The Cat Who Saved Books

 

Blurb:

A celebration of books, cats, and the people who love them, infused with the heart-warming spirit of The Guest Cat and The Travelling Cat Chronicles.
Bookish high school student Rintaro Natsuki is about to close the second-hand bookstore he inherited from his beloved bookworm grandfather. Then, a talking cat named Tiger appears with an unusual request. The feline asks for—or rather, demands—the teenager’s help in saving books with him. The world is full of lonely books left unread and unloved, and Tiger and Rintaro must liberate them from their neglectful owners.
Their mission sends this odd couple on an amazing journey, where they enter different mazes to set books free. Through their travels, Tiger and Rintaro meet a man who leaves his books to perish on a bookshelf, an unwitting book torturer who cuts the pages of books into snippets to help people speed read, and a publishing drone who only wants to create bestsellers. Their adventures culminate in one final, unforgettable challenge—the last maze that awaits leads Rintaro down a realm only the bravest dare enter...

Thoughts:

Rintaro Natsuki, the 17-year-old protagonist of The Cat Who Saved Books, inherits a bookshop when his grandfather dies. He is preparing to close it up and go live with an aunt when Tiger, a talking ginger tabby cat, appears in the shop and demands that he help it save books.

Tiger takes him inside four labyrinths filled with books. Sayo, Rintaro's classmate who visits him frequently, also accompanies them from the second trip onwards.
In the four mazes, they meet people who the author, Sōsuke Natsukawa, represents as people who misuse, mistreat, or misunderstand books:

• The first person is only interested in the number of books he reads. He wants to read the most books possible in his lifetime; he no longer derives any pleasure from reading.
• The second one thinks that the only way to keep people interested in reading is to shorten/summarize or cut books.
• The third does not care for great books—he is interested only in popular books, meaning those that sell well.
• The fourth person, one whom Tiger calls the most dangerous, makes Rintaro question the meaning/purpose of literature and books.

If you love books and agree with the author's opinions, you may enjoy this. I did, especially because I love cats and books. However, it left me wondering about many things:

• Why are the characteristics of Rintaro, Sayo, and Tiger described repeatedly?
• Where did Tiger come from? What does it represent/symbolize?
• The title says the cat who saved books. Then why is Tiger only taking Rintaro to places where books are being mistreated and Rintaro doing the actual saving?
• Are the villains actually evil or just representatives of the changing times?
• Are classics disappearing? Aren't they more accessible these days? Does everyone who loves books need to read classics? If readers find them difficult, isn't it all right if they read condensed versions or summaries?
• Don't readers' tastes or neurodivergence count?
• The grandfather, the bookshop owner who left it to Rintaro, was a former university professor. He has supposedly imparted a lot of wisdom, especially about the 'power of books'. However, that is not clearly explained in the book.
• How will Rintaro, a high school student, manage to run the shop?

That said, the book emphasizes the general importance of books and the joy of reading. It talks about books making you aware of other people and places and helping develop compassion, tolerance, and empathy.
Rintaro tells Sayo that if you find a book difficult, it's because it contains something new to you and that it offers you a challenge. This is true not just of books but a lot of the things you encounter in life.
I can't comment on the translation by Louise Heal Kawai. I liked her note about the hows and whys of it at the end of the book. 

To summarize, a simple story with a touch of magical realism that makes you think.

Why I Write

Blurb:

One of the greatest raconteurs of the 20th century, Saadat Hasan Manto declares that he was forced to write when his wife routinely demanded that he put bread on the table for the family. He doesn’t attribute any genius to his skills as a writer and convinces his readers that the stories flowed even as he minded his daughters or tossed a salad. Equally, Manto treats his tryst with Bollywood with disdain and unmasks the cardboard lives of tinsel town when a horse is painted to double up for a zebra or multiple fans rotate to create a deluge. Two of Manto’s favourite and recurring themes — Women and Partition—find special mention.

For the first time ever, this unique collection of non-fiction writing from the subcontinent’s greatest writer, translated by well-known author and journalist, Aakar Patel showcases Saadat Hasan Manto’s brilliance while dealing with life’s most mundane things — graveyards, bumming cigarettes, a film crew with motley characters from mythology — and a sharp dissection of what ails the subcontinent even after six decades —Hindi or Urdu, vile politicians and the hopelessness of living under the shadow of fear.

Thoughts:

Title: The answer to the book's name 'Why I write' is in the following paragraphs:

• "Truth be told, I promise you I’ve no clue how is it that I write. When I’m at a loss for ideas, my wife, who manages our finances, says sternly: ‘Please stop thinking and begin writing.’ And so I pick up the pen and start scratching out a few lines. My mind is still empty — but by now, my pocket is full. And of its own, as if by magic, a ripe story pops out. In that sense, I don’t consider myself a writer so much as a pickpocket. One who picks his own pocket and hands over its contents to you."
• "The most important reason is that I’m addicted to writing, just as I am to drinking. When I don’t write, it feels like I’m unclothed, like I haven’t had a bath. Like I haven’t had my first drink."

