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view Literary
fanfare Zia
Mohyeddin column view Some “best-sellers” might possess the potential to tickle a reader’s imagination, but they don’t guarantee tailor-made satisfaction for every reader By Haneya Zuberi “But, you see, I didn’t like it!” I always wonder what is
with all these big shot, best-selling books and us throwing ourselves all
over them. The I
mean, the thought is fair enough. Besides, there has to be a logical
justification behind that book entering the hall of fame to the point that it
became a best-seller. It has to be a remarkable piece of literature. If it is
a work of fiction, the story-line has to be extra-ordinarily striking to the
point it reveals the writer playing around with the reader’s imagination
throughout the course of the book and at the same time slithering its way
right into the reader’s head. But just the fact that the book is a
bestseller and possesses the potential to tickle the reader’s imagination
doesn’t guarantee that it will be tailor-made to suit every reader. Maybe
to ordinary readers it might click and to some not-so-ordinary readers might
not. It could also I honestly have no clue under what category of readers I fall, but there is one thing I am very sure about. I found myself not being a fan of a handful of best-selling novels which topped the “best books” lists for months, were nominated for various awards and even won numerous prizes. Now don’t get me wrong. I am not putting to question the works of able authors who indeed have produced remarkable literature. I am just explaining how my taste buds reacted after I devoured some of the best-selling literature which was ‘highly’ recommended to me by not just my peers but also the plethora of book reviews I read. If I may add, I am quite sure you might have felt the same way about certain books, at some point in your life. I have, multiple times and that is what I am sure about.
Then it was The Life of
Pi’s turn. I never judge books by their covers but when I first saw the
cover of this book, I Let me share a secret. I am
a romantic. You will automatically assume that I would enjoy love stories and
Love Story in particular would be my favourite. After many people recommended
me this best seller, with much hope and anticipation I brought myself a copy.
On the first page, when I read, “What can you say about a
twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant.
That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles. And me.” I felt like I
knew what and how the story I was about to read was going to be till the v The idea of having the ability of changing everything to gold is more than captivating. It is more than just a dream come true, it is more far fetched than a mere fantasy; it is deeper than hoping. Then, one follows the quest for finding treasure. You are never satisfied till you know you have found it. The Alchemist was another best-seller I anticipated was a quest venture except that it turned out to be a bland adventure. The story was heavy-handed and for me, it got redundant after a while. But I still went on with it and the storm in the end made things even bleaker. That was the last time I decided to read a book assuming that a best-seller will be just what I want to read. Literary fanfare The latest edition of Symbol offers imaginative work representing all genres of Urdu literature By Dr Abrar Ahmad Symbol:
Issue 4 When dark clouds of uncertainty and heartless violence surround us, there still are many areas of activity generating strong rays of hope and life in our society. Literature the agent of change reflects the promise we harbour as a nation to resist and survive and is displaying meaningful turbulence and activity. While we witness literary gatherings picking up at Halqa Arbab e Zauq, we also find new books on current issues getting regularly published, circulated and discussed. Same is the case with literary journals, being regularly published from various cities. Symbol, one such magazine that has hit the stands recently, is edited by Ali Mohammad Farshi and Shahab Safdar, both modern poets of substance. The current issue is voluminous and offers creative works representing all genres of Urdu literature. Apart from sections that are an integral part of such journals, special pages are reserved for Dr Wazir Agha who left us last year. Agha is in fact the name of an era that has gone by -- an institution where literati came, spent time, learnt and left to create with passion and commitment. His company remained inspiring and friendly with his doors open to even strangers. Auraq, that Agha edited for more than 40 years, proved a trend-setter, specifically for modern Urdu short story. With the temperament of a perfect artist, he had intense affinity for new sources of knowledge and creativity. His command over modern sciences and other creative disciplines contributed massively to his vision as a critic and poet. He remained confined to “theory” and rarely indulged in applied criticism. That is why he remained averse to generating controversies and refused to gain as a critic with nuisance value. With some exceptionaly long poems, Agha is sure to retain and enjoy an unshakable status in the entire tradition of Urdu nazm. In the issue under review, Dr Rashid Amjad, a prominent short story writer, tenderly recalls the time and meetings with Agha while Indian poet Satya Paul Anand gives a detailed and lucid account of the correspondence, telephonic debates and exchange of views that went on smoothly in spite