Author: T. Akhtar

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Review: Home Before Dark

Rating: 4 Stars

Finally, Riley Sager gets it right! After complaining many times about the ending of his books, I feel like this time he has finally managed to get the right mix. Home Before Dark combines horror, thriller and twists, while keeping it this side of believable. I want to give an extra star for that climax. I had been waiting for something like this from Sager for the longest time.

Home Before Dark sees Maggie Holt return to the house of her childhood. She had spent only 20 days with her parents in this house before they all ran away leaving everything behind. It is famously known as the House of Horrors. There are ghosts in this house. Or so the book says, and Maggie’s parents insist. Maggie herself has very different views about the book that ruined her life.

When her father dies, leaving Maggie the sole owner of a haunted house that she didn’t even know he still owned, Maggie decides to go back to the house. She needs to find out herself what actually happened there. The notoriety of the book has made the whole town suffer. There are people who are not happy that a Holt is back in residence in the cursed house.

As soon as Maggie steps foot on the grounds of the property, strange things start happening. It looks like history is repeating itself. Soon, Maggie starts doubting her own convictions as the house seems to come alive just like it says in the book. It is as if her father wrote the truth, and not a fabrication that Maggie has always believed it to be. And suddenly Maggie is afraid that the truth might be worse than fiction, just like her father warned her.

I like the whole premise and the setting of this book, with the big spooky house surrounded by rambling woods, waiting to devour people. What I can never get behind, is a stupid protagonist taking unnecessary risks. It was hard for me to like Maggie, even if I loved the book overall. She comes across as quite stupid and willing to walk into danger knowingly.

Still, dumb protagonist notwithstanding, Home Before Dark is interesting, if a bit boring and slow in the middle. The climax packs a real punch and rounds off the book nicely, though I did guess the culprit as soon as they came to the house!

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Review: The Chestnut Man

Rating: 4 Stars

The Chestnut Man by Søren Sveistrup reminds me of why I love crime thrillers more than psychological or domestic thrillers. The adrenaline rush of going after a serial killer, and learning about their motivation, is something else altogether. Police procedurals are so much more intriguing than any other kind of fiction, and Nordic thrillers are the best.

The press has given the name The Chestnut Man to a killer who is terrorizing the suburbs of Copenhagen. This killer leaves behind a chestnut doll near the victims. Theses victims have been severely tortured and have had their hands sawed off.

The police discovers a fingerprint on the chestnuts; that of a girl kidnapped and presumed dead a year ago. Her abductor is in custody, having confessed to the crime.

Naia Thulin is investigating the murders and doesn’t care much for the partner assigned to her. Europol sent mark Hess back to Copenhagen as a punishment, and he doesn’t want to stick around for too long. He is happy to let Thulin handle the case without getting too involved himself.

As dead bodies increase, so does Hess’s interest and Thulin’s determination to solve the case. However, not everyone is happy with what the two are uncovering. With little support from their own department, Thulin and Hess are in a race against time and a serial killer to save the next victim, and figure out the killer’s connection to the missing girl, the daughter of the Minister for Social Affairs, Rosa Hartung.

The story is so fast paced and interesting. Pages just fly by and before you know it, you have finished the 500 page book. There is of course, the blood and gore that has become a trademark for this genre, and it only makes things more sinister, and the odds stacked against the protagonists. The overall atmosphere is dark and gloomy, and the setting is late October and autumn, which ties in with the theme of chestnuts and dark nights.

The identity of the killer is a real surprise, and so much more satisfying than who I was thinking it was! Saying anything more would give away the story and take away all the fun. Overall, I would say that this is one book that all fans of crime and Nordic Noir should definitely read.

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Review: The Guest List

Rating: 3.5 Stars

Finally, a good book after so many mediocre ones! I didn’t have many expectations from The Guest List by Lucy Foley. I hadread The Hunting Party and didn’t find it too impressive. My opinion was reinforced when I realised that this book followed the same format, going back and forth in time, and with multiple perspectives. However, it hooked me from the start. I managed to finish it in two sittings, even with all the interruptions.

