This book by Camilla Gibbs is about the inner-conflicts of an English muslim nurse. born to hippie parents who dont believe in rooting themselves in one place, Lily is cared by a Muslim sufi guru, and is taught to read the Quran in Morocco. she then makes a journey to Ethiopia, and begins another life as a young woman there, teaching Quran to children, and falling in love with a Sudanese doctor whose modern outlook sometimes contrasts with her more Islamic views. she later loses touch with him as she flees Ethiopia, becomes a nurse and returns to her homeland, England, only that she finds herself unable to assimilate with the culture because of her dislocation. when an Indian doctor expresses his interest in her, she has to face the conflicts, and later comes to terms with the issue and finally lets go of her love.
this is a tender love story that also grapples with the political issues of Ethiopia as well as postcolonial issues of rootlessness, dislocation and relocation of a person that affects her identity. this story also exposes the readers to the world of Sufism , and a closer look into the Islam world through the everyday lives of Muslims.
i'll give this 7 out of 10.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Saturday, November 3, 2007
The English Patient: A Review
i was at a second hand book shop and was browsing through the literature section when i came across this book. yes, the title is familiar, and it's written by Michael Ondaatje, whose novel Coming Through Slaughter we studied for 20th century literature class. well the price was good, so without anymore thoughts i bought the book. only when i was in the staffroom did i realised that the cover of the book might be a tad intimate. i asked my friend "is this provocative for our school?" she nodded vehemently with a grin "yes it is provocative". so i covered the book, which reminds of the days when i was in seri puteri (my students would roll their eyes and groan if they read this recollection of the days in seri puteri), when we used to cover our romance novels (banned in school) with white paper.
okay, back to the book. yes, it has an english patient. but the english patient, as immobile intelligent and cultured man as he is, is not the protagonist. in fact, the protagonists are his nurse, and the Sikh sapper who only makes his appearance in the book after a few pages. thus, he decentralises the role of protagonist from the assumption reader will deduce when reading the title.
ondaatje uses the technique of flashback skillfully, which gives a reader an intimate look into their lives. this is a sensual book, of how love is expressed not sexually, but through intimacy, and is understood and accepted unselfishly.
1 plus point, i like ondaatje's painting of words which he has done beautifully. there are beautiful phrases in the book, which i should mention later on (should i remember). this book won the man booker prize of 1992.
okay, back to the book. yes, it has an english patient. but the english patient, as immobile intelligent and cultured man as he is, is not the protagonist. in fact, the protagonists are his nurse, and the Sikh sapper who only makes his appearance in the book after a few pages. thus, he decentralises the role of protagonist from the assumption reader will deduce when reading the title.
ondaatje uses the technique of flashback skillfully, which gives a reader an intimate look into their lives. this is a sensual book, of how love is expressed not sexually, but through intimacy, and is understood and accepted unselfishly.
1 plus point, i like ondaatje's painting of words which he has done beautifully. there are beautiful phrases in the book, which i should mention later on (should i remember). this book won the man booker prize of 1992.
Romeo and Juliet: Star-Crossed Lovers
Romeo and Juliet is bard's most famous play in the world, and it is now being studied by students taking Literature in English paper for SPM for the new cycle which started last year. last year, one of my students studied the play while the rest did Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw. this year, i hope that my current Literature student, Keshen Antioni, will work hard and finish his novel asap before we can embark on this play.
most people shun away from Shakespearean plays. my first introduction to Shakespeare was by reading Charles and Mary Lamb's painless summary of the play at the age of 12. when i was in Seri Puteri and was actively involved in the English Soc., we had to stage A Merchant of Venice when i was 15, and A Midsummer Night's Dream when i was 16. thus, my passion for literature began.
the play Romeo and Juliet is about the innocence of love. Romeo is just 15 and Juliet is 13. both come from warring families, Romeo is from the house of Montague and Juliet is a Capulet. on their first meeting, Romeo falls in love at first sight and wishes to kiss Juliet:
Romeo: If i profane by my unworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips two blushing Pilgrims ready to stand,
To smooth the rough touch with a gentle kiss
...
Juliet:Saints do not move, though for grant for prayers sake.
Romeo: Then move not while my prayer's effect i take, from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd.
Juliet: then have my lips the sin they have took.
Romeo: sin from my lips, O tresspass sweetly urg'd: give me my sin again.
Such is the passion these lovers have. However, they learn the cold hard truth about their families:
Romeo: Is she a Capulet, oh dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.
Juliet: My only love sprung from my only hate,
Too early seen, unknown, and known too late,
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Thus a tragedy strikes, the tragedy of twisted fate that surrounds them. And yet, youth’s optimism and love do not fail. Romeo, lovesick after meeting Juliet at the mask ball, steals into the Capulet garden and thus begins the most romantic scene in theatre history – the balcony scene.
Romeo: but soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun.
….
Juliet: O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
The hatred of both families is so great, and yet these lovers represent the hope for a truce with their innocent love, which can outweigh the hatred. The love is deep, says Juliet “My love as deep, the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”
Later, the two lovers are married secretly by Friar Laurence, who sees the union of these two as the instrument of bringing peace between the two warring houses.