Content: This book tells you about Saadat Hasan Manto's thoughts on various subjects ranging from politics, and religious fundamentalism, to feminism and women's place in society, to marriage, and modernization.
Some of Manto's essays also talk about the effect of India's Partition on both sides of the border. His special fondness for Bombay is reflected in his descriptions of how it was before and after Partition.
I don't know if this is true or if it is a mere coincidence because of the essays included, but Manto's two favourite topics seem to be Bombay and Bollywood. The book has a long essay on Bollywood and how it can express the spirit of the newly independent India. However, he seems disappointed by the lack of artistic integrity and the increasing mediocrity in the industry.

Writing: Manto's style, albeit sarcastic, irreverent, and sometimes dark, is entertaining in that he simplifies even the most serious subjects. Not all of Manto's opinions may be palatable to you but his wit may sustain your interest. Much of what he said, especially about religion and politics, is true even after so many decades.

Translation: I am unable to comment on this as I have not read any of Manto's original works. The book seems well-translated. However, it has many untranslated Urdu portions, which might pose a problem for those who don't know that language.

Overall, a good collection of essays that reveal Manto—the man and the writer.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Blurb:

In 1982, having sold his jazz bar to devote himself to writing, Haruki Murakami began running to keep fit. A year later, he'd completed a solo course from Athens to Marathon, and now, after dozens of such races, not to mention triathlons and a dozen critically acclaimed books, he reflects upon the influence the sport has had on his life and--even more important--on his writing. Equal parts training log, travelogue, and reminiscence, this revealing memoir covers his four-month preparation for the 2005 New York City Marathon and takes us to places ranging from Tokyo's Jingu Gaien gardens, where he once shared the course with an Olympian, to the Charles River in Boston among young women who outpace him. Through this marvelous lens of sport emerges a panorama of memories and insights: the eureka moment when he decided to become a writer, his greatest triumphs and disappointments, his passion for vintage LPs, and the experience, after fifty, of seeing his race times improve and then fall back. By turns funny and sobering, playful and philosophical, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is rich and revelatory, both for fans of this masterful yet guardedly private writer and for the exploding population of athletes who find similar satisfaction in distance running.

Thoughts:

My first-ever Murakami book. Those who know how much I read and love to might wonder why I have never read his books before this. I honestly don’t know.

Murakami’s books have been on my TBR list for a long time now. The title ‘What I Talk About When I Talk About Running’ seemed more approachable than all the others.

This book is worth all the hype. Or, maybe I needed a book that was of the right pace and tone now. After my father’s prolonged illness and death, I needed to read something that soothed me.

Strangely enough, this was that book. Strange because I am not a runner or a Japanophile. Yes, I am a writer.

For me, this book is not about running or writing. It’s about life. Everything seems simple in Murakami’s world. He speaks of himself as an ordinary person trying to persist in activities, such as running and writing, in his unique way.

He does not persuade you to do any of those things. Nor does he offer advice. Yet, he inspires by showing that even a person (as ordinary as him) is capable of these things by keeping at them. He discusses running, writing, creativity, aging, and life in general.

Since this is a translation (by Philip Gabriel), I cannot comment on his writing style. It is simple, unvarnished, and meditative, which makes the book seem like a collection of unstructured thoughts.

I may not re-read it. However, I may hark back to it and look up bits and pieces from it later on.

The Reader

It has been a long time since I have written a review here. That is not to say I haven't reviewed anything. I have read and given my opinion on many books, articles etc. but just not in public. 

My overall impression is that The Reader by Bernhard Schlink is a ‘quiet’ book. No melodrama, not many dialogues, no surprise that blindsides you. However, the characters are not bland; neither is the story.

The book is rich in emotion in that lack of emotions or of overt expressions of it makes it startlingly interesting. There are many characters—as many as the style (the main protagonist narrating the story) allows. 

Not having many dialogues makes the reading akin to watching scenes passing by the window of a moving train or seeing many still frames one after the other, at great speed.

When there are dialogues, they are immensely thought-provoking. The conversation between the truck driver with whom Michael Berg hitchhikes to visit the remains of a concentration camp and the one between him and his father are examples. I wonder if the discussions were based on the author’s opinions or if these were ideas he threw us to chew on.

Before I read the book, I had read a few reviews on it, as is usual for me. 

Many have said that this book is about the persecution of Jews, and hence have found it wanting in comparison with many other brilliant books on the subject. Others, including the author, have said that it shows the struggle of ‘the generation that came after’ in coming to terms with their ancestors’ Nazi past. 

Then there are those who focus on the relationship between a fifteen-year-old boy and a woman twice his age. All those are good angles to view the book from, I suppose.

However, to me, this book is about shame and how it affects people. If not for the paralysing shame that Hanna Schmitz experiences, this story wouldn’t exist. At least, not in this form! Does that excuse her actions? Certainly not. But, as we know, life can be bizarre; people can be driven by strange phobias and manias.

Would I re-read this book? Probably not. But neither would I re-read Gone With the Wind, Roots, Good Earth, How Green was My Valley or many such other books I have enjoyed. I like to think of them as once-in-a-lifetime experiences—great, but not to be repeated. 

Was this book as good as any of those? Again, probably not. But this is based on the English translation of the original; so I really am not qualified to judge. The translation is by Carol Brown Janeway.

Would I watch the film adaptation? I think I will pass.