“We arrive in the blizzard of 1993, coming from rice paddies, mango trees, and the sun to February in the Empire State.”
That’s how Ly Tran’s transport“We arrive in the blizzard of 1993, coming from rice paddies, mango trees, and the sun to February in the Empire State.”
That’s how Ly Tran’s transportative and heartbreaking memoir “House of Sticks” starts off. Tran traces her childhood from the age of 3 when she comes to the US as part of a resettlement program. Tran and her 3 older brothers and her parents live in a little apartment and try to build a life. Their father finds a job sewing cummerbunds and the entire family gets involved in the painstaking work. The more they deliver, the more money they get. Later on down the road, her mother opens a nail salon where Tran works during holidays and in the evenings. She starts off as the translator for her mother but soon becomes an apprentice, as well. Eventually, Tran enrolls in college, overcoming challenges that she never foresaw. But there were more to come.
Tran’s memoir is deeply emotional. Many of her traumatic experiences are a result of behavioural issues stemming from her father’s PTSD due to years spent in prison in Vietnam. And then, there’s racial discrimination she encounters quite frequently - when people mock her mother’s English, when people tell Tran that her ‘English is so good’.
By the time Tran reaches college, her past is a minefield of shame, guilt, masking, anxiety, and, finally, deep depression. Through the kindness of strangers, people who saw her potential, and friends who did not give up on her, Tran manages to rise through the very darkest depths and find light.
Tran excels at introspection, consistently telling us how it feels to navigate belonging and finding an identity in America. At its core, "House of Sticks" is a profound meditation on otherness and the malleable, ever-evolving nature of identity shaped by displacement. Tran explores this with incredible nuance, whether describing her father's refusal to accept her need for glasses, or her hesitation to correct the million little microaggressions she encounters like mispronunciations of her name out of a need to prioritize others' comfort.
I also loved the simple, conversation writing which evokes the struggles and small victories that defined her family's early years.
Such an elegiac read. I couldn’t put it down. ...more
“It took me too long to find my voice and I’ve silenced myself for so long (it is in our Asian nature to stay quiet), but I don’t want this to be the “It took me too long to find my voice and I’ve silenced myself for so long (it is in our Asian nature to stay quiet), but I don’t want this to be the case for the next generation. My parents risked everything to migrate to a Western country to create a better life and now it’s our turn to tell the story of our immigrant parents, to embrace our culture and to speak up in order to fight racism.”
Angela Hui’s memoir “Takeaway: Stories from a Childhood Behind the Counter” is a thoroughly engrossing read. Set in rural Wales, Hui shares her memories about growing up with her parents and two brothers managing their Chinese takeaway named ‘Lucky Star’. Since childhood, Hui has struggled with her identity - is she Welsh or Chinese? For years she resisted Chinese culture and its work ethics as she tried to fit into the Welsh community. The memoir traces Hui’s growth, both emotionally and intellectually, through her childhood years right up to adulthood.
Family dynamics are tough as it is. I am sure it would be tougher if your family became your work colleagues. That was something Hui could not get out of. As a child, Hui only had time for school and work. It was an endless repetition of drudgery where she went to school in the morning, came home in the evening, and got in straight to work until later in the night. Her routine made it impossible to foster good social connections and, later, isolated her from forming meaningful romantic relationships too.
As is common among Asian families, Hui’s parents, especially her father, never overtly displayed affection. Their care manifested in different ways but not in the ways that Hui ideally wanted. Hui ends up having a love-hate relationship with her parents. These were my favourite bits along with the family recipe she shares at the end of each chapter.
Hui also talks about the community around them - there were kind people but there was also intense racism. Slowly, though, change and modernity does come to the little village too and other takeaways start giving them competition. Her brothers and Hui move out of their home going to different places in pursuit of higher education and work. And then it’s time for her parents too to make a decision about where they need to be. In their hometown of Hong Kong or in their adopted home of Wales.
I found this memoir so fascinating and riveting. It had so many layered perspectives on culture, society, and immigrants. It also had the enduring warmth of relationships, a no-holds barred view of the good and bad in families. It’s at once a celebration of her culinary heritage and a reflection on life at hand.
Michael Booth visited India at a point when his life was in disarray. He was drinking way too much. He was eating way too much. And he wasn’t writing Michael Booth visited India at a point when his life was in disarray. He was drinking way too much. He was eating way too much. And he wasn’t writing or spending time with his family enough.
