Is death the enemy? Markus Zusak’s novel turns the idea of death on its head

Can you ever imagine sympathising with death, that grim reaper that sucks the last breath out of your loved one? From that moment, they no long live in ‘our world’ as ‘he’ has taken them from us.

During the deepest and darkest times this world has ever know, World War II, who was more feared – Hitler or death?

The incredibly innovative novelist Markus Zusak delves into Nazi Germany through his unlikely narrator. He invokes a world of a fostered nine-year-old lonely girl who steals books to attempt to try and bear the hell of the Nazi world she is living through, with death surreptitiously on her side.

The Book Thiefs’ narrator is sympathetic, eloquent; a realist – it is death himself. Although, don’t think of him roaming the streets looking for bodies in a black hooded cloak, and for some reason carrying the stereotypical scythe – he wouldn’t like that. Markus Zusak‘s death is the one who has roamed the world, time and again, he has been present at all of the wars, gently scooped up all the innocent children’s souls in his arms, witnessed the famine and the atrocities of the world. The one who releases our precious soul from this wretched world, the one who found Liesel’s own book when everyone else had been sleeping. We meet him before the angst and turmoil of World War II in Germany. He is watching the beginnings of Liesel’s life uncontrollably unfolding right in front of her at the tender age of nine.

Lets face it, the clever and sympathising narrator of death is far more likeable than the Nazi leader Hitler who, to a nine-year-old is the reason her little brother died and why she was taken away from her parents. Zusak compares those exact two things everyone feared so much during the 1930s and 40s in Germany, the two men who were responsible for ending lives; death and Hitler.

Zusak uses the much-feared figure of death to highlight the real cruelties of one human, Hitler, while the ethereal figure of death becomes a symbol of hope during this time. Death becomes more appealing and comforting than living in the world, which may be entirely controlled by one evil hated man.

The reader sympathises with death and even the scary figure of Mama, whose favourite insult revolves around pigs. We are drawn towards the lyrical figure of death like a moth to a flame. A lost soul towards an unlikely helper.

Zusak has dramatically changed the perception of the so called ‘grim reaper’ in this immensely cleverly narrated and written novel, where real life and human feelings come to heads with war, the rights and wrongs of this world and the man who we call Hitler, or the Fuhrer.

His story telling is next to none. As his fifth novel, The Book Thief put Zusak firmly on the literary shelf since 2005. Zusak’s first novel, The Underdog, which had two sequels, has the same survival theme that runs through The Book Thief. His fourth novel, The Messenger was the beginnings of Zusak’s popularity.

Interspersed with little quips from death himself – bits of wisdom, real facts, little insights that only he would see – he describes to the reader the reality of the situation, from Liesel stealing her first book to her picking up the pieces of her destroyed street and life, once again.

Liesel is visited by death three times. The first is when her brother is taken from her on the train journey towards her new home on Himmel Street. Death is present and is there long enough to witness Liesel steal her first book, The Gravediggers Handbook – something which sadly becomes her sonly connection to her brother, and she can’t even read.

At Liesel’s new home with her foster family, she is looked after by the hard nosed woman we come to know as Mama and the soft, accordion playing soothing wonderful man Papa. After discovering Liesel cannot read, Pappa takes it upon himself to teach her during the night and by painting words on the basement wall.

When Papa is obliged to return a favour, and hides a young Jewish man, a beautiful friendship is formed. Max, a supposed ‘evil’ young Jewish boy, and Liesel the daughter of a communist breaks all barriers reminds us of what humans really are. The two unlikely people inevitably saved each other through their mutual love of words and their hatred of Hitler. From two worlds apart, despite of their faith and Max being hidden in the basement, they come together in secret inside the walls of their home to save each other’s souls.

Max does this by writing a book for Liesel, as he has nothing else to give her for her birthday. He carried Mein Kampf with him whilst escaping, He paints its pages and writes The Standover Man; a story of Max’s life, who has forever had a figure overshadowing his life in the same way Liesel has, and how she stood over him when he was very ill. Yet the novel isn’t morbid, although its subject is perhaps one of the most horrific incidents in history, the holocaust and Max’s writing is just as haunting, poetic and meaningful as Zusak’s.

Not only does the reader identify with the Jewish Max, the lonely communist daughter and death, it also identifies with the common German. Albeit blue eyed and blonde haired ones like Rudy or Papa, we feel their pain of persecution, of not falling in line with the Fuhurer’s demands and living in constant fear or the consequences of their actions. Although it is clearly not the same experience as the skeletal Jews being forced to march through towns and villages in search of a camp, Zusak brings them together as people with feelings, taking away the stereotypically connotations.

Words calm Liesel as they calm Max, in the same way the playing the accordion is cathartic for Papa. Liesel realises, through Max’s book The Word Shaker that words alone are exactly what she needs to cure the hatred inside of her, and she must use her words for good. One day Liesel recites these words back to Max to save him, when she sees him in the marching swarm of Jews through Molching.

Towards the end, Liesel is visited the second time by death the day everyone else was sleeping. Writing her own story in her basement, Liesel survived the bombing attacked that killed her most loved Mama, Papa and Rudy. This is where death takes Liesel’s story to re-tell to us. They meet again for the third time when Liesel dies an old woman surrounded by family in Sydney. Although Max isn’t mentioned, we are led to believe it is Max she spent the rest of her life with. Death ends the novel with the sentiment that humans shall forever haunt him.

