This was not a good year in books, quantitatively speaking.
With all the misfortunes that the year brought, a (very) minor one for me was that I could not prioritise reading. I did prioritise relaxation, much needed in the midst of terribly long days, but it's interesting to me that reading did not make the cut.
For the most part.
I did read a couple of books that had me completely engrossed, and when something is that compelling, that in itself is relaxing. Isn't it?
So here goes the list of my meagre accomplishments, literature-wise.
1) The Milkman by Anna Burns
The year started with me continuing with this (deceptively) hard hitting book set against the backdrop of 'the trouble' years in Ireland. It was educational of course as all such books tend to be; while I knew the outline of this particular conflict in history, the book filled in the details, the colour, the minutiae of living in a war-torn country and brought the people undergoing it right into my living room. But most of all, what struck me about this book, was the writing.
The writing is unlike anything I have encountered. It reads like someone's thoughts, dark, unforgiving, incomplete. There is a fluidity to it, thoughts don't have beginnings or endings. They morph from one to the other, in between they jump timelines and astronomical spaces. And the writer has captured all of this in beautifully crafted sentences that are simple and dangerous, all at once.
I highly recommend this book, and while it is not an easy read, for all lovers of the language and amateur scholars of contemporary world history, it is an enriching one.
2) The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa
At some point a couple of years ago, I came across a list of books from authors spanning countries. And I decided to read some of the ones that seemed interesting to me from that list, countries that I didn't know much about. I did end up reading quite a few.
One that has stayed with me is 'The Dinner' by Herman Koch. It is a brilliant portrayal of the palpable racial tensions in a country as seemingly progressive as the Netherlands. At least that was my take-away; there are different ones.
This Yoko Ogawa book was not part of this list, and I didn't pick it up to learn more about the country. I mean, one can always do with knowing more about any country, especially one as mysterious and multi-faceted as Japan, but one has read other Japanese authors. The story simply appealed to me, a human interest story of two people from very different backgrounds coming together to forge a bond. Maybe similar in intent to A man called Ove by Fredrick Backman, but as per me a far more original storyline.
It's a book about a genius math professor and his relationship with his housekeeper and specifically, her son. It's an understated study in how despite several odds that include a memory impediment (the professor's memory resets every 15 minutes) and completely different backgrounds and areas of expertise, love and affection still germinate. I learnt some maths also while reading it, but am afraid have forgotten most of it. Memory is a strange thing, it remembers what it wants to, and I do not believe it holds the study of Mathematics in very high regard.
This book is not really Japanese to me. This story could have played out anywhere, the themes of tragedy, love, friendship, loss are universal.
**
Both these books pre-dated the pandemic, I certainly could not have drummed up the resolve to read The Milkman during the (worst of the) pandemic. Those were the days when we were playing maid cum nanny cum cook along with participating in weekly episodes of People vs Maggots (we played the people). Point being, we had our own troubles.
3) Troubled Blood by Robert Galbraith
By far my favourite book of the year, which I had been looking forward to for more than a year. For those of you who don't know this series, it's a crime thriller-romance series by JK Rowling, writing under the pseudonym of Galbraith (which didn't remain a secret for very long), and as that, you would have to know that the characterisations are brilliant.
The stories are told through the central characters of a surly detective, and his stereotype-beating partner, also his love interest. The duo solve dark and difficult crimes and underpinning all of their detection endeavours is very potent romantic tension. They are both flawed, have serious baggage, some of which is current; as we go through the multiple books, we see them work through their issues, and move towards each other.
The crimes they solve deserve their own description. These are not mere murders and robberies; these are gruesome. Killers with motives that range from deep-seated and violent misogyny to psychopathy people these pages, as do mutilations, ritual killing and serial murders. I realise I may not be painting a very attractive picture of the books, but the point I am trying to make, albeit badly, is that these crimes are very much a reflection of the times we live in, maybe too much so.
