On My Nightstand

South Asia has been on my mind and in the news lately, so it seems appropriate that my first two literary selections for the blog belong heart and soul to that region of the world. First up, is Shame by Salman Rushdie. A lyrical tale of two families at war in a country that's described as 'not quite Pakistan', Shame stands as a terse, to the point, beautifully constructed tale that, as one reviewer on the back cover noted- it is becoming more timely by the day.



I've always liked Rushdie's style of writing, so getting into this one wasn't hard. I knew what to expect. If Rushdie does anything well, it's that he takes a dollop of magic realism flings it into an epic poem and something beautiful results. The tone, the word choice, just the plain style- the only way I can describe it is 'lyrical.' Shame (along with Midnight's Children) won the Booker Prize- and there's a reason why. Rushdie can write and does it well. But as with Midnight's Children, with Shame, if you have dollop of knowledge about the history of Pakistan, you'll get more out of it. But if you don't, then you'll be intrigued, horrified, entranced- in short, you'll experience pretty much everything. Which is what makes Rushdie so brilliant to me- his writing is, after a fashion, a tiny encapsulation of the human experience itself. He explores Pakistan, he explores what makes it tick, why it works, why it doesn't- and he explores the idea of shame itself- and how it can be a powerful thing, especially in a country that's 'not quite Pakistan.'

As always, I'd recommend it highly- but then, I'm biased. I like Rushdie, I like Amado, I like Vargas Llosa and Marquez. I got sucked into the Latin Americans and Rushdie just kind of came along with them. It's almost heresy to say it, but I am woefully deficient when it comes to American literature itself. I've been tortured, as have so many others by high school English classes and it left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I need to read Hemingway again (back in the day, he struck me as 'no big deal.' I think it's time for a refresher course.) I need to read more Steinbeck (East of Eden quite literally blew my mind. If you haven't read it, you should.) And yea, verily I might well re-read The Great Gatsby. Which I couldn't stand. Along with Catcher in the Rye (Holden Caulfield is a whiny little bitch whom I would happily slap silly were I too meet him in real life.)

Can I just add to the heresy by saying that I didn't see the point of On The Road, either? I mean, all honor and glory to Kerouac (I guess), but really? Is that all? I know it's supposed to be the experience of wild youth in the America of 1950. And I have seen the actual manuscript (all typed on one, long roll of paper- which I saw unrolled at the University of Iowa Museum of Art, one of the few, if only places were it was displayed fully unrolled)- that was very cool. But to me, On The Road was a disappointment- a road trip with jazz music, drugs and booze? It was well-written enough, but was there supposed to be a larger point? (This too, I need to re-read.)

Plus, if you think the most beautiful girls in the entire world come from Des Moines, you've been doing waaaaaaaaay too much mescaline.



Book number 2 is a beautiful, exquisite translation of The Ramayana which I found years ago and have spent years reading on and off- finally, I made a serious push to finish it. What I can comprehend about Hinduism and how it works can be inscribed on the head of a pin- but if you're Hindu, then Ramesh Menon has done you proud. This is a compulsively readable translation that draws you into the story and to the world Menon draws beautifully. It's an epic poem- the world's first epic poem, which is going to make it tough to translate into prose, but somehow, painstakingly with delicate care, Menon pulls it off. What results is incredible.

The story of Prince Rama and his wife Sita, exiled into the jungle, where the demon King Ravana steal Sita and Rama goes to war to get her back. Ravana, who can only be killed by a mortal man, think he's invulnerable. Rama, of course, makes war on him with an army- it's all very grandiose and epic and of course, in the end, good triumphs over evil. Then- and this is my only issue with The Ramayana- he treats his wife like crap and gets away with it! (Because you see, Sita, held captive by Ravana for all those years while the war is going on has probably slept with the Demon King. After all, Rama's war took awhile , so he can't trust her. Literally all the Gods in the Hindu pantheon come down and prove him wrong- but when they get home, the people are talking! So HE SENDS HER AWAY!!!!)

Then of course, they see each other one more time, when Rama magnanimously has her prove herself again in front of everyone. But this time, she says that she's innocent and promptly ascends into heaven, her purpose fulfilled. Sita's treatment and walking into fires of course provides the theological basis for the practice of sutee which was where widow's would fling themselves into funeral pyres of their husbands in order to die with them. So generally, I disapprove- and if you do sit down and read this, I can assure you it's a spiritual experience- you can't help but be moved- a little. If one can fault Menon for anything, it's the fact that you need a glossary to follow along with some of the more untranslatable terms. But, it's too his credit that he actually provides you with one.

All in all though, I can give two solid thumbs up to both of these books. The Ramayana is just beautiful to read and Shame, well, given what's going on in Pakistan and in that part of the world, Shame could become very timely indeed in the next couple of years. Pakistan will be a- if not the foreign policy challenge of this administration and the next one. A sliver of understanding, even if you come by it via fiction, can only be helpful.