Friar Laurence: In one respect I’ll thy assistant be:
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
Scarcely after getting married, Romeo is banished from Verona for killing Tybalt, Juliet’s cousin. Lord Capulet intends to marry Juliet to a young man called Paris, thus Juliet is in a dilemma. The only solution is to drink a potion that will render Juliet deathlike. The news of Juliet’s death reaches Romeo, unfortunately Friar’s messenger fail to deliver the message to Romeo that this is only a ruse. He buys a poison from an apothecary and sets to Verona to gaze at his beloved for the last time, drinks the poison, and dies beside Juliet. Juliet then wakes up from her deep slumber and finds a cup:
Juliet: What’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand?
Poison I see hath been his timeless end:
O churl, drunk all? And left no friendly drop
To help me after, I will kiss thy lips
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restorative.
Thy lips are warm.
For Juliet, life has no meaning without her Romeo, who represents hope and happiness amidst the family feuds. Thus, she exercises the marriage vows “till death do us part” and kills herself with a dagger, not wanting to live without her Romeo.
However, the lovers death bring peace to the Montagues and the Capulets, but with a heavy price.
And thus concludes the love story of Romeo and Juliet, who love with a passion but are victims of fate.
most people shun away from Shakespearean plays. my first introduction to Shakespeare was by reading Charles and Mary Lamb's painless summary of the play at the age of 12. when i was in Seri Puteri and was actively involved in the English Soc., we had to stage A Merchant of Venice when i was 15, and A Midsummer Night's Dream when i was 16. thus, my passion for literature began.
the play Romeo and Juliet is about the innocence of love. Romeo is just 15 and Juliet is 13. both come from warring families, Romeo is from the house of Montague and Juliet is a Capulet. on their first meeting, Romeo falls in love at first sight and wishes to kiss Juliet:
Romeo: If i profane by my unworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips two blushing Pilgrims ready to stand,
To smooth the rough touch with a gentle kiss
...
Juliet:Saints do not move, though for grant for prayers sake.
Romeo: Then move not while my prayer's effect i take, from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd.
Juliet: then have my lips the sin they have took.
Romeo: sin from my lips, O tresspass sweetly urg'd: give me my sin again.
Such is the passion these lovers have. However, they learn the cold hard truth about their families:
Romeo: Is she a Capulet, oh dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.
Juliet: My only love sprung from my only hate,
Too early seen, unknown, and known too late,
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Thus a tragedy strikes, the tragedy of twisted fate that surrounds them. And yet, youth’s optimism and love do not fail. Romeo, lovesick after meeting Juliet at the mask ball, steals into the Capulet garden and thus begins the most romantic scene in theatre history – the balcony scene.
Romeo: but soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun.
….
Juliet: O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
The hatred of both families is so great, and yet these lovers represent the hope for a truce with their innocent love, which can outweigh the hatred. The love is deep, says Juliet “My love as deep, the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”
Later, the two lovers are married secretly by Friar Laurence, who sees the union of these two as the instrument of bringing peace between the two warring houses.
Friar Laurence: In one respect I’ll thy assistant be:
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
Scarcely after getting married, Romeo is banished from Verona for killing Tybalt, Juliet’s cousin. Lord Capulet intends to marry Juliet to a young man called Paris, thus Juliet is in a dilemma. The only solution is to drink a potion that will render Juliet deathlike. The news of Juliet’s death reaches Romeo, unfortunately Friar’s messenger fail to deliver the message to Romeo that this is only a ruse. He buys a poison from an apothecary and sets to Verona to gaze at his beloved for the last time, drinks the poison, and dies beside Juliet. Juliet then wakes up from her deep slumber and finds a cup:
Juliet: What’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand?
Poison I see hath been his timeless end:
O churl, drunk all? And left no friendly drop
To help me after, I will kiss thy lips
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restorative.
Thy lips are warm.
For Juliet, life has no meaning without her Romeo, who represents hope and happiness amidst the family feuds. Thus, she exercises the marriage vows “till death do us part” and kills herself with a dagger, not wanting to live without her Romeo.
However, the lovers death bring peace to the Montagues and the Capulets, but with a heavy price.
And thus concludes the love story of Romeo and Juliet, who love with a passion but are victims of fate.
Note to Nash: this is a spur of the moment thingy, so you can see that i didnt include any critical analysis hehehe...i've my own reasons for writing this.
A Book Review on Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown
contrary to it's title which sounds like the story of a clown straight from a children's book, rushdie's novels are never intended for children. his novels deal with the changing faces in postmodern societies which include cultural hybridity, liminal spaces, national identity, and sociopolitical stands which include Nehru's secular model as well as communalism which he dislikes.
if in midnight's children the hybrid space is his beloved city bombay, and in the moor's last sigh it's Palimpstine, then in shalimar the clown, the hybrid space is kashmir. he writes abt the beauty and the harmony that existed in kashmir as different cultures and religions co-exist, and the marriage of boonyi kaul with and shalimar the clown proves this. rushdie also speaks of elements which threaten the peace of kashmir - which include communalism and the arrival of mat sallehs.
the story ends in a morbid note though. killing secularism and the chances of cultural hybridity is the same like killing ourselves. may be that's his message. on a personal note, i dont quite like this novel for its morbidity. i prefer Midnight's Chiildren for its brilliance and exuberance. which, of course, won him the Booker of the Booker prize...
