Kafka On The Shore

This is the strangest any book or a work of fiction can get or at least this is the strangest thing I have ever read till now. The moment a copy of this book arrived at my doorstep and I placed it among other books in my collection, I had a feeling it had been calling out my attention till the day I finally picked it up and started reading. The book had me at the first chapter itself!

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

This book is about a 15-year old boy named Kafka Tamura(No, it’s not about Franz Kafka unlike what most of you would think of at seeing the title). A very bizarre curse or to say prophecy is placed upon Kafka by his own father which is the reason why he decides to run away from his home on the day of his 15th birthday.
The book is crammed with crazy coincidences. Other equally crazy things happening in the book are- an old man who lost his ability to read or write(lost a part of his conscience to be more specific) when he was 9 years old under mysterious circumstances when was on a field trip with his classmates and school teacher, the same field is said to have been a site for biological weapons testing during the world war(according to the book) during which two soldiers are lost, never to be found again by the army but are encountered by Kafka when he’s lost in the same forest years later(not to mention the soldiers have remained unaged ever since they were lost in what seems a mysterious world which can only be entered by people who have lost part of their conscience(as much as I could deduct from what I read). The grotesque events in the plot do not stop happening from the beginning till the end and mentioning all of them here would take away the charm the book intends to put you in, right from Chapter 1.
‘Kafka on the shore’ is said to be the most outlandish of all works by Haruki Murakami. The defining genre of this author is “magical realism”. Quoting Wikipedia: Magic realism is a style of fiction and literary genre that paints a realistic view of the modern world while also adding magical elements. This genre basically has the readers confused between reality and dreams which unlike fantasy genre are grounded in the real world.

“That’s how stories happen — with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There’s only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

The thing to be absolutely loved about the book is the musical and literary references that Murakami has dropped in, in every other chapter which actually sets the aura of the plot.

“The sense of tragedy – according to Aristotle – comes, ironically enough, not from the protagonist’s weak points but from his good qualities. Do you know what I’m getting at? People are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues.
…
[But] we accept irony through a device called metaphor. And through that we grow and become deeper human beings.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Things do not get any easier as the plot commences and keeps on becoming more and more complex which actually makes certain parts troublesome to read. I remember feeling the chills down my spine when I felt the striking resemblance of the imagery used in the book to that in my own dreams. The book till the very end doesn’t provide any answers about the weird things that happen throughout the novel but it does provide closure in form of forgiveness and moving on. And with this, I would say this book is worth every single of the 615 pages and it will make to my list of ‘must-read in a lifetime’.

The ABC Murders

The 13th novel in the Poirot series by Agatha Christie and my 3rd Christie novel after ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ and ‘And then there were none’. It features Hercule Poirot, who is perhaps the most famous fictional detective after Sherlock Holmes. I can barely begin to compare the two on their mystery-solving skills.

“It’s like all those quiet people, when they do lose their tempers they lose them with a vengeance.”

Hercule Poirot, The ABC Murders

Just like other Christie novels, this one is also a classic “whodunnit”. Impressive, sharp-witted statements of Hercule Poirot are scattered across this novel but there are only so many I can mention here without giving spoilers. Isn’t it such a challenge to write a review for a mystery crime fiction novel without spoiling it?

“In a well-balanced, reasoning mind there is no such thing as an intuition – an inspired guess! You can guess, of course – and a guess is either right or wrong. If it is right you can call it an intuition. If it is wrong you usually do not speak of it again.
But what is often called an intuition is really impression based on logical deduction or experience. When an expert feels that there is something wrong about a picture or a piece of furniture or the signature on a cheque he is really basing that feeling on a host of a small signs and details. He has no need to go into them minutely – his experience obviates that – the net result is the definite impression that something is wrong. But it is not a guess, it is an impression based on experience.”

Hercule Poirot, The ABC Murders

It’s amazing how Christie uses each and every event and character in her stories to enhance the plots, leaving minor or no loose ends at all in the end. It’s also impressive how she almost answers all the questions in the last chapter but one and yet those answers are not real answers to the mystery. They’re a bait! And she baits so well. The real answers, however, do make you smile after you finish reading and realize how easily you made a fool of yourself by assuming the obvious.

“Words, mademoiselle, are only the outer clothing of ideas.”

Hercule Poirot, The ABC Murders

Unlike some other Christie novels, this one is fast-paced and hence a good choice for comfort reading. Christie is one of my top go-to authors and will very confidently remain so considering that she has written more than 70 mystery novels. A mystery queen indeed!

