Review: Broken Homes & Gardens by Rebecca Kelley

To be published:- April, 2015

Published by:- Blank Slate Press

Star rating:-


It is nigh impossible to banish the specter of sky-high expectations for a book which proudly advertises itself as the When Harry Met Sally for the millenial generation. That movie has been comfort food for the lonely and the lovelorn and the ones navigating the treacherous waters of friends-and-a-little-morerelationships for decades now. 

So potential readers and Nora Ephron fans, better be forewarned that the central characters here are not even pale imitations of Harry Burns and Sally Albright. Neither does Malcolm possess Harry's infuriatingly self-assured persona nor does Joanna manage to embody Sally's quirkiness and emotional vulnerabilities. More often than not they come off as people with no discernible character traits - they flicker in and out of focus like shadowy silhouettes in a hazily lit room. Their friendship is never fleshed out for the reader's benefit. In fact the only conversations they have are completely devoid of any wit or substance and merely border on good-natured flirtation.

Malcolm and Joanna meet at a party and make out without even exchanging proper greetings first. Malcolm flies out to Kazakhstan the very next day for 2 years with the Peace Corps during which time they maintain a correspondence through hand-written letters - yes you read that right - not emails or the phone because nothing puts a dampener on romance like modern technological innovations! When Malcolm shifts back to Portland after the designated time period, they keep hovering around each other, doing the mating dance without actually acting on their mutual attraction. They make bad decisions which would have been acceptable had they not appeared as deliberately manufactured unrealistic plot contrivances to delay their eventual union.

Long story short this is a bit like Harry Met Sally but not quite. It tries to sell the illusion of an unorthodox, fantasy love instead of conveying the truth of how relationships work in reality which brought Nora Ephron's creations universal adulation in the first place. However, on the plus side, there's no casual sexism here - Malcolm does not patronize Joanna like Harry aggressively dismisses Sally's opinions in the movie. (But then we are no longer in the 90s) It has all the trappings of a regular chicklit novel except without the mediocre writing and the abundance of idiotic cliches. And quite readable if not compulsively so.

As long as you are not craving for Nora Ephron-level insight into the quotidian comedy and heartbreak of relationships but light reading which does not require complete suspension of disbelief, Rebecca Kelley will keep you entertained.
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**with thanks to Blank Slate Press and Netgalley for the ARC**

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Also published on Goodreads and Amazon.

 

Review: The Summer Before the Dark by Dorris Lessing

First published:-2009

Star rating:-

Read in:-November, 2013

Before it all slips away from my feeble psychological grasp, before the after-effects start wearing off, let me write it all out. About the summer before the dark.

The first thing that struck me while reading was this - Fuck purple prose. Or red or maroon or magenta prose for that matter. (And I say this in full acknowledgement of the fact that my prose is often closer to purple than any other color.) Screw post-modernism and its deliberate way of being obtuse, obscure, snarky. Screw all that.

Because this is it. This is what I want to achieve if I were to attempt writing a stream of consciousness novel some day. This laying bare of all the everyday inner battles a woman wages with her conscience, with society, with those hunters lined up on the sidewalk eyeing her with the interest of a sexual predator as she walks home in that form-fitting dress. Delving this deep into the psyche of a human being who navigates the space of a few months rapidly changing disguises never knowing which of them are closer to her real self, but in prose so beautifully self-evident. The things nobody in the world is bothered about because all of it is so awfully pedestrian. After all, there's nothing remotely tantalizing about an upper class woman having perfunctory sex in a passionless affair or caring for her husband, her children, molding her existence around their schedules. There's barely any appreciation for what she is doing for society at large by playing the forever-at-your-service comfort-giver. The way she is working a thankless job, drifting through life mostly invisible in the eyes of the ones who surround her. 

This is how Virginia Woolf would have written if she had been alive right now. Because Mrs Kate Brown is nothing but a slightly modified modern day avatar of Clarissa Dalloway or Mrs Ramsay. Her insecurities about her steadily whitening hair and declining sex appeal maybe belittled as a rich white woman's first world problems but pay a little attention to them and you will see how universal and all-encompassing her gripe with patriarchy is. 

"She marries because to get married young is to prove herself; and then it must be as if she has inside her an organ capable of absorbing and giving off thousands of watts of Love, Attention, Flattery, and this organ has been working at full capacity, but she can't switch the thing off."

