On Albert Camus

"Each time a writer writes, he puts a little of his soul into his work.

As his work grows, a spectator is allowed a peek inside his mind.

It is kaleidoscopic. Shards of glass seen in white light. 

Bedazzling! So the reader must be careful, 

Shield his eyes from time to time. 

As he goes about writing, in some he puts a little of his spirit, 

In others he dips these shards into hues 

Of other people’s reality and personality, 

Thus giving us a reflection of his heart, 

And inadvertently a picture of the life and times 

Of which he is an inextricable part. 

And this is how he stands at the center of it all, 

A witness and narrator, 

Retelling our stories, critiquing, romanticizing life and art”.

Anchal Sharma

Courtesy: Ehnemark, Jan via Wikimedia Commons

A beautiful line comes to my mind as I think of this. 

"You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life." 

-Albert Camus

I don’t think that I would be able to go on here without mentioning Camus and his contribution to literature and philosophy.

Born into a poverty stricken pied noir family with a cat named Cigarette, the professional quirk of writing while standing, and Jean-Paul Sartre as a friend turned lifelong rival, Albert Camus was the second youngest person and the first African born writer to be honored with the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1957 for his work "Reflexions sur la Guillotine" (Reflections on the Guillotine) against capital punishment.

There is no teacher like Life, because she lives with you from the moment of your inception until your dying breath. “You cannot create experience, you must undergo it”, he said once and so Life taught him much. It was a different world then where people led strange lives during a difficult war time.  And so, Camus wrote much about human frailties, exposed the internal working of man’s psyche, and became a firm proponent of the concept of ‘Absurdism’ which finds speech in his famous essay “The Myth of Sisyphus’.

Armed with naked language that needed no support of extravagant words, and thoughts stripped away of all superfluity, Albert Camus was a writer whose works till date are an exposè on the veritable ramblings and musings of a common man.

Under The Jaguar Sun

Book: Under the Jaguar Sun (Sotto il sole giaguaro)

Author: Italo Calvino

Translated by: William Weaver

First Published: 1986 by Garzanti Editore, English translation copyright in 1988 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich

No. of Pages: 86

Genre: Speculative fiction, fiction

Under the Jaguar Sun is a collection of three short stories: Under the Jaguar Sun, A King Listens, and The Name, The Nose by the Italian author and journalist Italo Calvino. An exploration of the senses, the tales delve into a world of flavors, sounds, and fragrances. Each story is an exquisite journey, thoughtfully crafted with a powerful language so engrossing that the moment you start reading it, you are caught up in a web of vivid imagery.

It was in 1972 that Calvino began working on a book about the five senses. Unfortunately, he passed away in 1985. By that time, he could complete only three stories. As a note at the end of the book, Calvino’s wife Esther tells us that had Calvino lived, the book would have transformed into something different, and he would have provided a frame and structure to the stories, and added the “missing senses”. She tells us that before he succumbed to his illness, Calvino was thinking about the importance of the frame and wrote:

“Both in art and in literature, the function of the frame is fundamental. It is the frame that marks the boundary between the picture and what is outside. It allows the picture to exist, isolating it from the rest; but at the same time, it recalls-and somehow stands for-everything that remains out of the picture.”

Under the Jaguar Sun by Italo Calvino, Translated by William Weaver

The titular story “Under the Jaguar Sun” was first published as “The Jaguar Sun” in the New Yorker (English translation copyright 1983 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc). On the surface, it is a story of a couple vacationing in Mexico. On a deeper level, it is a rich gustatory exploration that reconnects a husband and wife going through a relationship that seems to have lost all flavor, all taste. There are three areas of the couple’s trip that the writer has woven brilliantly into this tale: experiencing the bold and exotic Mexican cuisine, exploring the ancient temples and excavations at Monte Alban where they learn about human sacrifices and cannibalistic elements in the Aztec and Olmec culture, and last but not the least how the narrator and his wife Olivia’s experiences on the outside impact the dynamics of their strained monotonous relationship.

For both the characters, the trip has significant value. This vacation acts as a bridge that brings them together. Unlike her husband who at first seems apathetic, and the kind of fellow who goes along with the flow, Olivia, is interested in observing the history manifested in the art and architecture of the country. For her the trip is much about reveling in the profusion of taste, and being in complete communion with the extremely hot Mexican food, new to her palate. This is perhaps her way of communicating with her husband and trying to involve him in how she feels. Olivia is not at all shy when it comes to vocalizing her wants. There is a point in the story where she complains,

“You’re always sunk into yourself, unable to participate in what’s going on around you, unable to put yourself out for another, never a flash of enthusiasm on your own, always ready to cast a pall on anybody else’s, depressing, indifferent—Insipid”

To this the husband replies, “I may seem insipid to you, but there are ranges of flavor more discreet and restrained than that of red peppers. There are subtle tastes that one must know how to perceive.”

