World Translations Review
Home for Book Reviews of Translated Literature from around the World.
Wednesday, August 6, 2025
Tuesday, July 29, 2025
... Depois, Cheia De Vida
Set in an
unnamed Brazilian city and told through multiple narrators, Eliana Alvez Cruz's Solitaria is
a novel about the modern-day realities of remains of colonial violence and
class disparity, seen through the lives of a mother and daughter who work as
live-in maids. Constructed almost in an episodic style, the novel blends a
coming-of-age story of Mabel, who wants to break free of the vicious circle of
serving the wealthy, almost like a servitude, and her mother Eunice, who
accepts things as such because it provides for her family's needs and gives her
a haven. But when a tragedy occurs at the Golden Plate apartment, Eunice must
decide which side she wants to be on and whom she shall challenge after years
of silence, acceptance, and compromise.
Split into three sections, the first part is narrated by Mabel, the second part by Eunice, and inanimate objects narrate the third part of the novel. The foreshadowing of tension at the beginning of the novel concludes in a liberating end in the final chapter of the story.
With the little
means she has, Eunice has always lived in fear and insecurity, forgetting
herself in the grind. It seems Eunice must always make compromises, as if she
owes gratitude to everyone for her being. Mabel considers this a servitude more
than gratitude and wants to break free. Growing in the shadows of tiny spaces
for maids, seeing, gauging, and understanding the way of their life, Mabel
starts to have strong opinions—almost a grudge—for the treatment they receive;
for the way they are seen and understood. Working for Ms. Lúcia's family,
Eunice and Mabel also take care of their daughter. But, seeing the contrast in how
they grow up, Mabel doesn't want to spend her life away like her mother. Mabel
wants to be educated, free, independent, and get out of the life of servitude.
After Everything that happened, beyond the certainty that I didn’t want kids, something else true grew in me: I did not want to be like my mother. More like, I did not want to do what she did. This feeling was the embryo of a distancing between us, one that would need the remedy of time to heal.
Home to the rich and upper class, the Golden Plate apartment is also an abode for many caretakers and maids, but they are always considered outsiders, opportunists, submissive, and lowly. The interwoven lives of people of different classes appear to be in harmony, but a shadow of violence, injustice, and indifference is palpable—not in one event, but on multiple occasions, hidden, said, or unspoken. Not only Mabel, but João, her first love, also wants to live like other kids on the block—unrestricted, with dreams of his own—but that simply makes him a ruffian among the dwellers. Mabel doesn't want to characterize herself and doesn't want the rich to tag her as "these people." Mabel and João are characters of defiance, who want to get out of "the gilded cage." Mother-daughter relationships, father-son relationships, teenage love, adolescent pregnancy, moral dilemmas, and elusiveness have been beautifully explored in Solitaria.
I did not want to clean a house that
wasn’t mine. I did not want to take a child to work in anybody else’s house.
That was my story, and I did not want to repeat it with my own children. I
didn’t even want children! I didn’t want another Ms. Lúcia as a boss or another
Camilinha whose diapers I had to change, whom I had to feed and give my time
and my love, and one day watch her make messes on purpose, with her parents’
approval, just so she could watch as I cleaned. I did not want to be away from
my home for a whole week in order to make someone else’s home more cozy and
comfortable.
Mãe and I stayed there, in the gilded cage of the Golden Plate Building. We were birds in a luxury habitat, but isn’t a golden cage still a cage? Every once in a while, our wings would fly us back home—our little house in the distant suburb, or some other faraway place—but we would always go back to our captivity.
The beginning of the first part connects with the start of the second part, where the narrator changes from Mabel to Eunice.
Eunice is a motherly figure who doesn't want insecurities to seep into their lives—already in crisis but moving in a fine balance, earned at whatever cost. Eunice considers the way they live in the Golden Plate building as a part of their lives—a necessary evil. Burdened with responsibilities, she doesn't want to hate her provider. But there are limits to everything, even to human tolerance and patience, before one realizes the value of everything around. Solitaria speaks to and awakens the need to break through the cocoon.
In the third part of the novel, different rooms come out as narrators. They are present to recount what they have witnessed in the lives of Eunice, Mabel, and many others like them. They also testify to the change that is essential and that forces itself out. The infusion of the COVID pandemic into the story has been wonderfully done by the author Eliana Alvez Cruz.
I think that, sometimes, when you are in a bad situation, you get used to it and don’t want to leave because it’s familiar, even though it’s bad. That was how I felt about working in Ms. Lúcia’s house.
Against the backdrop of Afro-Brazilian history, class and racial tensions, the social lives of the wealthy, the struggle between ruling and labor classes, and the modern Brazilian class structure are all subtly explored in the novel. While stories from the favelas are often told, the divide extends far beyond, deeply affecting the lives of ordinary people. At one point, the narrative warns that "the melting was about to blow…," powerfully illustrating how "money whitens" and highlighting the ongoing crisis of social and economic integration—a crisis unresolved since the Golden Law.
