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Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts

Sunday, 12 April 2015

Why Margaret Mitchell was possibly a very Unpleasant Person*

It may be plebeian to quote from the Da Vinci Code, but I remember one of the characters in the book telling the heroine, Sophie Nevue, that history is always written by winners. This is not strictly true. Neither is it the case that an individual narrative of events (past or present) is necessarily one-sided. But look for example, at early efforts at documentation of Indian history, and this will ring, at least partly true. Max Mueller, VA Smith are seen as guilty of advancing accounts of ancient India that served colonial interests-the dominant interests in the 19th Century. Yet, there survived an alternative (possibly then-marginalised) description of events as seen through the ‘nationalist’ or ‘revivalist’ lens. This served as an important counter-point, but was surely not completely accurate itself. To add to the complexity-and as befuddled school students over the years in India may have noticed-a change in winner can change the dominant discourse of the time. This is not necessarily calamitous, especially not in the information age (excuse the cliché), as long as an outsider account of how things happened, exists.  And this is what makes ‘Gone with the Wind’ (henceforth GWTW), a fictional account of Civil War ridden America told from the Southern perspective, such an important book.

Yet, even as I realise the importance of GWTW from an educational perspective, I hesitate to stress on the politics of it in a blog-post, for the same reason as above. Since, it is meant to be the Southern point of view can I fault it for being well…one sided? And racist? An argument in favour of Mitchell (and any fiction writer) could be that she was writing a story of a particular person (Scarlett O Hara), and surely kindly slave owners and ‘freely’ loyal slaves could be true for the plantation her parents maintained? As a parallel, Haider was critiqued for being one-sided and silent on the plight of the Kashmiri Pandits, and a valid defence was that the movie was NOT a story about Kashmiri Pandits, but about a man who was incarcerated under AFSPA and who disappeared in the process. Hence the film was not obliged to show anything on Kashmiri Pandits. A third related defence could be that Mitchell was only being historically accurate in her illustration of race relations, so Mitchell or GWTW are not racist, but the people in the story are.

There is also the problem of calling someone racist if they ‘didn’t know better’. As an example, if my grandfather didn’t allow his wife to work outside the home, I would be more comfortable calling him ‘conformist’ than sexist. My father if he did the same to his wife, would probably be ‘conservative’. But if my husband were to prevent me from working, in spite of growing up in the same environment as me, he would be sexist. My dad, if he didn’t let me or his daughter-in-law to have an occupation while forcing my brother to have one, would be sexist. Can GWTW be absolved on this count?

My one issue with all of the above defences is that GWTW was narrated in the third person. Had all the racist or patronising commentaries about the “darkies” been coming from the viewpoint of specific characters, it wouldn’t have been a problem, to me. The third person narrative leads me to believe that it is Mitchell, writing 60 years after the Civil War (and who certainly should have known better), who is voicing the patronising commentary about the African-American slaves. And even that wouldn’t be grievous, except that the narrative is entirely devoid of any critique or self-awareness. More so because it is not just a story of the kindly O’ Haras, it is also the story of the Merriweathers and the Whitings and the Deans and the Wilkes and the Tarlestons. Hence, it becomes difficult to forgive the one-sidedness. Forget justifying slavery by accusing the blacks of lacking “gumption” and the ability to look out for themselves. Mitchell denies even stray occurrences of Southern cruelty towards slaves. Instead, it is the ‘Yankees’ who were intent on making blacks sit with themselves (“like they were as good as the Caucasians”), but would never hire them as domestic help. The Yankees were the racists.

The racism apart, the narrator of GWTW is also unfair to its spectacular heroine. Even when she helps her rival Melissa bear a child, supports her and her entire family through the War, she is called out for being self-centred, without any recognition that all normal people are a combination of vice and virtue. At one point she gets sexually assaulted on the road by a black and a white man, and her relatives and neighbours (part of the Ku Klux Klan, no less) take law into their own hands. Scarlett’s husband dies in the process. What follows is an unabashed account of victim blaming. At another point, there is, what suspiciously sounds like marital rape.

