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Cenacle - September 2006

Temeraire: Throne of Jade by Naomi Novik

September 30th 2006 08:07
Naomi Novik's Temeraire: Throne of Jade

I am usually a dragnostic and the only dragon novel I read before was Christopher Paolini’s Eragon, the most boring marketing trick in history ever (it almost made me an enemy of free markets). So, you should forgive me if I started reading Naomi Novik’s Temeraire:Throne of Jade with a heart full of scepticism. Aussies are getting better at fantasies and for what its worth, Peter Jackson has optioned these novels. So, in the end I decided to give it a try.


Britain is at war with Napoleonic France, only this time fighting with dragons in their midst. Dragons here are used very much like twentieth-century aircraft and the novel is full of richly detailed air sorties of the kind which will put any second world war novel or movie to shame.

Neutral power China has sent Napolean a dragon egg of a rare breed as a present. The ship was captured by British and when the egg hatched, the dragon called Temeraire was pressed into service. Laurence, a naval officer, was made the officer in the first novel. Here, they are inseparable.

The novel starts with a Chinese delegation coming to London to demand the dragon back. Apparently, in their country dragons are treated like aristocrats and not made mules of war. But, Temeraire and Laurence are so closely bonded that the Chinese prince orders Laurence to China as well. After various adventures on board, we come to know that there is a plot to kill Laurence.


The novel pits sea faring adventures like the novels of Patrick O’Brien with the dragon lore of Anne McCaffrey. It is a dazzling combination, one which works so well because Novik’s imagination is so detailed and picaresque. She just does not imagine how a huge dragon would look like but also the navigational problems of shipping a huge dragon over rough seas, the dynamics of dragon flights and the mechanics of dragon armadas in minute detail. When Temeraire has a cold, the dragon surgeon (yes, there is one) uses a ladder to step down its toothy throat to examine the condition. Its details like that that make this novel irresistible.

Novik uses a Hemingway-like style that is hard to follow in a fictional world and the plot development is a bit weak too. Despite these drawbacks, I urge you to read this superbly entertaining novel without any delay. As for me, I am reading the first novel in the series as soon as I can lay my hands on it.


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The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

September 29th 2006 03:41
The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

The novel starts with an assortment of newspaper cut outs tracking the deaths and fortunes of one family, interspersed with the beginnings of a novel within the novel called The Blind Assassin. The novel tells of the secret meetings of an adulterous pair and because she asks it, the man in the novel starts weaving a science fiction story about blind assassins for his lover. The novel may have been written by Laura Chase and had acquired notoriety on posthumous publication. Atwood uses blind assassins and other “science fiction” elements as a prop to raise interest in her drab material and the novel’s mystery revelation is that the Blind Assassin was actually written by Iris, Laura’s elder sister. What a breath-taking revelation!

Cut to the present and Iris is over eighty years old and quietly waiting to pass over. Except that, she has lifetime of quietly acquired malice stored within her and won’t go before she has vented out it on paper.

The Chase Girls, Iris and Laura were brought up in relative lavishness by an industrialist father and an adoring mother. It all changes when the father goes to war and comes back as a bitter cripple and the mother is dead. Their factory falls on rough times and the girls provide refuge to a radical called Alex , wanted by the police because he had stoked the strike in the factory and riots in the town.

The said factory is bought off by an American industrialist Richard who also marries Iris. He just happens to like young girls and arranges for Laura to stay with them and in time lays his hands on her. Iris meanwhile has spotted Alex again and is having an uproarious affair with him and doesn’t know what to make of Laura’s increasingly erratic behaviour. Laura bore everything because she was secretly in love with Alex and Richard blackmailed her about the fate of Alex. When she comes to know that Alex doesn’t love her and her own sister is having an affair with him, she commits suicide.

Margaret Atwood

After being nominated for three or four times, Atwood finally got the Booker Prize for this novel, which is not a very great recommendation. It was also hailed as the first great novel of this century. Is it?

Basically, it is a wet dream of a novel where an industrialist is a paedophile whose motives are not explained because the narrator has never “understood” him but the radical has the required “stamina” to take part in some knee-tremblers with the said industrialist’s wife. Not unlike when in The Robber Bride, Atwood made a toy boy of a war deserter. Calling Tutsis “cockroaches and vermin” allowed Hutus to massacre them, and calling bourgeoisie capitalists “child-lovers” had allowed many social revolutionaries to confiscate their properties and send them to labour farms. I think this insult was originated, though I am not sure, somewhere in 1930s. The novel is basically an attempt to give those pejorative insults a semblance of reality without the need of slightest self-consciousness of a manufactured insult.

As a literary method, Atwood’s style is said to be about stored hysteria. Well, to me it looks more like working too hard on your wet dream which then busts off in a limp climax.


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Not Seeing

September 28th 2006 03:35
What do you want to do when you are caught in the middle of violent riots and can’t get out of your house? You want to watch the TV, of course.

Outside I could hear jarring noises from time to time: tires screeching, people shouting and an occasional thud of a bomb going off somewhere. They had already broken the streetlights, the neon signs, the glass windows, basically everything that’s there to be broken in my street. Probably, they were tired because there’s nothing left here to break and so stopped coming. But I don’t think it was still safe to go out. Who knows the crowds marauding in other streets may return to this one again.

When I had come home two days before, the street was already gutted. I hastily opened the lock of my door and slipped inside. For a few minutes, my heart was heavy with apprehension but after two hours in darkness it was pretty clear that they were not going to return whoever they were.

I didn’t venture to go out the next day of course. I kept hearing the noises. Though I am pretty sure, it could also be my imagination. Once, I heard a particularly loud scream; I stayed put for a while and went later checked it out from behind my blinds. There was no one in the street.

I could not bear the oppression of silence any more. I had to see the mayhem that was occurring in the other streets. I had to hear what others were saying about us. I had to know. I had to tell.


I switched on the TV and to my astonishment there was that cookery show in which people cooked exotic dishes in less than ten minutes. I used to catch it whenever I was at home in the afternoons, confident that I’d never make any of those dishes myself. It was still going on like everyday, like nothing had happened.

I told myself to calm down. Maybe they’d shown this stuff in middle of the bigger news. Maybe they are catching their breath too.

But after the cookery show came the soap where the old lady who thought her young boarder was in love with her just finds out that he was using her after all. Any other day, I’d loved to have watched the show myself. Today I tore my hair and started pacing. It was followed by an American program which showed Paris Hilton talking about her new brand of knickers. Apparently it’s the new craze in Hollywood to wear knickers instead of panties. It was like every other day.

Then, suddenly the music blared out. It was the news. I watched it avidly, the entire show. There was nothing on it! It was then the fever stuck me. I started pacing around the room, cursing everything I could think of. I watched TV all through that evening and everything was the same as usual, the regular and the normal.

It was then I decided to take thing on my own. I opened my computer and started browsing
Scream by Edvard Munch, Source:maths.ucd.ie
internet and stared searching famous websites for some new, any news of the riots that were happening just outside my house, in my city. But, not one of the great international sites even hinted anything was wrong with the world. I admit my part of the world is very small compared to the whole wide world out there but it still must mean something.

Desperately then more and more desolately I kept searching for the information. Nothing turned up. Then I wrote to my favourite newspaper columnist. “Dear Mr. N, I would like to bring your usually observant eyes, something you might wish to know.”

But of course, I could not post the letter. Then, much as I hated it I had to use the internet. I scrounged the internet again for any news about what was happening outside. I and searched as much as I could. It had fantastic stuff, internet everything from temple prostitution in ancient Ephesus to Neanderthal bone structures but nobody was discussing or was even remotely interested in the warfare outside. I thought I’d open the eyes of the world myself and started typing and then my browser stalled saying, “ILLEGAL.”




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The religiosity of the secular world

September 27th 2006 02:25
Hell and Secular World : The Religiosity of the Moderns


I am plodding through Dante's Inferno translated by Robert Pinsky,“widely-admired American poet” . So far, the verse is wooden and there is little inspiration or lyricism to be found here.