The clear voice and well-built architecture of the novel keep the narrative succinct, subtle, and yet sharp. Constructed in three parts—Mabel, Eunice, and Solitárias—the novel loosely follows both an episodic and non-linear narrative; however, it keeps the story thread intact and smooth. Other than Eunice and Mabel, characters such as Sérgio, Jurandir, João Pedro, Cacau, Ms. Lúcia, Mr. Tiago, Camila, Irene, Bruninho, Ms. Imaculada, Dadá, Mr. Grenito, and Ms. Hilda have been nicely established, each serving a purposeful presence.
Since Mabel
spends her formative years in those tiny rooms and shrunken spaces, the first
part of the novel is constructed to reflect how spaces and objects shape or
form memories of happiness, sadness, tragedy, horror, injustice, and even
awkwardness. The chapters are constructed in a way that the inanimate objects
and spaces—like the backyard, pool, kitchen, study, party room, stairs, windows—become
essential markers in the development of the story without compromising the main
narrative.
I know that, deep down, I wasn’t a room. I was a solitária. Exactly that. A prison, a place meant to separate these lives from the world and from the other residents. I am so small . . .
As we come
toward the final chapters, we come to realize that we thrive for freedom, and
we attach our hope and freedom to our dreams. The hidden, tormented, and
compromised lives must break free—redemption is a necessity; so is defiance.
People who have lived all their lives with disparity, injustice, and unspoken
violence will fight back, will claim, will earn what they always deserved. And
finally, places shape us, but we can shape the places too—not just the physical
ones but the way we live, our own private space—where societal boundaries tend
to break and dreams thrive, where Solitária can transform to cheia de
vida. Solitária is a novel of sacrifice, courage, and redemption.
Translator: Benjamin Brooks
Publisher: Astra House
PS:
My Favorite Chapter: Little-Bathroom
Saturday, July 19, 2025
Long Live the City, Long Live Nata Da
It's been a while
since Monotosh, the narrator of The Ruffian, moved out of the city in
which he grew up. He has arrived at his old neighborhood once again – Galiff
Street, Bagbazar, and the surrounding areas in Calcutta. While strolling
through his neighborhood, as he reminisces about the changes that have taken
place since he left, he accidentally meets old Nata da – a famous rogue of his
time. Not Monotosh, but Nata da is our unruly protagonist.
Monotosh accepts that he is a failed writer, yet he wants to record the life and times of Nata da, who has lived long enough to see it all. What follows is a sweeping account of Nata's life, told by himself in multiple sittings.
Monotosh
notices that the old streets have changed, and so have the houses. New
structures have risen in place of warehouses and depots, the brothels have been
demolished, and the luminaries that once marked the city are either dead or
forgotten. Smells, sounds, and sights have changed, and in it, the house he
grew up in has been crushed. But Nata hasn't forgotten them, because he lived
through that time — it has been etched into him and remains stuck in his
still-intact memory. We come to know: a city can forget a man, but a man never
forgets his city.
"I fucking embody pleasure. Haven't you seen legends behind trucks saying, 'In dreams, you get pleasure, for peace, you head to the cremation ground!' All bullshit! I've always found pleasure, wherever I went. I found it in jail when they booked me for being a mole, when I was beating up people, when I was beaten. Khagen the madman used to sing a song, 'Happy from weeping, farting, illness, and shitting…'"
Nata da lives in a Lebutala slum. He recounts his beginnings, his family, and most importantly, how he began as a rogue — a man wielding power in the locality. However, Nata's life is incomplete without the people he lived with; therefore, the story branches out to include multiple characters who shaped and marked Nata's life.
Nata and his friend Manik had to find a trade for themselves. They couldn't live like ordinary kids; they had to grow up early and find their own way. Such was the time when boys like them, from different localities, would claim territories, and any chance of earning a few bucks would be contested, giving rise to disagreements, disputes, fights, and rivalry. Nata da fared well in all of those and made a name for himself. Even political parties needed rogues — the likes of Nata da.
The world seen and lived by Nata da is so detailed and intricate that you'll be transported to the era. He was in his prime youth when ruffians ruled the city. It was the 1960s and ’70s, when Kolkata became a center stage for political changes and tension, especially during the rise of the Naxalites. And Nata is a witness to those societal and political changes, as well as to wars. Whether through allegiance, getting favors, helping with bombs, or a runaway case, Nata's life was not only touched by these events but was also colored by them.
Like mentioned earlier, Nata is made up of the people of his time: Jui, Joba, Panchi Mashi, Nepal Roy, Shato da, Chhanu da, Abhoy da, Gopal-the-Goat, doctors, Khagen, Khendi, Manik, the theatre manager — all these characters and many others shaped Nata's life. Once we finish the novel and reflect, we feel the extraordinary life he lived. What if it had been different? Should we be sad for Nata? Maybe not.
Nata da, who once held strong authority in Lebutala and its surroundings, recounts how he slowly vanished and lost his vigor and valor. He just faded away — Nata, who wielded soda bottles in fights, was involved in the illicit business of selling movie tickets on the black market, lived inside a brothel and even managed it, made bombs, taught people how to make bombs, and provided protection to thugs. It was a burgeoning era of thieves, gamblers, extortionists, and pop culture. But Nata tried to stop being a small-time rogue and to settle into a real profession, though it never worked out for long.
Ruffians meted
out justice in the locality. They earned names for themselves, owned it, held
it, to the extent that local celebrations were named after them. Such was the
time! And Nata was one of them.
