BOOK REVIEW: FAR FROM THE EAST END by Iris Jones Simantel.

Image: amazon.co.uk

It is a compelling and layered account of the childhood and adolescence of a young girl growing up during World War II. What distinguishes this book from many other biographies is the candid yet casual trajectory of her highs and lows against a checkered, poverty-riddled backdrop, told in a wistful yet witty tenor. The importance of family and school in forming the emotional template of a child’s mind and preparing it for the journey of life is reinforced through the feelings of the narrator as she strives to express her struggle for a place and person/s to call her own. One cannot but identify at various points with the narrator as her adult retrospection is mellowed by attempts to analyse yet empathise with the constraints and considerations that were inescapable factors in her parents’ mediocre lives. Her rebellious rants against class are subtle yet stubborn in their understanding of how the best of potential in man can be subdued, stemmed and subjugated by a lack of love or lucre.

To generations born amidst war and strife, the book cannot but fail to touch a chord with its Cinderella undertones as the protagonist conquers pain and poverty to present a stolid façade to a judgemental society. However, it is to the author’s credit that at no point of time does the book either glorify poverty/war or directly descend into a pathetic critique of life and its general bleakness. Be it at home or at school or even later, at work, the protagonist finds enough variety or novelty around her to justify her renewed efforts to revitalise and review her own circumstances. Her adolescent awakening into sexuality and her unfortunate encounters with aberrations and perversions in this aspect of life is reviewed through the filter of maturity and even a certain level of detachment. Her preference of certain family members, her foster parents during the war and her future husband is so well scripted that it unconsciously yet subtly draws into it the sympathy of the reader. Through graphic description yet nuanced perspective, she resurrects in the topography of one’s imagination the violence, waste and horror of the Second World War which practically ripped London apart, literally as well as metaphorically.

As a vivid- almost at times visual- depiction of a life that shall surely inspire the individual in each of us, the book shall stay with me for a long time to come and perhaps, possibly help in the personal realization of a more generous perspective of life in the post-war age.

Sense & Sensibility : The Film (1995)

I read the novel way back in school simply for the sake of the story and then in JUDE, during my B.A., more perceptively, savouring the irony and gentle humour, the variety and quirks of character, the complex consequences of emotional and social pressures. And now, as I watch the film, I'm glad that I've been able to grasp a yet better understanding of the sense and sensibility that run like a leit motif throughout the film and endow the source with enough life to enjoy the essential timelessness of an Austen novel without subtracting anything from its substance and subtlety. For a change, the film lives upto the standards set by the novel it sought to realise, and yet, succeeds in establishing its own niche in the cinematic repertory.


After marriage, which helped to catalyse maturity in my own humble self, it is easier to empathise with the finer nuances of a well rounded temperament that Austen sought to unify in the dichotomies embodied by Elinor and Marianne. The conflicting but necessary qualities of restraint and spontaneity, reserve and romanticism, prudence and passion, are reconciled by their being nurtured in equal amounts in one's self so that one knows how/when to choose to exercise the most appropriate emotion. It may seem or sound artificial, as if one should react to life rather than fashioning one's own fate for oneself. But on much reflection, I consider that circumstances in life, particularly the character and intentions of other people being far beyond the abilies of our mostly well meaning selves to manoeuvre, it does make sense to be at least in control of what we ourselves can or may make of them. Willoughby's expectations from life or Edward's past are areas that lie beyond the veil of the narrative environs, but Marianne's poignant attempts to translate Shakespearean idealism into reality or Elinor's efforts at altruism are plausibly controllable, despite narcissistic extremisms mirrored in the respectively mean, mercenary or mundane orientations of Fanny Dashwood, Lucy Steele or Charlotte Palmer. Life can still be started anew, fortified by a Blakean experience embodied in Colonel Brandon or comforted by the commitment evidenced in Edward's actions or nurtured by the cheering knowledge of possessing meaningful friends and neighbours like Mrs Jennings or Mr Palmer. Elinor and Marianne recognise what they respectively lack just in time to retrieve their respective selves from anguish and disillusionment and revise their lessons of life with greater wisdom and worth. Theirs is a realistic reassessment of life, reinforcing not the negative quality of resignation but rather the positive one of reconciliation.