Following the foot trail of Asian fortune tellers

Italian born TizianoTerzani’s A Fortune Teller Told Me documents how he dealt with still fulfilling his journalism duties in Asia, whilst refusing to fly during the year of 1993. Terzani’s fortune took him on the journey of a life time across Asia by any means possible, other than air. It is one man’s journey delving into the myths of fortunes combined with his life obsession of Asia. This is literary journalism in the first person, at its best.

Full of questions, mental growth, Asia, Buddhas, history, politics and the rise and fall of countries, Terzani brings together his passion for Asia and his journalistic skills to deliver this sentimental novel. It probes and questions, through a want and need of a deeper understanding of Asian life, belief and culture and personal fascination of deeply traditional Asian beliefs.

Born in 1938, the journalist was known for his extensive knowledge of 20^th century Asia which is extremely evident within the book. As mentioned, perhaps more than once, Terzani was one of the few westerners to witness the fall of Vietnam’s Saigon to the Vietcong as well as the Khmer Rouge taking over Cambodia’s capital, Phnom Pehn in the mid 1970s; a time when roads in Asia were unbeaten and journalism was real.

It is one thing for an Asian to explore their own land, but when a Westerner is able to open one’s mind and accept other cultures with a willingness to learn and experience, their reflections and journey is more than appealing. His philosophy is not too heavy, neither is it preaching. He follows the natural flow of Asian life and Buddhism by not enforcing his beliefs upon the reader. Yet, there is still western cynicism and hints of sarcasm inside making for enjoyable light laugh here and there.

Whilst living in Hong Kong, Terzani left his fate up to a single fortune teller. He advised Terzani under no circumstances to fly during the year of 1993. Without giving away the full extent of the plot, Terzani adheres to this fortune, and luckily so; a helicopter he was supposed to be on crashed with no survivors. However, Terzani’s fortune is not really the focal of the novel.

Even though Terzani accepted the wisdom of the first fortune teller, it didn’t cease him seeking out the ‘best’ and most well known fortune tellers throughout Asia. From sourcers, shamans and soothsayers -Terzani saw them all. Starting with merely dipping into Chinese culture and wisdom, mixed with equal parts of curiosity and fun, it seemed Terzani was hooked. He took what he called, ‘the first step into the unknown world’ of his beloved Asia, which he claims turned out to be one of the best years of his life; he was ‘reborn’.

Eventually, after taking the Trans-Siberian railway, Terzani realised he had enough of constantly seeking his fortune and avoided the fortune tellers pointed out to him on his way home – back to reality.

A Fortune Teller Told Me comes fourth in Terzani’s list of English published works, after Giai Phong! The Fall and Liberation of Saigon, Behind the Forbidden Door: Travels in Unknown China, and GoodnightMr Lenin: A Journey Through the End of the Soviet Empire. As evident from the titles, Terzani covered the major acts of Asian modern history, and had something to say about it too. He went on to write four more publications in Italian, before his death. His first book, Leopard Hide(1973), documents the end of the Vietnam War while GiaiPhong!documents Vietnam’s capital being taken over by the Vietcong which he witnessed for himself. Yet, this didn’t all come without its perills. Terzani almost faced death at the claws of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Held up against a wall at gun point, he saved himself with his little knowledge of Chinese.

The novel gives a fair and truthful account of the recent histories and brutalities many Asian countries have faced, largely at the hands of the Chinese. Long reeling sentences make up the detailed paragraphs which are full of punctuation. Commas, hyphens and semi colons bring the character voice of Terzani to life on paper.With striking phrases such as naming Singapore’s shopping obsessed Orchard Street as the Bethlehem of a new religion, or that air conditioned air is apparently the only type of air Singapore can breath- he notes the important changes between an Asia he once knew, and one he is coming to know again.

At the heart of the novels focuses on following Terzani’s physical journey, through Asia by foot, boat, train – any means other than air, and of course his mental journey; questioning fortune and mental strength.

Impressively, he reached Burma, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, Singapore and Malaysia overland – each a journey in itself in the middle of the 90s with minimal roads between each intriguing and separate country. However, when it came to getting to Indonesia and Japan, the glory days of foot passenger boats were already over, even in the 90s. Here Terzani reaches a difficult point, and about time too. Finally, he talks his way onto a cargo ship, heading in the right direction.

Terzani tears into the largely myth like act of ‘fortune telling’, like a wild dog tears into meat. He wants to understand it, but still ignores and often discredits the fortune tellers’ words as generic sentences the person wants to hear, accepting vague words and placing them in your life to suit you.

He interrogates fortune tellers with questions that assimilate with his life, much the same as letdown religious people do in their time of need. He asks ‘if fortune tellers could not foresee the destruction of the Khmer Rogue coming, then they must be frauds’.

Yet he is strangely more than happy to ‘slot in’ Cambodia’s destruction into the Buddha’s prophecy, making the fortune tellers correct, and proving they are not frauds. Here is where Terzani slips up; he accepts something he has previously so vehemently denied, in order not to admit that he was ridiculous to take the fortune tellers wisdom of not flying for a year so seriously. It goes against everything else he has questioned throughout the book.

