Books, Books and Books..

I've been reading as if this my last chance to read. In last 15 days or so, I've been through at least a dozen books. Not much work, insomnia, lackluster IPL, no movies, zero-shopping, anti-social mood have all contributed to the reading spree in their own way. I wonder, what would I be without books.  As I write that, the paranoid in me kicks in to remind me my to-do list: write on "why not to read books" as one of pustakam.net's upcoming articles. 

Though, it has been much fun writing for pustakam, looks like I'm getting too conscious there. And I'm my worst, when I get conscious. What I write about books is miles away from what you call, literary criticism. Nor do I enjoy, *studying* literature. I'm not the kind to break sentences, peep through them and find something. I'm happy burrowing through the work. Fiction or not, I'm fine as long as I can stand (better, understand) what's the author is trying to convey. May be, I'm a butterfly reader. It's high time, I accept that. 

Well, getting on track.. the books I read / reading. 

Who the hell is Julian Barnes? I was introduced to Flaubert's Parrot a while ago, and I did read few pages of it, not noticing who wrote it. Yesterday, when I came across "Nothing to be frightened of", I took him as stranger. Only after reading his profile, did I realize, he isn't that stranger to me. This book (Nothing to be..) is a collection of essays on death. Death being one of my pet topics, I couldn't resist, starting with it. The bonuses, however, were another favourite topic, God and introduction to Jules Renard's Journals. 

I'm too lazy to categorize myself into atheist or antagonist or whatever. I, with all sincerity, don't care if God exists or not. If he does, it would be nice catching up with him for a chat. If not, oh, the world remains petty much the same to me. So, if any of these anti-God statements sound to me as the sound of timber, when the opposition batsman is bowled out, I guess, it's only because, I love people venting out frustration.

God + Death should make for one of those irresistible exy (existentialism) combination. I enjoyed the book, despite enough complaints. 

It was momentary decision to read "Portraits of a Marriage" by Sandor Maria, as soon as I read the first line in Middlestage. Half way through it, I forced myself to take a break from it. What an emotional roller coaster ride?! Taxing. Nevertheless, worth the time and effort. One of those books, which read like research material on human relations.

India Vs Australia, Adelaide Test 2003 (from The Hindu Group) was a surprise addition to my list. Hardly 40 pages, it doesn't take more than hour to complete it, accommodating nostalgic trips to and fro. Deeply disappointed with the book. Having read Cardus, everyone look like amateurs to me. It would take at least few pages to try and explain what this particular victory means to me!  Planning to write about it soon. 


Ramanujan's life in Kanigel's words was an enriching experience. To the psycho-analyst in me, the 360 degree view of Ramanujan, was rewarding. The Hardy-Ramanujan relation was a wonder in itself. Now that I've an idea of Hardy's world, revisiting "The Mathematician's Apology" wouldn't be such a bad idea. 

Julian and Hardy, both, are cricket buffs. Both from UK. Just for the record. 

Asleep by Banana Yoshimoto was the first book I read after, in fact soon after, Mullapudi gaari demise. Unable to cope up with the uninvited tears in a public place, I was forced to take refuge in a book, any book. Luckily, Asleep was what came to hand. Banana's prose took me completely into it, and almost did the trick of blow-drying my tears. The bottom line of each story in it was that: blow-dried eyes acting up! 

Asleep reminds me of my victory over insomnia. (Ok. Pseudo-victory) Given the egoist I'm,  when sleep ignores me, I ignore her. Things have gone so worse between us, that we no longer pretend. Or don't even pretend pretending. I found (or at least thought I've found) a way around her. I took my kindle with a torch beneath the blanket. When that proved painful, I chose text-to-speech on kindle to keep her at bay. By the way, reading on kindle is such a joy. I read double fast on it! I'm increasingly getting comfortable using it, while continuing to crib about the ancient navigation buttons.

Thus I read (aka listen) Saramago's Seeing! He demystifies writing as simply as, "sit-and-write, nothing-else". But I wonder how can his imagination can go to that level of detail. He blew me away. What an imagination! Take a bow, Sir! I've started with "Baltasar and Blimunda", but somehow couldn't give the undivided attention Saramago demands. Have to get back to it. 

Although, Saramago insisted on reading out loud his novels, since he writes in the talking style, I missed his peculiar punctuation, so much so that I forced to re-read those marathon paragraphs.  

Read Knut Hamsun's Hunger. Made a very interesting read. A month ago, I left this book, mid-way through, but after having heard Steve Toltz speak so high of him. His other book "Mysteries" which Madhuri introduced here is still out of my reach. Proj. Gutenberg gave me a chance to get hands on "Looking back at Happiness." 

The most human human was one pain in the ....... No. I don't intend to abuse. Just looking for the right word. May be, pain in the soul? Sounds too melodramatic. No?


Revisiting Bapu Bommala kathalu. It's joy indescribable. Surprising myself, started with Calvin and Hobbes and Peanuts for the first time ever. Winnie, the pooh is also around! 

Adam Gilchrist is my most favourite Australian. But Steve Toltz is coming threateningly close to that spot. His first book was such a treat, that I can't wait for the second. Are you listening, Mr. Toltz?