Three or four years back, they were
erecting the pandal when I went and met the boys bossing around and I told
them, 'Do it well. Any problem, let me know.' One of the boys asked me, 'Who
the fuck are you?' Well, this sort of bullshit makes me really sad, but such is
life.
"Ah, wasn't Kolkata a dear place
back then! Three movie shows at 3 pm, 6 pm, and 9 pm. Rickshaws would wait up
near theaters close to midnight to take people home. Trouble broke out first in
1965 during the war with Pakistan. When they declared the blackouts, the
streetlights were covered in black cloths after blackouts were declared. Night
shows were stopped…"
Nata is old,
jovial, and carefree. He is happy with what he has become, carrying no guilt,
no grudge, and no great ambitions now. He reminisces about different times, as
his memory takes him. His memory lane holds the statues of time.
The style in
which this book has been written is playful. The author doesn’t let the
narrative deviate. What Nata da calls digressions and meanderings are
meaningful. Nata da’s narrative is sometimes dramatic, sometimes a way to
understand the social, political, and even psychological fabric. We see how
human relations thrive in places, especially among the downtrodden. We see how
human relations take shape. The intricate details of the brothel and the world
inside have been portrayed excellently.
"Human beings are fucking strange! Tell you what, I live only to watch their damn kind…"
The Ruffian has become strong and true by using a casual style and language. Nata da is one of the most memorable characters to have been written recently, or in the past few years, decades, or maybe ever. You’ll find an old friend, or a forgotten dweller of your city, someone who’s seen it change and lived it in different ways at different times — the life and times of Nata da, a famous mastaan. You’ll never forget Nata da, and you’ll never forget this novel — a reflection on a city that transcends time.
Lastly, great thanks to the translator for such a superb work!
Translator: Kathakali Jana
Publisher: The Antonym Collections
Wednesday, July 9, 2025
What if the Righteous Fails? What becomes of the Dreams?
The Old Man and the Sea,
Moby-Dick, Life of Pi – these are some of the novels you might have read. Man
vs Nature and Man vs Wild tales have always entertained, excited and inspired
us. In Venom, things have gotten far worse though – the confrontation is
more headlong, real and inescapable.
A ten-year-old boy from
Praeknamdang (a fictional village that appears in Sangsuk's work), with an
atrophied right arm, dreams of becoming a shadow puppeteer. During the day, he
takes his beloved oxen (whom he has even named) to the grazing field. He mimics
the performances of shadow puppeteers and performs for his friends – he is able
to recite numerous songs, poems, and gags from different shadow plays by heart.
But who can hold grudge against
this boy?
Claiming a spiritual connection
to the Patron Goddess of Praeknamdang, Song Waad holds considerable sway in the
village. He has captured lands, ponds, and people fear or revere him. But the
boy and his family are quite the contrary; they think he's a conman or treat
him with indifference. Song Waad harbors hatred toward the boy and his family, especially
after an event, and even calls the boy "Gimp."
The boy with the bad arm headed towards the big trees that lined the pond on the shrine side. Like an invitation, the fresh, moist air from the water and surrounding trees wafted over to him. He felt as though he were being drawn into a sanctuary of calm the nearer he went. The only sounds came from the wind brushing through the trees, from the bamboo creaking as its culms rubbed together, or from the hiss of rustling leaves. On the ground, dry leaves from that same bamboo lay scattered; beside them, there was nothing but the remains of a tamarind tree, about two armspans in girth, lying fallen and bare and rotting among the brown foliage. The boy sat down on the base of that dead tree and regarded the shrine for a while.
Away from this silent feud, and
less concerned with the rich imagination and aspirations of the unnamed village
boy, a snake lurks in the field.
The struggle in the story begins
when the two entities – the boy and the king cobra – confront each other, yet
are unable to kill one another: one, not with its venom; the other, not with
his tiny grip. The snake coils around the boy, who can barely keep the
reptile’s head away from his body – its fangs pausing a hair’s breadth from
sinking into his throat. The story moves as the boy, bearing the weight and
clutch of the snake takes a journey back to his village to get help. The raw
description of the setting makes thing palpable.
The curious stories of
confrontation and revenge involving snakes told to the boy, the vivid
descriptions of the snake’s body and movements, the boy’s inner thoughts as the
two forces struggle to outdo each other, and the evocative portrayal of the
environment all contribute to the story’s simple and classic style of story-telling.
The giant snake was exceedingly close to him. He’d never imagined his face and a snake’s would ever be within such an intimate distance. There had been no portents: not in waking life, not in a dream. Where was its heart? Why couldn’t he feel its heartbeat at all? What colour might its venom be? White like milk or yellow like amber?
The other characters in the story – the boy's father, mother, Grannie Pluppleung, the midwife, and Luang Paw Tien – are either mentioned in passing or make only brief appearances. Since this is a short novella, the characters aren’t fully developed, yet their presence still carries weight.
The story centers on the snake
and its host, who refuses to give in. But for how long? Will there be a close
shave with life-and-death situation? Seems to be, but how? Well, you’ll have to read the book to find out.