And yet, in spite of the deep problems that affect GWTW, all 800+ pages of it (the e-book), are a powerfully engrossing read. The author has to be credited for the fact that even in the absence of any attempt on her part, it is easy to empathise with Scarlett. The book is also dotted with vignettes of human behaviour that are universally recognisable, regardless of place and time. For instance Mammy and Ellen’s training of Scarlett for her role as a married woman-which often involves manipulation of the male sex-could be likened to the nature of advice young brides in India get from well-meaning female relations.  The incident that resonated with me the most was however, when Scarlett contracts prison labourers to work her plant. They are managed by a cruel man, who siphons off the food supply that Scarlett sends for the workers. At times he beats them to near death. Scarlett finds out and tries to get the manager in line; the men must be fed if they are to be productive. The manager retorts that he had been asked to be given a free hand till the time he was bringing in profits. Scarlett agrees that he was bringing in profits and leaves him alone. Clearly, the more times change, the more things stay the same (excuse the cliché’ again).



*I might have thought differently had I read GWTW when I was more impressionable

Saturday, 7 September 2013

If I Were a Book Consultant...

  1. Nobody, I repeat, nobody does crime better than Christie.
  2. Hype (due to a famous author) sells more books. I would have never paid 600 for John Galbraith’s debut novel.
  3. Higher expectations (due to a famous author or hype) take away from the fun. Especially if your book is not about a boy-wizard called Harry.
  4. Cuckoo’s Calling is not about a boy-wizard called Harry.
  5. It’s about Cormoran Strike, the most insipid British detective I have met. Prosthetic leg and chequered past notwithstanding.
  6. Strike’s sidekick, Robin is more interesting. She is a stand-in for everybody who grew up wanting to be a detective but got saddled with a more realistic career.
  7. No, that is different from just being less brilliant than the protagonist.
  8. Rowling should use the light touch she brought to the early Potter books, if she wants to continue this series. More so, if the actual plot is weak.
  9. (Sorry to harp about this, but learn from Christie!)
  10. Higher expectations can also diminish the enjoyment of books by Agatha Christie, as sad as I am to report.
  11. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd is not Christie’s masterpiece. The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side is.
  12. Forget I said that. Just read.



Tuesday, 18 June 2013

In the News- 19 June 2013

A study finds that Harry Potter fans are less authoritarian, more tolerant of differences, and more politically active than non-fans.
The article doesn't discuss the methodology in too much detail but two points-
1) correlation does not mean causation (which the above article acknowledges)
2) Kids who read more in general (and hence have a greater likelihood of reading Harry Potter) may be less authoritarian, more tolerant of differences etc.
Moreover, it's possible that kids who relate more to the themes of equality, justice, tolerance underlying the seven-part series are more likely to recognize themselves as fans.


But, let's not nitpick too much, okay?

