Shallow Thoughts to Profound Insights

The Road -Cormac McCarthy

2009-11-04T13:34:00.004-06:00

Despair in a book is very hard for me to read. Despair from the past is better than despair based in the future. In the former case at least we know things got better. What does the the future of a very bleak future hold? There is very little hope. Sitting in Wisconsin on a poopy day adds another layer to the already existing despair in the book. It almost made me want to hoard food in the pantry. Despite all this I read the book.

The book explores the human condition in a post apocalyptic world. There is not much said about how it came about, just that it is. The father and son take the road south in the hope of finding the 'good guys' who also 'carry the fire'. The narrative is crisp. The entire book is written without the use of quotation marks or apostrophe (don't is dont, won't is wont!). It adds something to the book. Makes it unattractive like the landscape and the life the words describe. I am not sure if this is an acknowledged writing style, but the usage in the novel is brilliant.

In the entire novel the father and son eat out of cans. The earth lacks a biosphere. Hence there are no plants, animals etc. The air is still breathable. How long can, what is left of humanity, survive on left over cans? What happens to left over people in countries that do not can food? Silly thoughts, but I did wonder about that. The book provides a first world perspective of what the human condition will be in such a future. What will the third world outlook look like? The survival skills of the third world is so much more different than the first world. The degree of despair and hardship will be so different.

The movie will be out during Thanksgiving. I cannot watch despair in a movie. Remember Artificial Intelligence, I desperately wanted to get out of the theater. So I will not watch this one.

That late 80s TV series

2009-10-02T09:30:00.002-05:00

I was reading some blog post and someone mentioned Supriya Pathak. Suddenly I wanted to google her and see what she looks like now. There was time in the late 80s when I liked her a lot. So I google and find out she doesn't look anything like she used to. Wikipedia reminds me that she married Pankaj Kapur and Shahid Kapoor is her step son. That leads me to google Pankaj Kapur's first wife and that turns out to be Neelima Azeem. The name rings a bell and I cannot place her at all. Some more googling and I recognize her. I feel really old figuring out that Shahid Kapoor is Neelima Azeem's son.

Now, there was this TV series back in the late 80s with Neelima Azeem in a supporting role. She plays this muslim girl. Her friend who is from a rich family falls in love with a guy in college. Turns out he is poor and from the village. The rest of the story leads to these guys eloping with the help of Neelima Azeem and her fiance, who she marries later in real life. I cannot remember the name of the series.

Does anyone? Please tell.

Another one that I remembered was called "Pachpan Khambe lal diware" starring Mita Vashisht and one cute looking guy. I was 14 or 15 and liked Mita Vashist a lot, until she starred in a Hindi rip of Star Trek. But anyway, I loved "Pachpan Khambe lal diware". It aired for only a few weeks and then it was gone.

That is DD's contribution to my nostalgia.

Duet

2009-09-17T14:50:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time I was 19 and still naive. One day my sister came up to me and asked me to sing a duet with her. I was all ready and eager. So she starts singing the above song and tells me to say "kyun" every time it was required by the song. I had never heard this song and didn't know it was an 'equally sung' duet. I was not paying much attention to the lyrics. I just thought one person sang the song and the other person said "kyun". I told you I was naive. So I dutifully pitched in and said "kyun" every time my sister cued me. Then later when I heard the song I figured I was just a kyun prop and my sister had made a complete fool of me. To this day, Appa recounts this incident in detail and tells every relative that visits home of how my sister made me sing only "kyun" and called it a duet. Mean sister. Meaner Appa.

Love Story - Erich Segal

2009-09-09T14:24:00.002-05:00

I read this book the first time when I was 19. I hardly remember how I felt or why I liked the book. It was mandatory reading for the English class and since we had to be cool in college, we watched the movie too. I only remember that the movie was very 60s style and nothing much else.

Yesterday I was walking towards the library check out counter and saw this book and picked it up. I read it in a couple of hours. Even though the story and setting sounds dated at times, there is still a timeless aspect to the wit in the narrative. It is a very well told, poignant story. The kind that wants one to shove all the cynicism aside, at least for a couple of hours. I am glad I am still capable of that.

Kamila Shamsie, Pakistan and related stuff

2009-08-27T09:10:00.003-05:00

I have been reading Kamila Shamsie and have this new found curiosity about Pakistanis. I have known some people from across the border, but no close friends really. Some guy that was in my ECE 555 class in grad school. I didn't learn much from him, except that he once came on a bus to Bihar to meet some relatives. Waiting at the bus stop in Madison winter, I wasn't curious enough and he wasn't drop-dead-handsome (what vanity at 24?!) for me to dig any deeper.

