Shailee Basu

New Passengers by Tine Høeg, tr. by Misha Hoekstra

Publisher- Lolli Editions
Genre- Bildungsroman, Fiction in verse, coming-of-age
Rating- 5/5

“I know I know I say

it’s a real mess

but it’s my body

it’s like it only exists
when it touches his

the rest of the time I’m this haze drifting about“

New Passengers was my fourth WITmonth read and it is the first verse novel I’ve ever read and one that I loved. I finished this in one sitting today. The book is divided into months (August-December) and follows the unnamed narrator’s discovery of herself, her young feminine identity and what it means to be an adult. The novel starts with the narrator boarding the daily commute train from Copenhagen to Naestved where she’s landed a new job as a teacher in a school. On the train, she meets a married man to whom she is drawn irrevocably; and what follows are events through which the narrator confronts her own identity coupled with her relationship with this man. In between all of this exists her id- which does not let her extricate herself from this man and, her ego- which reminds her of the uneasiness and the immorality of infidelity.

The book flows with such lucidness and that too with sparse words- fiction that reads and looks like poetry. The translation was beautiful and captured all the nuances. Evocative, perspicuous and fact-paced like that of a train but also reflective, New Passengers is an amalgamation of love, reflections on adulthood and feminine identity in the contemporary world. I think the design of the book speaks so much for itself with the rectangle(s) on the chapter page that somewhat resembled commuter train carriages. With each progressing month, there is an extra rectangle/ carriage and by December (the last month), it was a complete commuter train. For me, this resembled closure and the start of a new adulthood.

I loved the coming-of-age story. I’m not sure but I think if I had to fit this into a genre, it would definitely be bildungsroman. This was definitely one of my favourite books in fiction this year and from what I can tell, will continue to be a favourite for days to come!

New Passengers was first published in Danish in 2017 titled ‘Nye rejsende’ and later translated into English by Misha Hoekstra which will be out on 10th September 2020! The book won the Englush PEN award and also ‘Bogforum’s Debutantpris’, the prize awarded each year for Denmark’s best literary debut.

Flights by Olga Tokarczuk, tr. by Jennifer Croft

I’ve wanted to read Flights ever since it was longlisted for the International Booker Prize in 2018 and since I saw a copy of the book at one of the stands at a bookstore inside Bangalore Airport. I was mostly drawn to the book due to its title and the plain cobalt blue cover, only later did I realize that Fitzcarraldo Editions has the same cover design for all their fiction novels.

Flights is a collection of vignettes- wayward and yet connected to anatomy, motion, psychology and travel somehow. I cannot say that I loved the book wholly and I cannot extrapolate the rules of synecdoche to this book since it was too different. I was indifferent to some parts of the book and the rest, I loved. It was difficult to understand her writing initially because, for the longest time, I kept trying to wrap my head around – what exactly is this book about? what is the purpose? But I think giving up on trying to find the “meaning or purpose” of this book helped me appreciate this a lot more. I just needed to let the book be, unfurl on its own and so when I ask you to read this with an open mind, please do. Don’t try to figure out what is happening or what is going to happen or the purpose. It’s a multifaceted book and an amalgamation of some visceral vignettes with brilliant prose. Some parts are so hauntingly vivid and some are just average or pointless but then again, the purpose of this book is that it honestly doesn’t have any, and I think that is pretty cool. It’s the kind of book that will either pull you into its lyrical and vivid prose or it will just confound you- for me, it did both. It was kind of like a flight taking off with exhilaration and then landing with some uneasy turbulence.

I’m in awe with the amount of research put into this book- I loved the bits about the Glasmensch by Franz Tschackert in the German Hygiene museum and the stories of the Dutch anatomist Filip Verheyen who dissected and drew pictures of his own amputated leg. I’m a fan of anatomy museums and I love watching carcasses of animals or human fetuses or other body parts float in glass jars, so this was 10/10 for me. I also love how Tokarczuk’s writing is embedded with compassion for the environment and animals (I loved ‘Ataturks Reforms’, ‘Whales or Drowning in Air’, and ‘On the Origin of Species’). A soft corner for the peculiar, the unfamiliar and the marginalized is at the heart of her writing [quoting Tokarczuk, “I’m not interested in the patters so scrutinized by statistics that everyone celebrated with a familiar, satisfied smile on their faces. My weakness is for teratology and for freaks. I believe, unswervingly, agonizingly, that it is in freaks that Being breaks through to the surface and reveals its true nature”]. One of my favourite vignettes is ‘Your Head in the World’ where she talks about her psychology degree, which also took me back to those two years when I superficially studied Psychology in junior college [quoting Tokarczuk, “What we learned at university was that we are made up of defences, of shields and armour, that we are cities whose architecture essentially comes down to walls, ramparts, strongholds: bunker states”].