Fed up with the way things were, Booth’s wife Lissen insisted that they take a break together, as a family. Her suggestion was to go to India for three months where Booth would also attend a yoga retreat for a few weeks apart from engaging in research for a commissioned feature. In “Eat Pray Eat” Booth talks about their experiences and his journey through his struggles.
At first, Booth’s anxiety is at its peak as he worries about every single aspect of their upcoming travel. The water, food, places of accommodation, everything appeared as black zones boding illness. It takes a while but slowly India works its charm on him and he begins to accept the little discomforts and problems that come with being in a foreign country.
Booth presents us with a frank, no holds barred narration, which flatters him the least. He talks about his anxiety, which at times controls his decisions and life so much that he is unable to do the things he loves. He feels undisciplined and he doesn’t like it when he leaves his family to themselves many times as he gets busy researching and writing the feature.
Booth is aware of his wife’s unhappiness and frustration and he bares his guilt and helplessness in equal measure to us. He is so honest and vulnerable that he managed to arouse annoyance as well as empathy in me. And he made me chuckle too with his witty observations of the nooks and crannies of life in India.
Booth’s experiences are also a different perspective of an India that I would never experience. I have always enjoyed reading travelogues set in India written by non-Indians and this book was great in that sense too.
I got this from my library and I highly recommend it to you if you are curious to read about India from a fresh pair of eyes. ...more
“Drawing on the Edge” is the first part of author Ersin Karabulut’s memoir of growing up in Istanbul. Karabulut and his family lived in one of the les“Drawing on the Edge” is the first part of author Ersin Karabulut’s memoir of growing up in Istanbul. Karabulut and his family lived in one of the less glamorous and more conservative suburbs of the city. The book chronicles his childhood years through to when he becomes a cartoonist for one of the top magazines in the country.
Karabulut grew up against a backdrop of constant political tension and volatility as Turkey slowly slid from democracy into autocracy and dictatorship.. Being secular, his family often stood out in their thoughts and practices, which was challenging at times. Ersin skilfully juxtaposes the challenges of childhood and adulting as he grows up and starts to form his own opinions with that of the changes taking place in the country. Both are undergoing changes, and both must cope with them.
Karabulut uses a brilliant blend of humour and sharp observation to portray these situations. He effortlessly gets us up to speed with the politics and social unrest in the country while also giving a peek into family dynamics and personal thoughts. And it’s all done with such refreshing honesty and candour.
The art style took me a little while to get used to. Initially, it put me off a bit but then it grew on me, and the story melded with it beautifully. I wasn’t really clued into Turkey’s politics and reading this helped. A lovely coming-of-age tale, the journey of a child pursuing his dream of becoming an artist, and the evolution of a country and its people. This book is all of that and more.
Thanks to Europe Comics and Netgalley for the ARC. ...more
Have you heard of Hiner Saleem? I hadn’t until I came across this memoir of his childhood. Saleem is an internationally renowned, award-winning Iraqi-Have you heard of Hiner Saleem? I hadn’t until I came across this memoir of his childhood. Saleem is an internationally renowned, award-winning Iraqi-Kurdish film director. His spare memoir “My Father’s Rifle: A Childhood in Kurdistan” is a narration of his life from childhood to adolescence in the 1960s and 70s, a time when political volatility was a part and parcel of daily life in Kurdistan. Although Saleem names the boy Azad in the book, the story and experiences are his own.
The title comes from a rifle that his father would always carry around and was one of his prized possessions. Azad is the youngest in the family, and he looks up to his father who is a Morse code operator for the Kurdish army and his oldest brother, Dilovan, who lives in the mountains with other soldiers, fighting for the country. Azad’s family is forced to move around as fighting between Kurdish and Iraqi soldiers intensifies, living in shelters, and other makeshift places. Finally, Saddam Hussein calls for a cease-fire and they are able to return home.
Azad’s days are a mishmash of terror and laughter. While bomber jets fly in the sky overhead, Azad and his friends skip along to school. Azad does witness some terrifying scenes - like his mother getting hit by a soldier’s rifle - but routine and life emerge stronger. There’s no time to brood over such incidents as the family needs to survive and find ways to keep themselves going - emotionally and financially. And so weddings happen, jokes are exchanged, and passions are pursued. Saleem dreams of a career in the arts, making music and movies, but it’s a while before he is able to make them a reality.