Now, I have a neighbor from Karachi. A very nice family. For a long time we would just wave if we met on the road or something. One time Salma and me were discussing childhood asthma and she said "Oh! I just do apna desi dawa Sowmya". That was really endearing. I was part of her 'apna' and 'des'. Wow. I never thought of her like that. I felt small being that narrow minded. But since then I have become pretty friendly, but there is a very American formality that lingers. Maybe both of us think it is necessary because we haven't bridged some cultural gap. I don't know.

And then about a year ago, I met this Pakistani doctor at the airport. We started small talking

"Where are you from.. in Pakistan?"

"I am from Lahore"

"Do you still have family there?"

"Not much, a lot of my relatives have migrated to America. But I do go every 5 years or so. Where are you from in India?"

"I am from Madras"

"Oh, really! My mother is from Madras and so is my father"

"They grew up in Madras? "

"My mother was very young while in Madras. She doesn't remember much now. She keeps telling me she wants to go visit. But she is a little ailing these days."

"So, when did they move to Pakistan?"

"In 1950. They had to leave"

Something in the way he said "They had to leave" made me uncomfortable. I never knew about Muslims from Madras migrating to Pakistan. And that too three years after partition. And it bothered me that, this doctor who was born and brought up in Lahore had some kind of sadness about his mother leaving Madras when she was 10 years old. I couldn't figure it out.

And then another time, I had this conversation about Pakistani men with a friend. She is Indian muslim but a lot of her cousins have married Pakistani men. She claims that Pakistani men make wonderful joru ka ghulam type husbands as compared to their Indian counterparts. I want to assume - Indian muslim men as counterparts, but I want to generalize too. It is more alluring like that. After all, both of us were married to Indian men and in our thirties we needed some kind of romanticism about other people's lives, while our own life was filled the mundane.

That pretty much sums up all that I know about Pakistanis at a personal level. Since I have somehow managed to not know any Pakistanis that well and I have read two of Kamila Shamsie's novels, I still have that mysterious aura attached to pakistanis. I like that.

Mudhal Mariyadhai

2009-08-25T14:25:00.005-05:00

I watched this movie after a long and for first time in my adult life. I think I was finally able to appreciate a lot of things in the movie, based on my own opinions and not be influenced by what other people thought about the movie or about Bharathiraaja and his direction.

There is so much honesty in the portrayal of all the characters. The whole class/caste issue is dealt with a lot of finesse. The women in the movie are pretty powerful, despite their social standing. They all speak their mind, sometimes very loudly and sometimes mixed with the noise of a broom stick hitting another woman. They are not victims. Not to class, not to caste, not to poverty, not to bad marriages. They just go about life. The entire movie is non-judgmental of anything that they do. There is no political correctness crap. It was really refreshing to see all this in a Thamizh movie from 1985.

I am not sure I understood all of Ponnatha's rants - that whole seeped-in-old-sayings type of monologue. It is so cultural. Despite knowing the language, it was a little hard to comprehend the usage of all that in different contexts of the movie. And some of the adult content in conversation was used so matter-of-factly. No double entendres needed. Nothing is implied because it cannot be spoken. And when it is spoken it feels so natural coming out of their mouths.

For a long time I have been trying find an Indian writer who writes stories like this. Not necessarily based in villages, but about real people, not stereotypes. To tell a story with all honesty, not trying to reach a particular audience. When a story is told with no dilution it actually reaches a wider audience. I like Bharatiraaja's honest story telling. Maybe I'll watch Vedam Pudhidhu one of these days and see if I like it.

Namesake, not the book

2009-08-21T07:44:00.003-05:00

I have a friend who is also my namesake. Yes, yes we have conversations that include "Yeah, Sowmya" on both sides. It was initially weird to call each other Sowmya. Every time I said the name aloud I felt like I was having the conversation with myself. Over a period of time the distinction that our personalities brought took over and now I call her Sowmya and think of her instead of me. Since we talk so often on the phone, sometimes certain things spill over in other phone conversations that I have with other people. The spillover usually goes like "Apdi illa Sowmya" instead of "Apdi illa Priya". And Priya starts wondering why am I calling her by my name, and considering my life is so devoid of adult conversation, if I have conversations with myself to compensate for that. Before Priya thinks I am a weirdo, I have to tell her that I have a friend called Sowmya and sometimes things spillover. Now, this Priya's husband is also called Bharath and my friend Sowmya's husband is also called Bharath. I have very entertaining days, when I talk to both Priya and Sowmya on the same day!