Innocence, superstition, love,
aspiration, a slice of village life, and the cost of hope – these are some of
the key elements of the story. Not to mention, the passing moments of time and
vivid physical descriptions are rendered so well that the story remains
gripping until the very end. As we wait for the boy to escape the clutches of
death, we become both engaged and unsettled by this tale of innocence,
struggle, and absence. The ending is dramatic, tragic, beautiful, yet dark. What
if the righteous fails? What becomes of the dreams? I was left with these
questions. Yours might be different.
To sum up: Venom is a short but
engaging read.
Mui Poopoksakul has done a
fantastic job translating.
Translator: Mui Poopoksakul
Publisher: Deep Vellum https://store.deepvellum.org/products/venom
Monday, April 14, 2025
Nature, Spirit and Rural Healing
Who are Barefoot Doctors?
There's a good article written about Barefoot Doctors on
Wiki, which says – " Barefoot doctors were healthcare providers who
underwent basic medical training and worked in rural villages in China. They
included farmers, folk healers, rural healthcare providers, and recent middle
or secondary school graduates who received minimal basic medical and
paramedical education."
Is Can Xue's novel about those Barefoot Doctors? Yes, indeed.
Xue pays homage to the legacy of the Barefoot Doctors. In fact, Xue was also a
Barefoot Doctor once, when she was young.
Can Xue's Barefoot Doctor is set in three villages—Yun
Village, Deserted Village, and Blue Village. Mrs. Yi is the central character
in the novel and is a Barefoot Doctor of Yun Village. Mrs. Yi is getting older
and is concerned about finding a successor who will serve the rural people.
Throughout the novel, we find the inner struggle of a new generation of
Barefoot Doctors: Mia from Deserted Village, Gray from Yun Village, and
Angelica from Blue Village—these are the new generation of Barefoot Doctors.
Mrs. Yi provides health services to rural villagers. In
addition, she has become a profound herbalist in the area, growing her own
herbs of medicinal value, which she administers to her patients. Seen as an
ideal Barefoot Doctor by the new generation of rural doctors and even by her
former tutors, Mrs. Yi smells the herbs even in her dreams.
People in Yun Village
didn’t count the passing years. Many villagers, especially seniors, didn’t know
exactly how old they were. They were too busy enjoying life to reflect on past
mistakes.
People and things would never get lost in Yun Village.
We find a strange connection between the three villages in
the way they communicate and help one another. It seems they are bound by some
ancestral and spiritual force. Xue makes the supernatural a natural occurrence,
and transforms the magical into the real. The magic realism used in the novel
makes the narrative fluid, and it seems so necessary, for it forms an arc of
brilliance in the story. In the novel, the characters can hear voices from far
beyond; the dead appear, communicate, deliver messages, and disappear. Surreal
events—such as the playfulness between the weasel and the chickens—add a
mysterious tone to the text, and Xue maintains it throughout.
Just then, the ancient
mountain dragon in his basket stirred and made a rustling noise. What lively
herbs! Where were they so impatient to go? The herbs calmed him.
Talking with Tauber was
Mrs. Yi’s favorite thing to do, and she wished she could be like him someday.
In general, Tauber’s terminal illness was not a punishment for him but rather a
reward for his hard work in life. How contented and grateful he had been during
his last ten years on the mountain! The mountain had already seeped into his
body and soul before he melted into it. With such a full life, what else could
one want?
Mountains and herbs fill the story with a strong essence. The
mountains seem to be thriving with ancestral spirits, residing in and
protecting the herbs. The personification of herbal medicines and plants—which
seem to exist to heal the people—serves to create a sense of affection and love
for the natural world.
We might be tempted to look for a central conflict in the
novel. There are no antagonists, nor any external forces that disturb the way
things are. However, the sense of unsettlement comes only with a question: will
this tradition continue? Will the new generation follow the path of the old and
of the ancestors? Nature, spirit, and the well-being of rural people—this is
the triad. This is what must be preserved and kept in balance. And what will
these bring to you as a reader? Love and gratitude for nature.
“Yun Village is not the
only place with barefoot doctors. The old director told me that barefoot
doctors were once practicing in every corner of the vast countryside. Although
many places are better off now, and villagers can go to the cities for
treatment, the old occupation hasn’t disappeared.”
Subtlety is key in Xue's novel, which can also be seen in the
characters’ eccentricities. We and the world are made up of small fragments,
and Xue does not ignore this. The intricacy of the novel is not meant to make
the story complex, but rather to point to its simplicity.
Historically, it must never have been easy to become—or to
live—as a barefoot doctor. The characters in the novel reflect both the
struggle and the motivation to become one. They would visit patients, or the
patients would come to them. Some of them would master methods of
treatment—acupuncture, treating calluses, cupping, moxibustion, and more.
“Chinese herbs do have
feet. They can walk into people’s lives by themselves.”
Coming back to the story, Mrs. Yi would go to Niulan Mountain
to gather herbs, and she has also harvested herbs in her garden. The rarest
herbs would be found in the mountains when they are most needed, and by those
with the inspiration and aspiration to find them. Niulan Mountain or Blue
Mountain is like a sanctuary for the doctors and villagers—a sacred place where
herbs are available for the cure of diseases; one only has to find them.
Besides, Niulan Mountain and Blue Mountain are places where the spiritual realm
exists, and where ancestors settle after they die.