Saturday, 15 June 2013

The Chink in Agatha Christie's Armour

 In college, my Monday afternoons went towards attending meetings of the Quiz Society. At the starting of the year, we divided up into groups of two, each group responsible for conducting about one quiz every two months on a rotational basis. The rest of the society would participate.
A bad quiz to my eyes, were those coming under the broad heading of Pop Culture quizzes, concentrating almost exclusively on the Godfather films (that I hadn’t seen), and a couple of bands I had never heard (okay fine, I don’t really listen to anything besides Bollywood).
A good quiz on the other hand was universally recognized as one with questions that were workout-able. The emphasis was on how much the quizzers could figure out from the clues in the question, rather than how much they knew.
The same metric should equally be applicable to detective fiction. After all, the primary pleasure in reading these arises from solving the mystery, along with the detective.  By this standard, anything that Agatha Christie wrote would come out tops. It helped that her detectives were regular people, amateurs and even when not, they relied more on order and method than on brilliance. In contrast, if Sherlock Holmes were to occupy a guest-bedroom in Styles Court or Chimneys, the solution would be forthcoming in a matter of minutes. Thus, it’s only right that he features in fantastical settings where his intelligence is suitably challenged. And where readers have no inkling as to where things are heading.
Going back to Christie, a delightful aspect of her writing is her repertoire of heroines. As is to be expected, they are morally upright but in a very unprincipled sort of way. While they pursue noble ends-to clear the name of a fiancé, or to seek the truth in their quest for adventure, they are not shy of fibbing or outright manipulation, when these are required. Even the secondary female characters are interesting. Consider Ms. Percehouse in the Sittaford Mystery. When her nephew talks of her, she comes across as a caricature of the typical old spinster-a lonely curmudgeon. When the readers see her for the first time however, you realise that she is a curmudgeon, but only in the eyes of her nephew, who she sets to work around her home. She herself wishes that the nephew stood up to her bullying at times. He would appear more sincere if he did. Moreover, she combines this good judgement of character with a healthy curiosity, making her altogether a most real person.
The problem arises when the readers start expecting every female character to be ‘strong’. And suspecting everyone who is not.  So, when an elderly spinster is described as intelligent at the beginning, and she says “Men are deeper thinkers than women”, you can’t help but feel that she is being disingenuous, and you are already on your guard. Or when others commiserate with a character who is helpless, described as having “no money or place to go”, you wonder why she also lacks initiative. And true enough, she turns out to have that in abundance. So much so, that she turns out to be the master-mind of the entire problem.
Then again, in the Sittaford mystery, I kept suspecting the Willett mother-daughter duo have to be culpable somehow, since the daughter couldn’t just be a “pretty girl-scraggy,” who took to squealing and fainting, when something slightly sinister happened.
Yes, I could have titled the post: "Christie can do no Wrong"


Wednesday, 12 June 2013

At the Bookstore

The Shiva Trilogy by Amish Tripathi.
No but what if I don't take to the genre.

Khaled Hossieni's And the Mountains Echoed.
Not in the right mood for a certified tear jerker.

Dan Brown's Inferno.
 Too formulaic.

Vikas Swarup's Accidental Apprentice.
 I don't know if it's any good. Plus I will finish it in a day, then what?

Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead.
Classic. Everybody under the sun has read it. I haven't.
Hmmm... do I really want to read it. Will I go home and tear into it?

Satyajit Ray's Complete Feluda Stories.
This I will definitely tear into. But what if the translation isn't good enough?

So I end up buying...


















Aaah, the comfort of familiar pleasures...



Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Kai Po Che!


This is not a review. Just a few spoiler-ridden thoughts on the movie, which I need to get out of my system.

People all over the world today, including those in urban India, lead increasingly homogenised lives. We watch the same American television programming, use the same kind of brands, and eat the same kind of food.  It’s not just about a job anymore, any job that would support a family back home. Our aspirations for a career revolve around the more first-worldly ideal of finding one’s true calling. Likewise, our movies have come to reflect this (or a more exaggerated version of this) reality. Take the toast-making, skydiving trio of Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara. I can’t help but feel that they would fit in rather more comfortably in New York than Mumbai. Transplant the leads of Dil Chahta Hai to London, and it would make absolutely no difference to the narrative. Which is probably why films like Cocktail and Ekk Main aur Ekk Tu completely dispense with an Indian backdrop. And which is why Kai Po Che is the most refreshing film I have seen in a long time.


Kai Po Che is an Indian film in every sense of the word. Yes, of course there is song-and-dance, and Manja manages to evoke an atmosphere that reams of dialogue could possibly never establish. But more importantly it’s the world Govind, Omi and Ishan inhabit that makes the film resonate so much. You can see the dust, the sweat. Here, an eleven year old’s most pressing concern is the goti championship in his neighbourhood. A young man longingly fingers the plastic covered seats of a new car. Dates are carried out in extreme secrecy. Travelling inside a Roadways bus is more uncomfortable than on the roof. Sure, finding love is important, but achieving other goals (monetary, political or, otherwise) more urgent.  This is a movie where you cheer the Indian Cricket team on for a match you know they have won. Because you know cricket can resolve feuds between friends. That it can magically paper over religious fissures. You pray the ending doesn’t enter the territory, you know it’s heading for, when a dazed Omi finds his Mama injured by Ali’s dad. And when the fatal shot hits, you hold back tears, wishing that Ishan and Govind could sort it all out, Omi and Ishan could sort it all out.

