Writing is an isolated endeavor but the joy of sharing your stories with the world makes it tolerable and even worth sticking to. However, at times you bleed a tale that in hindsight you wish you didn’t have to share with anyone. Not even with the ones closest to you. This story is one of them. The peculiar part is – despite my reservations and inner turmoil I will be getting it out this Friday, the 26th of February!
After the heartwarming response to my novella, Three Women & A Murder, my belief in writing psychological thrillers with a focus on the human mind and its trappings and not merely suspense mysteries/drama has been strengthened. So here’s another e-novella, which is about the befuddling murder of a housewife named Sukanya Swaminathan. It’s available on amazon kindle and is free on kindle unlimited.
The complete blurb:
Sukanya Swaminathan is dead. She committed suicide by jumping off from the terrace of her building, while her son slept in his room and her husband worked on a high priority project in his plush IT office.
It does seem like a case of suicide. Except for the fact that Sukanya’s face was burnt by acid.
As Inspector Raman and SI Nair investigate the death of a forty five year old housewife, they are befuddled by the complexity of the case.
Was Sukanya just another statistic? A depressed housewife jumping to her death. Or, did someone bump her off? And most importantly, what is Sukanya’s side of the story?
A rookie detective named Saurabh loses his fiancee Prerna on Karva Chauth. He discovers her lifeless body thrown out of the terrace of her posh bungalow in Delhi. Her family is distraught and the incompetent and corrupt Delhi police has no clue about the murderer. So now, he must find her killer along with his partner in crime and best buddy Keshav. Will they succeed in finding the killer who is lurking closer than they think?
This is the premise of Bhagat’s new novel, One Arranged Murder which is three hundred pages long.
One Arranged Murder is a quick read. You will flip through the pages. It will keep you hooked at least till the first 150 pages or so. Great humour. Overdose of drama as expected.
But at best, a pedestrian thriller, which should have been 100 pages shorter. In the end, along with the great reveal comes a deluge of information ( with über and metro details of the killer) and a blunt revelation of motive, which is a drag and lacks the finesse of a Higashino — to put it mildly.
Also, the need to add humour in a thriller probably to play up the entertainment quotient ( from a screen adaptation perspective) and to please many takes the lustre away from what is supposed to be a murder mystery. It also comes across as shallow and insensitive at times. Honestly, disappointed as I don’t dislike Bhagat’s writing or his stories.
I do understand and empathise with the challenges of writing a thriller and there were no plot holes or chinks in the crime-solving. Although I wish that this book focused on friendship, relationships and the humour that’s born out of it, which is where it shines. Instead of forcefully turning it into a murder mystery/crime thriller.
I opened the window and reached out my hand. I caught a snowflake. I watched it disappear, vanish from my fingertip. I smiled. And I went to catch another one.
The Silent Patient
I don’t read a book out of sympathy or empathy. I don’t read a book because someone’s a friend or a foe. I don’t read to brag or come across as an intellectual. Both of which I secretly detest. Well, no secret now…is it?
Often, I have discarded books purchased on amazon because I couldn’t get through the first chapter. Sometimes not even the first two pages. I am impatient. I am looking for a spark. A unique twist; an edge; a glittering thought or concept.
I don’t mind settling for an average story line — most romance novels have an average plot — so do many hyped and over-marketed thrillers and psychological thrillers (my preferred genres). I don’t read horror — although I want to dig into Stephen King sometime soon. My only fear is will he be a match to Edgar Allan Poe? A writer I deeply respect.
Anyway, when it comes to books what I can’t settle for or agree to is lazy writing. Lack lustre sub plots and characters. And of course, stealing of story ideas, character graphs and denouement.
After years of reading and pondering, I have now within me a well-installed crap-tracker. And it won’t tolerate stale nonsense that’s sold and churned out, every other day.
When I picked up The Silent Patient, a few of my friends and book reviewers told me that it’s an excellent read, raising my expectations even further. So a lot was at stake. In my mind. A lot had to be delivered. And boy was I stunned! My crap-tracker was duly slapped and silenced for a while.
Theo is damaged. Alicia is damaged too. The only difference between the two is that one is a patient, the other a doctor — a forensic psychiatrist.
Alicia shot her husband. Point blank with his gun. And then turned silent. Her silence is potent but confusing. No one knows if she actually committed the gruesome murder or if she is being framed for a crime she didn’t commit.
