McEwan, Ian. Sweet tooth, Jonathan Cape , London, 2012. (Pages 320, paperback)

Rating: 3/10

Ian McEwan is capable of writing excellent books as shown by his Atonement, On Chesil Beach and Saturday. Sweet tooth, though, is a dull execution of what would normally be a readable premise.

You have a good-looking, decent but promiscuous (judging by her actions) young girl joining the British spy agency MI5. In the cold war days of the 70s, she is part of a project where the British intelligence would clandestinely sponsor writing talents so as to propagate through their words the goodness of capitalism and evils of communism.

We know how incompetent most spy agencies are in real world. But in this book MI5 comes across as a particularly daft one. The project of recruiting unknown writers and paying them handsomely, and to recruit special staff to select such writers sounds far-fetched, unconvincing and bizarre. McEwan simply uses the story to write a book about writing, and in many places goes autobiographical by including his own stories from the past. Sweet tooth like Arabian nights contains many stories. But unlike Arabian nights, they are not related to the book theme, nor are they readable. One exception: for mathematically minded readers, the Monty Hall paradox is used cleverly and is amusing.

To write a spy novel of three hundred pages where nothing really happens except a young woman becoming fond of older men, getting overwhelmed by them, and then sharing with the reader the unexciting writing of one of those men; is a wasted literary effort.

To be fair to McEwan, in the final fifty pages the quality picks up, the words become readable and acquire meaning, and some of the book’s defects get explained. Unfortunately, the reader must trudge through more than two hundred and fifty pages to reach this ending. I don’t think the modern reader is so patient.

Verdict: A failed experiment in metafiction. I hope this is simply an off-form book by Ian McEwan, rather than a permanent decline. He is among the best British writers.

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. Simon & Schuster, New York 2003 (first edition 1953) (Pages 190, Hardback)

Rating: 6/10

“It was a pleasure to burn.”

Ray Bradbury’s first line sets the tone of the novel whose theme is book-burning.  The intriguing title is actually the temperature at which paper burns.

I had no idea of the genre. I picked it up from the American library, because Bradbury died recently. When I began reading it, it strongly reminded me of Orwell’s nineteen eighty-four. The first few pages of Fahrenheit 451 are equally dystopian and disturbing. The concept of a society which wants to become completely book-less by burning every book found (and its possessors) is certainly disquieting.

As Bradbury wrote somewhere the book is not about censorship as is generally understood, but about the possible demise of literature with the advent of visual media. From this viewpoint, the book is fantastically prophetic. Though written in 1953, it underline the concern about today’s world in which social networks, video and internet games are replacing literature and reading for the children.

Clarisse McClellan, a girl who talks to Guy Montag, the fireman and the protagonist of the novel, is a wonderful character. Some of her thoughts and lines are beautiful metaphors and allegories. Sadly, she dies at the beginning of the book never to return. This fault was repaired by Truffaut in his 1966 film, and by Bradbury himself when he wrote a play and opera based on the novel.

After about fifty pages, the book drags. The story has ended, the brilliant concept has been introduced. Bradbury should not have expanded the original story he wrote. Well, but the book and he became famous because of the expansion. In the 1950s, there must have been something in the padded version to appeal to the readers.

Books stored in the heads cannot be destroyed. In the ancient times, all Hindu literature in Sanskrit was passed on from one generation to another orally. The kings recruited specialises who could memorise text by hearing it once, twice, thrice. And those specialists would keep hundreds of books in their heads so as to transfer that library to the next bunch of memorising specialists. To revert to that ancient tradition due to a book burning society is an interesting concept in the book.

Verdict:

A short classic, worth investing time in. But if you could find the 1966 Truffaut film (starring Julie Christie and Oscar Werner) of the same name, that may be better. I am told it doesn’t suffer from the shortcomings of this novel.

But then, by suggesting you see the film rather than the novel, am I joining the book burning society myself?

Henry, April. The Night she Disappeared, Henry Holt and Company, New York, 2012. (Pages 229, Harcover)

Rating: 8/10

Every time I visit the American library (now shifted to the Bandra Kurla Complex), I aim to pick up one book of which I know absolutely nothing. Not about the book, nor about its author. A literary casino if you like. A blind date between a writer and a reader. This time I picked up a new, nicely smelling book written by April Henry. I guessed April was a female name but I could have been wrong. My wife who is a graphic designer saw the cover and said it looked like a “young Adult” book. She was most surprised to see me reading it.

The book is a mystery book with a pizza delivering girl disappearing in the opening few pages. After the disaster with Junot Diaz (see the other entry today), I wanted to read for pleasure and entertainment. I am glad to report I had my revenge.

The book reads so fast, you will finish it in one sitting even if you were to start it after dinner. It is well written and well researched. Like Jodi Picoult, April Henry (yes, April is a woman) experiments intelligently. The ending is satisfying.  

Verdict: If young adult books are like this one, I don’t mind reading them at all.

Diaz, Junot. The brief wondrous life of Oscar Wao, Faber and Faber , London, 2008. (Pages 335, paperback)

Rating: 0/10

Like most book clubs, the book club I visit once a month decides on the monthly book. We try to elevate our literary level by selecting something that has or can win literary prizes. We may read the Grishams, the Archers and the Chetan Bhagats of this world but at our own risk, not as members of the book club. The book selected for this month is The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, (the freak title reportedly a tribute to Hemingway’s short story The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber).