Even the author talks about how even in the glory years of travel and Asia in the 70s, countries like Thailand and Cambodia had already been destroyed, (albeit from the Khmer). The irony being that Terzani is writing in the 70s in these countries, and is still exploring, learning and finding new places. Yet, it leaves the thought, what hope does the reader of today having the same experience on a similar journey, or even the less fortunate future readers. He is condemning the one thing he is highlighting in the same sentence. He is also encouraging travellers and journalists to find their own news worthy story and life journey in another country that needs help, one that has been less ‘discovered’.

It is clear he is a true traveller, when he talks about that ‘sense of relief that fills me when I know that I cannot be reached, that I am not booked or expected anywhere, that I have no commitments except those created by chance’. It is something all travellers wish for, especially in this technological obsessed day and age.

When passion and a voice mixes with a beautiful Buddhist country in need.

Isobel’s perseverance and naturally kind and giving personality is catching. Her recent revelation of hearing about the Tibetan ‘revolution’ by the Chinese in the 1970s caused her to act, and then write this book. The Tibetan’s troubles which had basically gone un-heard of and ignored worldwide rung true within her, which it did with me too.

Isobel asked herself the questions ‘how much of a difference can one person really make?’. Then she answered it, and it turns out, an awful lot. Her experiences, shear passion, triumphs and actions went a long way.

For Tibet, With Love, is writer, activists and empowering Isobel Losada’s account of reaching out and helping a cause she so strongly believed in and was more than passionate about. Isobel restored the faith within the ‘everyman’ in being able to do something, to stand up and say no to a cause we believe in. Upon learning about the 14^th Dalai Lama’s exile, the invasion of Tibet by China under the pretence of a ‘cultural revolution’, Isobel doesn’t simply say ‘how sad, how awful’; she stands up and does something about it.

Starting from her flat in London, Isobel researched, rung, approached and joined in every Tibet contact, charity, organisation she could get her activist hands on.

She used the lines from a prayer to guide her on her lovingly mad expedition;

‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,/ The courage to change the things I can,/ And the wisdom to know the difference’.

This features heavily in the book. She sets about using this prayer to her best ability throughout her brave conquest. She begins with:

‘How do I acquire serenity to accept what I cannot change? What exactly is courage and how can I use it to change the things I can? And will I ever have the wisdom to know the difference?’.

Isobel’s inspiring behaviour and attitude is reflected in her writing and tone. She is continually upbeat, even when continual problems face her acting as physical and metaphorical obstacles in her path. Anecdotes and jokes occur often and it is obvious she speaks form the heart. This is more than a warm, entertaining and moving novel.

From visits to Nepal, spending time with monks, meetings with the Chinese ambassador in London, actually going to Tibet and finally cultivating in the best of all, actually meeting the Dalai Lama, Isobel achieves the unthinkable and brings Tibet’s story to the front of western newspapers and the attention of the world on a grand ‘stunt’ like scale.

Throughout the real-life account, the reader is too on a journey, one of knowledge, travel and even spirituality. If the reader has had no prior experience with Tibet and little knowledge, Isobel freely introduces it into the reader’s life, not forcefully, but passionately. Reading it, it seems the reader cannot sympathise with her woe. It may not make you want to jump out of an aeroplane with a huge banner, but it brings light and life to the Tibetan situation in a light hearted way.

The book is not merely one with an attractive front cover, authored by someone who appears to have a little too much time on her hands and a little too much compassion; it provides a wealth of knowledge for how to get involved with the cause and the history behind it. It is truthful, informative and above all, inspiring.

If thought provoking quips and endearing passages on life and the philosophic subjective meaning behind it appeal to you, Isobel has it sussed in her perfectly balanced humorous, political and meaningful writing.

Isobel set out to make a difference by herself. She made a huge difference to me.

After recommending the book to my mother, she struggled to get into it. I feel its down to passion. Since watching a film on the Tibet issue earlier this year, I became fascinated with a country invaded, ruined and forced to exile in the name of a ‘cultural revolution’. Culture and travel is my passion.

I visited India in September of this year (2013). Although I would have loved to have visited Tibet (which I will still call the county this and not it’s supposed proper name of the Chinese Autonomous Region of Tibet), time, money and visas hindered me. The next best thing was to spend time in Mcleod Ganj, upper Dhraramsala, northern India – otherwise known as Little Lahsa. I was lucky enough to see His Holiness the 14^th Dalai Lama and attending his three day teaching. It was about as close as Tibet as I will get to… for now. 

Paradise Lost... Or Found?

Alex Garland’s debut novel, The Beach, highlights and depicts the excitement and the horror of backpacking in Thailand. He incorporates the highs, lows and real truths of backpacking. Richard, the protagonist, who is an English youth, sets out for Bangkok with nothing more but his backpack and his travellers cheques. He does so with the intent of ‘getting away from it all’ after a broken relationship at home in London. But something particularly unexpected happens to him that takes him further away from ‘it all’ than he ever imagined, only to end with a shockingly dark apocalyptic twist.