Theo who has been following the case and is a promising physiotherapist wants to find out why.
So he joins the Grove, a psychiatric unit which is about to be shut down to find out about the enigmatic and silent Alicia. A step viewed by his seniors and peers as career suicide.
Where the others have failed, Theo finds unique ways of getting through to Alicia. One of which is by allowing her to paint and interpreting her paintings. After all, Alicia is a renowned painter.
Through her paintings and by tracking her life and the people in it, Theo aims to save Alicia. But who will save Theo? A man who is not only fighting the ghastly demons of his past but is in reality a defeated husband yet to come to terms with his wife’s infidelity.
What happens to Alicia and Theo? Do they survive the darkness that has crippled them? More importantly, do they survive each other?
Using references of Greek tragedy, Alex Michaelides weaves a story which is gripping and stunningly original. Yes, it’s a psychological thriller. Yes, it’s domestic noir too. The trappings and mechanics of it are all too obvious.
But, but, and here’s why this book breaks new ground like Gone Girl, there is something inherently sophisticated about it. The crime; the motive; the resolution aims at unearthing the fathomless human mind. In all its complicity.
Unlike pulp thrillers which rely on the how and who of the crime; or numerous other psychological thrillers, which feed on the domestic undercurrents of a married couple to mount a story — The Silent Patient takes inspiration from the tried and tested, but ends up doing something starkly different and awe-inducing.
I am not going to give the story away. Suffices to say that the ending reminded me of Christie’sThe Murder of Roger Ackroyd. If you know your Christie, you must have figured it all out.
But then, it’s not the resolution that will startle you here, but the way it has been redefined and presented.
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.
D H Lawrence
Begins D H Lawrence narrating a tale which upon its publication resulted in a lawsuit for its publisher Penguin — the judgement went in Penguin’s favour but that didn’t stop it from being banned in several countries for its pornographic and crude content. No wonder the banning and all the negative publicity resulted in the book’s huge success worldwide.
D H Lawrence was suffering from Tuberculosis when he wrote it. Although he wrote four versions of it. And his marriage with Frieda, a spirited woman who was having an affair with another man was in shambles. She had accused Lawrence of being impotent and a failure at satisfying her physical needs. Strangely, as Lawrence neared death and probably felt the acute lack of tenderness in his life, he thought of titling the novel as Tenderness.
Lady Chatterley’s Lover stands out for its detailed description of sex scenes; the almost romantic chronicling of love-making and the physical form and the use of unthinkable (in the 1920s) four-letter words. This book which became synonymous with D H Lawrence – despite his indubitable contribution to prose and verse earned him respect as a revolutionary and fearless writer and brickbats by many who considered him a sex-obsessed writer.
Now to the story. The story is quite simple, really. Clifford Chatterley who loves Constance marries her after honeymooning for a month in Europe. Later when he becomes an invalid (his lower body being paralyzed permanently) he settles with his wife in his father’s seat as the Baroness in a forlorn home and with an insufficient income.
Constance, a country girl with soft blue eyes, curly brown hair and a womanly body is a thorough-bred provincial young woman who is accustomed to the ways of cosmopolitan provincialism. She and her sister Hilda are experienced in the ways of love and sex.
Clifford, a big man with broad shoulders despite being an invalid is of a happy temperament and is quite confident about himself and his marital relationship. Although he does turn sensitive, unsure and helpless at times owing to his physical handicap. He views physical intimacy as an adjunct or an accident and takes pride in the closeness he shares with Constance or Connie.
When they come to live in the lonely and large Wragby Hall, they feel cornered by the hostile colliers and villagers living nearby. Resentful at first, the Chatterley’s with time harden themselves to the hostility of the country people. Throwing light on the class divide, Lawrence writes:
Gulf impassable, and a quiet sort of resentment on either side. …A strange denial of the common pulse of humanity.
Clifford indulges in writing short stories and thinks highly of his writing talent. To bolster his ego and revel in the appreciation that is showered on him, he calls writers, critics and many other intellectuals to his residence. Connie participates in the beginning, but with time feels increasingly disconnected. This disconnection leads to a maddening restlessness that craves for physical intimacy. Wholeheartedly.
At this ripe moment, enters Mellors, the gamekeeper, an ex army man, in his late thirties, who despite being a gamekeeper seems to be different — like someone who has the potential to do better; whose manners are refined and who has experienced life. And Connie notices it.
