Apeirogon by Colum McCann

Apeirogon is at its heart a very intelligently crafted novel, which is also so very well written. Reading the book, I found myself alternating between feelings of despair in the sections which deal with  the tragic senseless deaths of the two daughters: Abir and Smadar and those of admiration for the elegance of McCann's writing and the seemingly random but yet so interesting facts he weaves into his narrative.  

On the surface, McCann's novel seems an attempt to present the complexities of the Israel-Palestine issue, while suggesting dialogue as the way out.

However, when chancing upon Susan Abulhawa's critique of the novel (click here to see Abulhawa's review), I realised that perhaps there is more to the book than meets the eye.  Is this indeed a book propelled by pro-Israeli forces?  Are the references to Steven Spielberg in the latter half of the book a result of a film deal between the writer and publisher? What to make of McCann's judicious selection of facts?  Needless to say questions like this brought to mind the age old question of who gets to tell the stories? Is it not possible for an outsider to present an authentic narrative? And what about freedom of expression?

So then, how does one approach a book like Apeirogon, which is so very well written and yet problematic. I guess, as a responsible reader one needs to be mindful of the writer's perspective so as to have a nuanced reading and yet let oneself be free to be transported by the words.

Recommended for when you want a well crafted novel.

The Jaipur Literature Festival 2021

Being the JLF junkie that I am, it was quite obvious that I was not going to miss the fest this year albeit in its virtual avatar.  I cleared my schedule ahead of time for the ten day extravaganza and studied the schedule carefully to strategise which events to attend.  Finally after a long wait, Friday, 19th February arrived and for all practical purposes I disappeared from the home front.  

Day one, in typical JLF style, highlighted the intersection of art and science, what normally are seen as opposed disciplines actually have a lot in common.  Blyth and Blatchford in the inaugural session pointed out the importance of imagination and creativity for both artists and scientists.  In fact, the very depiction of the universe, the way we imagine it has been shaped by the work of artists.  In a similar vein, Carlo Rovelli in the following talk explained how Nagarjuna's notions of interdependence gives us a way of looking at Quantum mechanics!

What draws me to JLF year after year is that it introduces me to writers and books that I normally would not consider.  Books that I really want to read after attending the session this year are Kishwar Desai's biography of Devika Rani based on a careful study of primary sources titled The Longest Kiss.  Another volume I want to read is Mehr Farooqi's Ghalib: A Wilderness at my Doorstep for a nuanced presentation of this most famous poet's life.  The session with S. Hareesh and Jayasree Kalathil on The Year of the Moustache convinced me that there was depth to the book Moustache and I must read it, as it was not the typical award circuit book.  What impressed me most was S. Hareesh's statement that writing a story is a fundamental part of democracy and therefore novels should be a safe space, an assumption that is so often brought into question in today's intolerant world.  Colum McCann's talk on his novel Apeirogon—based on a friendship between a Palestinian father and an Israeli father, both of whom lost their daughters in the senseless violence that afflicts the region—intrigued not just me but my friends too and so now it is our Book Club read for the month of April.  Rodaan Al-Galidi in his talk shed light on the twilight zone that refugees awaiting legalisation exist in for years on end, the subject of his book Two Blankets and Three Sheets.  In contrast, Doireann Ni Ghirofa drew one's attention to Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill’s keen: Caoineadh Airt Uí Laoghaire, again reiterating how little one is aware of literary traditions around the world.  Ben MacIntyre, a JLF regular, is such fun to listen to, his sessions all the more fascinating for the true life spy stories he shares with us.  This time I was kicked to have my question asked to the author (by the end of the festival some q/a sessions were being enabled) all about Killing Eve and its inspiration.  

Now more than any other this is really the time for history lovers, as such diverse approaches to the subject are emerging.  One of these is Yashaswini Chandra's The Tale of the Horse: A History of India on Horseback.  Julia Lovell's Maoism a Global History does what no one has done in one volume, to look at Maoism in its various forms across the globe.  Priya Atwal presents a refreshing perspective on Ranjit Singh's Durbar.  Camilla Townsend's talk about her Cundhill History prize winning work Fifth Sun: A New History of the Aztecs made me realise how much I have to learn and explore—-the dilemma of every bookworm: so much to read and such little time.  A fan of Richard Eaton ever since I read his Sufis of Bijapur while in college, presented his latest book India in the Persianate Age, which relooks at the so called Hindu-Muslim clash of the medieval world which he attributes to the colonial construction of Indian history.  

While the session by Mehreen Chida Rizvi on Jahangir's paintings was pleasing to the eye, there was nothing new that was being presented—if you've read Ebba Koch you know what Rizvi has to say!

Though I am not much of a poetry reader by the end of the festival I was really inspired to explore some.  In particular, I can't wait to read Rupert Snell's translations of Bihari Satsai especially after he explained how rich and difficult these poems are to translate.  Mahmood Farooqi talking about his uncle the later SR Faruqi not only reminded me that I needed to read the latter's Mirror of Beauty but also had me wanting to read his translations of Mir.  The dohas of Abdur Rahim are also another work I want to explore, especially since I have been driving past his tomb ever since I can remember.

Apart from providing leads on what to read next, JLF has always been a place of learning for me.  While the session with Amita Baig and Tripurdaman Singh on The Taj Mahal highlighted the dilemmas that the city of Agra has faced because of the presence of theTaj, such as the shifting of traditional industries, which are often glossed over.  On the other hand, with Meelis Friedenthal one gained a glimpse of Estonia of yore where the upper class members of society were not Estonians.  The sessions by Kevin Barry and Mark Haddon were interesting but the highlight was the one with Colm Toibin for one truly felt in the presence of a literary master.

It was while attending the session on Phoolsunghi that the limitations of the online version of the festival really hit me—the absence of a q/a session with the speakers, especially since I had been waiting to ask Choubey a question regarding the novel.  

Also, the festival literally proved that money talks, for while each session was carefully monitored to ensure that time frames were not overshot, Bill Gates was allowed to speak at length, cutting into the following session. 

So at the end of the experience, which do I prefer….the physical JLF or the online one?  That is a tough choice.  While the virtual festival saved me a lot of time and money as no travel was involved and I no longer had a hassle of finding a seat at the venue; the in person experience of interacting with authors or browsing in the bookstore (though there was a virtual bookstore) was missing.  Moreover, the sessions were a bit shorter and most did not have a q/a which one did miss.  Given a choice next year what would I do, probably attend the virtual session for its convenience as I have attended the festival a number of times in person and am now after a year of Covid quite attuned to the virtual world.  

Ladakh a Wanderer's Spectacle by Nabarun Bhattacharya

The present pandemic has rendered most of us armchair travellers, attempting to slake our wanderlust by poring through a variety of travelogues.  I chanced upon this particular book in the library and am so glad I picked it up for it's not the traditional coffee table book. Yes, it does have gorgeous drool-worthy pictures of Ladakh which does make one feel all the more terrible to be stuck here in the dreary plains.  More than the pictures I found myself pulled in by the writer's account of a faith-healer's session.  At the end of the book I was swept by the realisation of how brutally frank the author has been about himself. It was with a heavy heart that I put the book down knowing that there would be no more, for Bhattacharya died before he could complete this book at the age of forty-seven.  I am so glad that the Niyogi Books decided to publish this book posthumously for it is a most worthy addition to the existing literature on Ladakh.