This conversation clearly shows the presence of a void, a missing element at this stage in their marriage. They are both unsatisfied and are looking for something to satiate their hunger. As we progress, we find a note of self-awareness and sexual tension that is very well interspersed with the savoring of the gustatory sensations. As the couple try the traditional delicacies like tamal de elote, chiles en nogada, ''wrinkled little peppers, swimming in a walnut sauce whose harshness and bitter aftertaste were drowned in a creamy, sweetish surrender,'' guajolote con mole poblano “turkey with Puebla-style mole sauce”, the narrator realizes that his wife wants his complicity in shared emotions, showing he was indeed indispensable to her. It heartens him to know that by the very act of eating, she is sharing all of her with him, and he starts noticing her more and more. He reflects,

''I realized my gaze was resting not on her eyes but on her teeth . . . which I happened to be seeing for the first time not as the radiant glow of a smile but as the instruments most suited to their purpose: to be dug into flesh, to sever it, tear it.''

Later, as they explore the Monte Alban, the site of the ruins of ancient Olmec, Zapotec, and the Mixtec civilizations, the guide informs them that these temples and ancient ruins were once the sacred platforms where human sacrifice rituals were practiced. The sacrificial meat would then be offered to the gods. But it is obvious that the food would not be consumed by the stone statues, and was left for the vultures to devour. This arouses Olivia’s interest and she questions the guide about the fate of the leftover meal, that surely not all the meat would be consumed by the scavengers alone. She wonders how the high priests would consume the “ritual meal” of the willing human sacrifices. She asks another guide back at their hotel, if the priests used any special seasoning to mask or perhaps enhance the flavor of the human meat. The guide defers the question saying that the lives of the priests was shrouded in mystery and they left no instructions for the sacred cuisine.

The narrator (later as they eat) makes a note:

''I could feel her tongue lift me against the roof of her mouth, enfold me in saliva, then thrust me under the tips of the canines… The situation was not entirely passive, since while I was being chewed by her I felt also that I was acting on her, transmitting sensations that spread from the taste buds through her whole body.''

The next day, they leave Oaxaca, and see a stone statue that catches their attention: A little chacmool (half reclining human figure) with a tray on his belly. This statue with the tray represents the utter reciprocity of a victim willing to sacrifice himself to the gods, offering them his heart. Basically, you eat and you are eaten. We are all part of this universal cannibalism.

This makes the husband discern something important:

“Meanwhile I understood: my mistake with Olivia was to consider myself eaten by her, whereas I should be myself (I always had been) the one who ate her. The most appetizingly flavored human flesh belongs to the eater of human flesh. It was only by feeding ravenously on Olivia that I would cease being tasteless to her palate.”

As the narrator becomes more mindful of his wife, and opens himself to the experience of the food, the spell of monotony is broken. He realises that only by completely surrendering himself could he gain her whole self. So, when they taste the gorditas pellizcadas con manteca, ''plump girls pinched with butter'', they go back to their hotel room and for the first time during their trip satisfy their sexual appetite.

The story concludes with some food for thought when the narrator feeling completely as ease under the Mexican sun and in tune with newly kindled palate, observes:

“…our teeth began to move slowly, with equal rhythm, and our eyes stared into each other’s with the intensity of serpents’- serpents concentrated in the ecstasy of swallowing each other in turn, as we were aware, in our turn, of being swallowed by the serpent that digests us all, assimilated  ceaselessly in the process of ingestion and digestion, in the universal cannibalism that leaves its imprint on every amorous relationship and erases the lines between our bodies and sopa de frijoles, huachinango a la vera cruzana, and enchiladas.”

A King Listens

As far as literary masterpieces go, this short story takes its place rightfully among the best. My favorite of the three, A King Listens is an intense ride into the mind of a tyrant who now that he is king is besieged by fears and paranoia of retaining his usurped powers. From the very first line we get the picture of a king troubled about his scepter, worried about the position of his forearm on the chair, and petrified of holding his head in any but an immobile way so that the gold filigree and diamond studded crown doesn’t fall off his head in case he happens to doze off or let his chin sink. Even though everything is under his control, he is plagued by anxieties.

“If you rise, if you take even a few steps, if you lose sight of the throne for an instant, who can guarantee that when you return you will not find someone else sitting on it? Perhaps someone who resembles you, identical to you. Go ahead then and try to prove you are the king, not he! A king is denoted by the fact that he is sitting on the throne, wearing the crown, holding the scepter. Now that these attributes are yours, you had better not be separated from them even for a moment.”

The captor becomes the prisoner, and soon feels caged in the palace of his dreams. It is difficult to pass time in a place where everything moves like clockwork in a preordained manner established by you. Sitting on the throne, his sense of hearing becomes acute. He listens to the sounds and the silences, the slamming of a door, a stifled cry, he listens to the spies posted by him behind every curtain, and frets about secret whispers and conspiracies being hatched to dethrone him while he empties his treasury paying that very staff.

Brilliantly written, it reveals the insecurities of a ruler. The palace becomes a symbol of his body sending him signals and messages which he receives with fear and apprehension. He believes there is always danger lurking in some part even when everything moves as it is should. Every now and then, he hears a sound— the sound of somebody knocking at a door perhaps. 

He wonders if it is a prisoner trying to establish a dialogue with him. He knocks on the wall and hears a sound in response. Terrors gnaws at him, and the “formless reverberations” turn his imagination into a living nightmare. Paranoid, he tries to ascribe every rap or knock with some meaning.

“Your Majesty…we… your loyal subjects…will foil all plots…long life”

“Bastard dog usurper…vengeance…you will be overthrown…”

“The coffin… your coffin... I will emerge from this coffin…and you will enter it…buried alive…”

He tries not to get tormented by these interpretations, and thinks of the city stretched out in the night, rumbling at the bottom of his ear. He rationalizes,

“It is within you that the ghosts acquire voices.”

And then he hears a love song carried by the breeze through some open window. He becomes drawn to the woman’s unique and inimitable voice, and deliberates if he would want to summon her to his court to hear the throbbing of her throat. His imagination runs rampant to no end. Trapped in the palatial maze of sounds, drawing one conjecture after another, we see the metamorphosis of the captor into a fugitive, and his descendance into a captive. By the end, the identities blur, and it is a treat to read Weaver’s translation of how the monarch fails to reckon if he is a king or a prisoner.

 “The night is all breathing. A low wind has risen as if from the grass. The crickets never stop, on all sides. If you isolate one sound from another, it seems to burst forth suddenly, very distinct; but it was also there before, hidden among the other sounds.

You also were there, before. And now? You could not answer. You do not know which of these breaths is yours. You no longer know how to listen. There is no longer anyone listening to anyone else. Only the night listens to itself.”

The Name, The Nose

The Name, The Nose (Il Nome, Il Naso) was first published in Antaeus (English Translation copyright 1976 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc). Shortest of the three tales, it focuses on the olfactory sense.

“When the olfactory alphabet, which made them so many words in a precious lexicon, is forgotten, perfumes will be left speechless, inarticulate, illegible.”

This story has three characters: a French man named Monsieur de Saint Caliste, a prehistoric man, and a musician. Written in three parallel narratives, the characters chase the scent of a female that’s completely taken hold of their senses. In their quest to find the one captivating scent, all three find that the odor they had been searching for was in fact Death itself.

“I go from one skin to another, hunting for that lost skin that isn’t like any other skin.”

Though at par with the other two in terms of its linguistic flair, it definitely lacks the kaleidoscopic insight into the king’s psyche in A King Listens, and the raw flavor of Under the Jaguar Sun.

I give it 7/10.

A Butterfly’s Dream and Other Chinese Tales

Book: A Butterfly’s Dream and Other Chinese Tales

Author: Cheou Kang Sie

First Published: 1970 by Charles E. Tuttle Company, Inc.

No. of Pages: 91

Genre: Folklore

A Butterfly’s Dream and Other Chinese Tales is a folklore anthology compiled and retold by Cheou-Kang Sie (former ambassador to the Holy See). The book is essentially a collection of 12 tales which draw their inspiration from the ancient Chinese philosophical writings. All of the stories have been carefully selected, and each one in some way or the other conveys human desires, emotions (both petty and sublime), nature, and ambition. So, it would not be wrong to say that they are quite universal in their appeal. Reading this book, it is inevitable that you will find the Taoist, Confucian, the urban as well as the peasant come to life.