Henceforth, begins an affair between Connie and Mellors which forms the central theme of this novel. Filled with exquisitely described physical scenes which ensnares the reader with its unwavering focus on the intensity and absurdity of love, Lawrence makes a winning case for the need for physicality in love. As Connie moves away from her husband, owing to her affair with Mellors, he finds solace in the companionship and care of Mrs Bolton, the caretaker who belongs to the country and is from lower strata.
What happens to Connie and Mellors? Do they find their silver lining? Read this erotic classic to find out.
Nailing the aspect of touch in human relationships. With love being no exception.
The chemistry between Lady Chatterley and Mellors.
Exploration of taboo subjects at that time. Extramarital relationships and sex.
Charlie is a teenager who is trying to navigate life, the best he can. He is a wallflower who has just lost his middle school best friend to suicide and his beloved aunt to an accident. He lives in the American suburb of Pittsburgh. And yes, he loves to communicate his deepest and darkest feelings through letters. He addresses his letters to a Dear Friend.
At school, his English teacher Bill sees what no one ever saw in Charlie. Potential. He assigns him books to read. Each book pushing him to explore and challenge himself a little more. Eventually Bill and Charlie become friends. Charlie confides in him about things he can’t disclose to anyone. Like his sister getting slapped by her boyfriend. She gets pregnant too by the same guy.
Although Bill likes Charlie, he is quite critical of him. At one point he tells Charlie, who has a habit of overthinking and internalizing his feelings that:
It’s just that sometimes people use thought to not participate in life.
With such ingenious and honest touches in dialogues and reflections, Chbosky who drew from his life and experiences to craft this epistolary novel makes this book a standout. For days after, I thought about how we use contemplation as a defense to stand back and observe. When all we should do is jump in there and get our hands and feet dirty. What fun is there in admiring the rain from a glassed room, when you can splash the water beneath your feet? Or raise your face towards heaven and feel the water touch and soothe your skin. Without thinking.
Then, later after you have finished reading the book, you realize that Charlie’s experiences, particularly his brush with sexual abuse have shaped him. And to get over what he had to endure as a child at the hands of his closest relative, Aunt Helen, whom he loved like no other, he chooses to live somewhere between realism, drug-induced daze and catatonia.
To make his life bearable and at times fun, he finds solace in mixed tapes and books. At school he befriends two kindred spirits, his seniors, the gay Patrick and his step-sister, Sam. Patrick is in the football team and is in love with Brad. Patrick’s unflinching love for Brad takes a toll on him when Brad on the insistence of his father and succumbing to peer pressure breaks up with him.
In despair, Patrick kisses his only friend Charlie. But, and this what I loved, Charlie forgives him because he sees that kiss as an extension of Patrick’s loneliness and his need for intimacy.
How mature and sensitive is that!
Also Charlie falls in love with the spirited and fun Sam, who after breaking up with her boyfriend and before leaving for college tries to bond with him. But, Charlie fails to respond to her physically as memories of sexual assault surface pushing him to a state of derealization.
Thankfully for him, he isn’t alone. He has his family and friends who help him with his recovery from drug use, mental health issues and heartbreak.
When he finally finds his way through the tunnel, he lets the wind hit his face. He doesn’t think. He just participates, crying and laughing at the same time.
And, he stops writing letters by bidding adieu to his imaginary friend:
…I’m not sure if I will have the time to write any more letters because I might be too busy trying to participate. So, if this does end up being my last letter, please believe that things are good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough. And I will believe the same about you.
The honest and simple narration, which tugs at your heartstrings.
Brilliant capturing of teenage dilemmas and troubles.
Lack of drama. Love, love, love it.
Choosing a wallflower as the central protagonist.
Using letters as a means to narrate a story. And making it work.
Coming of age, underdog story — common tropes but again, using those successfully.
The overthinking. We spend too much time in Charlie’s head.
The epistolary technique. Some may take time to sink their teeth in the book. Once they do, they are in for an unforgettable treat.
You don’t understand. Willy was a salesman. And for a salesman there is no rock bottom to the life. He’s a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine… A salesman is got to dream, boy. It comes with the territory.
I was rummaging my bookcase and shelves looking for books to read that I don’t have to purchase. Now with amazon paperback deliveries stopped due to Covid-19, I’m down to reading books I was never drawn to read. I’m a bit ashamed to confess that I never thought of reading Arthur Miller’s modern play, Death of a Salesman, written in 1949 critiquing consumerism and the great American dream, which opened in Broadway and changed the course of modern theatre.