if in midnight's children the hybrid space is his beloved city bombay, and in the moor's last sigh it's Palimpstine, then in shalimar the clown, the hybrid space is kashmir. he writes abt the beauty and the harmony that existed in kashmir as different cultures and religions co-exist, and the marriage of boonyi kaul with and shalimar the clown proves this. rushdie also speaks of elements which threaten the peace of kashmir - which include communalism and the arrival of mat sallehs.
the story ends in a morbid note though. killing secularism and the chances of cultural hybridity is the same like killing ourselves. may be that's his message. on a personal note, i dont quite like this novel for its morbidity. i prefer Midnight's Chiildren for its brilliance and exuberance. which, of course, won him the Booker of the Booker prize...
memoirs of a geisha: a review
the movie came out earlier this year. i've yet to watch the movie, but according to gina, it's slooowww. well, i can just imagine that it's as slow as the da vinci code. i read memoirs of a geisha to gauge how good the book is. my honest opinion? it's too slow for me.
yes, the story opens a new world to us - the world of the geishas and their lives as entertainers (and as dignified upperclass gros). when i read the book, i wasnt too excited to know wat's going to happen next. i had to force myself to read more than 10 pages a day...and that says a lot, since i had to read a lot of difficult literary texts when i was doing my masters.
just like the da vinci code which received a lot of hoo haas from worldwide readers, this book didnt leave me a lasting impression. in fact, there's no impression at all, except that it's the type of light reading you can take up when you're at the beach or when there's a flight delay.
i remember reading kazuo ishiguro's the remains of the day which won him the booker prize in the 90s. sure, it's not as exciting, but the difference between a good read (usually that means literary text) and just plain pulp fiction is that a good read will lead you to ponder about life - truly ponder about life. the remains of the day is a story about an english butler, so dedicated to his work that he never realises the love the housekeeper has for him...later in his life when he's growing old does he realise his feelings for her. and then it's too late.
another tip: good writers dont present us the story, they want us to interact with it, so they dont reveal everything and let us wonder.
yes, the story opens a new world to us - the world of the geishas and their lives as entertainers (and as dignified upperclass gros). when i read the book, i wasnt too excited to know wat's going to happen next. i had to force myself to read more than 10 pages a day...and that says a lot, since i had to read a lot of difficult literary texts when i was doing my masters.
just like the da vinci code which received a lot of hoo haas from worldwide readers, this book didnt leave me a lasting impression. in fact, there's no impression at all, except that it's the type of light reading you can take up when you're at the beach or when there's a flight delay.
i remember reading kazuo ishiguro's the remains of the day which won him the booker prize in the 90s. sure, it's not as exciting, but the difference between a good read (usually that means literary text) and just plain pulp fiction is that a good read will lead you to ponder about life - truly ponder about life. the remains of the day is a story about an english butler, so dedicated to his work that he never realises the love the housekeeper has for him...later in his life when he's growing old does he realise his feelings for her. and then it's too late.
another tip: good writers dont present us the story, they want us to interact with it, so they dont reveal everything and let us wonder.
Nora's Poem: A Tale of A Wanderer
A wanderer never stops her journey,
Walking through a maze of blur shapes
I am trudging my weary feet,
To an unknown destination.
Worn till hopes are cracked to dust.
The wind howls,
Articulating the pain.
Tears course through the lifeless
Veins of earth.
The quest is too long
The treasure too elusive.
I’m bent by every failure,
Till I drop to my knees and weep bitterly.
Je suis fatiguee′.
Je suis fatiguee′.
Walking through a maze of blur shapes
I am trudging my weary feet,
To an unknown destination.
Worn till hopes are cracked to dust.
The wind howls,
Articulating the pain.
Tears course through the lifeless
Veins of earth.
The quest is too long
The treasure too elusive.
I’m bent by every failure,
Till I drop to my knees and weep bitterly.
Je suis fatiguee′.
Je suis fatiguee′.
The Fraternity of Literature Scholars
when i first enrolled to do my postgrad in 2001, i didnt know wat i got myself into. i understood that i took the road less travelled by, as Frost writes it, but i never knew the impact it was to have on my life.
unlike the other majors which attract a lot of students such as medicine, education, business admin, economics, law and computer science; english literature attracts only a small group of people probably because only bookworms can stand reading 4 novels a week, and those who are poets and writers at heart can understand the aesthetic values of the literary texts.
in the 1st semester, i met Kak Non and Kak Fazi, who, like me, received scholarship, but theirs was from BPG and mine was under federal scholarship. we bonded immediately, and had dinners and lunches together in bangsar with another coursemate, Jayasree, also a teacher who had to dash here and there as she's in a sports school. there was Elison, a very witty lawyer, (but then again, which lawyer isnt witty? i know a lot of lawyers...they always have something to say about something) who thought that literature would be a breeze, just like the paper she sat for STPM. hmm...she would always arrive late for our Friday afternoon classes, in her lawyer ensemble of black and white, and Assoc. Prof Dr Su would frown at her and remind her to not be tardy again. it was also Elison who was barred from entering the library for 2 weeks because she was caught talking to her client on the phone in the library *grin*. then there was the fresh Literature graduates - david, christine, emily and puphinder. the first few months were hard since we didnt understand wat the lecturers wanted, but they were the ones who eased the tension in the class. they were the ones in charge of photocopying handouts or novels or literary criticisms. then there was Kasi, a quiet man from Sg Petani. a thinker, but doesnt say much. and Tik Shaiza who like Jayasree, had to dash from her school to class and was always tired.
