Around the world in 80 reads

The world through the eye of a book.

[bookmania]

Tuesday: Nothing. Existed.

Jean Paul Sartre, Nausea (via bookmania)

[bookyj]

an artist of the floating world

Kazuo Ishiguro’s ‘An Artist of the Floating World’ gently lowers the reader into the epicentre of Masuji Ono’s memories and before we know it, we are with him and his proud thoughts travelling through not only his own history, but the history of 1940s Japan. The rich, unique nature of Japan shines through right from the first page, as the bridge of hesitation takes us from the former pleasure district over to the hill overlooking Masuji’s magnificent house.  A house that he came to own through an auction of prestige. Masuji Ono is not the most impartial of story-tellers, but it is through his wandering opinions and never-ending tangents that we gain glimpses of his career as an artist in the ‘floating’ history of Japan from the days of empire, to the days of war – until the shattering end. As Ono grows, the world of art does too and how he exists within it. The artists live in an enclosed world, where they paint pictures of Japanese gardens and beautiful courtesans. The outside world, of politics and truth, is hidden from these pieces. Ono’s painting ‘Complacency’ breaks this boundary, addresses the issue, causes a stir; until he reworks it to complete ‘Eyes to the Horizon’ showing proud motivation for Japan’s future, more in line with the country’s domestic policy.

Interspersed through Ono’s dissection of an evolving Japan, is the tale of his family. Having lost his wife and son in the war, Ono alone takes on the ritual of finding a match for his difficult daughter, Noriko. His out-dated opinions are juxtaposed by his already married daughter Setsuko’s modern marriage and knowledge of the world.  So strongly weighted is Ono’s telling of the story, that the reader comes to feel a dislike for the new Japan and longs for the old way of things. Tradition dictates the position of women in the family, the treatment of elders and the gratitude and respect youngers maintain for ‘Sensei Ono’. Yet present day shows us how severe the changes are; not just in terms of living – like the practical flat Noriko comes to live in but in the behaviour and audacity of little Ichiro towards his Oji.

Ono never opens up everything to the reader, but tells us that the past: the floating world of his 'Migi Hidari' and the once wondrous Japanese empire are what bring him his joy, yet shame all at once.  Even when interacting with Dr. Saito, the father of Noriko’s new match, Ono’s concern that he is being judged is driven purely from within. It is left up the reader to decide on his or her own opinion of Japanese history and the role that Ono's artistry played. Ono’s viewpoint turns the story completely on its head so that whilst we are not learning any solid fact of history, we are learning how history looked and felt to somebody inside it. Ishiguro’s tale is all about the layers: narrowing down from the journey of a nation, to a people, to a family, to young Ichirio looking into the future; highlighting the conflicting worlds of floating and real.

[bookyj]

love in the time of cholera

Gabriel Garcia Marquez doesn’t name the location of his humid Cholera-ridden city once. Not once. It is, admittedly, simply through knowledge of the writer’s extensive works and fascinating personal life that we situate ourselves in a vivid and shifting Columbian port where the Magdalena River meets the Caribbean sea. Having read One Hundred Years of Solitude, I never thought a book could match up. But this tale, Garcia Marquez’s assault on love, more than compares. We follow two worlds: that of Fermina Daza, a girl of lust who becomes a woman of rational resolve, and the world of Florentino Ariza, forever overcast with love.

The main themes are simple: Love, Time and Cholera. Time, which allows us to follow the sometimes-banal lifespans of Garcia Marquez’s characters, shows us the avid avoidance of cholera and endurance of love. The outbreak of Cholera, which passes through the country causing devastation and fear pales in insignificance to its equivalent in crime, however: Love, which shows its face in ever-changing disguises, haunting Florentino through his indulgence in lovemaking and shattering Fermina’s idealistic dreams.

In keeping with his ridiculous tradition, Garcia Marquez has Fermina’s late husband, Dr. Juvenal Urbino, die attempting to rescue a parrot from a mango tree. The novel is filled with nonsensical information described with poetic and evocative accuracy. Not only can the reader learn about Columbian history - from raging civil wars to the first hot air balloon ride; but we also feel, see, smell and cry along with the people, making Garcia Marquez’s book one embedded in our learning.