However, the edition comes with a nice foreword by one John Freccero. I will borrow a few words of his for today.

Commenting on the Comedy’s relation to the Augustinian tradition, Freccero writes, “The City of God and The City of Man were thought to be spiritual states, the antithetical allegiances of those who actually live together in the real city.” Heaven and Hell were cities for sinners and saints and “the earthly city was therefore an encampment in which saints and sinners meet and mingle as pilgrims en route to opposite directions.”

Beautiful as they are, we will not dwell on those remarks today. My point is different. Surveying how Dante has been received in modern times, Freccero writes, “The sense in which Hell stands for the real world has never been lost on Dante’s readers.”

Inferno is a “City of Man in the afterlife, which is why it contains no glimmer of forgiveness. At the same time, it may also be thought of as a radical representation of the world in which we live, stripped of all temporizing and all hope.”

Pray, why is the world in which we live stripped of all hope? These remarks, remember, do not tell you what Dante is but how he is taken or should be taken today. Do not bother about that medieval theology, the series of punishments, the moderns are saying here, read Dante because his hell is our reality.

The foreword continues--“Over the centuries, according to Auerbach, the sheer forces of Dante’s verses actually came to subvert his moralizing intention, transforming a medieval system of punishments and rewards into an autonomous, secular world, much like this one, in which human characters no longer signify anything, as Dante may have wished, but simply are in all of their tragic humanity.”

Dante's Inferno Source : art.gothic.ru



A distinguishing feature of any religion is not what it says what afterlife will be but what it says about life here. And all religions agree that life here is not an end in itself. The gloomy glasses through which many religions look at this world is not dependant on any historical accident; it is the nature of the world to be profoundly unsatisfying. It is because this world is so unsatisfying, religions can even putate an afterlife.

Now, turn a thought to our secular modernists and you will find they share this quality with all the religions; they too are not satisfied with the world we live in. The religious would say that the world is sinful, evil or corrupt and the modern would point out that it simply has no meaning. In the world according to Auerbach, human characters no longer signify anything, but simply are. Take the usually recommended classics of our literature--Flaubert’s Madame Bovary or Joyce’s Ulysses or Eliot’s Wasteland or Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for the Godot. None of them is a celebration. Each one of them is a mournful dirge that plaintively sings, something is wrong with this world.

That something usually turns out to be capitalism in the hands of vulgar theoreticians, or in the shrinking conceptual boundaries of today, American “hegemony.” But the individual prescriptions of what is wrong are not my main point. Even I would agree that there are many things wrong with the world. But, what I am talking about is this belief that it is the nature of the world to be so unsatisfactory.

Dante was an exile when writing the Comedy; a real exile, not a figurative one. His inferno therefore, “is also the state of the world as seen by an exile whose experience has taught him no longer to trust the world’s values.”

This state of exile is the one vantage point where the modern literature feels comfortable enough to see things. It wants to be an exile. Camus’s Mersault, Kafka’s K or Nabokov’s Humbert Humbert, exiles in one way or the other. Paradise is the natural home of the soul and banished from it, the soul is in exile.

The moderns feel they are torn away from their paradise which they have just transposed from beyond death to before. And banished from this interiorized paradise, they are in an exile and no longer trust the world’s values. Like the souls bearing the punishments in Inferno, they signify nothing but simply are. Think Freud’s man who lives in constant state of anxiety because he has been torn away from the security of the mother’s breast or Foucault’s panopticism.

This is what tells us that our modern auteurs are not so different from the medieval theologians whom they profess to have surpassed. Modernism has lost heaven, has lost hell, it has lost afterlife, has lost gods, good and evil but what it has retained is this belief that the world we live is by its very nature unsatisfactory and they are nothing but exiles in it torn from some unclear natural abode. In that aspect, the so called moderns are still at one with the hoariest of the theologians.

No matter how agnostic, atheistic, secular and modern they profess to be, they have not lost religion yet.

[ Letters in bold represent my emphasis. Italics mean emphasis in the original]
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The Last Templar by Raymond Khoury

September 26th 2006 07:42
I think my post yesterday was quite lame so I think I should meekly return to what we used to do earlier: write book reviews which no one reads. My brother for one tells me to stick to books; you’re going after cheap sensationalism, he says. I admit I did like to be in spotlight for a change (four of my posts were hanging in the popular posts at one time) but I wasn’t going after cheap sensationalism. I want it on record.

To books then. I almost feel like its my wyrd, karma or fate, whatever. The book I had been casually reading the whole weekend turned out to be more germane to what I’d wanted to say all along. So we’ll probably rip it apart and eat it for a few posts at least.

The Last Templar by Raymond Khoury is not the sort of book I typically enjoy. I don’t care if the holy grail was some fat prostitute Jesus slept with or some alchemical concoction that will make you immortal. I can barely get through one life as it is. And man, do I hate templars. They come only next to King Arthur and the Round Table shit in the sucking order.

The book opens with a cinematic scene where Saracens are defeating Christian army and taking over Jerusalem. The templars know they are about to lose, so one of them is pulled out from the melee and entrusted with a secret letter.

Cut to the present. The Vatican has arranged a show of its best art collections at the Met and four horse riders dressed as medieval knights barge into the show, destroy whatever they can and scoot off with a strange looking device. One of the horsemen murmurs “Veritas Vos liberabit” in Latin which is heard by Tess Chaykin, an archaeologist in the crowd. FBI agent Reilly is on the job, who is soon tipped off by Tess that the whole thing might be about Templars.

The Last Templar by Raymond Khoury


The early action is vivid and you think you have a nice read on your hands. But Khoury’s thin as a noodle plot vaporizes after a few chapters and the novel becomes endlessly preachy. The grail here is an apocryphal Gospel of Jesus which supposedly admits that Jesus was not Son of God but just a plain ol’carpenter, a social revolutionary of his time. The Catholic Church has been trying to suppress this earth-shattering secret for thousands of years and now that its revealed all the religions in the world (Jews, Muslims and Christians, I suppose other religion do not count) will stop fighting among themselves and live happily forever. Oh, for chrissakes!

Hopeless drivel as this is, it still redeems itself a little in the ending when it is revealed that the document in question was doctored by the templars to achieve just such an end and the novel doubts its own “Only Connect” spirit. I said the redemption is only a little because before that the spirited and scientific minded heroine actually gives up the chance to decipher the document because it would shatter the faith of so many millions of people. If only she had decided to take up the task and then found out that it was a forgery, then the redemption would have been big.

We’re done with the book. For now. We’ll start ranting about religion, politics and stuff soon.
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Does War on Terror increase terrorism?

September 25th 2006 03:27
The Grey Lady swings its grim reaper again. In case you don’t know yet, that’s a nice and suitable moniker for The New York Times which leaked an “intelligence memo”, purportedly saying that the war in terror increased the numbers of terrorists by radicalising Islamists further. As if they needed any more radicalising.

The report if it existed is pure political gold and one can expect a lot of use will be made of it. But how serious is it? On the one hand the conclusion is so blasé, one wonders why it was made at all. After all the radicals are going to seize every available excuse to further their cause. The fundamental dynamic of any cause is to demonise the factor that resists it and use this portrayal for its furtherance. So, if the war has radicalised more people, that was the risk taken and an expected one at that. What the war is supposed to do was to dismember the networks and infrastructure and on this the same report says that the war has done that rather well. It was not supposed to prevent morbid fantasising of idle people.

Many people today try to discredit the war on terror by saying that it produces more terrorists than before and therefore is self-defeating. Let’s see. Would we raise the same moral objection, let us say, when a young kid is sexually assaulted? Most rapists would allege that their victims invited it upon themselves and therefore deserved it. After all that’s their line of defence. Without it they wouldn’t have any protection to hide behind.

The same goes for terrorists. Without the ready excuse of the war, they wouldn’t have an excuse to hide behind, to blur moral parameters.

But for the rest of us a question remains. Would we accuse a young victim who might speak against an aggressor for provoking all those would-be child molesters and whetting their appetite? Curiously enough, I have seen this done in traditional societies to suppress knowledge of rape, and not that of children alone. Well, we’re doing the same thing when we say that the War on Terror or the Iraq War enable terrorism to flourish.