As for histrionic skills, the film boasts a quality cast, of which the finest and most heartwarming would easily be Emma Thompson as Elinor Dashwood. Understated and subtle, she delivers an outstanding performance. If her unforgettable "Don't leave me alone..." at Marianne's impending death stirs the very soul with the intangible fear and horror of imminent self confrontation, her emotional outbursts before Marianne after Edward's past becomes public property, and finally towards the end, when Edward shocks the Dashwoods with the assertion of his self-imposed bachelorhood, are too subtle to arrest in words. They must be watched and felt for oneself to gauge the totality of their impact. Winslet is brilliant as the vivacious and effervescent Marianne, impulsive and irrational, coy and coquettish, rash and remorseful, beautifully in sync with the demands of the changing storyline. Hugh Grant brings the somewhat colourless Edward to remarkable life with his own brand of beatification, the very personification of shyness and simplicity, confusion and charm, chivalry and courtesy. Alan Rickman, essaying the role of Colonel Brandon, stirs and shakes with his portrayal of the reserved and refined man who stands as stolidly as a lighthouse by the women he loves, come snow or shine. Hugh Laurie renders a memorable cameo as the astringent yet sensitive Mr Palmer while Harriet Walter arouses just the right amount of revulsion in the audience with her manipulative moves and calculated courtesies. Greg Wise manages to do justice to the pivotal role of Willoughby, the sincere lover with an insencere temperament. Imogen Stubbs does a wonderful job of realising the mercenary minded Lucy Steele while Elizabeth Spriggs gives the right finishing touches to the benign matriarch Mrs Jennings. Emilie Francois is a mini sensation, adding truth and tangibility to the fragile Victorian microcosm with her abrupt allusions to geographic entities and the destructive dimensions of gossip mongering that loom large beyond the sheltering horizons of home and family. Her abrupt reference to the characteristics of the weather renders just enough comic distraction to relieve the evidently strained atmosphere within Barton Cottage precipitated by Edward's unexpected arrival and herald a season of hope and harmony.

Be it Shakespeare's sonnets or Marianne's mellifluous piano recitals, the characteristically fickle British rainfall or the sudden shift of scene midway to London, each play their respective parts to perfection in helping the story to progress and drawing out the attributes of the highly individualised characters. The film is an iridescent collage of sorts that cleverly complements and highlights one of the best samples of Austen's craftmanship.

Making an effort...

Have finally taken Barnali's advice and emailed a couple of poems to a couple of e-magazines of a good standard and reputation. Have also mustered enough courage to send a photograph I took to another e-magazine of a slightly more multifaceted nature. Am keeping my fingers crossed.

Tried my own version of rajma yesterday night as K was dead tired, having had a long day at work. It didn't taste as good as the one K prepares, more so as I decided to experiment with it, leaving the methi out at the end. I think I'll leave this particular dish to K, in future.

We've been watching 'Oye Lucky Lucky Oye' in instalments (we are so lazy, OMG) over the past two days. Couldn't care less whether it turns out to be a hit or a flop. It's racy and ridiculous and roaring fun. Am loving it !

Am reading Coetzee's 'Slow Man'. I have a bit of trouble concentrating when a concrete plot goes abstract, but then, having read 'Foe' during my MA has managed not to totally unnerve me. Plan to finish it soon. Hope it ends as brilliantly as the other novel did. I remember having been impressed enough to churn out an appreciably large term paper on 'Foe' for our PoCo classes. I must have been really inspired, now that I think about it.

A huge heap of weekly shopping illustrateds await my inspection. This time, there's also a Holiday Gifts Special booklet from Walmart. I guess their Christmas is equivalent to our Durga Pujo. In terms of meaningfulness, I mean. I just realised my vocabulary is getting limited. Must catch up on my reading. The more you read, the better you write, I've always noticed.

Jhinuk has written a funny post on Srinwanti's orkut-related problems on our group blog. Had fun reading it. To think Srin hadn't know so long how to change her profile photo when we people have been vain enough to change ours several times in a week itself. Come on Srin, all you need is just ask ! LOL.

Have been GTalking with Ma and Mitu for the third day in a row now. Am on top of the world. Nothing like family gossip to cheer you up when you're alone at home.

Took some new photos of this place (home) and uploaded them on orkut (where else? !). They look much better, now that (1) we have a few more things to fill up the rooms and (2)I had the intelligence to use the flash.

Rony-Tanima and Pintu have finally been able to see both the photos and videos of Siddhant that we took during our recent trip to Atlanta. Picasa seems to have introduced a new set of options in terms of album accessibility. Well, at least they made sense to me. What with the new Gmail themes, introduction of video chat by Google and now this, I love the very name of Google. Oh, and I even managed to locate our block in Salt Lake in Google Maps. The place has finally received its due in the virtual world. Hurrah !