The story is narrated retrospectively from Richard’s perspective, after he has returned to England; therefore the novel is written from his memory. Even though Richard is recounting his story from memory, as it happened two years ago, overall, he is a reliable narrator. He prides himself in not carrying a camera, or writing a travel journal ‘anymore’, as it only allows him to remember those specific moments. Richard’s narrative is very detailed and intricate with a smooth flowing plot that is aesthetically pleasing to read, building up to a climatic episode with a gruesomely shocking revelation.

Richard continuously talks about the difference between ‘tourists’ and ‘travellers’; seeing himself as the latter in this binary opposition. He briefly mentions, almost gloatingly, his previous travels to India. Richard does come across in the ‘traveller’ like way, as opposed to the almost detested package holiday tourist he describes, and later the other backpackers of Koh Pha Ngan, who he ultimately sees as the ‘enemy’ and far worse than their previous tourist and even traveller or backpacker status. It is obvious that Richard does not associate himself with the ‘tourists’ from the unimpressed way he depicts his arrival on the Koh San Road; he calls it a ‘halfway house between East and West’.

Yet irony does cross the reader’s mind at this point, as Richard is obviously on the Koh San Road; the most beaten of all beaten tracks. Perhaps if he was the true traveller he thinks he is, he would be in an unknown guesthouse off the beaten track; not on the most well known tourist designated road in Bangkok that is loosely situated somewhere between the Western world and Thailand. Although Richard sets out on the usual tourist trail and is on the Koh San Road, it is clear from his attitude towards it, and from his decision to follow the mysterious map that he is not the ordinary traveller that he may at first appear.

 His first night gives him the poignant and pivotal hours of darkness that gives direction to his disorganised travels. The events after this night changes him from the typical tourist to the divine traveller that he already thinks he is.

Richard meets a ‘beautiful French couple’, Etienne and François, from the room next door in the Bangkok guesthouse after he has been given the unexplained map by a mysterious stranger. After hearing them talk about ‘the beach’, and their bored experiences of tourists trekking in Chang Mai, he feels they can be trusted and reveals the map. The three of them courageously make plans to find the mythical paradise that the map promises. If anyone was in doubt about Richard’s identity as a traveller, this plunge into the unknown sweeps away all uncertainty.

The traveller V the tourist debate consist of the traveller being the more authentic of the two. They are associated with visiting far off ‘exotic’ distances away from the Western world. There is something about making the actual journey hard and long that constitutes this idea of ‘travelling’ that has been concocted and surrounds the debate. Also, a fellow traveller smokes marijuana, as Richard can tell Daffy is doing in the room next to him. There is then a fine line between this and the hippy heroin addicts that also inhabit the Koh San Road.

 Etienne emphasises the fast paced, ever changing ‘traveller scene’ when he remarks that his guidebook is over three years old.  The revelation of the guidebooks, namely Lonely Planet makes travel easier, yet they become the victim of their own success; in ruining the beautiful secret hideaways they depict. The ‘travellers’ are therefore not the victims, but the pioneers of globalisation of tourism. Their ‘anti-tourist attitude’ is heightened when Richard and his new travelling companions ignore their guidebook by metaphorically going back in time and relying on their lovingly hand drawn map…by a dead man.

The story parodies the likes of Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness, and William Golding’s The Lord of The Flies, but modernises its plot by employing backpackers and the exotic flavour of the month destination; Thailand. All the protagonists are in search for that untouched land, where rules and regulations are void and where one can remain in a paradise-like realm; away from the ‘world’. They all want something extra that life at home cannot offer them. Yet the initially once utopian land inevitably turns into a dystopia.

Garland was born in England in 1970, and attended the University of Manchester where he studied Art History.  Even though Garland in unschooled in the art of writing, he has still managed to create a new genre of travel fiction; imaginative travel writing, which he has been praised for. Garland travelled to Asia himself whilst still at school, and based a lot of Richard’s character on his 18 or 19 year old self.

The novel is based on time that Garland spent living in the Philippines, but sets the novel in Thailand as Garland sees it as more of the idealised ‘Mecca like journey’ that young backpackers flock to.

However, after considering the novel at depth, The Beach is not about Asia or Thailand; it is a satirical backpacker’s tale, which is strikingly ironic, as Garland bases it on his own experience. Garland sets out to criticise and mock backpackers, not celebrate them. He presents the Thai guards on the island as 2D, almost animalistic like as they do not speak English, and are only recognised by their ‘sing-song chatter’. But this presentation represents the way backpackers see the Thais; through the ‘tourist gaze’. The backpackers would not appreciate the Thai language or culture, and only see them as a threat.

Garland is intelligent in his tactics of overlapping travel writing and travel fiction. He cleverly keeps away from the travelogue writing style by neither giving very little description of Thailand nor delving into the culture. The novel only presents backpacker hang-outs like Koh San Road.  Therefore, Garland merely uses the setting of Thailand and the French couple as companions as an exotic backdrop for his satirical story; a tragedy set in a far off land, reminiscent of Shakespeare.