Maybe it had something to do with the drab and nondramatic cover. Too plain in my opinion, covering this thin gem of a book. Or was it the title, way too straight with mention of death. And sales. Two of my least favourite nouns, when it comes to picking fiction.
Anyway without digressing further, let me dive right into Death of a Salesman. And into the life of Willy Loman, an average looking sales guy who has been working for a company for 34 years. His weekly commissions have taken care of his family, namely his wife Linda and his two sons, Biff and Happy.
Willy was never great at his job or otherwise. An average salesman he is the quintessential common man — who managed to pay for his mortgages, recurring bills, son’s education and put food on the table for a family of four. But, now with time and age, he is losing his mind. He chats with himself constantly and has lost his credibility in the market and become a liability for the company he works for.
But Loman doesn’t want to believe any of that. He knows what he is and what he has become. He is just not ready to accept it. He thinks he can kill it in New York, even though he has been forced to sell in New England. He believes his eldest son Biff is a glorious hero who will astound the business world with his charisma and mojo. Simply because in school he was good at Sports.
He is not ready to face that Biff flunked in Math and never graduated. That he often steals and can’t help it. That he is a man who can’t earn more than a “buck an hour” or fears the rat race and wants to escape to a farm in the countryside to raise cattle.
On the day Willy gets fired from his job by his young boss (whose father he had once served) but who has no respect for him or patience for his words, his good friend Charlie offers him a job with a decent weekly pay. But, his false pride stops him from accepting it.
I can’t work for you, that’s all, don’t ask me why.
He tells him.
Loman’s projection of his ideal self is so strong that when reality creeps in, he snubs it and escapes into the unreal world. Wherein he converses with his brother Ben, a man who stumbled upon diamonds in Africa. His other escape being the idyllic days spent with his family in the past.
It is through these past recollections and present day reality that the story builds and moves forward, until coming to a devastating end, which has been revealed in the title, already. Death of a Salesman is a tragedy waiting to happen, as Miller put it in his own words, this is the story of a man who:
Does not have a grip on the forces of life.
And yet I found myself racing through it in an attempt to find out who is Willy Loman and why is he heading towards a tragic end? That’s how powerful Arthur Miller’s writing is. It sucks you right in and throws you in the middle of a storm. Or Willy’s head and his home in this case.
In this play, every character, minor or major stands out. Whether its Willy’s docile and loving wife Linda — a homebody whose singular devotion to her husband is heart-wrenching. Happy, Willy’s younger son — a selfish, tough-skinned spunky young man. A big hit with the ladies and a liar just like his father. Charlie, Willy’s level-headed friend who is a man of the world and has the best lines.
In one place he tells Willy:
The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell. And the funny thing is that you’re a salesman and you don’t know that.
Or his dead brother Ben, an adventurous but snobbish man whose approval Willy seeks and aims to replicate his success at any cost.
Willy’s false pride and his nonacceptance of reality distances him from his elder son. When he finally understands that his son loves and cares for him, it’s too late. The ghosts of his past have caught up with him. His adulterous liaisons with a woman to whom he had gifted his wife’s silk stockings, something Biff discovered as a boy and used frequently in the play as a haunting reminder of his betrayal. His failure to pursue his dream of following in his brother’s footsteps and joining him in his diamond adventure in Africa.
Then there is the bitter reality. Biff’s meeting which goes haywire when Oliver, the man who once liked him doesn’t even recognize him or consider loaning him money to start his business. While Willy strongly believes that his elder son is a strapping hero who can change his fortune at the drop of a hat.
This confrontation with reality, Biff being the mouthpiece aggravates and finally pushes Willy to commit suicide by crashing his car. It must be noted that when the play begins, we learn that Willy has been trying to commit suicide for a while. The reason why he chooses death is explained through his words at the end.
That funeral will be massive! They’ll come from Maine, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire! All the old timers with the strange license plates—that boy will be thunderstruck… because he never realized—I am known!”