Film and fiction plus a rainy day

We got our new numberplates on Saturday and I came home while K got the car inspection done at a govt-authorised private inspection centre, dropping me off on our way back from the dealer's centre at Raritan. I prepared lunch, a simple repast really but a rather gloomy one, if you take the weather into consideration. The latter is becoming moodier by the day, so that we are rolling our trackpants into shorts one evening and freezing under the comforter while watching TV, the very next day. And it's not really so bad unless it's raining. Then it's properly depressing. It makes you just want to go back to bed, wanting to wake up to a clear blue sky, lush greenery and sunshine streaming onto your warm face. Anyway, we settled down to watch a movie after that. 'Shoot on Sight' seemed rather cliched in terms of storyline and slow in terms of narrative progression, so we moved onto something more light and lively, namely 'EMI'. Unfortunately, the last part didn't seem to be available but what the heck...we got to watch the film first day, first show (well, not exactly perhaps, but it felt like that) and we liked it. Or as much of it as was within our access. Of course, we were lucky enough to locate the last part the very next day. It was a bit of a letdown. The slowly and smartly built up quartet of drama and crises seemed to resolve itself all too hurriedly, so that what was gained in terms of time was definitely lost in terms of credibility and audience satisfaction.

That reminds me. I've been reading a collection of 5 Agatha Christie novels entitled: ' Murderers Abroad' : Five Complete Novels'. Three of these novels (They Came to Baghdad, So Many Steps to Death and Passenger to Frankfurt) run concurrently on a fairly complicated plot against a bizarre backdrop, anarchy and conspiracy in and around the times of the post-cold war and in the sombre aftermath of the first world war. One motif is strangely similar, the inconspicuous - because plain and naive looking - woman getting to the bottom of it all by simply letting the villainous lot interpret her in the most obvious manner, thereby underestimating the worth of her solid common sense. This struck a chord with me as it reminded me of several instances when my mother/sister or a certain friend insisted on a particular person or incident making them feel uneasy and I had just shrugged it off as nerves. They were almost always annoyingly right. Whereas my father always overlooked these gut feelings, dismissing them as feminine fears and now K seems to do the same, as if concrete evidence could always account for something that later goes irretrievably wrong. I think all these people (the nervy ones) might have one thing in common, the fine power of perception combined with an instinct for survival that unconsciously alerts them to a potential crisis , thereby making it easier to react to people and situations who/that may be too opaque to the rest of us, futilely trying to balance the logical and the lyrical.

I never respected the Kolkata weather until I had to be at the rceiving end of snowfall in Oct and minus temperatures dropping sharply in Nov. Titai, my nonod informs me that it's still hot and humid there and that's a saving grace when you consider all the successive outdoor festivities, where the weather does make a marked difference to the extent people do or do not enjoy themselves. Here it's a bit scary as influenza is secretly at large and flu shots have been made available at your nearest pharmacy for $30.

It's tough if you have long hair. You get dandruff both when you wash it and it doesn't dry fast due to lack of sunshine and even when you don't wash it often enough. It's just a matter of choosing what type of dandruff you'd rather have. The hairfall is equal for both dry and oily dandruff, by the way, FYI. I was all for cropping my hair short and growing it back after winter here, which would mean post-March (post-April, if I'm singularly unfortunate). It wasn't a happy thought, considering the frustratingly long time my hair took to reach the mid-back length and I was petrified at the thought of all the oiling, shampooing, conditioning, seruming and hair-spaing I would have to do to regain the lost treasure...er, I mean tresses. K was traumatised at the very notion of re-trimming my hair (I had subjected him to that torture a month and a half back) and bought me a hair-dryer at the very next opportunity. Now, I wash my hair twice a week and dry it immediately afterwards. It seems I might not go bald after all.

We also watched 'The Omen' on Saturday evening. This was my latest sortie into the arena of apocalyptic reel fiction and I must admit that it was scary enough to satisfy my gargantuan appetite for the supernatural in Christian religious mythology. It took me back to my 'Exorcist', 'End of Days' and 'Stigmata' period, which I didn't recall with much nostalgia until now. I guess I haven't paid my preferences much of their dues. But I think I can afford to do that now, with a 100 mb/sec net connection at my service. I love the thought of being scared !!!