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

2009-08-20T09:44:00.003-05:00

I watched it. I liked it!

Oddly enough the movie reminded me of "Vanilla Sky". I guess they both have the bizarreness factor going for them. But Eternal Sunshine has a something else that keeps the movie together than Vanilla sky. I like the non-linear story telling. It makes you want to watch the movie back to back all over again. But then you lose the rush you get from rearranging scenes in your head and getting the story. So I did not watch the movie back to back. Movies like this have to be edited with precision to keep the audience interested throughout the movie. A little more bizarre and a little more incomprehensible the movie would've been a wasted effort. But none of the disappointing stuff is there. The movie unfolds quite well and is thoroughly enjoyable.

The movie is all the more enjoyable if one has vivid dreams. I have even altered the course of a dream when the realization set in, that it is a dream. Sometimes you can and sometimes the dream is all powerful. Warped memory - I love that concept. I think I have my share of it in my head. Some happy memories are all the more happy because of the way they have been recollected and embellished with other forms/times of happiness. Sad memories made all the more sadder for the same reason. All this without even smoking weed! Reality is simply based on how much progesterone is flowing in my blood stream.

Anyway, I loved the movie. Thanks people, for suggesting it.

Profoundness - 3

2009-08-19T07:45:00.003-05:00

'Being human' should encompass a whole range of stuff which includes torture, enslavement of fellow humans and all the stuff that comes normally under 'inhuman'. How long and what percent of a species should exhibit a particular characteristic before it can have its own name and not be an adjective describing the species. The term 'being human' becomes a burden. Then man seeks ways in which he can be less than 'human'. That must be gratifying at some level. History tells us that we have a predisposition to seeking that gratification. Some societies made laws towards that end, while some created Gods.

Why do some movies have background narration?

2009-08-13T10:28:00.003-05:00

Historical movies sometimes, for want of time, have a background narration to speed up the story. But why do social dramas have them? I have feeling it has to do with the insecurity of the screenplay writer about his abilities - 'Oh what if people don't get what I am trying to say in 2hrs and 20 minutes? Maybe I will just state what I want to them to get' - It is very annoying.

I watched the movie "Little Children". The movie had potential to be as spectacular as Revolutionary Road, what with Kate Winslet playing the lead road and all. But somehow towards the end people that made the movie decided to become very condescending. This movie had that background narration I now despise. The subtlety was so completely lost. There was very little left for viewer to infer. It killed a good movie. The actors were so good, they could have conveyed their characters' needs, wants, disappointments, with a slight change in how their eyes widen and lips twitch. The narration belittled that too. The end got very preachy "One cannot change the past, but can have a different future". What crap!

ps: I have this new found fascination for Meryl Streep and Kate Winslet movies. Any suggestions?

pps: It has been 4 years since I started spewing crap on this blog. I am not sure I have pursued any non academic activity for this long. Not bad huh!

Oxytocin

2009-08-04T09:33:00.006-05:00

I don't remember how this thought process started. I started wondering why there is no post traumatic stress involved with labor and child birth. I am not comparing it to the Vietnam war, but it could be traumatic, atleast the first time, considering the amount of pain and blood shed. In this day and age there is really no fear of death, but it could be scary. I have friends who have had 20 hours of labor without pain medication and go through the same for next child and sometimes the one after that too. These are not incredibly strong women. None of them have done anything physically enduring other than running to catch a train. Considering the human pelvis is not really suited for easy child birth, we have managed to populate the entire earth to the brim. A lot of times women take the brunt for being hormonal beings. But what a glorious being to be. Maybe even this feeling is hormonal.

Oxytocin is this amazing hormone that does a spectacular job during labor and delivery. Oxytocin almost sounds like a miracle. Oxytocin helps the uterus to contract, it helps in delivery of the placenta, high levels make the uterus contract after birth and thus preventing haemorrhage and speeding up recovery. Anybody who has breastfed a newborn, knows that it makes the uterus contract, sometimes painfully. This again is due to the flow of oxytocin stimulated by breastfeeding. Oxytocin ensures emotional and physical well-being after childbirth. The wonders of hormonal chemistry!

As I read the above link I came across this sentence - "As the hormone of orgasm, labour and breastfeeding, oxytocin encourages us to "forget ourselves", either through altruism- service to others- or through feelings of love." And from this link it is apparent that Oxytocin has selective amnesic effects and impairs recalling from memory.

So there is some validity to the conclusion that oxytocin actually impairs the memory of labor. Women don't feel the trauma or have recurring dreams of being in pain and delivering a pineapple (which would have definitely happened to me considering the weird dreams I dream). They forget, have more babies and move on. They don't need therapy and they don't divorce the men that put them on the delivery table. All this happens by the wonders of oxytocin.

But then when one focuses on the part "hormone of orgasm" and relate it to make-up sex after a monumental fight one finds that selective amnesia in this case is on the side of the person that loses the fight and initiates make-up sex aka 'the man'. (I am sexist only)

Now ladies, isn't that one "Aha" moment!

2009-07-17T08:00:00.003-05:00

When I read Toni Morrison, I feel thankful to live at a time when I can relish her writing. I wish she was my grandmother (no offense to Kanaka Paati!). That kind of wisdom I am sure trickles down.

When I read Annie Proulx, I have feeling that I will die without writing anything spectacular like she does.

How to buy milk without contact lenses

2009-07-14T12:55:00.002-05:00

I have some kind of eye allergies and so I had to remove my contact lenses earlier that evening and my only pair of glasses broke sometime ago. I am not blind without my lenses, but vision is compromised, a little.

At about 9:30pm I realize that there is not enough milk for the next morning. I stand in front of the refrigerator and contemplate if I should wear my lens and drive with itchy eyes or simply drive without them. I decide to take the chance and drive without them. I hurry out of the kitchen door into the garage. Climb into the car and back out of the driveway and go on my way. It is not that bad. I drive a little slow to give myself more reaction time.

All through the drive I keep thinking - this is illegal for me to do since my license specifically says that I have to wear correction lenses to drive. And if something goes wrong, the insurance company won't pay because I was violating a pre-requisite. Regular late night paranoia. All for a couple of gallons of milk.

Then I notice how the street lights streak out due to my astigmatism. I count a few lights of diminishing size where there is supposed to be one and feel a little blurry eyed after staring at the traffic light. Somehow the streaking is absent with the traffic light. I reach Walgreen's, get milk and drive back a little more confident with my diminished vision.

I reach home and feel a little triumphant about my adventure.

The next morning, while I am getting ready to chauffeur the kid to swimming class, I realize the kid's booster seat is missing. The last I saw, it was on top of the car. I was supposed to put it in the car the previous evening. Before I drove to get milk, without my contact lenses.

Conclusion: I cannot see the booster seat sitting on top of the car without my contact lenses. And couple of gallons of milk cost $24.73 when you do things my way.

Loving Frank - Nancy Horan

2009-07-13T13:31:00.003-05:00

Historical fiction should be good at two things - history and story telling. This book fails in both these aspects. It is based on the life of renowned architect Frank Lloyd Wright's life and his adulterous relationship with Mamah Cheney. The novel doesn't add much to the entry on Wright's wikipedia page.

The story is based in the early 1900s. The book fails within the first few pages to take the reader to that era. There are a lot of 21st century womens' views thrust upon the protagonist placed in the early 20th century. The characters are all one-dimensional and it seems more of an insult to the lives they lived rather than a tribute. The brilliance that Wright was, is never highlighted in the entire book.

A lot of times authors believe that infidelity has to have its reasons and/or be justified and eventually the perpetrators should somehow be punished for their misgivings. I hate this premise. Political correctness should not be in the forefront and diminish fictional portrayal of people that once lived into cartoons. That is what has happened to Mamah Cheney and Frank Wright in this novel.

A mediocre novel it is.

Apparently there is a Greek Orthodox Church here in Milwaukee which was designed by Frank Wright. One of these days, I am going to drive and take a look. Hopefully, the visual treat will help me to get over the novel.

The Bell Jar - Slyvia Plath

2009-06-16T09:40:00.000-05:00

What begins as a tale about very prevalent early-twenties-angst, turns out to be a first person narrative of Ester Greenwood's emotional breakdown over a six month period. The transition from angst to breakdown takes place in layers. The narrative changes according to the stage of breakdown. It progresses from Esther's ability to articulate her feelings beautifully, with a lot of cynicism, to a depressive woman's lopsided world view.