The story is nothing new. We have all read murder mysteries where the characters are all stuck in a place and the killer is one of them. Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None and Murder On The Orient Express, Shari Lapena’s An Unwanted Guest, and Lucy Foley’s own The Hunting Party are all based on this same premise. Still The Guest List manages to hold its own and tells a pretty engagung tale.

A remote Irish island is the site for a high-profile wedding. People say that this island brings bad luck. The bride is a force of nature who doesn’t let anything come in her way; the groom is a handsome heartthrob who has never set a foot wrong. As their friends and families gather to celebrate their nuptials, it becomes apparent that some of them are not as happy for them as they seem.

It turns out that everyone is harbouring secrets that can have explosive consequences. Yet, the bride is in no mood to let anything come in the way of her perfect wedding. The groom, while not too keen on gathering everyone together, goes along with the flow to keep the peace. As the story progresses, it is evident that it really wasn’t a good idea to invite some of the guests!

The identity of the deceased is not revealed till the last quarter of the book. As you read on, every single person seems to have a motive to kill the other. The setting is bleak and gloomy, with a bog and a cemetery thrown in for effect. There are so many similarities to The Hunting Party here that you can’t help but think of this book as a better version of the previous one.

The climax is satisfying, and for once, not dragged unnecessarily. Sometimes it is best to leave things be and not spoil them with epilogues. The only thing that bothers me about the book is all the coincidences that seem to have been written so that the reader will have no sympathy with the dead person. Even a couple of instances were enough to let us know that the deceased was no angel, there was hardly any need to make them into a movie villian!

Over all, The Guest List is a good thriller that keeps you glued till the end.

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Sunday Disaster Story: The Over-Smart Blogger

A few days ago, I received some unexpected help from a well-wisher who had nothing to gain. She gave me some valuable advice and provided resources to help make my blog better. Before that, I used to update blog posts without giving any thought to numbers, or tracking the audience. No one had ever guided me in this way, mostly because I never bothered to ask for help.

It would have been fine if I had just followed her advice and refrained from trying to act over-smart myself! Unfortunately, I am not that person. So, as it happened, I decided to make my blog a bit more professional by switching the hosting platform. Previously, I had been held back because it seemed like a lot of money and it was my first time writing a blog. Now, I had 2 years’ worth of experience, and I thought I might as well try to increase my reach. Big mistake.

I’m not an IT person. Whatever I know about software is from 20 years ago I think, and a bigger person would have realized their shortcomings. Me, I thought what could be so difficult about it, and proceeded to implement my plan. Within 2 minutes, I managed to work out how to backup my work and copy it onto the new blog. So far, so good.

I registered with the new host, and somehow got it into my head that everything will run smoothly and I will never even know the difference. Then something happened, and I erased the whole original website, wiped it off the face of the internet! And try as I might, I couldn’t get the new version to work properly. I was in hysterics. It felt like 2 years worth of my work just went down the drain, and nothing was left anymore.

It took 2 days of banging my head against my laptop to finally get some semblance of a blog. My biggest achievement was that I managed to retain the previous data. I had written some 110 plus blog posts, all with pictures and proper categories and tagging. Thankfully, most of it was intact. I did lose all the pictures and am still in the process of attaching new ones to the posts, but by and large, the old blog posts are still intact.

For the last 5-6 days, I have been trying to learn the inner workings of this new blog, and I can’t say that I have been too successful. The images are giving me a lot of trouble, and I keep messing up the software by tinkering with its inner workings. I look up fixes and try to implement them. Sometimes it backfires, while other times I’m just unaware of what I have managed to meddle with.

I’m getting so much data feedback that I don’t understand at all, and I’m forced to think if it was worth all that trouble? Perhaps not. But I did learn a valuable lesson: if you want to go head-to-head with your software, find a comfortable place to sit. Your butt will be very thankful.

