Salman Rushdie : Midnight's Children

So far, there have only been three books over the past ten years that I could not finish -- and this one is the third.

The second was "1001 Nights" -- and I haven't finished that one because there seems to be no point in reading its catalog of disconnected stories all at once - but rather, like a box of sweets, it seems better when consumed piecemeal at long intervals.

One such interval ended today, when having abandoned Rushdie, I picked up the story of Abu Muhammad "the sluggard" beginning in night #301. Like many other central characters in Scheherazade's stories, Abu reminded me so much of Rushdie's Saleem -- with the action centered around an utterly worthless narrator surrounded by fantastic events which often show him favor but over which he has no control.

But while Scheherazade's world is full of beauty, love, and wonder (as well as violence, hatred, and cruelty) --- Rushdie's world is just disgusting -- and after a few hundred pages, I had to ask myself, can I spend one more minute with this wretched character with the big, dripping nose, who's been swept up by a flow of events that resembles water going inexorably down a drain?

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Or, to put it another way, some people will always find their world confusing and hopeless, regardless of time and place. What they have to say does not interest me, regardless of how clever and articulate they might be.

And regardless of how curious I am about their world - and I am quite curious about Muslim India and Pakistan.

There is more than a small chance that the most disastrous consequences of the 1947 Partition have yet to occur, and I've yet to find another novelist who addressed it as directly as Rushdie.

If only he had not withdrawn into such a personalized fantasy.

Arundhati Roy : The God of Small Things

The state of Kerala, that sliver of lush plains on the south western coast of India is so over-teeming with life, it seems that humans are just one more outrageous species of large, carnivorous, tropical insect.

And this novel is just as whacky as this one about Kerala that I read last year.

The basic story is utterly banal: violence results from a single, middle-class mother having a fling with a young man from a much lower class. It's analogous to a sexual/racial conflict in the American south c. 1920.

And all of the characters are ugly, damaged, or both. They're all big insects that someone has stepped on and injured - made even more grotesque by the baby-talk, sing-song language that permeates this humid story like the tendrils of a fungus.

The narrator seems to be one of those bright adolescents, like Holden Caulfield, who can see right through all the phony adults as the self-serving creeps that they really are.

Which would make this stew too horrible to taste - except that the insights feel so crisp and real - like this wonderful description of a relationship that got off to a bad start:

"Rahel drifted into marriage like a passenger drifts towards an unoccupied chair in an airport lounge"



And this passage that gives the book its name:

"He didn't know that in some places, like the country that Rahel came from, various kinds of despair competed for primacy. And that personal despair could never be desperate enough. That something happened when personal turmoil by at the wayside shrine of the vast, violent, circling, driving, ridiculous, insane, unfeasible, public turmoil of a nation. That Big God howled like a hot wind, and demanded obeisance. Then Small God (cozy and contained, private and limited) came away cauterized, laughing numbly at his own temerity. Inured by the confirmation of his own in-consequence, he became resilient and truly indifferent. Nothing mattered much"


Is that how you spell a-l-i-e-n-a-t-i-o-n ?

Obviously, the author's got it herself, as you read about her passionately confused public life. This may remain her only work of fiction, something of a testimonial of how the world appears to her, who is also from a broken Syrian Christian family in Ayemenem, Kerala.




History House



The god of small things keeps things small by sucking everything into the vortex of memory. There's no such thing as moving on and benefiting from experience. In this story, the past is always present -- so indeed, the first chapter can only be comprehended after reading the last. Nobody gets out, nobody gets any better -- which, as the author says in an interview (found here ) was her greatest fear about the world in which she grew up.

R.K. Narayan : The Financial Expert

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Spoiler alert: don't read these comments before reading the book.

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Because the denouement is so sudden and dramatic.

Narayan's autobiographical period is over, and this book is more like a fable, so we don't get as close to the central character, whom, indeed, Narayan despises.

Concerning that protagonist, Margayya, I was puzzled about that most important fact concerning any Hindu character, his caste, and this question was not answered until nearly the last chapter. His parents and grandparents were farmers, but his great grandparents handled corpses, which is as low as it gets.

He's a low rent money lender, then a publisher of pornography, and finally achieves his apotheosis of financial success, and ruin, by running a Ponzi scheme. How despicable! And how timely - thanks to Bernie Madoff and family.

