Stories of Eva Luna by Isabel Allende

[Translated from the Spanish by Margaret Sayers Peden]

Rating: 3 ½ Stars

Chilean writer Isabel Allende shot into prominence with the publication of The House of the Spirits based on her own family, and the political history of her native country. She was the niece of Salvatore Allende, who was the President of Chile. After his assassination in 1973, Allende and her family took asylum in Venenzuela. Her writing is marked by the use of magic realism. Magic Realism is characterized as the use of fantastical or mythical elements in an otherwise realistic narrative, and an impartially matter-of-fact tone is used in describing both the probable and the fanciful.

“…She set the tray on the floor and for the first time in more than forty years knocked on his door.

‘How many times have I told you not to bother me,’ the judge protested in a reedy voice.

‘I’m sorry, dear, I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to die.’

‘When?’

‘On Friday.’

‘Very well.’ The door did not open.

As literary styles go, it takes a little getting used to.

The Stories of Eva Luna is a collection of twenty-three piquant tales told by the narrator at the behest of her lover. While the setting is firmly established in unnamed South American lands, the characters who populate these stories seem to have stepped out of fable and folk-lore, so surreal are their actions and motivations. Yet, they are oddly compelling. Even if readers, more attuned to Anglo-Saxon prose find themselves disoriented at first; very soon, we may find ourselves capitulating like Patricia in ‘Gift for a Sweetheart’ – we’re simply transfixed by the bizarre, yet fascinating spectacle of humanity paraded before us.

There are recurrent themes that thread through these narratives. Political persecution and dictatorial regimes form the backdrop for many of them. The decimation and exploitation of the native population, and the pillaging of the land by the non-ethnic races is frequently alluded to. Violence and lawlessness are rife; and yet, there is no ugliness in the telling. This lack of ugliness is in fact disturbing. The most vicious and reprehensible acts are recounted in a tone that is either dreamy or uninflected.

There are far too many tales of older men preying on teenagers. Living as we do in an age of media over-exposure to child abuse, we have been conditioned to an instinctive repudiation of ‘artistic’ attempts at casting girl-children in a Lolitaesque light. ‘Wicked Girl’, about a pre-adolescent’s sexual awakening could have  readers twitching with discomfort. To a startling degree, women seem to live their lives ardently worshiping at the altar of their own voluptuousness.

Perhaps this lack of inhibition with regard to social taboos is merely a cultural difference. It requires some mental adjustments for those to whom the reality seems less magical, and more distorted. However, though the book is pervaded by a humid sensuality, it seems to be a projection of longings that express through the body, but originate in the heart, and that is the essence of these tales – the human heart, in all its twisted, lambent, mysterious glory.

Malgudi Days by R.K. Narayan

Rating: 4 Stars

“I am often asked, ‘Where is Malgudi?’…If I explain that Malgudi is a small town in South India I shall only be expressing a half-truth, for the characteristics of Malgudi seem to me universal.” 

On the literary scene, much is made of the ‘art of writing’. So much so, that the humbler art of story-telling is shoved into a corner. No doubt terrific writers have emerged from India, and much fanfare has been accorded to the wordy edifices of the hyper-literate Rushdies and Roys. Yet, I would think that they represent but one facet of a land, where more than seventy percent of the population live in villages or small towns. Perhaps a truer spokesman for the country would be R.K. Narayan (1906-2001), whose gentle satire, ironic humor, and homespun wisdom reaches beyond boundaries to touch the common heart of humanity.

Certainly, Narayan’s collection of short stories in ‘Malgudi Days’ also hints at the exotic India of popular imagination, with its tales of persistent tigers, music-loving snakes, crafty charlatans, and, a people who philosophically submit themselves to the vagaries of an impartial fate. But the characters themselves will be immediately recognizable, whether it’s the lonely bachelor who sees his wispy dreams of blissful family life evaporate in the strong light of reality; or, the resentful wage-slave banging his head against a prison of his own making.

Malgudi itself is a fictional town, set in the southern part of India. It’s girt by a river called Sarayu, and lies near hills named Mempi, with a Tamil-speaking populace. But for an imaginary place, it emblazons itself in the memory with its intricate detailing of roads, buildings and landmarks. It’s a town abundantly inhabited by richly described people, animals, and vegetation. It doesn’t just come alive in the imagination, it takes it over completely. 

There are two prominent moods that pervade Narayan’s writing; one is a gentle melancholy. The other is a wry sense of comedy. Most of Narayan’s characters are unsophisticated folk – lowly clerks, gardeners, knife-sharpeners, cobblers or artisans. There is also the genteel scholar or civil servant, and the occasional social luminary.  Each without exception, stand as much chance of meeting a comic turn, or a tragic mishap. In the eyes of Malgudi’s detached creator, they are each equally vulnerable, ridiculous, and forgivable. 

For to Narayan, absurdity is the condition of being human. We are all, if not the victims, at least the playthings of a curious yet dispassionate destiny, that is as interested in watching us twitch, as watching us dance. Ultimately, R.K. Narayan’s stories are not about individuals, but the awareness of being a minute bubble of consciousness in the vast, silent space of the Universe.

Marrying Off Mother and Other Stories by Gerald Durrell

Rating: 3 Stars

The British are famous for one kind of humor, but then there is also another, which is somewhat …less dry. Gerald Durrell’s boisterous stories are each one a rollicking madcap farce. His delight in the absurd will not be new to readers who are acquainted with his memoirs of his early years in Corfu, and his wildly unconventional and ever entertaining family.

This book, Marrying Off Mother, is (mostly) a collection of humorous stories detailing his travels, peopled by a host of oddball characters parading a dazzling array of eccentricities. Durrell’s richly colorful language invokes images dripping with vividness. Here’s his description of ‘Miz’ Magnolia –

“…like a thread of smoke clad in chiffon and scent, tinkling with jewels, fragile as a will-o’-the-wisp, blue eyes big as saucers, the delicate skin of her throat hanging down like victory banners of her successful survival.”

            Whether he’s trying to understand the intricate social order of the American South, or attempting to find the wellsprings of mirth in his earnest young German friend, Durrell’s sense of humor is always revelatory of a robust exultation in the quirks of humans, not to mention animals. His description of the truffle-hunting porker, Esmeralda, has a tenderness and detail that an Art Historian might reserve for a Renaissance Madonna.

            Like many other humorists, there is an undercurrent of tragedy in his work too. There are certainly some examples of those here; and then, there is the macabre “The Jury”, that’s startlingly reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe.

            ‘Fact’ is a thorny issue when it comes to memoirs. There are some stories here that seem to lack first person authenticity, and some that are decidedly suspect. Could they all possibly be true? The author makes a charming disclaimer about that at the beginning of the book. After all, lying is one thing, but creatively fictionalizing the truth? Well, that’s the art of writing.

            One disadvantage that a humorist faces is that our idea of ‘funny’ changes with time. While Gerald Durrell might find feather-brained females amusing, today’s readers might be able to relate to it on the same level as Marilyn Monroe’s dumb blonde act - it’s dated. There are other wince-worthy moments too - perhaps in some distant era, one could have looked at the enabling of alcoholics, and the antics of pedophile priests with an indulgent eye. Now, we’re merely embarrassed for the writer.

            Comics are hardly ever politically correct, but in one way, Gerald Durrell was way ahead of his times. All his life, he was an animal lover; and most of his adult life, he was a zoologist and conservationist, championing the rights of “the great voteless and voiceless majority”. Much of the profits from his books went towards supporting his cause – the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust.