Astonishing splashes of colour by Clare Morrall – A book review

In the very first blurb in the book, Professor John Carrey, Chair of the Man Booker Prize praises the book - ‘An extraordinary, gripping novel written with no sentimentality. …’

Why that is praise I wondered – how can a piece of writing be savoured and appreciated when written without sentiments; isn’t that exactly what we look for in a good engrossing story? Well, it took me the reading of the book to understand and appreciate firstly Clare Morrall for her brilliantly written first novel and Professor John Carrey for his acute observation.

From the first chapter itself, the story reminded me of the tragic ‘The Waterland’ by Graham Swift, another most fascinating story. Kitty can’t be a mother; her first attempt has failed and taken away with it the chances for any more attempts. She can’t remember much of her mother either who died when she was three. Her brothers and father won’t tell her much about her and all of them have different versions. In her absent mother, she tries to find her identity, when she being a woman, possessing the fortune of giving another an identity, can’t. She’s in despair, going eccentric. How then would it affect her when the dead mother is resurrected, to realize that things are not what they have been for all of these years, the four loving brothers and father that she calls family are not what they are; they have kept a devastating secret that will make her lose the little balance she has.

What follows then is a tragic innocent crime, shocking, unpardonable yet one one can sympathize with. Things won’t be the same for Kitty and her family again. Yet again.

And in all this, her unconventionally calm husband is always with her. Two characters I liked immensely in this novel apart from Kitty are James, her husband and her doctor, Dr Cross; I wish I come across them in real life. One feels sorry for James though, for being taken for granted, for being a pillar to rest on, write on, and lean on but to be easily forgotten too. Although one can’t be cross with Kitty, I wish she had respected James a little more than she did; pillars also need to draw their strength from others, to be cared for.

You should never trust quiet people like Kitty for their tranquility or their quietude; they are most definitely lying, not particularly to you though. They are quite loquacious in their heads – there’s a constant interminable talking, rambling, musing going on. They’re fighting shouting accusing, arguing – they’re talking, making conversations, playing many parts. They are themselves and others; they are their rationalizations and perceptions; they are the creators and actors – an unsafe environment, within and without. They are constantly fighting with the world.

A trigger is all they need – a concerned look or touch, the right pressure, the right words, the right gesture – and they’ll tell you their story like uninterrupted flowing water. You’ll be surprised and shocked by their ability to speak, emote, surrender; you’ll realize there’s more soul than flesh; you’ll realize they have a point of view. Once you show them that trust, they are unfailingly and vulnerably yours.

On the last page of the book, I felt like watching the sun set on a quiet secluded beach. The sound of the breaking waves, the salty breeze, the changing colours made for a serene setting. My arm was around Kitty’s shoulder as we were sitting there next to each other while she was narrating her story – in the most beautiful manner.

I was truly fascinated both by the story and the writing style. I wish I had written the story.

The book was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize for Fiction 2003.

Use this link to listen to the book on Speechify.

My rating: 5 out of 5

Image copyrights:

Book cover: https://www.buchfreund.de/de/d/p/94968393/astonishing-splashes-of-colour

Clare Morrall:  https://www.theguardian.com/profile/clare-morrall

The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch – A book review

I don’t know if I’ll believe in an autobiography ever again!

An ageing fifty eight year old writer, struggling with time, space and inspiration to write a great piece of art is Bradley Pearson and he makes himself to be the Black Prince in his own story. But his ranting and raving about the writing of his book tires the reader as Bradley incessantly procrastinates until the end of the story till you discover that this is the very story that you’re reading.  You believe the poor old fellow though – I did; you sympathize with him, you pity him, often you do relate to his actions and at times you applaud him for his clarity of thoughts, his austerity and his relentlessness; he seems genuine.

Like most Murdoch stories, there’s philosophy and deeper psychology at play here, there’s the attempt to understand, characterize and explain love and life beyond their one sentence definitions. And Murdoch then, almost instantly and urgently, mocks her own characters for this futile attempt as they falter and deceive their own thoughts and morals, inadvertently falling prey to the cunningness of desire, anxiety, pity and many such emotions that seem to be within their control but often jump and cross the boundaries of the thing we call love.

At times, you tend to become more excited about Bradley’s adventure than he is; he most definitely is even though he tries to suppress it as a reality of the norm. You urge him to take the next step; you try to prevent him from his foolhardy actions. ‘Don’t do it, don’t do it Bradley!’ – you shout and warn from own experience, an experience where you yourself had been reckless once. And as he restlessly listens yet ignores you, you live it again – your experience, and it almost seems like the rebuilding of a scene – yours – Murdoch’s descriptions are so accurate, the feelings are relatable to the verge of being felt yet again.

