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Fiction

The Song of Achilles

Madeline Miller

Published: 2011

Publisher: Bloomsbury

Language: English

Pages: 352, Paperback

I knew that the mythical figure of Achilles, the central character in Homer’s ‘Iliad’, was the son of goddess Thetis and Peleus, King of Phthia. I wouldn’t necessarily call him a ‘hero’. Achilles stopped fighting at Troy because Agamemnon, his commander during the war, insulted him. He then watched as his fellow Greeks were slaughtered by the Trojans and only resumed fighting when his friend, Patroclus, was killed and he was shattered and angry.

He took his revenge by killing Hector—who had killed Patroclus, Achilles’ best friend—and then refused to hand over his body to his family. Instead, he dragged the corpse around the city. Achilles wanted Hector’s soul to forever wander and never be at peace. It still wasn’t enough for Achilles and legend has it that his ghost still thirsts for blood. That’s definitely not how I picture a hero.

But Madeline Miller paints a completely different picture of Achilles in ‘The Song of Achilles’ that won the 2012 Orange Prize in Fiction 2012 (now known as the Women’s Prize in Fiction). Here, you see a romantic, loyal, and loving side to Achilles. Through the eyes of Patroclus, the novel’s narrator, Achilles appears to be beautiful, smart and skilled—living up to his demi-god status. His actions, as unjustifiable as they once might have been, seem to stem from love. Finally, he is the hero he was always meant to be.

While Homer’s Iliad is a story of pride and stubbornness, Miller’s retelling of the epic is a powerful love story. The author beautifully captures the budding camaraderie and love between Patroclus and Achilles, and so much is conveyed by leaving things unsaid.

There is a sense of impending tragedy as you get to know early on that Achilles must choose between a long life where no one knows him or a short, glorious one. But that in no way makes the story bleak. Instead, Miller paints a wonderful three-dimensional portrait of Achilles as a son, father, hero, and lover as he battles his conflicting thoughts. Patroclus is also a fascinating character and a reliable narrator. The story doesn’t just unfold from his point of view and every character is given its due.

The good thing about Miller’s story is also that you don’t need to know anything about the Trojan war or the Greek mythology to understand what’s happening. Miller starts at the very beginning and her prose is smooth enough for you to get sucked right in. Miller took 10 years to write the book and the meticulous research shines through. The sparse prose makes the story a riveting read where nothing seems stretched or unnecessary. The Song of Achilles is an unforgettable story about love that reads like a thriller. 

I am a big fan of Robert D. Kaplan. The American journalist-cum-scholar has perfected the art of weaving an expansive geopolitical narrative based on his extensive travel, a deep study of history, access to the right people and unique insight. Even if you don’t see through his Realist lens, you cannot but marvel at the hard work put into his books, each dripping with untrammeled enthusiasm for his chosen area of study. Reading Amish Raj Mulmi’s new book ‘All Roads Lead North: Nepal’s Turn to China’ reminded me of Kaplan’s works.

Both take in broad sweeps of history to make their case, and each leavens the heavy history bits with on-the-ground anecdotes. But there are also important differences. While in his writing Kaplan is palpably bubbling with enthusiasm, Mulmi adopts the tone of a more detached observer. Another difference is that Mulmi relies more on historical archives than on his travels or conversations with powers-that-be. (The author has not been to China save for his visit to a tiny border area.)

One of the first things that strikes you about the book is its neutral tone, as Mulmi holds back from asking Nepal to pick and choose between China, India and the US, the three main foreign powers discussed. Making extensive use of archival records in India and Nepal as well as the CIA’s declassified documents, Mulmi draws an arc of China’s progressively heavier engagement in Nepal. Over time, it becomes a story of the Communist Party of China appropriating Nepal’s traditional links with Tibet.

In the name of balancing India, Nepali political establishment has moved closer to Beijing. To appease the dragon, it has cracked down on Tibetan activities. Harking back to the era Mao’s red buttons were ubiquitous in Nepal, Xi Jinping too seems minded to export his ideology on the back of his signature Belt and Road Initiative. Thus, as China pledges billions of dollars in grants and loans, Nepali ruling class has to agree to be trained on ‘Xi Jinping thought’, and to blindly back China on Taiwan, Tibet and Hong Kong.

