Category Archives: Canadian

Life of Pi – Yann Martel

life-of-pi-book

Life of Pi was a book so regularly spotted on my dad’s bookshelf when I was growing up that I have the image of the white boat with the dark boy and massive tiger curled up inside it forever burnt into my memory. Despite this frequent exposure to it, I never really felt the urge to read it. I only became familiar with the story itself after watching Ang Lee’s recent Oscar-winning adaptation: a visually stunning film, with a moving story. I don’t remember it fondly. I think I watched it a little too close to my mum’s death, meaning I felt the loss and heartbreak that Pi experiences ever the more than I would have if I saw it now, for example. I’m glad I didn’t read the book at the same time – the line ‘to lose your mother, well, that is like losing the sun above you’ choked me up alone. In my head it’s a film I associate with grief, which is the unfortunate consequence of watching the wrong kind of film or reading the wrong kind of book too close to a traumatic event.

Still, it made its way on to the reading list, but I didn’t pick it up for a long time. In fact an ex-boyfriend actually borrowed my (dad’s) copy and read it before me, which is remarkable considering that was probably the only fiction book he’d read all year. (If he’s reading this – which is very unlikely – please do consider that a warm-hearted jibe.) Said ex-boyfriend finished it feeling unenthusiastic, but I went into it with an open mind. After all, it won the Booker in 2002, which will always work in any book’s favour to me. I wanted to avoid spoilers in this review but it seems prudent to discuss the twist at the end of the novel, as it forms a big part of the reader’s experience (if we can call it a twist).

The book is prefaced with a foreword, written by the ‘author’ – I presume this isn’t Yann Martel, but rather a writer within the confines of the story. To avoid confusion with Martel, I shall refer to this fictional author as the Writer (the same name he goes by in the film adap, I believe). The Writer is desperate for fresh inspiration for a novel and travels around India looking for it – until he is told to go back to Canada and speak to a man named Pi Patel, who has a remarkable story about surviving 227 days on the Pacific Ocean when he was a teenager, cooped up in a small lifeboat with nothing but the basic supplies – oh, and with a fully-grown, carnivorous, 450lb Bengal tiger on board. As the Writer begins to tell the story, the narrative switches to Pi’s first person viewpoint, although the Writer occasionally interjects the story with his observations about interviewing Pi, with comments about Pi’s house, cooking, family, and the man himself.

And so the story of Pi Patel begins; christened Piscine Molitor Patel, named after a swimming pool but adopting the nickname ‘Pi’ after seeking to liberate himself from the unfortunate schoolyard nickname ‘Pissing’, Pi grows up in Ponticherry, a French part of India, on a zoo. When he is 16 his family relocate to Canada and board a ship with their various zoo animals but, tragically, it sinks. Pi is the sole survivor. But that’s not quite right – he’s the sole human survivor, I should say, for he finds himself in a lifeboat with a zebra, and quickly an orangutan, hyena and Bengal tiger turn up to share his quarters. While the hyena, zebra and orangutan bump each other off fairly quickly (and rather gruesomely, it must be said), Pi is left to share his space with a bad tempered, man-eating tiger from his zoo in Pondicherry named Richard Parker.

It’s not an ideal scenario for him, and the odds are stacked against him – though remarkably, Pi endures the entire journey with the tiger on board, relying on his extensive zoo knowledge in how to train and cohabit with various creatures, even the ones that would surely be desperate enough to eat you in a matter of days. As you might imagine Richard Parker is initially an enemy and complication Pi wants rid of – whether that be by pushing him overboard, killing him or letting him die of natural causes (though he reflects none of these methods are set for success) – but later Pi realises that having to manage his presence, and indeed, having him there as a companion, keeps him distracted and clinging on to survival. Along the way Pi battles with dehydration, heatstroke, blindness, sores and extreme hunger (goodbye vegetarianism). To avoid spoilers, I won’t tell you the ‘twist’ – but rest assured it’s interesting, and challenges you to select your own beliefs carefully.