It was the cover page that caught my eye while I was perusing through the aisles of the Santa Barbara Public Library. Kept on a separate stand, it did kind of lure me in. Painted by the master “Chi Kang” himself, considered as one of the greatest classical artists of Cathay, the jacket cover bears the illustration of the great Taoist master Chuang Tzu dreaming he was a butterfly; this is also the first story in the anthology, and the title of the book.

Here's a breakdown of the 12 stories.

These four tales come from the philosophical writings of Twang Tze and Lie-Tze (400 B.C.)

• A Butterfly’s Dream
• Old Man Stupidity
• The Return
• Spring Water

The themes for the Bridge of Magpies, Fetal Education, and Gratitude were derived from popular legends of Chinese folklore. The stories The Clay Statues, and Vinegar draw from some celebrated memoirs of the 17^th century.

The Reward, and Illusion draw their inspiration from the 17^th century work Extraordinary Stories by Liau Tsai.

Last but not the least, Tso Ying Tie is a love drama that finds its mention in the public records of the Whai Kwei Kee District in Chekiang Province. 

The stories are pretty interesting and most have a moral to impart. I quite liked the story “the return” which is a moving tale of an exiled man who imagines how overcome with emotions he would be on his final return home, but surprisingly doesn’t feel anything when he does go back to his country. In an elegant way the author tells us how we must not expect too much and wait to feel something which we can enjoy at the present. Another story “Vinegar” shows how vinegar has come to stand synonymous with jealousy. “Old man stupidity” depicts how the universe also helps you achieve your goals when you are completely focused and do your best to persevere against all odds. Another enchanting story is the “Bridge of magpies”, a lovely romantic tale of the celestial beings teaching us how excessive indulgence can hamper your duty which should come before love.

A light read, something you can go through as you sip a cup of your evening tea.

I give it 6/10. 

The Satanic Verses

Book: The Satanic Verses

Author: Sir Salman Rushdie

First Published: 1988 by Viking Press

No.of Pages: 561
Genres: Magical Realism, Fiction

Literary Awards: Booker Prize Nominee (1988), Whitbread Award Winner (1988)

 It was 14th February, 1989 when the Tehran Radio blasted:

"The author of the 'Satanic Verses' book, which is against Islam, the Prophet and the Koran, and all those involved in its publication who were aware of its content are sentenced to death," said Ayatollah Khomeini, whose word was considered as law by those millions of Shiite Muslims. "If someone knows them but is unable to kill them, he should hand them over to the people for punishment." 

Salman Rushdie holding a copy of The Satanic Verses

It was the whole "Rushdie Fatwa Affair" which triggered my curiosity to read this novel which contrary to what you might expect (considering the ban, bombings, and the death threats) was the proud recipient of the 1988 Whitbread Award and the finalist for the Booker of the very same year. The Fatwa was issued on February 14, 1989 by the Grand Ayatollah 'Ruhollah Khomeini' (the supreme religious and political leader of Iran during that time) because of the publication of this book which contained certain derogatory and sacrilegious passages about the life of Prophet Muhammad. The book was classified as a blasphemy to Islam and Khomeini issued the fatwa declaring that it was the "moral duty of every God fearing and self-respecting Muslim to kill Rushdie."

'The Satanic Verses' is not just a novel about two men and their transmogrification into the very fantastic and classical versions of the Angel and the Devil; this book interspersed with the magical realism that the master craftsman is so fond of, is both a vehement cry of the migrants against the discrimination and the helpless sense of belonging to a nowhere land (as migrants feel the stark differences between their and the English culture), and an appeal to the thinking mind of the common man to break the age old chains that religion binds one with and realize that nothing and nobody is above reproach and everything can be questioned.

The story basically deals with two Indian Muslims, a superstar Gibreel Farishta, and a voice-over expatriate artist Saladin Chamcha (Spoono) who has a deep love for the English and all things anglicized. The novel begins with the miraculous fall of the two from a hijacked plane, and it is while they are experiencing the law of gravity that they both undergo a kind of mutation. While Saladin Chamcha literally becomes a "Devil" with horns, Gibreel Farishta becomes an "Angel". Anglophile Spoono with a big burly body and tail undergoes humiliation at the hands of the British police and the people from his own community. This degradation reaches its peak when his English wife Pamela (thinking Saladin to be dead in the airplane bomb-blast) fucks his friend Jumpy Joshi. This episode acts as the precursor of their eventual divorce. Gibreel who has come to this foreign land to meet his beloved Alleluia Cone (the "Everest" or "Ice queen" as she has been called in the novel) like his namesake mutates into a haloed angel. He develops some sort of schizophrenia. In the highly disturbed dream sequences which ensue, Gibreel starts thinking of himself as the Archangel Gabriel who revealed to Prophet Muhammad (called as Mahound in the book) the Qur'an.