One of the underlying sub-plots of the novel is its parody of the Vietnam War. With Keaty’s Game Boy obsession which mirrors Garland’s passion for video games, and Richard’s delusion, turning him in to what he thinks is a soldier, the text is full of War, ironically set in ‘Paradise’. The Thai guard’s personal marijuana plantation on the plateau becomes Richard’s very own Vietnam. He also uses numerous soldier acronyms such as FNG, (fucking new guy) and DMZ, (demilitarized zone). Even though Garland claims he is very much against the Vietnam War infatuation, there is no denying Richard’s feeling of ‘missing out’ on the Vietnam War by being born twenty years too late. He considers being moved from his fishing detail to his role as look out, along with the trials and tribulations that come with it, as his compensation.

Richard is a child of the 90s, raised on computer games and television, and is quite likely, another facet of Garland embedded within the protagonist’s personality. He is a pure product of post modern culture which reflects the new genre of novel that Garland has created. It is a shared passion between Richard and Daffy that gets them initially talking; smoking cannabis. This is ultimately the catalyst for Richard obtaining the map which sets off a chain reaction which ends with the destruction of paradise.

It is without doubt that after Keaty supplies the poisoned squid by accident, that tensions in the camp change. This catalytic event becomes the gateway for some of the beach inhabitants to show their true colours. This is the stimulus that sparks off the nightmare that the beach is to become; bringing death, craziness and finally escape. Little did Richard know, this was all Daffy’s intent once he had given Richard that ‘Treasure Island’ map.

The book urges the reader to read on, which is assisted by the constant cliff hangers. The structure maintains the fast pace of the novel with shorter chapters within the main chapters, almost subconsciously encouraging the reader to read on.

Garland’s obsession with travel shines through this text, and it is clear to anybody else with a passion for travel that Garland knows what he’s talking about. He depicts the Koh San Road down perfectly and paints an idyllic picture of the beauty in store in Thailand at the beach. His authenticity will not go unappreciated, even to someone who has not been; it will only make them want to go.

Let’s hope this imagined world does not spur tourist/travellers to turn Thailand upside down in search of this secret beach, but it is obvious to say, Garland has put Thailand on the map in more than one way.

The Buddha lured by a photo

Buddha in the Attic sadly recounts the way Japanese women were tricked into leading better lives in America during the early 1900s through being ‘picture brides’ and the troubles they faced acclimatising to this foreign country.

Young woman were encouraged by their families and social peer pressure to marry ‘rich good-looking’ American men. Little did they know, they were the victims of a sad scam. They wrote to their betrothed and recieved photos of the men, albeit taken probably 15 years prior. Men wanted young women, but American women wouldn’t have them. Japanese women wanted a better life than the one they knew in the Promised Land in Post World War I society.

American author, Julie Otsuka narrates through the voice of all Japanese women. ‘We’ is the group term used at the beginning of every sentence to incorporate the hardship that every tricked and deceived woman went through. Long unfurling linked paragraphs detail the woman’s woes and disappointment. While the ‘we’ appears to hold the characters at a formal distance, that reticence infuses their stories with powerful emotion. Yet each situation is still voiced through the plural as even though not every woman may have had the exact same experience from beatings to rape to the silent treatment, every single Japanese hopeful felt the pain of each woman’s mistake.

As the string of vignettes proceeded, the questions they asked, the observations they made, the illusions they cherished created a bond with the reader. With their sometimes uncomfortably familiar hopes and fears, Otsuka’s characters emerged as particular individuals even as their concerns took us far beyond the particulars of the Japanese-American experience. In these nameless people, we confronted our own uncertainties about where we truly belong, where our loyalties lie, where we should place our trust.

Highlighting a perhaps under representing story Ostuka brings to light the shear sadness of the situation, full of hope women diminished to worse lives that they previously led and would have grown up into at home.

Otsuka’s second novel, after her widely acclaimed When the Emperor was Devine, The Buddha in the Attic is, in a sense, a prelude to Otsuka’s previous book, revealing the often rough acclimatization of a generation of farm labourers and maids, laundry workers and shop clerks whose husbands would take them for granted and whose children would be ashamed of their stilted English and foreign habits.

Shea shame of their culture were the only factors keeping them from returning home to their loving families and ‘better’ life. Religion keeps the women sane and is their hope and saviour along with one another in their imprisoned lives. Women were required to keep their Buddhist religion at bay, and when forced to leave, one woman leaves a tiny laughing Buddha high up in the corner of the attic, hence the title.

The questioning of the ‘strange’ American culture provides entertainment that will always prevail between cultures, especially east and west from wearing shoes in the house to what they see in the moon. Otsuka uses evocative descriptions of the land, the women and the families that draws in the heart of the reader

Soon, once women had given birth to their hybrid children, who were second generation American citizens. On becoming teenagers their heritage was lost on them. Thinking of their mothers as old fashioned and embarrassing, they broke the women perhaps more so then the men raping and beating them had initially done.

Meeting half way and becoming more American themselves, the Japanese women’s efforts are shattered after World War II breaks out. The women are second class citizens and families are forced to leave their homes, jobs and friends. The plural ‘we’ at the end of the novel sadly shifts to the Americans, ‘the Japanese have left us’. 

A book that no review or film can do justice to, but simply must be read.

Before any pre-concieved assumptions arise, this review is actually after re-reading it. I initially found this book in a hostel in Christchurch NZ. I read it, and fell in love with it. I insisted on re-reading it before seeing the film earlier this year. This book re-connected me with reading and with literature.