Since we celebrate the herbs in the novel, let's take a moment to mention some of them: banlangen, coralberry, brocade, polygonum, clematis, mountain cypress, birthwort (for rheumatic heart disease), patch-the-bones, ancient mountain dragon, Aspilia Africana, snake-beard, purple ginseng, lily of the valley, crystal flowers, and many others.
When the wind blew, they
always heard a lot of people walking toward the mountains and some people
singing as they walked. They knew these people weren’t real people, but close
enough. Mrs. Yi once again felt that Niulan Mountain was “the land of joy.”
“No one buried here will
be lonely.”
“Death is not so
terrible, my dear. You’re wrong!”
The people celebrate collecting herbs as if it were a sacred
act, in the mountains where noise on the hill means the ancestors who has
settled there after their death are happy. The novel seems to transpire during
the transition of the beginners, whose lives are soon to change.
In the process of becoming a barefoot doctor, people develop
values. Their experience changes their aspirations, strengthening them. As the
novel unfurls and the beginners learn more, it seems almost all the old people
had once been herbalists themselves. The connectedness between herbs and humans
is generations old.
I know you want to go to
the village, but it isn’t a place you can go just because you want to. Ah, it’s
a long story . . . To tell you the truth, Angelica, we have
no fixed abode. Our Blue Village is such a secret place that it can’t be found
on the map. Only the clinic is always here. It is the mark of Blue Village, and
the treasure of Blue Mountain . . . Dr. Lin left, and you
came. You now belong to Blue Mountain.
In Barefoot Doctor, you'll meet Mr. Yi, Old Director, Mr.
Tauber, Mrs. Fish, Mrs. Blue, Grandpa Onion, Ginger, Spoon, Kay and many other
profound characters. You'll meet a python spirit who resides in the mountain,
centenarians who closely resemble mountain gods, and Dr. Lin Baoguang, one of
the elders who is elusive, revered and supernatural in a sense. In this world,
mountains are like living creatures, and patients understand their illness and
help the doctors understand it. Xue writes it so faithfully that we are
convinced that all three villages, all the people, and the mountains do exist. In
this world, don't be surprised if you hear voices in the wind—of your
ancestors, of people and animals below the mountains. The sacred are not meant
to be disturbed!
I’m thinking about the baby and its mother. No matter how long a person’s life is, it should be considered complete.
A medical journal circulated among the rural villages stirring
passion among those who are, and those who are to be, barefoot doctors is
really fascinating. It seems as if the barefoot doctors were the chosen ones,
the gifted ones, the courageous ones. You establish a harmony with the
mountain, not a forceful relation. You wait for the mountains to accept you and
your endeavors. And, isn't it fascinating that dying people could smell their
ancestors and families?
Barefoot Doctor evoke a sense of realm in which nature, spirit
and human all thrive together in harmony. Nature provides for the diseased and
nature provides for the departed. Healing herbs, mysterious mountains, spiritual
sanctuary, magical moments… all these come to your mind as you flip the pages
of this novel – a true homage to the legacy of rural healer and health workers.
Original Text: Chinese
Translator: Karen Gernant and Zeping Chen
Publisher: Yale Press https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300274035/barefoot-doctor/
Monday, October 21, 2024
Who Lives in the Palm Trees? Him, That Or You?
'The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown' — H.P. Lovecraft
What does a good mystery novel requires? Wait! What does best mystery novels require? The One-Legged has it all. You'll hold the little finger of mystery, all along, but by the end your heart instead is held in a tight grip, clutched by horror. With excellent narrative, superb use of mythology and folklore, and great atmospheric thriller elements, The One-Legged by Sakyajit Bhattacharya is a finely crafted novella. The third person narrator is not limited to mere telling the stories, but takes characters' mood where necessary, fully communicating the intensity in all forms. Well-crafted sentences and paragraphs are as worthy as learning pieces for aspiring writers. Believe me. I have returned back, and read them for more than your fingers can count at once.
"One cannot return from the place where he has gone."
He had no other option, no other sky, no way to mischief – nothing apart from roaming around this giant mansion. Dida was busy inside the pantry while Dadu dozed. The wide beams, tall roof, shuttered windows, the buffalo horns, and the bunch of sharp knives stared at him silently from the locked chambers. A dry draught whooshed in intermittently from the field, penetrating and clawing at his bones.
The perfect characterization is
such that even scenes become animated and alive (I'll probably repeat this phrase again). Many novels fail to balance description vs action, failing in the
classic tell vs show dilemma. But, The One-Legged has succeeded in walking with a
fine balance. Not a single chapter, and not even a single paragraph seems
extra. The book is not only well-written but is also well-edited. And, you'll
know why when you read it.
Even a palm tree, which serves as
a pivot for strange occurrences, a thread of horror, and host to Ekanore, (the
apparition which haunts and revolves around the story) seems like a character.
The author plays with light, darkness, forest, nature and its elements, and the
story seems to be living at the present. And regardless of the short length of
the book, characterization and arc of the main character Tunu is simply perfect!
The signs have been planted throughout
the story but one wouldn't know before the final pages of the book, which is
horrifying, unexpected. The book has one of the best endings I have ever read.
