Rogerson's Book of Numbers: Impressions

It's hard to review works of non-fiction, especially if they're the kind that pack in trivia. But I am compelled to write some words of glowing praise for this wonderful book called Rogerson's Book of Numbers. I picked it from from the Mumbai airport and it was easily one of my best buys for 2013. Author Barnaby Rogerson collects numerical gems from around the world, across all possible subjects to compile this fantastic go-to book about numbers.

When William Dalrymple testifies for it as a book that is 'Dangerously addictive, wonderfully witty and crazily wide-ranging and erudite,' he doesn't lie. The Book of Numbers totally hijacked my time and made me put down another book I had just started. It doesn't help that I am a student of mythology and feel compelled to devour any information that is related to the subject. But this book has numerical references from not only mythology, but also literature, religion, popular culture, politics, sports, cinema, superstition and more!

The author starts with the largest numbers and goes down to zero, presenting fascinating insights into the culture of many a place through the stories about numbers. It is quite the perspective changer, when one reads about the the vastly different associations a number has in different cultures. A number that is considered unlucky in Europe, for example, might be thought of as auspicious in China. The book is full of eye-opening facts and a treasure trove of number-facts.

A work that is surely the outcome of painstaking research, The Book of Numbers is a worthy addition to your bookshelf, whatever your area of interest. Its crisp style and easy indexing makes the book a handy little guide. And with the little glimpses it offers into an array of interesting subjects, it will lead the reader on to greater discoveries.

Buy it.

My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk: Impressions

This last day of February, I risked getting late to work. I walked around the house frenetically, preparing my bath things, putting out my clothes, bumping into furniture, eyeing the clock, panicking, yet continuing to read the last few pages of Orhan Pamuk's multiple literary award-winning novel, 'My Name is Red'. It had to be finished today because I started reading this damned book in the beginning of January! When I say 'damned', I mean eloquent, I mean grandiose, I mean grandiloquent, and I mean all of those fancy adjectives. Even so, had I taken any longer than two months to finish it, I would have to shamefully walk around with a brown paper bag over my head.

It should not take two months to finish, but 'My Name is Red' is by no means an easy book. It is an exotic thriller, a study in language and a smallish history of Islamic art, all at the same time. Sometimes one loses patience, when Pamuk takes his time to weave into the plot minor stories from Islamic folklore and literature, but he is almost immediately forgiven for the wealth of knowledge and beauty flowing from his pen. These micro story clusters, usually in threes, are chewy, sweet, though not entirely indispensable. Pamuk uses these tales of shahs and pashas, artists and miniaturists, dervishes and lovers in the old school style of fables, richly texturing his plot. Every word, every turn of phrase has been artfully chosen by the writer so it resembles the coloured yet troubled world of artists.

The artists, heroes and villains of this book are all miniaturists belonging to the Ottoman Empire. Caught between their loyalties to olden Herat masters and new and lucrative Frankish techniques offering recognition and fame, these miniaturists live in times of intense turmoil. Working together, yet individually, on a secret book commissioned by the Sultan, they are pitted against each other. Jealousy, rivalry and suspicion lead to the murder of one of the miniaturists by another, and the drama begins to unfold.

The principal characters are the murdered miniaturist, Elegant Effendi; the royal workshop head, Master Osman; the co-ordinator of Sulatan's book, Enishte Effendi (who is also murdered along the way); his nephew, Black Effendi; his daughter, Shekure; Esther, the Jewish clothier and matchmaker; and three other master miniaturists, nicknamed Olive, Stork and Butterfly. It is known to the reader that one of this trio is the murderer, but Pamuk carefully conceals his identity till the end. 

The narrative is done through each of these characters, and there's a breathtaking change of perspective with every successive chapter. A narrative of this style is quite unlike anything I've ever read before. The chapters are simply titled 'I, (character name)', so the reader knows easily whose voice he is hearing. Pamuk slips effortlessly from the mantle of a murdered to an artist, to a woman to a man. There are these exquisite chapters where the author even assumes the voice of a colour, an illustration or a mythological character, thus making organic the world of paints, brushes, and passion. His lines can easily be likened to brushstrokes, not big and broad, but fine like a miniaturist's. After all, it took Pamuk nearly eight years to create this masterpiece.