In my first year of university on my English Literature course, during our first seminar we were asked to tell the class our favourite book and why. I chose this. My tutor had never heard of it and belittled me. I now hope Kate Hex has read it and enjoyed it.

Life of Pi is a fantasy tale about Piscine Patel (named after his uncles favourite French swimming pool), the son of a zoo keeper, who becomes a zoologist and is a Christian, a Hindu and a Muslim. He retrospectively recites the story of his life as a young child in India who emigrates to Canada with his family where the cargo ship sank during the crossing. ‘Pi’ was the only survivor of his family. Divided into three logical and chronological sections, Pi re-tells his story as if you are the only one listening.

Whilst still in India in the mid 1970s, Piscine bravely re-names himself after the constant embarrassment his name brings him in class. He is now known as Pi, an abbreviation of his name and the mathematical endless irrational number of 3.17 recurring. His father, a practising and faithful Hindu, encourages the boys to interact with the animals catalysing a fascination with Richard Parker, a 450 pound Bengali tiger.

16 year old Pi survived 227 days alone at sea. Finding a lone lifeboat, Pi unwillingly becomes accompanied by a struggling zebra, a female orang-utan floating on a large bunch of bananas, a squawking hyena and a Royal Bengal tiger. Becoming boat-mates, Pi must fend for himself after several die and leave him fending for his life at one end of the lifeboat.

Martel dexterously prepares us for the seafaring section in the first part of the book. Pi’s life in India, growing up as a zookeeper’s son and becoming part of several religions is the core of the first section.  His life and what his father teaches him about animal behaviour - flight distances, aggression, social hierarchy is later translated to Pi's survival tactics on the lifeboat. Like a lion tamer in the circus ring, Pi must convince the tiger that he is the super-alpha male, using toots on his whistle as a whip and the sea as a source of treats, marking the boundary of his territory on the boat with urine and fierce and quaking stares.

Part two is Pi’s narrative of his shipwrecked life. It closely mirrors his life in India as if it had all been planned out by one of the many Gods he prays to. At times, parts of the novel are strongly questionable, even as a reader, yet still magical and brilliant. Other parts are logically set out like the long list of items found in the survival kit that must all be logged, emphasising the boredom and continual need to occupy one’s mind when lost at sea. The never ending search for shade, continual fishing and repairing of the raft and trying to not be eaten are the day’s sole activities. Pi’ story becomes like a manual, God forbid, a warning to the reader if they may ever find themselves in a similar situation as Pi calls in, on trial.

Martel’s language is mesmerising. His words are delicate, but still have solid meaning. Lyrical sentences visualise the ocean, the animals’ feelings, Pi’s feelings and his breaking soul. Passages are so vivid, that the reader feels the ocean salt on their skin, the same way Pi does, and sees the sickness in the eyes of Richard Parker the same way Pi does. Martel writes with such convincing immediacy, seasoning his narrative with zoological verisimilitude and survival tips. Yan’s language stays light even in defeat. He incorporates slight comedy lightly into Pi’s story, ‘the fact I was a swimmer made no waves’. Even in Pi’s shear desperation clinging onto his life, Martel still allows him humour all rooting back to his unfortunate name.

Yan Martel a French mother tongue speaking Canadian, feels writing in English gives him the distance he needs to write the way he does. His philosophy degree is obviously present in his writing and ideals throughout the novel. He spent over a year living in India, immersing himself in Indian life through spending time at mosques, temples, churches and zoos – all key elements of Pi’s life. He spent a further two years reading religious texts and castaway stories which rings true in his understanding of each subject.

Life of Pi is Martel’s fourth book, and before his Man Booker prize success, he failed to reach high success with his first novel Seven Stories and later with The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios and Self in the 1993 and 1996. Reviewers were puzzled by his work and faintly dared to praise his words. Initially inspired to write a book about sharing a lifeboat with a large cat after reading a review of the novella Max and the Cats by Brazilian author Moacyr Scliar, his success was born.

Part three sees Pi being interviewed by Japanese officials after being found upon the shores of Mexico, shortly after his feared saviour, Richard Parker bounds off into the jungle without a mere growl or sentimental look back. Pi retells his story with the animals and his endurance. The officials listen but ask for the truth; he tells the story but each animal he encountered is replaced by a family member or crew member of the ship that sunk.

So which story is true? Is it just a hallucination of Pi’s, or did it really happen. The sad part is that the Japanese officials can’t see beyond the end of their noses. For official reports to work, they must write the report with the story without the animals – the one that ‘makes more sense, but is not the better story’.

The novel serves both as an allegory for truth and fiction and as an edge of the seat adventure. Faith and science meet in this fantastically imagined and exotically told story of a brave Indian boy and a sea-sick tiger lost at sea. 

Gatsby... money, romance, secrecy and debauchery

Money, romance and beauty wrapped up in secrecy and debauchery. A social satire all cast under the sparkling canopy of the fabulous jazz era in the roaring American twenties. The Great Gatsby peels away the layers of the glamorous twenties in America to display the coldness and cruelty at its heart.