of the ground distance. Wazir Agha Aur Nai Tanqidi Theory helps the reader to understand him as a modern/post-modern critic and his uniqueness in the field. Dr Shazia Umair discovers in him a critic with diction of his own. These pages are a befitting tribute to the major personality of our literary history. Articles by Mohammad Kazim, Iqbal Afaqi, Mohammad Hameed Shahid and Imran Shahid Bhinder are focused and involving. Khudkushi Ka Farishta:Sarwat Hussain is a good attempt by Tanvir Saghar on the life and poetry of Hussain, but one feels that the objective critical appraisal of Hussain as a poet has become hostage to his tragic life. He perhaps needs to be studied independently of this huge bias in order to correctly evaluate his works in totality. Aftab Iqbal Shamim, Naseer Ahmad Nasir, Ali Mohammad Farshi and Akhtar Raza Salimi do well with their unique poems while Javed Anwar in his long poem Barzakh Kay Phool simply outshines the rest; it is well- composed and delicately woven. Maqsood Wafa, Khalique ur Rehman, Shanawar Ishaq and Zahid Imroz have come out with impressive prose poetry. Shams-ur-Rehman Farooqi the most celebrated and respected critic of our times, has recently started exploring individual poets in a series of articles. Sultan Akhtar is his focus in the piece included here. Akhtar is a relatively less acknowledged poet belonging to Farooqi’s generation. Farooqi develops his argument on the basis of the “hopeless” situation of the recent poetic offerings by our new generation. To him good poetry has ceased to appear altogether and therefore advises us to consider Sultan Akhtar as a role model for new authors. But surprisingly, the essay remains sweeping and falls far short of the standards, Farooqi himself has set for his writings. The verses quoted from the poet’s works fails to deeply impress the reader. Farooqi winds up his argument by quoting a couplet, not failing to once again agree with the bite it contains for the youngsters: In the absence of an organised argument proper reasoning is out of place to give a proper response. The impression conveyed can only be contested with examples. Here are some select couplets from the ghazals of new poets published in Symbol -- reassuring evidence and good news for the master critic: Symbol is available at Book Home, Lahore Mr. Books, Islamabad Fazli Sons, Karachi
Zia
Mohyeddin column Two of my regular readers, knowing that I am not a computer man, (and can therefore not be reached by email) have written to me to say that they were greatly amused by some of the words I had mentioned from the Third Book of Words and could I please list a few more. Before I do so let me let me tell you a bit about a glass object I picked from a wayside vendor in the Arabian Nights alleys of Shiraz, over thirty five years ago. It was rather a quaint looking vase with a round base, fluted in the middle and a long neck with a mouth shaped like a human ear. The glass was of a rich blue colour that you often see in Iranian miniature paintings. In my meager Farsi, I enquired what it was and the vendor said something that sounded like “Ove Chashm”. Chashm means eye in Farsi, but I had no clue about Ove. I nodded knowledgably as though I understood and asked how much. It was not very expensive, but shopping ethics in Iran demanded that I haggle, which I did, unconvincingly, and finally bought it for a bob or two less than the marked price. A couple of years later, I was staying in Tehran as a guest of Rashed Sahib. The recent upsurge of Rashedology leaves no one in any doubt that Noon Meem Rashed is a pre-eminent Urdu poet of the 20th century. At the time when I stayed with him he was the dark-grey suited United Nations emissary heading its Information office in Iran. Rashed Sahib was steeped in Persian literature and folk-lore. I talked to him about “Ove Chasma” and he told me that the vendor could have meant Aab-e-Chashm, (water of the eyes) although the object was probably what was sometimes referred to as Girya-e-Chasm (lament of the eyes) or Girya-az-Chasm (make the eyes weep). The story attached to this object (which Rashed Sahib told me) was fascinating. In the magical days of the past when the earth shook if Rustam thumped it with his foot in anger, and princes were turned into stone at the command of a sorcerer, warriors were often expected to fight in remote, far-off shores. Their wives or finances wept in their absence and collected their tears in a container (made of glass or porcelain). A full Girya-az-Chasm was a positive proof that the beloved had been true and faithful. The warriors were naïve indeed, he said with a wink. In the last three decades I have moved house a number of times. Many glass objects were broken or chipped during the transfer but the Girya-az-Chasm has survived. Some of my friends who heard the legend were moved and looked at the object with renewed interest; others thought it was romantic nonsense. Now, after all these years I learn form Peter Bowlers’s priceless book that the object I possess is called “lachrymatory.” A lachrymatory is a glass bottle for keeping tears in. Bowler does not tell us whether it is to be used by maidens or men. Personally, I find the word a bit too scientific, reminding me of the sulphurous smells emanating from my college chemistry lab. Girya-az-Chasm is a whole lot more evocative. And now a few more “Superior Person’s” words for your everyday conversation. Cledonisn: the use of euphemistic language to avoid the magical effects that might be caused by the use of plain language. Referring