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Review: Mythos

Rating: 3.5 Stars

When it comes to humour, Stephen Fry is one of the big names. Be it Black Adder or Jeeves & Wooster or A Bit of Fry & Laurie, he has always tickled my funny bone. Then there are his narrations that are as famous as his comedy. All this, and the man is also a best selling author, Mythos and Heroes being proof of that? Is there anything that he can’t do? So, it should be clear from the start that I have a bit of a bias towards him, and there is no denying that he deserves every bit of this adulation.

Mythos is a retelling of the Greek myths that have been popular for centuries. We have all heard these myths in one form or another, at some point in time. Which leads us to ask the question: why read something that we already know? I don’t really have an answer to that. For myself, I like reading all the different versions of these myths because every writer has a different take on what actually happened, and which god is better or worse.

Reading about these gods and heroes is like reading any fantasy novel, with good and evil, except that in Greek mythology, no one is all “good”. Every god, Titan, hero, demi-god, mortal, or any of the hundreds of characters, has a grey shade. You like them in one story, and you hate them in the next. Such characters are obviously attractive to writers who want to explore these shades of grey.

Fry maintains a tongue-in-cheek manner while telling his version of the stories. His research is extensive and he has proper references for the material, it’s just the dialogues that are his own. He muses about the most terrible of gods in such a way that you can’t help but chuckle at his audacity. Mind you, this is not a laugh out loud kind of book, just some smiles and a few grins.

In addition to being interesting, Mythos is quite informative too. I have to admire the effort that Fry has put into explaining the myths and the etymology associated with them.

A fun book that I thoroughly enjoyed reading.

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Review: Erotic Stories For Punjabi Widows

Rating: 4 Stars

Well, that was crazy! Of course, I knew that Erotic Stories For Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal wasn’t all about erotic stories. At the same time, that is exactly what it was all about! An adult English literacy class for widows, in a community center, next to a Gurdwara (A Sikh Temple) gets derailed by the determined widows, and turns into a story telling session. This is how the book starts, and this is what the book is all about. Actually, not all.

Nikki, a college dropout, has spent her young life feeling pressured by her parents, and thinks that all brown people are like her family. Until she steps into Southall and realizes that maybe she didn’t have it as bad. Southall is like a mini Punjab; everyone knows everyone else’s business, and honour is held dear. Most of the older generation here doesn’t even speak English. Hence, the need for literacy classes for widows.

The Community Development Director of the Sikh Community Association, Kulwinder Kaur, is a formiddable woman. She herself doesn’t realize that what she wants and what she has advertised are two different things, unknowingly tricking Nikki into applying for the job. During the first class, Nikki realizes that she might not be up to the challenge, but her dismal financial situation stops her from resigning.

And then, these classes turn into something that Nikki could never have imagined! The widows defy Nikki’s expectations. Their ages ranging from relatively young to very old. They are not afraid to speak out. They let Nikki know their real interests. The more Nikki gets involved with them, the more she realizes the advantages of living in a community. Until she comes face to face with the dangers too. Now, it is only a matter of time before someone discovers what is going on, and all hell breaks lose.

Balli Kaur Jaswal has touched upon the gravest of issues with a light hand. At no point does it seem like she is condemning the whole Sikh community for the sins of a few. As with any South Asian community, there is a resisatnce to change and a reverence for norms and traditions. Things like respect for elders, segregation of sexes and contempt of adopting English “ways” is common in all communities, be they Sikh, Hindu or Muslim, from India, Pakistan or Bangladesh. The widows, while dressed in light colours, are the most colourful characters that you can encounter in fiction. Each with their own story and fantasy, they take over the narrative and it’s hard to let them go. I was having too much fun reading about these women who society thinks are demure and paragons of virtue and chastity.

For a book with less than 400 pages, Erotic Stories For Punjabi Widows packs in a lot of relevant issues and ties them in a nice little package. It is a story of hope, determination, breaking off shackles, learning to stand up for yourself and your cause and making a place for tradition; but above all, it is a story about friendship. Friendship that transcends age, status, ethnicity or values; that makes you believe in the other person; that makes you run into a burning house to save them; friendship that you find in the unlikeliest of places.