His virtues, if you'd call them that, are those of the termite. He's hard working, persistent, and he sticks with his family. After having ruined everyone who foolishly trusted him, he's quite ready to start all over again. Interestingly enough, unlike Madoff, he doesn't go to prison, so apparently no crime was committed. Madoff was convicted of securities fraud, wire fraud, mail fraud, money laundering, making false statements, perjury, theft from an employee benefit plan, and making false filings with the SEC. But Margayya simply promised a high return on investments all of which he kept stashed away in his own house. When investors demanded all their money back, he paid them off until he ran out of cash. Then he filed bankruptcy. Where was the crime?

And he's fond of children. The most important purchase he ever made was his son: he promised to give the temple his weight in silver if his wife ever bore one (I love how he had to pay it off immediately since the infant's weight would only get greater). And the story ends as he enjoys the presence of his grandson, even if it's the result of his son being evicted from property taken as part of the bankruptcy settlement.

Despite the catastrophe he brought most of those who either borrowed or lent him money, he seems to have had exactly the kind of money-centered life for which he had successfully prayed. And fittingly enough, the character who appears while he attempts to fulfill his obligations to the god of wealth, is the same character who gives and then takes it all away.

So it's a charming fable, told with the condescending, humorous dismay that a brahmin feels for an enterprising peasant. It's a picture of a well-ordered but utterly stagnant society. Wealth is not being used for any kind of positive development, but on the other hand, Margyya packs his house with bags of cash, and doesn't have to worry about security.

As so ends my fascination with N. K Narayan. There was something so thrilling about the stories based upon his own life. But when he turns he eye outward, the sharp edge is gone, and charm replaces sincerity.

R.K. Narayan : The English Teacher

“Oh wait,” I said and got up. I picked up the garland from
the nail and returned to bed. I held it to her “For you as ever.
I somehow feared you wouldn’t take it. .. .“ She received it with
a smile, cut off a piece of it and stuck it in a curve on the back
of her head. She turned her head and asked: “Is this all right?”
“Wonderful,” I said, smelling it.
A cock crew. The first purple of the dawn came through our window, and faintly touched the walls of our room. “Dawn!” she whispered and rose to her feet.
We stood at the window, gazing on a slender, red streak over the eastern rim of the earth. A cool breeze lapped our faces. The boundaries of our personalities suddenly dissolved. It was a moment of rare, immutable joy_a moment for which one feels grateful to Life and Death.



And so ends one of my favorite books, which turns out to have been a ghost story, very much in the Chinese genre, featuring a poor, lonely scholar and a playful, beautiful young woman.

Except that the woman is not a fox spirit, but the man's wife whom we have spent many agonizing chapters watch die from cholera that she picked up in roadside outhouse.

Which is why, unlike the previous two volumes in Narayan's autobiographical trilogy, I have no intention of re-reading this one, even though it's my favorite.

I just can't return to the bedside and watch her die slowly all over again.

As in "Bachelor of Arts", the primary drama is internal. The author's mind is a runaway horse - will he ever tame it ?

This novel is so saturated by personal disaster and then recovery -- it's title didn't make any sense to me until the last two pages. What did being an 'English Teacher" have to do with this family drama? (and note --- as in the previous two books, the family is extremely supportive)

But happily, as it turned out -- yes, it was about being an English teacher -- i.e. the abuse of English literature by an educational system whose purpose is to qualify clerks to work for the railroad (or any other bureaucracy). It's an annoyance, rather than an enlightening experience for everyone involved - and so becomes a hindrance to inner development, which the author finally sloughs off as he joins his eccentric friend in running what we might call a "free school"

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The ghost story part is especially fascinating because it seems like more than just a literary device. Great care is taken to convince us, as well as the protagonist, that yes, the spirit of his dead wife really is communicating to him through a kind of seance conducted by an amateur medium at a remote, lonely pond not far from a deserted shrine -- all of which is presumably more commonly found in southern India than it is in Illinois.

We might question whether the author ever actually experienced a ghost, medium, and seance - but, without a doubt, he badly needed it to happen. So I don't think this was written to entertain an audience so much as to comfort himself.

R.K. Narayan : The Bachelor

O.K., now I'm totally hooked on Narayan, and may never read another author until I've gone through all 15 of his novels.

