Books of choice

Beerwolf_500

 

I HAVE LOVED READING ever since I was first able to master this skill. During my childhood, we used to drive to Hampstead (in north London) every Saturday morning. We always used to visit the now long-since closed High Hill Bookshop on Rosslyn Hill. Our parents allowed my sister and me to choose one book each Saturday and bought them for us. Week by week, my collection of the adventures of Tintin by Hergé grew until I had all the episodes that had been published in English. There was little, if any, censorship of our choices. However, I had the distinct impression that my parents preferred that we avoided books by Enid Blyton. So, I have not yet had the pleasure of reading any of her extensive literary oeuvre.

I discovered and fell in love with “Mad” magazine, which was not available at High Hill Bookshop. I bought copies of it at a local shop, using my pocket money. My parents appeared not to approve of the magazine, but my father (not my mother) was always happy to read my copies of it when I had finished with them. “Readers Digest”, like Enid Blyton, did not fulfil my parents’ criteria of ‘good’ literature. I enjoyed leafing through this periodical and particularly remember reading and re-reading an article written by someone who was conscious during his brain surgery. I did not need to buy “Readers Digest” at full price as it was possible to buy boxes crammed full of old issues, sold as a job lots for a few pence at local jumble sales.  

There was only one book that was deemed strictly forbidden during my childhood. It was “Struwwelpeter” by Heinrich Hoffman, published in 1845 and reprinted many times since then. It is a series of moral tales about children who misbehave. For example, when Konrad disobeys his mother’s instruction not to suck his thumbs, an itinerant tailor appears and cuts off Konrad’s thumbs. Each tale is illustrated by frighteningly graphic illustrations. On afternoon, my sister and I, who had discovered this book by accident, were interrupted by my mother. She seized the book and tore it into pieces, which she stuffed into the wastepaper basket. Apart from this violent reaction to a book and the hints that Enid Blyton was to be avoided, I could read pretty much anything I wanted.

At school, books were recommended as being worth reading, especially those by famous 19th century British authors. I never read any of these. For some unknown reason, probably contrariness, if someone told me that I ought to read a particular book, this put me off even opening it. I wanted to read what I had chosen myself, not what had been chosen for me because it might be “good for you”. Similarly, if someone tells me that this or that food item is “good for you”, I do not rate that as a positive recommendation.

At Christmas 1963, we were in New York City. A friend of my parents, ‘E’, met us in the book department of FAO Schwarz, a toy store on Fifth Avenue. She wanted her son and me each to choose a book as a gift from her. E showed me a thick encyclopaedia of anthropology, which she had decided either that I would enjoy it or that it would be good for me. Well, I took one look at it and decided to check out the other books on display. I homed in on an illustrated history of the FBI. It was filled with intriguing black and white photographs, some quite gory. I took the book to E, who looked at it disapprovingly and then asked whether I was sure that I did not want the fine book on anthropology. I was sure, and a few minutes later I became the proud owner of the book about the FBI. E’s son, who was clearly more easily influenced by his mother than me, chose to buy the anthropology book. Years later, he qualified as a psychiatrist and I as a dentist. I am not sure what can be concluded from that.

My parents’ suggestion that there was something not quite right about Enid Blyton left a lingering doubt about the author in my mind. In the mid-1990s, I began visiting India regularly. There, I discovered wonderful bookshops, some of which were (and still are) much better stocked than those in London. What surprised me in those shops were the huge numbers of books by Enid Blyton on sale. Clearly, Enid was well-read and her books much purchased in India.  So, when I heard that there was going to be a lecture about Enid Blyton and India at the Nehru Centre in London, I felt that this was not to be missed. The speaker was none other than Enid Blyton’s very articulate daughter. She told us that British educators often frowned upon her mother’s works (just as my parents had done). The reason they were not keen was that it was considered that Enid’s vocabulary was not rich or varied enough. She revealed that when the texts of her mother’s books were analysed numerically, the vocabulary used I them was, in fact, no less rich or varied than that employed by other authors writing for the same age groups.  

In recent years, I have changed. Maybe, I have become a little less stubborn about book recommendations. If someone suggests a book to me, I no longer instantly reject the idea of reading it. There is a good chance that I will look it up to see what others think of it. If it is about a subject that might chime with any of my interests, there is a good chance that I will buy a copy and add it to the ever increasing pile of unopened books waiting to be read by me.  However, you will still not be able to find Dickens, the Brontes, Thomas Hardy, or titles that would “be good for me” on their spines.

Renaissance

COVER SMALL

 

Last year, I published a book about an almost forgotten but important aspect of Indian history that began to interest me after visiting an almost completely unknown memorial in western India (Kutch, to be more precise). 

Since then, I have shown the book to various knowledgeable readers and also revisited the memorial. 

