J.M.G. Le Clézio: Terra Amata
This was completely different from Onitsha, the first Le Clezio novel I read.

I think Le Clezio became less experimental and more of a storyteller as the years went by.

I couldn't read every word, or even every page of this incredibly dense little novel. It has all of life in it, as does the protagonist, Chancelade and, Le Clezio would have us realise, all of us. There is an immense sense of the beauty of the living universe and the worth of every individual life that is certainly mirrored in the more conventionally narrated and overtly socially and politically engaged Onitsha.

It's interesting to compare how Le Clezio's very considerable lyrical skills are used all over the place, are the mode of expression here, and are interespersed more subtly in the latter novel. There is a similar episode with a boy and insects in both books, it would be worth comparing the two to see how he has grown as a writer.

I've always believed that experimental writing is alright for testing the waters and diving in to bring back unique experiences and techniques, but a good novelist will eventually find a way to incorporate well-rounded accesible narratives with his stylistic and philosophical bent; Le Clezio seems to have done over time. (I still sometimes resent Burroughs, the most self-critical and mature, arguably the most talented and humane of the beats, for never returning to a more straightforward narrative after Junky and Queer - I am convinced that, informed by all his stylistic explorations, it would have really been something).

I did like this book, although I may have devoured it more thoroughly had I read it in my early 20s. I'd just like to add that the chapter devoted to Chancelade's dreams is pure gold throughout. Try reading it aloud, with drums in the background if you can, or just the sound of your own heartbeat ringing in your ears.

[I have to say I really dislike the Penguin Modern Classics covers for Le Clezio's novels. The whole new Penguin Modern Classics look is the very epitome of blandly contemporary cover design that will look dated as fuck in 10 years' time. ]

I received my prize from the Deccan Herald yesterday, which was an interesting experience. The cheque will help, even after the tax deductions, but some sort of certificate for memory's sake would have been nice. Er, or did they give us one and I forgot it?

It was a little strange to be talking to strangers about something that used to exist only inside my head. But also a bit pleasing, like finally getting a chance to natter on and on about your dreams to other people, which is quite fitting because this story began as a dream.

I met the man who illustrated the story,Yatish, who works for the DH, and told him how much I liked what he'd done. He said the illustration was hand-drawn, then coloured in photoshop, and he'd send me the soft copy.

The Memoirs Of A Geisha: Picked up on epic spending binge at my local piratical depot, back when I was of the salaried class and flush with funds. It was okay; very visually lush in a manner that I felt rather insulated and softened its sordid subject matter I(a child is sold into what is essentially a high-class brother; several years later a group of men twice her age bid for the chance to, um, let their eeel be the first to visit her cave, and so on). It's odd the lengths to which Hollywood will go to romanticize prostitution and rape and borderline pedophilia. A rather standard melodrama all in all.

The Fox And The Child: I expected either a saccharine kidflick or something that would manipulatively tug at my heartstrings. Instead, what we have here is a beautifully made and remarkably realistic look at a friendship between a human and an animal and its larger context, but yes, a good movie for the kiddies too.

Monsters, Inc.: A bit late to the game in this case, but I mostly liked it even if they had to shoot for the obvious heart warming twist and sweet ending. I was very impressed with the initial premise of monsters having to scare kids because monster town's power supplies are derived from the energy released by screaming children. Someone else could have made a much more creepy story based on that concept; in the meantime here's another animated films that I'm able to enjoy without too much stomach churning, which is cool because I like animated films but had really started hating them for a while in the 90s.

The Strange Case Of Benjamin Button: Well, once again Hollywood's taken the name and basic premise of a story - a rather nicely tragicomic and farcical short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, btw, and stripped away everything else, to replace it with a love story. A love story with an annoying framing narrative with completely pointless topical references and high-handed symbolic touches. Still, the idea is a compelling one, and even Hollywood's patented 'profound tale of love against all odds' techniques (think Titanic) cannot take away all its power. Also Brad Pitt can almost act when given what almost amounts to an actual role.

Aranya's Last Voyage.

Camp Concentration by Thomas M Disch

Louis Sacchetti, overweight poet and draft dodger bears a passing resemblance to Burgess' Enderby, and the first half of the novel has some of the verbal virtuosity and subversive books of Burgess' books. The set-up has elements of a dark satire on the extent to which governments will go to further their own interests, especially in times of war, real or aggravated. The narrative fragments a few too many times for comfort, although that actually makes this a more true-to-life novel in journal form than most, and the science fictional elements as well as the dillemas they pose seem to recede in favour of an examination of a one-dimensionally evil persona and a fortunate ending that greatly reduced the impact of the book's horrors. Good in parts; extremely good at moments, but ultimately not as unflinching or integral as '334'

cameraphoneman

I went strolling today. Down Kamaraj Road towards Commercial Street via a maze of lanes. I took a few photos.

So, lately.

I've been slowly working my way through HG Wells' 'The Outline Of History'. Although the last revised edition from 1971, there are things in the opening chapters, on life before humanity, human evolution and prehistoric life that have been superseded by later research (for instance, he probably relied more on Frazier for his theories on sacrifice and early religion than a later writer would have). Still, much of it is still very sound. It was the first major history to be based on an evolutionary, psychoanalytical and rational view of our story on this planet, and there is indeed grandeur in this view of life.

I recently finished watching all 4 seasons of Blackadder. I think it may be the best comedy series ever. There's an undercurrent of snotty-nosed social and historical commentary, or just plain snarkiness, which is a good substitute, running through it all, great running jokes and at all points a superb ensemble cast to carry out the comedic hi-jinks. A cunning plan, indeed.

Now nursing my sweet tooth for British comedy with the first season of Jeeves & Wooster and stray episodes of Mind Your Language, which relies considerably on national stereotypes for its humour but pleases with its essentially good-natured style and the large, somewhat demented cast.