Sure, there are parties who will make political buck out of such reports. That’s their living. But should we let terrorists to make a moral buck out of it?

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The Joys Of Unembedded Reporting

September 25th 2006 02:30
Take me through this pile of corpses.

I see a lot of blood and my jaw dropses.

I see a child's young body trapped in the rubble,

The boys is tired? Go get the double.

This street is paved with congealed blood,

Will the paint show up well? This is good.

Take us through your feelings, what you're going through

Do you think anyone can withstand this carnage duh?

The number's not right? "Carnage" is too strong?

Don't bother about that now, some "impact" is not wrong.

What do I see? I see eyes full of tears, hearts full of rage;

One can expect a thousand terrors to rise after this barrage.

I am not embedded and I wear no army jacket

I tell the truth proudly, fake but accurate.
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The Death of Osama Bin Laden

September 24th 2006 03:12
Osama Bin Laden is reportedly dead. From typhoid. I protest! Where are the bombs, the guns to the head and the helicopter chases? Although there is a certain cold satisfaction that he’d die of typhoid, miserably, like a wet dog on the streets, without access to even basic medical care. But that’s not enough for catharsis, is it?

But hold your horses. This report was released in France. Which got its information from Saudis. Osama dead? Don’t think so. Just wait for a month or two and Al-Jazeera will broadcast a video saying, “Fellow martyrs and Hungry lions, these reports that I’m dead are nothing but a Zionist conspiracy. They are vicious lies spread by the infidels. Don’t lose heart. I am alive and well and feeding on rats daily. Typhoid is an infidel disease. How dare they spread such lies about me! Don’t fall for this debased infidel propaganda and go on about making your plans for more bombings and beheadings.”

Or else he could be really dead or dying. In which case....

The Sydney Morning Herald writes that “there is a genuine outpouring and affection for this man who has brought a superpower down to its knees. True, his methods may not have been generally well-liked but his is a struggle that resonates with the hearts and minds of people across the world.”

The Socialist Worker writes that the imminent death of Osama Bin Laden “has deprived the worker’s revolution from a glorious ally. Which of us has not hoped that there would a great alliance between Radical Islam and Social Revolution? Which of us has not hoped that the dark days of global capitalism are numbered? But, all such hopes are on the death bed as is this great revolutionary figure of our times.”

The Guardian writes that Osama was like “a David who had punctured the towering hubris of a Goliath. The tragedy of our times is that the David has succumbed and we still have to live with dross called America.”


The New York Times reported the fact that the streets of world capitals from Madrid to Paris were reeling with people unable to process the shock and were glued to the television. Streets were overflowing with bouquets of flowers and messages left to Osams. “We love you Osama” was the banner that hung outside EU headquarters in Brussles. In UN, a minute’s silence was observed to pray for the soul of Osama Bin Laden. Scenes of jubilation that broke in some parts of Middle America were roundly condemned. “Americans are uncultured and barbaric,” says Segolene Royale, the new President of French Republic. The Times of London reported that such scenes of grief and general outpouring were not seen since the death of Princess of Wales.

President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela has said that “the death of Osama was a great loss to world community and will embolden the imperialist aggressor to strike Iran.” President Chavez has said from his sick bed that this news has saddened him and he would immediately order a beautiful tribute to be erected in the honour of our great amigo. Nobel Prize winners Arundhati Roy and Kofi Annan have appealed to the U.S. not to turn this tragedy into an opportunity and desist from any plans of attacking Iran.

Either or. One of these this is going to happen. Either way he's on his way to apotheosis.
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Torture and Moral Equivalence

September 23rd 2006 09:47
After my catfight at Damo’s blog, perhaps I should make my stance clear. The points I made should not be even taken seriously only if because my typing was so atrocious. But yes, I think I need to make my stance on torture clear.

Can I torture somebody? Yes. I regularly torture any unfortunate creature who just happens to talk to me. Would that be helpful in eliciting info from terror suspects? Probably not. Would sleep deprivation, cold floors, belly slapping and waterboarding help? Probably yes. Most people say that information extracted after torture is useless because the victim will assent to whatever you say or give you bogus information. As I have said before, my kind of torture has not been even successful in eliciting the name of my brother’s girlfriend. So, I am not an expert. But under a theoretical chance of in formation that could save lives, would such techniques be useful? I’ll take that chance.

The Abu Gharib Torture Picture


If the contention that information under torture is often useless, then why would CIA agents want to do it? Because they are sadists? Because American government itself is one giant torture machine? I am not impressed by such arguments. They are after information and their value and survival, both that of CIA and the Bush administration, would depend on the validity of that information. So why would they jeopardise their positions if that axiom about torture is inviolate?

The question is not about torture then. They would of course pursue other means of persuasion if and when they are available. When they are not and this is the only recourse they have, well they have to do that. What they have done in the recent weeks is ask that they be not placed in some limbo. Either provide enough legal backup for their interrogation techniques or else they will stop the program altogether.

Does that make America similar to Stalin as according to Damo or no better than Osama, as according to Ahmed? For all such questions, there is just one answer. In Roman Empire, Caesar’s wife Octavia was alleged to be adulterous. Caesar had her executed on the contention that a Caesar’s wife should be above reproach.

I have never visited America and I am not an American. But in the argument for moral superiority, I will only say this: America doesn’t have to follow a Caesar’s wife code of ethics. Either when it comes to “torturing” for information or aggressively prosecuting a war on terror.

America needs only to ask one question: is it really necessary going to all this bother? And would it really save lives? If yes, by all means do it.

Just because you are an “advanced country” or a “superpower”, doesn’t mean you have to follow ethereal standards which no one else is even willing to adopt or manifest in behaviour. There is an element of irony in having this issue back on agenda only when America is involved and is conveniently off the agenda when others are.

If the rest of the free societies whether they are in Europe or here in Australia do not do this sort of thing that’s only because they flourish under the umbrella of security you provide which means in effect, they have delegated these unpleasant duties to you; and the rest of the world which is not free, well you don’t have to explain apologise about the defence of your freedom to them.

As Ayn Rand once said “adherence to a principle is shown by the defence of its least attractive practitioners.” (Quoting from memory. I hate to quote people because that would be appropriating their words and use them in contexts they might not approve of.)

The principle here is simply, the defence of freedom. So would I be willing to torture people for freedom? You betcha. Will I do it myself? I’d do it if I could. Because I can’t, I am typing in defence of those who’d have to do it for me.










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The Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud

September 23rd 2006 03:00
Jonathan Stroud shamelessly pinches the aura and mystique associated with the name of Samarkand while his novel has nothing to do with it; the amulet in question could have come from anywhere. Like all novels of its kind, it was promoted by the Brotherhood as the antidote to Harry Potter we have been waiting for so long. For once they are true. It is not Harry Potter. Not even close. Nevertheless, Stroud's uneven trilogy of novels starting with The Amulet of Samarkand, is marginally better than those other Harry Potter antidotes that have been thrust on us.

It is nineteenth century London and England is ruled by an aristocracy of magicians. The use of magic for the machinations of the empire is a premise shared by Susanna Clarke, Trudi Canavan and many others. Here, the magician class self-perpetuates by raising orphans and teaching them magic tricks and after they qualify, setting them in the bureaucracy somewhere. The commoners don't stand a chance of course.

Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud


Nathaniel is an orphan brought up in the house of a mediocre magician who does not realize that he has a precocious charge on his hands and gives him a lackadaisical upbringing. Unknown to him, Nathaniel has been learning far more than he could ever imagine. He is not just a precocious boy but an arrogant wretch whose belief in his own powers is beyond hubris.

The novel opens when Nathaniel invokes a djinni called Bartimaeus and bids him to steal the Amulet of Samarkand from a prominent magician. Stroud's magic world is a hybrid combination of Jewish mysticism and alchemy and his spirits, and there are many of them, are actively hostile to humans. The human magicians invoke them from their spirit world and make them do their stuff after spiritually binding them, which the spirits resent. They represent the Other.