A surprisingly light read, that needs to be read at least once

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Review: Such A Fun Age

Rating: 2.5 Stars

Never have I been so clueless about what to write in a book review, as I am right now. After hearing so much about how relevant and timely Such A Fun Age by Kiley Reid is, I was looking froward to read something about racism and discrimination from the perspective of a black woman. I was ready to delve deep into how a black woman feels, and how the behaviours of people around her influence her. What I got was a confused story about black people and white people, with unexpected racist as well as classist undertones.

When I say racist undertones, I mean that Such A Fun Age is blatant about racism against black people, but the way the other characters have been written, the writer comes across as someone who discriminates against white people! There is so much juvenile posturing that you become confused about the age of the characters.

First, the writer tries to assure us that there is nothing wrong with Emira being aimless and without a regular job even at the age of 26, and then herself goes on to judge her for being that way. Similarly, the character of Alix is written with so much loathing that you can’t help but feel that the writer hates her. Kelley could have been a normal man who is friends with people regardless of their skin colour, but no, he too had to become this strange fetishist by the end of the book! In some places, the language used is almost like a white woman is trying to write what a black woman might say!

Then there is the classist tone of the whole book. All thirty-something married women with children who live in New York are conviniently portrayed as a “type”; Alix and her friends had so much potential, yet they are all painted with the broad brushstrokes of vain New York women, even when there is a token black woman among them. This woman, Tamra, is there to sprout some wisdoms that are actually disparaging to all black people! Her only purpose seems to be to justify Kelley as being a fetishist or some weird jerk like that.

Kelley’s character, again, is what a twenty-something would believe a thirthy-something to be. He behaves in a certain way and suddenly his behaviour becomes suspect because he apparently doesn’t have enough weaknesses in his character ( I really want to roll my eyes here!)

Alix is downright evil and a stalker to boot, who happens to have a successful career that she must have gotten by luck only, and she is a terrible mother, because she can hire people to look after her kid. (Another eye roll here!) She goes through her sitter’s phone and fantasizes about having an unreal relationship with her, which sort of takes the book into psychological thriller category, except that there is nothing thrilling about this book.

Emira, is the biggest problem of them all. I assume the writer wanted to convey that it’s okay to not know your path in life, and to be unambitious, but what comes across is a weak character, who is easily swayed by her friends, and who in turn has an unhealthy obsession with the child she babysits!

I fail to understand how such a problematic book like Such A Fun Age is garnering all this praise. It is a waste of time and energy, and imparts nothing of value.

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Review: The Girl From Widow Hills

Rating: 3 Stars

The Girl From Widow Hills is a spine tingling, dark thriller from Megan Miranda about a girl who survived. Twenty years ago, six year old Arden Olivia (Liv) Maynor became a household name. One night, she sleepwalked into a rainstorm, and got swept away into a storm drain. They found her after 3 days, hurt but still alive. It was hailed as a miracle, and a triumph for the community spirit of Widow Hills, and eventually the rest of the country.

Now known as Olivia Meyer, living in Central Valley, Liv thinks that she has left it all behind. She has no recollection of the her time in the sewer system. All her memories are based on news stories and the book written by her mother. As the twentieth anniversary of her rescue approaches, Liv receives news of her mother’s death, and has a sleepwalking episode again. As if this isn’t enough to make her unbalanced, she stumbles upon a dead body at her neighbor’s property. It turns out to be someone she knows from her past.

From there on, things seem to get out of control. Now, she is a person of interest in a murder case, her friends are acting strange around her, and her new life is unravelling in front of her eyes. On top of all this, she is not sure if she is innocent or not. The past she is running away from has caught up to her and she can’t do anything to stop it.