The Great Gatsby is everything you want it to be, and more. Widely renowned as Fitzgerald’s’ magnum opus, the plot unfolds in a dazzling manner from old rooted relationships to new and uncouth lusts with plenty of parties, lies and money to draw you in along the way.

Nick Carraway, the subdued narrator, moves to the affluent West Egg of Long Island and soon realises he is the neighbour of a mysterious character known as Gatsby. Vicious and jealous rumours surround Gatsby and his more than affluent and desirable lifestyle.

Gatsby is the epitome of the jazz age, throwing the biggest and most lavish parties that are known throughout the state. Men want to be him and women want to be with him; he is idolised beyond anything. Sadly enough, it comes to light that these parties are all in vain of the hope that the tragically beautiful débutante Daisy Buchanan will attend. Gatsby’s love for Daisy represents the only truthful bone in his body. Yet it is the downfall of both of them and everyone else who is supposedly lucky enough to be within their radius.

Fitzgerald’s’ story is also regarded as a cautionary tale in regards to the renowned American Dream. It is a memorable tale, reminding us that money cannot buy everything, least of all happiness and love. It is a merely a cloak to disguise one’s true self.

Gatsby’s ironic cautionary theme is reminiscent of Thomas Hardy’s poem, ‘The Convergence of the Twain’. An opulent cruise ship sinks and only the ugly sea creatures snaking in between the ornate mirrors and surroundings are now able to enjoy it.

The flowing, incandescent prose is entrancing. Fitzgerald is a natural storyteller and his literary prowess has encapsulated his readers for decades. Fitzgerald immaculately crafted phrases ensure eyes are glued to pages. His writing is unassailably magnificent, as he paints a grim portrait of shallow characters that manoeuvre themselves into complex situations. 

The parties Fitzgerald attended himself in 1920s America inspired Jay Gatsby’s parties in West Egg. Nick largely resembles Fitzgerald himself, making it a semi autobiographical novel. It is easy to see why this novel is now an American Classic and a twentieth century literary milestone.

Travel writing at its best

When Peter More got bored with living the dream as a young Aussi subsiding in South London, the most obvious release of boredom to him was an overland journey from London back home to Sydney, and why not. Apart from the costs, long unyielding journeys on rickety  vehicles, hard to gain visas, almost impossible to cross borders and not to mention potential and live war zones to face. His book, published in 1999 opens with the physical visionary of Peter’s journey, which to any travel addictied person would be enough not to have to read the introduction titled ‘Why?’.

Instead he wants to follow the once worn ‘hippy trail’ across the continent and overland to home. A mixture of London boredom and hippie envy - hippies had the best music, they had the best drugs, they had the best sex. But most of all, they had the best trips - Moore’s answer to the frequently asked question as to why he decided to embark on such a trial. He writes vividly about his adventure and with practically laugh out loud humour. So much so that as soon as the last page is turned, you feel this inaudible sense of inexplicable compulsion to pack a bag of some description and board a bus from Victoria; destination unknown.

Peter Moore, born in Australia has visited more than 101 countries and written truthfully in an extremely down to earth style about his passion for travel which has led him on some outrageous trips. On a thrilling journey that takes Moore through 25 countries, many of which are still ravaged by war, Moore recounts his experience, through sight, sound and smell and the people he meets. He describes the places and the people he encountered there with a mixture of awe, irreverence and self-deprecation. Striking a chord with all those travellers, young and old, who have stood where Moore stood. The sights he sees in a relatable and entertaining way.

With the thrill of knowing that his overland journey from London to the East circa 1967 was going to be more than difficult, only pained more by his slowly demeaning funds (which were barely existent to begin with ) and the difficulty of passing through countries such as Iran and China being more than slim, the story is brought to life with excitement. He does not glamorise travel, neither is he over cynical or hideously negative towards it. Just plain truth and great entertainment.

The Wrong Way Home is notoriously thought of as Moore’s ‘classic’ and essential guide to long term travel. Yet it is travel writing in a modern way, it is more of a novel and far less of a continual journal like list. However, you could still easily follow Moore’s footsteps as he has detailed his journey well with acute observations, especially his border crossings which appear to have been the bane of his travelling life.  

One of Moore’s greatest talents was to be respectful of all people and cultures, and simply want to learn which is perhaps the definition of the ultimate traveller. He points out the ironies and idiosyncrasies of his own and other cultures. Take the example of the cling-on koala he gives to a Chinese friend in Lanzhou as a token of thanks--he makes sure he removes the "Made in China" label first. Or the ‘low key’ traditional Aussi goodbye to Keith, the one traveller who he could actually imagine having a beer with at home – which he actually does when he bumps into him in Sydney nine months later.

He seemed to keep calm and collected and at times, rather cheeky in physically and emotionally difficult situations which is endearing. The book is peppered with cartoon-like characters that Moore meets on his journey; the Czechs with matching haircuts, the spitting Chinese, the drunken Australians. Juxtaposed with his acidic observations Moore writes movingly of his experiences in war-torn Bosnia and the visit to his grandfather's grave in Singapore. It is a little disappointing he didn't get into some more debunking of myths and misconceptions of the Middle East. It is a shame that he seems to spend less time telling the reader about the larger countries such as India and China as opposed to the detail he goes into whilst in Europe and we only hear about the physical journey and less about the actual country he is in. Perhaps this is representative of the difficulties he faced whilst traversing these huge countries. It is understandable that China is a harder country to travel due to less people speaking English, but it is roundabout here in his journey that it appears he is now embarking on more of a race to get home as opposed to the fun trail it started off as.