Where there are artistocracies, there are subversives trying to undermine them and the novel's heroine Kitty is a member one such ruthless gang which is trying to overthrow the government like all good subversives.


Nathaniel wants the amulet for reasons of his own but he does not know that there is a big conspiracy afoot to seize power , which hinges on this amulet. So, when Bartimaeus goes to steal the amulet, he sets in motion a melee of clashing wills all bent usurping power and the whole thing gets bigger and bigger than Nathaniel had ever imagined in his innocence. But, Nathaniel is made for big things.


Bartimaeus is a cantankerous spirit and Nathaniel an insufferable master and it is their clash of egos that's the most appealing part of the series. Otherwise the rest of the plot is based on the subversive fantasy that by trying hard, the whole house of cards that is called state will come crumbling down. For the fantasy to work the author has to construct the house of cards which can be pulled apart easily by his subversives and it is this premise that nearly undoes the series because the plotting is at once frenetic and messy.


Fortunately, the brashness of young Nathaniel and the rudeness of Bartimaeus save the day
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Agatha Christie


She has written over 80 novels, each one of them different from the last one. They all have inventive plots, some of them are so original they have never been surpassed till now. She has laid the standard of writing a mystery story and no one after her has come even close. She was a radically conservative woman who could dissect evil and bare it to its bones.

Over the years, I have read almost all Agatha Christie's fiction barring a few plays and a few odd novels. The Crooked House, her favourite novel was the first Christie I read. It’s also I think one of her best.

The Hollow is another perennial favourite. Hallowe’en Party is short on mystery but like The Hollow, its basic premise goes much deeper than just to engineer a surprise at the end of the novel. They are Christie at her philosophical best.

The ABC Murders is one of the first novels to feature the idea of a serial killer. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is supposed to be her best mystery. It was the first novel that shot her into prominence. I did not like it that much. Mrs. Mcginty’s Dead and Towards Zero are both lush novels rich with incident. So is A Murder for Christmas.

And there is And Then There Were None. A work defying descriptions.

Of her plays, Verdict was a commercial failure but I think it is her best work. Here she dissects the soul of a well-intentioned bleeding heart altruist. It’s not a mystery but it’s an eye opener. The Unexpected Guest is the play she wrote to come back from the failure of The Verdict and what a success it was. Full of surprises and deeply romantic. Who knew theatre could be so thrilling?

The Mousetrap is one play I haven’t read yet. I’ll catch the longest running play in the history of theatre when I go to London one day.

Her short stories are less effective for me, maybe because I don’t like short stories in general.

So, what is your favourite Christie? Please leave your comments.
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Brilliance of the moon by Lian Hearn

September 21st 2006 02:46
Brilliance of the Moon by Lian Hearn


Brilliance of the Moon is the third novel of the Tales of Otori trilogy.

Takeo and Kaede are now married and resolved to strengthen their domains, Maruyama and Hagi, respectively. Their marriage has displeased Arai, the most powerful lord in the The Three Countries and Lord Fujiwara who considers Kaede to be betrothed to him. Takeo's claim to Hagi is contested by the cousins of Lord Otori and he has to defeat them to get his inheritance.

Then there is the quaint prophecy that Takeo has to wage five battles, four to win and one to lose. As soon as Takeo sets out for the war, Fujiwara seizes Kaede and forces her into a wedding with him. Fujiwara is a homosexual with a cruel streak towards women and Kaede suffers greatly in his captivity. This part forms probably the most static and boring part of the whole series. On the other side, Takeo suffers huge reverses in his initial battle itself.


The series is based on medieval Japan and the era is romanticized without apology and by the end of the series, Japan’s fateful encounter with the modern world is also depicted.

But, the novels also refrain from making any kind of negative judgements about the end of the era and do not cast a mournful backward glance like The Last Samurai did. That adds to their already considerable appeal.

Lian Hearn writes a spare and unassuming prose but still manages to evoke the lush beauty of the landscape. It is a risky business because sometimes the prose feels too flat but for most of the time, she gets away with it.

The three novels all have intricate plots and plentiful action and all of them suffer from a lame climax. I don't have anything else to pick on except for those climaxes. They hugely readable and I finished the entire series in one week.

All in all, for sheer entertainment, Lian Hearn's creation is one of the best in the fantasy genre ever. And I have read somewhere that she is going to continue the series with more novels, which is good news.



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Grass for His Pillow by Lian Hearn

September 20th 2006 02:19
Grass For His Pillow is the second novel of Lian Hearn's eminently likeable fantasy series, Tales of Otori.

The villain Iida has been killed in the first novel and so has Otori Shigeru, our hero Takeo's protector. There is a new player called Arai around who has taken advantage of the situation to build his own kingdom.

Takeo was made to pledge his life to the tribe, a secret gang of thieves and assassins and he is taken to their secret stronghold to be trained in the Tribe's killing ways. But as a child Takeo was brought up among the Hidden, a non-violent group loosely based on Japanese Christians, and his soul rebels at the thought of killing as a way of life. The way the Tribe treated his adoptive brother does not help matters either.

Grass on His Pillow by Lian Hearn


On the other side, Kaede has gone to her paternal home Maruyama. She is shocked to find the whole region in disrepair and close to ruin and strives to make it functional again. But, the domain is surrounded by lords whose interests are suspect and she has to tread in dangerous waters.

Though initially Takeo and Kaede decide to stay apart, they cannot stop their passion for each other and the rush into an ill-advised marriage which runs her afoul of powerful lords and alienates him from the Tribe. Takeo is helped by a good Samaritan called Jo-An, who is one of the Hidden. He takes Takeo to a wise woman who prophesizes about the battles Takeo has yet to wage.

As in Across the Nightingale's Floor, the first novel in the series, the action is fast-paced and the scenery lush. And just like its predecessor, the climax in this book too is a huge letdown. Nevertheless, for sheer entertainment there is nothing to beat this series.
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The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell & Dustin Thomas

I know I have been writing about nothing but fantasies and Dan Brown clones lately, but I want to clear the field before going to higher things. Sadly, the backlog never seems to end.

The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomas arrived in that high season when The Da Vinci Code became a super duper seller. The rest of the clones were yet in the making and The Rule of Four was the first to capitalize on the success of Dan Brown. So much so that it has its own clones in the making like Codex.

The authors: Ian Caldwell & Dustin Thomas
The novel is set in Princeton where a group of students are working on their theses and the novel’s conspiracies are all university-type conspiracies: snarling academics backstabbing each other for a piece of evidence to prove that some obscure 15th century artist was not a nobleman but an artisan’s son, geeky students vacillating that their professors and fellow students are stealing their ideas and not to forget, nude Olympics. This last would have been a happy event to watch if this were a movie but its just a book and well, don’t get your hopes high.

Paul is working on a book called Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, an obscure Renaissance tome and tries to get his friend Tom interested in the project. Tom’s dad too was mad about the book and eventually died in the search to unlock its mysteries, so Tom is wary about it. Paul works on it on it like a madman and Tom intermittently but both figure out how to read the very puzzling book and finally figure out its secret.

Unlike Codex, The Rule of Four bases its plot on a real book, not an invented one. The novel is interesting when the authors take us through the labyrinth of this enigmatic book and explain its features to us but fails to build any momentum in any other department. And after all the frenetic searching, one arrives at the climax only to have a most stock-in-trade hypothesis put to us and that’s a big downer. The library of Alexandria? Pfff…….

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Harry Potter must die

September 18th 2006 12:39
I have never done this before but everyone has a first time. I am going throw my hat into the ring and start speculating how and when Harry Potter will die. It’s plain Rowling has decided to kill Harry. I had my suspicions when I read The Half-Blood Prince.

It’s this song by Horace Slughorn that made the alarm bells ring:

And Odo the hero, they bore him back home
To the place that he’d known as a lad,
They laid him to rest with his hat inside out
And his wand snapped in two, which was sad.’