So I finished this book, all 944 pages of it, fairly quickly, even in the thick of the pandemic, and while I was suffering from a sprained back. The back being out of commission certainly helped.
**
At this point I must reveal that I did read more books, but they didn't make the cut for this list owning to the fact that I could not finish them. One of those was Poor Economics by the Nobel Laureates Abhijit Banerji and Esther Duflo. Needless to say am sure, it's a very well written book, with both wide and deep research of their own and well-studied accounts of others, concluding in insights that cut quick to the bone. The book has been written to help people and institutions understand the nature of poverty to be able to take the right measures to eradicate it. While many of us may not be in a position to offer solutions or implement the ones they outline, I do think we would all benefit from reading it. We would benefit from realising how many privileges we live amidst and that we take for granted. These luxuries make it far easier for us make rational decisions that further improve the quality of our lives.
From everything I have seen so far, it seems very much so that many things in life come with potent feedback loops, creating cycles that either entrap or liberate. And while many of us would like to believe we are self-made, it couldn't be further from the truth.
The second book I started reading and didn't complete is called Babu Bangladesh by Numair Atif Chowdhury. It's a book that aims to reveal Bangladesh to the world, in all its glory and muck. Taking the narrative path of following one individual's life and mysterious disappearance, it touches upon a broad swathe of events and incidents that make up Bangladesh's checkered political history.
While both books are exceptional, I have to confess I decided to give myself a break. I came to a logical point with Poor Economics, and changed paths to lesser pursuits. It was an exacting exercise reading it, both intellectually and emotionally.
4) Meet me at the Museum by Anne Youngson
While not lesser in a derogatory sense, this book promised to be an easier read. It was that, and perhaps more.
Epistolary in nature, it takes two completely different individuals and draws a straight line between them. Even though the nature of their correspondence changes dramatically from the first letter to the last, what remains constant is the undertone of reflection, of revisiting or perhaps meeting for the first time, questions of purpose and meaning, of love and the flight of it.
I could imagine having this conversation, but I envied these people the time they had at their disposal to write such lengthy and thought-provoking missives to each other. Most of my messages to other people nowadays, and in fact for a long time, tend to be transactional in nature. Well, at least I don't grapple with existential questions on a day to day basis. Not anymore. I am lucky.
5) Maybe you Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb
Mental health has popped into my my conversations, both internal and those with others, many times in the last couple of years, and I am glad I could take a deeper dip into the topic by way of this book. A memoir of sorts, it's written by a bonafide therapist. The author makes it very interesting, and it reads much like fiction. What makes me happiest though is that it makes the point very well that therapy is effective and in many cases, necessary.
Littered with technicalities, which unlike in other fields of treatment are relatively easy to understand, the book itself also serves as therapy, if you are so inclined. Some of the frameworks she mentions are self-administer-able, and I, for one, felt like I had a better grasp of myself after reading it.
6) The Midnight Library by Matt Haig
I must confess that by this point, I wanted to hit the 6 books mark. There was a symmetry to it and arguably, some sort of face saving.
So I approached the task in a methodical way, I checked out the most popular books on Goodreads, found one I liked the sound of, and bought it. The Midnight Library came into my life as a statistic, but it stays being so much more.
The book tells the story of a gifted individual who well into adulthood lives among the debris of her past dreams, and realising she has lost it all, decides to take a drastic step. But then something wonderful, miraculous happens, and we spend the rest of the book learning about and living through it.
It is a bit in the paranormal realm, explores concepts of choice and human potential, and keeps you guessing till the end. At first I thought it was a bit simplistic; we all know that reversing a choice you regret can potentially change everything in your life, including the bits you like. But it got more complex and interesting as the chapters went past.
I came away thinking that making peace with the choices we end up regretting is one of the best gifts we can give to ourselves. And the hope that we can be great, in spite of not feeling, looking or behaving like it in the longest time, is what keeps the humanity alive. Inspite of everything.
We all needed to hear that. Especially this year.
