The Other Boleyn Girl

The Other Boleyn Girl 
  - Philippa Gregory

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Though I am always interested in history of countries and civilizations, I have to admit that my awareness in this regard is very limited. Apart from the history of India, read as a part of curriculum as well as several story books, perhaps the only other topic I have read quite a few books and articles on is WW2. Thus it is that I haven’t had much exposure to the history of monarchs and dynasties of England. I have, of course, heard/read bits about them, and these, combined with the praises I have been hearing about this book, had intrigued me for a while. This book had been on my wishlist for a very long time, and I finally got a chance to read it last week (after it spent nearly 7 months on my shelf, but in a very august company).

It lived up to the promise – despite its length (520 pages of small font), it kept me hooked, even though I had a rough idea of the story. I also liked the language – it gives the story a distinct air of the past, but is not archaic like the Victorian era works which I find very difficult to read. The atmosphere of the courts in the medieval times is brought vividly alive – the grandeur and the luxuries, whims and tyranny of kings and queens, shallow facades and empty words of the courtiers and friends, greed and sycophancy, high politics and low ethics. The story, as related by Philippa Gregory, weaves a rich tapestry of life of royalty and nobility – full of wealth and pleasure, but a life that is precariously balanced on the favor of the kings and queens. It gloriously depicts the madness inflicted by ambition or the need for survival in this world - where the royals are quick to please and easy to offend, their favor enhancing one’s power and wealth, their disfavor robbing one of everything, including their life.

For the initial one-fourth of the book, I could not help comparing it with the Taj trilogy, of which I have read two books that chronicle the life of Nurjahan - ‘The Twentieth Wife’ and ‘The Feast of Roses’ (perhaps the only other historical fiction I have read about ruling kings, which could also be the reason for comparison and similarities I found). In both cases, the king/prince falls for a woman married to one of his courtiers, even though in the case of the Mughal prince, his marital status was not an impediment, though that if his beloved was. Both were spoiled and whimsical (as perhaps all kings are), and weak in character. Both the stories had a prospective heir (in one case, the son of a mistress, in other, that of a queen) taken away by the reigning queen. Women are little more than tools of men in their quest for power, but the way men in the English court were more than willing to force the women of their family become the king’s mistress, repulsed me. Though not more than the king’s inconsiderate and insensitive manner of throwing aside his wives. It would appear that the accepted practice of polygamy spared many Mughal women the fate of wives of Henry VIII.

With all the rich imagery, the major characters are unexpectedly uni-dimensional. The king is selfish and a truant, and Anne and her uncle and parents are extremely manipulative and ruthless in ambition, and we can hate them as we are meant to. The queen, Catherine, is intelligent and gracious, and loved by her people. I admired her, though she was quite linear in her goodness. However, I could not like the character of Mary Boleyn, though I think we, as readers, are expected to sympathize with her. She is not just weak and submissive, but also quite unintelligent – she never stands up for herself and simplest of the things have to be spelt out for her. It is the portrayal of the brother, George, that I really liked – we can see multiple facets to his personality – the witty and charming courtier, affectionate brother, dutiful heir, a tormented soul who can never voice his own wishes, but who is not above cunning and manipulation. Another thing I didn’t like about the book was overly descriptive sex scenes, some of them pretty gross, particularly a brother instructing his sisters about the matter. Sex is undoubtedly a significant angle in the whole scheme of things, but I could have done without all the gory detail. It seems that in recent years, authors have been inclined to believe that any book for adult has to include scenes of physical intimacy, and in some gross detail, to make it look honest.

It is a well-written, engaging book that made me curious to find more about the history of Tudor monarchs, which I quickly did with the help of Wiki. However, I was disappointed to find that Philippa Gregory has taken so much liberty with historic facts, that we can't rely on it for accuracy of events. But if even such a widely acclaimed book as this one is factually incorrect, can we trust historic fiction to learn about history? To really know about it, one could go to the reference material, but I would not want to read drab academic books; I would enjoy a dramatized version of events. Hence arises a question - what is a good historical fiction? My preference would be for a rendition of events with drama and dialogues to make them readable and entertaining, including addition of events and characters, but without distorting the known facts.

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand 

  - Helen Simonson

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

If you are looking for a heart-warming, delightful read, Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand could be a very apt choice. It is a charming book, peppered with a liberal dose of classic British humor, hilarious and moving in turns.

At the heart of this story is an endearing tale of love, a second chance at happiness, for the elderly major Pettigrew and a second generation Pakistani lady, Mrs Ali. Major is the quintessential English gentleman - polite, reserved and rather conservative. Mrs Ali is the owner of the local grocery store - kind, well-educated and sophisticated. They are drawn to each other because of their loneliness, and their love for reading and poetry. Their relationship is etched out beautifully, capturing the feeling of loneliness in the later years of life, brought about by the loss of a partner with whom one has shared a lifetime, and a failure to find people to share one’s immeasurable grief with. The story depicts the helplessness of such a situation, uncertainties wrought about by the thought of defying conventions, and then goes on to show how a ray hope can shine through from the unlikeliest of corners, if you have the courage and conviction.

It recreates the life in a small English town, quite set and proper in its way – with tea parties and social visits, game hunting and charity activities with church, and not to forget, age-old prejudices – the kind of image we have gleaned from Agatha Christies and Enid Blytons. For once I wondered if things are still the same after nearly a century, but then conceded that it may well be so – because I think that the author will have done her research, and more so because if we ponder, the life in our old towns have not changed much either. It also shows us, quite masterfully, how changes are inevitable with time, and how people are reluctant to change something they have been practicing for decades; in their mind, this way of life gradually stops being a comfort zone and becomes a firm belief that this is indeed the best way.

There are the unavoidable clashes of class, culture and age, and what is commendable is the objective way these differences are viewed with. Both the societies – the English and the Muslim, are orthodox in their own ways, and have their own class hierarchy. The elite are unwilling to socialize with the working class, while the latter aspire to be included into the circle of the former. The younger generation does not identify with the complacent ways of the older, while the older people lament the loss of values, empathy and courtesy in the young. While most of it is true for almost any society, this book depicts it in an enchanting way.

There is quite a bit of drama, which I found acceptable for an entertaining book like this one. The bigger flaw was extremely stereotypical portrayal of quite a few characters – a couple of vacuous society ladies, Major’s insensitive and extremely materialistic son, and greedy relatives. These characters are painted in black, without a single redeemable quality (his son being utterly despicable), to the extent that you can predict all their moves. Yet, one can forgive this to an enjoyable book with a storyline that's much more enriching than the usual romance, and some endearing characters that reaffirm your faith in the generosity of human spirit.