Literary Safari

This is a short one. I’m guest blogging at Marc Aronson’s School Library Journal blog, “Nonfiction Matters” today. Check out my post “Great Resources on Islam. and on the Experience of Being a Young Muslim in America” here.

Here’s the second in a series of reviews of books that I think would make great gifts this holiday season. Part II here. Plus, we’re giving away two free copies of this book. Leave a comment here telling us what your favorite children’s adventure books are by Friday, December 26th, and we’ll put your name in a random drawing for a free copy of the book, courtesy of publisher Feiwel & Friends.

I’m a sucker for adventure stories, especially the type that takes me to deserted islands, introduces me to brave children, and enlisst my imagination in solving an intriguing mystery. As a child, I got my fix from the much-loved British children’s author, Enid Blyton.

When I saw the title of Bermuda-based first-time author Nadia Aguiar’s new book, The Lost Island of Tamarind (Feiwel & Friends, ages 10-14, 448 pages)  it stirred up memories of my favorite Enid Blyton books such as The Secret Island  and the Famous Five’s Five on a Treaure Island.  I couldn’t deny that I was experiencing a pang of nostalgia, plus there was the word “tamarind” — it conjures up such tastes and delicious smells of the Indian subcontinent. I was curious and set out immediately to get my hands on a copy.

I’m glad I did. This book was the closest to Enid Blyton’s spirit (minus the sexism or colonist baggage) that I’ve been able to get in a long time. [check out my interview with Nadia Aguilar where she cites Blyton as one her favorite childhood authors. Children of the commonwealth, unite!]

Set in the imaginary land of Tamarind, which lies beyond a blue line on the horizon, this is the story of three siblings who get separated from their parents, ocean biologists, after their ship, the Pamela Jane, is caught in a tremendous storm near the equator. When the children—the eldest, Maya, a shy, somewhat rebellious adolescent; Simon, an adventurous extrovert; and little toddler Penny—get off their boat, they find themselves in a war-torn world where “fish can fly, pirates patrol the waters, jaguars lurk, the islanders are at war, and an evil, child-stealing enchantress rules the jungle.”As they begin to hunt for their parents, they quickly realize that is a place that “outsiders” like themselves can’t easily escape. (more…)

Nadia Aguiar is the Bermuda-based author of The Lost Island of Tamarind. Read a review of this book here and enter to win a free copy of the book.

Q. I read that you began The Lost Island of Tamarind during your MFA program at Columbia. Did it start out as a short story?
I first had the idea—a family who lives on a boat, the storm, the island—the year after I finished the program at Columbia. It was always going to be a novel. I wrote a few passages of the first chapter but then the idea was shelved for two or three years because work and life were so busy. A few years later the idea was still vivid, and when the opportunity to devote some real time to it arose, it was full steam ahead.

Q. Setting is such an important element of Lost Island of Tamarind. You’ve created a lush imaginary world, an island that exists in a lost part of the world. How did you go about creating this world? Did it develop as you continued with your writing or did you map it out prior?
I don’t map much out in advance. I have to actually be writing before I can really see anything in the world of the book for the first time. Once I start writing, I feel like I’m actually physically in the world in a sensory way—seeing and hearing and experiencing everything there.

Q. You’re from Bermuda. What aspects of your childhood seeped into the writing of this book?
The sounds, smells, heat, the ocean—all these made their way into Tamarind in a way that I don’t think they would have if I’d been from elsewhere. The natural world is very powerful and beautiful here, and magical things are part of ordinary days. We really do have glowing sea creatures, and all you have to do is spend an afternoon on the ocean to discover something miraculous. Also, I don’t think that I could have written about siblings as easily if I didn’t have so many of my own—that dynamic of bickering but really loving each other, and sharing childhoods with one other, is very familiar to me. Finally, Tamarind is a variation of my greatest childhood fantasy—to be shipwrecked on a deserted island … hardly imaginative for a kid who grew up on an isolated island!

Q. Fantasy, adventure, and historical fiction seem to blend in this novel. Who are the writers you read while growing up?
I read voraciously but indiscriminately—everything from Madeleine L’Engle to Archie comics. I read a lot of Enid Blyton, a popular and prolific English writer of children’s books who was read widely in Britain and in many parts of the Commonwealth. Looking back on those books now, there are many unsavory features (jingoism, sexism, etc.), but what still stands out as being great and memorable about them was that there was always an exciting adventure and a group of friends who were all thrillingly autonomous for children. These are things that I think young readers really respond to. Some of the most (more…)

Here’s the first in a series of reviews of books that I think would make great gifts this holiday season. 

Rang (pronounced rung) is the Hindi word for color. It is the word that first came to mind when I began turning the vibrant pages of India: In Word and Image (Welcome Books, 2008, $60) by photographer Eric Meola.

Featuring an introduction by Bharati Mukherjee, this book captures the lively hues and moods of India through more than 200 photos of her diverse peoples, festivals, and traditions, with a special focus on festivals.