The story is unpredictable and dark. Everyone is a suspect, even Liv, because we don’t know what secrets remain hidden in her sub-conscience. There are all the classic suspects; the elderly neighbour with many firearms, the older ex-boyfriend, the quiet best friend, and the vivacious new friend. Even Liv is not sure about who to trust and who to stay away from.

The thing I liked about this book was that there was no romantic angle. There was no man waiting for Liv at the end of it all. It is the story of a girl, and it remains the story of a girl. A girl who is strong enough on her own, and there is no need for a romance on the side.

The most thought provoking point in this book is how we think of incidents as stories. Something that is terrible for one person becomes a news story for the rest of the world. People begin to think that they have a right to know about that person’s life, a right to know personal details about them. Some people even start thinking that this unfortunate person owes them something. This obsession with news “stories” is too real, and has caused grief to many families all over the wolrd, and continues to do so.

Now for what I didn’t like about this book. The story became a bit hard to swallow as it progressed. There are too many coincidences, too many secrets, quite a few things that remain unresolved, and the climax was a bit of a let down, not because of the twist; it was a good twist, one of the better ones that I have read recently, but it was just too easy in the end, for the culprit as well as the one who got them.

Even with the unbelievability, I enjoyed reading The Girl From Widow Hills. It is a good one time read for fans of dark thrillers.

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Sunday Discussion: Are We Giving Up On Our Mother Tongue?

My mother tongue is Urdu. As an expat living in the Middle East for the last 10 years, one of the things that I am most ashamed of is that I have not been too diligent in teaching my children my mother tongue. Of course, they speak the language and understand it. Two of them can even read it, but it is like a foreign language to them; they will never use it if they can get away with using English.

When we first moved away from Pakistan, my children were 5.5 years, 2 years, and 10 months old. The eldest knew how to read and write Urdu. Today he is the only one who is most comfortable speaking it. The younger two have not known a single day of schooling in Pakistan. It was always up to me to teach them.

I remember I asked my aunt to send me some Urdu and Math workbooks when the younger ones became old enough to go to school. My aunt, being the teacher that she is, got a huge stack of workbooks, 3-4 different ones, each ranging from kindergarten to Grade 7. I would love to say that I was able to teach my kids something from them, but that isn’t true.

Over the next few years I would try and fail time and again to get them to learn the language. The eldest one, being the quick study that he is, and because he already had a rudimentary knowledge of the language, was the only one who seemed to get something out of these exercises. The middle one has only recently started taking Urdu classes along with the eldest, and is making better progress. It’s the youngest one who makes me despair. She is the weakest when it comes to Urdu. Yet she is the only one not taking a class to remedy this situation!

While this is a problem for me and my husband because we love our language, and want our kids to remain in touch with their motherland, it is not the same with all parents, even the ones living in Pakistan! Over the last 10 years, the thing that has pained me the most while visiting my country has been the fact that people have stopped using Urdu. Everywhere I go, I see parents talking to their small kids in English. It is like they are trying to prove something that doesn’t need to be proven.

I used to be happy going back because I felt that my kids would learn something while they were there. All 3 of them had strict instructions to talk in Urdu to everyone. Unfortunately, many adults still think that my kids provide the perfect opportunity for their kids to polish their English language skills! It might seem over the top, but I have had women ask me to tell my children to speak in English to their kids, as they don’t allow their children to talk in Urdu in their schools, and as a consequence, at home! (This was truly a facepalm moment for me, and the lowest when talking about my language, sadly.)

Language is a big part of national identity for any nation. It is one of the major factors that differentiates people from the rest of the world. When I see young people in my country saying that they took easy Urdu in school, and feeling proud of it, I feel a pang in my heart. All over the world people take pride in their mother tongue. They prefer to talk in their own language than in any other; why is it that we are so different? Why are our schools not promoting our own language? I have seen schools here in the Middle East insisting on teaching Arabic to all students, especially the locals, so that they don’t lose their language to modern schooling and English. Yet, here we are, churning out students who are proud of the fact that they are weak in their own language.