Somewhere in the middle of the book, I read up on Olga Tokarczuk’s life and novels and also this particular novel and it kind of helped me appreciate the book a little more. As for the translation, I do not know Polish but I can say with some conviction that Croft’s translation does not disappoint. This book definitely calls for a re-read for a better understanding I guess!

Igifu by Scholastique Mukasonga, tr. by Jordan Stump

Igifu,
Scholastique Mukasonga tr. by Jordan Stump
Published by Archipelago Books
Genre- Autobiographical fiction, Short Stories
Rating: 5/5

“In Nyamata,’ my mother used to say, ‘you must never forget: we’re Inyenzi, we’re cockroaches, snakes, vermin. Whenever you meet a soldier or a militiaman or a stranger, remember: he’s planning to kill you, and he knows he will, one day or another, him or someone else”.

Igifu, or hunger, is a collection of autobiographical stories by the French-Rwandan author Scholastique Mukasonga and is translated from the French to English by Jordan Stump. In the centre of these stories is the collective grief and predicament of Tutsis -the living, the dead and the exiled – before and after the Rawandan genocide. Each story is heartwrenchingly beautiful, visceral and permeates through all yours senses.

The first story in the book is called ‘Igifu’, where the author takes us through a literary experience of hunger- of what it means to have this implacable tormentor within and what it does to the human body and mind. They knew how to satiate Igifu when they had their cows but the cows were taken away and killed, and the Tutsis were abandoned on the sterile soil of the Bugesera, Igifu’s kingdom. (“Igifu woke you long before the chattering birds announced the first light of dawn, he stretched out the blazing afternoon hours, he stayed at your side on the mat to bedevil your sleep. He was the heartless magician who conjured up lying mirages: the sight of a heap of steaming beans or a beautiful white ball of manioc paste, the glorious smell of the sauce on a huge dish of bananas, the sound of roast corn crackling over a charcoal fire, and then just when you were about to reach out for that mouthwatering food it would all dissolve like the mist on the swamp, and then you heard Igifu cackling deep in your stomach.”)

The second story is called “The Glorious Cow” where the author reminisces the halcyon days of when they had a lot of cows. The cows were given names, looked after and were the most important members in the family. Here, we learn the cultural and agricultural importance of the cow in Tutsi families. Milk after all, helped keep Igifu away. The third story, which almost had me in tears is called “Fear”- the fear of the sound of boots, of soldiers planning to kill, where you have to be quicker than death. Fear is their guardian angel, it helps them stay alert and awake for when death knocks, you have to run faster than death. The fourth story is called “The Curse of Beauty”- of how beauty was the greatest sorrow in the life of a Tutsi woman that extricated her from her husband, her son and herself. The last story in the book is “Grief”- here, the author writes about what it is like to lose people to a genocide and what it takes to come to terms with it (“That strength lives in you too, don’t let anyone try to tell you to get over your loss, not if that means saying goodbye to your dead. You can’t: they’ll never leave you, they stay by your side to give you the courage to live, to triumph over obstacles, whether here in Rwanda or abroad, if you go back. They’re always beside you, and you can always depend on them.”)

Igifu was my first read for Women in Translation month. WITMonth started in response to literary blogger Meytal Radzinski’s observation that only around 30% of books published in translation were by women. The purpose is to support women writers in translations and to bridge the gap through reading, reviewing and discussing books by women writers in translations.

