Saturday, November 18, 2017
Latin America in the 20th century has been a hot breeding ground and melting pot for authoritarian, power-drunk dictators, and consequently Latin American literature abounds with dictator novels. Peruvian Nobel Laureate Mario Vargas Llosa, as evidenced by 2 of his incredible works that I’d read before, viz. the deliriously brilliant Aunt Julia & the Scriptwriter and the bleakly polemical The Real Life of Alejandro Mayta, has had the formidable power of imbuing his books with daring formalism, political immediacy and narrative edge, and The Feast of the Goat is yet another powerful elucidation of that. Set in the Dominican Republic, it is centered on the tyrannical regime of Rafael Leónidas Trujillo, with his assassination in 1961 being the central hinge around which the sprawling and ambitious narrative has been woven. The storyline has three inter-related arcs structured in the form of 1-2-3 – in the first strand set in 1996, Urania, an accomplished New York lawyer, has returned on a whim to her hometown Santo Domingo after 35 years to see her father, a former Trujillista who fell out of the Generalissimo’s favour, and who she has avoided contact with all these years on account of a horrifying secret which had led her to flee to the US; the second and the third strands, dizzyingly populated with fictionalized representations of real people and historical references, are set on the fateful date of 30th May 1961, with the second focusing, in intricate details, on the last day of Trujillo’s life leading to his assassination, while the third centered on the assassins as they await the arrival of the Goat’s car so that they can ambush him. It was only near the last third, in depicting the bloody carnage and subsequent change in power structure that followed in the aftermath of the assassination, that the three strands collapsed into one; but until then they played out, tonally, almost like three distinctive novellas – a gut-wrenching tale of memory and loss, a tar-black political satire on the banality of power, and a slow-burning thriller from multiple points-of-view, respectively.
Author: Mario Vargas Llosa
Genre: Drama/Political Drama/Political History/Roman a Clef/Historical Novel
Saturday, November 4, 2017
Charles Willeford had written a dozen novels, three books on poetry and a couple of short story collections, and had tried his hands at a dizzying array of full and part-time jobs for monetary purpose, before he finally achieved tremendous success, at the age of 65, with Miami Blues. This was the book which introduced Hoke Mosely – an astute, divorced, perennially impecunious cop and compulsive loner with full-set dentures, eking out a shabby existence in a decrepit hotel occupied by senile ladies and Cuban refugees – to the pantheon of memorable cops and detectives in the highly fertile world of literary pop-culture; he would go on to write 5 more Mosely novels (including 1 which remains unpublished). This was also the book, as many agree, that added Miami as a city of choice, alongside New York and Los Angeles, in the annals of American crime fiction. With a style that was more matter-of-fact and straight-faced than pulpy and hardboiled – an anachronism for roman noirs and neo-noirs – it pitted Mosely against Freddy Frenger Jr, a “blithely psychopathic” natural-born criminal fresh out prison who’s decided on a change of pasture by relocating from California to the humid, florid, Hispanic, crime-ridden city of Miami. Landing with three stolen credit cards, he accidentally kills a pestering Hare Krishna, and before long enters into a “platonic marriage” with a dim-witted hooker with the body of an adolescent girl and who, incidentally, was the younger sister to the dead man with whom she had an incestuous relationship. Hoke, while trying to solve the mysterious murder in his deadpan, almost casual style, inadvertently rubs the unpredictable and hyper-violent Freddy the wrong way, thus putting the two men on a nasty collision course. Willeford stripped the tale of mystery and twists, and instead resorted to old-fashioned storytelling with darkly comic undertones, and devoted enough time to seemingly mundane details, asides, backstories and brilliant dialogues, and an insider’s view of the city, as the fast-paced chapters alternated between the two intriguing characters.
