Literature, Poetry and Reading.

i want to die but i want to eat tteokbokki by Baek Sehee tr. by Anton Hur

Genre- memoir, non-fiction

“Why are we so bad at being honest about our feelings? Is it because we’re so exhausted from living that we don’t have the time to share them? I had an urge to find others who felt the way I did. So I decided, instead of aimlessly wandering in search of these others, to be the person they could look for—to hold my hand up high and shout, I’m right here, hoping that someone would see me waving, recognize themselves in me and approach me, so we could find comfort in each other’s existence.”

A friend and I were at blossom book house a couple of days ago and despite a rising number of unread books on our shelves, we impulsively purchased two separate copies of “I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” by Baek Sehee after reading the blurb (as individuals who struggle with understanding and responding to emotional cues, we were sold). I was drawn to it because of the raw emotion and vulnerability displayed in the writing.

The book tells the story of a young woman struggling with depression and the desire to end her life, while at the same time finding solace in the simple pleasure of eating tteokbokki, a Korean street food.

Baek Sehee’s writing is incredibly powerful and moving. She deftly captures the intense pain and despair of depression, as well as the all-consuming thoughts of suicide that often accompany it. At the same time, she also conveys the small moments of joy and relief that come from indulging in a favorite food, and how those moments can provide a temporary escape from the darkness.

One of the things I loved most about this book was the way Baek Sehee interwove her personal experiences with depression and thoughts of suicide with the cultural significance of tteokbokki in Korean society. She explores how the spicy, savory dish is often seen as a comfort food, and how it can bring people together in moments of happiness or sorrow.

As someone who has struggled with depression myself, I found myself completely drawn into the protagonist’s story and could relate to her experiences on a deep level. I also appreciated the way Baek Sehee tackled such a difficult and sensitive subject with honesty and sensitivity, refusing to shy away from the painful realities of mental illness. Very honestly, I cannot comment on the psychiatrist’s ability to help their patient and at times I was extremely confused with the kind of guidance and advice that the psychiatrist would give out. That being said, the book brought me a lot of peace and comfort and helped me get over a bad reading slump.

The biggest takeaway for me, personally, as someone who is an empath- through and through (it’s either that or I have a very bad messiah complex) was the fact that sometimes empathising with others can actually be a bad thing. For instance, when one empathises too much, it becomes a chore and actually results in decreasing empathy. So, no more casually giving out my freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to anyone outside my inner circle. Makes a lot of sense, really.

“I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki” is a beautifully written and deeply moving book that offers a poignant exploration of depression and the search for moments of joy in the midst of despair. I highly recommend it to anyone who has experienced mental illness or who simply wants to better understand the complexities of the human mind.

The Book of Dog (This is not a review) Part 1: URGENT- Puppy nowhere to be found!

I have been reading The Book of Dog edited by Hemali Sodhi which claims to be an anthology celebrating our beloved best friends. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to review this book- it touches too close to the heart; but I’ve made it a point to recount my tryst with numerous animals whose pawprints have touched my life in inexplicable and multifarious ways. So, over the course of the next few weeks, I shall attempt (mostly, in vain) to explain the inexplicable. The first in this series is titled “URGENT- Puppy nowhere to be found”.

On a hot September afternoon I was just ready to go to my hostel room and take a nap before I had to go back to the acad block to prepare for my moot throughout early morning hours, when I chanced upon a puppy that could barely walk and looked like he was in a very bad shape. On a closer look, I noticed that his body had been infested with maggots. Yet his little tail would wag every time he received pets. The puppy also had a very serious case of mange. I was appalled by the fact that people around me were least interested in helping this poor baby. Some people helped me rub turmeric and betadine over its body, while most people watched with disgust. I contacted all the animal welfare organizations in the city, veterinarians, sought help from professors, but no one was available right away. A veterinarian who also rescues and fosters animals said he would be available the next day, so I decided to wait.

In the meanwhile, I e-mailed everyone in the university to come forward and help in any way they can. In a world where human beings barely show any humanity to other fellow human beings, I really expected people to come forward and help a puppy that objectively looks like something no one would ever want to go near. He was emaciated, chronically dehydrated, had maggots crawling out of wounds on his body, and a serious case of mange. People abandon and abuse pedigreed dogs and where I was expecting a bunch of low EQ people to sympathize and help. In retrospect, even though my emails may seem like a joke to anyone who reads them now, I would probably do it all over again if I had to.

