Book Review: My Name Is Red

Written originally in Turkish, by the Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk, ‘My Name is Red’ is a journey to Istanbul; its culture, its traditions and its society. In this culturally rich set-up lies a mysterious murder, which further reveals the customs and beliefs of the sixteenth century Instanbul. Blossoming along is a love story of lovers parted by time and circumstances.

Although there is a mystery, it’s not as thrilling. Although there is romance, it’s not as swooning.

The book is more than being just a murder mystery or a love story. Rather, it is a curious blend of mystery, romance, sex, art, literature, rivalry, violence, religion and politics.

The book starts with a renowned  illustrator being found murdered. The story then passes through several realms, all the while keeping the reader intrigued as to who the murderer is, among the other rival artists and miniaturists. References in the story suggest that there is a very confidential (blasphemous) project to be unveiled before the masses by the Sultan which has created a major drift between two schools of thought, leading to the said murder. Amidst this acceptance and denial, is woven a story of lost love, regrets and relationships.

Reading a bit about the culture of Turkey, I found out that it was during this period that the western influence on art and literature was becoming prominent on the youth. The entire story depicts the battle of Islamic ideologies and western influence on the society of Turkey. One side wanting to stick stubbornly to its traditions and roots, refusing being a slave to others’ ways and forms, and considering a change in art to be against their religion; while the other side rebelling in every possible way and being ready to embrace this change with much eagerness.

The hatred born from differing views, then, knew no bounds or limits.

The contradictions seen in Pamuk’s narrative well describe the confusion and fear prevailing in the minds of the illuminators of the sixteenth century Istanbul. Throughout, although the longing for West is evident, the fear of losing East is also not hidden. Development and modernity have to be accepted, but the stakes for the same are very high. He fears losing all his stories, losing the fables he grew up with, losing the customs he always followed, losing the brush strokes that painted his canvas, losing his vision for a mere sight. The terrifying realization in the illuminators that a simple acceptance can wipe out their entire existence can be well understood.

What is different in this book is that each chapter is reflected from the eyes of a different character, each chapter has a new voice. The voices ranging from being that of the most probable person to the most improbable one, without keeping either devoid of their credibility, or for that matter, non credibility. I know it’s making no sense, but trust me, the integrity in each of the character arises from its fictitious existence-

The man murdered just a few seconds ago narrating, "I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of the well’ and the same corpse then seeing his own funeral, ‘My funeral was splendid, exactly as I'd wanted." 

The picture of a dog replying to its surprised reader "...You believe a story in which corpses speak and characters use words they couldn't possibly know."

Death pointing out, "Though you know very well that I'm not real, you're still seized by horror."

Tree, gold coin, voice of a woman who is actually a man, the colour red, the characters of a painting, each stroke of it; all of them are the narrators.

It felt a little odd initially and took a little while to get used to the flipping narrations, but this is what sets the book apart, making it creative and metaphoric to a great extent.

What I didn't like about the book was that the descriptions were so slow, detailed and intricate that you straightaway wanted to jump to the last page and get done with the book. Clearly, it is not an effortless read, at all! It took me almost a month to finish it (inspite of being in a having-nothing-else-to-do-vacation-mode).  As much as I tried, I could not like the story and resisted the urge to keep it down at several points.

Apart from being a very slow and tedious read, it requires all your attention and critical thinking (include re-reading sections, too). Deep, dense literature! The style, the flair, the structure definitely added to the beauty of thought-provoking description and was quite new for me. More than the plot, the beauty and rich heritage of Istanbul, as described by Pamuk, interested me more. Although a difficult read, I would recommend it for its uniqueness.

Book Review: Blasphemy

Blasphemy is a heart-wrenching novel by a Pakistani author, Tehmina Durrani. It is a tragic and an utterly shocking story which unveils the ugly faces of people in power. The book is set in South Pakistan and depicts male domination of the highest order, tyranny in its crudest form and religious fundamentalism at its extreme. It brings forth the easy distortion of Islam by the hypocrite and predatory so-called religious leaders. The descriptions are awfully repulsive and the very thought that several thousands of women, even today, are subjected to this sort of life, is enough to give you shivers.

The protagonist, Heer, is like any other teenager having her own dreams and aspirations. Just like she read in books and saw in movies, she is waiting for true love to knock at her door and sweep her off her feet. However, Heer’s widow mother gets her married at the age of fifteen to Peer Sain, a man of great honour and prestige, considered to be divine by his followers and thought of as the link between God and ignorant people. Despite the fact that Peer Sain is several years older than Heer, the marriage is fixed as her mother wants to redeem her own status in the society and Peer Sain helps her in doing so in every possible way.

Heer enters her new house with rosy expectations, but what follows this marriage is a series of torture, both physical and emotional. She is beaten, humiliated, abused, raped, trapped and made to live in the world her husband made for her.

A world where no flaw is permitted, no mistake is forgiven, no logic is applied and no explanations are given.

A world where she is not allowed to cross the threshold without her husband's permission.

A world where she is beaten brutally for coming in front of a six-year old ‘man’.

A world where asking about her mother and siblings brings her more misery.

A world where she has noone to share her pains with, noone to talk her heart out to.

A world where she has to protect her daughters from the evil clutches of men, including their own father.