The entire novel is beautifully written (as I would expect from a Booker winner), but I’ve read beautifully written books before that I wouldn’t necessarily give five stars. No, this one got the full whammy for one main reason – and that’s because I went through my hour-long commute through London with it, which involved walking to Clapham Common tube station, getting on the Northern line, changing on to another branch of the Northern line at Camden Town, and getting off at Finchley Central – but I was so absorbed in the book that I did the whole journey on auto-pilot. For that hour (and for the same hour home), I was fully convinced that I was on the Pacific Ocean in the company of a 16-year-old boy and a Bengal tiger, not at all in a stuffy underground tube in a crowded and polluted city. It’s such a simple feat that all books should aim for (and I’m sure the best do), but it was remarkable how long it had been since I’d felt that absorbed in something.

I’m not sure why my ex didn’t like it. I chatted briefly with him while I was reading and I think he was put off by the early, God-y pages – something I wasn’t so big on either – but he remarked not being that interested as the book went on, whereas I felt the opposite. I can only conclude that he wanted more from it, whereas I was satisfied with it as it was.

A quick look at Ang Lee’s Oscar-winning film, then.

life-of-pi

Renowned for being a visual feast, Lee created something of a CGI masterpiece with the film adaptation; it must have been difficult enough animating the tiger, let alone a blue whale hurtling through an iridescent ocean (pictured above). The plot is very similar to the book, with a couple of subplots shoehorned in, like a romance Pi experiences as a young boy. Other moments, including some of the more surreal scenes, were removed, which makes sense when it comes to magic realism, as I’m not sure how you can convey magic subtly without the benefit of a narrative voice guiding you through it.

The twist at the end, too, is a little more black and white. But I won’t say anything for fear of spoiling. So I’ll leave it there – as I mentioned, five stars from me. Certainly worth a read – and a watch.

[Coming next: Under the Skin by Michel Faber]

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The Year of the Flood – Margaret Atwood

flood

Yippee! It wasn’t long after I finished Oryx and Crake before I got my hands on The Year of the Flood – the second instalment in Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy. Published six years after Oryx and Crake, it seemed Atwood felt there was a little more backstory to be explored in Jimmy and Crake’s surreal world, so, as I was expecting, the story jumped back to the beginning. Instead of focusing on Jimmy again, The Year of the Flood tells the life stories of two women: Toby, a woman raised in the ‘pleeblands’ (the bottom of the pile, so to speak) and trapped as a sex worker before joining a vegan and naturalistic cult, the God’s Gardeners, and Ren, a much younger woman who joins the same cult as a child and grows up happily within it, before leaving with her emotionally distant mother and eventually turning to sex work herself. Sounds pretty dark, and parts of it were. Oryx and Crake ends on a cliffhanger, and I knew that the story would eventually line up to that; not quite a continuation, but giving the pivotal scene at the end of Oryx and Crake a little more context.

Overall, it’s a closer look at the dystopian world Jimmy, Crake and Oryx were born and grew up in. As the two protagonists of the book are female, it provides an interesting insight into how women are treated in such a world, which isn’t given too much attention in Oryx and Crake, what with the plot mostly following Jimmy’s point of view. Plus, Jimmy had the privilege of growing up in a world where his parents were well-off and worked within the structure of the government; in TYotF we see what it’s like for those on the other side, how the poor living in the pleeblands cope and how they gain relief in a seedy and dystopian world. At times, the two women’s stories were quite horrifying – particularly Toby’s. I found myself getting quite upset by it, which is credit to Atwood, who paints a very real, very sympathetic picture.

Some of the characters who pop up in passing in Oryx and Crake are given their due backstory here. The best example is Amanda Payne, first introduced in Oryx and Crake as an artsy girlfriend Jimmy lived with briefly after graduating from university, here much more a significant character: Ren’s best friend who also joins the Gardeners as a young girl. We also learn much more about the ‘police force’ that popped up in Oryx and Crake: a sinister and corrupt entity. In O&C we remember them hounding Jimmy for information about his mother, resorting to rather perverse methods to gain information from him – he accepted this rather matter-of-factly, but admittedly he and Crake were integrated with them, living in the ‘Compounds’ with the government, scientisits, and general leaders of the dystopian society. As I had hoped for, The Year of the Flood goes into a little more detail about where Jimmy’s mother actually went (though, it turns out, it’s nowhere of any particular importance).