it was harder for us, because this was not a lecture style class. this was a seminar style class and each of us was responsible in covering a certain writer or, for literary theory, a certain theory or theorist or philosopher. and wat i meant by covering a certain writer was that we had to read at least 2 novels of that writer (for the paper presenter) and to discuss an issue, say, the impact of colonialism in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness or the feminist perspective in Margaret Atwood's novels. the lecturer would be throwing questions, and then we would discuss. i remember that we were once told to stay put during our 20th century literature because we didnt finish reading Virginina Woolf. we would come early to class and sat down to finish reading th novels. nearby, the M.Ed. students were noisily discussing their assignment. we were quiet. those were the days.
the class that i enjoyed the most was The Rennaissance, simply because the one who taught it was Prof Lim, the most noted Literature lecturer in Malaysia. we would gawk at him when he started reciting Shakespeare or Donne or Milton out of nowhere in that deep resonant voice of his. he was later my internal examiner for the grading of my dissertation. the subject which was really mindboggling was Literary Theory, because we had to read up a lot of theories and who said wat that it was all a blur. the only theorists i can remember now is Genette (who wrote abt narratology), Barthes (the death of the author), Foucault (i hope to god he's the one who wrote abt deconstruction and abt knowledge being the power), Freud (yes, the perverted man who thinks everything is governed by desire, and that baby girls have sexual desire for the father and baby boys have sexual desire for the mother), Lacan (who wrote abt our alter ego), the feminists Simone de Beauvoir, Helene Cixous and postcolonial theorists such as Stuart Hall and Homi Bhabha. yes it was mindboggling...not to say the least, and the only one who excelled in this (in fact, excelled in every class) is my fren Nash. we told him not to ask us questions if we're presenting...and if it's not our turn, we told him to talk a lot so that the lecturer wouldnt ask us questions. nash impressed the lecturers, naturally... we would spend saturday lunches together, talking nothing else but literature. yes, to some of you it's boring, but it's actually mind stimulating. then there was iris madonna de cruz, but who is a muslim actually. a typical motherly type who was there to give me advice but was clueless about computers.
all of us are in this battle together, and wat my supervisor told wasnt nice to hear "not everyone who take this course can graduate". it's true wat she said though, because so many of our frens have given up. but it was during this time, when understanding, patience, perseverance were needed, that we would give our shoulders to cry on to each other. it wasnt easy to write a 7000 word essay for the final exam. it was difficult to write up a dissertation of about 30 000 words and then to meet the high standards that the English Dept has set. there were tears of frustration, and of dejection, of self-esteem going down the drain. Dr Carol was so sweet to enquire abt the progress of my dissertation and to give suggestions. i would say that Kak Non was there for me when i was frustrated. Nash was there to help me with the arguments, and David gave me pointers on the steps i had to take. some had left, like Elison, who is too busy with work that she doesnt have the time to sit n read (except for court cases). now that i've graduated it s my turn to help the others. i had a discussion with shaiza who is starting her dissertation, and sent her a book that i thought might help her. i pestered kak non to complete her edgar allen poe analysis. and nash... i told him to sit down and finish the dissertation..once and for all, instead of flying everywhere around the world presenting papers at lit conferences.
only through struggle do we triumph. going through this course, i realised that i'm a better writer, better thinker, able to present ideas critically and a better speaker. it also helps me to understand life better because literature is, after all, a slice of life. to the fraternity of literature scholars, hang on in there.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield - Alfred, Lord Tennyson
unlike the other majors which attract a lot of students such as medicine, education, business admin, economics, law and computer science; english literature attracts only a small group of people probably because only bookworms can stand reading 4 novels a week, and those who are poets and writers at heart can understand the aesthetic values of the literary texts.
in the 1st semester, i met Kak Non and Kak Fazi, who, like me, received scholarship, but theirs was from BPG and mine was under federal scholarship. we bonded immediately, and had dinners and lunches together in bangsar with another coursemate, Jayasree, also a teacher who had to dash here and there as she's in a sports school. there was Elison, a very witty lawyer, (but then again, which lawyer isnt witty? i know a lot of lawyers...they always have something to say about something) who thought that literature would be a breeze, just like the paper she sat for STPM. hmm...she would always arrive late for our Friday afternoon classes, in her lawyer ensemble of black and white, and Assoc. Prof Dr Su would frown at her and remind her to not be tardy again. it was also Elison who was barred from entering the library for 2 weeks because she was caught talking to her client on the phone in the library *grin*. then there was the fresh Literature graduates - david, christine, emily and puphinder. the first few months were hard since we didnt understand wat the lecturers wanted, but they were the ones who eased the tension in the class. they were the ones in charge of photocopying handouts or novels or literary criticisms. then there was Kasi, a quiet man from Sg Petani. a thinker, but doesnt say much. and Tik Shaiza who like Jayasree, had to dash from her school to class and was always tired.
it was harder for us, because this was not a lecture style class. this was a seminar style class and each of us was responsible in covering a certain writer or, for literary theory, a certain theory or theorist or philosopher. and wat i meant by covering a certain writer was that we had to read at least 2 novels of that writer (for the paper presenter) and to discuss an issue, say, the impact of colonialism in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness or the feminist perspective in Margaret Atwood's novels. the lecturer would be throwing questions, and then we would discuss. i remember that we were once told to stay put during our 20th century literature because we didnt finish reading Virginina Woolf. we would come early to class and sat down to finish reading th novels. nearby, the M.Ed. students were noisily discussing their assignment. we were quiet. those were the days.