This is what I can only hope to do some day. Make my words bite, sting and burn those who read them. Force them to ponder upon devoured words for extended periods of time.

But does it really deserve 5 stars? Perhaps not, especially in light of the portions where the narrative loses sight of its destination in one of its countless meanderings and gives us the impression that we are trapped in the quagmire of Kate's own inner chaos. But then I am already in awe of Doris Lessing's voice and its power, her way of systematically eviscerating an unequal partnership where the husband is somehow in command of his own life but the wife isn't, her way of cutting open and dissecting motherhood, magnifying each one of its ignored, glossed over aspects for us to see clearly. I love the way this perfectly ordinary Kate Brown with her ordinary name gets under my skin and burrows through my insides, making me so deeply uncomfortable, coercing me into reconsidering my view of the women I have known closely over the years. 

How elegantly she bridges the gap between the inner and outer worlds of an individual and yet in the simplest of manners! And that, for me, is a 5-star achievement. 

 

Sarah Dessen and More

Caution:- The following is essentially a review of Dessen's latest book 'The Moon and More', but written in a pretty non-conventional way. So prepare to feel a little exasperated if you were only looking for a plot summary, overview and general deconstruction.

In a parallel universe Sarah Dessen and I may have been intimate friends. But thanks to reality playing spoil sport and imposing barriers of physical distance, cultural and age differences, I can only ever dream of being on first name basis with her.

I discovered Dessen's books during a formative period in my life, in those much feared years when we are transitioning into adulthood from our hapless teens, and held onto her stories for dear life, every time I had to get over a period of depression (possibly induced by a break down of relations with a friend or someone more than a friend) or whenever serious literature lost its appeal in my eyes. Perhaps, this is the point where you start scoffing at YA, lose interest in this review and proceed to ask -

"How much of an insight into real life problems can a mere YA writer provide us with?"

My answer is, you'll be surprised to know.

Prior to my fortunate discovery of Dessen's works, I had a very skewed view of American teens, believing them to be animals prowling the jungle called high school, all replicas of stereotypical characters (the jock-bullies, hot blonde cheerleaders, shy, geeky brunettes, bespectacled nerds who often have their heads flushed down toilets, Goths, social rejects and so on and so forth) shown in mediocre tv shows.

So it will be an understatement to say that Sarah Dessen made me heave a sigh of relief. For the first time ever, I realized all American teens may not be the violent brutes or weirdos I had naively assumed them to be, that they may not be that much apart from their Indian/Asian counterparts, and maybe just as humane and flawed as we are. They have their own moments of mute desperation, struggle to come to terms changes about to materialize and more importantly their relationships with their parents are not close to nonexistent. (contrary to beliefs held by a wide majority of Indians). In other words, Dessen's books throw light on real issues plaguing teens - drug addiction, sexual awakening, destitution, homelessness, unplanned pregnancy, irresponsible/abusive parents.

Her protagonists are adolescent young girls, usually hailing from broken families (raised by divorced/estranged/single parents) who navigate the many challenges life brings them face to face with as they attempt to transition into responsible adulthood. They are soft-spoken, do not throw unnecessary tantrums but go about their business exuding a quiet confidence, deal maturely with first stirrings of romantic attraction instead of melting into gooey puddles, learn a few life lessons all within the scope of a few hundred pages.

Dessen manages to make the story of their lives come alive. As if this was happening somewhere in time, in some other part of the world completely alien to my Indian self. And I was being given a privileged peek into the unfolding of a series of events neither too dramatic nor tinged with a touch of unreality.
There's no dramatic reunion between emotionally absent father and estranged daughter, there's no hot sexual tension existing between the romantic leads, there's no promise of a forever after. There are no violent arguments between disagreeing parents and rebellious kids either.

Dessen understands well that life is a bundle of imperfections. So instead of giving us a too-good-to-be-true antidote to all problems, a neat tying up of all loose ends, she gives us hope.
Hope for a future where the possibility of that neat tying up of all loose ends remains alive.

Her style is minimalistic. She never pretends that she is writing anything but YA or does not give into the temptation of showcasing her command over words or sentence construction, unlike a certain John Green who often goes overboard in his enthusiasm to create a line of distinction between other YA writers and himself. She only tells a story in her own simple, elegant yet understated manner, expecting us to read, enjoy and understand.