“Death, mademoiselle, unfortunately creates a prejudice. A prejudice in favour of the deceased. I heard what you said just now to my friend Hastings. ‘A nice bright girl with no men friends.’ You said that in mockery of the newspapers. And it is very true—when a young girl is dead, that is the kind of thing that is said. She was bright. She was happy. She was sweet-tempered. She had not a care in the world. She had no undesirable acquaintances. There is a great charity always to the dead. Do you know what I should like this minute? I should like to find someone who knew Elizabeth Barnard and who does not know she is dead! Then, perhaps, I should hear what is useful to me—the truth.”

Hercule Poirot, The ABC Murders

Angels and Demons

Vatican City! Headquarters of the Roman Catholic Church, home to the Pope, and a trove of iconic art and architecture. Unlike its name, it is a country and the only country in the world which is a UNESCO world heritage site. Vatican city has museums that go on for miles! St. Peter’s Basilica alone took 120 years to complete. The most fascinating of all facts however is that the Vatican houses one of the biggest book collections in the world. Vatican library features the largest archive of Latin, Greek, and Hebrew artifacts. Reading ‘Angels and Demons’ does make you want to visit Rome and see all those massive tombs and churches for yourself.

Coming to the plot, it has been a long time since I have analyzed a book so critically. But this one had it coming from the start. Dan Brown should be charged as guilty for the relentless meddling he did with historical facts in his ‘Angels and Demons’. To put it mildly, I do not enjoy fiction that deliberately tampers with facts to the extent this one did. This book has sold off literally millions of copies worldwide and what fraction of those readers can we even expect to fact-check everything they read in this page-turning thriller? Many would obviously end up believing everything Brown has written with such exuberating confidence. Especially when in the initial few pages he so assuredly claims that the places mentioned in the book are real and the references to them are entirely factual while most of us know they aren’t. This no doubt creates a semblance of strictest reliability in the minds of the readers which is atrocious and very disappointing if and when they find out the truth. And I, well, checked on the facts after reading the entire 620 pages which means I kind of believed most part of the alluring tale till the very end. It did make the plot quite gripping even for me who doesn’t enjoy history so much. Nonetheless, it was a bummer after I did the fact-checking.

And as for Brown’s depiction of the Illuminati, it is afar from reality. From what I read, it felt like the plot of ‘Angels and Demons’ has tried to mix the two very famous secret societies in human history, the ‘Illuminati’ and the ‘Inquisition’. Since the two originated in two very different timelines(centuries apart), they have little to no connection to each other. One of the most gruesome stories been told in the book, which strongly creates an aura of facticity for the more gullible readers is ‘La Purga’. Regardless that such a story is an embellishment to the plot, it did not really happen. In fact, contrary to the popular belief, historians do not believe that any scientists, including Galileo or Copernicus, were killed or threatened with death by the Catholic Church. Another misleading tale present in the book is about Raphael’s tomb in the Pantheon. There’s is no historical proof that Raphael’s body was relocated here from Urbino. It is thoroughly known that Raphael was buried in the Pantheon from the start. Not surprisingly, there are numerous such inaccuracies in the plot, which is not a very enjoyable part of the book for the reason that most of us want simplicity which involves not mixing facts with fiction. Especially not in the way ‘Angels and Demons’ does.

The sequel to ‘Angels and Demons’ is the blockbuster all of us know about, ‘Da Vinci Code’. I’ve heard a lot about it and personally, I’m even more intrigued to read it after reading ‘Angels and Demons’. Can’t wait to find out what the hype is all about.

The moth who loves my thighs

It’s the rainy season and hence the moth season
This is the time of the year when moths can be seen indoors
Moths of exquisite shape and size and patterns, one has never seen before
You might find yourself blankly staring at one such specimen,
and might even let yourself dive deep into it’s fantasy.

Sitting underneath a tube light in one of the dark nights
With a good book open on my bare thighs
I see a moth crawling up my inner thigh,
I chase it away before it could crawl up further.
Minutes later I see it again on the same spot with the same intent.
I chase it away again.
And back it comes with the same persistence!

The moth is drawn to my thighs as if it were a flame.
Nevertheless, both are meant to destroy it’s fate.
It keeps coming back again and again as if to assuage it’s quenchless desires.
Should I let it have what it wants?
Does it know it’s fate?
Is it aware that I’ll crush it whenever I please?
Will it be back again with the same lust, if I give it what it wants today?
Or perhaps it would find another pair of thighs,
For the sake of the passion and intimacy it derives from them?

This time I let it stay near me.
Let it crawl on my exposure.
I don’t want it to go too far and yet somehow I do!
It flies away just a few moments later
It doesn’t want to stay when I let it stay
But it keeps coming back if I chase it away
Isn’t this how the world works ?
“The more you want me, the less I want you.”
I have a mind to make up
To crush it or to let it live,
Is the choice I have at my disposal

And so, the next day
I wait for the moth at the same spot
My thighs bare again for they attract a lot of moths
Oh! It’s a different moth this time
There’s no doubt this one’s more beautiful than the last one
But the seductive patterns on a moth’s wings don’t attract me anymore
And hence, as soon as this one tries to crawl up
I crush it down.
Yes, I crushed it down.