Sadly, no one turns up at Willy Loman’s funeral barring his family and his old friend Charlie and his son, Bernard. The play ends with Linda Loman’s heartbreaking words spoken at her husband’s grave:
Why did you do it? I search and search…and I can’t understand it. Willy. I made the last payment on the house today. Today, dear. And there’ll be nobody home. We’re free and clear…We’re free…
This book shook me to the core. The Death of a Salesman is a relevant and accurate account of the repercussions of our misplaced self-image and consumerist values that we grow up with, all the while forgetting to acknowledge our limitations.
How we glorify money, fame and aim to be liked at any cost.
How we fail to face reality and delude ourselves with ego-bolstering bull crap and innumerable self-help books, which are again nothing but, deceitful and lame.
This book written in 1949 is relevant today and will remain relevant in a consumerist society that doesn’t want to be shown the mirror. After all, life is not always “a smile and shoeshine.”
Read it for sure, if you haven’t already. There must be a reason why it won a Pulitzer prize, was adapted for film and TV and revived time and again on Broadway.
The overlapping voices.
The constant shifting from present to past and vice versa.
This one is not for the impatient or those looking for instant gratification.
“I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.”
Frederick Wentworth in Persuasion by Jane Austen
Whenever I think of Jane Austen, the first novel that comes to mind is Persuasion. I loved it then, when I read it for the first time in school. Or later in college on days, when love and romance seemed fit only for fiction. And each time, I went through its old, musty pages, I found myself lost in its underlying currents crafted skillfully through its emotive words:
“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago…I have loved none but you.”
With Persuasion, my vacillating faith in everlasting love was always reclaimed. And renewed.
Few days ago, when I paid homage to Jane Austen, I decided on writing about its enduring allure. How it always made me believe in true love that stands the test of time? And why I consider it to be Austen’s best work (not Pride and Prejudice) albeit, published posthumously in 1817.
To begin with let’s look at the premise. Honestly, it rests on a thin premise. The plot-line is astonishingly simple. No sensational plot twists. No effort at adding any kind of quirk or glitz to a love story, which begins with Anne Elliot, a twenty-seven year old woman in her second bloom meeting her ex-fiancee Frederick Wentworth after seven long years.
Anne had met Frederick when she was nineteen years old and fallen in love with him. Smart, confident and charming, he had everything except wealth and great family connection. Two important requisites to win the hand of Anne Elliot, the daughter of the conceited, Sir Walter Elliot. Thanks to his boastful and haughty nature, his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, who thinks too highly of herself as well — never married.
Sir Elliot persuades Anne to turn down Frederick’s marriage proposal. Years later, when Frederick returns after gathering a considerable fortune through his naval exploits in the Napoleonic Wars, he has still not forgiven Anne for refusing his proposal. Whereas Anne with every encounter and at every turn finds herself increasingly drawn towards him. Her love rekindling and burning brighter with time and his closeness.
With several wrong turns, which creates adequate suspense and makes the reader wonder if Anne and Frederick will be ultimately reunited, Austen masterfully reunites the lovers and gives them their happily-ever- after.
This short and profound novel was written by Austen at a ripe age, few years before her death. The beauty of the book however, lies in the journey that the two estranged lovers make through time.
The subdued humor, the remarkably fervid musings and conversations, particularly between Captain Harville and Anne, finally leading to the climax. And the ending written as a letter by Frederick proves why Jane Austen is the undisputed queen of romance.
Persuasion is my favorite Austen novel not only for its underlying tone of love and longing. Anne’s and Frederick’s love story also highlights how forlorn and vulnerable the experience of heartbreak is. How difficult and challenging it can be to believe in love and give it another chance. This giving and opening up become quite distressing with time and age. Mainly due to the walls of prejudice and self-pride we build around ourselves.
Austen’s novels have always focused on how a woman’s fate is decided by her family and friends. In Persuasion she creates a heroine, who is influenced by her family to give up on her one true love. But to Austen’s credit — by the end of the book, Anne stands up for herself and gives love another chance.
Much like Frederick who reinforces his social status among her family and friends by making his fortune. Both the protagonists despite their heartache and limitations, emerge as winners finally.
The concept of true love. A love that survives the test of time. And matures with age.
Frederick Wentworth. The strength of his character. His love for Emma.
The writing which tugs at your heartstrings, even today, more than two hundred years later.
Lack of plot twists.
The singular focus on the two lead protagonists. In Austen’s defense, and defense of all romance writers — to let the romance build and stand out, a writer needs to curtail plot dilution. And focus on the sensitive dynamics of the central characters. After all that is exactly where the reader is invested in.