Those who have read the book have made valuable suggestions on how to improve it, including changing the title so that its subject matter is far more obvious to a potential reader, adding a preface and a time-line, and re-ordering the subject matter.

When I re-visited the memorial in Kutch, I met people, who showed me things I had not seen or even been aware of on my first visit. They also gave me new information. In addition, I have done further reading of source material, some of which I had not known about earlier. In addition, I have obtained photographic images that I did not possess before.

I felt that since I published my original text, a new expanded and, I hope, much improved version was necessary. My ideas needed a renaissance, so to speak.

I am now awaiting a proof of my new book, and will keep you informed of developments.

 

A flight of pigeons

I FOUND MY COPY of “A Flight of Pigeons”, a short novel by Ruskin Bond (born 1934), amongst a collection of books about birds in the gift shop at Sanjay Gandhi National Park just north of Bombay. The book has little or nothing that would be of interest to ornithologists and other nature lovers.

The novel is about some English ladies during the First War of Indian Independence (‘Indian Mutiny’; 1857-58). They are some of the only survivors of an attack by Pathan forces on the town of Shahjahanpur.

The ladies are first given refuge by a Kayasth family, and then by various Pathan families. Having some Indian ancestry and a knowledge of Urdu, these English refugees were more or less successfully accepted into the Muslim Pathan families.

The young daughter, Ruth, becomes the object of the amorous intentions of one of the Pathans, who wants to marry her. Ruth’s mother has to try to prevent this from happening. I will not reveal what happens because I do not want to spoil the enjoyment of the reader of this simply told, compelling short book.

This is the first book I have read by Ruskin Bond. If it is typical of his writing, then I want to read more. Like the Albanian novelist Ismail Kadare, Bond skilfully manages to pack much into his book with great economy of words.

One book, two titles

COVER GUJ a blog

The prices of books varies greatly from one country to another. In India, many books cost far less than their equivalents sold, for example, in Europe. Readers in India buying books that have to be imported from ‘the West’ often face high charges due to delivery from afar. I have tried to address this problem with a couple of books, which I have written. My solution is outlined after the following introduction to one of my books about India:

My wife, who is a fluent Gujarati speaker, was born in Bombay. Her father’s family originated in Gujarat and her mother’s in the former Princely State of Kutch, which became part of the State of Gujarat after India became independent.

Both my wife and I have visited India regularly from our home in the UK, yet neither of us had ever been to Gujarat until early in 2018. We felt that it was high time that we visited the parts of India connected with her heritage. I have published a book that describes that first trip. We did not visit everywhere in Gujarat, but the places we saw, our experiences, and the people we met ranging from autorickshaw drivers to former royalty, and our experiences, are described my book. All of these have made us want to visit the region again and to explore it further.

I have long been fascinated with tiny enclaves. I have visited places such as Andorra, San Marino, Mahe (in Kerala), Pondicherry, and Llivia (a part of Spain surrounded by France). Gujarat contains two such places, the former Portuguese colonies of Daman and Diu, territories surrounded by Gujarat but separated from it by borders. We included them on our journey and discovered that though small in area, they are filled with interest.

Gujarat was the birthplace of many celebrated persons, including Narsinh Mehta (poet), Dayanand Saraswati (philosopher), Shyamji Krishnavarma (Sanskrit scholar and freedom fighter), and politicians such as: Mahatma Gandhi, Dadabhai Naoroji, Vallabhai Patel, Morarji Desai, and Narendra Modi. Yet, undeservedly, it is a part of India less frequented by tourists than many other places in India (e.g. Goa, Kerala, Rajasthan, and the ‘Golden Triangle’). I hope that what you will read in this travelogue will whet your appetite and encourage you to make plans to visit Gujarat.

The idea of my book is to unwrap the attractions of Gujarat to make them better known to those who have not yet visited this region of India.

What I have written above is to introduce you to a book I published in 2018 with the title “TRAVELS THROUGH GUJARAT, DAMAN, and DIU”. This book is available from on-line booksellers such as lulu.com, Amazon, and bookdepository.com. When you buy my books from these suppliers, they are produced in Europe or the USA and then shipped to the buyer. If they are bought by people living in India, their prices become very large (in comparison with average Indian book costs) because of additional postal charges. For example, TRAVELS THROUGH GUJARAT, DAMAN, and DIU can cost up to 1500 Indian Rupees (‘INR’) and another book, which I have recently published, “IDEAS, BOMBS, and BULLETS” can cost purchasers in India over 800 INR.

To make my books more affordable in India and priced at a rate closer to comparably sized books in the Indian market, I have re-published the two books mentioned above with an Indian print on demand outfit called pothi.com. The travel book has been revised and I hope improved. I have renamed it “GUJARAT UNWRAPPED”. My book about Indian patriots in early twentieth century London, “IDEAS, BOMBS, and BULLETS” retains its original name.

