Untagged Book list

To say that I am sorely disappointed at not being 'tagged' to unleash my favourite 10 books is an understatement. People I call friends, acquaintances et al have abandoned my yearning desire to share. Ah well, as my wife suggested, why not go ahead and make the list anyway. Its not a relay, is it, You can run whenever you want. I took heed, as I usually do. So here it is.

My relationship with books, or pages of print enclosed within some sort of a cover, and once or twice even without one, has been patchy. I discovered my love for reading when very young, trying to make up for the lack of talent, friends and any sort of social life. Now that may sound like me feeling sorry for myself. It probably is, but it was also true. I had precisely 6 guys I could call friends during the 10 years I spent at Vincent's and I am in touch with precisely none of them at this point.

But I digress. So I was a book reader of some repute. Family, relatives all but called me a Booknose, apparently because they never saw that appendage of mine on account of it was always behind some book or the other. I read everywhere, and at all times; I frequented 2 libraries (3 at one point) in addition to the one at school, and I could never understand why libraries would have a limit on the number of books one could take out at a time. I would read through breakfasts, lunches, dinners, family friend visits, weekends, festivals...you get the picture. Ironically, as it turned out, the only place I wouldn't read was on the pot. Ironical because that is now the only place I do read.

Then college arrived, and the flow was interrupted. I still read, but the frequency was reduced. I still went to book sales, but the unread ones started to pile up. When I came to Bombay for my first job away from home, I was a regular visitor to the annual Strand book sale, spending a good deal of money on books I did not have the time to read.

Years went by, and the cycle of life progressed to marriage and fatherhood. There was a point, well more than a point, more like a extended line, that stretched to several years when I don't remember reading at all. What got me to restart I don't know, but the last few years have seen quite a few tomes go into the "Completed" section of my bookshelf. And most of the reading, almost 90% of it has been done on the crapper. It takes more time to get through one now, but I'm getting through them all right.

The list below is a combination of books from my first phase of life - when the reading was light, life was simple and predictable, and time didn't matter - and from the mrs recent phase of complications, decisions, and lessons learnt. It is not a list of 10 - I started by saying I would list all I could think of, then pare it down, but that has not been possible. And I don't even think this is a finite list. It will keep growing.

Happily it is a perfect mix of fiction and non, at least numerically - 6 of each. My favourite author naturally had to have more than the single entry, and there is one entry that comprises 5 (so far). But I enjoyed making this. I have been wanting to get back to blogging, and this gave me a good topic to do so. So here, in no particular order, other than FIMFOP (First In Memory First On Page)