“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”
This was Jane Austen’s fourth novel published in 1815 in three volumes. Set in the fictional country setting of Highbury in England, it describes the life and romantic mishaps of Emma Woodhouse. I read it when I was in college. I re-read it a few days ago. That is the power of Austen’s novels. Emma being no exception.
In her inimitable style, the mother of romantic comedies, Miss Jane Austen begins Emma like this:
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.
Jane Austen writes about a rather shallow heroine who deludes herself into believing that she will never marry and will instead preoccupy herself with matchmaking. Her false belief in her abilities is cemented when her friend and former governess Miss Taylor marries Mr Weston. She had introduced the two of them.
Emma thinks highly of her abilities and is confident that through her superior understanding of human nature and needs she will be able tofind a suitable match for Harriet Smith. A seventeen-year-old girl with “soft blue eyes” living in a boarding school. Harriet is in awe of Emma and does not possess any great family connections.
This is how Austen describes Harriet Smith and Emma’s taking of her under her wings.
“She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance.”
Their friendship blossoms over long walks and conversations in Hartfield, home to the Woodhouses. During this time, Harriet develops a romantic attachment towards Robert Martin, a well-spoken, respectable, young farmer. Dismayed with Harriet’s choice and certain that she can do better, Emma arranges her to fall in love with Mr. Elton, the local vicar — an ambitious social climber.
In a classic comedy of manners, Mr Elton falls for Emma eventually proposing to her. Embarrassed Emma suggests to him that she had presumed he was warming up to Harriet. Outraged by her suggestion, Mr Elton points towards Harriet’s social inferiority and departs from Highbury mortified and rejected. But soon marries and returns with an annoying and ostentatious wife.
While all this happens, a sane and wise voice continues to foretell and warn Emma about her misadventures. And her apparent misreading of people. This voice is that of Mr Knightly, whose brother is married to Emma’s sister.
At one point he remarks of Emma’s and Harriet’s intimacy:
“I think they will neither of them do the other any good.”
It appears Austen realized that she had created an air-headed, self-centered heroine who pride’s living in the fool’s paradise. As a foil, she conjured Mr Knightly — a sagacious hero right there to hold Emma when she fails in her mission and comes looking for solace. Maybe that is exactly why he is found in her house and in close proximity to protect her from any potential disasters.
However, his assuring presence doesn’t stop Emma from triggering a chain of mishaps. In the meantime, Jane Fairfax, a governess and Frank Churchill, the son of Mr Weston arrives at Highbury.
Emma dislikes Jane instantly and decisively, warming up to Frank instead. In fact, she develops a strong liking for the charming and amiable Frank, who befriends Emma for a reason. Mrs Weston, at around this time hints towards Mr Knighly’s romantic attachment towards her, but Emma strongly denies it.
Later in a turn of events, when Harriet confesses to Emma about her love for Mr Knightly, she competes with her to win over Mr Knightly’s affection. Thankfully for her, he professes to having been in love with her for a long time.
Emma’s hunches and readings of people turn ridiculous when she discovers that Frank is married to Jane. And her efforts to fix Frank and Harriet’s match is abruptly cut short.
She further learns that Frank’s cordiality was but a pretense. All this while, he was trying to be nice and friendly to Emma because he didn’t want the village-folk to gossip about them.
It all ends well when:
Emma weds Knightly. Frank weds Jane. And Harriet weds Robert. Yes, Robert the farmer, whom Harriet had spurned on Emma’s advice in the beginning.
Emma is a classic romantic comedy. In fact, it set the ball rolling for spunky and vacuous heroines who finally come of age by reflecting on their foibles. It has all the ingredients that make a happy cocktail: romance, comedy, plot twists employed to surprise and a befitting climax which precedes a happy ending.
In Emma, by using comedy as a tool, Jane Austen highlights the social hierarchy and class divisions prevalent in the Georgian society. Despite being a romantic comedy, Emma emerges as a scathing social commentary, without turning preachy at any point. Through Austen’s thoughtfully implemented sub-plots, it entertains and yet remains realistic and relevant. Even today.
The narration is witty and sarcastic.
Characters. Every character is well-described and has a graph. Each one of them shows several shades. Sometimes surprising the reader. Only Emma turns out to be predictable.
Social realism. Describing and highlighting the class hierarchy prevalent during those days.
The happy ending. I love to end a book on a happy note with a smile on my face.