For the characters she creates and the infidelities she imposes on them, you’d think Murdoch was a wicked one. It seems her written materials are a study, an attempt by her to extrapolate or argue about her understanding of psychology, or to raise questions she never got answers for or probably the answers were too many and most of them though grounded and logical, could be easily discarded or overridden, even by the most casual of characteristics – impetuousness when it came to love lust and longing.

As you get engrossed and live the tale, at times you hate yourself for being able to relate with their restlessness; it reminds you of instances and incidents in the past when you were either Bradley or Julian or Rachel or the others; how ridiculous it seems now but how uncontrollable an urge it was then, how degraded it feels now; how right it felt then. You inadvertently feel the weakness you felt then, when you allowed yourself and a few others to demean you, imploring at the altars of the feeling of love. You can’t seem to shake off the indelible scars they have made; the pain reminds it. Murdoch explains perfectly through Bradley’s restlessness and delirium the madness that is truly associated with love, the preposterousness in its actions driving one insane – it probably takes the humanity off a human. And if Bradley is to be believed, if his story is to be believed, then every character is a sufferer of love. One is made to wonder if he was insane before he fell shamelessly in love with Julian, a girl much less than half his age or did the act of falling make him that?

Everything can be justified – you’ll surely want it to be true if you’re in the wrong books, particularly socially. Acts of infidelity, incest, petty theft, jealousy feel so wrong when committed by others but for the infallible you, there is always a strong reason for having done it. And you fail to understand why others fail to understand. Bradley feels so angry and disgusted with his brother-in-law’s liaison with a younger girl but seems to be empathetic when he is in a similar position. He then understands and believes it all.

Do Murdoch’s books reveal anything about her? Why is infidelity, incest, rebellion of the ages the common theme in most of her books, whether it be the eccentric protagonist in ‘The sea, she sea’, or the appalling incestuous relations of a failure of a priest in ‘The time of the angels’, or the wickedness of power and influence in ‘A fairly honourable defeat’? For sure, she’s been a rebel and a non-believer in the ordinary aspects of this hated thing called love – and I love her for that. All her stories have at least one intellectual or a philosopher, whether it is a priest, a writer or just a thinker. I’m sure she must have known or come across a lot of intellectuals in her life and laughed boisterously at the comfort and surety they must have built around them with their stupid intellectuality and wisdom on life and its intricacies – all talk, when there hasn’t existed ever any rulebook of life.

Having said all of that, what I find unreal in Murdoch’s stories and this one is no exception, is the incredible mental strength and civility the characters portray while countering each other even in the worst of muddles. Even when encountering the most treacherous or heinous of acts, they sit, have a drink, and talk, like ladies and gentlemen; they don’t jump across to wring and break each other’s neck; they talk, they argue, they reason it out! Murdoch clearly believes in the ends of the spectrum – at one end she creates characters that can be really wicked, at the other end these characters are so saintly in a discussion. Is it a cultural thing I wonder, especially when the tabloids are filled with news of grotesque murders and attempts in case of infidelities. It is unbelievable – this endurance and maturity; do such people really exist? Should they? I fail to appreciate them.

‘The Black Prince’ is a story full of restlessness and deception; a deception that transcends the common types. Coincidences, accidents, feelings, madness make it a tragedy of errors. And when you think you that you have sympathized enough with Bradley, the incredible end claims you. You flinch in disgust at what has happened to him. And as if that wasn’t enough, Murdoch trumps you with the final post scripts written by four important characters of the story and one by the editor. And you wonder if you have understood the characters at all, there is a strong urge to read it all over again; everything is left to interpretation. Brilliant!

My rating: 5 out of 5

Images copyrights:

Book cover:  https://www.amazon.in/Black-Prince-Iris-Murdoch/dp/0099589257

Iris Murdoch: https://quotes.thefamouspeople.com/iris-murdoch-1671.php

The green road by Anne Enright – a book review

Years later, old and withered, when you sit down to write Christmas or homecoming cards for your flock that has flown away from the nest and has been away for a long long time, what will you write to them, write of them? Will you address him as the now besuited CEO, or will you remember and remind your son of always being bullied in school; will you frown terribly or have a happy smirk as you write of your daughter as the chubby grumpy child who’d never stop following her mother like a lost puppy?