the class that i enjoyed the most was The Rennaissance, simply because the one who taught it was Prof Lim, the most noted Literature lecturer in Malaysia. we would gawk at him when he started reciting Shakespeare or Donne or Milton out of nowhere in that deep resonant voice of his. he was later my internal examiner for the grading of my dissertation. the subject which was really mindboggling was Literary Theory, because we had to read up a lot of theories and who said wat that it was all a blur. the only theorists i can remember now is Genette (who wrote abt narratology), Barthes (the death of the author), Foucault (i hope to god he's the one who wrote abt deconstruction and abt knowledge being the power), Freud (yes, the perverted man who thinks everything is governed by desire, and that baby girls have sexual desire for the father and baby boys have sexual desire for the mother), Lacan (who wrote abt our alter ego), the feminists Simone de Beauvoir, Helene Cixous and postcolonial theorists such as Stuart Hall and Homi Bhabha. yes it was mindboggling...not to say the least, and the only one who excelled in this (in fact, excelled in every class) is my fren Nash. we told him not to ask us questions if we're presenting...and if it's not our turn, we told him to talk a lot so that the lecturer wouldnt ask us questions. nash impressed the lecturers, naturally... we would spend saturday lunches together, talking nothing else but literature. yes, to some of you it's boring, but it's actually mind stimulating. then there was iris madonna de cruz, but who is a muslim actually. a typical motherly type who was there to give me advice but was clueless about computers.
all of us are in this battle together, and wat my supervisor told wasnt nice to hear "not everyone who take this course can graduate". it's true wat she said though, because so many of our frens have given up. but it was during this time, when understanding, patience, perseverance were needed, that we would give our shoulders to cry on to each other. it wasnt easy to write a 7000 word essay for the final exam. it was difficult to write up a dissertation of about 30 000 words and then to meet the high standards that the English Dept has set. there were tears of frustration, and of dejection, of self-esteem going down the drain. Dr Carol was so sweet to enquire abt the progress of my dissertation and to give suggestions. i would say that Kak Non was there for me when i was frustrated. Nash was there to help me with the arguments, and David gave me pointers on the steps i had to take. some had left, like Elison, who is too busy with work that she doesnt have the time to sit n read (except for court cases). now that i've graduated it s my turn to help the others. i had a discussion with shaiza who is starting her dissertation, and sent her a book that i thought might help her. i pestered kak non to complete her edgar allen poe analysis. and nash... i told him to sit down and finish the dissertation..once and for all, instead of flying everywhere around the world presenting papers at lit conferences.
only through struggle do we triumph. going through this course, i realised that i'm a better writer, better thinker, able to present ideas critically and a better speaker. it also helps me to understand life better because literature is, after all, a slice of life. to the fraternity of literature scholars, hang on in there.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield - Alfred, Lord Tennyson
a book review: the kite runner by khaled hosseini
"for you, a thousand times over."
a guru cemerlang lent me this book when i visited her house last month. knowing that i'm a literary buff, she wanted me to experience the whole gamut of feelings.
unlike any other postcolonial novels that i've read before (which is always set in india), this story takes place in afghanistan and later in the US. it's a story of a rich boy craving for his great father's attention and love, and how jealousy leads him to do an unforgiveable thing - which is to watch his half-brother, hassan,(which is revealed near to the end of the story), who was born to serve him; sodomised by his rival, and not do anything to stop it. what is even more touching is that, the half -brother, is so devoted to his "master", and always he'd say to his Amir agha "for you, a thousand times over". amir, as a boy, cannot forgive himself for his silence and is reminded of his crime as he sees hassan everyday. this guilt conscience leads him to frame the half-brother for a theft.
only as a man does he discover the true identity of hassan, and he struggles to redeem himself by trying to adopt hassan's son, his nephew, and bring him to america.
what do i think of this book? hmm...probably slightly above the average, though not as bad as arundhati roy's first novel the god of small things. to be sure, hosseini knows how to manipulate the readers' emotions, and i was affected when i read the part when hassan is sodomised, but this is like a roller-coaster ride, when your adrenaline rush is the greatest when you descend. after the 2nd roller-coaster descend, i'm beginning to get bored. seriously, i was even waiting for the 3rd one. anticipation by a reader is not good for a writer. it kills the sense of unexpected.
well, the story ends happily, conflicts resolved as amir gains redemption through the smile of his nephew in the land of american dream.
okla, he had me when he has hassan says "for you, a thousand times over".
a guru cemerlang lent me this book when i visited her house last month. knowing that i'm a literary buff, she wanted me to experience the whole gamut of feelings.
unlike any other postcolonial novels that i've read before (which is always set in india), this story takes place in afghanistan and later in the US. it's a story of a rich boy craving for his great father's attention and love, and how jealousy leads him to do an unforgiveable thing - which is to watch his half-brother, hassan,(which is revealed near to the end of the story), who was born to serve him; sodomised by his rival, and not do anything to stop it. what is even more touching is that, the half -brother, is so devoted to his "master", and always he'd say to his Amir agha "for you, a thousand times over". amir, as a boy, cannot forgive himself for his silence and is reminded of his crime as he sees hassan everyday. this guilt conscience leads him to frame the half-brother for a theft.
only as a man does he discover the true identity of hassan, and he struggles to redeem himself by trying to adopt hassan's son, his nephew, and bring him to america.
what do i think of this book? hmm...probably slightly above the average, though not as bad as arundhati roy's first novel the god of small things. to be sure, hosseini knows how to manipulate the readers' emotions, and i was affected when i read the part when hassan is sodomised, but this is like a roller-coaster ride, when your adrenaline rush is the greatest when you descend. after the 2nd roller-coaster descend, i'm beginning to get bored. seriously, i was even waiting for the 3rd one. anticipation by a reader is not good for a writer. it kills the sense of unexpected.
well, the story ends happily, conflicts resolved as amir gains redemption through the smile of his nephew in the land of american dream.
okla, he had me when he has hassan says "for you, a thousand times over".