Urdu has been the chosen language of great poets and authors for centuries, yet these great writers find very little readership today. How many young people can boast about having read Manto or Naseem Hijazi or Intizar Husain? How many know about Quratulain Haider or Khadija Mastoor or Ismat Chughtai? Are there any twenty-somethings who can claim to know Mir or Ghalib or even Faiz or Faraz or Nasir Kazmi?

We, as a nation, and I’m not excluding myself, are doing a grave injustice to our beautiful language. It is good to move with the world and become a global citizen, yet it is also essential to keep your own individual identity, to be unique in your own right. In trying to keep up with the world, we seem to be losing out on keeping up with our true selves. We have to collectively try and undo the damage that we have done to our own language. We need work hard to teach our future generations, or we are the ones who will turn out to be the eventual losers.

I don’t mean to say that everyone should suddenly start reading huge tomes written in a language that you find incomprehensible. I just want us to start loving our mother tongue and trying our best to show that love. Once we start trying, our future generations might also follow suit and save Urdu from becoming a forgotten language.

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Review: The Runaways

Rating: 2.5 Stars

The Runaways by Fatima Bhutto has made me very conflicted. Even though this was the first book by her that I was reading, I have caught glimpses of her work over the years, and have always thought of her as very articulate and clear of thought. So, when I started reading this book, I was looking forward to reading an exciting and relevant story. Sadly, this was not the case.

The Runaways is the story of three people who have nothing in common, it seems. Anita Rose is the daughter of a masseuse, living in the slums of Karachi; Monty is the son of one of the most influential men in the same city; while Sunny lives in Portsmouth with his widowed father. The lives of these three characters are going to cross in the middle of the Iraqi desert, resulting in tragedy.

The premise and the pace of the story are full of potential. There is nothing wrong with Fatima Bhutto’s imagination and creativity. There is something to be said about having a strong female protagonist, who faces the world fearlessly and is convinced that she is destined for bigger things. The character of a mother who wants to give her kids everything without compromising her principles, is also applaudable. Which brings me to what went wrong, for me at least.

There is so much to unpack here that I don’t even know where to start. I’ll start with the most basic thing, the names and mannerisms of the characters. That was my first clue that this book has been written by someone on the outside looking in. It wouldn’t matter if there was a feeling of empathy, but Bhutto doesn’t seem to like or sympathise with her own characters.

In order to make Anita Rose strong and empowered, Bhutto has turned Sunny and Monty into caricatures. Sunny, the only character whose arc is believable, is an ass; while Monty’s going from being a spoilt rich kid to becoming a Jihadi is difficult to swallow. All stereotypes ever applied to young Pakistani men have been used here at least once. Same with all the females who are not Anita Rose. It is somewhat difficult to believe that in a story of this magnitude, there is not one female who is nice, and not promiscuous!

The character of Anita Rose, on the other hand, defies logic. The way a poor Christian girl lands up in Iraq and becomes influential in a militant group, seems so far-fetched. At least I have never heard of women influencing men among people famous for recruiting brides on the internet!

I have lost count of the books that have been written about Karachi and the people living there without delving deep into the essence of the city. Karachi is a living, breathing metropolis, like hundreds of other big cities, with a character that is uniquely its own. To start off a book by waxing lyrical about the city, and then losing the whole essence of the city during the course of the book is, for me, unfortunate and sad.

Of course there’s also the sleeping around, making out and getting intoxicated that goes on in the whole book. I know I have been vocal about how this seems to have become the central theme of all books revolving around Muslims in general, and Karachi in particular. I’m not oblivious to the fact that it is a reality that needs to be accepted; my beef is with the way that it is portrayed. Two of my most favourite books that are set in Karachi are not pretty books, but they resonate with me because the truth in their words can be felt.

In The Runaways, all I could take away at the end was that men are evil; people who follow Islam indulge in the craziest activities; the elite class is full of jerks; it is impossible to find good people in this world. I wish I had held off reading this book for a little longer!

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