Sunday, April 16, 2006

SERIAL THRILLER

BY BISWADEEP GHOSH

A look at Henning Mankell's latest novel The Man Who Smiled

Those who read thrillers, and by that I mean those who are addicted to crime fiction, would have surely come across the name of Henning Mankell. For those who have not, Mankell happens to be the creator of Inspector Kurt Wallander, one of the most popular mystery-solving protagonists in contemporary fiction.

Wallander has killed a man in the line of duty, leading to depression. Frustrated and low, he resolves to give up his job which is precisely when a friend comes to him, seeking assistance. This acquaintance works as a solicitor, and his father has been killed in a manner that is shrouded in mystery. Wallander wants to stay away from it but, three days later, the solicitor is found dead. That is when Wallander realises that he should have heard his friend out, and also that he is possibly on a double murder case. Amidst all this drama is a business tycoon, who has unfriendly secretaries and a very tight security at his disposal. Suspicions point towards him as Wallander pursues the case, and someone pursues him.

How good or bad is this offering from Mankell? The narrative is very well-paced, showing a master craftman at work. Similarly, Wallander is the sort of central character only those with some special talent for telling crime stories can hope to create. Whether he is simply drinking coffee or talking about a criminal act, he commands the reader's attention, something not many modern-day crime fiction writers can claim to have achieved.

Readers will be justified if they feel that Mankell is not a great writer of conversations which, at times, border on the pedestrian. But what keeps the reader hooked is the superb manner in which he builds the sub-plots, knowing exactly when to stop to generate speculations about what is going to happen next. The ambience is eerie, and every fresh twist in the tale only adds to its chill factor. Mankell, in brief, is a fantastic writer. And, the odd shortcoming of his will be happily overlooked because he has far too many strengths at his beck and call.

Reviewers the world over have been raving about this man's creative genius. I must take this opportunity to humbly add my name to that list.

OF INCOMPLETE NOVELS LOST IN TIME

BY BISWADEEP GHOSH

Have you ever come across somebody with 23 unfinished novels? I have known one such person who, as far as I am concerned, is the biggest waste in the history of Indian writing in English. His ideation is fantastic, and his language even better. But, after he starts a novel, and I have seen him start about a dozen of them, he works on the plot with an enthusiasm that is almost child-like. After finishing some 20-25,000 words, he decides to abandon the idea and move on with something else. "Not happening, man," he grunts disappointedly.

Yes, you are right. He is, kind of, strange. About ten years back, I remember visiting his house when he was between jobs and, therefore, had some time to work on a new novel. In any case, he had been brought down by a speeding three-wheeler, resulting in bruises that were both ugly and visible. To check out how bad the injury was, I went to his place. He opened the door, looked at me through his Gandhian specs, and grinned. "Good to see you. Come on in. I was just about getting a new idea in place," he told me, his eyes glittering such that one became curious.

"It is about this man, you know, a crazy guy trying to discover his true self," he said softly, almost inaudibly. "Is it autobiographical? Then, it should be superb," I replied without making any effort to conceal my sarcasm. "Arey nah," he smiled, adding, "I am planning to call the book Fable of the 23rd century. The protagonist meets with an accident. Since he is a musician, he decides to do something unique. He does not allow the fractured bones to heal completely so that every injured part emanates a different sound once he taps them. That leads to music without any musical instruments, and the real story unfolds thereafter." Before I could ask him anything, he murmured, "I can't tell you what I have in mind of course."

The idea sounded very unusual, and it required special language and insight to turn into an acceptably decent novel. Both the gifts my friend had in plenty, yet I left the house wondering: will he finally finish a novel this time? Six months later, I heard the familiar statement, "Can't, man. Just can't. Am not convinced that it is going to shape up well."

What makes me remember this guy today? About a week ago, I signed a contract to do a book and promptly called him up. "Hey that is so nice," he said, "How many books do you want to write before you die, buddy?" "Has your wife knocked some sense into your head now that you have married? Are you going to finish one book at least?" I asked him. "Yes, I am trying to," he mumbled. "You know what," I almost yelled,"You are seriously incorrigible. You have it in you but won't write. You want to be a Shakespeare without being good enough, and so scared are you of comparisons with better writers that you refuse to finish the novel. Seriously, you are a loser."

After saying that, I hung up. I had screamed at somebody from whom I had learnt so much, which did not make me comfortable at all. But I did not regret what I had done. After all, somebody had to tell him that people like him had no business to sit back and criticise others when they had delivered nothing of consequence in life.

WHY IS ARUNDHATI ROY FUMING?