The problem with books like this is that once you spend so long identifying with particular characters it becomes difficult to connect with the situation through the eyes of different individuals. I found myself missing Jimmy and Crake almost painfully, particularly Jimmy. They do pop up in the story a fair bit as the book progresses, but we never see too much or see the world through Jimmy’s perspective again. The plot gave me a better sense of their age: the ‘Flood’ (what the Gardeners name the apocalypse) is described to take place in Year 25, coincidentally the age of Ren and Amanda, which would make Jimmy and Crake around 27 or 28 when society breaks down (I was on the right lines after all).

As the plot progressed, I lost interest in the two protagonists quite considerably. They seemed rather generic: I didn’t get a sense of much emotion out of them compared to how interesting Jimmy was in Oryx and Crake. Their portrayal also bothered me; Atwood is praised for successfully using the opportunity to flesh out female characters after their rather 2D representation in O&C, but the women here seem to have little character scope beyond their relationships with men – particularly Ren, who is shoehorned in as one of Jimmy’s old girlfriends. This felt VERY tacked on: Ren is supposedly a childhood friend of Jimmy’s and then a teenage girlfriend, but there is no mention of her in O&C (or if there is, it is very much in passing, with none of Jimmy’s teenage conquests having any particularly importance). This obvious inclusion is worsened by Jimmy supposedly suffering from his failed teenage romance throughout his life – we know this from what his other girlfriends tell Ren (including Amanda) – which makes little sense when we know what a cad Jimmy is with women in O&C (though, to be fair, Ren suspects he is simply lying to them all).

Despite being frustrated by how pathetically attached Ren was to Jimmy, it was somehow painfully accurate, too; I recognised the heartache Ren experienced a little too well, which might have been what turned me off it. As humans, do we have a willingness to avoid closure from a relationship, and is that one of the more pathetic aspects of our nature? Perhaps, and perhaps that’s why I hated it so much. We want to see literary our protagonists glossily strong and shameless, not suffering from the same damaged pride and pathetic pining we all do.

I got to the end very impatiently to reach the closing scene of Oryx and Crake, just so Jimmy could come back into the story properly (and, with any luck, we might go pack into his POV). We end on the same cliffhanger as O&C. So, Goodreads: four stars (not as good as Oryx and Crake, but very enjoyable nonetheless). How will it all conclude in MaddAddam? You’ll have to wait and see.

[Coming next: Beloved by Toni Morrison]

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Oryx and Crake – Margaret Atwood

Oryx and Crake

If you’ve never heard of Margaret Atwood, you’re missing out. Perhaps most famous for her dystopian fertility horror story The Handmaid’s Tale, Atwood has long since proved she’s got a grip on writing literary masterpieces – and futuristic, terrifying, dystopian worlds while we’re at it. If you come across lists of sci-fi novel recommendations, more often than not Oryx and Crake has pride of place – in fact, that’s probably how I heard of it in the first place. And, of course, the Waterstones shop worker told me she liked it. One day I’ll buy a book that one of those shop workers hasn’t read, but I’m still waiting for that day.

I knew Oryx and Crake was going to be good (shortlisted for the Booker AND Orange Prize, not bad), but going from the blurb, I was slightly worried it would be one of thsoe odd, experimental, sci-fi works that takes a while to get your teeth into. You tell me:

‘Pigs might not fly but they are strangely altered. So, for that matter, are wolves and raccoons. A man, once called Jimmy, lives in a tree, wrapped in old bedsheets, now calls himself Snowman. The voice of Oryx, the woman he loved, teasingly haunts him. And the green-eyed Children of Crake are, for some reason, his responsibility.’

Yeah, sounds pretty straightforward.

Thankfully, it was. The story was fairly clear from the start, bar the first chapter, which plunges you straight into ‘Snowman’s’ life – he’s recognisable to us, but his fellow humans seem to view him as something of a commodity, which was intriguing. The story is told through a mix of current events (so to speak) and flashbacks to Snowman’s (aka Jimmy’s) life, bringing the events to present day.