Why include this song if not to give us a hint that Harry might be Odo? Well, I didn’t think much about it after ward until I read the recent updates JKR made to website. This is what she had to say:

Now that I'm back from New York, the only real news is that I'm continuing to work hard on the book. I've done quite a lot, and I'm really enjoying it, though every now and then I look up and realise that it's THE LAST ONE. You might think I'd have got used to that idea during the sixteen years I've been planning seven books, but it still keeps hitting me... no more Harry after this... and then I bury myself in book seven again and tell myself I've still got plenty to write.

Daniel Radcliffe as Harry Potter


The heightened security restrictions on the airlines in August made the journey back from New York interesting, as I refused to be parted from the manuscript of book seven (a large part of it is handwritten, and there was no copy of anything I had done while in the US). They let me take it on, thankfully, bound up in elastic bands. I don't know what I would have done if they hadn't; sailed home, probably.

I am currently trying to decide between two possible titles. I was quite happy with one of them until the other one struck me while I was taking a shower in New York. They would both be appropriate, so I think I'll have to wait until I'm further into the book to decide which one works best.


No more Harry...Can it be any plainer? There Harry, you’re a goner, mate.

Most people assume that it is Voldemort who is going to kill Harry. And if Harry has to die, then Voldemort has to live, according to the prediction. Even JKR won’t be that bad to let evil triumph right? Wrong. Because Voldemort is not the only one who is after Harry. There is Snape, there is Draco, there is Bella and not to mention a bunch of death eaters waiting for Harry. I think Harry will vanquish Voldie but die by some other means.

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Blade of Fortriu by Juliet Marillier

September 17th 2006 10:13
Blade of Fortriu by Juliet Marillier
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I do not know why but I have this habit of reading a series in reverse. I began reading Harry Potter at number four and then read numbers three, two and one. I read Roberston Davies trilogy in the same order. I read Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass, the last novel of his His Dark Materials trilogy and have been trying to read the other two novels ever since. A hard task, if you ask me.

This time, I began in the middle. I read Juliet Mariller’s Blade of Fortriu, the second novel of Bridei Chronicles trilogy before I read the first one. Marillier I marked for intimate acquaintance, once I had read her Daughter of the Forest. So, I am not ashamed I began in the middle.

Bridei is the recently crowned king of Fortriu who dreams of driving the Gael invaders from his homeland. He sends Ana, a royal hostage in his court, to be the wife of Alpin. Alpin’s alliance is necessary if Bridei is to prevail.

The task of negotiating the marriage and the treaty falls on the head of Faolan, Bridei’s bodyguard with a dark past. Ana and Faolan start on a wrong note but it is not long before Faolan falls in love with Ana. They start their embassy on a weak foot when the rest of their entourage is washed away in a flash flood. Alpin is rough, vulgar and uncouth and Ana wonders how she can marry this man when she spots the family secret. Alpin has a brother, who is secretly stowed away. Drustan may be slightly mad but he is hauntingly handsome and it is not long before Ana falls in love with him and the love triangle is set up.

The good thing about this novel is that the romance does not joltingly morph into a fairy tale, as in Daughter of the Forest.But, Marillier’s strength is not so much her plotting or action but her beautiful narrative voice and this novel has a lot of action which mars the narrative’s pitch from settling down.

All things considered, this is one acquaintance I would like to keep.
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The Time Travler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

It has a nice idea to get going though not entirely original. We have seen time warp romances before where a person travels back or front in time and falls in love with somebody from different era, haven’t we? (Think Kate and Leopold). Except that in this one, the time travelling gig is the routine not the exception.

Henry DeTamble is chrono-impaired which means he pops into past and future without control every few days. This is a bit convenient; when Henry is five and has done the time-travel for the first time, he has an older Henry to guide him through the confusion and when Henry is getting married and time travels at the nick of the moment under pressure, well, some other Henry is there just to make sure. Though I have never understood how these older Henrys could pop back to the time and date they want but the story has to go on.

On one of his journeys into the past, Henry meets a six-year old girl, Claire Abshire, his own future wife. They keep meeting now and then and he keeps tutoring her in French and maths and she won’t have sex with anyone else. They meet in real time when Claire is 20 and he is 28 and he does not know who Claire is but she knows who he is. They meet, date and marry and the first part ends. In the second part, the novel becomes more and more like Forget Paris, the diary of a expectant wife and a busy husband. They even have baby problems. One day, Henry comes back with a heavy brow and you know he has known of his own mortality from somewhere in time and the novel races to its unusually sappy conclusion.

I don’t know why this novel went on to become such a big hit. I know, its not one of those ordinary romances but a literate romance. By that they mean, I suppose, references to Carmina Burana and playing, not Monopoly but Modern Capitalist Mind-Fuck. I suppose normal romances do not come with such perks and therefore, they have to be neutered in search of these literate romances. Even if it happens to packs way more schmaltz than a normal romance can ever dare to do.

Strictly for those who have thought themselves out of reading romances but not the need for romance.

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The Black Sun by James Twining

September 15th 2006 03:33
James Twining’s second novel The Black Sun is also the second in series to feature Tom Kirk. After the adventures in The Double Eagle, Kirk has shunned his art robbery ways and has become a decent citizen. Now, he uses his expertise to recapture stolen artifacts. Same thing as before, one might say, but on the other side of the fence.

The Black Sun by James Twining
The novel starts with the murder of an Auschwitz survivor whose arm is sawed off and taken as a trophy. On the other side, Tom and his friend Mario are called to investigate the theft of a few virtually unknown painter. The theft is remarkable only because similar thefts have been attempted and it is clear someone is desperately trying to lay hands on the painting.

It is not long before MI5 ( or is it 6?) comes knocking on tom’s doors. Since the book is written by a British guy, you find a touch of condescension toward CIA and a little glorification of MI5. Soon, the sawed off arm turns up in the fridge of Tom Kirk and the dead guy may not have been an Auschwitz
survivor after all, but a member of the one of the most elite orders of Hitler’s army. That’s funny because when I was reading this novel, Gunther Grass laid bare the skeletons in his cupboard. It turns out that before doing the suicide act, Hitler had sent away his most elite order on secret mission to hide a train, yes a train full of valuable treasures and now, half of the world is after it.
James Twining Source:jamestwining.com

In The Black Sun, Twining makes strides in his plotting, which is more elaborate and complex than in his first novel. The action moves fast enough and the set pieces are very well-etched. But the problem with the novel is its hero. If Kirk was bland in the first book, he is so colourless in this one that even minor characters come off more strongly than him. Maybe in the next novel,Twining should work a bit more on his hero.

One more thing. The cover of the hardcover edition with a humungous black cross does nothing to whet your appetite to read this book. Better cover designs would help the next time around.
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The Tower of Ravens by Kate Forsyth

September 14th 2006 05:55
The Tower of Ravens by Kate Forsyth

Kate Forsyth is one of the more promising young Australians who are increasingly working on the fantasy genre. I read somewhere that some of the top books written by Aussies these days are fantasies written by Australians. I think overall the fantasy genre is having a great boom here. Forsyth is not good as Juliet Marillier or as original as Lian Hearn but much better than Cecilia Dart-Thornton, Trudi Canavan or Tracy Donovan.

The Tower Of Ravens is the first of the trilogy called Rhiannon’s Ride. The trilogy is great fun because it features a beautiful heroine against whom so much injustice is piled up that you want to scream loudly. By the second book, you want to throw whatever you have in your hand at those evil schemers who plot against Rhiannon. Unfortunately, they are all there in a book.

Rhiannon is raised in a herd of satyricons. She is cruelly treated because she des not have a fully grown horn because her mother mated with a man. Rhiannon knows that the herd will kill her one of these days, so she plans to escape. She gets her chance when a human prisoner of the herd escapes and the herd is busy catching him. She makes her escape but has to kill the man in the process.

She does not know but the man was a soldier in the King’s service and Rhiannon running from the herd of satyricons falls into the hands of a family whose young son Lewen is also a soldier. They have a hard time restricting this wild uncivilised creature grown in the forest but soon Lewen falls in love with her even though he knows she may have been involved in the disappearance of his friend. He and his mother plan to take her to the court in the matter of the missing soldier and along the way they come across the Tower of Ravens, a sinister abode for a lord who is planning to invoke the dead and usurp the kingdom.