1. Wolf Hall – Hilary Mantel Had only brushed past Thomas Cromwell in a chapter on World History in school, so was surprised and completely unprepared for how significant a figure he was. The style of writing took some getting used to, but once that happened, it just slid on like a comfortable glove. Beautiful writing on a story that could have been told in 10 pages or a thousand. Mantel falls somewhere in the middle but keeps the grip on, in what could have been tedious reading. It was like watching history in full HD.
2. Empress of Blandings – P.G. Wodehouse
   Calling PG my favourite author is like . Since the time I took up one of his books in my final years in school, I can only associate him with the tears that ran down my cheeks as I tried to keep the laughs quiet and within my belly. I even seem to recall falling off a narrow sofa in my earliest home because I couldn’t keep myself from doubling over. Today, I seldom go through any of these volumes without a fixed grin on my face. Lord Emsworth from Blandings would have been everyone’s favourite uncle if the world of Blandings was made compulsory reading at early school level.
3. On Warne – Gideon Haigh
   I distrust biographies because they always seem to project an idol from a singe, sometimes biased perspective. Haigh’s reputation as a writer was the only reason I picked this one up, and was I glad I did! The blurb on the front page – From the greatest cricket writers of our time, on the greatest cricketer of our age – actually is the most accurate description there is for this book.
4. Far from the Madding Crowd – Thomas Hardy
   No one does pathos and melancholy as well as Thomas Hardy (well maybe Shakespeare, but I like reading stuff written in the original language, which I can understand). And none makes a landscape as good a character as the human elements in a story as much as Hardy. And this from someone that usually skips through verbose and poetic descriptions of the envrions.
5. Leave it to Psmith – P.G. Wodehouse
   I saw “Isi Bahane” on TV (this a generation before satellites evolved into living room invaders) almost a decade before I read the book that inspired it. Psmith was so underrated as a Wodehouse character; I would completely ignore it at the library. Thank the Gods that be I had no more Jeeves and Emsworths left to explore. Psmith is the kind of person everyone aspires to be. The personification of cool, the debonair gentleman and rogue, the man with an answer to everything, everytime, a charmer who caused a flutter where he went, and one with whom you had the assurance that all would, eventually, end well.
6. A Short History of Nearly Everything – Bill Bryson Who knew history could be interesting, and so funny!
7. A Corner of a Foreign Field – Ramchandra Guha
   A history of Indian cricket from the eyes of a very articulate fan of the game.
8. Eats, Shoots and Leaves – Lynne Truss
   English can sometimes be an infuriatingly illogical language, and sometimes what you’ve “known” all your life may not always be the "right way". Truss finds a way to right the misonceptions in the most delightful and engrossing way. Should be compulsory reading at school, I say. (Incidentally, apologies to Ms Truss for all the transgressions I've no doubt made in this little piece against all the rules she mentions in this book)
9. The Song of Ice and Fire series – George R R Martin
   Have told this story many times, so at the risk of repeating myself for the nth time, let me start by saying that I did not read the first book in this series till (more than) a few years after a visiting client gifted it to me. At the time, the gifter had claimed that this was one of the “great modern American classics” (it is nothing of the sort of course), which along with the strange dragon on the cover kinda put me off it. The book stayed on my shelf till one evening when I could find nothing better to start up on. And once I did, I could not put it down. By the time I was finished, I was ready for the next in the series….and now 5 have been published and  promptly devoured. No one was more excited when news of a TV series was announced. HBO, no less. Felt an odd sense of foolish pride when the series turned popular. Today it holds the record for the ‘most downloaded series’ in history. My only grouse – the man who writes these does so very slowly. Book 6 is in the works for over 2 years now with no sign of a release date…and that man is not getting younger. My biggest fear is that Martin will pass over to a more spiritual abode, leaving everyone wondering what happened to the Starks and that spunky dwarf Tyrion. Rude? Maybe. But history teaches us, a story is best told till the end by the one who started it. People that pick up an incomplete story to complete it never do it justice. So there!
10. The Secret History – Donna Tartt Have to thank the Guardian for this. Saw this article on this writer who had published one fantastic novel, well received and successful, and then vanished into seemingly thin air. Tartt achieved fame early in life with this book, and then disappeared, resurfacing last year with “The Goldfinch”. I intend on reading that someday, but at the time I read about the real life version of Finding Forrester, Tartt’s life story intrigued me enough to go back to the original talent-revealing debut novel. I was not disappointed. This is a truly gifted author. Hope she can keep writing often enough to slake our appetites.
11. The Big Short – Michael Lewis
    I had read other books on the financial crash of 2008. The bursting of the subprime bubble has been examined in minute detail in several books like Joseph Stiglitz’s Freefall, but none of the experts had looked at it from the angle Lewis has. And almost none have the flair and ease of the written word that Lewis has. Looking forward to reading more of his work.
12. Fever Pitch – Nick Hornby
    Tales from the diary of a football club fan. Hornby is an Arsenal fan, but he might have been speaking for every single one of that wonderful breed. I could identify with parts of his obsession, and am sure there are millions out there who might have thought this book was a startling image of the person they saw in the mirror each day. Funny, scary, and heart-warming in equal measure, Hornby does not condone or validate the obsession, but he sure does humanize it.

Red and blue

This has got to be the shittiest way of resuming the blogging hobby, but I suppose the way the year began, I shouldn't have expected anything better. Another loss for United, this time in the FA Cup, to go with the loss to Spurs that the year began with, and we are now looking at the possibility of having a very bad end to the season. Of course, there are still 4 and bit months to go, but you can't help look at the portents without a sense of doom and gloom. This loss has firmed my resolve, once again, to stop staying up late to watch the United games. How long the resolve lasts will depend on how long United continue down this spiral down to Hell.

I could go into some heavy analysis into what I think is wrong with this United team, and I don’t think I would be far wrong. I don’t think I’d be far right either. It is not a great time to be a United fan. These defeats had always been hard to take, and these last two especially so. Tottenham have some good players and so have Swansea. They also have smart, young, attack minded managers in Sherwood and Laudrup, but their form of late has been inconsistent. They have not been beating the top teams and haven’t looked that convincing when playing the rest either. United, till this latest loss, at least could have laid claim to winning at least against teams not in the Top 8. No longer, it would seem.

If I had been asked however to analyse this string of defeats (United has now lost 4 games at home, and we are only in January – I don’t know the stats, but I think you would have to go far down the years to find a worse record in recent years), I would have said its lack of confidence. As simple as that would seem, it is really just that. United have not had a great team for the last 3 years. Remember when Rooney made noises a couple of years ago of wanting to quit because we weren’t signing any big players? He was right, even if his motivations were probably less noble than what his statement signified. Ever since the Glazers took over, Fergie has had to do with limited budget to get the kind of players he has wanted, and I suspect the Glazers played him very well in that Fergie has never publicly said he has not had the money to buy. Suspecting the Glazers had Fergie convinced only he mattered in the long run is probably simplistic, but it is the only way I can explain Fergie’s reluctance to get into the transfer market with an purpose for his last few years at the helm. So we have this team that is not very competitive, filled with players who wouldn’t have made the starting team of most international, let alone club teams. The fact that they have been competing well for the League title for these last years has to do with Fergie’s imposing stature in the dressing room, on the sidelines, in press rooms, in interviews…everywhere really. He was the wolf that huffed and puffed and the United team sailed in that wind that his personality generated. So when he left, abruptly for many people, it created a vacuum that paradoxically sucked out the confidence from the bubble that was the United team.