Author: Charles Willeford
Genre: Crime Thriller/Neo-noir/Police Procedural
Sunday, October 29, 2017
Well before Woody Allen became renowned and revered for his masterful dramedies exploring the vagaries of love, urban neurosis and existential dilemmas, he was already an accomplished humorist – dabbling extensively in both stand-up comedy and comic writing. Without Feathers, like Getting Even which preceded it and Side Effects which followed it – brought together in a collected edition sometimes referred to as The Insanity Defense – were compilations of his short humour pieces which he’d churned out for The New Yorker, and remains a fascinating and hilarious expression of Woody’s astounding panache for non-sequitar, absurdist and nonsense humour, parody on religion and literature, comic inversions, deadpan observations, ribald jokes and sharp satire; no wonder he’s often drawn comparisons with the likes of James Thurber and Groucho Marx. Comprising of an eclectic mix of sketches, ruminations, essays, short stories, and even one-act plays, itt would be a tad falsity to claim that all the pieces were equally good; however, suffice it to say, it had enough wit, zany timing, and hilarious build-ups and one-liners, to engage one’s intellect and elicit belly-laughs in equal measures. Two pieces absolutely stood out – in the darkly fabulous inversion of the hadboiled gumshoe persona, The Whore of Mensa, a Marlow-like PI investigates a case of racket of damsels which involves gullible men looking for quick intellectual experience without commitment; and in the brilliant alt-history, If the Impressionists had been Dentists, Van Gogh and his modern art contemporaries like Gaugin, Cezanne, Degas, Seurat et al are revealed to be dentists, in Vincent’s heart-wrenching letters to Theo. The quietly melancholic political satire No Kaddish Weinstein, the hilarious religious parody The Scrolls, the quintessential Woody-isms in Early Essays and Selections from the Allen Notebook, etc. were also terrific reads. The collection also comprises of two zany one-act plays – Death Knocks, an incredibly mad-cap double-take on Bergman’s The Seventh Seal; and God, a meta-meta postmodernist play-within-play-within-play that, in most other writers’ hands, would have seemed preposterous.
Author: Woody Allen
Genre: Comedy/Nonsense Literature/Social Satire/Religious Satire/Short Stories/Play
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Though this late-career novel might not be a contender for Philip K. Dick’s best novel – that would possibly be a three-horse race between The Man in the High Castle, Ubik and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? – Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said nevertheless provided for an appropriate summation of the celebrated sci-fi author’s favourite themes, viz. a dystopian future filled with alienating technological and genetic advances, constant surveillance and overreach by a brutal police state, and proliferation of hallucinogenic drugs. The book comprises of a darn intriguing premise, and that was enough to grab this as my first Philip K. Dick book. Jason Taverner is a television and singing star whose genetically engineered good looks, long-running TV show which has over 30-milion viewers, and multiple music records, have made him an enormous celeb in near-future America. His glittering and manicured world, however, gets suddenly obliterated when, one not-so-fine morning, he wakes up in a drab, grimy, bug-infested hotel room, and before long realizes that no one knows him or has any record of him; in other words he’s become a non-entity and finds himself in an Orwellian world completely alien to him, and to make things that much more confounding to him, he doesn’t even know what has caused this. Cold War-era anxiety and paranoia, therefore, were the principal tonal drivers in this decidedly political sci-fi novel – winner of the Campbell Memorial Award and nominated for both Hugo and Nebula Awards – detailing a world where democratic institutions have collapsed and have been replaced by an authoritarian society run with clinical efficiency by “pols” and “nats”, blacks have largely been eradicated, the poor and undesirables have been pushed into shabby ghettoes, and the smallest of mistakes and suspicions can land one in a hard labour camp. As Jason starts going about trying to deciphering what happened, he meets, among others, a fragile girl-woman who’s secretly a police fink, a sinister cop, and a high-ranking police general in an incestuous relationship with his rebellious drug-addicted twin sister.
Author: Philip K. Dick
Genre: Science-Fiction/Paranoid Thriller
Monday, October 16, 2017
Goodfellas, without Martin Scorsese helming it, wouldn’t have been the scintillating New York Mafia film that it was. While Marty certainly benefitted from a powerhouse cast, an electric script (which took 12 drafts to reach its final version) and a throbbing soundtrack (handpicked by Marty himself), nothing would have materialized without Wiseguy, the crackling non-fiction book written by crime reporter Nicholas Pileggi it was adapted from. Henry Hill, throughout his life in the world of organized crime, was an oddity and a rarity – despite not being a pure-blood Italian (he was half-Irish and half-Sicilian), he’d managed to carve a place for himself; in an organization as rigidly hierarchical as the Mafiosi, he managed to seamlessly move across layers from the upper echelons down to the streets; and despite the crackdown that finally ensued from all quarters, he was the only one who evaded both incarceration and bullet at the back of the head. And boy did he dabble in a dizzying array of illegal activities – transporting contraband cigarettes avoiding inter-state tax, bookmaking, fixing college games, dealing in stolen credit cards and counterfeit currency, shipping stolen cars, hijacking of vehicles in and around the JFK, a thriving drug business, among a host of others; and of course the spectacular $6 million Lufthansa heist which, despite the precision with which it was executed, became the beginning of the end. In Pileggi’s absorbing book, with significant portions narrated by Hill himself while in the US Government’s Witness Protection Programme, we do not just get to witness the dramatic life of this incredible hustler and schemer who entered this world at the age of 11 and became addicted to this life while also being an absolute natural at it, we also get a fascinating peek into life in the mob with its bosses and henchmen, making money and then doling them out, enjoying the good life even while inside high-security federal prisons, and most emblematically, hopping joints drinking with comrades and then being casually bumped off by one’s old buddies while on the ride back home.
Author: Nicholas Pileggi