All in all, the book manages to entertain you through that most basic of the conventions: the damsel in distress. The damsel in question though kicks some ass. The novel loses steam in the second half where the action set in the Tower of Ravens is unexciting and standard. But I was surprised how Forsyth handled the material in the second book of he series, at the number of threads she was able to pick up from what I thought was rather a simplistic climax.


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The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl

September 13th 2006 04:00
The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl


Matthew Pearl’s The Dante Club is set in post-civil war America crawling with Irish immigrants and rife with tensions of newly released slaves. H.W.Longfellow intends to publish the first American translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy and forms a Dante Club with a few other Dante enthusiasts— writer Holmes, poet Lowell and historian Greene, to assist him in the matter. However, Harvard Corporation, the board of the university is trying hard to stop the publication of the translation. As if that’s not bad enough, a series of bizarre murders is taking place in Boston and the trio of the Dante Club (excluding Greene), together with their publisher Fields, realises that the murders are all staged according to punishments handed out it in Dante’s Inferno. If that gets well-known, their project will be doomed and Dante will forever be besmirched in America. To stop that from happening, they decide to find the killer themselves.

Pearl has a wonderful knack of using real life elements in his fiction and this comes to the fore in the novel. The Dante Club was real and many of the incidents and people described in the novel are taken from real life and it is a pleasure to keep bumping into a Ralph Waldo Emerson or a Harriet Beecher Stowe. The writing is top-class and though the book is harder to read than your average mystery, it is also much better than your average mystery.

It is frequently said of Dante that his Lucifer is a big disappointment compared to Milton’s Satan. Our detective team calls their killer Lucifer and he too disappoints big time. The novel is divided into three parts and all through the first two, the author raises big issues and Dante is used as some kind of a window to these and then in the final part, the plot turns on itself and you find out that those issues were just a smokescreen and the question is not what Dante has to say but Dante himself.

Pearl has said that the novel deals with the nature of punishment, a grave moral matter anytime and a particularly poignant one for our times. But it is a little ridiculous to find that the punishment is to be handed out to the philistines who are not so hot about the culture you are fond of. Matthew Pearl wrote a college thesis on Dante and this novel reads like a fantasy he might have had during the writing of that thesis. The fantasy of holding to book all those who had hindered or opposed the march of Dante. The list of those villains is large and when the Lucifer Mr. Pearl has dreamed up is no longer sufficient for the purpose, he feeds the others to sharks himself. The narcissism of discipleship.


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Getting high on books

September 12th 2006 08:15
After reading The Poe Shadow by Matthew Pearl I became a Pearl Shadow myself. I searched for Matthew’s first book The Dante Club in three libraries none of which amazingly stocked the book. So, as a last resort I bought it myself.

I have not finished the book yet. I don’t want to write a review here, just describe how it feels to read a book that speaks to you.

You buy the book and put it in your bag and board a busy train, all the while your thoughts are on the weight that’s burning like a brand in you bag. As soon as you get a suitable seat, you tear open the covers and touch the book longingly. Ahead of you, is a journey and an adventure like no other. You want to start reading it but you are too excited. You give it a try but you can’t do it, so you watch cows strolling past the window.

You are home and do all the little things that you have to do with a touch of impatience. Now you are all set and after giving a few imaginary whoops, you settle down into your book.

You are in a heightened state of consciousness. “Preternatural” is the word those Boston Brahmins or Matthew himself would use. Preternatural. Every word falls on your consciousness like a drop of hard rain. You are drawn into the maze and your sympathies are evoked, admiration oozes through your bloodstream and wonder shoots up your adrenaline. You also watch the performance with a tic of anxiety; after all, your life depends on it. And you spend the night reading, without food, without sleep until it is mid-noon and you can’t take it anymore and have to drop off into a sleep noisy with dreams.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether the book lives up to your expectations or exceeds it. It is an experience like no other.
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Friends, Lovers, Chocolate by Alexander Mccall Smith


Alexander Mccall Smith came into prominence with Mma Ramotswe detective series set in Botswana, a hugely popular series. He lives in Edinburgh and there is a touch of old-fashioned chivalry about him, as if he is determined to preserve the genteel ways in a world fast moving into perdition of drabness. He even writes a novel that is serialised regularly in the The Scotsman.

His novel Friends, Lovers, Chocolate is a standalone romance set in Edinburgh. Its heroine Isabel Dalhousie is a philosopher with money. She edits an ethics journal for having something to do but is more than a bit contrite about the vast sums of money she has. Her niece runs a delicatessen and when she goes on a vacation asks her aunt to take over. Which is a dicey proposition because her niece’s ex-boyfriend, the handsome Jamie is more than a bit interested in her and that is making her a bit nervous. But there’s more adventure to come.

The novel had an inviting title and a promising romantic plot. I confess I am a huge sucker for romance. But once I started reading I was very much disappointed. Imagine chocolate made by amateur cooks and the light runny stuff that comes as a result. Well, it feels something like that. In the end, the novel has nothing to recommend except the geniality of its author and that’s not nearly enough.
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Out of Egypt by Ahmed Osman

September 9th 2006 04:51
Just before Second World War began, Freud came up with a controversial book called Moses and Monotheism, in which he postulated that Moses was actually a follower of Akhenathen’s cult( the first known instance of monotheism in world history), who after the death of the Pharoah, fled from Egypt with a few Hebrew slaves and was killed by them in the desert. It was repression of the memory of this murder that animates Judaism and Christianity. Well, it would be only a matter of time before someone would declaim against bias in this argument and hand over the trophy to the nativists.

Ahmed Osman's Out of Egypt

Ahmed Osman’s Out of Egypt, as the title suggests, is a book whose theory is that not just Moses but almost every major other figure in the Bible is Egyptian. David is Thutmose III and Solomon is Amenhotep III. Joseph is his minister Yuyi. Moses is not some follower of Akhenathon but Akhenthon himself. And Jesus lived sometime in 13th century.

A huge problem with the historical verification of bible is that independent sources don’t confirm the events in it. If you work out the dates from Jewish sources and look for what other sources in the same time period have to say about a particular Biblical event, you come up with zilch. Egyptian sources have nothing to say about Exodus and Roman sources have nothing to say about Jesus. That is why, biblical scholars who are intent on proving historicity of the Bible regularly try to make the sources fit the Bible and not the other way round. A major revisionist attempt was underway which questioned the authenticity of conventional time frame of Egypt handed down to us by Manetho.

Akhenaton Picture Courtesy: University of Stnaford

Osman’s book is the other side of the same coin. He tries to fit the Bible into the Egyptian framework even though that changes the entire biblical narrative somewhat. Moses is the son of Solomon and David is the great grandfather of Solomon. The editor of the Bible was working of course, not to elucidate Jewish history as he understood it best but covering up affiliations with the Egypt. What about the later Jesus who was born in 4 BC? He was a spiritual manifestation.

Well, the book was controversial and many churches vented their fury against it. But for me, it was huge fun. Pseudo-histories which claim to debunk conventional wisdom and reveal a secret hitherto unknown always are.



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Eaters of the Dead by Michael Crichton

September 8th 2006 03:43
Eaters of the Dead by Micheal Crichton

The other day I was mumbling against Christopher Benfrey’s review of Matthew Pearl's The Poe Shadow in which he declaimed against the blurring of lines between fiction and non-fiction which according to him shows decline in imagination and serious fiction, whatever that is. I contended that this was nothing new and had been going on for a long time. Curiously enough, I was lead to just such a book and an author who has been blurring the lines between fiction and non-fiction all through his career.

I never liked Michael Crichton as an author because he seemed incapable of writing good fiction. He always seemed to force down chunks of information down our throats and he could never turn his interesting concepts into interesting plots. Crichton, not Matthew Pearl, fits Benfrey’s assessment completely. I should have thought of Crichton sooner but I went back to him by the machinations of some divine karma.