When ordered through pothi.com and delivered in India, GUJARAT UNWRAPPED is priced at 296 INR (plus minimal postage) and IDEAS, BOMBS, and BULLETS comes to 395 INR (plus minimal postage).

To order GUJARAT UNWRAPPED FROM POTHI.COM,

click: https://pothi.com/pothi/book/adam-yamey-gujarat-unwrapped

To order IDEAS, BOMBS, and BULLETS FROM POTHI.COM,

click: https://pothi.com/pothi/book/adam-yamey-ideas-bombs-and-bullets

IMPORTANT:

It is worth nothing that purchasers ordering the books from pothi.com BUT not having their books delivered in India, face huge postage charges.

 

 

 

A suitcase of memories

Memories of childhood. Here is the introduction to a travel book, “CHARLIE CHAPLIN WAVED TO ME”, which I published several years ago:

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The attic of my parents’ house in north London contained a number of old Revelation suitcases. These were plastered with ageing colourful paper stickers bearing the names of shipping lines and also of places such as: Cape Town, Southampton, Harwich, New York, Montreal, and Rotterdam. Had they been animate and able to speak, what tales they would have been able to tell!

If, as a child, I had become a suitcase, I too would have been covered with an exotic assortment of stickers including some of those mentioned above. But, I did not become a piece of baggage, and the stickers that I carry are not made of paper. Instead, they are memories stuck in various compartments of my brain. Unlike the inanimate objects in the attic in the eaves of our house, I am able to speak: to divulge my impressions of the places that I visited in my childhood; to describe the remarkable people I met in those places; and to reveal the unusual experiences that resulted from travelling with my learned father and my talented mother.

This book contains my memories of the holidays and trips that I took with my parents, mostly during the first eighteen years of my life. They are worth relating because they differed markedly from the kinds of holidays that most people took during the 1960s and 1970s. Rather than exposing their children to the sun on the beach, my parents preferred to expose my sister and me to cultural experiences that, they hoped, would benefit us in the future. This was due to my father’s great interest in the history of art, which resulted from my mother being an artist. Whereas now I appreciate what they did for me then, I did not always do so at the time.

Please join me now as I examine the stickers in my memory – the souvenirs of many years gone past. Let them reveal to you how interesting school holidays can be even if they only include the rarest of glimpses of the sea and an almost total absence of ‘child-friendly’ activities.

These memories of my childhood travels are illustrated with photographs, all of which were taken by me or with one of my own cameras unless otherwise stated. I was given my first simple camera when I was about 6 or 7 years old. It was not given to me by my parents, who never took photographs, but by my uncle Sven who was a keen photographer. His grandfather had been a pioneer of professional photography, as I will describe below. I will begin my narrative by choosing a label that could have been pasted on to my suitcase of reminiscences during the late 1950s or any time in the 1960s. It bears the name “Soho”. I have chosen it amongst all of the others because it provides a good introduction to my mother, who affected so much of what we did as a family and what will be related in this book.

 

CHARLIE CHAPLIN WAVED TO ME

(ISBN: 9781291845051)

is available at:

Amazon, bookdepository.com, lulu.com , and on Kindle

Bookshelf nonsense

bookshelf

Here is something based on an idea I saw posted on Facebook. I took a photo of some paperback books, which have been randomly piled up on a shelf for ages, and using their titles I composed the following:

GOD’S SECRET AGENTS reveal that LENI has MORE LIVES THAN ONE. 

RED PLENTY aka RED PRINCESS uses JITTERBUG PERFUME when visiting WOLF

HALL or escaping from THE SINGAPORE GRIP

 

 

Bachelor of Arts

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Rasipuram Krishnaswamier (‘RK’) Iyer Narayan (1905-2001) was born in Madras (now ‘Chennai’) in southern India. He was a prolific writer of fiction and non-fiction. Many of his fictional works are set in the imaginary southern Indian town called Malgudi. Until recently when I bought a copy of “Bachelor of Arts” (first published in 1937 when India was ruled by the British), I had never read any of Narayan’s works. 

“Bachelor of Arts” is a delightful simply told tale about a young man, Chandran, whom we meet while he is completing his BA degree. We follow his life’s strangely interesting path after he graduates until he … well, I won’t give away the story. Despite the simplicity and clarity of the story telling, Narayan subtly changes the mood of the story as it progresses. I liked the way he did this. Another interesting aspect of this novel is the gentle way in which the author criticises the British imprerialistic attitude. I was also excited by the way Narayan, an Indian, portrays the ‘Indian-ness’ of his characters. As Grahame Greene wrote of Narayan in the introduction to the edition I read:

Without him I could never have known what it is like to be Indian.”

I agree wholeheartedly with what Greene wrote. I plan to read more of Narayan’s works as “Bachelor of Arts” has whetted my apetite successfully.