BY KAVITA KANE

The past few days has made us, mere mortals, suitably daunted by the absolute power –call it star charisma - of the celebrity brigade. These non-terrestrial stars on terra firma shine, sparkle, glitter, glimmer, kill hapless black bucks and sleeping pavement dwellers – and we are dazzled enough to consistently forgive them their trespasses (“oh, that poor boy (of forty???) is being set up!”/ “he’s being judged too harshly!”) in the collective sigh of adulation, adoration and applause! Not that these overgrown babies are always insolent ingrates – watch how magnificently the Shirtless Khan (with his shirt and brave face on!) waved and kissed the roaring crowds? Warrior’s return that may be not, but a return to his world of sham-glam glory, it certainly was.

Another Khan is starring in another real-life drama, seasoned with more masala than your spicy potboiler and impressing an increasing audience. That Aamir Khan has thrown in his lot to support the 20-year old Narmada Andolan Bachao is creditable enough, never mind the more than many cynical eyebrows raised. One shapely eyebrow belongs to the singularly articulate Arundhati Roy who has wondered aloud how an MNC-endorser like Khan can turn a social crusader. Interestingly, a few years ago, this Booker-winning author of The God of Small Things decided to become one of the children of a lesser God herself, when she backed the fermenting farmers demanding rehabilitation. The good author left no listening ear indifferent to her fiery and elegantly eloquent call for her full support to the same movement, triggered off by the indomitable Medha Patkar two decades ago, much before the above-mentioned celebs basked in their respective glories.

Now it’s the turn of star Khan to twinkle. It is his turn to spout those fine lines, wonderful words and earnest pleas. The spotlight has been turned away from the crusading author to the crusading actor …and abruptly the star author finds herself paling in ignominious insignificance. Her truculent remark wondering aloud, how Khan as Coke’s long-time ambassador can fight for a people’s issue speaks volumes. Sounds almost sullen! Heartening is the fact is that a neglected crisis like the Narmada Bachao Andolan has, at last, got a star presence to gather mass appeal, and no one should appreciate this better than Ms Roy herself who is battling on the same grounds, fighting the same war. But she prefers to worry her pretty head about the potable water Coke is using (which is, anyway, a largely different issue!) instead. Or is it that she’s nervous about the Khan charm working otherwise?

Besides pampering enormous ego clashes our country has a generous host of heaving problems the fussy stars can pick and choose from. How about switching over to the farmers’ mass suicide?

Sunday, April 09, 2006

YOU'VE GOT TO FACE IT

BY BISWADEEP GHOSH

When did we have our first crush? When did we experience inexplicable unease while coming across a person of the opposite sex whom we liked for no particular reason? How did we explain our feelings to our friends, some of whom were going through a similar phase? I can't speak for others but, as far as I am concerned, it happened to me at the ripe old age of 13. My girlfriend, a neighbour, was 25 days younger. After restless days and sleepless nights, I had finally managed to stammer,"I lo-lo-lo-love you." "Me too, but don't tell anybody," she had cooed shyly. The first thing I did was go to school and speak to my close friends and, honestly, to some who were not even close to me. Those being uncool times, a romantic confession to my mom was out of question.

That is one reason why I admire my like-aged friends who are mothers today. Unlike our moms of 30 years ago - at least, most moms - they hear out what their kids have to say. It was only a few days ago that I was visiting the house of a friend with two lovely daughters. "Aai, I have a crush on my classmate. His name is Akio, and he is Japanese," the younger one chirped. "Is he your boyfriend?," the mom intervened mischievously. "Not really," the little one rolled her eyes, looked heavenward, and added,"but he is my dancing partner and spends a lot of time with me. I think he likes me too."

The other daughter who is 11, making her older by two years, was hearing the conversation all this while. Suddenly she, the quieter one, whispered, "Aai, even I have a crush. The guy, his eyes are so nice. He is too cute." It was quite a sight. The elder one, 11. The younger one, nine. Both sitting close to their mom, revealing their deepest secrets. "Since when did you fall for this friend of yours?," my friend asked patiently. "I have had a crush on him for the last two years, " the daughter said softly, "but I don't think that fellow likes any girl." Saying that, she put a hand across her forehead, murmured "his bad luck", and went back to watching the television.

In one day, within a few hours, a mom had been subjected to two romantic revelations. What should she expect tomorrow? I hope and pray that the admissions continue to be as sweet as the ones I heard the other day. And, how I wish I was born 13 years ago so that I could have walked up to my mom and said, "Know what ma? There is this girl I am totally in love with. Her house is close by, and she comes to the balcony and cleans her teeth with a toothbrush whenever her parents go out. That is when I go to her house and chat with her." "You mean to say a girl your age cleans her teeth at six in the evening so that you can...." I can hear my mom's annoyance as I write this. Understandable, she being like most other mothers of her generation. Need I add that today's kids are really lucky, thanks to parents my age?