to the devil for example, as “Monsieur,” is the belief that the devil will not realize that he is being spoken about and will therefore have no occasion to cause you any harm. A husband referring to his spouse as “Her Ladyship” could be regarded as cledonism. Deconstruction: An approach to the analysis of text popular in the 1970’s and associated in particular with Jaeques Derrida, who asserted that the text means something very different from what it appears to mean. Bowler is of the views that if the technique of deconstruction were applied to Derrida’s own writings it would become apparent that deconstruction must be something completely different from what it is said to be. Emporiatric: the science of traveller’s health, embracing such aspects as jet-lag, exposures to heat or cold, altitude sickness etc,. “Next time when you’re asking for travel insurance, ask them to include full emporiatric cover. You may get away with it even with your heart condition.” Floccillation: the action of a feverish patient in picking at the bedclothes during his delirium. “The matron in the hospital was very strict. She wouldn’t send for the orderlies until actual floccillation set in.” Histrion: an actor. The adjective histrionic today carries implications of theatricality in acting style. In the eighteenth century a historian was someone who played the buffoon, a term well-suited in the person of a thespian called Robert Coates. Coates, Bowler tells us, was universally known as Romeo Coates, because he specialised in the role of Romeo, which he played in a blue silk coat covered with spangles, a Charles II wig, and a top hat. In playing the death scene, he would first carefully sweep the stage with his silk handkerchief the spot on the stage where he intended to fall; then remove his hat and set it neatly beside him on the floor, then take several minutes lying down, turning around and about until he had found the most comfortable position. Audiences, hysterical with laughter, would demand, and receive, numerous encores of the scene. It would be unfair to say that Robert Coates was the only historian on the English stage in the 19th century. Nullifidian: without religious faith, one who is without religious faith. (A highly useful word when confronted by religious proselytisers at your front door). Bowler tells us that if you admit to them that you are an atheist or agonistic they will merely redouble their efforts to convert you, but a summing statement that you are a nullifidian will send them away content, if somewhat bewildered. Nuncupative: in legal matters, oral rather than written. “Yes, I do seem to recall saying something about a substantial monetary reward if you get a top position in your exams, but it was a nuncupative undertaking”. Quadrivium: in medieval times the seven liberal arts that composed the curriculum of educational institutions were divided into four advance subjects, known as Quadrivium. The quadrivium was made up of Arithmetic, Geometry, Astronomy and Music. The three lesser subjects I now learn from The Third Book, known as trivium, were Grammar, Logic and Rhetoric. You may never get a chance to use this word, but isn’t it nice to have it up your sleeve? |
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second we hear that the prize winning author so and so wrote a book titled so
and 
so
and that book has become a best seller; at the spur of the moment there is
only one thing that crosses our mind: I have to read this particular book.
be the 
other
way round, after all we don’t really know who, in this case, the ordinary
reader is.
May
the god of all the small things and the big things bless Arundhati Roy. But
for me, taking the blessings from The God of Small Things became a little bit
of a difficult task. I had over-enthusiastic friends suggest the book to me.
My expectation of the book was almost as high as the Himalayas when I first
started reading it. When I felt I couldn’t keep up with the non-linear,
multi-perspective manner in which the story of the twins was unfolded I felt
that I was in a trap. The jumping around of the family stories from one
relative to the other plus the verbose nature of the text which I must admit
was beautifully written failed to enchant me as much as it enchanted others.
I completed the book wondering, how I actually managed to finish it.
don’t particularly remember being attracted to it. My cousin gave me his
copy, 
recommending
with overflowing enthusiasm that I read it. I also remember reading
remarkable reviews about the book and hence decided to give in to the hype.
Even though, generally, I feel comfortable reading books I can relate to, as
the book has connections with our neighbour India, but I found it boring.
This whole east and west emulsion didn’t go great with me neither did the
practicing three religions really settle down in my head. The infusion of sea
plants and animals and survival in toxic conditions indeed took the credit
but then the conversation between two officials from the Japanese maritime
department swung me back to where I had st
arted.
When I finished it, I felt relieved and I thought, maybe I should have simply
judged it by its cover.
ery
end of the book. I turned some pages smiling, the others crying-- just the
way I expected. But I didn’t feel any anticipation while reading. I knew I
was reading a love story where the girl was dying. The seco
nd
I finished the last line on the last page, I reconsidered why I started it in
the first place. Then, of course, I remembered, I had just read another
best-seller.