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)
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)
- 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.
- 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. - 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. - 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. - 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. - A Short History of Nearly Everything – Bill Bryson Who knew history could be interesting, and so funny!
- A Corner of a Foreign Field –
Ramchandra Guha
A history of Indian cricket from the eyes of a very articulate fan of the game. - 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) - 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! - 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.
- 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. - 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.