Emma. Her vanity, pride and selfishness at times are highly annoying.
Marriage is not the only means to find happiness. Or, social security. Having said that, one must bear in mind that the over-reliance on marriage is reflective of the times Austen lived in.
Disclaimer: This is not a review of Basu’s entire anthology of short stories. Here, I will be discussing a story, which touched me most, possibly changing me in some way.
“Exactly at four, after the bell had rung announcing the end of the school day, he had mounted his cycle and made his way back through the rustling trees. Once inside, he stood facing the box propped up by his bed like a timid visitor, then started unwrapping the canvas-brown cover just as impatiently as he had opened his wife’s first letter from Japan, twenty years ago, similarly marked with two alphabets.”
Snehamoy Chakrabarti teaches Mathematics to senior school students in his village, Shonai. He is good at his job and seldom makes any mathematical errors in class. He lives with his aunt, a widow, after he lost his parents to the temperamental river Matla. He is timid, introverted and unremarkable in every way, except for the fact that he has a Japanese wife, Miyagi.
Snehamoy found Miyagi’s address in a magazine and started writing to her. In the beginning, their letters were brief, but with time they started sharing and communicating like true friends. He was in college then. When his aunt pushed him to marry a shy village belle, Miyagi proposed, offering herself as his bride, which he accepted.
They got married by exchanging their vows over letters. Without having met. The prospect of meeting hadn’t occurred to either. Snehamoy did think of visiting her but stopped himself after calculating the expenses. With time they become husband and wife — sharing and discussing everything like partners, much like any other normal married couple.
The exotic and varied gifts and her photographs which she sent from Japan made him connect with her physically and he looked forward to coming home to her — hidden in her insignia.
In the beginning, the villagers laughed, rebuked and criticized him for his choice. Later, he became known as the man with the Japanese wife. A fact which made no difference to them, much like the weather.
Hence, it seems quite believable that Snemoy’s only friend is the river Matla. The river, which is nothing short of a minor character, flows by his village and he has a love-hate relationship with it.
Turning ruthless and hostile, Matla had drowned his parents. But, it had also calmed, soothed and turned into his silent confidant, when he shared his innermost thoughts about his Japanese wife, whom he had never met.
In a life as remarkable and unremarkable as his, when the girl he had rejected as his bride years ago returns to his life, with her young son, his love for his absentee wife is tested — who in distant Japan becomes critically ill.
In the beginning, he dislikes her presence in the house, even her cleaning of his room or, the hanging of Miyagi’s portrait on the wall.
“He gaped at his orderly surroundings, then grabbed the picture and wrenched it off its hook…Only the dead must hang on the walls not the living…his heart froze for his wife.”
However, with time and with living under the same roof, he warms up to her. A shy and lonely widow, who has no one and is sheltered by his kind aunt. A strange bond of sisterhood develops between the two women. And his aunt who until now listened keenly to him report about his wife’s declining health becomes disinterested — her loyalties being now reserved for the other woman. The woman in the house. Not a distant Japanese shadow.
One night, in “his single-most impulsive act” Snehamoy falters and commits an indiscretion. Repentant and ashamed he confesses everything in a letter, sending it to Miyagi. While at the same time, he opens a letter from his wife in which she writes:
“When you set your eyes on this, I will be no more…”
Some time later, Snehamoy falls prey to Malaria and passes away. At his aunt’s request, the headmaster of the school where he worked writes to his wife informing her about his untimely death.
And beating all the odds, Miyagi comes to his village, “her head shaven, wearing the white of a Hindu widow.”
The surreal premise. Here love isn’t physical but ethereal, bordering on the spiritual.
Snehamoy and his journey. Kunal Basu makes an unremarkable village school teacher remarkable through his singular decision, which changes the course of his life.
Miyagi’s gifts. The sending of kites and his flying of it all one day is symbolic of the power of love, unbound by physical constraints.
The river Matla and Snehamoy. The bond between those who live on the banks of a river is unbreakable. This has been captured beautifully in this short story.
The writing, which moves in its own rhythm and pace. Kunal Basu’s writing makes an implausible tale, credible and likable.
The premise. Once you close the book, you are left to ponder if love is this ethereal or is it just a case of fictional license. Not to forget, even in Snehamoy’s case, his loneliness gets the better of him.
Miyagi. Was her character left underdeveloped so that her last act could be used to surprise the reader and conclude this unique story?