But the book’s deterministic title is also a touch misleading. Even Mulmi concedes that as Chinese influence has shot up, the Nepali political class is still in a position to calibrate its relation with the northern neighbor. He wants them to do so to their country’s benefit. “[Relations with China]… need to be sustained, nurtured and developed as they evolve,” Mulmi writes. “It is in Nepal’s interest to do so, and imperative to do it in a way that acknowledges its own aspirations.” This means engaging China in Nepal’s development process while also being aware of the risks of unquestioningly doing the dragon’s bidding. 

It won’t be easy. For instance, the author advises the Nepali government to engage with Chinese people and “not just its unitary government system… [to] fully realize the potential of Nepal’s budding economic relationship with the country.” But how can Nepal directly engage the people of China whose lives, and especially their dealings with the outside world, are controlled by the CCP? Nor is the tiny Nepali state in a position to bargain with the Chinese colossus on this.

Mulmi travels to various places on the northern border to grasp how the Chinese influence is seeping into Nepal. He also talks to ex-Nepali businesspersons who previously worked in Lhasa, Tibetan refugees in Nepal including former Khampa rebels, and Mustang locals to knit together the long history of China’s engagement in Nepal.

His argument is that Nepal’s turn to China did not start with the 2015 border blockade; it was a process set in motion by a long history of Nepal’s relations with Tibet, the Chinese emperors and then, after Tibet’s annexation, with the communist China. The author relies on the CIA’s declassified files from the second half of the 20^th century to gain a better understanding of the triangular Nepal-India-China relations—and there are quite a few revelations.

A central theme runs through most of Kaplan’s books: all discussions on international relations must start with geography. This couldn’t be truer in the case of Nepal, which finds itself precariously sandwiched between its two giant neighbors. Yet Kaplan also believes that wise leaders can minimize the effects of geography and even use it to their country’s advantage, as did Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore’s case. And this is what Mulmi is advocating for. Given Nepal’s perilous location, its leaders have to show foresight in charting its foreign policy course.

All Roads Lead North is perhaps the most readable book in English to date on Nepal’s contemporary relations with China. For its deep scholarship, ease of reading, and a historical perspective of Nepal-China relations, the book will be read by generations to come, by scholars and non-scholars alike.

Non-fiction

All Roads Lead North: Nepal’s Turn to China

Amish Raj Mulmi

Publisher: Context

Pages: 290

What I actually wanted to watch this was week on Netflix was the BBC One production “The Serpent” based on notorious serial killer Charles Sobhraj. But as it is a TV series and I was pressed for time, I couldn’t indulge. Moreover, Randeep Hooda’s portrayal of Shobraj in the 2015 film “Main Aur Charles” has spoilt me for any other impersonations of the world-famous criminal.

So in my search for what’s new this week, I stumbled upon Irul (“Darkness”), an Indian Malayalam-language mystery thriller. In its trailer, the film gave out a dark, gothic vibe befitting its name. But the movie itself turned out be a sloppily written whodunit that tells you who’s done it even before the climax and then you don’t know why you’re watching the movie anymore. Still, we recommend you give “Irul” around 90 minutes of your time because some elements in it definitely deserve attention.

Irul features only three characters in its entire length. Alex Parayil (Soubin Shahir), a writer with an unbalanced temperament takes his workaholic lawyer girlfriend Archana Pillai (Darshana Rajendran) on a weekend retreat. They are driving to a ‘mystery’ destination on a rainy night when their car breaks down in a deserted place. Not carrying mobile phones as part of their tech-detox plans, the couple is forced to take refuge in the first house they see.

In the house, they are welcomed by its eccentric owner Unni (Fahadh Faasil). He tells the couple he never carries a mobile phone and the house’s landline is broken due to rain. Unni also offers Alex and Archana to stay overnight, which the couple agree to. Then, later in the night, when the trio sit down for a conversation, Unni starts talking about Alex’s novel “Irul” and accuses him of being the serial killer, the book’s protagonist. Alex refutes the claim and instead accuses Unni of being a thief and murderer. As the argument gets heated, both men furnish ‘evidences’ to show the other as the killer while Archana has to make a potentially life-threatening decision.