Jimmy’s the best protagonist I’ve read in a while. You despise him, love him, and, overall, pity him, all the way through his emotionally-starved childhood to the harrowing current events that unfold around him. It’s hard to tell how old he is when the book opens, but based on his life experiences I’d hazard a guess that he’s in his mid to late twenties. This is a spoilery review, but it’s a spoilery book (as are most books that open at the end).

The plot focuses on a world where gene experimentation is a common aspect of a futuristic, dystopian society, and one man – Crake – is left to run wild with his ideas. Jimmy grows up in an environment where animals are spliced together for human experimentation and, essentially, for fun. Crake (real name Glenn), his boyhood friend who matures into a genius, becomes so wrapped up in this that he eventually manufactures a new type of human – these, then, are the only ‘people’ left in the new world, who Jimmy refers to as the Crakers, or Children of Crake. The book is a Bildungsroman for Jimmy (and Crake, to a lesser extent), as we watch him grow into a world where commercialism is everything, women are prey to common and uncontrolled pornographic exploitation, and biological experimentation has been taken to the extreme. Of course, things don’t exactly improve when a plague wipes out civilisation.

You can probably guess who created the plague to (presumably) allow his self-created humans to thrive: Crake. Why he made Jimmy immune to the disease is unclear; he never properly explains it to his best friend, but his final lines to him – ‘I’m counting on you’ – seem to suggest he trusts Jimmy above everyone else to rebuild civilisation from the roots up. But why not himself? That, I hope, is something that may become clearer in the sequels. Is Crake a psychopath? It takes a certain amount of manic self-belief to believe you have the power to wipe out society and reconstruct it based on what you deem effective, and Crake shows little emotion about it (or about anything) throughout the novel. That said, the world he lives in is unpleasant. Even beyond the state interference, we are given hints as to exactly what the Earth has become. Global warming has left a huge proportion of the land underwater, and the weather seems overly freakish compared to now (there is a storm every afternoon, for example). If this is the catalyst for Crake’s Godlike plan, it’s disturbingly easy to see the logic behind it.

Considering Jimmy and Crake don’t spend that much time together after they leave high school (at least, until Jimmy goes to work for Crake), they have a remarkably captivating friendship. It’s helped, I suppose, by that uncertainty over whether or not they actually care for one another or rather are bonded by a sense of competition. This is heightened when Oryx comes into the equation; initially spotted as a child on a pornography website when the two of them were teenagers, they both develop lifelong obsessions with her until she makes an appearance in real life as Crake’s girlfriend (of a sort) and seduces Jimmy. It isn’t clear whether or not this was set up by Crake but Jimmy quickly falls in love and is desperate to prevent Crake from finding out. Of course, it’s suggested that he’s known all along (and it is part of his plan). Crake meets his own end by slitting Oryx’s throat in front of a gun-wielding Jimmy – it’s hard to believe he didn’t know what would happen as a result of that.

Oryx is not so interesting. She’s fairly non-descript in the book, and although we get a sense of her upbringing, we get no emotional depth from her; she seems virtually indifferent to what happened to her in her past. It was almost as if she didn’t need to be a fully fleshed out character but was simply there to be an object for both of the men to project their own, emotionally-stunted versions of love on to her. When a female writer writes these male-fantasy type women into novels I’m always surprised, but in this case I didn’t care too much. From what I know Atwood will focus on much more real and three-dimensional women in the sequel, so I’m looking forward to that.

Speaking of … the book is kicking off a trilogy. Oryx and Crake ends on a cliffhanger, but from what I’ve heard the next book doesn’t continue this plot but instead flashes back in time and looks at the same set of events through different characters’ eyes. This suggests that the controlled, dystopian world isn’t entirely left behind, which is intriguing – there are a few loose ends to be tied up (what happened to Jimmy’s mother, for example). I can’t wait.

This gets the full five stars from me; I could hardly put it down. Bring on The Year of the Flood.

[Coming next: We by Yevgeny Zamyatin]

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