Season of Crimson Blossoms by Abubakar Adam Ibrahim

Season of Crimson Blossoms,

by Abubakar Adam Ibrahim,

Published by Speaking Tiger (2017)

Genre: Literary Fiction, Contemporary fiction

Rating: 5/5

The writing in Season of Crimson Blossoms is unlike anything I’ve ever read. I was interested in the title since the book is centered around Nigerian Muslims- a place and religion that I know next to nothing about. I would definitely call this literary fiction since the book focused more on characters rather than the plot (which I loved).

Plot and Other Thoughts

The book indubitably has one of the best opening lines I’ve ever read- “Hajiya Binta Zubairu was finally born at fifty-five when a dark-lipped rogue with short, spiky hair, like a field of miniscule anthills, scaled her fence and landed, boots and all, in the puddle that was her heart“. Hajiya Binta is 55, a widow and falls for a 25 year old Reza, a hoodlum who breaks into her house one afternoon but aborts this mission of his as soon as he notices a golden tooth in her mouth because it reminds him of his mother. In each other, both the characters find someone from their past that they loved and lost – Hajiya sees a glimpse of her deceased son in Reza and Reza sees a glimpse of his mother in Hajiya. Hence, their illicit love affair and longings unfurls against a backdrop of political corruption, violence, religious fundamentalism and patriarchal society in Nigeria. Their clandestine story is one that walks a forbidden path and defies age, class and religion. Through Reza, Hajiya is able to enjoy herself and no longer has to repress her desires of love and lust- which she did in her marriage with Zubairu (someone she was forced to marry at a very young age).

In an ideal world, Hajiya should be free to love and have sex with whomever she chooses to without having to think about others. Hajiya should not have to hide the most basic desires in life from her friends and family, but she does. These are the costs that we pay for loving and longing someone of our choice in a country and society that is marred with religion, patriarchy, violence and corruption. The book’s plot, religious settings and people’s mentalities were not very different from those found in my own country and hence it was relatively easier for me to ease into the story and understand the characters. Hindu or Muslim, India or Nigeria- we (not me, trust me) like our women (and also men) to be a certain way and to live up to harsh standards of a patriarchal society.

The novel is not only about the love affair between Hajiya and Reza but also builds up really well on the moods of other characters- their thoughts, experiences and desires in a violence and corruption ridden country. Throughout the course of the novel we read about the intense desires, troubles and emotions; such as trauma, jealousy and loneliness of each of these characters.

Conclusion

I love a book that is this layered and that peels off beautifully. The characters and some of the incidents linger long after you’ve read the book and I think that is wonderful. Definitely one of the best finds I’ve made this year. I also loved the literary references made in the book, I made a list of all the books that were mentioned in the novel. The only problematic thing about the book was the umpteen number of phrases and words in Hausa, I would have preferred some translation in parentheses. I’m definitely looking forward to more of his writing. After reading the book I realized that there is a glossary of the Hausa phrases available on the internet, please click here to find it.

“When I think about my childhood, I feel the best times came before one began to seek pleasure in the bodies of others…”: Sachin Kundalkar’s ‘Cobalt Blue’ (Translated by Jerry Pinto)

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There are books that you read through which you’re able to uncover undertows of your own existence- this is one of them. My penchant for heart-wrenching stories emanates from a sense of my own being. All of us are inextricably linked with one another and we like things that remind us of ourselves and our lives, the sense of familiarity is comforting and what’s unknown is exciting. Looking for bits and pieces of us in things and people is inexorable, which is why we love things that are “relatable”. Cobalt Blue was one such book, it was more like an experience that brought lumps in my throat at times and I loved every bit of it.

What a heart-wrenching tale of love, or rather two distinct lovers- Tanay and Anuja who happen to be siblings and who fall in love with the same person- an anonymous tenant. It is narrated by the siblings in two parts- first Tanay and then Anuja. Cobalt Blue is a story of commonality of love, loss, and longing that is shared between Tanay and Anuja, that takes them on nothing short of a roller-coaster ride; yet they do not communicate this with each other. The book was replete with familiar surroundings and feelings for me- Pune and love found and lost. The author has beautifully brought to life two relationships together, one homosexual and the other heterosexual. Truly a masterpiece and one of the finest pieces of translated fiction I’ve ever read. I’m looking forward to reading this in Marathi, the language in which it was originally written but rest assured, Jerry Pinto has kept the translation faultless.