Writer Sunil Yadav sets up a perfect premise for a harrowing crime thriller. But in due course, the film dips in mysteriousness and thrill. There are certain moments that try to make a breakthrough, but debut director Naseef Yusuf Izuddin fails to make the best of them. The film fails to ignite the emotions its genre is supposed to.

But even as writing and direction are on the sloppier side, acting and cinematography of Irul maintain high watchability factor. All three actors, the only three actors actually, are brilliant in their respective roles. Male actors Fahadh Faasil and Soubin Shahir—who are known for their method acting and versatility in the Malayalam movie industry—take it upon themselves to save the film from disaster. In their respective roles as Unni and Alex, both potential serial killers, the actors are convincing enough to confuse the audience. There are multiple long shots in the film, one so long that the film appears like a theatrical production. Not many can pull off long shots as do the actors in Irul.

They justify the burden of expectations placed on them. But it’s Jomon T. John’s cinematography that shines through the brightest, making Irul a visually-compelling treat. The film has a dark tone with most of its proceedings happening inside a dimly-lit house. Jomon capitalizes on the opportunity to use some of the most unusual POVs, mirrors and shadows to create sinister visual effects. The lighting and camerawork put together emulate a neo-noir style which seems to be inspired a lot by Alfred Hitchcock’s milestone setting classic “Psycho” (1960).

Who should watch it?

Irul is a film made for crime, mystery, and thriller movie fans. Watching it, you will identify certain similarities with other movies of the genre you’ve watched and will probably also guess the suspense and the ending. But the acting and cinematography will most definitely make your time enjoyable.

Rating: 3 stars
Genre: Crime, thriller
Actors:  Fahadh Faasil and Soubin Shahir, Darshana Rajendran
Director: Naseef Yusuf Izuddin
Run time: 1hr 31mins

Every once in a while, you come cross a book that you want to barrel through but are also desperate to put down and go fix yourself a cup of tea. You need some time to recover. But then the story is just so beautiful and the characters so compelling that you are back at it before you know it. Soon, you are a sobbing mess. ‘Love After Love’, Ingrid Persaud’s debut book, is that kind of a novel. 

Set in modern-day Trinidad and New York City, Love After Love is a tale of love, loss, and hope. It’s about the never-ending quest to find love, the loneliness in the absence of love, and how hope can keep you going in the most trying times.

The story’s protagonist, Betty Ramdin, a school administrator, has endured years of abuse from her husband, Sunil. And then he dies. She had inherited a huge house from her grandmother and so she takes in a lodger, Mr. Chetan, a closeted gay teacher at her school. Soon, he becomes a part of their family—a father figure to Betty’s only child, Solo.

The initial part of the story is filled with warmth, food, and comfort. There is so much cooking going on and it’s all so elaborate and descriptive that you can almost taste the cascadoux curry and smell the fresh, warm bread. Reading this bit feels like being enveloped in a soft blanket and whatever it is that’s stressing you out in real life feels distant and trivial.

However, Betty longs for a partner. The society, on the other hand, expects her to be in perpetual mourning for a husband who gave her nothing but scars—both mental and physical. Mr. Chetan is compelled to find another place to live when he realizes “Miss B and I needed to be free to meet other people otherwise it was like we were in a sexless marriage.” By then, Solo is living with his father’s brother, Hari, as an illegal immigrant in the US. There are immigrant issues, homophobia, and domestic violence.

This is when your happy bubble is burst and your heart shatters. Each character tugs at your heartstrings. You see them struggle yet smile. They don’t have it easy but they are trying mighty hard to fix things. You wish you could give each of them a hug and tell them things will be alright. That’s how convincingly Persaud has crafted her characters. 

The story is told from three different perspectives through a series of amusing yet heartbreaking vignettes. Betty, Chetan and Solo take turns at the narration. Despite that, it isn’t difficult to follow. Persaud shuffles back and forth between different emotions and settings with ease and makes the story quite seamless. Nothing feels unimportant or is without meaning.

Love After Love is an apt portrayal of the harsh realities of life and how we have the power to lead the life we want through the choices we make. It's really beautiful, even with the heartbreak it entails.

Fiction
Love After Love
Ingrid Persaud
Published: 2020
Publisher: Faber & Faber Limited
Language: English
Pages: 410, Paperback