"Finally, the other side of the story", the cover proclaimed. How could I resist? I have shelves full of books on Jesus, Sufi saints, and Oriental philosophers. The Bad Girl in me wanted to know.
And what a read it's been. I just finished it this morning, after I got back from dropping my brother off at the airport (sniff). When I finished reading, I wanted to go back and start from page one again. That's a first for me.
So. Down to business. I, LUCIFER is a horribly irreverent and brilliantly funny story (fiction, but of course) told in the first person. I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I found myself totally captivated. And terribly jealous of Glen Duncan for coming up with this idea.
Religious people may take offence to this book. Lucifer does and says horrible things. And he refers to Jesus Christ (who happens to be my favourite man in the whole universe) as "Jimmeny Christmas".
But the stories, the alternate perspectives, the humour, the history lessons, the Lessons. If you're worried that you'll end up converting to Satanism, I don't think that's likely. In fact, the insights into evil might just get thee to a nunnery.
My only disappointment was that it was all pretty much C of E. References to Catholicism and Judaism here and there, but no mention about the others--all we Hindus, Muslims, and the rest of us--we don't come into the story at all. I feel left out. But I guess if you're going to write a book on such a controversial theme, it's better to play safe and stay west of fatwas and tridents.
Final thoughts: It's a book that leaves you thinking. If you think thinking is dangerous, then this book isn't for you. If not, then it's on my bookshelf and up for grabs.
Tuesday 12 February 2008
Book Fair Junkie
2007's New Year's resolution was to read 50 books. I don't think I made it. This year my resolution was not to buy any books until my birthday in August. I'm pretty sure I didn't make that one, either. Not pretty sure, to be honest. Just plain Sure. I was at a book fair (Kaaba's, from Madras) on January 3rd. And the newest book fair in town, Mayank's from Bombay, I've been to twice already, and will probably wander across there again this week.
In keeping with my 'this year is for me' theme, I've been looking more at fiction, instead of the reference books on child abuse and mental health that I normally stock up on for Askios. It's been ages since I've read fiction on a regular basis--don't we all do that? Remember how many novels we read as teenagers? And then we get all grown-up (or think we are) and can't allow ourselves such an indulgence. At the most, we read self-help books, or the latest Booker-winner, or something off the New York Times Top Ten Bestsellers' list. Mostly we're reading marketing strategies and contracts and presentations and emails and fine print.
And blogs, which, being on our computers, somehow feel more businesslike and less sinful than a book on the bedside table.
So this seemed a good medium to encourage your return to paperback (or hard-bound, as the case may be). And for me, a nicely organised way to take a trip down memory lane from time to time, to revisit the books I've found and read.
Second-hand books are what I recommend. Unless J.K. Rowling surprises us with a Harry Potter sequel (or prequel). But she said she won't, so we mustn't hold our breaths, and second-hand books it is.
I'm never sure why people like buying brand new books. Used books have more energy, more personality, more history. There are names scrawled on the inside cover, or birthday messages from aunts or godmothers. There are pressed maple leaves in books from Canada. There are bookmarks from quaint little American bookstores. In self-help books, there are sometimes notes from the therapist's clinic, advising the previous owner of his or her next appointment date. And the really old books smell DIVINE. New books are a little too sanitised for me.
Plus there's no adventure in buying a new book. The book stores will have it. If they don't have it, they'll get it for you. But a book fair ("SURPLUS USA/CANADA BOOKS!! UPTO 85% OFF!!") promises uncertainty and a fair amount of grime. It's only fitting that one comes away from a treasure hunt with grey, dusty fingers. And one steps into the fair, with its disrespectful piles of books plonked onto old tables, overflowing cartons underneath, KNOWING that somewhere in this mess is A Book (or several) That Should Have Your Name On It.
Add to that the mirage of economics and saving trees, and you have a winner. I, for one, am totally hooked on what, for me, is a relatively harmless addiction. (To better understand this relativity, refer to posts labelled 'Dear Me').
Meanwhile, if you're ever in a book fair, and see a bald woman having a surreptitious snort of some tattered yellowed pages, that would be me. Fellow addicts, come and say hullo.
In keeping with my 'this year is for me' theme, I've been looking more at fiction, instead of the reference books on child abuse and mental health that I normally stock up on for Askios. It's been ages since I've read fiction on a regular basis--don't we all do that? Remember how many novels we read as teenagers? And then we get all grown-up (or think we are) and can't allow ourselves such an indulgence. At the most, we read self-help books, or the latest Booker-winner, or something off the New York Times Top Ten Bestsellers' list. Mostly we're reading marketing strategies and contracts and presentations and emails and fine print.
And blogs, which, being on our computers, somehow feel more businesslike and less sinful than a book on the bedside table.
So this seemed a good medium to encourage your return to paperback (or hard-bound, as the case may be). And for me, a nicely organised way to take a trip down memory lane from time to time, to revisit the books I've found and read.
Second-hand books are what I recommend. Unless J.K. Rowling surprises us with a Harry Potter sequel (or prequel). But she said she won't, so we mustn't hold our breaths, and second-hand books it is.
I'm never sure why people like buying brand new books. Used books have more energy, more personality, more history. There are names scrawled on the inside cover, or birthday messages from aunts or godmothers. There are pressed maple leaves in books from Canada. There are bookmarks from quaint little American bookstores. In self-help books, there are sometimes notes from the therapist's clinic, advising the previous owner of his or her next appointment date. And the really old books smell DIVINE. New books are a little too sanitised for me.