Besides the stories of these two protagonists, the fabric of the tale is composed of several parallel short-stories narrating the lives of people at the Shandaar Cafe (who support and keep Saladin during his transmutation into the Devil and back to human), and Ayeesha - the woman who commands the people of Titlipur to gather en masse so as to make their pilgrimage to Mecca. Ayeesha (named after the Prophet's beloved wife) leads the people of Titlipur to their eventual demise (because the waters of the Arabian Sea do not part as had been promised by the angel Gibreel).

The Satanic Verses are not fictional lines or ideas propounded by Salman Rushdie but refer to these specific verses in Surah an-Najm (Star) 53:19-22:

"Have ye thought upon Al-Lat and Al-‘Uzzá
and Manāt, the third, the other?
These are the exalted gharāniq, whose intercession is hoped for."

There was a time when Muhammad and his followers went through a rough phase in their lives. They were thoroughly shunned and persecuted by the pagan Meccans. It is suspected that Muhammad succumbed to their pressure during this time and declared the above revelation from angel Gibreel. According to this revelation Muhammad acknowledged the existence of the three Goddesses (Al Lat, Al Uzza, and Manat) along with Allah, and diverted from his monotheistic worship of the Allah. Hearing Muhammad's acknowledgement of their deities, the pagans immediately accepted Muhammad and his followers into their fold.

However, Muhammad realized his folly and reverted to his sole worship of Allah. The so called "Satanic verses" were later removed from the Qur'an and replaced with the following:

Surat an-Najm (Star) 53:19-22 in Qur'an:
"Now tell me about Al-Lat, Al-Uzza, and Manat,
The third one, another goddess.
What! For you the males and for him the females!
That indeed is an unfair division."

It is said that Angel Gibreel came to the Prophet that evening and told him:

Hajj (Pilgrimage) 22:52-53 in Qur'an:

"Never did We send a messenger or a prophet before thee, but, when he framed a desire, Satan threw some (vanity) into his desire: but Allah will cancel anything (vain) that Satan throws in, and Allah will confirm (and establish) His Signs: for Allah is full of Knowledge and Wisdom:

That He may make the suggestions thrown in by Satan, but a trial for those in whose hearts is a disease and who are hardened of heart: verily the wrong-doers are in a schism far (from the Truth)."

The controversy about 'The Satanic Verses' issue is this:
If Prophet Muhammad himself was unable to distinguish Satan's voice from God's voice, then could there be more verses in the Qur'an which Muhammad assumed were of "divine "origin but in reality were demonic inspirations or figments of his own imagination.

The book definitely is controversial because it speaks boldly what one might only conjecture but never speak aloud. The Satanic Verses is a tale that charts with brutal honesty the character development of its two protagonists. From the moment they fall from the hijacked aircraft, Rushdie paints in detail the transition of their mind, body, and spirit, highlights their fears and insecurities, and shows how both the characters handle their new lives and situations all the while trying to seek love and acceptance.

Needless to say that it has been written brilliantly, the dialogues and language so par excellence that you feel you're watching a motion picture replete with grand images of the ordinary and the extraordinary. The book begins at a good pace, slows down in the middle, but picks up speed and moves fast towards the end. Yes, it might hurt one's sensibilities at times because of the unexpected attack of a person who calls a spade a spade. If you decide to give this book a read, be patient with it. 

Despite the intertwined stories, it must be said that Rushdie tied every loose end with finesse. Savour the stories for they have been written with a realistic approach and show the human fears and frailties, hidden and underhanded motives, the petty jealousies, selfishness, infidelity, discrimination, rebellion, rejection, and the need to seek acceptance, approval, love, and forgiveness with a crystal clarity. 

Do not rush with this novel and to be frank you can't (There are a quarter million words here!). This novel does make for a tedious reading at times, but all in all the book will give you so much to think about. It's a great book but only for the liberal of mind.
The book is not for those who do not think, do not question, and keep themselves much too attached to orthodox religious and communal roots which then sow discord and dissension.

Remember it is "The Satanic Verses" and not "Satanic Verses."

This book is a brilliant piece of literature. 

I give it 9/10