Just as with "Swami", he's put me right inside the head of a person of a certain age -- in this case, about 25 -- and of the same time, place, and caste. (South India, 1930's, Brahmin)

But despite how distant those circumstances are from my own, I completely identify with the turbulent, exciting mental world of a young adult, and with the kind of challenges the mind presents (so different from the life and death challenges faced by young people in revolutionary China)

What's especially remarkable, to me, is the endless tolerance and support young Chandran gets from his long suffering parents who seem to be devoted to letting him find his own way. And there's no doubting that he leads a life of privilege, as they are always ready to wire money -- or even make a large investment as requested.
When he finally chooses a career, his uncle has all the connections to move him to the front of the line and get the best opportunity.

All of which he can comfortably take for granted. His only challenge is his own mind, which is so impulsive it made for quite a dramatic story, putting me on the edge of my chair, and leaving me there as the book abruptly ended with him embarking on a career and a marriage, neither of which felt very secure.

Chandran has already shown himself quite capable of throwing everything aside, and
his decision to marry was made by flipping a coin with his friend, the poet.

Brave, intelligent, creative, and highly spirited --- I just don't seem him selling newspaper subscriptions and married to the same woman all his life.

But then -- the novel's abrupt ending seems to emphasize the abrupt change in our hero's life, for it is the first example of him acting to take care of someone else

He is no longer a bachelor, so this story is over.

And though I was always anxious that the smart and high spirited Chandran would disappoint his family and abandon a conventional, comfortable life, on reflection I recall that he was introduced to us as he lead a formal debate on the question of "First, we kill all historians".

He didn't choose that topic or that assertion -- it was given to him - and he pursued it comically/cynically as good advice for a despot. So this exemplifies him doing as he's told - however brilliantly he does it

But we might also remember that the practice of writing history was forcefully carried into Indian civilization by the invading Muslims. Since truth is timeless, Hindu culture had no historians.




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Two of the major events in this story are driven by astrology: the failed betrothal to cute girl #1, and the successful betrothal to cute girl #2. (the author hardly speaks to either one of them, so in this particular story, they are only cute girls.)

His great supporter, without whom he may never have been published, was Graham Greene who speculated in the introduction that this second marriage was enabled by a "dubious, even dishonest horoscope"

But I am doubting that the occupational pride of the astrologer who arranged it would have allowed him to falsify it.

The first betrothal failed because Chandran's chart showed that he wife was destined to die young if he married before the age of 25. He was already 23 at that time, and as I calculate it,after his 8 months of wandering as a holy beggar, would have been old enough to avoid that condition with cute girl #2 if the wedding was delayed by a year. (which it was)

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Graham Greene's introduction also singles out the following passage as an example of the "Indian twang which lends so much charm to his style":



‘Excuse me. I made a vow never to touch alcohol in my life, before my mother,” said Chandran. This affected Kailas profoundly. He remained solemn for a moment and said: “Then don’t. Mother is a sacred object. It is a commodity whose value we don’t realise as long as it is with us. One must lose it to know what a precious possession it is. If I had had my mother I should have studied in a college and become a respectable person. You wouldn’t find me here.
After this where do you think I’m going?”“I don’t know.”
“To the house of a prostitute.” He remained reflective for a moment and said with a sigh: “As long as my mother lived she said every minute ‘Do this don’t do that’. And I remained a good son to her. The moment she died I changed. It is a rare commodity, sir. Mother is a rare commodity.”’


But it also does a succinct job of explaining Brahmin culture to Europeans - and those Europeans seem to be Narayan's target audience. (after all, Greene helped him find a European, not an Indian, publisher.


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R.K. Narayan : Swami and his Friends

A perfect little book that's about so much more than just little Swami getting kicked out of school.

It made me feel like I was inside a Tamil Brahmin family.

Poor grandma!

A widow now, her bed is her only possession, and it's parked in a dark hallway in her son's small home. She gets love, but not much respect.

And caste distinctions are quite sharp, as Swami and his young companions have no compunctions about lording it over those beneath them in the social order.

They're little monsters -- but though they're mean to other children, as Brahmins, they wouldn't think of harming an animal, even a spider. (Swami ponders taking one as a pet).

Quite memorable is Swami's dispute with a Christian teacher at his school. How can Jesus be a holy person if he eats fish?

Swami is too impulsive to get very far at school. Practical problems in algebra distract him with their practicality. So when asked to calculate the cost of a mango, he wants to know how ripe it is. Which marks him as more of an artist than a pedant - suggesting that this story is autobiographical.