Any way, since I had to take matters into my own hands, I made a makeshift shelter out of boxes for him, arranged for some towels, a water bowl, and kept feeding him intermittently. I sat with him from 2pm that day until 5am the next morning. I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours and was starting to feel extremely sleepy and tired from running around all afternoon and sitting in the same position for 12 hours. I made the worst decision I could have possible made- to rely on another human being. I asked the security guard in front of the acad block to please keep an eye on the puppy and that I would be back in an hour. Just one hour. I just wanted one hour of sleep. By the time I returned, the puppy was nowhere to be found. I asked around, looked outside the campus, nowhere.

Guess what’s the worst thing you can do apart from relying on another human being? It is to expect from them. I wrote yet another email after a long search, hoping someone would have seen him, or at least volunteer to look for him. I made a coupled of angry calls to members in the animal welfare committee for their lack of responsibility, and that’s it. Then there was a breakdown. Which lasted for a whole week, even more. I cried, could not sleep, had nightmares about losing my dog back home. I could not stop thinking about him, whether he was okay, or dead, or alive. I tried to cling to every hope and possibility of him making it somewhere safe, not far away from campus. I hoped he would return. My search continued every day, for a long time. But then reality sank in and my hope was overshadowed by desolation: there’s no way he would have recovered without proper treatment, no way the maggot wounds would have healed by themselves. Mostly, I cannot (till this date) forgive myself or forget the fact that at the very same hour when I was fast asleep, this poor terrified thing was on the run, or worse, deliberately kicked out.

In this context, I like to recall a particular essay from the book titled ‘Part-Time Dogs’ by Jai Arjun Singh where he mentions, “Urban ‘development’ aims to weed out the natural world from our lives; to erase paw prints from cement. It is based on the hubris that we are exalted creatures, capable of living autonomously in our concrete bubbles, after having impinged on the territories of other species; never mind the consequences for the ecology and for our own physical and emotional health.“.

So when yesterday I could not find one of the strays called Tripod (she is three legged) near my home in Bangalore, my heart skipped a beat and I started getting flashbacks from three years ago when the puppy went missing. I informed everyone immediately about Tripod’s absence and went to look for her myself (this time around I had learnt my lesson about not relying on other people). Guess what? I found her happy and healthy, she came running to me, jumped on me, and covered with the sloppiest kisses. I was at peace. As Jai Arjun Singh says, we have a big responsibility, those few of us who care about these vulnerable creatures. The ‘strays’, who only know a small patch of terrain as their forever home.

Being there- an ode to my best friend.

You text every day, almost impulsively which forms part of routine. It’s banal, the same old texts that wish you a good morning, ask you how your day was, wish you a good night. The texts don’t seem very extraordinary. Until- they’re having the busiest day at work or are out with friends and are having a good time. They text you nonetheless. They video call you before going out for a party to help them pick the right outfit even though your taste in clothes are nothing like theirs. Sometimes they’ll video call you irrespective of where they are and who they’re with, introduce you to their friends and when you were least expecting it, they send you an unintelligible text asking how your day was. It’s the same text that has buzzed up your phone for eight years now but your heart lights up as if a million candles were lit up inside.

You’ve known them for eight years now and have spent considerable time around each other and in each other’s houses. You’d expect them to take you for granted, which is quite normal in most friendships. You’re in their house only for two weeks. Who cares if the bedsheet hasn’t been changed in four days? But they do, they remember that you prefer them changed every four days, or that you like to light candles before you sleep and they always remember to restock your candle supply lest they be over and you can’t sleep at night. You return home from a trip and the unfolded laundry that you had stuffed in your suitcase is now carefully folded and kept. Finally, it takes you twenty one years but you realise that a lot of people will tell you “I’m here for you” but only a few will translate their words into action; being “there” for someone is best felt when not spelt out, it is in remembering and noticing the little things.

They’re starkly different from you. They don’t like to read. They’re not very keen on walking eight kilometres early in the morning after a night of a little too much booze. They don’t understand organic farming. They don’t take a lot of interest in geopolitics or the history of the Ottoman empire. You don’t understand Japanese. You can’t possibly fathom how they have the patience to willingly teach such a complex language. You don’t like the fact that they’re still not trying to be vegan. Yet you cannot get enough of each other. On some days you wonder how you could possibly be friends with this person. Ding! A notification from them, you open it and see a picture of a gift wrap in which you’d wrapped a book you thought they would like and gifted it to them. They never read the book, yet they saved the gift wrap for some reason and they’ve had it carefully with them for over five years now. You don’t need to wonder anymore.