Following is a quote borrowed from Jerry Pinto’s Translator’s note ~

“You realize that this is how we grieve, how we remember, in the present tense and in the past, all at once, because the imagined future must now be abandoned”

Perhaps this is how stories end, quickly, and with a future suddenly left uncertain with the absence of the person you didn’t imagine you’d have to live without. At the intersection of the beautiful prose by Pinto and Kundalkar’s intentions, lies a magnum-opus of LGBT literature; not only does it touch upon a gay relationship but also a bisexual one. Also, on another note, pride month ends but pride continues.

Post Script– Wrote this review last month immediately after finishing the book, hence the pride month reference. I did not read this because I should be reading LGBT literature during Pride month by the way, LGBT literature should be consumed as naturally as any other. Consume them like you consume your greens or legumes. I’ve had a reading hangover since I’ve read Cobalt Blue, this book is intoxicating and one that I’m definitely going to re-read.

“The circle of an empty day is brutal…”: Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante tr. by Ann Goldstein

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I read Ties by Domenico Starnone and loved it, I was particularly interested in Days of Abandonment because both books explore the fallout of a husband’s fidelity. The book was an emotional ride for me, it was depressing and I loved it. Starnone and Ferrante are married to each other and both their books touch upon the theme of a husband who leaves his wife and two children for a younger woman. Both also involve an old neighbor and a pet. Ferrante explores the mental agony of the wife after her husband abandons her and the turbulent aftermath of the marital betrayal; whereas, Starnone writes about the mental agony of the wife, the husband and lastly the children in three parts.

The novel is set in Turin where Olga lives with her husband Mario, her children Illaria and Gianni and their dog Otto. One day, Mario declares that he does not want to be with her anymore. The novel captures the wife’s descent into madness and finally finding some semblance after her husband deserts her for a much younger woman. Their neighbour Carrano also plays a significant role in the novel. Reading the book was almost similar to experiencing a real life vertigo- Olga’s suffering throughout the novel was portrayed brilliantly. It was raw, vulnerable, and a true description of the id. There is no sugar coating. Olga has given her husband everything- she carried him through his education years to raising his children and their home (quoting Olga, “I had taken away my own time and added it to his, to make him more powerful. I had put aside my own aspirations to go along with his. At every crisis of despair I had set aside my own crises to comfort him. I had disappeared into his minutes, into his hours, so that he could concentrate“).

She mentions at one point “We don’t know anything about people, even those with whom we share everything“. The veils of marriage, striving to be perfect for one another, the facades of personalities and pretence of being someone else for the sake of one another are shattered one by one throughout the novel; if only Olga had displayed this vulnerable side within the marriage. Not giving spoilers but the novel does not end badly, Olga learns to move on, to accept that life outside Mario is possible (quoting Olga,”What a mistake, above all, it had been to believe that I couldn’t live without him, when for a long time I had not been at all certain that I was alive with him“). She realizes that she did not feel like herself with him, she felt like another version of him, always adjusting and evolving according to his needs and desires.

Concluding Thoughts

I’ve already mentioned how reading the novel was similar to experiencing a vertigo for me. All in all, Ferrante paints a terrific picture of a wife’s mental descent during the days of her abandonment. It was beautiful, raw and visceral. Moreover, it is a reminder of how fragile human relationships are, how indecipherable people can be and how overcoming is difficult yet possible.

Domonico Starnone, Ties (Translated by Jhumpa Lahiri from the Italian ‘Lacci’)

Think of the book, Starnone’s writing and Lahiri’s translation as a puff pastry- there are so many layers to it, when you eat it you don’t realize, but the moment someone takes you through the process of making that perfect puff pastry you realize the intricacies of making the pastry, the umpteen number of layers and the richness between those layers. The book is exactly like that.

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****.5/5

I just finished reading Ties earlier toady, thus completing 20 books this year. More than the number of books, the quality and diversity of books that I read matter more to me. So I’ve been reading a number of books at once- Once and Forever: The Tales of Kenji Miyazawa by Kenji Miyazawa, Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri, Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men by Caroline Criado-Perez and Modern Love. As much as I want to finish An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness by Kay Redfield Jaminson, my mind is inching closer to DNF’ing it.