Sylvia Plath based Esther Greenwood's character on her own experiences as a successful student who succumbed to depression, attempted suicide a number of times and later on recovered in an asylum. Esther at the asylum feels like she is stuffed in a Bell Jar breathing her own sour air all the time. Once she recovers she feels the Bell Jar lifting off and freeing her of the sour air. But she does worry if it would later on come back to confine her again.

In real life Sylvia Plath committed suicide in her early thirties by shoving her head in to a gas oven with the gas turned on. The book is a journey into the mind of Plath herself. There is no heart wrenching sadness, which I think is an overrated emotion. The book is what it is because of the way Plath perceives life. This cannot come out of someone's imagination, even if ample research feeds such an imagination.

Truly, a wonderful book.

My Name is Red - Orhan Pamuk

2009-06-08T10:35:00.002-05:00

I was telling a friend how slow and heavy the writing style was and she said "You should read fiction for pleasure, Sowmya. Not to tire yourself". Until then I was reading the book. After that I cheated. I skimmed and skipped. I read it. I finished. I am done.

Turkish is probably a language that makes such elaborate prose writing style, I am assuming, effortless. The translation turns out to be burdensome. The story line is short and simple. The background, philosophy and characters are fascinating. The narrative is very novel with every chapter being narrated in the first person by a different character. "Weaving a story" takes up a whole new dimension in this book.

I like books that are a fast read and this was so not one. I have nothing against the book, only against myself for not being able to read the book completely. If I pick up the book again, it'll feel so much like failing a class and repeating it all over again. Very humiliating. Therefore I will not be reading Orhan Pamuk again, until I grow much older.

Last post on Nora Roberts, I promise.

2009-05-24T22:37:00.000-05:00

I read three books in two weeks. Overkill, so I have to unload.

The books are all written to a formula: The woman - self made woman or a struggling entrepreneur, has inherited property from grandmother. The mother usually is the one who has driven her to therapy. She has a few skeletons in her closet and is definitely not looking for love at the beginning of the story. The man - the most charming, understanding, always-saying-the-right-thing kinda man. There is really nothing to dislike, at the same time not puke worthy. That is the skill Roberts wields.

Some sundry characters to fill the town. Most of the stories are based in small towns. The woman usually is new to town and the man a local. There is murder that usually pops up within 100 pages, so the sex doesn't happen until the 220 page mark. After which, events are built to alternate between murder investigation and lust turning into love.

All this sounds very trite, but Nora is talented. She gets one hooked into the story within the first few pages. The plot is very simple. I like the research she does to build her characters. That is where the stereotyped characters gain individuality. There is detail that makes the character unique and interesting. The story telling at times could be more crisp, but I am usually forgiving because I like the story.

Here is a recent list of books that I read

Northern Lights
Tribute
Homeport
Angels Fall
Carolina Moon
High Noon
Carnal Innocence

Hopefully, I'll end my Nora Roberts spree with this. I have Orhan Pamuk's "My name is red" that I must read now.

Vaguely Familiar

2009-05-13T10:02:00.003-05:00

Sometimes when you read begin a book, you have a feeling you have already read it. A very vague feeling of familiarity, but not a good memory of it. I like that feeling. With every page there is hope that you will not remember the story, at the same time, it might all come back to you and leave you disappointed because you cannot continue the book anymore. I really like that.

Nora Roberts

2009-05-11T09:43:00.005-05:00

I here by declare that I am a fan of Nora Roberts. The woman's got talent. I love her books. It is like comfort food. I always have a feeling that the books need some tighter editing, but I am very forgiving because I enjoy her books. Set in small town America, regular people angst and worries, simple uni-dimensional story line, no layered subtlety, lots of understanding men, lots of angry hot headed women, glorious sex and a murder mystery on the side. What is not to like?

Flicker and fall

2009-05-08T11:47:00.004-05:00

He looked concerned, but did he care enough. Maybe he did. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes, which she had not seen in a long time. She was venting, with a lot of control, she didn't want the flicker to be gone. She gauged his face with every sentence she uttered, with every tear she shed. He seemed to take it well. He was giving her time. It was new to her. Her mind was trying to see if this would lead to an outburst later. She didn't want it to, but it always happened. The outburst on his part always undermined whatever she had managed to say despite the dread that churned her stomach. All that effort and it always blew up on her face. This time it seemed like it wouldn't. She was positive. She could never be sure. He listened. She found relief. She thanked him.

