Book ends

July was such a good month of reading. In regaining some balance and finding stillness again, reading has seen me through what could have been an average month and made it pretty darn memorable.

It isn’t just about the books I’ve finished, but the act itself that has come to symbolise being able to sit at peace again. Finding my feet and feeling at home. Comfortable in the newness of my changed life that still surprises and overwhelms me.

Despite also working, going out and doing a lot of other stuff — and this is important for me because reading is that one thing that gets relegated to the back-burner when life gets busy — I managed to read a fair bit. A total of eleven books, seven of which you can read about in my posts: Books-shooks and In which I end up without a phone and Bangalore: a graphic novel. Moving on, I finished the month off with:

Sex Object, Jessica Valenti
You’ve likely come across Valenti’s work as a columnist with The Guardian, and I have also had her book Why Have Kids on my list of must-reads for so long now. But I picked Sex Object up on a whim. The book is a series of essays that are part memoir, based on her own life, and part commentary on the many issues we face as women — everyday sexism, abuse and sexual assault, emotional abuse, the many challenges of relationships and marriage for a strong and independent woman, amongst so many other topics that touch on her own personal journey from trauma and abuse to discovering empowerment. I’m pretty sure every woman will relate to many of her experiences because it dwells on issues we all face on a daily basis.

It is honest in a way that makes you uncomfortable — with graphic descriptions, unflinching stark truths not politely worded, raw retelling of her experiences — and for that it was a bit of a page turner. But. Yes, there’s a but. I found the narrative style a little scattered and rushed. Perhaps that was wholly intentional, but I found it staccato and with odd jumps and twists, which seemed like it was a bunch of essays haphazardly put together, without much thought given to organising them thematically or with some kind of overarching thread. I missed that something that would guide me from one essay to the next.

One Part Woman, Perumal Murugan (translated by Aniruddhan Vasudevan)
What a read this was. Brilliantly told, and perhaps credit should go to the translator here, One Part Woman gripped me hard with it’s raw and unbridled, yet poignant and delicate story of a child-less couple who despite being in a loving, sexually satisfying and what seems like a super harmonious relationship, face a part of their marriage coming undone due to the constant scrutiny and humiliation at the hands of a society that taunts them for not having children.

It’s a tale from rural Tamil Nadu, filled wth vivid descriptions of customs, traditions, rituals and festivals, but the theme that runs through the central vein is not limited to rural India alone. Murugan cleverly uses the issue of being unable to produce children as a vehicle to traverse the many aspects of our culture’s attitude towards women, marriage, sex and ultimately, progeny.

Bangalore: A Graphic Novel: Every City is a Story, Jai Undurti
My only brush with graphic storytelling has been reading and later watching Persepolis. I’m not really big on graphic novels, or for that matter comics either. I don’t have stories of my childhood of being rapt in TinTin or Asterix comics. But I came across the Bangalore Graphic Novel, funnily, in a piece that criticised the choice of image for it’s cover. I went to the launch event at a sweet little book store on Church Street here in Bangalore, called Goobe Book Republic. I came home that night, book in hand, after having braved a storm, had more rum than I have in six months, topped with a mini mountain of rice in the Andhra meal, expecting fully to pass out immediately. But, the book kept me awake as I raced through almost all of it in a couple of hours.

I finished it the next day, mulling over something George Mathen said at the launch — he said (I’m paraphrasing) the digital/social format of platforms being used to share and disseminate the work of comics and illustrators is all very well, but it would e great to change our patterns of consuming this content. The graphic novel is apparently by nature a layered, multi-faceted art form. You’re meant to dig deeper, sink your teeth in and find something new every time you look at it. And so I hope to keep going back to this, and maybe other books in the genre.

The Rosie Effect, Graeme Simsion

After reading and thoroughly enjoying The Rosie Project — the first book in the series — expectations were high with this one. So of course in predictable fashion, those high expectations were dashed. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy this one, I finished it in a couple of days in fact, but it was definitely missing the punch and humour of The Rosie Project. I wish I had deeper, complex reasons to explain why, but it’s just the usual boring, most predictable thing that tends to happen with sequels — they just don’t match up. In fact, with this one, I felt The Rosie Project didn’t need a sequel at all. Missable, you guys.

This weekend, I’m determined to finish a book I just started last night. Which means, the weekend is mostly going to be spent at home. Probably, in bed.

Same time, last year: Day 218: Stack overflow

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One thought on “Book ends

  1. Pingback: What coming home feels like: kinship, quietude and becoming | hAAthi Time

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