What we remember is what we choose to remember – of people, of things, of situations, of life. Sketches made and stored in our memory might not necessarily resemble the muses; seldom are artists true and neutral; rarely can they resist not adding or altering something in the name of creativity. Subsequently and consequently the muse changes and that’s how we remember them thenceforth.

Anne Enright’s eccentric Rosalene tries to bring together her flock, probably for one last time, during Christmas. She feels neglected, and she is; her children – four of them, have chosen to stay away from their domineering mother for reasons they know best but she fails to understand. She thinks she is a failure as a mother, she thinks they too have failed her as children. Insecure, old, alone and lonely, having been deserted by a dead husband too – a man who she thinks she married beneath her yet loves him even today, a man who worshipped her but went quiet towards the end, the huge and empty house gets to her and she intends to sell it. Attention and company is what she seeks and yearns for, like a child.

Why do they want to stay away from their mother, these children of her: Constance, Dan, Emmet and Hanna? Do they fear that like their father; they too would eventually lose their voice and resilience and go quiet finally to the grave? Is she that bad?

Divided into two parts, the first part of Anne Enright’s story has one chapter dedicated to each child, as she eloquently sketches their lives away from home and finally their mother’s. The second one is about their homecoming.

Rosalene’s restlessness is apparent in each child as they progress in their lives. Their struggles, though disparate, are the link they carry. Though from the same womb, they’re distinctly apart in their thoughts and doings, as if each fused in a different time and space from different sperm and egg owners. Enright very adeptly and beautifully presents their lives, the disturbances in them. Her ramblings through her characters seem to be her highlight; it reminded me of ‘The Gathering’ – the first one of hers that I’ve read. She subtly puts across the hundreds of thoughts, emotions that go unnoticed in each life lived, some of them so beautiful yet never conveyed, or understood, or possibly even ignored. The interminable chatter in the head, the struggle to push beyond yourself to do what you know is right when the only one who prevents you is you; these struggles are not just Emmet’s and Dan’s as much as they are yours and mine. We define our ideals and when we discern that we’ve drifted away from them, frustrated we fight or give in, but there is never a full acceptance of the defeat, of ourselves. And the ramblings only grow, some words are blurted, some are not, some emotions are let out, some smothered; we become different versions of ourselves, for the world, for the acceptance of us by them. In an interview for one of her other books ‘Actress’, Anne Enright said, ‘As a writer, your problems are your solutions.’ So true, not only for writers, but for all of us, I believe!

I loved Anne Enright’s matter-of-fact way of presenting her story; I’d probably want to read it again. I wish everyone finds their green road to walk upon, a place that gives clarity to the mind and subdues the noise, even if to some extent.  

My rating: 4 out of 5

Picture copyrights:

Anne Enright – https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/books/anne-enright-as-a-writer-your-problems-are-your-solutions-1.4161408

Book cover – https://www.amazon.in/Green-Road-Anne-Enright/dp/0099539799

 

Top Gun: Maverick – a movie review

I sit myself down with bated breath after the national anthem has been played. At 9 o’clock there are a few people sitting, at three, there’s a couple. I only hope that the chirpy teenagers at five don’t continue with their garrulity. And then … then, Mayday Mayday, we are hit, we are hit. Ah, no distress, pure excitement and adrenaline rush as the original Top Gun anthem is being played. Every time I hear it, in my mind I see aviator sunglasses, patched leather jacket, a roaring Kawasaki, the hurried landing and take offs of sleek man-made birds, the trained and practiced gestures of men in uniform on a naval ship. Thank you Harold Faltermeyer and Steve Stevens for this piece of passionate riveting music causing the listener, even if for a few seconds to be possessed and think themselves to be charming striking handsome naval aviators.

Exactly identical to the original till the names of the actors and crew were being displayed, I would have been so delighted if the original had been played instead of the sequel. I’ve never had the opportunity to watch the original on a big screen. In fact, I had watched Top Gun much later than when it was released, and when I did, I instantly fell in love with everything about it – the adventure, the gear, the dashing confidence, the dialogues, the script, the discipline, the rebellion, the characters, the music, the every bloody thing.

Why then was a sequel required? Before the movie begins, Tom Cruise answers this by saying that for years fans have been asking him for a sequel. I wish he hadn’t listened to them. And I’m also glad that he did!