I have been reading Beowulf this week and enjoyed it immensely. Researching about the background and historicity of the epic, I was lead to 10th century Arab traveler Ibn Fadlan independently. And because I am interested in ancient travelers, I read about Ibn Fadlan only to find that Crichton used him in his long-forgotten novel Eaters of the Dead which appeared way back in 1976.

Antonio Banderas in 13th warrior, a screen adaptation of Eaters of the Dead by Michael Crichton

I don’t know why but everybody seems to be put off by the title. The librarian whom I asked about the book positively jumped away from me as if I was indulging some dark magic or something. The book was made into a movie called 13th warrior but the movie was a flop and the book was never as a big hit as the rest of Crichton’s books.

Crichton says that he wrote the book on a dare. A friend of his had said that western epics, you know Iliad, Odyssey and that kind of stuff were not interesting any more and Beowulf was the dullest of them all. Crichton told his friend that it would be interesting if written, well, interestingly and set about writing this novel. Some conceit! I read Beowulf recently and found it gobsmackingly interesting. It is Crichton’s book that is dull. I found it interesting only because I thought it would shed light on Beowulf.

But, that proved to be a wrong idea. Ibn Fadlan travelled from Baghdad to the ancient Bulgaria ( modern Kazan on the Volga) and wrote about a tribe he called the Rus. This eventually became the name of Russians and Ibn Fadlan’s account is the first to mention Vikings. It is all tenth-century stuff though. Beowulf was written at least two centuries before that and the events in it might have happened around 6th century. But in Crichton’s book, Ibn Fadlan’s journey does not stop at Volga. On the banks of Volga, he meets the tribe of white haired Northmen, among them a wannabe leader called Buliwyf who is soon called to fight a disaster somewhere north. He takes a band of thirteen warriors along with him with Ibn Fadlan among them and the novel moves further than Fadlan had ever travelled, becoming more and more like a Rider Haggard novel in the process.

As I have said, it is Beowulf that makes this novel interesting not vice versa. Wonder what that will do to Mr.Crichton’s conceit.


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Mesopotamia by Gwendolyn Leick


Ur, Uruk, Akkad, Nineveh, Babylon—the very names evoke a certain sense of magic and longing in us. They were all cities which formed the crux of Mesopotamian civilisation. There have been many books which deal bygone civilizations but Mesopotamia : The Invention of The City by Gwendolyn Leick is based on the idea that Mesopotamia originated the city and the culture of the city. Leick looks at 10 cities and the chapters of this book are devoted to one each.

The first one of these is Eridu, which for a long time has enjoyed the distinction of being called the first city in the world. The last one is Babylon. Between these two there exists at least a history spanning over 2000 years. Leick passes from one city to another in this spectrum, capturing how these cities were born, how they rose to prominence and how they inevitably fell out of use and passed out of memory. She also mentions how they were found and recaptured after more than two thousand years of oblivion. She gives us a detailed picture of daily life would have been in these cities, what its unique monuments were and what each city contributed to the culture of the world. You might be astonished to find out how much what we take for granted comes from the invention of those cities.

Readers unfamiliar with ancient history of the Near East might find this book a little daunting but Leick writes in a simple, easily readable style (none of that academic stuffiness) and has arranged her material so affably that the force of the narrative might sweep you along with it. Whatever her philosophical sympathies may be, Leick does not play down the idea of the city. Instead, she sees glorifies them to an astonishingly atypical extent. I found this approach the primary reason I liked this book so much.
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Out of the Blue by Simon Armitage

September 6th 2006 04:38
Sunday Times published “Out of the Blue” a poem by Simon Armitage, Britain’s “unofficial poet laureate” this Sunday. Armitage is known for making politically blunt, or blasé, comments depending on whether you read the poem from left to right or right to left. But this poem is intentionally not political but “commemorative or elegiac".

It’s a long poem. It begins with a man waking up to his daily breakfast and follows his every step. A little later, he is there on the 80th floor looking down on America and feeling the exhilaration. He has arranged around his desk, the clutter of memories. The towers are standing. All is set.

Then, the poem segues into a long, slow-mo shot of the attacks : the initial “thump”, the rush of the people to phones, their desperate talk, the heat and the smoke, the distant rush of fire engines and then, the fall. But, before disappearing completely everyone needs that death clarity moment, you know the one where you are just a zillionth of a second away from dying and everything becomes clear to you as it never was. I don’t know because I never died before. But, the man has the moment where the clutter of memories flashes before his eyes like a cartoon strip and it ends.

Like this:

what false alarm can be trusted again?
What case or bag can be left unclaimed?
What flight can be sure to steer its course?
What building can claim to own its form?
What column can vow to stand up straight?
What floor can agree to bear its weight?
What tower can vouch to retain its height?
What peace can be said to be water-tight?
What truth can be said to be bullet-proof?
Can anything swear to be built to last?
Can anything pledge to be hard and fast?
What system can promise to stay in place?
What structure can promise to hold its shape?
What future can promise to keep the faith?


Is this any different from those countless poems or novels that you have read before? You know the ones where the hero starts his day with an erection, I mean the sensation of his own power, and before long, he collapses into something or something collapses into him (like being shot by a robber who is a good man but is just hungry) but there is a collapse and look he is not so erect now. How dare you, you purveyor of money and trade and capitalism, feel conscious of your own power? Do you not know it is all dust ashes and smoke (or smokescreen)?


You can read the poem and the poet's interview here.
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The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler

September 5th 2006 07:10
The fifth anniversary of 9/11 is coming up and so I will write about 9/11 literature, literature touched by those events, as much as I can in the next few days.

Anne Tyler has always had plenty of admirers and is routinely called one of the best writers writing in America today. At first glance, her novel The Amateur Marriage is no different from the rest of her novels. It is set in Baltimore as the rest of her novels are and traverses the same territory that her readers are familiar with. It starts with a heart-hammering flourish but slowly gets bogged down. Tyler’s novels regularly fall into two camps: some like The Accidental Tourist read like the wake of a bullet train and some like Morgan’s Passing stop in the tracks without moving forward. You fear that this is what is happening. But once Tyler has her characters visit San Francisco, an exotic move, considering that most of her novels never move out of Baltimore, the pace of the book falls into place.

Anne Tyler's The Amateur Marriage


The novel is about a young man and woman who marry in the heat of the Second World War but bravely try to keep their marriage and family together afterward. Their marriage comes under strain when their eldest daughter turns into a drug-crazed hippie and runs away from home (an angle explored in Philip Roth’s American Pastoral). Years later, they are forced to take care of their grandson they didn’t know they had. Eventually, they separate. He marries another woman. She doesn’t. And the novels runs along showing different aspects of their lives at different times till one of them dies. Vintage Anne Tyler territory.

But, it also happens to be her first novel to appear after the events of September 11. Even if they did not explicitly deal with it, many of American writers’ first novels after those events were touched but them as if they had gone through a spasm. The Amateur Marriage does explicitly reference 9/11 though what it has to say about the terrorist attacks seems bland, even banal. Then, you realise that this novel has run from Second World War to the present and in its small spaced-out vignettes of a small, suburban family has drawn on almost all the major aspects of American History in the last fifty years and told you what it was to live through all those long, hard years. It doesn’t come to an easy conclusion, most of her novels never do. It is a strange, domesticised but necessary recapitulation of what America was when it seemed for a few seconds that America itself went down and disappeared in the fog of smoke.
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The Dan Brown Secret

September 4th 2006 01:42
Dan Brown Source: The Age


The enormous success of Dan Brown and the subsequent rise of the cottage industry of literate thrillers raises an interesting question. Why this kind of thriller and why now? Writing a review of Matthew Pearl’s The Poe Shadow, Chritopher Benfrey says that increasingly fiction is being invaded by fact and this means that “imagination” and “serious fiction” are in decline. He also is not impressed by Ingrid Rowland’s claims that the success of these thrillers could be “a longing to take Western heritage seriously.”

