Ever since I completed a workshop on creative writing almost two months ago, I’ve been sending off short stories to literary journals and writing contests, impatiently waiting and reading more books than usual. There’s a practice of “reading critically” that the instructor tried to impress upon us during the course of the workshop and while I’ve been trying to do just that (I promise), here is a not-so-critical look/a ramble of sorts about three books I’ve read over the past month, three books I liked.
Disclaimer: spoilers ahead.
Dream Factory by Sujatha
The original book is written in Tamil by a “Sujatha” Rangarajan, a legendary Tamilian author with a pen name. Of course, I read the translated version. Fun fact - Sujatha has authored over 100 novels and Sujatha is actually a “he.”
Dream factory is a narrative that unfolds in Kollywood in the 80’s. It’s a fictional story about the lives of several people in the industry but focuses on 3 of them - Arun who is a famous actor and whose personal life pales in comparison to his ‘reel’ life, Arumairajan who is an aspiring lyricist, and Manonmani who is a small actress who has dealt with unwelcome lust all her life.
We are all fascinated with the film industry to some degree and to me, this book offered a somewhat exaggerated but interesting view into the film industry I grew up on the sidelines of.
I spent about 13 years of my life in Chennai - so I am no stranger to the cult following that many male actors enjoy (paal abhishekams for cardboard cutouts of Rajinikanth are a common sight), which this book talks about with an illustrative example. I am also no stranger to the gross objectification and payment parity that actresses face, which is also something Dream Factory doesn’t shy away from.
The book was even an informative read at times. I came across words like ‘Moviola’ and ‘area rights’ for the first time, and was forced to look up what they meant, but beyond these technicalities of shooting, editing and screening films, there is enough pulp drama among the characters that kept me engrossed.
The writing is light and humorous, but still betrays the heavy matters at hand - greed of middlemen, failed dreams and suicide among others. The story is paced perfectly, and it manages to switch deftly between the perspectives of three vastly different protagonists. Now, despite the colourful retro look of the cover, this book is not a happy one. There is only a sense of finality at the end of it and we are left wishing some things could’ve turned out differently for the protagonists.
The primary reason I would dock a point in my rating for this book is because there were moments where I found myself wondering what the original Tamil version would’ve read like, especially when lyrics of songs came up. It did take me out of the story momentarily and I don’t think a good translation should do that.
Rating: 3.5/5
The Vegetarian by Han Kang
To me, this book is easily about feminism. More specifically, it is about how a rejection of a single societal norm can cause a domino effect, an unstoppable sequence of terrifying effects in a woman’s life.
The story is set in modern-day Seoul, and is about a woman named Yeong-He who suddenly decides to become vegetarian after eating meat her whole life.
The original book is written in Korean by Han Kang, and I read the translated version written by Deborah Smith. Unlike Dream Factory, I was pleasantly taken aback by the way the words danced together so perfectly despite all of it being translated. I read and reread and underlined many phrases (“flaming poplars kindled by the evening light.”)
The Vegetarian is a blend of horror and magical realism, and is interspersed with family drama. Through the three sections of the story, Yeong-He goes from an everyday woman to manic to a sort of an ascetic. It was disturbing to me from the get-go, from the opening pages where the protagonist is being described by her husband. He condescendingly describes Yeong-He as passive and unremarkable and I knew I was in for a stomach-churning read.
What’s interesting is we are never brought into Yeong-He’s POV. The first section of the story is narrated by her husband, and then her brother-in-law and finally, her sister. All of them are unable to fully decipher her feelings and actions except for her sister.
Only for a single day, Yeong-He’s sister is able to comprehend how Yeong-He has detached herself from life and even attempts to do the same herself, but she is held back by the sense of responsibility she feels towards her son. This is also my favourite part of the story; her sister talks about it all almost as if she is jealous of Yeong-He for having the courage to completely let go. It was the only part of the book that felt almost relieving to read.
There is a lot of blood, violence and psychological horror throughout - vivid recollections of Yeong-He’s nightmares about slaughtered animals and her sister’s nightmares about blood, the physical and sexual abuse that the women go through, and many descriptions of Yeong-He’s decaying human form take up a significant space in the book.
It didn’t take me by surprise when I looked up discussions of the story online, and saw that many people talked about having to step away from the book for days and even weeks at a time due to the sheer discomfort. I also felt the discomfort, but honestly all it did was kindle an increasing amount of curiosity.
It kept this book constantly either in my hands or in my bag, wherever I was.
Rating: 4/5
The Leavers by Lisa Ko
I find myself gravitating towards stories that touch upon themes of immigration, identity, and family dynamics so the fact that I was almost severely hooked onto The Leavers might just be a personal bias at play.
This is a story of a mother-son duo who immigrate to the U.S - Peilan and Deming in China who take on the identities of Polly and Daniel in the U.S. It follows them over many years through their starkly different experiences of adolescence and adulthood and through the long-harboured feelings of guilt and helplessness they feel towards each other and in general.
Funnily enough, unlike The Vegetarian, I couldn’t make it through this book in one go. I had to set it aside every 5 pages during the first few chapters because of all of the pain and confusion I felt for Deming and for all of the adults in his life who were convincing themselves that they were doing the best for this boy, when they were really just failing him.
Deming’s childhood is far from perfect but the biggest blow comes when he is suddenly and inexplicably left motherless after Peilan/Polly is deported. He is left with no explanation, no money or comfort and is swooped up by a slightly well-meaning (but way more clueless) white couple who foster him and bestow him with a new name - Daniel.
To a reader, the book at some places might seem like a string of bad choices that both mother and son individually make but really, who’s to say what’s right and wrong for these people with these exact unfortunate circumstances?
The surprising part is that, unlike the other two books in this list, this story has a happy ending. Throughout it, I mentally berated and felt sorry for Peilan and Deming and everyone else in their lives but Lisa Ko has somehow successfully given it an ending that feels right, a proper closure. The unsurprising part is that Lisa spent 10 years writing this book.
In fact, my only complaint would be with the way this book has been positioned online. The first two Instagram posts mentioning this book that I encountered are of two people talking about reading it during Asian heritage month. Yes, it is called “a good read” but invisibly (and at some places, even visibly) followed by the parenthetical phrase “only when we talk about BIPOC recognition.”
The Leavers is a great book, period.
Rating: 5/5