He may be a washout at school, but he will probably be a success in life, since he tries to surround himself with the kids he admires for a variety of qualities: strength, humor, smarts, courage, and the one he admires most is the most likely to succeed: the son of a police chief .

The story was written and set in 1930, in the midst of the ongoing campaign, then led by Ghandi, for Indian independence, so young Swami will be growing up even as his nation is, and his first participation is rather clumsy as he burns his homespun cap thinking that its British made, breaks some school windows in a mob rampage, and bullies some smaller children.

And that's what I like about this book.

There may be a thick atmosphere of sentimentality, but these kids are about as dumb and mean as kids can be.

It's all in a child's-world-view, but that view never leaves us, does it? The inner voice in me that chatters away throughout the day seems to be no older, smarter, or kinder than little Swami.

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On further reflection - this is basically a romance -- the story of unrequited love of little Swami for Mr. Perfection (Rajam)who has it all: looks, smarts, money, courage, leadership, and fluency in English. And it's even something of a love triangle:



"For a moment, Swaminathan was filled with the darkest jealousy. Mani to sleep in Rajam's house, keep him company till the last moment, talk and laugh till midnight, and he to be excluded! He wanted to cling to Mani desperately and stop his going"


But alas, he is also Mr. Unobtainable -- making impossible demands and finally moving out of town anyway.

Swami's parting gift, which Rajam received from the outstretched hand of Mani as his train was leaving the station, was Andersen's "Fairy Tales" (which Swami couldn't read anyway due to so many difficult English words)

Patricia Pape : Legacy of Resilience

This is the first self-published book I've ever read - and also the first memoir by one of my fellow Americans, instead of the catastrophic lives that people of my generation led in the People's Republic of China.

But you don't need a cultural revolution to have a challenging life - and this life is fascinating because the protagonist is so bright, healthy, upbeat, and main street middle American -- and yet still so challenged.

It's the kind of project that I wish every bright-enough old person would try to do.

First ,you dig up the family pictures.

Then you scout around for information about the ancestors.

Then you pick a theme and start telling your story, organizing it haphazardly around whatever issues may interest you, and letting your memories run wild.

"Survival" is the the most obvious theme for anybody over 50, and this author's choice of "Resilience" seemed to be a good one.

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Why did her parents lead lives of such quiet desperation?

That's really what puzzles me the most about this life story which, like everyone else's, is built upon what happens in the first 20 years of life.

Mom and Dad and two children all seem to be bright and healthy, while Dad is working his way up to be President of a local steel fabricator in Aurora, Illinois.

They're not an ethnic minority facing discrimination and nobody is drafted into the army. They're smart, educated, successful Christian folk who go to church, swim at the country club, and live on a nice quiet, tree lined street in an American city that's an hour out of Chicago.

So why do dad and mom become alcoholics, to the point where dad loses his job and mom has to be institutionalized?

This isn't the kind of question that anyone can necessarily answer, and it has to be nearly impossible for their child to see them outside their role as parents.

But it's what seems to underlie the challenges that face their daughter, as she struggles through alcoholism herself, as well as abusive husbands , all while needing to support herself and raise two children.

Somehow she has picked up a need to be perfect -- leading to a profound dissatisfaction with herself and a need to please others.

The good consequence is an unstoppable, resilient, and even creative work ethic,
and as the author tells us over and over: she is a successful entrepreneur - the kind that gets featured on the feel-good pages of local journalism.

The down side is that it has attracted the wrong kind of men - and one wonders about the nature of her career -- i.e. what has she accomplished beyond making a niche for herself in the economy.

All of her job related prose is about business success rather than what her practice has done to help people or improve her profession.

This is a woman who is heroically self-absorbed, but that is only apparent because she is so honest about herself.


(She reminds me of Catherine the Great, who woke up at 6 am every morning to spend some private time reading, and eventually writing memoirs about how she survived court politics to become empress.)



The episodes about faith offer a nice snapshot of one person's experience with contemporary American mainstream Christianity.

She joined an Evangelical Lutheran church to marry her first husband - became a church secretary - and stuck with it through all the changes ever since.

Unconditional acceptance seems to be her primary goal as a parishioner. Sin and repentance are not part of this picture.

Perhaps her survival-success story is a bit too one-dimensional to be of interest by itself. But she'd be a great character in a story set in modern American suburbia, and I hope someone will (or already has?) written such a novel.