Piccadilly Jim

“The residence of Mr. Peter Pett, the well-known financier, on Riverside Drive, is one of the leading eyesores of that breezy and expensive boulevard. As you pass by in your limousine, or while enjoying ten cents’ worth of fresh air on top of a green omnibus, it jumps out and bites at you. Architects confronted with it reel and throw up their hands defensively, and even the lay observer has a sense of shock. The place resembles in almost equal proportions a cathedral, a suburban villa, a hotel, and a Chinese pagoda. Many of its windows are of stained glass, and above the porch stand two terra-cotta lions, considerably more repulsive even than the complacent animals that guard New York’s Public Library.”

-PG Wodehouse, Piccadilly Jim

That very easily qualifies as one of the best opening lines a comedy novel could have. Unlike other books of this genre, the first page of this one is enough to cast charms of the comic genius, PG Wodehouse onto anyone who has an eye for good literary fiction. Not to judge a book by it’s cover(or title) but could he have named this book any better? ‘Piccadilly Jim’ is the most peculiar name/title ever! The same can be said for other Wodehouse characters in this book and others. Jeeves, Bertie Wooster, Peter Pett, Ogden, Willie Partridge, and Jimmy Crocker to name a few.

The joy of reading a good comedy has always been underrated and neither is this genre celebrated as much as other genres. The “glamour of gloom” has always overshadowed the brilliance of comedy. PG Wodehouse is the most famous comic novelist of the last century. Wodehouse’s hilarious description of rather abominable characters and events brings back to life what relentless, long-term reading of crime fiction renders dead as a doornail. It’s fun to read Wodehouse so casually and yet subtly make fun of the English elite society. Not a fan of audiobooks but I was surprised to find how perfectly well the LibriVox recording by Mark Nelson goes with the book.

The plot intertwines the stories of two sisters living on different sides of the Atlantic, their husbands who are almost always enslaved by their wives, their children: Ogden, a typical but rather clever spoilt brat every rich family has; Jimmy Crocker, who manages to establish a notorious reputation anywhere he goes; and Ann Chester, whose life and personality both flip like a coin when Jimmy ridicules her book of poetry through a newspaper column in New York. Even the best books in the mystery genre do not feature such a devilish number of impersonations as ‘Piccadilly Jim’! Light-hearted self-deprecative humor doesn’t go unnoticed either.

“Mr. Pett is going to give me a job in his office. I am going to start at the bottom and work my way still further down.”

-Jimmy Crocker, Piccadilly Jim

The book ends like any other light-hearted comedy would- with the main character proposing the girl of his dreams. Like all other parts of the book, this last part isn’t devoid of humor either.

“To a girl with your ardent nature, someone with whom you can quarrel is an absolute necessity of life. You and I are affinities. You would be miserable if you had to go through life with a human doormat with ‘Welcome’ written on him. You want someone made of sterner stuff. You want, as it were, a sparring-partner, someone with whom you can quarrel happily with the certain knowledge that he will not curl up in a ball for you to kick, but will be there with the return wallop.”

-Jimmy Crocker, Piccadilly Jim

Marie Phillips, author of several comic novels says that “people make the mistake of thinking that the opposite of funny is serious and thus if you’re funny you can’t be serious and vice versa.” With keen observation however, one finds that the two virtues are in sync with each other. What’s better than getting to read about various absurdities of life and having a great laugh alongside it?

“You never know what is waiting for you around the corner. You start the day with the fairest prospects, and before nightfall everything is as rocky and ding-basted as stig tossed full of doodlegammon.”

-PG Wodehouse, Piccadilly Jim

Been There, Done That

Now that my mind has taken me one year back at this time,
I’m thinking what would have been different
if I hadn’t met people I met, hadn’t done the things I’ve done.
Been there, done that.

Even now, my choices are gonna take me
places, I’m too scared to ever visit
It comes down to this all the time, me struggling to be myself.
Been there, done that.

Have I grown ? Or have I fallen apart ?
Is there a difference ? Why is it always so hard ?
Feels like, I am ever-changing.
Been there, done that.

I’ve acted desperate, I’ve acted selfish
I’ve acted needy, I’ve acted “in love”
Who knows, maybe I was in love.
Been there, done that.

Am I happy, am I sad ? Do I wanna give it a second try?
Oh wait, third. But I gotta move on.
I know I should have given it up already.
Been there, done that.

Sometimes, I like myself. Sometimes, I don’t.
Like the rest of the world,
I too, keep seeking validation
I know I can be better, this feeling is deja vu.
Been there, done that.