Coming in at just about 100 pages, this spartan read is rich in detail and emotion. The juxtaposition of the pure innocence of childhood with the manipulations of politics makes Azad and his family’s experiences stand out in sharp bas relief.
The writing is simple and observant sans melodrama, and places all the goings-on with descriptions of the land and Kurdish culture and society.
An excellent read. This was my pick for June’s #readanewcountry. ...more
It’s not everyday that I come across World War narratives set in India. So, I was really thrilled when I came across “The First World War Adventures oIt’s not everyday that I come across World War narratives set in India. So, I was really thrilled when I came across “The First World War Adventures of Nariman Karkaria,” (orig title: Rangbhoomi par Rakhad), a memoir no less. Translated superbly by Murali Ranganathan from Gujarati, Nariman Karkaria’s memoir is a rambling account of his experiences during the First World War.
It’s alternatively gripping and terrifying but also peppered with Karkaria’s wry humour. Karkaria grew up in a small town called Navsari in Gujarat and the book begins with a brief description of his life there. Karkaria grew up a typical small town boy with a lust for adventure and a burning curiosity to see the world. And so he does.
Karkaria sets off on a steamer bound for Hong Kong, which was the only passage he could afford after selling his gold chain and the gold buttons on his coat. He didn’t inform anyone at home fearing that he would be stopped. He works odd jobs for a while in Hong Kong and Peking sustaining himself with meagre earnings.
Subsequently, he ends up travelling across more places as far flung as Russia and Siberia. In the meantime, the First World War breaks out. Amitav Ghosh describes what happened next in his foreword.
“Another long-standing desire of his was to see a war and he wasn’t going to let pass an opportunity which suddenly presented itself. He went to Whitehall to volunteer but they shooed him away since he was an Indian and suggested he join some desi regiment. He, however, managed to eventually register as a Private with the 24th Middlesex in its D Company, and thus became a ‘Tommy’, as he proudly announces.”
And that’s how Nariman Karkaria came to fight in three important fronts as part of the British regiment - France, the Balkans, and the Middle East - and even survived to write this book we read today.
Karkaria’s observations are keen and laced with his innate humour. At times, we can see glimpses of the Navsari boy in him as he compares people and things to Parsi beliefs and customs or when he delights in seeking out Parsi food and shops wherever he goes. There is a guileless quality about his impressions devoid of any embellishments or drama. He seems to have written things down as he saw them along with his very candid opinions. And it sometimes could be racist as he describes “baby-footed Chinese women” and “short-statured Japanese.” But as Ranganathan notes in the introduction “In an era when racial stereotypes were bandied about without a second thought, it would be difficult to fault Karkaria…”
While Karkaria gives us plenty of descriptions of the sights and sounds around him we never get to really know any of the people he describes. His fellow ‘Tommies’, the Parsis he meets, or even his family. They pass through the narrative, a part of the blur of faces he encounters.
Karkaria’s account is a precious bundle of memoir, reportage, and travelogue. Go on this adventure with him....more
Mourid Barghouti’s “I Saw Ramallah” is a vision to behold. Written in elegiac prose, the memoir traces Barghouti’s memories of Old Palestine, from hisMourid Barghouti’s “I Saw Ramallah” is a vision to behold. Written in elegiac prose, the memoir traces Barghouti’s memories of Old Palestine, from his childhood years all the way up until the present. Barghouti left his hometown when he was just 22-years-old to attend university in Cairo and never came back. He couldn’t as the Six Day War unfolded and he was barred from returning home. Thirty years later, memories resurface thick and fast as he winds his way across a crumbling wooden bridge from Jordan into West Bank to revisit his home.
Translated impeccably by none other than Ahdaf Souief (author of books like The Map of Love, In the Eye of the Sun), “I Saw Ramallah” is a moving account of displacement and living in exile. In a rich narrative equally interspersed with cold observations of politics and poignant thoughts about his family and the brother who never returned, Barghouti captures the harsh unfairness of it all. More than a single narrative, I would call this as a series of meditations. Upon grief, loss, governments, war, family. It’s also about mind-numbing realities as well as those slivers of joy that fall through the broken columns of sadness.