If only Bolly-wood can now come up with an ode to female friendship. One that preferably does not involve two pretty girls falling for the same guy.

Thursday, 31 January 2013

My Favourite Textbook (as oxymoronic as that is)


In India after Gandhi, Ramachandra Guha (2007, p. 529), describes Indira Gandhi's behaviour during the Shah Commission's investigation of the excesses of the Emergency:

Three times she was called to the witness box; three times she came, and chose not to answer questions, claiming she was bound by the oath of Cabinet secrecy. A journalist victimsed during the emergency saw this as an 'outrageous attempt to make a mockery of the proceedings of the Commission'...

When I read this, the first image that came to my mind was one I had seen more than five years back in my NCERT Political Science Textbook for Class XII (2007 edition):


Cartoonist: R K Laxman for the Times of India
On Indira Gandhi's confrontation with the Shah Commission



I went back to the book, then realised what a glaring omission I had made in the list of books that defined growing up, for me. The book was simple, unbiased and liberal. But what made Pol Science my favourite subject, were the references to the relevant films of the time, the snippets from newspapers, and of course the cartoons. At worst these served as mnemonic devices. At best, they managed to place the textual information in context, also allowing students (at least me) to gain real perspective into current issues. If you don't believe my rambling, here is some visual evidence. These would make a better point (not to say a more entertaining blog post).

Cartoonist: Ajit Ninan for India Today
On the rise of coalition politics

Cartoonist; Sudhir Tailang for HT
On the V.P Singh Government being supported by the Left and the Right

R K Laxman for the Times of India
On the Emergency



Cartoonist: Kutty
On the manner in which State CMs were being chosen






Monday, 3 September 2012

Last week I came across a list of books that a certain publishing house believed, were THE books to read while growing up. I disagreed with most of their choices. So here I list some of my own. These (listed in the order in which I first read them) aren't necessarily the most profound, or even my favourite. But they did define growing up for me.

1) Enid Blyton's school stories (Malory Towers and Saint Claire's)-Nobody discusses Enid Blyton anymore, unless it's with reference to the sexist-racist ideology that she seemed to peddle through her
books. I do not disagree with that evaluation, and it's important to recognise those themes. But the positive messages that she DID talk about, about friendship and loyalty and self belief, about
having values and sticking to them, and being proud of who you were, are also unfortunately sidelined when we do discuss those things, even though these are the messages that stay. This may be
because the books were never preachy-it was always the story and the clever plotting that helped you figure out the moral of the story. The girls were real, multidimensional people with interests and
ambitions: Irene with her love for math and music, Darell with her lacrosse, and Wilhelmina for horses. And they were fun too- playing truant, having midnight feasts, and being throroughly ingenuous when playing practical jokes on their unsuspecting French teacher. 

2) Hardy Boys Case Files- The reason I read the original mysteries at all was because my local library stocked up heavily on these blue hard-bound books, and little else. There were too many
characters - all weak, the mysteries were unimaginative, and most of the cases were solved only because the criminals had an amazing proclivity to advertise their existence to the boys.
And my takeway from those books? Well, American teenagers drove around in their fancy convertibles and ate a lot of junk food.
The case files were different however. For one, they were plotted better. But more importantly, they were my first brush with grown-up themes (albeit handled in American pot-boiler fashion) of death,

bereavement and revenge.

3) The Harry Potter series- I can't possibly say anything about these books that hasn't been said before, and better. But it's easily, even some ten-twelve years after I first read it, my favourite one. Harry, Ron and Hermione are not characters in a book any more, they are old friends I turn to whenever I feel down and out. And they never fail to cheer me up.

4) English, August- The first time I read this, I was in eleventh standard. I hated it then. Agastya, the titular character was an aimless, rambling pervert. I saw him as disinterested and lazy, quitting something, others would prize. And only because he was bored. I am not more mature now (I still get off walking through puddles, as a friend pointed out recently), but re-reading this three months ago, I realised that there never had been a fictional character before, who resonated as much. The book is also deviously funny but I think I liked it so much this time was because it reassured me that it didn't matter if I had reached a certain age, I could still take my time to grow up.