Song of the Sea: Laments of a Heart: A Tale of Innocence
In solitude
I crossleg on the millions of granules,
witnessing the birth of a new day.
It's peaceful around here.
Before me spreads a priceless painting,
Splashes of pink and orange spice the dull blue.
entitled "happy colours of the innocence".
Strange as it seems, the colours that remind me of you
are created on this land.
As children we breathed the same salty breeze.
We frolicked under the same sun.
We watched the high and the ebb.
But I had strayed from our playground.
And you, with the gentleness of the lapping
waves in June,
brought me back.
We were the innocence.
We confided our dreams,
We laughed, and we shared.
But today there are only regrets and a sharp pang.
This emptiness in me will no longer be filled with innocence.
The waves still lap gently.
They come and retreat.
I'm sitting here alone
Realising I can never catch my waves.
Realising I will miss you a lifetime.
penned on this day, 29th June 2003.
I crossleg on the millions of granules,
witnessing the birth of a new day.
It's peaceful around here.
Before me spreads a priceless painting,
Splashes of pink and orange spice the dull blue.
entitled "happy colours of the innocence".
Strange as it seems, the colours that remind me of you
are created on this land.
As children we breathed the same salty breeze.
We frolicked under the same sun.
We watched the high and the ebb.
But I had strayed from our playground.
And you, with the gentleness of the lapping
waves in June,
brought me back.
We were the innocence.
We confided our dreams,
We laughed, and we shared.
But today there are only regrets and a sharp pang.
This emptiness in me will no longer be filled with innocence.
The waves still lap gently.
They come and retreat.
I'm sitting here alone
Realising I can never catch my waves.
Realising I will miss you a lifetime.
penned on this day, 29th June 2003.
Song of the Sea: Collecting Shells
In the midst of the calm morning sea,
I left fresh footsteps in the wet brown sand.
The peach globe was radiant and well-pleased,
listening to the orchestrated waves.
I couldnt help myself but smiled,
And looking down,
I was a girl once more.
There lay a curved row of beautiful treasures
of pink, brown and white.
I bent down and picked one.
With each piece I was reminded
of visits with my father,
listening to his tales of fishermen
reading the stars to sail home with their bounty;
eagles would fly majestically to signify the end of monsoon.
To the South China Sea
I paid homage and re-lived the ritual,
collecting treasures of the sea.
This is my land,
And the shells bind me to it.
penned on 6th June 07.
I left fresh footsteps in the wet brown sand.
The peach globe was radiant and well-pleased,
listening to the orchestrated waves.
I couldnt help myself but smiled,
And looking down,
I was a girl once more.
There lay a curved row of beautiful treasures
of pink, brown and white.
I bent down and picked one.
With each piece I was reminded
of visits with my father,
listening to his tales of fishermen
reading the stars to sail home with their bounty;
eagles would fly majestically to signify the end of monsoon.
To the South China Sea
I paid homage and re-lived the ritual,
collecting treasures of the sea.
This is my land,
And the shells bind me to it.
penned on 6th June 07.
A Book Review: The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai
it's been my ambition to read novels that won the booker prize. my most favourite so far are Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children (which won the Booker Prize 1981 and Booker of the Booker prize, for the best novel of all the booker prize winners in 25 years) and Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance (poor mistry, the novel has been shortlisted 3 times for the booker prize...but he's good!).
The Inheritance of Loss won last year's booker prize. if Kiran's surname sounds familiar, that's because her mother is the world-renowned writer Anita Desai (whose novel Fasting, Feasting is currently in the syllabus for cycle 7 of Literature in English). disappointed with The Kite Runner, i read this book with much trepidation. but, i'm much pleasantly surprised to find that the book has a lot of substance and is meatier and flavourful, thus reading it is as fulfilling as eating a piece of caramel cheesecake.
unlike Khosseini, Desai is a serious writer as she brings forth the postcolonial issues. she discusses the issues of displacement - displaced Indians in Western countries which is personified by Biju, the cook's son, who goes to America with no proper documents and has to dodge the immigration and suffer the displacement, being so far away from home. the book also portrays displaced expatriates and locals in Nepal. we have the judge, Jemubhal Patel, the anglophile judge who lives a strict life and expects English tea and scones, and dines on Western cuisines. his neighbours - Nimi and Lola, Father Booty (an expatriate whose visa expired for 25 years) and Uncle Potty- are all closeted anglophiles who are wary of the locals' intentions.
desai also raises the issues of the concept of a country, (which reminds me of Homi bhabha's the location of culture) if a country is a concept, is it real? is a country made up of locals who shun away foreign cultures, especially the colonial culture, or is it a hybrid nation?
so why the title? the characters all suffer a loss - the judge, who loses his real self and covers himself with a facade of an austere demeanour and refusing to acknowledge human compassion and love; his granddaughter who has never felt love (having lost both parents in a car crash) even from her grandfather, father booty who loses his land and sheep to the state, the 2 sisters who suffer a loss of identity - after being in the small upper crust of society, they're downgraded because of their race; Biju, who finally realises that working in the land of milk and honey is not worth it because he misses his father.
yes, this book is thought-provoking. it doesnt really appeal to the crude emotions, but rather it subtly questions us. if there is a flaw, i'd say that there are too many characters to focus on. however, the diction is wide-ranging, accurate and beautiful.
no wonder this book won the man booker prize of 2006.