“As the days passed I began to understand. You do not rejoice immediately when life presses a button that turns the wheel of events in your favor. You do not arrive unchanged at the moment of joy dreamt of for so long across the years. The years are on your shoulders. They do their slow work without ringing any bells for you.” “Politics is the number of coffee-cups on the table, it is the sudden presence of what you have forgotten, the memories you are afraid to look at too closely, though you look anyway. Staying away from politics is also politics. Politics is nothing and it is everything.”
As you can see, Barghouti is a poet and his craft comes through in his prose too. Thanks to Soueif who has saved the poetry in her translation.
When I visited Xinjiang many many years ago I sensed a distinctive shift in the atmosphere compared to what I had experienced in China. The people seeWhen I visited Xinjiang many many years ago I sensed a distinctive shift in the atmosphere compared to what I had experienced in China. The people seemed remote and they were very hesitant to speak Mandarin. I didn’t understand their unfriendliness then.
It was only later that I started piecing together their history and Gulchehra Hoja’s terrifying memoir “A Stone is Most Precious Where it Belongs” piqued my interest. This is Hoja’s account of growing up in an Uyghur family and living with the drastic changes brought about by the Chinese government. Starting with changing the name of the country from East Turkestan to Xinjiang, meaning “new city,” to persecuting people including her own family, Hoja writes up a chilling account of political, cultural, and societal extermination.
Hoja was a talented child and belonged to a family of musicians and artists. They spoke Uyghur, followed Islam, and enjoyed evenings filled with their traditional music, dance, and singing. It’s in school that she realised that “there were always two lessons to be learned: what was in the CCP-issued schoolbooks, and then the real history, literature and culture, which could only be learned from people like my father, in private settings and in low voices.”
That was the beginning of Hoja’s turbulent future. Hoja went through a tumultuous marriage, went to Europe, and then to the US. There, she started working for Radio Free Asia reporting on the human rights conditions in China. There were repercussions on her family, of course. They kept mounting until one night 24 members of her family were arrested overnight. Today, Hoja is branded a ‘terrorist’ but she continues to work towards bringing truths to light.
Hoja’s memoir gives us a good picture of Uyghur culture and traditions, which are otherwise unheard of. I liked that she gave context and spoke about her personal life, as well. Her writing simmers with the discontent, and the anger that she feels towards her oppressors. It also brims with sadness and yearning for a land that she holds very dear and one she might not see again.
“The roots are messy indeed, but the tree blossoming from them is brilliant”
Immigrant life is complicated. In Laura Gao’s beautiful graphic memoir apt“The roots are messy indeed, but the tree blossoming from them is brilliant”
Immigrant life is complicated. In Laura Gao’s beautiful graphic memoir aptly named “Messy Roots”, she speaks as a Wuhanese growing up American. Gao was born in Wuhan, China, and spent her first few years there before her parents brought her to the US. The novel traces her life through school and college and her work years up until Covid struck in 2020. And as a Chinese person living in the US, life was not easy.
Gao comes to the US when she is just around 4-years-old and she finds it tough to blend in. And she desperately wants to feel “Americanized”. So, she changes her name to Laura, learns English, and looks up to all the popular white kids around her. No matter what she does though, she feels quite out of place for a long time. And it’s not easy at home either. Gao’s parents, like typical Asian parents, expect only the best out of her. They want her to excel in all the common endeavours that Asian families revel in - music, sports, academics - and eventually want her to take up “respectable” jobs like medicine or law. Gao tries her best to please her parents but gives up when the pressure gets to her. And that was, of course, a sign of weakness.
Written with much warmth and humour, Messy Roots deftly brings out those small but significant kinks that come with living in a foreign country. Of knowing and accepting one’s own culture. Of living up to parental expectations. Of the terrifying prospect of coming out as a lesbian to her family.
The struggles are at many levels. From grappling with one’s identity - sexual, cultural, and professional - to figuring out how to embrace the place you’re in without dismissing one’s background or getting dispirited by racism.
Gao’s voice is searingly honest and relatable. The illustrations are rich, textured, and gorgeous. Please go grab a copy and read it right away. ...more
When you write in your private journal are you 100% honest and entirely open?
I don’t keep a journal today, but I had one during my school years. And When you write in your private journal are you 100% honest and entirely open?