On very busy days too they still make time. Sending unintelligible good morning texts you know were sent while they were still half asleep. You couldn’t reply because you were getting late to work. A mid-office five minute call to make up for it, asking how their day is going and exchanging random updates about the previous day and plans for the evening. You promise you’ll call them after reaching home. A couple of hours pass, the buzzing phone reads an angry yet affectionate text- how dare you not text me for three hours? A few minutes later- a picture of them taken from their laptop in the ten minutes of break between classes. It’s late evening now and they’re frustrated because you’d promised to call and you were just about to- when suddenly it rings. An angry hello, a smile, the sound of a voice you know too well that shouts “Didii”, and soon enough you’re both laughing. Busy days can be hard, but love is always easy.

“I have booked my tickets, I am coming to see you.” A sentence that makes you feel like hugging every person in the room. You know they’d be by your side- whether you’re physically ill, or you just miss them. There’s nothing more precious than knowing you have one person in the world who won’t wait till you’re dying to come see you. They’d just do it anyway, because you mentioned it.

Lessons Learnt From a Butterfly and Pink Martini’s Hang on Little Tomato

Here’s to flying amidst all our tempests, finding non-refined sugar alternatives at more cafes, and hanging on for better things to come up ahead.

Song of the day is Hang on Little Tomato by Pink Martini. It’s such a straightforward song and yet so profound. There couldn’t be a better song to listen to right now. It is 23 degrees outside and I’m at one of my favourite cafes drinking my favourite beverage- Matcha Chai Latte. I’ve had such a couple of disquieting months and today was particularly the most exacting day I’ve had in a long time. But every cloud has a silver lining- and mine is finally finding jaggery powder at this cafe (I’ve never been to any cafe that had the option of jaggery powder sachets before).

Firstly I don’t think I’d have made it out alone but I was inspired by a butterfly I came across during my morning walk today. I noticed that she had a broken wing so I rescued her immediately and brought her home (I don’t mean to misgender the butterfly but for now, I shall refer to the butterfly as “she”). She was kind of flying about unsteadily and trying to flutter her wings but in vain. I carefully placed her on one of my saplings high above on my desk, near my window so that she felt safe and was at a comfortable distance from my cat who kept staring at her with his lecherous eyes (he was probably thinking about how crunchy the butterfly would have felt in his mouth). Jokes apart, I was feeling pretty shitty especially in the afternoon and that’s when the butterfly started fluttering normally again. I felt helpless because I couldn’t actually make her fly but I did go up to her and encourage her to. To my amazement, within the next fifteen minutes or so she was flying normally again and there she went- out the window! I doubt my words of encouragement helped her in any way but I tried. As a human being, I communicated in the language I understood best and I can only hope it worked. Usually works for my pets, so one can only hope.

Lesson learnt was that if the butterfly with a broken wing whom I never expected to fly can fly amidst all her tempests, then so can I. Nature just inspires the human mind in myriad of ways, it’s pretty marvelous. So here I am drinking my matcha latter with jaggery powder, writing again after a whole year to be precise, and most importantly, hanging on to the vine as Pink Martini would have wanted me to. Moreover, if I start to cry, I can always look up at the sky hoping something comes up ahead to turn my tears to dew instead. Here’s to flying amidst all our tempests, finding non-refined sugar alternatives at more cafes, and hanging on for better things to come up ahead.

Shatila Stories- belonging, love and loss at the Shatila Refugee Camp in Beirut

As Khaled Hosseini rightly said that the novel isn’t about the refugee voice; it is born from it and told through it. On every page, the glint of hope for dignity and a better life is heartbreakingly alive.

The Shatila Refugee Camp was set up for Palestinian refugees in 1949 and is known for the massacre that took place in 1982 where thousands of civilians were slaughtered. This is a remarkable piece of collaborative fiction which resulted from a creative writing workshop organised by Meike Ziervogel, Publisher of Peirene Press and an NGO called Basmeh & Zeitooneh. Out of the nine writers who contributed to the book, some had never had the opportunity to complete formal schooling and some had never read a novel in their entire life. The authors are Omar Khaled Ahmad, Nibal Alalo, Safa Khaled Algharbawi, Omar Abdellatif Alndaf, Rayan Mohamad Sukkar, Safiya Badran, Fatima Omar Ghazawi, Samih Mahmoud and Hiba Mareb. The stories were written in Arabic and translated to English by Nashwa Gowanlock.