But I guess I have outgrown that period of attachment with Dessen's headstrong but dignified young adult heroines. I can no longer devour her stories with a kind of pleasant smile playing about my lips or shed tears as easily as I used to.

Even though I liked Emaline's tale of coming of age or the way she learnt how to hold on to her past while embracing a future, I did not retain anything from the story as soon as Emaline's last summer of high school life ended. I guess I am no longer the confused, disoriented girl struggling to find her place in life like most of her protagonists. And I am no longer as young as I used to be.

(A 3.5 stars to The Moon and More.)

But even so, Sarah Dessen and I go way back. She has been my companion since when I had willfully shunned the company of people I knew in real life. And I still can't seem to resist the urge to squeal like a little girl every time she responds to my tweet. So if she writes another book, I'll most certainly read it if not for anything else then for old times' sake. And who knows? Maybe I'll enjoy it too.

Review : Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth by Xiaolu Guo

(Original review posted on Goodreads:- March 9, 2013) 

Sometimes I get this nagging suspicion that there's a greater conspiracy at work to make women writers all over the world feel unloved and unappreciated.
*cough* V.S. Naipaul *cough*

There's a deliberateness in the way most fiction authored by women is either labelled 'chick lit' and dismissed right away without a second thought or made light of under various other excuses.

Why else would this book have an average rating below 3.5 on Goodreads?

Let me offer you a word of advice. Don't go by the beautiful cover, it is highly deceptive.
Neither is Xiaolu Guo's protagonist half as slender or as pretty the girl on it nor is this book about a girl navigating her way through the world of dating and singles and finding her 'one true love' who sees her 'inner beauty'.

Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth brings into focus the position of women in a country rapidly elevating itself to a position of profound importance in the global arena but curiously enough, lacking conspicuously in the human rights department.
It explores themes of isolation, urban boredom, the sheer tragedy of everyday life, personal freedom and the deep disconnect between an increasingly authoritative Communist regime and disillusioned citizens, in a quintessentially nonchalant manner.

Xiaolu Guo's heroine Fenfang speaks in a slangy Chinese, swears often and has extremely messy living habits. She is strangely apathetic to the happenings in her own life and has the rare ability of analyzing most aspects of it with a matter-of-factness that is as scary as it is unique.
After having quit the disturbingly monotonous life in the countryside where her parents are but humble farmers with little variety in their daily routines, a starry-eyed Fenfang comes to Beijing with dreams of becoming a film actress or a script-writer. But quickly she discovers, the city is not all that it is hyped up to be. Directors aren't interested in casting her as the lead, script-writers and producers won't even read stories 'written by a woman' let alone accepting them as scripts for tv shows. And the old-fashioned folks of her neighborhood who take pride in sporting red Communist armbands to boot, are disapproving of the smartly dressed, independent, young female who has the audacity to bring a man home at night.
Refusing to lose heart, Fenfang starts working as extras on film and tv drama sets and slowly but surely begins carving out a niche for herself. She makes peace with stalkers, violent, physically absent, insensitive boyfriends, the cockroaches in her apartment and even the police who arrest her just to deliver a lecture on ideal behavior expected of an 'unmarried woman' and the unreasonableness of a woman being too 'individualistic'.
But even in the midst of these bleakest of surroundings, she finds an answer to the eternally baffling question of what true freedom really means.

This book has tried to lay Beijing bare - reveal the ugly side of a city which still insists upon practising blatant sexism and vigilantly guarding obsolete ideals in the 21st century, while maintaining the facade of rapid infrastructural development.
And it has helped me come to the realization that it is indeed possible to merge pertinent socio-political issues seamlessly with an otherwise ordinary story of an ordinary girl.

Neither has Xiaolu Guo tried to present this book as highbrow literature nor has she made the effort to write long, verbose sentences replete with symbolism or imagery. Instead she has directed her energies at highlighting the predicament of the young, modern woman all over the world and especially in a country like China, where the so-called 'weaker sex' is still not in the driver's seat. And for me, this is an achievement she deserves praise for.

A 3.5 stars rounded off to a willing, impressed 4 stars.