All of a sudden there was a new manager, one capable on paper to handle a team of this standing, yet someone who had never won anything of note. David Moyes is a coach any team would have felt lucky to have, and he had been in the very-shortlist for the longest of times. And yet, when it came to the reality that was United, it was clear that it was not just a matter of assuming the role; it actually meant carrying on the winning habit. Which was always going to be a problem with the team that he inherited. The summer that followed was not the brightest for Moyes or United or the common fan. The inexperience of the acquiring team was not helped by the perceived fall in stature that prevailed in the minds of any targets that United had in mind, and the August window closed with confusion, chaos and humiliation – and just Fellaini to show for it.

To complicate matters further, there was controversy in the form of the Rooney drama, and then a spate of injuries to key players. Van Persie, Carrick, Rafael, and then Rooney himself fell to ailments that kept them out for long critical periods. Nothing that Ferguson did not have to contend with under his command, so what is different this year? A couple of seasons ago, United had one of their regular back 4’s available, so we had Carrick and Fletcher as center backs and Valencia as the right half back. It didn’t work and with De Gea still finding his feet, this was the weakest I have ever seen United in defence. And yet, they competed, challenged for the title, and lost out on the final day when Aguero danced past the QPR defence and scored that heart breaking title clincher.

So, problems have been surmounted with pomp and élan, and now when they resurface, pundits and fans alike expect to see the resurgence of old. For what is a United team if not resilient and guaranteed to bounce back? This season has seen a few mini comebacks that have looked like comebacks only because of the constant string of failures. The season was prefaced with an insipid set of friendly fixtures, where they lost an alarming number of games, and leaked goals in almost every one of them. The first game of the season saw hope spring anew as the very Swansea team that would knock them out of the FA Cup was bounced out for 5 goals without reply. Then came the reverse against West Brom, the losses to Liverpool and Man City, the draws with Cardiff and Spurs, and before they knew it, United was languishing in the second 5. Then there was a short burst of victories, highlighted by a somewhat surprising unbeaten run in the Champion’s League. Then came back-to-back home losses to Everton and Newcastle, followed by another string of wins against lesser teams, which rekindled hope of at least a top 4 finish. That must now surely be considered unlikely with the latest defeats at home.

Beginning the year with a tough set of fixtures did not help obviously, but at the time, the thing that surprised me was how Moyes reacted to it. Not because he did not have reason to, but just that it was unusual for him to complain like that. It occurred to me that Fergie would have done the same thing, and it slightly concerned me that Moyes seemed to have done what his predecessor would have. In the months that followed, its been a struggle for Moyes, not because of the humungosity of the job at hand, but because he is measured up in everything that he does against what “Fergie would have done”.  It was an easy trap to fall into, and with the kind of scrutiny the job comes with; any man with a weaker stomach may have crumbled. Moyes has braved the storm well, has not let his composure be shaken, but has yet to make this job his own.

And therein lies the rub. Moyes will always have a tough job at United, and one doubts he expected any less, but if he is seeking to keep up the Fergie legend, he will be out of the job faster than anything he’s ever done. It is striking that most of the losses have come at home. The Old Trafford crowd can be intimidating, more for the home team perhaps when the going goes tough. Unlike other clubs that have known failure, and can afford to be upbeat in the face of constant defeats, this crowd is not used to more than cheering the goals that its team scores. It is a well-known fact that at OT, if you silence the crowd, you tend to get a result. I first saw this in the 1-6 defeat to City 2 seasons ago. As soon as the noisy neighbours scored the first, they had the strangle on the crowd, and with that the eleven on the field. That has happened more and more this season – teams have come to Old Trafford unafraid of being aggressive, and the crowds have been unsure, not confident in their new manager, and that has been personified in their team’s performances. Away from home, the performances have not been much better, but the mistakes have been fewer, the limbs freer, the flow a little better.

So it’s a crisis of confidence, and there is now a feeling that something has to change. It is a cycle that needs breaking. Whether that is done through a influx of new faces - or one big one, like Ozil seemed to have engineered for Arsenal - or a change in tactics, it is Moyes who will need to be at the forefront and he is the one that will, at least in perception, need to drive that change. If not, the change that will inevitably occur, even with all this talk of United giving more time to its managers, will be in the name of manager. And that will be unfortunate. For in my mind, Moyes is the man for the job. It is however not I, or the millions of fans worldwide, or the pundits, or Old Trafford for that matter, who needs to be convinced. It’s the 11 on the pitch that have to believe in him the way they believed in a grey headed bespectacled grandfather with a tasty hair dryer.