The story is perfect for a movie adaptation, like many great stories with already
finely woven cinematic details. Use of Bengali mythological deities like Panchu
Thakur and Panchu Thakurni, and demon like Jwarasura (fever inducing demon), Yaskhya
(an evil spirit that lives in the depths of the water) and folkloric demons
like Ekanore has been finely executed.
NOW, I'LL TELL YOU SOMETHING OF
THE STORY!
Tunu, an almost nine-year old
boy, has been left at his maternal grandparents' home for the first time, far
away from his home at Asansol. His parents cannot take him away immediately,
and Tunu is not sure why. At his grandparent's home, Tunu sometimes feel loved
and overprotected and sometimes ignored by his Dida (grandmother), who is
forever lost in the grief of her dead son (Choto Mama/Young Uncle) and her hope
in the silences makes the house deserted, forever sodden with sadness. In the isolated
mansion, among his Dadu (grandfather), Bishwa mama (uncle), Rina Mamima (Aunty)
and Gublu (their ten-month old son) Tunu finds himself lost in his own personal
world, left to his own devices.
Several rooms of the mansion have been locked up, but Tunu once finds a room open, the room that belonged to Choto Mam – who deceased twenty years ago – and still has been kept neat and arranged as if somebody lives there or may return soon. Already engrossed or terrified to the core with the story of Ekanore – the one-legged apparition who might have taken his Choto Mama, there is nothing that could hold Tunu from fabricating, conjuring, doubting and exploring truths on his own: of Ekanore's existence at the top of the one-legged palm tree. What Tunu feels in the room is a presence, as if somebody is watching him from behind. There he discovers a yellowish spot on a wall, probably a fungal growth…
"Who knows! They had brought back Dada's body. The truck hit him from the side. There was nothing left of that side of his head; it was all smashed, his brain spilled out, and one eye was hanging out of the socket… But the other side looked fine, as if he were asleep. For days, I dreamt of Dada standing in our room, crying, and trying to fit his eye back in its socket, but failing each time. Tears rolled from his other good eye."
Who could be the one hiding in
the room? Who could be the one who's trying to communicate with him? Is Ekanore
trying to lure him in his trap? Is there a one-legged Ekanore out there in the
one-legged palm tree? Is Tunu having a fever dream? Is Tunu vulnerable and
under the influence of the unknown, already a hostage? Is his mind playing tricks on him, to hide
his own sins - sins of a child? Or is he paying for the sins committed by others
in the past? Is the same fear haunting Tunu just like it haunted his deceased
Choto Mama? What is in the house, that hasn't left it in twenty years? What's
in the forest, in the village and in the depths of water? Why are there so many
child victims? Can terror lead to sins? Can innocence and ignorance shade the
inexplicable events? Can terror of the mind and imagination lead to horrific
consequences?
SHOULD I TELL YOU MORE?
A parallel story runs in the
novella, where a group of boys hiding in the forest are sometimes on a mission
to sell stolen fruits to a market or are exploring the forest and the ancient
dome as they smoke, and often engage in an altercation, which can heat up and
escalate, brewing hatred, inciting vengeance. Among the boys, Baban is from a
rich and high caste family, and Debu is a servant at his home. The terror of
Ekanore – the one-legged apparition – even pervade the conversation of these
friends, and often lead to aggression. Bappa, Choton, Ganesh, Krishna are other
members of this group. Does the story of these boys connect with that of Tunu?
Are these boys even haunted by Ekanore? What happens of these boys?
NO, I WON'T TELL YOU MORE. BUT,
HEAR THIS!
The One-Legged is a work of pure craft. There are parallel intricacies running through the story, which you relish before reaching the end, but when they merge at the last pages, that will horrify you, and satisfy you as a reader.
Tunu's legs were starting to ache as he walked from one corner to the other end of the quiet house. A rush of dry leaves blew in from the garden outside, and the ektere bird called out dully. A certain impassable stillness overcame everything – the garden, the large field beyond, and the forest within which the field ran and hid. The dome, erected under the rule of Raja Madanmalla, was inside the forest. People were hung inside it. The wind blew though the ventilators of the hanger's pillar and whistled at night. Ekanore too called out to people like that; from the palm tree, only one person would hear that cursed cry and walk spellbound across the field.
… I have been keeping this fear inside since I was a child. The fear that someone would push me off the terrace or pull me into the depths of the pond. But I don't know who… And because I don't know who it is, I fear it even more.
Reading The One-Legged, I was
frequently reminded of Poe, and Lovecraft (whom I have quoted at the beginning). Without a doubt, Sakyajit has already
mastered the craft of speculative genre. This recreation of folklore
elements, with perfect setting, mystery, thriller and terror, and a perfect story to
carry all these is definitely a great feat.
We'll be surprised to our core
how silence, ignorance and loneliness can fruit into something horrific. Silences
could be harbored and so is the terror. A gothic music of piano or cello could
easily fit in the story, if you play them in your earphones, as scenes become
animated and alive (see, I have repeated it here!). The author has used the
setting so well.
The atmospheric setting of the novella – details done in the right amount and at the right spaces – has successfully toned the eerie feel to the narrative, as is expected from the genre, and has been successfully rendered. Narrator has successfully carried the inner voice of the main character, his mood, his thoughts as well as the main flow of the story without distraction… just flawlessly.
