Down Under: Bill Bryson

My last review gave a sneak peak of the forthcoming review, Down Under by Bill Bryson.
Like I said, I am a book elitist and sometimes I need a lot of convincing to pick up a book that is extremely popular (plebian is what I think). The quest of the un-flippant fling however was on, after browsing through many back covers at airport book shops I decided to pick up Down Under by Bill Bryson. And I am so glad that I did, lesson learnt, sometimes the popular does not mean trashy.
This book is captivating at so many levels. It appeals to the “vacation loving” book lover in me. I say vacation lover because the one thing I have learnt from this book is that a vacation is not always equivalent to traveling and a visit is certainly not. Until you get in the alleys and the by lanes, the dark and the funny under belly, the friendly neighborhood, the quirks and oddities, the dusty museums, the long forgotten history, the off the beaten path topography, you have not quite traveled. Bryson in his book effortlessly explains the seemingly inexplicable link between the psyche of a nation and its physicality. The key word being effortless, (actually should correct myself, there is quite a lot of effort required to control the urge to giggle, guffaw or snort at the hilarity that this book is), Bryson packs so much punch in this 400 page book without it becoming a burden. He makes history and geography personal, talking about the great expeditions and the men who went about them not as historical figures but as real people complete with follies and sparks of brilliance. He brings alive the diverse and may I add dangerous wild life without being dreary. He leafs through heavy tomes about the country to condense its political quirkiness in a few words. He captures the spirit of the country and its people.
The real hero of the story is however Australia, you cannot help but be awed by this continent that masquerades as a country, by its vastness and emptiness and the fact that often Australia is far removed from the world’s consciousness. This is a country where a dysfunctional terrorist sect can conduct an unauthorized Atomic Bombing without it being discovered for four years, where scientists are not sure whether there are 100000 species or double of that because new species are being discovered everyday, where most species are poisonous, where prime ministers disappear while surfing, a country with the largest living creature, the Great Barrier Reef, with the largest monolith, the Uluru mountain, where 80% of the population lives in 5% of the landmass, a country where you are sure to die if you get lost. And you are amused by the quirks of the country, where a prime minister refuses to live in the capital Canberra, and where towns have ridiculous names like Mullumbimby Ewylamartup, Jiggalong and Tittybong and where a town called White Cliffs got electricity in 1993!
What does not work for the book, the country is diverse; it is a continent with acres and acres of semi arid desert, miles of treacherous coastline, 40 World heritage sites (India has 28!), 32000 hectares of rainforest, and the truth be told Bryson’s journey through it does seem a little hurried. His journey was 6 weeks maybe, he captures the essence of the country but often with many presumptions made. What I sorely missed is any substantial coverage of the aborigine culture and history. That the settlers ravaged an entire civilization is well known, but what is left of it also finds very little mention in the book. Bryson tries but maybe a less hurried trip is needed to unearth the people who are all but invisible.
My aha moments: Bryson’s exceptionally hilarious account of cricket commentary on the radio, an excerpt: .. “it is an odd game. It is the only sport that incorporates meal breaks. … It is the only sport where spectators burn as many calories as players….Listening to cricket on the radio is like listening to two men sitting in a rowing boat on a large placid lake on day the fish are not biting, it’s like having a nap without losing consciousness”.
The other is a horrifying account of man interfering with nature, Thomas Austin introduced 12 rabbits in Victoria in 1859 for sport, well the rabbits did what they do best, proliferate. Multiplying and eating into the natural vegetation and causing 2000 acres of land in Victoria to become barren! Rabbits even today are a menace and a threat to the natural vegetation of Victoria. And still we don’t learn our lessons
Critics don’t rate “Down Under” as one of Bill Bryson’s best. Can’t wait to read the rest.

(Not quite) The World According To Bertie

I must confess, I am a bit of a book elitist. I will judge you if you tell me you have read any of the Chetan Bhagat atrocities. If there is one thing I am prejudiced about, it is this. I have an aversion to fly by night authors, both Indian and international, who bank heavily on marketing gimmicks of over paid PR professionals and latest trends rather than insight, inspiration and sometimes even grammar. Don’t get me wrong I am always on the look out for some comic relief in my “literary” pursuit. A fling of sorts to take me away from the brilliant authors who ask for a concerted emotional, intellectual and time commitment. But I do have exacting standards that way, my fling has to be meaningful, in a sense it is this oxymoron, an un-flippant fling, if you will. To cut a long story short, I am always on the lookout for authors who provide a breezy quick but meaningful read.
One such author is Alexandar Mcall Smith, creator of the charming Mma Ramotswe, Botswana’s No. 1 Lady Detective. I bought the first book in the series for reasons of allegiance and nostalgia. Having spent the 1st five years of my life in Botswana, I had to pick up this book that put the country on the world literary map. I was charmed by the book, the simple yet delightful stories and by Mma Ramotswe, herself. A colleague introduced me to 44 Scotland Street , the other series written by Alexandar Mccall Smith. I picked up the 4th book of the series, The World According to Bertie hoping to add another charmingly funny book to my collection. Did I find the much needed comic relief I was looking for? I am not quite sure. The book took 75 pages to grow on me, for me to get the flow of it. Too many characters flitting in and out, without an obvious or even obtuse connection. The book is about the residents of 44 Scotland Street and how their lives interconnect in a friendly neighbor kind of way. At the center of this book should have been Bertie, a six year old boy, suffocated by his over bearing mother, a liberal yoga lover, painting his room pink and forcing him to be friends with the most insufferable young girl in his class. There is also this trauma of discovering that his baby brother Ulysess looks a lot like his psychiatrist, yes his mother takes him for regular therapy sessions at the age of six. Bertie is smart, funny and perceptive. Ala Adrian Mole this could have been a potential plot. But that was not to be, Bertie gets totally lost in the mayhem of 44 Scotland Street. What follows is a narration of sorts of the life of the key residents of 44 Scotland Street. Sometimes lucidly funny, sometimes quite banal. There is the quintessential Cassanova Bruce, the rich ready to settle down heiress Julia, earnest Matthew and absent minded artist Angus. No character is developed completely. No sub plot builds adequate excitement. No one incident or one person is captivating enough to redeem the book. The book tries very hard to be funny, trying to build in the wry British humor with its scatter brained characters, tries to imitate P.G. Wodehouse in its mad house humor but fails miserably. All in all, a totally avoidable book, disappointing because I had enjoyed No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency.

P.S: The search for an “un-flippant” fling took me to Bill Bryson, delighted to have found him, he appeals to the vacation loving book lover in me. A review will follow soon.