I don’t keep a journal today, but I had one during my school years. And I think I was honest but only partially open. I couldn’t risk my journal being read, could I?
And then there’s Kamala Das. A writer so blindingly honest and transparent that you flinch when you read her book. I had read about her memoir “My Story” being banned for its explicit content but it’s only when I actually started reading the book that I realized just how much.
Das’ memoir begins with recollections of her childhood years – the house she grew up in, her family members, the orthodox culture, and a society biased towards the British. She goes on to talk about her infatuations, her growing sense and understanding of sexuality, of marriage, and her ensuing depression. There are lyrical passages where I got lost in the descriptions and took me away with them, like this one.
“In Delhi, the winter is full of enchantment. The sun falls over the city gently like a sliver of butter on a piece of toast. Everything smells of the white, kind sun, not the grass alone or the berries fallen from the trees, but the children with their red cheeks roughened by the night’s chill and young men drinking cona coffee at the Coffee House waiting for their current lovers to join them.”
It’s raw and unfiltered, as if someone has just taken her diary entries and simply translated it. This was the best part of the book and also the downside at times. There are fragments that seem jarring without context, and characters who appear suddenly without any background. For example, when did she even start writing to Carlo, her pen friend?
In the end, we get the picture of a woman who is decidedly very human in her mix of loneliness, fulfilment, love, happiness, frustration, and everything else. We see someone who is contemptuous of society and its many duplicitous forms and attitudes. A person who is idealistic in many ways and consistently gets disappointed. And with its abrupt ending, the book, like Das, remains incomplete.
Have you watched Succession? Veep? You might still not have heard of Georgia Pritchett. She is the multi-award winning (BAFTAs, Emmys, you name it) wrHave you watched Succession? Veep? You might still not have heard of Georgia Pritchett. She is the multi-award winning (BAFTAs, Emmys, you name it) writer behind hit shows like these. She is also the author of the poignant yet comical memoir “My Mess is a Bit of Life.”
Beginning with memories from far back in her childhood through her teenage years up to the present, Pritchett strings together anecdotes and musings about her life. When I started reading the book, I had no idea who she was. I went into it without reading anything about the book simply because Smitha Murthy suggested it. There’s so much humility and modesty in her writing that my impression throughout the book until the last few chapters was that she was a writer who was struggling in her profession, getting bad reviews but still sticking to it spiritedly.
Pritchett writes with great candour about the problems of being a painfully shy kid (I can so relate!), building a career for herself in a deeply misogynistic industry, managing high levels of anxiety since childhood, and dealing with parenthood later on. She addresses all these different aspects of her life with self-deprecatory humour balanced with emotionally charged moments. Here, she describes how critics saw her work on the movie “Spice World”
“They went on to describe it as ‘thin and entertaining’. Something I would rather like to have on my gravestone.”
And on her chronic anxiety
“When I was little I used to think that sheep were clouds that had fallen to earth. On cloudy days I used to worry that I would be squashed by a sheep.”
In the end, you get a picture of a woman who is, in many ways, like you and me with her shortcomings, stress, joys, and everything in between. Vulnerable yet walking through life braving everything it throws at us. That’s how Pritchett makes us see her beyond the glitter and glamour of celebrities she met or the awards she won. She is incredibly grounded and very relatable.
This was a wonderful, time-blurring read. I raced through it....more
I’m sure most reviews for Sabba Khan’s scintillating graphic memoir “The Roles We Play” will begin with that. I’m following suit becausWhere is home?
I’m sure most reviews for Sabba Khan’s scintillating graphic memoir “The Roles We Play” will begin with that. I’m following suit because that is the overwhelming question the book asks. The story traces Khan’s childhood through adulthood, moving back and forth between timelines, the way memories go.
She talks about how her parents were compelled to move from Mirpur (now in Pakistan) to the UK in the 1960s, the difficulties of building a life for themselves, and their struggle to preserve their culture and family bonds as immigrants. She talks about relationships within her family and how each of them shaped her thoughts. At each juncture, she continuously questions the narrative around her and her own place in the world.
It’s a great blend of the emotional and the cerebral, the subjective and the objective. I love how the book begins with collectivism and moves towards individualism. She begins by talking about her heritage, ancestors, and her native land. Here, we get an idea about their values and beliefs as a people and as a family. As she grows up, some threads that bind become loose as Khan strives to break out of the patriarchal notions surrounding her and carves out her individuality. She does this with her, by now, characteristic raw candour and vulnerability.