Maverick hasn’t changed. He still goes after what he sees; still rebellious, still buzzes towers, has taken a step ahead from his circus stunt fly-by’s. As Iceman had once said, he’s unsafe and dangerous every time he goes up there. He’s deliberately still a captain, soon to return as an instructor to Top Gun. Goose is dead; he was the only family he had. Maverick often reaches out to him though, “Talk to me Goose, talk to me.” However, you won’t miss Goose much as Rooster, his son, is a spitting image of him. Surprisingly, there’s no mention of Charlie; she’s disappeared and Penny Benjamin, who is only mentioned as a passing reference in the original one is brought to life and takes her place, played by my favourite, the beautiful Jennifer Connelly. Val ‘Iceman’ Kilmer, another favourite actor, is a pleasure to watch too.

It seems the movie makers wanted the viewers to feel nostalgic about every scene from the original. And in an attempt to do so, they’ve created an over the top, fanciful, larger than life, not so easy to believe movie and moments. Most of the scenes seem contrived, the characters - the way they speak and act portray a feigned attempt to be cool. They go out of the way to be Goose and Iceman and Slider, and hence to me it came across as not very natural. In fact, I found ‘Cyclone’ trying very hard to act like the austere ‘Viper’ was in the original. Overall, I felt, they’ve struggled extensively to be like the original and that struggle shows. So, there are the 4G inverted dives that had so much surprised Charlie in the original, Mav suddenly being called to Top Gun, introduction of Maverick as an instructor to his pilots is similar to Charlie’s introduction in the original, pilots not knowing of the instructor's identity as they play along with him, going below hard deck scenes with Viper and now with Cyclone, the ‘Talk to me’’s, the competition for who’s the best fighter pilot, the game on the beach, Rooster’s rendition of ‘Great balls of fire’ just like Goose’s and so on.

Am I complaining? No, no, no and even then just a little bit, yes. Give me the original any day. As I write this, I know I’m going to go and watch it a second time on the big screen. You should too – for Cruise, for Goose, for Tony Scott – as an ode to the original.

Alright gentlemen we have a hop to take!

Revvin' up your engine
Listen to her howlin' roar
Metal under tension
Beggin' you to touch and go

Highway to the Danger Zone
Ride into the Danger Zone

Headin' into twilight
Spreadin' out her wings tonight
She got you jumpin' off the deck
Shovin' into overdrive

Highway to the Danger Zone
I'll take you right into the Danger Zone

You'll never say hello to you
Until you get it on the red line overload
You'll never know what you can do
Until you get it up as high as you can go

Out along the edges
Always where I burn to be
The further on the edge
The hotter the intensity

Highway to the Danger Zone
Gonna take it right into the Danger Zone
Highway to the Danger Zone
Ride into, the Danger Zone

Highway to the Danger Zone
Gonna take it right into the Danger Zone
Highway to the Danger Zone
Ride into the Danger Zone
Highway to the Danger Zone
Gonna take it right into the Danger Zone
Highway to the Danger Zone
Ride into the Danger Zone
Highway to the Danger Zone

Danger Zone – Top Gun soundtrack
Songwriters: Giorgio Moroder / Thomas Ross Whitlock
Danger Zone lyrics © Wb Music Corp.

Picture copyrights:

https://www.themoviedb.org/movie/361743-top-gun-maverick/images/posters

https://www.military.com/off-duty/movies/2021/02/17/tom-cruise-fully-committed-july-2-release-top-gun-maverick.html

 

On beauty by Zadie Smith - A book review

What on beauty does this book describe, reveal? Beauty in relationships – I’d be sarcastic to say yes; not a single relationship in the story comes close to be called or deemed beautiful. On beauty of the mind and thoughts? Hmm, let me think! Almost every character has strong thoughts – about themselves, about others – though finally revealed to be cynical, not beautiful. On beauty of words then? – Naaa, nothing poetic here, literally or otherwise, except for Levi, one of the teenager’s gangsta rap, a form of music which anyway doesn’t go well with me. Finally, on physical beauty? Negative again – except for Victoria’s and Zora’s booties being lustfully mentioned, no other arresting attributes have been really described to substantiate beauty.

Has the title been chosen sarcastically then, for the absence of it?

The story involves two families, the Kippses and Belseys, in confrontation with each other due to the conflicting thoughts of each influential male parent, both being renowned professors. The lives of their children intertwine inadvertently, as both children and elders make ugly choices, ones that hold the power to destroy their relationships and lives. Most of the story is also about the mental and emotional struggle for existence of black families in the white world and this is effectively portrayed through the thoughts of different ages, gender, peer pressure and intellectual capabilities of the multiple characters.

