in its interior, to take over a small shop in an unnamed town by the bend of a river (widely believed to be Kisangani by the Congo river, based on geographical markers).

As an outsider whose fate and fortunes are now tied to the country, Salim partakes in all its sudden phases of growth as well as political turmoil and upheavals, while being emotionally uninvested in the reasons behind these changes. That makes him a unique and interesting observer who sees things for what they are, whether it is the burgeoning construction of government buildings - that remain largely unoccupied - to show-off the country's "prosperity", or fancy schools for young men where propaganda is fed, or hurtful policies of the authoritarian military president (referred to as "Big Man", who takes after Zaire's Mobutu), whose wishes to reclaim Africa's cultural identity by shunning all things foreign eventually affect the country - and Salim's business.

A Bend makes it abundantly clear why Naipaul is so revered despite his horrid conduct. The prose is alarmingly direct and crisp, making for a super-engaging read. I was surprised to find myself reading it everywhere I went like a dork, including coffee shops and public buses and even my office lounge at lunchtime - noisy places that I never thought were conducive to serious reading! And that went on despite frequent passages without dialog that provide a continual reflection of Salim's thoughts and observations of current events. In fact, it is these very stream-of-consciousness style passages that form the soul of the narrative, giving center stage to all the confusion and belligerence of a new country instead of relegating them to the plot's backdrop.

But it may be that a little of Naipaul's persona has crept into A Bend, adding occasional bouts of condescension, vanity and sexism, which were aggravating to read. Towards the end, I had lost all pity for Salim, who become more and more degenerate as the situation got worse. You'd expect even an anti-hero to find a semblance of purpose or betterment of circumstances, but trust Naipaul to deny even a sliver of optimism to the reader! And as much as this is a perfectly crafted book, its biggest fault is that while it revolves around Africa, the African has been ignored for the most part or reduced to a helpless cardboard cut out. I believe there is abundant room for a local's point of view even in an outsider's tale, which A Bend misses out on, making one wonder what the other side of the story is.

Or maybe that is the whole point.

Lesson learned

It's a popular opinion that modern Indian/Indian-origin writers of the literary type are over-hyped. It definitely doesn't help that they are forever in the limelight, be it for writing controversial stuff (Rushdie and his Satanic Verses) or parading presumptuous opinions. I mean, between Naipaul's condescending views on women writers and Roy's pseudo-activism, it's little surprise that theirs is a hated breed. So like many others, I too was irked and decided that these folks thrive mostly on shock value. Seeing the most illustrious awards in literature stamped on every self-respecting Indian writer's books only made me more skeptical. (Secretly, it also made me somewhat intimidated, impressed and a bit proud; but it's easier to cover up a jumble of contradicting feelings than God forbid admit to being wrong!)

Did I mention that I hadn't read a single piece by any of them before coming to this half-baked conclusion? Yep, talk about being presumptuous. But as it turned out, my reading style became increasingly eclectic in the past one or two years, and at some point I ventured to sample their work - for proving my untested theories if nothing else. What little I've read has made me realize I couldn't have been more wrong! This bookworm now stands corrected, humbled and suitably ashamed for having been a prejudiced ignoramus. But in exchange for such mortifying self-discoveries, I've had some truly enriching experiences and am dying to share my recommendations!

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

"What came for them? Not death. Just the end of living."

This, will make you experience pain. Physical. Tangible. Pain. I'm being literal, and not a bit afraid to be called over-sentimental. The God of Small Things, set in a small town in Kerala, is about two twins - Rahel and Esthappen - and their mother Ammu. It's about loneliness, living with mind-numbing guilt, and what happens when societal boundaries are crossed. It is supposedly semi-autobiographical to an unknown extent. I don't find that very surprising, as it may very well be impossible otherwise to write a story so hauntingly melancholic and raw. Roy takes you one step ahead of feeling for the characters; you will be dropped into their heads and left to feel your way around the chaos that is released in their lives. It is one of those rare works that will stay with you in fragments, ages after you've read the shocking yet oddly befitting ending. 

Haroun and the Sea of Stories, Salman Rushdie

"'Happy endings must come at the end of something,' the Walrus pointed out. 'If they happen in the middle of a story, or an adventure, or the like, all they do is cheer things up for a while.'"

If you ever need a primer to Rushdie, or even Indian writers in general, let this be it. Like The Hobbit, Haroun and the Sea of Stories is a children's book by a master storyteller, and that makes it universally appealing. It's also really endearing that Rushdie wrote it with his son in mind. Inspired by Arabian Nights and the Indian Kathasaritsagara, it's about Haroun going off on a quest to Kahani - Earth's second moon - to stop his father's story stream from being turned off, and his part in the war against Khattam-shud, enemy of speech and King of the Land of Chup (silence), who is poisoning the Sea of Stories. On the surface it's a fantastic work of magical realism with water genies and floating gardeners and what not - quite delightful as is! But with clever use of allegory, Rushdie adds layers of inside meaning on freedom of speech and the pitfalls of intolerance. Coming on the heels of the Satanic Verses controversy and attempted attacks on his life, it's a class act of defiance and a must-read.


