That thing they say

Okay, so I know this is coming a little late. But nevertheless, here is the string of annual thought if hmm-what-was-2005-about-scratch, scratch-hmm..??

This is going to strictly be a literary piece, to avoid additions to the who to throw off my ninth floor window list.
A few years ago when Vikram Seth's An equal music hit my bookshelf, I found it a tad heavy to digest in one go.
I picked it up again towards the fag end of the year. It lasted about a couple of days, the stpry took me in slowly, and with one odd reference I thought that had a lot to do with Salinger.

( In The catcher, there is a rather prominent reference Holden makes. He wonders where the Ducks in CPW go during the winter. Seth says the exact same thing, except it is some other bird. I, honestly, found this is bit odd since there was no indication provided that this is a reference. Am wondering if there is a thanks Mr. Seth has conveniently forgotten to give. )

While on Salinger, I also found myself stable to be able to deal with a book that has long been giving me vibes. Franny and Zooey. It is one of those books I cannot bring myself to say anything about.

Also stumbled on this wonderful, little heard of ( in this part of the world) book called The famished road by Ben Okri. It tells the story of Azaro, a spirit child, who has decided to linger on in this world. Between recollections of what seems like another lifetime, a better one, resisting other spirits who want him back and a reality- that of dire poverty and harsh life in an Africa that has just won its freedom- this tale meanders through images that the inward eye sees and wonderful little stories scattered here and there. Magical, to say the least.

Lolita ( Vladimir Nabakov)
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

Promises a rather unsettling degree of ambivalence. As pages turn and you see the perfection in the perversion in
Humbert Humbert, there is an overwhelming confusion of emotions running in your head. It oscillates endlessly between holy-cow-I-dont-believe-this and am-I-actually-enjoying-this?
The book plays horrible mind games in your head. Personally, I think the reader needs to be on the stable side to be able to take this one down, without harm to oneself or anyone else.

Night ( Elise Weisel)
The slim little book. It tells a story. It is a book without characters. It is a tale (a real one) that is simply told.
If someone has to live through this tale, live to tell the rest of the world all about it, then all you can do as a reader is be the silent dark apparition between pages.
I cannot actually bring myself to saying anything more, my apologies, except I wish Mr. Weisel has found some peace. And if he has, I hope he writes about getting there.
And if he has, then I also know that even if life might seem like one moribund, long tragedy, we all survive. We may carry our baggage and our scars, but the human spirit survives.

And late one afternoon, on a shared cab ride back home between utter exhaustion and the smell of nictotine, he introduced me to my first lesson on Sartre. The Age of reason saw afternoons of discussions and many a thought. It is on my bedside now, the last few pages waiting to be read.

Columnist Pradeep Sebastian (who writes a column called Endpaper for The Hindu's monthly Literary Review) continued to write pieces that silently put happiness into many more Sunday mornings.

Finally, an utterly delicious interview from a writers fest in 2005.

****
Tuesday April 19, 2005

Michael March: Victor Klemperer said: "What is tradition? Everything begins with me." Where does everything begin - and when did things start going wrong?

Irvine Welsh: If I were a Christian I'd go for the Garden of Eden. And I don't know if things did go wrong; I would dispute the current climate of pessimism in the west. Things are getting better. But maybe that's just with me. After all, who cares about tradition?

MM: According to Roberto Calasso, "loss proceeds presence. Every image must abide by this rule". What about the loss of hair?

IW: To lose a few hairs is careless, to lose the lot is truly a blessing.
MM: For Hannah Arendt, "mercy insists on inequality". Do you feel equal to the task?
IW: Yes, mercifully.
MM: Martin Heidegger said: "The light of the public obscures everything." Does this confirm "the unbearable lightness of being"?

IW: I never really got on with Heidegger, although probably shouldn't say that as I'm headed to Vienna. Sometimes I think the light of the public illuminates what might be better kept hidden.

MM: What is the language of love and how is it practiced?
IW: Love has it's own bizarre codes. One of the benefits of it is that you get to construct your own private language. Fortunately, this language can never be shared.

MM: While surfing near Lesbos, Friedrich Schiller remarked that "man forms himself as a fragment". Was he off his rocker?

IW: It's the sort of fleeting rumination to which surfing in the Greek islands may lend itself. It shouldn't be seen as indicative of mental infirmity.

MM: Are we what we eat?
IW: Without a doubt. The older I get, the more inclined I am to believe that we are the sum total of ingestions and immersions.

MM: Are we condemned to hope?
IW: I would certainly hope so. The alternatives seem unsustainable.
MM: Is power the leprosy of the world?
IW: Yes. There is nothing good and honourable that cannot be destroyed, corrupted and warped by the pursuit of power. Every decent enterprise can end in tyranny and brutally if those in charge are allowed to pursue it.

MM: Is ignorance our sole resource?
IW: It's seldom a real resource at all, and although it can often seem that way, that's only because we are operating from a position of ignorance.

MM: Why are Austrians ignorant of your work?
IW: I didn't know they were. My only real indication comes from my German royalty statements which are very healthy at the moment. Austria isn't counted separately, and I had always assumed that the Austrians pulled their weight here. If that isn't the case, maybe the festival will help rectify that sad state of affairs.

MM: Tell us about your new novel.
IW: Oh god, I hate it so much. I'm at that stage where I wish it would just leave my life so that I can do other things. I can't make head nor tail of it. I think it's about identity, but I could be wrong.

MM: Why are we doing this to each other?
IW: It's what we do.