Wanna Be

Wanna be numb to all these voices in my head,
half of which are my own.

Wanna be able to do things that were meant to be done,
just not think about “what if” for once.

Wanna carry all this weight on my shoulders,
but with glitter in my veins.

Wanna be able to share without oversharing.

Wanna be better at being alone,
without missing out on great people.

Wanna be that someone who I constantly need by my side,
to remind me, “Hey, you’re brave. Just carry on.”

Wanna be able to accept the kind of love,
that doesn’t come with the promise of forever.

Wanna be sure this time,
never doubt myself ever again.

She doesn’t mind

This time she’s on the back seat,
You can drive her places she’s never been.
No, she doesn’t mind.

This time her favours aren’t asking for favours,
They’re just demanding extra flavours.
Yes you’re right! She doesn’t mind.

Hug her tight or slap her hard,
Don’t worry she’s tired asking you questions,
but not answering yours.
Go ahead and hurt her some more.
Uh oh, she doesn’t mind.

Indifference

I am walking in what seems like a very dense forest that looks the same in every direction, yet I keep walking in a randomly chosen direction because my mind is completely empty. For once in my life, I’m not feeling any emotion. Is that even possible ? A sane person would ask. I don’t know how much time has passed since I started walking. While I’m thinking this, my feet come to an abrupt halt. I’ve stepped into the clearing, which is a very abrupt end of a dense forest like this and it’s hovering canopy. Right in front of me is an old, gray building. One could clearly tell that it has been deserted for a very long time because there was a lot of aged moss covering it’s patchy gray walls. Suddenly I start feeling uneasy so I walk inside the building maybe to sit down for a while or I don’t know what. Right now, it is seeming to me like everything is happening on its own. I’m doing just anything without particularly giving it a thought. Having entered inside, the place now is appearing to be a laboratory with a lot of things on display. It felt like a usual place to be in before I moved closer to the glass walls and had a look at what was inside. It shook me a little and gave me long lasting goosebumps. There were dead bodies behind those walls. They weren’t the normal corpses, something was really strange about them.

Wait ! Maybe these bodies aren’t dead. I’m not exactly sure what I’m seeing. Are those some really nasty small creatures feeding on those people or have these tiny monsters arranged themselves in the shape of a human body ? Several other possibilities rush through my mind so as to what I was really seeing. Just to distract myself a bit, I looked towards the gallery that had so many specimens on display and should be any easier to say ? I couldn’t see the end of it as far as my vision could allow which only meant one thing. There were tons and tons of these strange things in this place.

Reticence

I’m sitting in a classroom full of about 40-50 people of around my age. The classroom is not well-furnished as the modern ones are. It’s more like a Hogwarts type place which is lit by candles and oil-lamps, not a trace of electricity, around the place. I’m not aware what is being taught but it’s probably something factual as is apparent from the look of disinterest on everybody’s faces. The teacher is a man in his early thirties or something with average height. After teaching a little bit he starts throwing chalks at students and asking them random questions. I’m sitting on one side of the room(probably right) near the wall and wondering why would the teacher ask factual questions, this most certainly ain’t the right way of gauging someone’s intelligence.

While I’m thinking this to myself a chalk falls on my desk right where I was staring with a loud thud, making my heart beat faster. Of course, his preciseness startled me. He asks me to stand up. I stand up rather reluctantly taking my own sweet time while several thoughts rush through my mind, not all of them make much sense but then that’s who I am. After I’m finally on my feet, I expect him to ask me those not-so-sensible questions but he starts walking towards me making verbal speculations about my nervousness. I didn’t speak anything in my defense and continue to look at him in the eye with the usual look of indifference on my face. Meanwhile, he says that I don’t seem confident to even stand let alone answer his question. I still don’t feel any need to answer him back. Then the next thing I know is that he is standing right in front of me less than a foot away. Instead of asking me the questions I expected he asks me to put forward my dominant hand. As asked, I put my right hand forward palm facing up. He takes it really close to his face and studies the lines, also tracing the prominent ones with his fingers. He does that for about half a minute and then looks at me, telling me that I turned out to be a completely different person than what he anticipated. It looked like he wanted to say more about what he saw in my hand but it struck him that we were in a room full of people staring right into us. He dismissed the class.

I sat down for a while to collect my books and other stuff, exactly when I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind. I turned around to find a boy of my age but 5 inches or so taller. He asks me if I had the same lecture as him in the evening. I took a look at my schedule and told him that I did have one. He told me to save a seat for him right next to him because he had to discuss something important. Without questioning him I simply nodded and left the room. On my way back, I’m wondering what the heck is wrong with me after all ? Why all this reticence among all the things that happen to me on a regular basis ?