Plus there's no adventure in buying a new book. The book stores will have it. If they don't have it, they'll get it for you. But a book fair ("SURPLUS USA/CANADA BOOKS!! UPTO 85% OFF!!") promises uncertainty and a fair amount of grime. It's only fitting that one comes away from a treasure hunt with grey, dusty fingers. And one steps into the fair, with its disrespectful piles of books plonked onto old tables, overflowing cartons underneath, KNOWING that somewhere in this mess is A Book (or several) That Should Have Your Name On It.
Add to that the mirage of economics and saving trees, and you have a winner. I, for one, am totally hooked on what, for me, is a relatively harmless addiction. (To better understand this relativity, refer to posts labelled 'Dear Me').
Meanwhile, if you're ever in a book fair, and see a bald woman having a surreptitious snort of some tattered yellowed pages, that would be me. Fellow addicts, come and say hullo.
Sunday 10 February 2008
Why DO we do it?
It's almost always the first question asked: "Have you put on weight?" Or, if you want to be nice, "Have you been dieting?" Sometimes it's just a statement. "You're looking chubby." or "You're not eating enough."
Whatever it is, it's almost always a slug, and if the slugger's motives are questioned, will usually be met with hurt expressions, I-was-just-ASKings, or the old favourite, You-can't-take-constructive-criticism.
When there's no slug intended, then we must sigh and accept that there are people out there with poor conversation skills and no creativity. And then we must seethe. Of course, for much of our seething we have only ourselves to blame. We buy into the whole body-obsession thing, and we spend plenty of time running around in terror like headless chickens (nice plump ones) wondering what to do about our imperfect bodies. Because, of course, once our bodies our perfect, our lives will be too, won't they?
(Here I would just like to point out that headless chickens tend NOT to function on brain power).
Not surprisingly, when I looked for answers, I found my inspiration in nature. And at the circus.
Whatever it is, it's almost always a slug, and if the slugger's motives are questioned, will usually be met with hurt expressions, I-was-just-ASKings, or the old favourite, You-can't-take-constructive-criticism.
When there's no slug intended, then we must sigh and accept that there are people out there with poor conversation skills and no creativity. And then we must seethe. Of course, for much of our seething we have only ourselves to blame. We buy into the whole body-obsession thing, and we spend plenty of time running around in terror like headless chickens (nice plump ones) wondering what to do about our imperfect bodies. Because, of course, once our bodies our perfect, our lives will be too, won't they?
(Here I would just like to point out that headless chickens tend NOT to function on brain power).
Not surprisingly, when I looked for answers, I found my inspiration in nature. And at the circus.
The hippo was fat.
No one judged, asked, or advised.
(Fat, and hairy too).
Saturday 2 February 2008
Good questions.
When was the last time
we did something civilised?
And its opposite?
Not a very poetic haiku but something that has been on my mind of late. I'm wondering, if we were to think more about our behaviour, maybe even keep a list or two, which list would be longer? Would thinking about our personal degree of civilisation make us more conscientious about it?
We often talk about mankind, civilisation, our higher status than animals, but sometimes I look around me and think that it is the animals who are the civilised ones, and we are the beasts. Slyer than foxes. Dirtier than pigs. Lazier than sloths. Prouder than peacocks. Blinder than bats. Drunker than skunks.
Whoever came up with those phrases must have been crazy as a loon.
we did something civilised?
And its opposite?
Not a very poetic haiku but something that has been on my mind of late. I'm wondering, if we were to think more about our behaviour, maybe even keep a list or two, which list would be longer? Would thinking about our personal degree of civilisation make us more conscientious about it?
We often talk about mankind, civilisation, our higher status than animals, but sometimes I look around me and think that it is the animals who are the civilised ones, and we are the beasts. Slyer than foxes. Dirtier than pigs. Lazier than sloths. Prouder than peacocks. Blinder than bats. Drunker than skunks.
Whoever came up with those phrases must have been crazy as a loon.
Friday 1 February 2008
VOTE FOR ANGINA
Driving down CMH Road this evening, I saw this mysterious message spray-painted on a wall. I have no idea what it means. Do any of you?
As far as I know, here in Bangalooraloo we have no politicians named Angina. Do any go by the nickname"Angie"? Is there a Nagina out there with a dyslexic supporter? Oh! Maybe we have an A.N. Gina?
Could it be an acronym? For example:
Anti Nicotine Group of Intensely Neurotic Activists.
All Nonsense Graffiti for Indian Nicotine Addicts.
Asian Non-Governmental Institute for Nagging Aches.
Perhaps there is a heart patient out there in Indiranagar, who, having experienced the horrors of cardiac arrest, decided that angina was a lesser evil.
Maybe it is a warning. From someone who has spent agonising hours, days or months, trying to figure out why their name is not on the Voter's List. Someone who wants us to know just how stressful the desire to vote can be. Someone who left out a comma. Maybe the message is supposed to read "Vote, for angina."
As far as I know, here in Bangalooraloo we have no politicians named Angina. Do any go by the nickname"Angie"? Is there a Nagina out there with a dyslexic supporter? Oh! Maybe we have an A.N. Gina?
Could it be an acronym? For example:
Anti Nicotine Group of Intensely Neurotic Activists.
All Nonsense Graffiti for Indian Nicotine Addicts.
Asian Non-Governmental Institute for Nagging Aches.
Perhaps there is a heart patient out there in Indiranagar, who, having experienced the horrors of cardiac arrest, decided that angina was a lesser evil.
Maybe it is a warning. From someone who has spent agonising hours, days or months, trying to figure out why their name is not on the Voter's List. Someone who wants us to know just how stressful the desire to vote can be. Someone who left out a comma. Maybe the message is supposed to read "Vote, for angina."
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