This book has won the Pulitzer prize for fiction (2008), at least three other prizes, and appeared in more than 35 the best-book-of-the-year lists. No wonder our book club wanted to read this.

This is what I remember after reading the first one hundred pages.

-It talks about Fuku and Zafa, whatever they are.

-In the smallest possible print used as footnotes, the history of Dominican Republic appears. You can read the same in Wikipedia, with the added advantage of being able to adjust the font size.

- Sometimes it is written in the first person, sometimes in the second and sometimes in the third. But the first person is not always the same.

-half the words are in English (because they looked familiar), and the other half are not English. (I am told they are Spanish). It’s not that you have English paragraphs followed by the Spanish. The same sentence has a few English and a few Spanish words.

-Nothing happens. (or at least nothing happens in the text in English language.). Words after words after words appear in front of your eyes. They don’t flow, each one is like a hurdle over which a reader must jump.

I became tired of this hurdle race after 100 pages. I had decided that no matter what I must finish the book club book. After all, it’s only one book a month. I am free to read all other books of my own choice. But this book beat me. It became so intolerable, that I gave it up and cried. Cried for the lost hours. Cried for all the prizes the book had won.

Either something is critically wrong with me. Or with the rest of the world.

Verdict: If you think I have been uncharitable in giving the book a rating of zero, you are wrong. I could have given a negative scoring. For wasting precious time in my limited life. Instead of those 100 pages, I could have finished a racy normal murder mystery. Junot Diaz’s classic tells us how not to write a book. If you don’t trust me, please read it, and let me know if you understand something.

काळे व.पु., संवादिनी

काळे व.पु., संवादिनी, विश्वकर्मा साहित्यालय, पुणे, १९७२ (पृष्ठ संख्या ११३)

गुण: ७/१०

'संवादिनी' वेगळे आहे. हा व.पुं.नी केलेला प्रयोग आहे. आणि तो यशस्वी झालाय म्हणायला हरकत नाही. पुस्तकाच्या सुरुवातीला त्यांनी म्हटल्याप्रमाणे त्यांना एकदा कथा, लघुकथा, त्यांच्यामधली नॅरेशन लिहायचा कंटाळा आला. वर्णने, बारीक सारीक तपशील लिहिण्याचा उबग आला. मग त्यांनी विचार केला की कथा संपूर्ण संवादात का लिहू नये? स्वतःच्याच सहा कथा निवडून त्यांनी त्या कथांचे संवादात रुपांतर केले. शिवाय कुठेही नावे नाहीत, प्रस्तावनेला शीर्षक नाही, तसेच कथांनाही. एक कथा संपली की एक कोरे पान आणि मग पुढची कथा.

मग यात आणि नाटकात तो फरक काय? फरक असा की नाटकाच्या संहितेत पात्रांची नावे असतात. कोण कुठली वाक्ये बोलतेय ते लिहिलेले असते. प्रसंगी कंसांत सेटवर काय आहे, संवाद चालू असताना पाठी काय चालू आहे वगैरे वर्णन असू शकते. संवादिनी पुस्तकात असले काही नाही. नुसते संवाद. पण त्यातून आपल्याला कळते की कुठले वाक्य कुणाच्या तोंडी आहे. मराठीत पुरुष 'मी करतो' तर स्त्री 'मी करते' म्हणते. अशा वाक्यांवरून आपल्याला बोलणारा तो आहे का ती हे कळू शकते. (जे इंग्लिशमध्ये कठीण जाईल.) नुसती संवादातून कथा उभी करायला कौशल्य लागते. ते व.पुं.नी दाखवले आहे. हा प्रयोग वेगळा आनंद देऊन जातो. शिवाय पाने झरझर पुढे सरकतात. ओघाने वाहणाऱ्या संवादांमध्ये वर्णनाचे अडथळे नाहीत.

बहुतेक कथा त्या काळाच्या द्योतक आहेत. 'एका मिठीची कथा' हलकी फुलकी आहे. 'धरले तर चावते' या कथेत कामावर जाणाऱ्या बायकांचा विषय आहे. 'आज तरी भांडशील ना' ही चांगल्यापैकी विनोदी कथा. 'आत्मनस्तु कामाय' अभिमान आणि नवरा बायको यांच्यातले संबंध याबद्दल बरेच काही सांगते. 'निरंजन मला उत्तर हवेय' मध्ये टेस्ट ट्यूब बेबी चा उल्लेख आहे. आणि 'दिवस उद्याचा' ही  ज्योतिष विद्येवरची विनोदी गोष्ट. 'निरंजन....' सारख्या गोष्टींत व.पुं.ची भाषा मधेच कमालीची नाटकी, कृत्रिम होते. ते थोडे खटकते. कायम बोली भाषा ठेवणे त्यांना सहज जमले असते. या प्रयोगात तरी त्यांनी नाटक आणायचे नाही.

तात्पर्य: प्रयोग म्हणून अवश्य वाचण्याजोगे. मी वाचनालया तून आणलेली आवृत्ती पहिलीच, किंमत पाच रुपये! आता नव्या आवृत्तीत आणि नव्या प्रकाशकाचे पुस्तक उपलब्ध आहे.