The Inheritance of Loss won last year's booker prize. if Kiran's surname sounds familiar, that's because her mother is the world-renowned writer Anita Desai (whose novel Fasting, Feasting is currently in the syllabus for cycle 7 of Literature in English). disappointed with The Kite Runner, i read this book with much trepidation. but, i'm much pleasantly surprised to find that the book has a lot of substance and is meatier and flavourful, thus reading it is as fulfilling as eating a piece of caramel cheesecake.
unlike Khosseini, Desai is a serious writer as she brings forth the postcolonial issues. she discusses the issues of displacement - displaced Indians in Western countries which is personified by Biju, the cook's son, who goes to America with no proper documents and has to dodge the immigration and suffer the displacement, being so far away from home. the book also portrays displaced expatriates and locals in Nepal. we have the judge, Jemubhal Patel, the anglophile judge who lives a strict life and expects English tea and scones, and dines on Western cuisines. his neighbours - Nimi and Lola, Father Booty (an expatriate whose visa expired for 25 years) and Uncle Potty- are all closeted anglophiles who are wary of the locals' intentions.
desai also raises the issues of the concept of a country, (which reminds me of Homi bhabha's the location of culture) if a country is a concept, is it real? is a country made up of locals who shun away foreign cultures, especially the colonial culture, or is it a hybrid nation?
so why the title? the characters all suffer a loss - the judge, who loses his real self and covers himself with a facade of an austere demeanour and refusing to acknowledge human compassion and love; his granddaughter who has never felt love (having lost both parents in a car crash) even from her grandfather, father booty who loses his land and sheep to the state, the 2 sisters who suffer a loss of identity - after being in the small upper crust of society, they're downgraded because of their race; Biju, who finally realises that working in the land of milk and honey is not worth it because he misses his father.
yes, this book is thought-provoking. it doesnt really appeal to the crude emotions, but rather it subtly questions us. if there is a flaw, i'd say that there are too many characters to focus on. however, the diction is wide-ranging, accurate and beautiful.
no wonder this book won the man booker prize of 2006.
when the colonised struck the empire:a postcolonial commentary in conjunction with Malaysia's 50th National Day
i'm now watching "rising of great powers" on history channel. as someone who's been exposed to colonialism and postcolonial theory, i'm much appalled by what i've learnt in this programme.
this episode tells of how the great powers during the rennaissance era, portugal and spain, coveted spices that would bring them more wealth. spain and portugal then signed a treaty which partitioned their control of the seas. spain took the americas while portugal, as we know it, claimed asia. thus, these two countries plundered and raped the other countries' natural resources which included gold and silver from the americas, and spices from asia. in later centuries, great britain decided to get her share too, and like a parasite, sucked india's wealth. that is why india was called "the jewel of the empire".
colonialism entails the power expansion of one country over other countries. this hegemony does not only mean territorial expansion, but also monopoly of the country's resources. they also brought western modernisation, and assumed that the "savages" need to be civilised and thus the whites carried "the white man's burden", of educating the "savages" to become better than their forefathers, but not in anyway better than the whites. in short, the colonial power is a parasite and a psycho. unfortunately though, this parasite and psycho still exists in the form of one country who tries to convince the rest of the world that they're doing justice when in fact all they want is the control of the oil.
for years, the belief that everything about the west is superior is imprinted in the minds of the colonised and also postcolonial societies. the rise of the educated from the third world countries, such as Edward Said (author of Orientalism), Homi Bhabha (author of the Location of Culture) and Frantz Fanon (author of Black Skin, White Mask) helped to produce postcolonial theory, which fights back the colonialism and seeks to redefine the position of power of the colonisers and the marginalised or the colonised. it also redefines the identity of a postcolonial nation.
from the perspective of postcolonial theory then, the Occident has no right in asserting its power over the East. true, the europeans brought with them modernisation, but it came at a great expense - the loss of our national treasures. the civilisations of the colonised are as great or perhaps, greater than the europeans - India's civilisation dates back thousands of years before, the Africans also had their civilisation just like we the malaysians had our civilisations hundreds of years before the Brits came.
so why do we prefer the western cultures then? why do asian women colour their hair blond or red? why do they wear skimpy clothes? why do we want to copy them, when we have our own values? this is another way of how hegemony works - the hegemony of the minds.
education is a means of freeing oneself from the hegemony.
we're a postcolonial nation which has redefined our identity. no one should tell us how to talk, how to eat, how to dress, how to act. we live according to our moral values.
be proud to be a malaysian.