Each story in the book is a part of a larger picture – of everyday life and at times, death in Shatila. A family flee their home in Syria and settle at the Shatila Camp, and each member in the family deal with their struggles of love and loss while adjusting to the camp conditions; a girl and her father are survivors of the massacre that took place in 1982; drugs and poverty compel a family to take drastic measures. Violence and chaos runs rife at the Shatila Refugee Camp and yet in the midst of all this, new friendships are forged and independence is found. Each narrative is unique and yet inexplicably connected to the others portraying a vivid and descriptive picture of the Shatila Refugee Camp. The stories were straightforward yet potent- packed with lines that made my heart wrench and my tear ducts swell.

In the beginning I was unsure about how the novel would turn out to be but in the end, I had only tears in my eyes and no words to describe this novel. Reflective of real life incidents, the novel is brilliant, heartwarming, and heart wrenching all at the same time- don’t miss this!

Fracture by Andres Neuman- A threnody to victims of war around the world and a hopeful novel about the power of love

Fracture eBook: Neuman, Andrés, Caistor, Nick, Garcia, Lorenza: Amazon.in: Kindle Store — Publisher- Granta Books
Genre- Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction
Rating- 4/5

“An earthquake fractures the present, shatters perspective, shifts memory plates.“

Rarely does one come across prose as raw and resplendent as this one. The emotions of the characters was portrayed beautifully in Neuman’s Fracture. It is rare for me to cry while reading a book but I cannot help it when an author writes with such unusual vividness to detail and memory.

Mr. Watanabe is a hibakusha– someone affected by the 1945 atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The book starts with Mr. Watanabe feeling the tremors of the 2011 earthquake that preceded the Fukushima nuclear disaster. The earthquake brings old wounds and experiences to the present. The novel is intermittently narrated through the eyes of four women- Violet from Paris, Lorrie from New York, Mariela from Argentina and Carmen from Madrid who speak about their acquaintance with Mr.Watanabe as well as politics in their respective countries, love and intimacy among others. They tell their own stories of loving Mr. Watanabe to a journalist who is obsessed with uncovering the past. Each character in the story has multiple perspectives and stories to tell and at the intersection of them all is the will to love in the face of catastrophes.

At the heart of the novel is the fatuousness of weapons and wars and the many lives that they affect, countless victims that they produce and the immeasurable amount of suffering that runs rife for a lifetime. Societies across the world are built around wars and its lingering memories, so imagine the multitude of emotions they still continue to evoke- from loss and longing to love and belonging.

One of the things that stood out for me is Yoshi Watanabe’s description of his admiration for the ancient art of Kintsugi (when a piece of pottery breaks, the Kintsugi craftspeople place powderd gold into each crack to emphasize the spot where the break occured) and how human beings are more or less the same- beautiful things emerge from broken things. [quoting Neuman, “Exposed rather than concealed, these fractures and their repair occupy a central place in the history of the object. By accentuating this memory, it is ennobled. Something that has survived damage can be considered more valuable, more beautiful.”] Fracture is about so many things but it is mostly about the fault lines and scars- whether physical or emotional or both- that each of us carry within ourselves for a lifetime and that remembering and acknowledging them is a braver exercise than forgetting. Our pain and our past experiences, whether good or bad, make us who we are and we must adorn them. Why strive to forget when there is beauty in remembering, in knowing and in being who you are?

Last year, I spent a considerable amount of my time researching on weapons, disarmament, war and humanitarian law so I was very keen on reading a novel that touches on these themes and one that is a blend of fact and fiction. This book is not only a book about war and love but also about grief, language and culture. I was a little confused at the end of the novel but I loved the first 95% or so. Fracture is a remarkable multi-layered novel, one that I’m hoping many more people will read.

The book has been translated from the Spanish by Nick Caistor and Lorenza Garcia. Thank you to Granta Books for sending me a review copy!

