Two reviews

A self-absorbed prologue (skip down if you only want reviews ;)):

I rarely write reviews, here or elsewhere. It takes more immediate thought and depth of perception than I am willing to spare for most of what I come across. I like talking about books and movies, but that is about all. Beyond that, I cannot summarize what I read nor answer the question “What are you reading lately?” with a simple title or two. It is easier to say what I am remembering, what words from books or movies or songs I stumbled over previously are most resonant with my present. Two recent encounters led me to write this down, though, and so, here goes:

Not quite magic

Perhaps obviously, the last Harry Potter movie. Perhaps equally obviously, I didn’t like it very much. None of the movies lived up to my connections with the books, though I could never quite put my finger on why as precisely as I could with this last film.

As the better part of two hours flew past on the wings of albino dragons and suits of armor coming alive, the finale was met only with an insipid, not quite heartfelt, “Does it hurt to die?” In my imagination, this is the point where the 17 year old turns to childhood once more and resurrected ghosts offer more solidity than the giant trees that surround him, where the man who has done more than most ever dream of is faced with the last great fear common to Muggle and Wizard alike. On the screen, I see a marginally annoying teenager displaying neither emotion nor much else.

I didn’t quite "grow up" with Harry Potter, reading the first book when I was 15 and the rest along the way. But like my connection with books I particularly love, I remember each encounter like a meeting with a loved set of friends, and could blabber endlessly about personal connections with each one, how I stumbled across the books before most people had even heard of them(Imagine a time when you could walk into a bookstore and ask for the third HP book and be met with “Huh?”)and much more.

Most importantly, like so many other kids/adults fumbling through life, I’ve practiced the spells with Harry and Hermione and the rest. I’ve cast personal Patronus spells at anxious interviews and Riddikulus-ed away nightmares in the dark. I have learned that to use an unforgivable curse, you must mean it, that to transform a mouse into a teacup you must be able to visualize it first.

The books, you see, were never about the magic alone. They were as much about allegory and myth and growing up and finding strength as they were about learning to cast a powerful spell. The real magic was the people in the stories, not the things they did. And the movie, though well-made for a film, fails to capture that. The movie is about the fireworks and the effects, not the maturing of character and subtleties that captured my heart the first time around. It’s like licking the icing off a cake. Though I won’t say no to the icing, I prefer savoring the layers.

Magically real

And secondly, am I the last person to be reading Shantaram? I tend to avoid over-hyped books, especially when they are ‘sold’ to me by eager wannabe intellectualists over late-night bar conversations. And biased as I am in my views, I tend to be wary of books about India. But this- it is rich and layered and magical and familiar, Bombay in my eyes as I read his words. Street-smells rise off the pages and I almost feel the rickety bus and the weight of my bags as I hold them tight. Colaba streets and night-time by the Arabian sea and the ease with which the words flow. The humor reminds me of the cleverness I love about Salman Rushdie, every few lines I come across a turn of phrase or a sentence that makes me want to grab the words out and wave them on a banner that shouts, “Look at this!” and the love that seeps through the words keeps me turning the pages. Even only a few chapters in, I am hooked. And even if the rest of the book disappoints, this I would come back to.