What better way to lodge a specific memory firmly in its place that to partner it with music. Even the first line of a tune can take you back years and miles to refresh your memory like it was merely yesterday. Moore partners every new country with a soundtrack specific of that time to which he was listening to on his walkman whilst travelling. Another contemporary relation is Peter’s mentioning of the Simpsons and Star Wars. Peter relates certain experiences back to his life at home, his childhood, his family and time spent in London. These anecdotes build a bridge between the reader and Peter and give us a rounder version of Peter and remind us  that he is not trying to be a slightly annoying ‘wise’ all knowing travel writer or a tight wadded, young bored and slightly mad Australian with nothing better to do than to attempt near impossible journeys.

The novel is perfectly rounded off at the end with a flight, which Peter is nothing but overjoyed to get on in order to make that last little (comfortable) journey back to Sydney. After travelling for eight months and crossing more countries than one can keep count of, Peter became nostalgic and realised his home country in all its vastness and wide open spaces has much more to explore and sets off doing so. However, Moore had been, in my opinion an extremely lucky traveller with the people he meets, the invaluable information they give him and the things they offer him. In my experience this is rare, but perhaps that’s one of the many benefits of a lone traveller. An ironic yet pleasing end to a fantastic tale. More than entertaining and alarming for the experienced traveller as well as the armchair travellers. 

Make your world yellow

Imagine the worst that can happen to you; losing your job, getting divorced… how about losing a limb or battling cancer all though your childhood. Well that’s what happened to one boy; Albert Espinosa. This is his story and self proclaimed non self guide book to his life and his tips, advice and anecdotes about how to survive cancer and what it is like really dealing with these unimaginable atrocities that actually strike more than once.

At the age of 14, Albert was a ‘normal’ boy. He played with his friends and loved football until cancer stole his youth and Albert endure losing a leg, a lung and part of his liver. He learnt to walk four times and, underwent chemotherapy a gruelling 83 times.

Albert was finally cured by the age of 24, after missing out on some of the best years of his life, but perhaps a lot wiser, as he claims cancer enlightened his life. He wrote this book El Mundo Amarillo, The Yellow World.  It is how he sees the world and not a self help, but how to live your life; or more specific, how cancer taught him to live his life. Take one look at the cover and then the title, and you know already Albert’s simple life philosophy; yellow. To him, the world is yellow.

The yellow world is a world that's within everyone's reach, a world the colour of the sun. It is the name of a way of living, of seeing life, of nourishing yourself with the lessons that you learn from good moments as well as bad ones.

Albert writes extremely mater-of-factly, which is something I am not used to. Little is it surprising though when he is talking about something that he successfully managed to battle for ten years from such a young age. His writing is also slightly shocking at time, as he reveals his affectionate nicknames for fellow teen cancer patients as ‘eggheads’ (little explanation needed) for whom he promised to take on part of their lives once they died, thus finally leaving hospital with 3.7 lives equally shared out between him and other eggheads.  But how can he be judge when this was his life. It is only an outsider’s view of anyone who has not had a similarly torturous experience that may not understand the lovingness of this nickname.

The book is written light heartedly and throughout attempts to make cancer comical; to make it relatable to the common reader. I think this is quite important, and to many people, ‘cancer’ is a fierce word that terrifies. He describes what happened to him in these ten years with in an insightful and original manner. Black humour is in abundance in this book. He leaves us wondering  whether  to laugh or cry at such moments as having a goodbye party for the leg he is about to lose. But his strength of personality shines through and he is able to put a positive spin on this dreadful situation that he faces (as he appears to with everything) that he now literally has one foot in the grave.

However, Espinosa’s style does go on to tend to preach to the reader about the way life should be led, well in his eyes anyway. It is more than inspirational how he coped, but too many forced  ‘23’s’ come into play after the’ 23 Discoveries’ and the connection between him and the reader loosens as his suggestions become wilder such as to change one’s laugh every two years. He uses lots of lists, bullet points and questions in his writing which makes it less like a novel and perhaps at times, more like a guide, although I prefer thinking of it as more of a collection of anecdotes. The average reader will not have the same outlook on life as him and thus not be able to see the world as yellow and follow his rules.

Although it was an inspirational story, at times I found it uncomfortable to read and disagreed with the outlook portrayed. I found that even though Espinosa did not want to write a self help and so strongly claims this book is not, I think it is undeniably so. The initial story could stand alone and shows how Espinosa created himself and surfaced with his scars proudly on display.

Whilst at Penguin Press in the publicity department, I met Albert. I laid out 60 of his hardback books for him to sign knowing very little about the book. I saw Albert come through the office and noticed he had a false leg. I was given a copy of his book to read. At the time, my Aunite had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. It wasn’t until about two months later that I felt I was ready to read the book. I have tried to keep this book in mind, yet it is hard to take on board and practise the majority of what Espinosa preaches, except to be yellow.