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Cenacle - In hidden crypts and dark vaults, cenacles of secret religion meet to keep their flame alive.

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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