The Lying Life of Adults by Elena Ferrante tr. by Ann Goldstein

The Lying Life of Adults - Elena Ferrante — Publisher: Europa Editions
Genre: Coming-of-age, literary fiction, bildungsroman
Rating: 4.5/5

“Two years before leaving home my father said to my mother that I was very ugly.” When a book opens with a line like that, you know it’s going to be an immersive read with some brilliant characterization and a sublime plot. The way Ferrante selects the most quotidian things and paints them with her vivid imagination and lyrical writing, bringing them to life in her reader’s mind is nothing short of exquisite.

With ‘The Lying Life of Adults’, Ferrante has made her way into my most favourite writers of all time list. I read Days of Abandonment by her earlier this year and thoroughly enjoyed it. The Lying Life of Adults is another coming-of-age literary masterpiece by Ferrante. The book pulls you into the story of Giovanna from the very beginning. The story follows the story of Giovanna spanning her 13-16th year as she grapples with her own self as well as the lives of adults around her. She belongs to an affluent family with academic parents, who live in an affluent neighbourhood and have like-minded friends. She transforms from being a compliant and sometimes, a trophy child to finding her own voice and asserting herself in front of her family, friends and other like-minded people from the so-called intelligentsia of Naples.

She is inexplicably drawn towards her father’s side of the family, especially her aunt Vittoria- the most hated person in her family- someone who is considered ugly inside out by Giovanna’s parents. After her father calls Giovanna ugly and compares her to his sister Vittoria, Giovanna sets off on a journey to the depths of Naples (a place of squalor and vulgarity) and also to the depths of her self, family secrets and other relationships. Her journey from the heights of Naples to the depths of Naples marks not only a physical journey from the North to the South but also her transition from childhood to adolescent.

What I loved about this book is the recurring theme of the superficial and hypocritical lives that adults live- they expect their children to be a certain way when they grow up- to be honest, just, etc., but they themselves lead a two-faced life of lies and double standards. The lives of adults are divided by class and wealth but united by their knack for lying. The book also touches on many other themes such as the constructs of beauty, the male gaze, faith, love and lust among others. The mention of umpteen number of Italian delicacies and places in the books transports you to her character’s Neapolitan world and culture. All the characters in Giovanna’s story are brilliant and unique in their own ways- you will love some and hate some but you will not forget them.

I loved how the story took shape, how the characters and their relationships with one another evolved throughout the novel and it gripped me from the very beginning, I was unable to put it down at any point. The ending was a tad bit disappointing- I wish it were different but I loved the book nonetheless. Perfect for fans of Murakami’s Norwegian Wood and Sputnik Sweetheart or anyone who fancies coming-of-age novels with visceral and interesting characters.

Thank you to the publishers, Europa Editions UK for sending me a copy, I was beyond elated to have found this in my mail and I devoured it immediately.

Elastic by Johanne Bille tr. by Sherilyn Hellberg

Publishers: Lolli Editions
Genre: Queer literure, literary fiction, bildungsroman, coming-of-age
Rating: 5/5

Elastic- stretchable, malleable but also prone to slacking over time. That’s how I would describe Alice’s story- something that she herself doesn’t understand before it is too late. The book starts with the protagonist, Alice examining her vagina and feeling alienated from her own body and disconsolate about her sexuality.

She is content with her partner Simon, they love each other and live together and things are fine. Enter Mathilde, and Alice’s life changes. Mathilde is Alice’s colleague and Alice is drawn to Mathilde like a moth drawn to a flame. Enter Alexander – Mathilde’s husband – and things take an even more complicated turn. Alexander and Mathilde are in an open marriage and to get closer to Mathilde, Alice starts to sleep with Alexander. Alexander is merely the means to get to the end, to Mathilde.

Eventually, Alice also discovers secrets from Simon, and after that, it’s a roller coaster ride that takes us through this quadrilateral relationship- of love, of intimacy, of desire, of jealousy, of hate, of queerness, of identity and of feminine struggles.

Johanne Bille did a marvelous job with this book- amalgamating the many sides to human identity and relationships into one story narrated by Alice’s complex character. Despite the many themes and the many moods of Alice that the book touches upon, the writing is perspicuous through and through.

I thought, I thought and I thought and could not think of any adjectives to describe the book. The imagery is wonderful, the translation is lyrical, the writing is brilliant, the story is emotional and I just choked up in the end. Please read it, NOW.