P.S.: Coming up - Naipaul and Lahiri!

Dune - Frank Herbert

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. 
                                       
                                                                             -Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear.

Paul Atreides is not the typical protagonist. He is the only heir of Duke Leto Atreides, and trained in the mental conditioning ways of Bene Gesserit by his mother, Lady Jessica. More importantly, his superior mental abilities and reflexes cause Jessica to suspect that he is Kwisatz Haderach: The One who could unlock genetic memory and access centuries of collective past, who could bridge space and time and see far into the future. It is clear from the very beginning that there is no trace of the underdog in Paul. Yet, an act of treachery by one of his father's aides topples his life and sets him on a perilous course in this exquisitely crafted Duniverse, as fans refer fondly to the world of Dune. 

It is some time in the distant future, when faster-than-light interstellar space travel - now controlled by the Spacing Guild - has allowed the discovery of several galaxies and civilizations. The Padishah Emperor, supreme leader of the universe, shares power with the Guild and the Landsraad, a council of noblemen. This triumvirate is united in their need for Melange: a spice that is addictive and highly expensive, for it makes safe space travel possible, and enhances mental awareness and longevity. Melange, that is found in only one place in the universe: the desert planet Arrakis, or Dune, of which Paul's father has recently won fiefdom.

Inhabited by the tough weather-beaten Fremens, Arrakis is precious beyond measure for its monopoly over spice production, and yet a barren wasteland. Acute water scarcity is part of the Fremens' life, influencing their lifestyle, customs and even evolutionary patterns. Soon after their arrival, Paul and his family find themselves entrapped on this harsh and oppressive planet, where gigantic spice worms surface all over the desert and the emperor's feared army of Sardukars is out to end the Atreides line, while the Fremen continue to be hostile as ever. 

The plot may make it sound like the perfect sci-fi + action book, but it can hardly be classified so. Dune is classic, classic science fiction, true to its name and form. Unlike most sci-fi, (or worse, modern dystopian fiction masquerading as sci-fi), the science is not superficially limited to gadgetry, mutated life-forms, aliens and the like. References to evolution, ecological conservation, genetics, chemistry, the underlying physics of space travel, and even distortions in the time-space continuum and future prediction algorithms are beautifully interspersed throughout the book.

It's not just about science either; Dune delves into the complex interplay between religion, philosophy and politics in a frank and unapologetic manner, warranting comparisons to Ulysses. Dune, they say, is science fiction's answer to Lord of the Rings, and I wholly agree. They parallel each other in the sheer scale of it all, and the stupendous imagination that went into creating a universe so mindbogglingly complex and detailed. It is also touted to be a major influence on subsequent science fiction (think Star Wars and The Matrix), and is, not without reason, considered to be the true meeting point of science, fiction and literature.

Arrakis, here I come!

I'm in a very happy state of mind right now, the reason being my latest haul from the library! I've been waiting to lay my hands on Frank Herbert's Dune for a long time now, especially because I was forced to return it the last time; someone had the gall to reserve it while it was still in my possession. So I'd dropped it off with a heavy heart, promising myself that I would get back soon to the epic that's touted to be sci-fi's answer to Lord of the Rings. And finally, after a long long wait, life has come full circle: my place hold has been successful this time. Ha! :)

 

So, one fine Saturday afternoon, I dropped by the library with the sole intent of picking up my precious Dune, but apparently...

So I ended up at the Tolkien shelf, and had to get The Silmarillion (fantasy and sci-fi go hand in hand, right?). And when I was just about to check out and leave, Naipaul's A bend in the River called out to me. I must admit: I've never read Naipaul before, and was quite curious to know why this man is such a phenomenon. But I couldn't decide which scandal-afflicted Indo-Brit author I was more intrigued by: Naipaul or Rushdie. And so, in an attempt to be impartially intimidated, I got Rushdie's Haroun and the Sea of Stories too. I now have a great deal of reading to catch up on, but hey, who's complaining? :)

Hurricane and a nice sunny weekend

With hurricane Irene at my doorstep, it seemed all prospects of stepping out this weekend were dashed. I decided to catch up on reading and threw in a movie for good measure. But after a crashing and raging Saturday, the weather is so pleasant it's as if the hurricane never happened. I'm now tempted to leave my cozy nook and enjoy the outdoors, but meanwhile, this is what I've been doing this weekend:

Life of Pi: A fantasy novel by Yann Martel about a boy stranded in a lifeboat with a 450-pound Bengal Tiger after a shipwreck. Pi Patel's father runs a zoo in Pondicherry, but decides to migrate to Canada along with his family and assorted zoo animals due to political tensions in India. However, their voyage is abruptly cut short when Tsimtsum - their Japanese cargo ship - sinks in the Pacific during a violent storm. Pi manages to stay alive, but soon finds himself in a lifeboat with a tiger, hyena, orangutan and zebra. Will the laws of jungle reign in the ocean, or will man's ingenuity and will for survival beat all odds? I'm yet to find out, as I'm still halfway through this castaway's take on survival, philosophy and faith that has won the Booker prize.

Priyuralu Pilichindi (Kandukondain Kandukondain): The Indian adaptation of Sense and Sensibility. This movie about two diametrically opposite sisters is a pleasant watch, especially for its cinematography and music. For me, the best part is how carefully the essence of Sense and Sensibility - my favourite Jane Austen novel - is captured, while adapting it beautifully to an Indian audience. It's amazing how Austen's work still holds its appeal in an entirely different culture and era, though it must be said that the social scene of 19th century England is sadly still relevant in 21st century India.

Helen of Troy - Margaret George

Troy, with walls still far from old
Had been destroyed, that noble, royal town
And many a man full worthy of renown
Had lost his life - that no man can gainsay –
And all for Helen, the wife of Menelay
John Lydgate, Troy Book, circa 1412-1420

Helen: daughter of Zeus, queen of Sparta, lover of Troy’s prince, price of a great war. For ages, her promiscuity has been blamed for causing the Trojan War, and her beauty linked to the war’s mammoth scale - making it one of mythology’s longest and fiercest battles in which many a great warrior died, and subsequently, Troy was ruined. All other factors - Agamemnon’s greed, the politics of Kings and Princes, and even the Gods’ involvement (in Homer's original) - seem to fade in comparison, and Helen’s image remains inextricably and hauntingly tied with the Battle of Troy.

The story of Helen is ageless, and several versions have been told over the centuries. Amongst all the ones I've come across, Margaret George’s does complete justice to Helen; portraying her not as a manipulating queen or an object of desire, but as a woman who is human in her feelings and desires, in her actions and follies. Helen, born of Zeus, was said to have possessed a beauty so terrible she was urged to hide her face beneath a veil – lest it dazzle those who glance at her. In this enchanting first person account of Helen’s life, the veil of mystery is lifted from the face that is said to have launched a thousand ships, exposing a royal, outspoken and confident woman – typical of the Bronze Age – who followed her heart and lived fully and passionately, even if her joy was short-lived. She affirms her spirited nature and the blissful life she shared with Paris in this beautiful phrase: “The moment was all we truly had: a succession of moments, a triumphal march of them, to create a life beyond compare.”

Linked with violence and tragedy from the time of her conception, prophesized to cause a great war and the doom of Greeks, Helen seals an irrevocable bond with the cursed House of Atreus by wedding Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon, the King of Mycenae – thus intertwining their doomed destinies and laying a path to their inevitable fulfillment. She finds companionship in her marriage, but not what she yearns for most: trust, friendship and love. Aphrodite cruelly ignores her prayers for love, but more cruelly so fulfills them after the arrival of Paris, the Prince of Troy. Seeking and finding love in a stranger, she leaves her life in Sparta to begin a new one as wife of Paris and Helen of Troy.

Even as she gradually tries to gain the acceptance of King Priam and his people, Agamemnon, coveting the treasures of Troy, seizes this opportunity to wage a massive war. He compels Helen’s suitors – who had taken an oath to defend her original husband – to join forces with him and Menelaus. The aftermath is devastating for both sides; thousands are killed, noble heroes – Hector, Achilles, Priam, Paris, and many others – lost forever, and a glorious civilization is utterly ruined. The book doesn't end with the burning of Troy; it relates Helen’s life in Sparta after the war, culminating many decades later in her voyage to Troy, as she seeks something precious that was left behind… “Some things can be recovered. Some things can be restored. But some lost things, we seek forever”.

Margaret George’s writing is as beautiful and enchanting as her Helen; it is deeply and inherently poetic as befits a mythological tale, and transports the reader to ancient Troy and the bygone era of heroes. Helen’s descriptions of places and events are strikingly vivid, her insights sharp, and her emotions expressed with eloquence and poignancy. “Paris illuminated my world, he lighted the corners of myself that had lain dark”, she reflects, and one vainly hopes for them to remain together, knowing very well it is not to be. Helen of Troy is much more than a page-turner; it is a superbly written piece of almost-classic literature rich in detail and substance.