Saying I learned something about Columbia would be an understatement here. For what I have had to reconsider in the world of love, I have gained in an understanding of life. And a place so much more exotic and exciting than my own. To walk along the tattered port and hear the tales of sunken ships with treasure unfound. To sail the Magdalena and see the effects of deforestation, desolate old towns and incredible foliage. The movement between the central Americas, Caribbean and other ports in the Gulf of Mexico, such as New Orleans, is astounding. Equally, Urbino’s ease of travel to Paris, Italy and the rest of up-and-coming Europe helped reshape my personal understanding of transport at the turn of the century. Garcia Marquez focuses us in on all sorts, including the various languages used from the newer Spanish, to the old Caribbean creole. Against this multi-dimensional scenery, Garcia Marquez cultivates some of the most poignant characters in fiction: Tránsito Ariza, whose devotion to her love-struck son shines through unwaveringly and Aunt Escolástica, who helps the steadfast teenage Fermina realise the rules of love. This is an evolving world, struck with the modernity of European thinkers, yet embedded in ancient Columbian tradition. Religion plays a key role, shedding light on the differences between Urbino and Florentino. One an empirical and rational doctor with an unwavering dedication to the Catholic Church. The other a wandering soul, weighed down by his emotions, his sweet violin and excessive love letter writing, with little interest in the Church. Florentino quintessentially says, I do not believe in God, but I am afraid of him.

My mind is overwhelmed with the fabulous detail and intricate splendour to be found in Love in the Time of Cholera, particularly the central theme: that those symptoms so well known as Cholera, are identical to those from which we suffer when plagued with unrequited love. Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s tale is not, however, one of love. His ‘romantic’ novel is simply a disguise for the real life resting behind the fiction. Our biggest lesson is that of love’s total yet simultaneously insignificant role in every day life, where the heart can never forget.

[bookyj]

a bag of marbles

As fulfilling as it is to learn independently, learning from another’s experiences can be equally as rewarding. Un Sac de Billes, Joseph Joffo’s heart-wrenching autobiographical work, plunges the reader deep into ten-year-old Joe’s imagination against the backdrop of 1941 occupied Paris. This story – of sheer courage and incredible individuals – is delivered through the eyes of a 10-year-old child, who expresses everything he feels, sees, smells and fears; as we, the readers, gawp at the boys’ luck and initiative. Joe’s parents send him and his brother, Maurice, on a terrifying and perilous journey across France to seek safety in the zone libre in a final desperate clutch at life. Once told the plan: travel across France alone to safety with older brothers in the south, Joe says 'C’en était fait de l’enfance.' Our childhood was over. The boys, still naïve to the meaning of their yellow stars, embark on an exciting and fantastic adventure. The novel opens with a game of marbles, highlighting their innocent and carefree life, which is wonderfully juxtaposed with the rest of the tale as the reader watches this childhood slowly fade away.

Their journey takes them from Paris to Dax and on to Hagetmau, during which they experience the stubborn generosity of the French public, amongst demarcation lines and paper checks. After (effortlessly) crossing the line, they make their way to the near-Italian coastal town of Menton, through Aire-­sur­-l’Adour and Marseille, where they see the sea for the first time. La vie est belle for young Joe and Maurice; they make deals with the Italian soldiers, accepting cigarettes in exchange for tracking down fresh parsley. Life is also petrifying, however, when they find themselves under personal scrutiny at the Gestapo HQ in Nice. Their journey is as much a geographical adventure as it is the journey from boy to man, as they encounter problems, politics and people. The reader is continually learning about French identity, specifically the Rue de Clignancourt Jewish community; history, as the brothers laugh at a Count’s ridiculous tales of French monarchy and, finally, of French resilience demonstrated by the nerve of several strangers they meet along the way. Beautifully apt is Joe’s favourite marble, the ‘globe’, which makes him feel as though he has the entire world in his pocket. The entire story, which moves quickly through a vast and changing country, is brought together perfectly in the boys’ love of marbles: in the simple things in life.  Not only does the reader learn about war-torn France, but also about personal development, courage and resilience as they develop new skills and grow as individuals. The boys return at the end of the war only to find their Paris very altered from before. Joe sees his reflection and says ‘C’est vrai, J’ai grandi’. It’s true, I grew up.

Joe shows us the world through his eyes, that is, France under attack from the viewpoint of a 10 year old. Not only does the reader learn the poignant events of the war and the humility of the French people, but can enjoy the French tradition of brotherhood regardless of religious or historical identity. Papa says that his heart feels at home in France because France is ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité’. And it is precisely this, which rescues his two boys from the horrors of an era forever embedded in our histories.

[bookyj]

"The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go." - Dr Seuss.

[bookyj]

takeoff

Around the world in 80 reads is a lie.

It just didn't sound as poetic to say: around the world in between 192 and 196 reads.

The number of official countries in our world is constantly under construction, as are the cultures, histories, languages and peoples. I genuinely think I retain more information I read in fiction than I do from studying. Enjoying a good book before bed, on the beach or on the train is a fab way to learn and already, I have learnt about the origin of Columbia from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Indian religion from Yann Martel and Russian society from Leo Tolstoy. Why not, then, try a book from each and every country and see what else is out there to learn? This is the challenge: I will source, read and enjoy a work of fiction from every country in our almighty world: big, small, rich, poor, whatever. 

There are so many drawbacks to my plan, I dare not consider them! Can I read that many books? How to choose just one novel to represent the UK? How many authors have written about Sao Tome and Principe? Hmm. I'll see how I go...