This is one of those books I find difficult to comment on, so let me think aloud what I felt or didn’t feel while reading it. I didn’t feel bored for sure at any point in time. Was I eager to know about the characters – yes. Could I empathize with them – not really! And that’s probably what has had that disoriented feeling while reading the book.

The book subtly touches upon the cynical nature of humans; no matter how well one resolutely deceives others with their so called unshakeable intellectual thoughts or morals and values, what one fails to realize, rather finds it immensely tasking to own to is the vanity of the self over these very thoughts. And this vanity is so inordinately ludicrous and deceptive that the rules are defined stringently for others but not so for the maker. One advertently or inadvertently gives concession to oneself and calls oneself only human to having broken the very rules one sets, but comes down strongly upon the others when they are guilty of similar dishonesty – my mistake, your crime!

It is also about the beauty and monstrosity of love; a feeling that is always more painful than healing. My feeling is that Zadie Smith, through Kiki Belsey, highlights the beauty and strength in accepting – oneself and other, things that have happened and are happening,  while passionately and patiently hanging on to the simple contract one has with life. A good read.

My rating: 3 out of 5

Image copyrights:

Book cover – https://www.amazon.in/Beauty-Zadie-Smith-ebook/dp/B002RI9WLQ

Zadie Smith - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zadie_Smith

Villette by Charlotte Bronte – A book review

We have friends. We had friends. And we’ve had friends. And known people – different kinds, all kinds. 

And one of them most certainly has been the quiet one. An introvert.  Probably an observer. The one of few words, though not so few with the trusted ones or the ones liked and loved. A pupil in a classroom the teacher hardly notices, inconspicuously blending with the tables and chairs than with the mirth and melancholy of the living, not a prominent colour, rather a fading shade in the continuum. Yet, not a chameleon, not a manipulator but manipulated. Not there to hide, nevertheless remains hidden; plainness and simplicity are hardly ornate conspicuous virtues.

Disdained by a few, sympathized by others, they are always the ones expected to understand, yet not worthy enough to be spent time on to be understood. A strong shoulder for others’ woes, a cheek softened by others’ tears; not needing it, yet sympathized. Not meant to love, to be loved, yet to be talked to about love, yet to be asked to about love; their sensibility is accepted, their sensitivity is ignored. They are probably the ones one would be most comfortable with, would like to share with the most, but when a social event is to be organized, theirs are the names easily forgotten or thought of the last. One would expect them to comply, never say no to the many things hurled at them as a friend, but the same ones would never have the time, effort and energy to remain and return the favour when it is their turn.

Is it diffidence then that moulds them? No, no, no! They are the tested, they have endured and though they fight formidably the inexplicable battles of life that once surprised them, but not any more owing to its regularity and familiarity, they have long ago thrown down their arms and surrendered to Fate. The resilience stems not from a weakness then, rather a solidity derived from the lessons of an unprivileged life.

We pass so many of them; they are the multitude; they seldom are granted a second look. But they are needed, essential gifts for the privileged. And we need a Bronte to tell us that they, not just survive but see, feel, cry and laugh like others; at least they have the ability to. They do live too.

Charlotte Bronte presents us the journey of Lucy - an English teacher in a French establishment, hardened by the eccentricities of life, and still nurturing a softness within; a candle which will burn a long time, inevitably changing shape but not the intensity of the flame within; her strength is her character: simple, pure, resilient. God bless Lucy. God bless M Paul Emanuel more for seeing, recognizing and applauding with a sincere heart another one that others couldn’t. But then which God – Lucy’s or M Paul’s?

This is the first book I have read by Charlotte Bronte.  It hasn’t been quite an easy read; I’ve had to reread certain pages multiple times.  But then poetry has never been easy to comprehend, the unseen lines between the printed ones, once scribbled, are the ones that delight and carry the depth. And it is the unseen, the unexplained, the implied that makes a thing, a person, a thought more beautiful. Bronte’s words are a stamp of her genius.

One of my favourite paragraphs from the book – Lucy, struggling by herself, trying to write to Dr John Graham Bretton, an acquaintance from her childhood who’s surfaced again in her troubled youth, and who has managed to invoke in her feelings hitherto unfelt, unrecognized, unknown by the validation of a mere letter written by him to her.