Khan conveys all of this through her genre-bending illustrations, which I found more impactful than her words many times.
It’s difficult for me to attribute any one word to describe Khan’s work, which contains multitudes. Nor can I sum it up in the meagre space here. Is it moving? Yes. Is it funny? Yes. Is it thought-provoking? Absolutely. In a way, it mirrors Khan’s questions about herself, her community, her identity, her past and her present. They cannot be subsumed or made into a portmanteau. They are all there and each one deserves its unique corner.
This is a book to return to time and again....more
“That Quail, Robert” by Margaret Stanger is the incredibly true story of Robert the quail, who regularly made appearances in magazines and newspapers “That Quail, Robert” by Margaret Stanger is the incredibly true story of Robert the quail, who regularly made appearances in magazines and newspapers in the 1960s in the US. Robert belonged to Thomas Kienzle and his wife Mildred who found a quail egg that had been abandoned by the mother quail. They took it home, where the egg hatched and they had a baby quail on their hands. Robert gets attached to them very quickly and vice versa. Margaret was their neighbour and she chronicles Robert’s life until the inevitable sad end that all animals and pet owners have to deal with.
Robert had my heart right from the beginning with his antics and his endearing behaviour. More than anything, he astonished me with just how smart he was and the extent to which he understood his human companions. He had an unending curiosity and a true, deep bond with his owners that he displayed in sweet little ways.
Robert became so well-known that the Kienzles had reporters and random strangers coming all the way to Cape Cod, where he lived, from all over the US just to see him. And the Kienzles welcomed all of them in their good-natured, open-hearted manner.
“I glow when I think of the impact these five ounces of bird life made, and how many lives she enriched, to say nothing of her fame.”
That quote sums up the book. I so loved this beautiful biography of this extraordinary bird. So much joy and warmth in it. An immensely comforting and uplifting read. ...more
They Called Us Enemy is Star Trek actor George Takei’s powerful memoir about growing up in American internment camps during WWII after the bombing of They Called Us Enemy is Star Trek actor George Takei’s powerful memoir about growing up in American internment camps during WWII after the bombing of Pearl Harbour. Takei and his family are rounded up one fine morning by American soldiers from their Los Angeles home to a camp set up in horse stables. Before long, George and his family are shunted from camp to camp along with thousands of other Japanese Americans each trying to find and make a home for themselves wherever they can.
This book describes one of the darkest chapters in American history in great detail. The narrative moves back and forth between his childhood, teenage and young adult years, and the present. Takei vividly recalls the intense xenophobia that spread immediately as the US government declared “civilian exclusion orders” in one of of the most blatant violations of civil rights. “The financial assets, property, and businesses of nearly all Japanese Americans were seized… and violators were swiftly arrested under a law approved by President Roosevelt.”
I have read Julie Otsuka’s Buddha in the Attic set in the same period but the force and magnitude really comes through in Takei’s account. Perhaps it’s his heart-breaking portrayal of the two journeys they took as a family when they travelled by train to the camp. For Takei it was “an adventure of discovery” and for his parents it was “an anxiety-ridden voyage into a fearful unknown.” Perhaps, it is the notion of home as it changes every time they shifted camps. It’s amazing how a prison fenced in by barbed wire can turn into the definition of home if you stay long enough. When they take yet another train journey Takei remembers “the sad faces of people who had become friends. Those black barracks had become home.”
To me, the most disturbing, terrifying fact is that not much seems to have changed after all these years. Takei compares the indignities the Japanese went through to the difficulties faced by Muslims entering the US. History is still repeating itself.
There is so much heart in this moving and very relevant book. An absolute must-read....more
The title. That’s what caught my attention first. No, not “Half Pants Full Pants” but the line that said “Real-Life Tales from Shimoga.” Who writes soThe title. That’s what caught my attention first. No, not “Half Pants Full Pants” but the line that said “Real-Life Tales from Shimoga.” Who writes so specifically about Shimoga?!, I thought. I read the first 2 pages, and my mind was made up. I had just completed The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji but the review had to wait until I finished Anand Suspi’s utterly delightful memoir about his childhood shenanigans in rural Shimoga.