this episode tells of how the great powers during the rennaissance era, portugal and spain, coveted spices that would bring them more wealth. spain and portugal then signed a treaty which partitioned their control of the seas. spain took the americas while portugal, as we know it, claimed asia. thus, these two countries plundered and raped the other countries' natural resources which included gold and silver from the americas, and spices from asia. in later centuries, great britain decided to get her share too, and like a parasite, sucked india's wealth. that is why india was called "the jewel of the empire".
colonialism entails the power expansion of one country over other countries. this hegemony does not only mean territorial expansion, but also monopoly of the country's resources. they also brought western modernisation, and assumed that the "savages" need to be civilised and thus the whites carried "the white man's burden", of educating the "savages" to become better than their forefathers, but not in anyway better than the whites. in short, the colonial power is a parasite and a psycho. unfortunately though, this parasite and psycho still exists in the form of one country who tries to convince the rest of the world that they're doing justice when in fact all they want is the control of the oil.
for years, the belief that everything about the west is superior is imprinted in the minds of the colonised and also postcolonial societies. the rise of the educated from the third world countries, such as Edward Said (author of Orientalism), Homi Bhabha (author of the Location of Culture) and Frantz Fanon (author of Black Skin, White Mask) helped to produce postcolonial theory, which fights back the colonialism and seeks to redefine the position of power of the colonisers and the marginalised or the colonised. it also redefines the identity of a postcolonial nation.
from the perspective of postcolonial theory then, the Occident has no right in asserting its power over the East. true, the europeans brought with them modernisation, but it came at a great expense - the loss of our national treasures. the civilisations of the colonised are as great or perhaps, greater than the europeans - India's civilisation dates back thousands of years before, the Africans also had their civilisation just like we the malaysians had our civilisations hundreds of years before the Brits came.
so why do we prefer the western cultures then? why do asian women colour their hair blond or red? why do they wear skimpy clothes? why do we want to copy them, when we have our own values? this is another way of how hegemony works - the hegemony of the minds.
education is a means of freeing oneself from the hegemony.
we're a postcolonial nation which has redefined our identity. no one should tell us how to talk, how to eat, how to dress, how to act. we live according to our moral values.
be proud to be a malaysian.
My Name Is Red: a book review
the fact that orhan pamuk won the nobel prize in literature last year prompted me to read this book. this turkish writer broke away from conventionalism by presenting a decentralised voice in his novel - in short, all his characters have a voice, so we get to read the novel in their own views of how the plot goes.
this novel overwhelms me with pamuk's detailed explanation on the techniques used by turkish miniaturists (master artists), so much so that i skipped pages and pages of details which i think are unnecessary (read that to mean i'm bored). it is, after all, stripped to its bareness, a cloak and dagger novel, with the philosophical outlook of the finer arts of painting as its frills. while i applaud his ingenious way of using this decentralised point of view, i find that it is too much for my patience. who wants to know what a drawn subject such as a dog or a satan thinks? or what a gold coin thinks?
a good writer should know what is appropriate to be put in in his text. and not to just simply shove everything in, for the sake of being constant in applying his technique.
this novel overwhelms me with pamuk's detailed explanation on the techniques used by turkish miniaturists (master artists), so much so that i skipped pages and pages of details which i think are unnecessary (read that to mean i'm bored). it is, after all, stripped to its bareness, a cloak and dagger novel, with the philosophical outlook of the finer arts of painting as its frills. while i applaud his ingenious way of using this decentralised point of view, i find that it is too much for my patience. who wants to know what a drawn subject such as a dog or a satan thinks? or what a gold coin thinks?
a good writer should know what is appropriate to be put in in his text. and not to just simply shove everything in, for the sake of being constant in applying his technique.
The Gathering: A Book Review
The Gathering by Anne Enright, is this year's Man Booker Prize Winner. undeterred by it's rather overpriced version, i purchased the book and started reading 2 days ago. it is a story about a big Irish family, as they cope with lives.
We see the struggle through the eyes of its protagonist, Veronica Hegarty, as she mourns the death of her brother (who committed suicide). the story traces the the cause of the psychological instability of the brother, with too many switches of flashbacks and present time that sometimes you lose count. in one of the chapters, when veronica uses her imagination to write whether Ada becomes Lamb Nugent's lover, enright tries to use the layout of 2 different scenarios, but this is done without success, as the readers tend to get confused.
nevertheless, this is a powerful book, as it traces veronica's love-hate relationship with her family, and the fear that envelops her aftermath Liam's suicide, the fear of living life to the fullest that leads her marriage to go stale.
finally, Veronica comes to term with Liam's death, as she meets Liam's son, the hope of the Hegarty's, and goes back to her husband.
We see the struggle through the eyes of its protagonist, Veronica Hegarty, as she mourns the death of her brother (who committed suicide). the story traces the the cause of the psychological instability of the brother, with too many switches of flashbacks and present time that sometimes you lose count. in one of the chapters, when veronica uses her imagination to write whether Ada becomes Lamb Nugent's lover, enright tries to use the layout of 2 different scenarios, but this is done without success, as the readers tend to get confused.
nevertheless, this is a powerful book, as it traces veronica's love-hate relationship with her family, and the fear that envelops her aftermath Liam's suicide, the fear of living life to the fullest that leads her marriage to go stale.
finally, Veronica comes to term with Liam's death, as she meets Liam's son, the hope of the Hegarty's, and goes back to her husband.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
