I finished ten books this month — eight by POC/women, five for my month’s project of South Asian writing, and three in German. No Portuguese this time, but I’m well into a good one.
- Kinder der Befreiung — Marion Kraft (ed.)
- Unser Deutschlandmärchen — Dinçer Güçyeter
- The Blaft Book of Anti-Caste Speculative Fiction. — R. T. Samuel, Rakesh K., Rashmi R.D. (ed.)
- The Saint of Bright Doors — Vajra Chandrasekera
- Eating Sugar, Telling Lies — Kuzhali Manickavel
- Father May Be an Elephant and Mother Only a Small Basket, But… — Gogu Shyamala, tr. various
- Tom Jones — Henry Fielding
- Victory City — Salman Rushdie
- Tintenherz — Cornelia Funke
- A Question of Upbringing — Anthony Powell
Starting with the South Asians, the main trigger was The Blaft Book of Anti-Caste Speculative Fiction, which I’d sponsored as a kickstarter and was happy to see appear in my inbox at the start of the month. It’s a wonderfully mixed bag: normally when one says that, it’s a criticism (and yes, the quality was variable, and not everything was my bag of tea), but the variety here is very much a feature. There are translations from many Indian languages as well as stories written in English, which helps to ensure the wide range of experiences represented despite the rather niche-seeming title. Melonhead by Nabi H Ali, and Pruning Neurons (Esther Larisa David) were two of my highlights.
Also appearing in the Blaft book was Gogu Shyamala, but I liked the stories in Father May Be an Elephant and Mother Only a Small Basket, But… much more. The structure takes some getting used to, resembling oral storytelling rather than the more obviously crafted “short story” one is used to, but they are a fascinating look at a very alien culture. It often felt like science fiction, where the strangeness of the characters’ thinking is part of the appeal. The pleasing bafflement was also an effect of the translations including many untranslated Telugu words, which are explained at the back of the book in a glossary (not easily accessible on kindle), but I was happy to let wash over me. (I do have a problem with the very formal register used for some of the translations, but let’s not be picky.)
The other main spur for the topic was The Saint of Bright Doors, which I’d already bought and had been reading about for quite a while. It’s an extraordinary book — Chandrasekera takes the plot on some big swings, the ever-expanding prison camp and the big twist near the end being particularly effective. Like all the best fantasy/magic realism, the weirdness is always a way of writing about the real world and possible real worlds too; this is what a book should be.
Chandrasekera put me on to Kuzhali Manickavel in his acknowledgments, so another thing to thank him for. Eating Sugar, Telling Lies is a short story, but it leaves enough unexplained (and that’s quite a lot) to give the impression of something much more substantial. Again the surreal is rooted in economic and social injustices which give bite to the satire.
Last instalment for my South Asian trip was Victory City, and it was OK. As in all the post Satanic Verses novels I’ve read, the characters are very cartoonish; that’s not necessarily a problem — cartoons can be fantastic — but it does limit the scope for depth of character and ambivalence. It’s all quite enjoyable, but reading it alongside the Chandrasekera highlighted the gulf between the two in terms of ambition and energy.
January was the end of one stage of the ongoing Kate Briggsathon, in which we read Tom Jones. It was interestingly different from what I’d expected: the essayistic introductions to each book were mostly interesting as well as readable (when he wasn’t being mock heroic), and the plot itself was much tighter than I’d expected (I’d envisaged a series of unrelated picaresque adventures, but everything was quite tightly focused on the central love story). A good example of the long form with only a very slightly saggy middle.
This month was also the start of another group read, of A Dance to the Music of Time. I wasn’t sure whether I’d continue, but I liked A Question of Upbringing enough that I think I will, though the discussions clash slightly with the Shakespeare webinars I also plan to do. The poshness of it was grating at times, especially in the narrator’s (or author’s?) attitude to Widmerpoole and Quiggan, but as with Proust I found it less of a problem than I’d expected. The process of Jenkins looking back at his younger self and watching himself dimly understand things was fascinating.
Turning to the German books, I started Kinder der Befreiung quite a while ago, and finally got round to finishing it before I had to return it to the library. I liked it a lot more than that sounds — the life writing sections were very interesting on life in post-war Germany, and often inspirational on how the German-Americans on both sides of the Atlantic got by. The academic parts were never too dense. I still haven’t read Farbe bekennen, which I’ve been circling round for a long time, but soon….
Unser Deutschlandmärchen is a novel about the experiences of Germany’s most obvious minority group, the Turkish Gastarbeiter and their families. It’s very similar to Vatermal (Necati Öziri), which I also read recently, distinguished mainly by the poetry/song sections which I didn’t really appreciate (probably because I listened to the audiobook, and I’d need to spend more time reading them to process them properly).
Finally, Tintenherz is one of those classic German children’s books I need to catch up on (though this particular one post-dates my youth anyway). The bibliophilia (reminiscent of Walter Moers) is right down my alley, and though the book is far too long (almost 20 hours for an audiobook which isn’t really packed with incident), it picks up well towards the end. I don’t have an urgent need to read the sequels yet, though.
February is Nordic month, partly in the hope that there will be some proper winter to accompany the books, and also to make some progress with my Jon Fosse backlog. Lots of alcoholic spiritual darkness to come.