It is very dubious to claim that novels which are based on fact are not works of imagination. Novelists like Matthew Pearl are serious researchers and instead of writing a thesis on their new findings, they incorporate the new material in their fiction. Does that make their efforts less imaginative? “Serious fiction” might as well be in decline and there may be other reasons for it. But, Benfrey’s assessment conforms to the standard formula of dismissing popular culture by the elitocrats.

Nevertheless, what do Dan Brown and Matthew Pearl portend to the world? That the western civilization is under siege and this popular outburst of Western culture is the last gasp of the West before it sinks into nothingness? Or does it represent the continuous debasement of the aristocracy of wisdom in the age of internet? After all, Da Vinci and Caravaggio and Dante were once province of high culture and university arm chairs, names to be reverently whispered in art galleries. Imagine the discomfort of the aesthetically privileged class seeing those names packed into paperbacks and read on trains!

Matthew Pearl Source: Random House



But, I personally think that the answer is much simpler than that. As I noted earlier, material like this was is in use much earlier than Dan Brown. What Dan Brown did was to use this material in a conventional thriller which was in decline after the Cold War. Dan Brown himself wrote two conventional thrillers which didn’t do that well before he wrote Angels and Demons, the first of Richard Langdon series. He explicitly states that Robert Ludlum was a great inspiration for him to write the Da Vinci Code.

So, the extraordinary success of these novels might be indicative of the fact that we are out of Cold War and farther and farther from it. No longer under threat of nuclear destruction, we want our heroes not to stop bombs in the hands of rogue nations but find a missing Caravaggio painting or the Holy Grail and increase our aesthetic education or make us immortal .

And yes, I haven’t forgotten the terrorists. The latest novel by Frederic Forsyth, master of the cold war era thrillers like the Odessa File or The Day of the Jackal, is called The Afghan. The more the things change, the more they remain the same.

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Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier

Daughter of the Forest is the first novel of Juliet Marillier’s Sevenwaters trilogy. Marillier is an Australian author, born in New Zealand and is passionately interested in Celtic traditions and Daughter of The Forest includes and builds upon the Celtic just as Cecilia Dart-Thornton’s fantasy novels draw from the Scottish.

Lord Colum is the liege lord of Sevenwaters, an Irish stronghold under threat from the Britons across the sea. He is widowed and has seven children, six boys and one daughter. The six boys are all talented in one way or the other but the daughter Sorcha is a healer and all of them share a strong fraternal bond. Sorcha’s idyllic childhood is disturbed when a young Briton is captured and tortured for information. Sorcha gives in to the plan of her brother Finbar and helps the solider to escape and heal.


But their world is shattered forever when Lord Colum brings home a new wife Lady Oonagh, a Medea archetype, who is bent on acquiring power over the family. After a bit of resistance from the children, she quickly turns the brothers into swans. Sorcha alone escapes from her spell and according to the guardians of the forest, the spell can be reversed only by Sorcha, after a gruelling task of weaving six shirts from a thorny plant and not talking to anyone till she completes the task. Sorcha starts on the daunting task but there are obstacles all along the way. She has to escape the prying eyes of lady Oonagh, she is raped and tortured and when she tries to escape, she quickly falls into the hands of a group of British men.

The novel starts like a dream and quickly turns into a morally challenging fable when Sorcha and Finbar help the British prisoner escape because we are never sure of Finbar’s motives and I have not figured out whether to like him or detest him. But, the novel’s turn into the fabulous when the brothers are turned into swans, is sudden and jarring. The labours of Sorcha and the subsequent developments put it squarely within the traditional romance where the operative plot is driven based on the inability of the lovers to communicate their love to each other. The dialogue is somewhat off-key and the action lame but Marillier’s biggest strength is in her narrative. She possesses a unique, entrancing voice and a spirituality rooted in the nature which make the reading her novel a highly pleasurable task. All in all, an impressive first novel and a great fantasy.

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Across the Nightingale Floor by Lian Hearn

Lian Hearn's Across the Nightingale Floor is the first novel of the trilogy called Tales of the Otori, set in a fictitious country based on medieval Japan.

Takeo is raised in far-off village called Mino among a secret sect called the Hidden. But the powerful clan of Inuyama and their lord Iida are bent on destroying the Hidden, slaughter the villagers. A running Takeo is rescued by Otori Shigeru, of the Otori clan, who quickly takes him under his wing. Both make the perilous journey back to Hagi, the Otori stronghold, where Lord Otori declares to his surprised servants that he intends to adopt Takeo as his brother. Takeo comes to know that he resembles Shigeru's brother who was killed in a war and slowly realises that he is being groomed to take revenge on Iida. It quickly becomes apparent that Takeo has unusual skills, skills possessed by one born in the Tribe, a group of thiefs and assassins who sell their skills to the highest bidder. Soon enough Kenji, one of the tribe arrives to reclaim Takeo.

The third clan in this jigsaw are the Seishu, and Iida has designs on them too. To appease him, Kaede the eldest daughter of Shirakawa, is held as hostage to one of Iida's regional allies. Kaede grows up to be a beautiful young woman and is bethrothed to Shigeru as part of a reconciliation plan. Iida's real plans are to kill Shigeru, once he arrives for the wedding. Along the way, Kaede falls in love with Takeo.


Most of what I have described happens in the first fifty pages, so you can gauge the pace of the novel. It is paced with superb action, plenty of intrigue and romance. One has always watched with mouths agape, the incredible feats of Bruce Lee or Jet Li on screen. But to read deliciously scripted martial art scenes is another thing altogether. The biggest strength of the novel however, is its setting. The medieval Japanese country rises in all its splendour and though Hearn is spare with her words, her creation never fails to mesmerise.


Though marvellously plotted, Hearn's efforts are undone in the final act when the breath-taking climax that you were waiting for fails to materialise. The title refers to the nightingale floor Iida has built in his mansion which erupts in sound if an intruder steps on it. Part of Takeo's training is to negotiate the floor without making a sound and thus reach Iida in his sleep and slay him. From the moment it is described, you wait in delicious anticipation for this to happen. It never does. That probably is the biggest flaw in this otherwise enchanting book. The ending is a copout.


All in all, one of the best and most original fantasy series in recent memory. Wonder why nobody is making a movie yet.
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At Risk by Patricia Cornwell

September 1st 2006 03:54
at risk
At Risk by Patricia Cornwell


For me a good test for distinguishing a good Patricia Cornwell novel from a bad Patricia Cornwell novel is whether I have finished reading it in one night or not. I have not been able to finish At Risk in one night. That is not to say it is a bad novel. It is just not in the league of Cornwell's other novels.At Risk is also her first thriller that doesn't feature her detective Kay Scarpetta. I never enjoyed Scarpetta as a heroine (she is too much of a cold fish), but I miss those vivid scenes in the cold autopsy room when Scarpetta opens up a body and teases out a mountain of evidence.



Winston Garano is pulled from the middle of his course at the forensic academy by his boss and put on the trail of twenty year old case. His boss, Monique Lamont a district attorney and an Elliot Spitzer clone, wants to run for the governor and hatches a crazy plan wherein she starts a widely-publicised program called At Risk whose motto is "Any Crime, Any Time". Solving any crime anywhere should mak her look good, right? Except that as soon as they start on the case, Winston is burgled and Monique raped and that's just the beginning.



Cornwell's thrillers always had two parts: the forensic investigation itself and the power struggle that happens in the background. At Risk does not feature the former in abundance. It is all power struggle and when we are talking about power struggle here, we are not talking your usual hungry sharks but plain piranhas who won't leave even the bones alone. Cornwell's characters, even the good guys, are always borderline psychopathic but unlike the other connoisseurs of hard-boiled fiction who revel in their character's psychosis and make it enjoyable, Cornwell passes her characters through an ultra-moralistic x-ray scan and the result is an often indigestible mix.



Patricia Cornwell started the art of the forensic thriller. If it weren't for her we wouldn't have all those CSI clones jamming our idiot boxes. Overwhelmed by all those TV shows, she is probably trying to move to new ground, closer to the conventional hard-boiled action thriller. If At Risk is any evidence, that's not working perfectly. Hope she comes back to the autopsy table and cuts open more grisly corpses.
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