“‘Half Pants’ is from KG to Class 7, while ‘Full Pants’ is from Class 8 onwards – hence the title,” explains Suspi in an interview with AdGully. The book has several chapters and each one is not as much as a story as it is a recollection of a memory or an incident. They range from the excitement of eating Gud Bud ice-cream or getting a tv and blender for the first time to the seriousness of playing cops and robbers or hatching different schemes to earn some pocket money.
“Half Pants Full Pants” allowed me to escape into a time when there were no gadgets or mobiles to distract. Comparisons have been made to Malgudi Days and Swami and Friends and while it’s similar, Suspi’s book stands apart for having a child’s raw, unfiltered voice and perspective. You get a sense of the insouciant attitude that Anand and his friends had towards life and a childhood filled with very relatable instances of sibling rivalry, running away from home, playing pranks on friends etc. Throughout, stories like practising kung fu with mosquitoes, modifying a bicycle, coming up with cool names instead of their given names, all made me smile, giggle, and laugh-out-loud in some places.
The biggest connecting factor for me was all the conversations written in Kannada (in English words) with the translation right beneath. I loved that so much because it made the book so much more impactful. I would only read the Kannada lines and it felt like the conversation was happening right in front of me. Here’s a sample,
(No need for any announcements. Let it come first, we can break the news then.)”
“Appa, irli. Kalthana yenu maadilla.
Dad, let it be. We haven’t stolen it.)”
Suspi’s stories are a wistful reminder of how much childhoods have changed now. It’s more wired, indoors, screen-bound. Nobody even dreams of climbing guava trees or playing with marbles.
In the end, I was reminded of lines from a P.B. Sreenivas song that embodies the essence of the novel - Nagu nagutha nali nali, yene aagali (Keep smiling whatever happens)....more
Growing Up Meathead is a slice-of-life story about the author James B. Zimmerman’s pre-teen years. The book is a composite picture ofMy rating is 3.5.
Growing Up Meathead is a slice-of-life story about the author James B. Zimmerman’s pre-teen years. The book is a composite picture of a young boy’s life, growing up in the 1970s in the suburbs of Baltimore.
Jimmy, or Meathead as he is known to all his friends, is eager to get his friends and peers to accept him. For this, he does everything from getting into fights to shoplifting. But beneath all the bravado, Meathead is trying to deal with an alcoholic father, frequent fights at home, and his beloved grandfather’s impending death from cancer.
The book was a fast and easy read but it could have done with some deft editing to make the chapters more connected.
Growing Up Meathead is a good look at the very different realities that a pre-teen has. Although set in the US, the themes are universal. The angst of being a teenager, coping with harsh realities, the thrill of secret adventures with friends. Zimmerman, who is now a grandfather, pens his experiences with heartfelt honesty accompanied by simple pencil-type sketches.
I do like that the story prompted a trip down nostalgia lane for me. It made me think of my own childhood and the things I missed the most – summer vacations with my cousins, idle afternoons where my grandmother would narrate snippets from her childhood, book shopping with my father...
A quick read and a sincere portrayal of growing up.
Thanks to NetGalley and Black Rose Writing for sending me the ARC!...more
“Throughout your life, people may shout ugly words at you. Words like, "Go home, refugee!" or "You have no right to be here!" When you meet these peop“Throughout your life, people may shout ugly words at you. Words like, "Go home, refugee!" or "You have no right to be here!" When you meet these people, tell them to look at the stars, and how they move across the sky. No one tells a star to go home. Tell them, "I am a star. I deserve to exist just the same as a star.”
“When Stars are Scattered” is the true story of Omar Mohamed and his brother Hassan who had to live in Dadaab, a refugee camp, after escaping from war in Somalia. The story follows their life in the camp over a period of a few years as they desperately hope to be resettled in the US.
Victoria Jamieson brings Omar’s story to us in very readable, simple language made more vivid by the bold, colourful illustrations. Life in a refugee camp is, as expected, bleak but Omar and his brother, who is nonverbal, manage to find their pockets of joy. They play and banter with each other like kids anywhere. For a few moments you forget the context, and I guess that’s what the kids do too.
But reality is always lurking around, never far away. Omar lives in the hope that their mother would come find them, and every time he spots a woman he hasn’t seen before his heart flutters in hope. And every time the officials read out the list of names (it’s restricted to a certain number at a time) for resettlement, Omar hopes.