The next day, the flicker of softness was gone. There were traces of anger. She asked him, as was her routine, if he was okay. His hands trembled. "I shouldn't have had to listen to all that". He had pulled the rug from under her. The physical fall would've been bearable than this emotional one.

Area Rug

2009-04-27T10:32:00.005-05:00

She stared at the area rug. It was a silent witness to all their fights. Each pattern reminded her of the disrespect he spewed. She sat on the sofa or the love seat as they yelled at each other. With every thought in her head that she dared not say, she traced a pattern along the flowers in the rug. Later on when she called a friend to vent, she would just follow the patterns and recall every unreasonable thought he gave voice to. Sometimes she gained strength from the motif, countering his words with what he said in some previous fight, sometimes it drained her out, just like him. She won arguments, but lost her fights. She sipped her coffee and stared at the rug. It had become more than a silent witness, it was wielding its power, to remind, to torment. It denied her the ability move on. It had become a memory map that she could not erase.

Unaccostumed Earth - Jhumpa Lahiri

2009-03-30T10:30:00.003-05:00

Jhumpa Lahiri is overrated as a writer. She is a good story teller, but not a writer whose writing warrants the Pulitzer. For one, all her stories are about the immigrant experiences, and only about Bengali families. I am tired of reading about bright saree clad, vermilion adorning aunties, who according to Lahiri have a very limited existence in America. Her stories about the immigrant struggles are pretty universal to any first generation Indian in America. My point is she does not have to restrict it to Bengalis alone. It just shows her inability as a writer, or her lack of experience with the other Indian cultures that she limits her stories to Bengali immigrants.

The power in a short story is, there is no dwelling in unwanted digressions which do not add anything to the story. Crispness is the key. All her stories lack that. I like stories with a twist. If it gives me a moment of thrill, and even if it is inconceivable I will take it for that aha moment. That is not there too.

Her characters lack depth. Their struggles are like the characters in a Nora Roberts novel. At least Nora's characters have glorious sex! All that it takes to dump Lahiri in the book return bin at the library is to read one paragraph from a Toni Morrison's novel. And I stick to my previous claim that Jhumpa Lahiri should write for the Kumudam. And the book cover is begging to be on the Oprah Book Club. Gah!

Hawaiian Highs

2009-03-19T15:37:00.003-05:00

The moment we land at the Honolulu international airport, I feel envious. These people have the outdoors inside the airport! We deplane and walk outside in the cool tropical breeze to reach baggage claim. I have never seen this, anywhere.

After checking in at the hotel, we take a walk through Waikiki, a commercial area in downtown Honolulu. The Hyatts, Hiltons and Sheratons have taken over the beachside. But, for all the revenue and business they bring in, they also minimise the native experience.

Nevertheless, Waikiki does provide a ‘native’ shopping experience. You can buy Aloha shirts, dresses, sarong wraps, hats, bead necklaces, and hand-carved artefacts, all costing a trifle to a few Benjamins. I find the sarong-wrap stall very fascinating. There are a hundred different ways to wear this two-layered wrap-around-skirt, not simply as skirt, but as an entire dress. The creativity with which the salesgirl shows me how to wear it is amazing.

The rest of it is here.

ps: It is edited and I realised it barely sounds like me. But it is still me.

The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

2009-03-15T11:17:00.008-05:00

Steinbeck has written a 400 page treatise to hopelessness. The book is very dated and the struggles are not relevant to the times we live in. I think Steinbeck's aim was to give a voice to the Dust Bowl Migrants during the Great Depression. But a book all about misery is almost not human. There has to be hope. But there isn't. There isn't even that much wrath, a few peaches and no grapes. It is hailed as an American Classic and I can claim to have read it. That is all.

I like his writing. The way he captures the lives on one migrant family and migrants in general. It is very powerful like that. I cannot read about despair chapter after chapter with no end in sight. I was hoping there would be more wrath, which I think was there in those times because the book was banned in California and copies of the book burnt in protest. I guess that is the wrath of the Farm owners, not the migrants. With just a few pages to go and the Joads' little shelter flooded with water I knew the book would end in a sad note. But Steinbeck takes misery to its pinnacle - A woman who loses her child at birth, breastfeeds a starving man and thus the book ends. It is sadness that tugs at your heart but doesn't let you cry. I hate that.

This the second book Steinbeck I have read. A few years ago I read "East of Eden" and the 'Cathy the whore' character haunted me for weeks. I think I am done with Steinbeck.

Revolutionary Road

2009-03-12T16:03:00.005-05:00

A truely disturbing movie.