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Month: August 2012
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A momentous truth
Joydeep Roy Bhattacharya’s “The Storyteller of Marrakesh” is not among my favourites, mostly because it didn’t deliver what I look for in  a work of fiction. But I’m a fan of it for a different reason – there is prose in it that will haunt me for a long time.
The book’s narrator begins the tale with the statement that there is no truth, because the moment it is revealed, it is transformed into one of many possible opinions. A few pages later, he says “Our imagination spins dreams; memory hides in them. Memory releases longing; the imagination waters the rivers with rain. They feed each other.“
In terms of memory augmentation, despite the best documentation, I’ve felt many times that there are moments that have not been captured fully, or perhaps not captured enough at all. A presence that is felt, but cannot be captured. It is humbling to realise that acts which we lay importance to, moments which we considered precious, will be forgotten altogether or remembered in a different way from what actually happened, not just by others, but by us too.
Much later in the book, a character shares a wonderful story, “This professor while addressing a large audience on the subject of beauty, asked that a piece of ambergris be passed from hand to hand until, by the time it reached the last person at the back of the massive hall, it had crumbled away to nothing. But the entire hall smelled of ambergris, and every person there had been touched by its essence. The professor concluded his lecture at that point, stating that he had nothing more to say on the nature of beauty.”
..of life, I would say. The smell of ambergris would drift between memory and imagination. If someone found words to describe it, it would exist in the imagination of the reader, but probably in a much different form than it actually was. The moment was the truth, everything else would be an opinion.
until next time, truth be told…
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The Catcher In The Rye
JD Salinger
Its perhaps a book that I should’ve read a decade and a half back, only because I could’ve related more then to the angst that permeates it. The timeframe and the narrative style would make the work seem small in scope – the book is set in about three days (not counting the recollections) and is told from the point of view of a teenage boy, who has just been expelled from his school (not for the first time) and instead of going home, spends the next few nights in a seedy hotel.
But what makes this book unique is Holden Caulfield’s (the protagonist and narrator) way of distilling the thoughts and emotions of a teenager and making you feel for him. Indeed, there are many moments in the book that made me feel infinitely sad, though the ending seems to indicate that this is only a phase in life.
The title is based on Holden’s mishearing of a poem by Robert Burns – Comin’ Through The Rye. Holden creates a fantasy on it – with himself being the guardian of kids who are playing in a rye field on the edge of a cliff, entrusted with the task of saving them if they are in danger of falling off.
His attitude towards children – his sister Phoebe in specific, and adults would seem to indicate that he understands that at some point, kids will lose the qualities he likes them for (which are missing in adults) and he wants to be the heroic figure to prevent this from happening. A turning point in this role is his conversation with an English teacher of his – Mr.Antolini, who says that the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for a cause while an immature man would die nobly for it. Later Holden gives Phoebe his hunting hat, probably the symbol of his catcher identity.
Its probably a book you need to be patient with (though its only about 190 pages) since (I felt) its only towards the end that Holden really manages to suck you into the idea of the book.