The large field was now empty except for a few clumps of bushes and shrubs of varying heights, near and far, stirring in the wind. The forest to which these shrubberies eventually led looked dark, even in the morning. Perhaps no light could intercept its confines. The top of the palm tree was still shadowy, swathed in mist, and if something was indeed watching them from the top, it wouldn't be visible. A spotted beetle crawled pas Tunu's stomach.
Fascination with death, mystery, terror, blurred figures appearing at a distance, stillness, locked rooms, dew-soaked soil, sleeping earth, sodden smell, dripping tap, fungal growth, diseased skin, white tube light, ear melted into a lump of flesh, glowing eyes without faces, an abandoned bus stop, silent long veranda, cold gush of wind, palm tree standing at the edge of the dark field, dirty yellow teeth, the demon of fever crawling down the palm tree, bloodied moon, rotten smell, empty skulls of foxes and cats, snail carcasses, rows of hanging nooses, coal fumes, an army of ants marching to a wound, Voice tinged with winter's night, sound of dripping water on the heap of dried leaves… Good stories come out of the books and the characters possess you, you feel them, and you are taken inside to experience the written words/worlds. Tell good things about it as you like it. It'll make an impression for sure! The One-Legged is one such book. As you are immersed in the reading, the top of the one-legged palm tree, will watch you. Solitary birds will be watching you. It is there, when you close your eyes, your senses are taken over; it is whispering at your nape, but who, what? It's good to be terrified and feel the chill. Isn't it? Now, go and get the book, and come back again. You'll see, why I wrote what and why. An EXCELLENT TRANSLATION! IT'S A DAMN GOOD BOOK! It's already been shortlisted for The JCB Prize for Literature 2024.
Author: Sakyajit BhattacharyaOriginal Text: Bengali
Translator: Rituparna Mukherjee
Publisher: Antonym Collections https://www.theantonymmag.com/the-one-legged/ , Imprint: Red Herring
Monday, August 19, 2024
Stories of Politics, Beliefs and Myths
Imagine: Your grandchild is sick, and you
do not have the money to treat him in a hospital. The branch secretary of a
political party (TUMK) is collecting people from your town to attend a
pre-election party rally. He offers you a sari (with the party's flag colors)
and Rs. 500 for being present in the rally, which is scheduled to be addressed
by the party leader. Wouldn't you do it for your sick grandchild?
Andaal, an old woman has no other
option. There is no bound to Venkatesa Perumal's commitment and loyalty to the
party, where he serves as both its union and district representative. He is a
man made from the party's funds; a man who is what he is because he works for
the party and takes substantial cut for himself to add to his riches.
'Will all
those goddesses give you MP and MLA posts? Our leader gave us those posts, so
we put up posters. What's your problem?'
'It is the
same people who demand that Rs 3 crores be deposited for an MLA seat and Rs 10
crores for an MP seat, who lecture about democracy. But our party is not like
that. Whether it is an MP candidate or an MLA candidate, no one has to spend a
single paisa. Everything will be taken care of by the party. What more does a
party-man need? Do you know there is no party like ours in the whole of India?'
Andaal, Kannagi, Sornam, Gomathi,
Chellammal and many other women and men are being carried in the vans. There is
vanload of people, truckload of people and Venkatesa is collecting people from all
the surrounding colonies. This is nothing new.
Few kilometers from the hometown
of Andaal, at Vriddhachalam, election rally is summoning as many men and women
as possible. Party members like Venkatesa are leaving no stone unturned to
gather a crowd of thousands. When Andaal and her neighbors reach the venue,
they are awestruck by the grandeur of the arrangement – decoration, flags, festoons,
banners, cut-outs, LED screens, dais, space to land the helicopter of the
leader – and the sheer number of people attending it.
All that was important for when
the minister arrived was a good crowd.
There is no sign of the leader who
was to attend the rally at 10 am like Venkatesa had said earlier. While the
women and the whole crowd wait for the leader in the sweltering heat, hours
pass by. With time, the initial enthusiasm begins to falter, and it grows into
exhaustion, frustration and anger. People feel hungry, thirsty and restless. Chapter
after chapter, the story is nothing less than a sequence of real and dramatic
events – beaming with satire to the political parties, and brewing dark humor underneath.
'You have pushed
me from the chair and now I have no place to sit. I'll go right now ad call my
street men and teach you a lesson. Am I the only one who came here for the cash?
These bitches also gathered here for the cash. In this, where does caste come
from? All the bastards only do caste politics, who does party work?'
'The one who
fell at their feet got rich. In his party, the more you fall at the feet, the
more money and power,'
The early hours spent in gossips among
Andaal and other women points to a political ecosystem: people and their vote
bought for money; people expecting party to give them money for their vote; the
people in between taking their cuts – realities which all know, criticize, disdain,
but follow and can't live without. We know there is a big systematic fraud and corruption
in the broad daylight. But it is too big to resist and fight against, and all
we can do is become a part of it. This is not the moral of the story. But, you
know…
'Being a
party member is like climbing a steep mountain… Our party is worse than others.
The other party people will cite rules and defy not only the panchayat
secretary or the district secretary but even the leader. Not in our party.
