(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.