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Poonachi or The Story of a Goat: Perumal Murugan

This slim unassuming volume belies the complexity of the tale it tells. Poonachi, a black goat, is small, frail and wholly unexceptional in every way but one. She is one of a litter of seven and is blessed with the gift of producing a litter of seven each time she gives birth. A shadowy stranger gifts her to an old farmer and his wife with the promise that she would produce a litter of 7 and bring prosperity to their meager existence. Though hemmed in between a corrupt bureaucracy that toys with their dreams, regressive social mores that demand deference and plain old ill-luck, the poor farming couple love her and raise her like their own child. Poonachi’s is an oft-told tale — a loving childhood, teenage yearning, love and heartbreak, shattered innocence, pain and disillusionment — a life comprising a relentless onslaught of miseries with rare moments of reprieve. The reader could assume that the four-legged creature is a stand-in for millions of nameless women who suffer the same fate in India’s small towns and villages, but the author is careful to dissociate himself from all such claims. The dark humor in his prose our only glimpse into his personal viewpoint.

"Speak softly, sir. The regime has ears on all sides.
There's an old saying that the regime is deaf.
It's deaf only when we speak about our problems. When we talk about the regime, it's ears are quite sharp."

Those familiar with the author’s unfortunate history with righteous outrage, will find his choice of protagonist and the dispassionate narrative understandable. In his own words,

“I am fearful of writing about humans and even more about gods. Writing about cows and pigs is forbidden, which left me with the option of writing about goats and sheep. As I say in the book, 'Goats are problem-free, harmless and, above all, energetic…”

After stumbling upon this book on an awards list, I also read “One Part Woman”, the book that became Mr Murugan’s undoing. Not posting a review since I found a discussion on the book right here in this forum — Madhorubagan. In a country where dissent is becoming dearer by the day, I am glad Mr Murugan has ended his silence and picked up his pen again.

 

The Book of Two Ways by Jodi Picoult

I cannot remember reading a book in recent memory that I had as much trouble finishing as this one. The final 20% of the book were excruciating to get through. I finished it only because it was a book club read. The main protagonist is a self-serving narcissist who enjoys playing the victim. I developed such a visceral dislike to her that every time she launched into one of her tedious monologues I was gripped by an overwhelming desire to throw the book at a wall. I only restrained myself because I was reading on my Kindle. The book’s flimsy premise boils down to a middle-aged woman having a mid-life crisis. She decides to dump her husband of 15 years and run off to a long lost love from graduate school. That’s it. The rest of the book is the author trying to shove her unlikeable protagonist and her morally dubious choices down our throats by bludgeoning us with ancient Egyptian myths and Quantum Mechanics. Anytime I read a (non-science) author bring up quantum mysticism they sink in my estimation. It is a lazy choice authors make to add ill-deserved depth to their weak writing. I don’t even know where to begin with the Egyptology. I read somewhere that the author’s son got his degree in Egyptology and she wrote the book to show motherly appreciation. Every other chapter reads like a textbook on ancient Egypt. I hope her son was impressed because I sure wasn’t.