Meola’s extensive travels through India (and his keen eye) gift us with an intimate glimpse of subjects ranging from the exquisite palaces of Rajasthan and temples of Tamil Nadu to the simple monasteries of the Himalayas. What makes this book stand out in the company of other photographic perspectives on India, however, is the pairing of images with literary tidbits from a sampling of India’s best (and some of my favorite) writers—Salman Rushdie, Kiran Desai, R. K. Narayan, V. S. Naipul, and more.

If you’re looking for a book about the new India–which looks at the rise of shopping malls, tech parks, gourmet restaurants, and fusion fashions–this is not the book for you. Instead, you’ll prefer Images of a Journey: India in Diaspora, by Steve Raymer. But, if you’re looking for a book that does justice to the the architectural and cultural dazzle of India, then this book is for you.

Whether you’re a first-time traveler to India seeking inspiration, a travel shutterbug, or simply someone like me who occasionally catches the wanderlust virus for the homeland, this is a coffee table jewel worth acquiring. And sharing. In fact, I was going to suggest it as a holiday gift, but I’m afraid that once it lands in your lap, you’ll probably be reluctant to part with it! (So … maybe you’d like to order two?!

A few parting images for you …

 

 

All photos by Eric Meola. Reprinted with permission of Welcome Books.

Take heart, those of you who feel guilty about not blogging enough or at too leisurely a pace. Per a recent NYT article titled “Blogging at Snail’s Pace,”  there’s a “small, quirky movement” out there called slow blogging:

… inspired by the slow food movement, which says that fast food is destroying local traditions and healthy eating habits. Slow food advocates, like the chef Alice Waters of Chez Panisse in Berkeley, Calif., believe that food should be local, organic and seasonal; slow bloggers believe that news-driven blogs like TechCrunch and Gawker are the equivalent of fast food restaurants — great for occasional consumption, but not enough to guarantee human sustenance over the longer haul.

It’s official. I am a slow blogger. The fact that it has taken me a whole week to sit down and even try to write about last week’s events in Mumbai is proof, if nothing else.

Like everyone else I know, I’ve been following the news about the Mumbai blasts last week constantly, keeping track of essays, listening to podcasts, and reading analyses [ [here» ... here» ... here» ... here» ... here»]. I’m repeatedly wowed by all the writers out there who have managed to convey their thoughts and emotions so eloquently both during and in the days since the events.

So far, I haven’t been able to do it.

I ran into a neighbor in the elevator earlier today. “I’ve been thinking about you,” Libby said. “I was wondering whether you have any family in Mumbai and I went onto your blog to see whether you had written anything about it.”

“No, I haven’t,” I replied. “It’s just taking me a while to absorb it all.” I felt embarrassed, like I was somewhat less of a writer for not having put pen to paper right away … or, at the very least, participated in the phenomenon of self-button publishing and citizen journalism via Twitter, Facebook, and the like.

Like so many of my friends, it’s becoming a habit to chirp about my state of mind and the goings-on in my life on Facebook. But, during this frightening, disturbing terrorist and hostage crisis, while the rest of the world has been busy talking, all I was  able to do was listen and take it all in.

My Facebook statuses during the Mumbai crisis:

November 26, 9:48 pm (not too long after the news broke): “Sandhya is watching NDTV live and so sad about the unfolding events in Mumbai.”

November 28, 11:04 am (the standoff continues): “Sandhya is still watching NDTV live.”

November 28, 11:15 am (the standoff continues as does my feeling of helplessness): “Sandhya just signed the awaaz.org’s call for unity.”

November 29, 9:34 am (the faceoff ends): “Sandhya is thankful and relieved.”

Changing my status so infrequently is unusual for me.

The thing is, though, I was overcome with the same kind of numbness that overcame me on 9/11 when I was glued to the news and every source of information I could lay my hands on. Back then, I wanted to know and understand what was happening, but I didn’t have the desire or werewithal to process the events for anyone else.

Back then, we didn’t have Facebook statuses to help us examine our state of mind. Now, all I have to do is look at my minimal Facebook status updates during the three day standoff between the terrorists and the Indian forces to see my mental paralysis reflected.

In this world of instant response, constant tweeting, and simultaneous analysis, I’ve only just started writing about last week’s events and *my* Bombay. I suppose I’m still getting used to the idea that all this has happened; still processing it; still asking “why?” And, I keep reading, taking in all the information out there, hoping to find a clue, a better understanding. Finally, there’s also a part of me that says: What else can I truly add to the ongoing conversation? All I have are my memories of my Bombay to add to the mix. Why do they matter?

But, today, I finally started writing and I realized that my memories of my Bombay matter because they will help me to finally start making sense of this mayhem, this puzzle, this sadness I’m feeling. They will help me to remember the bruised city on the Arabian Sea as it was when I first got to know it. They will help me to break through the numbness. …

All of this is a long-winded way of explaining why this blog has been quiet for the past several days. I didn’t feel right about writing about anything other than Mumbai—and I wasn’t ready to write about my Bombay just yet.

Slowly, at snail’s pace, I’m getting there. Stay tuned …