Flexing Muscles by Ravikumar Kashi

*Publisher- Reliable Copy*
*Genre- Non-Fiction, Essay*
*Rating- 5/5*

Flexing Muscles is an amalgamation of a long form essay in English and Kannada by Ravikumar Kashi. The book is a meditation on the political flex banners that have helped shape the narrative of Bangalore in recent times. The book is replete with photographs collected by the author- of political flex banners and some ancient paintings which help us understand the format of present day flex banners. The author reflects on the history of flex banners and their significance in urban Bangalore’s visual popular culture and changing political narrative.

The essay is divided into five parts. In the first part titled ‘Navigating the City’, the author describes the changing demographic of Bangalore. He also writes about how Bangalore became the silicon valley of India and a cosmopolitan city.

In ‘Optics and Narratives’, the author reflects on the history of how flex banners became popular for reaching out to large audiences and their emergence in the city- flex banners were and continue to be a suitable medium for visual communication due to their cheap production costs and durability .

In ‘Posture and Position’, the author reflects on the format of flex banners- how the photos of the people on these political banners reflect the hierarchies and relationship between the persons- he also compares them to some paintings from the past. For instance- in a flex banner, the most prominent person’s image will be the largest and those of his followers will be smaller in size; similarly in a painting of Lord Vishnu, he occupies the center position and his character is greater in size than goddess Lakshmi who occupies a much smaller space in the painting – thus, there is a common thread that connects historical paintings and today’s flex banners.

In ‘Age of the Sene’ the author writes about an aggressive and chauvinistic side of Bangalore- the one that uses these flex banners to evoke authority, support and power from the local people. Multifarious sene groups have emerged on the scene in the last decade who seek to protect their culture, land and language from “outsiders”. They’ve taken up their roles as protectors exposing their hyper masculine intentions of protecting their supposedly feminine and fragile land and language.

In the last part titled ‘Echo Chamber’, the author writes about how the messages and sentiments expressed through flex banners is a significant one due to their scale and physical presence. Simply removing these banners does not change the latent anxieties that need to be resolved; by removing them, we make these anxieties invisible instead.

Political flex banners tell us a lot about an area- changing through time and space, marking new territories and shaping new narratives. Flexing Muscles is a book that explores the significance of these banners in present day visual culture and political narrative of Bangalore. It was a fast-paced essay and one that was well-researched and informative with interesting citations, illustrations and personal anecdotes. The Kannada version of the essay is also available in the same book. I enjoyed reading it thoroughly and would recommend it to anyone interested in learning and reading about Bangalore or flex banners.

A Silent Fury by Yuri Herrera tr. by Lisa Dillman

A Silent Fury: The El Bordo Mine Fire by Yuri Herrera — Publisher- And Other Stories
Genre- Non-Fiction, History
Rating- 3.5/5

A Silent Fury was a quick, medium-paced book which I finished in two sittings yesterday. It was a fascinating, informative and hair-curling read about the El Bordo mine fire which took place on the 10th of March in Pachuca, Mexico. I enjoyed reading the book but at times it did feel more like academic writing than a book.

The fire broke out and the alarm was raised at six in the morning. The shafts were sealed hastily after that and the company administrators declared that no more than ten lives remained inside the shafts. The administrators also very confidently assumed and proclaimed that those who were left inside were already dead since it would not take more than five minutes for the noxious gases to kill a person.

Once the mine was reopened after the fire, there were eighty-seven dead bodies- charred and disfigured, and also seven survivors. This is the turning point which highlights the ignorant and irresponsible actions of the company’s representatives. What seemed like an accident at first may have very well been a murder by the United States Smelting, Refining and Mining Company―the largest employer in the region.

Through this book, Yuri Herrera vividly exposes the bias and the war against workers by the judiciary, the company representatives and the media. He breaks the long silence on a wrong committed a century earlier. Herrera critically inspects the records left behind and forgotten a century after the incident took place. He also tries to analyze things that were never said or recorded, but should have been, for instance- how the women’s voices were stifled and the probe into the mine fire wherein the judge asked the inspector to look into a set of questions after the mine had already been cleaned post the fire. There was no probe into the Company representatives’ actions; or the discrepancies between what the representatives had to say about the fire and what the survivors had to say.

Herrera ends his book with a few more subsequent events that have highlighted workers’ abysmal conditions in Mexico and events that helped shape a movement. Herrera’s vexation about the misrepresentation of workers and their lives is evident on every page, as the title suggests- it is a silent fury.