Here, we are not even allowed to stand upright. Whatever we do, we must be flat
on the floor. Join palms together and bend. We cannot even breathe loudly. If
anyone steps out of line, overnight the man will lose his post. The real truth
about a party or a post is that one stands on top of the other's head and
proclaims that he is the best.
'… Who will
vote nowadays if they are not given money? In these times even the party-men
expect to be given money.'
Waiting, waiting and eternal
waiting for the leader to come, in the blazing heat, noise, crowd, dust, death,…
In these tense hours, the story unravels caste favoritism, how politics play
caste and how people themselves protect it for their benefit. We see the
intricacies of party politics at the root, caste politics as well as dominance
of one over the other – hell with the rights and fairness! I'll have to quote
the whole story since this represents reality to its raw nakedness, like an
open wound. Party gathers people to show their power and strength, but what
about those people, who are their strength?
'There are banners
and cut-outs as long as ten towns. And a stage as big as a village, a huge TV
on which you can see the whole street. They have dragged all the people in this
country by van, bus or car, stacked like cattle and goats and dumped them here.
But what is the use? There is not an inch of place that is secluded for women
to pee. What party are they running?'
The wait for the leader amongst thousands,
soon turns to a torture they all want to escape – where there are fights for
the chairs; where you have to hold your pee for hours on end because you'll be
crushed by the crowd if you separate yourself from your friends and try to find
a place to relieve yourself; where people are fighting because they cannot withstand
those of lower caste sitting along with them.
The story is laced with humor,
fine detailing, and crude dialogues with local colors. Imayam's characters are
not idealists, they are people from normal walks of life. The uninhibited
conversation fuels the story, since this is how common people vent out their
frustrations. I came with this phrase: Money is a dark power; politics is even
darker. When these two find each other, darkness is poured all over.
By the time the leader arrives and the meeting ends, much damage has already occurred.
Tiruneeru Sami
Annamalai, a South Indian boy and
Varsha, a North Indian girl are a couple with two kids. Both of them are scientists.
At the beginning of the story,
Annamalai books tickets for the family to have their children undergo tonsure,
ear piercing, and a naming ceremony in his hometown, Tamil Nadu, at their kuladeivam
(family deity or deity of the clan) temple. Varsha disagrees to the plan and is
adamant about making the long trip only for the sake of the ceremony which could
be done in any Tamil temples in Delhi. Both of them think that the other one is
being stubborn and unreasonable.
What starts as a simple
disagreement soon escalates into a serious confrontation between Annamalai and
Varsha. Annamalai does not want to break the family custom of performing such
auspicious ceremonies at the kuladeivam temple – a burial place of Tiruneeru
Sami. But who is Tiruneeru Sami, if he is not a god? If you are unfamiliar with
the concept of Siddha, you will find that, especially after the peak of the
conflict, Imayam has wonderfully woven a narrative resembling a folklore and a
myth, which seems to offer reverence to these men.
"We are
our own burden, the mind alone is our enemy, kill the mind and still the mind.
The mind is a devil, kill it." He lived his life like that.
'Annie Besant
came to our temple and built an arch with her own money. Vivekananda stayed
there for five days and meditated. Eyden, who was our district collector,
visited it. Bhagwana Ramana came and paid his respects. Sir, Bharati, the modern
poet of Tamil Nadu, wrote about him as the light that came to drive away the dirt
in our heart and the diseases in our body.'
This story also questions our
beliefs – does one we revere must have a place in the ranks of gods? The discomfort
of two cultures – of South and North India – mingling together is just a part
of the story. Here, the discomfort between two belief systems is rather more
serious. And this can hurl us into more darker depths of our reservations and force
us to make choices of divergence. Does one have to be false so that the other one
becomes true. In matter of beliefs, two truths cannot co-exist?
In among the disagreements, fury, abuses, misunderstanding and stubbornness, Annamalai seems to have convinced at least a member of Varsha's family about Tiruneeru Sami and the tide seems to be turning.
Samban, Son of
Krishna – An Untold Tale
Samban was the son of Jambavati
and Lord Krishna according to Hindu Mythology.
This is the story of Samban, who
was cursed with leprosy by his own father, Lord Krishna. The unavoidable fate
seems to have its roots in the Mahabharat war, when Gandhari had cursed Krishna
for conspiring to kill her 100 sons.
The milk that
has come out will not go back into the udders. The butter that has been churned
and separated will not re-form into curds, the fallen bloom and the withered
fruit will not get back onto the tree. Karma cannot be erased.
After being cursed, Samban leaves
the palace without any riches or attendants. Guided by the great sage Narad,
Samban embarks on a journey to find the Sun God temple, crossing forests,
mountains, caves, beasts, and streams in search of a cure for his disease. He
reaches a leper colony after seven years of travel, but the search for
salvation from the curse does not end there. He takes a group of lepers with
him and begins another phase of his quest for a cure…
Imayam has once again
demonstrated his exceptional talent for storytelling and spinning a fable out
of mythical characters. The story of Samban presents a modern flavor of retold
myths.
We'd like to applaud the efforts of Prabha Sridevan for her flawless translation of Vazhga Vazhga and Other Stories.
Author: ImayamOriginal Text: Tamil
Translator: Prabha Sridevan
Publisher: Penguin India https://www.penguin.co.in
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