To begin with Feeling and I turned Reason out of doors, drew against her bar and bolt, then we sat down, spread our paper, dipped in the ink an eager pen, and with deep enjoyment, poured out our sincere heart. ….. nobody ever launches into Love unless he has seen or dreamed the rising of Hope’s star over Love’s troubled waters) – when , then, I had given expression to a closely-clinging and deeply-honouring attachment that wanted to attract to itself and take into its own lot all that was painful in the destiny of its object; that would if it could, have absorbed and conducted away all storms and lightnings from an existence viewed with a passion of solicitude – then, just at that moment, the doors of my heart would shake, bolt and bar would yield, Reason would leap in, vigorous and revengeful, snatch the full sheets, read, sneer, erase, tear up, re-write, fold, seal, direct, and send a terse, curt, missive of a page. She did right.

My rating: 5/5

Image copyrights:

Charlotte Bronte: https://brontesisters.co.uk/Charlotte-Bronte.html

Book cover: https://www.amazon.in/Villette-Wordsworth-Classics-Charlotte-Bronte/dp/185326072X

The glimpses of the moon by Edith Wharton – A book review

I begin the year with matters of the heart – not bad!

Edith Wharton’s romantic novel starts with two lovers enjoying a moonlit night. The moon – a romantic orb, a lover’s muse! Lovers make of the moon what they want to – a comparison, a resemblance, a poem, a sonnet. Its beauty is safe at a distance – an object to marvel and awe upon, guarded from a likelihood to lose its luster from proximity and accessibility.

Ediith Wharton is one of those writers I have come to respect a lot because of her comprehension of people’s hearts and minds and for her effortless articulation of subtleties in their thoughts, words, behavior and mannerisms. In her stories, she gently rips apart veils of correctness and exposes the endless lines of scruples. The ‘Age of innocence’ and ‘House of mirth’ are two of my favourite books. She is as articulate in this one, laying bare the confusions and distortions in the heads and hearts of both sexes but somehow I didn’t find it as captivating as the earlier two reads.

It is probably because the characters, for what they are and definitely not for the way they are penned down, didn’t quite appeal to me. Rather, it won’t be untrue if I said I despised most of them. The protagonist couple Suzy and Nick Lansing, living off the affluent, privileged and elitist society, is not the kind I really look up to or hold in high regard – I’d rather reason out for a murderer. And it becomes preposterously tedious when this parasitic appeasing lot, sponging on high society, reveals a moral spine and a mind of its own. Nothing wrong with having your own values, whatever they might be, but it takes an ugly form when one attempts to be the head and the tail at the same time, to one’s benefit.

Suzy and Nick have lived their separate lives in such proud servitude and now when they each have found the rebellious other, they enter into a frivolous marriage – a contractual one, a pact unshackling the tethers the institution of marriage is generally associated with. Their elite friends have decided to help the couple live off their fortunes for a year and make their houses available to them in turns.

But there are no free lunches, there never were, especially with the rich, especially for the not so rich – the dependents. The privileged need playthings to while their time with, to feel important, to have them listened to and at times to hide their dirty laundry, and the poor appeasers are obliged to keep their secrets for them – a payment in kind for the privileges they are bestowed upon with. Not everyone thinks it to be an obligation though, not Nick! And when he finds his wife think of her conniving with her benefactor to keep the benefactor’s illicit affair an obligatory repayment, he is appalled by the thought and loses no time to abandon her with an urgency, in the very second month of their marriage.

What follows, as they go back to blending into the rich colours of the elite society, is their individual struggles to find out if it was love in the first place and a series of events that allow them to question themselves about their values and actions in the midst of a society marked by money, privileges, selfishness and authority. Can one have the best of both worlds? – the cunning and shameless can, I suppose. But do Nick and Suzy continue with what they think is right or what is right? And what is right, anyway? To own up has never been easy – to own up your love, your mistakes, your immoralities, your imperfect thoughts because we twist our values to what suits us at that point in time; we convince ourselves of it.

The story also highlights the fact that in a demanding situation, most of the times one ends up thinking and acting for the other person – speaking is an option but it often turns into an onerous task and the silence, open to a multitude of interpretations, ultimately makes it even worse.

In the end, I did soften a lot towards Suzy. I would have shaken hands with them both for what they finally did and the way they did it. A little unbelievable, but then that’s romance for you. Half way through the book though, I was only pleading out of impatience and boredom – okay tell me the end, let’s just finish this quickly, whichever way it goes; I had started caring less for the characters.

My rating: 6/10

Image copyrights:

Book cover - https://www.raptisrarebooks.com/product/the-glimpses-of-the-moon-edith-wharton-first-edition-rare/

Edith Wharton - https://www.famousauthors.org/edith-wharton