Life for Omar and his brother is lived in the troughs that exist in between these possibilities. It’s a few years before Omar and his brother get their golden opportunity and we feel every bit of the tension and worry that goes on behind the scenes until everything is confirmed.
I love how Jamieson has really let Omar do the ‘talking’, giving plenty of space for his personality and voice to emerge. Even amidst all the gloom, Omar is able to find humour and happiness. There is so much heart in this story.
Poignant and inspiring, this is a must read....more
Have you hankered over a book so much that you keep looking for it everywhere you go? And then the joy when you finally find that book is indescribablHave you hankered over a book so much that you keep looking for it everywhere you go? And then the joy when you finally find that book is indescribable, isn’t it? Tian Veasna’s “Year of the Rabbit” (YotR) was one such book for me. Initially, I couldn’t find it anywhere. When it reached Amazon, it was just too expensive. Then, Smitha Murthy prompted me to sign up for Scribd, et voila! YotR was included in my subscription, and I abandoned all else to immediately read it.
YotR is author Tian Veasna’s memoir about his family’s frightening experiences during the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge evacuated his parents and extended family from Phnom Penh to the countryside. From there, the family like everyone else plans their escape to neighbouring countries. This is their story.
When we talk about comics the immediate association is one of levity and brevity. To do that is to undermine the power of images, wordless panels that capture memories and moments. Reading YotR is to journey with Veasna’s parents as they face one nail-biting situation after another where their lives hang in balance. In one instance, the family is about to be ushered onto a boat when an acquaintance manages to hold them back. Later, they learn that all the boats that went across always return bloodstained and empty. Just reading it with the visuals sent chills along my spine.
Years ago, on a trip to Cambodia I visited a war museum, which detailed some of the atrocities of the regime. I remember coming out feeling really morose and shaking my head unable to believe some of the things I had read there. Veasna’s story reminded me of all those images I saw, reinforcing their reality.
I think this book needs a revisit because the canvas is quite huge. There are a multitude of characters coming and going, and after a point it’s difficult to keep track of who’s who. Some reappear after a long gap, and I needed to flip back to see who it was.
Let that not take away the real reasons you should read this powerful book. Read it for the art, the details, and, most of all, to remember that all this happened in the distant past, in the 1970s, merely a few decades ago....more
Imagine if you could take your family’s dinner-table discussions, attitudes, past and present experiences, and bundle them all into a book with picturImagine if you could take your family’s dinner-table discussions, attitudes, past and present experiences, and bundle them all into a book with pictures? That’s exactly what Mira Jacob’s “Good Talk”. Beginning with conversations with her six-year-old son, Jacob talks about pretty much everything that keep our minds ticking, from race to politics to dating.
Good Talk is searingly honest and extremely open. It’s filled with irreverent moments mixed with intense emotion. It’s a tough task to pull off when you’re talking about things like racial identity and colour. She uses a unique blend of cut-outs, both real and drawn, and text to put forth her memoir. Some of the photos are taken from family albums, which made me feel like I am having the conversation with her as she showed them to me.
The plot, if you can call it that, goes back and forth between her growing up years, adulthood, marriage, and to the present, when she is answering her son’s deep-seated questions. And although she skilfully tackles most of them, there are times when she is flummoxed too.
I wouldn’t strictly call this a graphic novel. To me, it was more like well-assimilated collage with great writing. Writing that’s raw yet walks the fine balance between being too serious or emotionally triggering and falling just short of being dispassionate or nonchalant. I found this book so refreshing and very relatable. I end this review with one of my favourite passages from the book.
…when you first started asking me hard questions, the ones about America and your place here, I wanted to find you the right answers - the kind that would make you feel good, welcome, and loved. I thought if I could just remember the country I'd been raised to believe in, the one I was sure I would eventually get to, I'd be able to get us back there… Here is the thing, though,… I can't protect you from everything. I can't protect you from becoming a brown man in America. I can't protect you from spending a lifetime caught between the beautiful dream of a diverse nation and the complicated reality of one. And this is maybe the part I worry about the most, how the weight of that will twist you into someone you don't want to be, or worse, make you ashamed of your own heart. I hope you will remember that you have nothing to be ashamed of. I hope you will remember that your heart is a good one, and that your capacity to feel love, in all its complexity, is a gift.” ...more
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