In this world there were no ways of living and no rules followed. The only word heard was of Peer Sain, as and when he wanted.

Throughout his life, Peer Sain exploited the weak and ignorant people in the name of Allah and Islam. Anyone who dared to raise his voice against the system was crushed in a way that served as an example for other people to never question the authority of the Peer's ancestral Shrine in future. Kali, Guppi, Toti, Tara, Chote Sain, Sakhi Baba, Yathimri, Cheel, all were the victims to this system. Only those who meekly surrendered to the wishes of Peer were said to be loyal Muslims. Ignorance was the foundation of their system and was hence enforced at any cost.

Under his angelic façade, Peer Sain committed crimes which were not only against the religion, but against humanity. Taking advantage of burqa to present his wife to his friends as a whore, making his wife abort her child to make sure he is not devoid of pleasure in any way, molesting little girls, killing his own son as he makes the Peer's position in the society vulnerable, satiating his sexual hunger with any girl in vicinity, not sparing even his own daughter. The acts were gross, the crimes were gory and the emotions too disturbing to be imagined being even close to reality.

In Heer’s words,

‘To me, my husband was my son’s murderer. He was also my daughter’s molester. A parasite nibbling on the Holy Book, he was Lucifer, holding me by the throat and driving me to sin each and every night. He was the rapist of orphans and the fiend that fed the weak. But over and above all this, he was known to be the man closest to Allah, the one who could reach Him and save us.’

It was impossible to imagine someone living this kind of life even though, for me, it got over in around 200 pages, while Heer lived and suffered it for 24 long years. Life was so difficult for her that at many instances she had no other choice than to join hands with this Satan. Her only motive in life was Survival. Heer realized that to fight in this world of evil she had to be more evil. There was no way out but to keep spinning this endless poisonous loop until either the tormenter or the tormented gives up his hope on survival. And one of them does give up. One might call it a happy ending but after going through so much, for Heer, it would be far from being so.

For me, the most horrifying and disturbing of all the lines in the book was, ‘The novel is inspired by a true story.’

Book Review: The Mystic Masseur

Set up in colonial Trinidad, ‘The Mystic Masseur’ is the Nobel laureate, V.S. Naipaul’s debut novel. It is hard to imagine how can a writer, in his very first attempt, paint such crisp and lively characters. With no extreme profundity, the book is a fun and witty take on the immigrants' society, its people, their philosophies, their superstitions and their endless beliefs.

The story traces the journey of Ganesh Ramsumair, the son of an Indian immigrant. After completing his education Ganesh is trying his best to become a great school teacher. He is sure that he is meant to do great things, write great words, preach great knowledge; and while doing all of this, becoming nothing else but great. His over the top awe of books, his belief in his ability to write and his extreme reluctance to work, contribute a great deal in his journey from a failed teacher to a struggling masseur, then a revered mystic, eventually a writer and then a political leader who, during the campaign, transforms from being a leftish politician to a right one. (heh!)

From Ganesh Ramsumair he ends up becoming Mr. G. Ramsay Muir, OBE.

Neither are the decisions made by Ganesh the sanest of all, nor are the justifications given the most logical. His philosophies and theories make no sense, but the only thing that he is sure of, is that he has to achieve greatness.

In due course, all these attributes make Ganesh the most well-known Indian in Trinidad, earning him respect, love, power and fear. In short, he achieves the greatness he knew he would. Inspite of all his successes and failures, Ganesh’s innocence and his willingness to believe in his fortune and destiny, keep adding a comic delight to the story.

The other characters in the story are also as endearing; be it the greedy and sly Ramlogan, who leaves no stone unturned to convince Ganesh to marry his punctuation obsessed daughter, Leela, and thenafter using Ganesh's success to expand his business; the skeptical Leela having endless woes about the domestic chores and her husband’s failures; the cartoonish Great Belcher, a kind of relative we all have whose prime objective is to indulge in matchmaking and then dissecting relationships; the friendly Suruj Poopa and Suruj Mooma (as they are called in the book) always ready with their advice, suggestions and help; or even those who appear for a page or two but leave an impact. They all have aptly contributed to the dry and dark wit of the book.

As one of the characters mention,

“I know the sort of doctors they have in Trinidad. They think nothing of killing two, three people before breakfast.”

The first half of the book has its own share of chuckles which, I felt, fades down a bit as the end approaches. The narrative there gets slightly incoherent, losing its charm and wit.

The entire book is in Trinidadian English- absence of proper verbs, every second sentence ending with girl or man, use of incorrect grammar (And no, I'm not being any Grammar Nazi!)

Something on the lines of,

“I does only read”

“We starting nowself, girl”

“Does he know to think himself, man?”

Now imagine reading some 200 pages like that!

Agreed that this makes it a quirky read, adds a lot to the cultural effect of the set-up on readers, however towards the end the weird dialect starts getting on your nerves so much that you crave for something on the lines of a Jane Austen. Inspite of the slight weakness, owing to the hilarious characterization and the narrator's sardonic observations, I’d highly recommend the read.

One of my favourites, as said by the great teacher-turned-masseur-turned-mystic-turned-writer-turned-what-not,

“I don't drink. I don't smoke. Reading is my only vice.”