If you’re reading Ties, please start by reading the Introduction by Lahiri, it provides some context to the family of Vanda, Aldo, Sandro and Anna and their tumultuous relationships with one another and as a family. Read it also because it is an interesting anecdote about Lahiri’s tryst with the book.

“Ties” is a story of a marriage and but also extends to other relationships, such as one with children, and lovers outside marriage. The book speaks about empty spaces, dead ends and about the communication that is dead between spouses. There is a lot more to it which seethes under the surface as beautifully imagined by Starnone. Think of the book, Starnone’s writing and Lahiri’s translation as a puff pastry- there are so many layers to it, when you eat it you don’t realize, but the moment someone takes you through the process of making that perfect puff pastry you realize the intricacies of making the pastry, the umpteen number of layers. The book is exactly like that, in the beginning it does not strike you as anything extraordinary. As you start progressing and as the author takes you through the different viewpoints of the characters, you understand the underlying emotions, the fault lines and everything in between. Starnone delves deep into the hearts and minds of the characters and makes the ordinary, extraordinary. It is a multi-faceted story about a broken marriage with children as its innocent victims. It is about what works, what doesn’t, who pretends and who doesn’t.

Concluding Thoughts

I loved Ties, it is one of those novels that just covered me with a sense of equanimity and warmth. I do not understand Italian but Lahiri’s translation of the book did not feel inadequate anywhere throughout the novel which is often the case with translated works. What disappointed me about the book was the characters’ reluctance to communicate effectively with one another, it was always expressed through frustration and repression, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. Domenico Starnone is married to Elena Ferrante who is the author of The Days of Abandonment, another story about a broken marriage, so I am really looking forward to reading that one next.

A place to call home: Pune

I was reading Kundera’s ‘The unbearable lightness of being’ when I came across this line-

“and now he realized that those years were more attractive in retrospect than they were when he was living them”

It strikes a rather painful chord inside me but having realized this bitter truth now, I’ll make an effort to may be not complain about my life in the present. I would often complain to my friends about Pune- how people are not crazy about books, education, music, culture, etc. but I was only ignorant. (How many maharashtrian friends did I have anyway?) The Bengali chauvinist inside me would die within a week of stepping into Calcutta. I would miss Pune terribly- the cleaner roads, the better weather, the better friends, lesser politics, the freedom of wearing shorter clothes, of not being leered at and everything else. Pune gave me a place to breathe and be myself- this was extremely difficult in Calcutta, being surrounded by a so-called ‘upper caste’ family who were inherently bigoted, casteist, capitalist and sexist even though they were not inherently ‘bad people’. It is only because of Pune that I had friends that belonged to different classes, castes and cultures. I wonder how much of that would have been possible if I stayed back in Calcutta, studying at La Martiniere, where everything is inherently linked to status, class and caste. Mixing with people from the so called ‘lower caste’ was looked down upon, at least within our social circle in South Kolkata.

Pune not only introduced me to misal pav, pohe, dabeli, and puran poli but also to neer dosa, filter coffee, dal bati churma, puliyogare, malai kofta and Kashmiri kahwa tea- such was the diversity within my circle of friends and also my parents’. I cannot think of a city more cosmopolitan and more tolerant towards other cultures- something that I find seriously problematic living in Benagluru or hearing from my friends and relatives back in Delhi. I don’t think people in Pune care enough- as long as there is good food, loud guffaws, a little fervour during Ganesh Chaturthi, we mind our own business at the end of the day and nobody cares enough to argue on whose culture is better or worse and why. We will embrace yours without expecting anything in return. I’ll never say Pune is the best city to live in, but I sure as well had the greatest time of my life there. We may not have the best airport, not even a decent one but try stepping out of the airport and you’ll know what I am talking about. We sure have a house in Bengaluru now, two more houses and most of my family in Calcutta, and I am mostly in Cuttack for law school, but there is no other place other than Pune I would call home. And now, more than ever have I realized the stark and sombre difference between a house and a home and perhaps this is why, I find myself belonging more to the state which is a gateway to both- the north and the south.

Happy Maharashtra Day!

Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air

*****

I’ve read various books and memoirs of people battling life altering diseases such as Tuesdays with Morrie- a story about life from conversations between a student and his professor who is diagnosed with ALS, The Last Lecture- lessons on life from a computer science educator diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was recommended to read this book by a friend last year who told me it was ‘crazy'(she meant deeply moving and crazy in a good way). A little late to the party but like the adage goes- better late than never.

Paul Kalanithi was an Indian-American neurosurgeon and writer and he was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer towards the end of his decade long training as a neurosurgeon. He provides an insight into his life as a literature student, as a scientist, as a doctor, as a husband, as a father, as a son, as a brother and as a person battling cancer. The book is divided into two halves- the first half is about him training to become a doctor and treating the dying and the second half is about him coming to terms with his cancer and the prospect of death. According to goodreads, this books is about Kalinithi wrestling to answer questions such as- What makes life worth living in the face of death? What do you do when the future, no longer a ladder toward your goals in life, flattens out into a perpetual present? What does it mean to have a child, to nurture a new life as another fades away?

Concluding Thoughts

I was able to understand and muse about many philosophical questions pertaining to life and death through Kalanithis writing. His descriptions of life, death, suffering, relationships, children and allusions to multifarious pieces of literature paint vivid images for the reader to understand. I’m going to keep this short because nothing I say will compare to the emotional roller-coaster that this book takes you on. It is not a joyride, but surely a ride worth experiencing. The most heart wrenching part of the book indubitably is the epilogue, written by Lucy Kalanithi, Paul’s wife which was deeply moving and I could feel tears roll down my face. It was empathizing, emotional and relatable because I lost someone I loved dearly few years ago. To me, the book was more like a memoir on being alive rather than dying.

Sally Rooney, Normal People

*****

I’ve managed to read quite a few books in the past two months (not a lot by normal standards but compared to last year, this is quite A LOT for me since I do not recall reading anything other than Shaw, Brownlie, numerous ICRC reports on autonomous weapons, ICJ judgements and a plethora of other international law stuff that Jessup required) and I devoured this book in almost one sitting. I heard so much about this book ever since it was long-listed for the Man Booker Prize 2018 but I ended up buying Milkman, the book that went on to win the Booker Prize 2018, from Blossom Book House and ignored this beauty. To be honest, I still haven’t gotten around to finishing Milkman. It’s quite rare for me to find fiction books nowadays that keep me hooked till the very end and books that I read while on a call, while eating, while brushing my teeth but finally- I was so glad I picked this one up. I kept reading it even when I was on a call with my boyfriend (sorry, if you’re reading this) and while waiting for my pizza to bake in the oven.

This book touches upon class, gender, sexuality, mental health and human relationships revolving around the microcosm of love. Connell and Marianne have grown up in the same rural town of Sligo in Ireland and also attend school together. Connell belongs to a working class family and his mother works as a cleaner at Marianne’s mansion. Connell goes to Marianne’s house after school to pick up his mother so that they can go home together, within this time he gets familiar with Marianne. Marianne is ordinary, least interested in parties, far from popular and friendless and Connell is quite the opposite- not the kind who loves parties but the kind who attends them anyway. They get intimate once and Connell is persistent on keeping their relationship a secret from everyone else at school. Hence, a connection blossoms between the two of them which they carry with them throughout the novel. Both of them apply to Trinity for college and both of them get in and things take a sudden turn. Marianne is popular, admired, a party goer if not a party person and Connell finds himself on the opposite end of the spectrum- less friends, unpopular and quite lonely. They get together, they part ways and see other people only to come back to each other. They discover that their lives are inexplicably related and they fall out only to fall back into each other’s lives one way or another.

Concluding Thoughts

I’ve already written about how much the book was un-put-down-able for me. I absolutely loved it even though at times I detested a few things that Connell and Marianne did but life’s not perfect but makes sense as a whole and that’s what the book is about. I also loved the writing, Rooney’s writing flows like poetry, it felt as if I was really present and that I was actually experiencing the story in Sligo, in Dublin, in Marianne’s mansion, at Connell’s house and everywhere else. Cannot think of a better book to enjoy with my umpteen number of green tea cups and coffee mugs when Bengaluru rains.