Review: A Valentines Day Story by Percy Wadiwala

To read the story, please click on the chapters below: 

Chapter I- The Girl                          Chapter II - The Boy

Chapter III - The Manipulator          Chapter IV - The Lady 

Chapter V - The Friend

‘A Valentine’s Day Story’ begins just as every other Elveren narrative that I have had the good fortune of reading on account of my *cough* Honorary *cough* role as first level proofreader for young master Wadiwala: with a leisurely panache that sets the tone for the rest of the tale and assures the reader of this being no more an amateur piece of literature, than is any of P.G.W.(the original)’s noteworthy works.

What it also assures the insensitive and ungrateful audience of is that what is to follow demands from them, one and only one thing in return- to enjoy the story.

Surely that is no big ask, is it now?

Well of course, I must admit that to relish this manner of mature and deft story-telling, one would have to set aside all that is arduous and crippling, harrying and suffocating and- not to mention- outright boring, in his life. One would need to shed all that worries him, all that ticks him off and all that makes him want to smash his head through a six-inch thick concrete wall, before he is in any position to enjoy the tale.

In fact, let me do the honour of going a step further and describing to you, oh hardhearted reader, the most appropriate setting for reading an Elveren adventure, which is- sunset, at the beach, next to the waves, on a recliner, chilled Pina colada in one hand and a print of the story in the other. 

Enticing enough, no?

And yet I must state to you, with tremendous sadness, that there are so few a people who give a damn and there are so many who are so quick to move on without paying heed to such an undemanding request as is, of this talented writer. 

A simple request to just read what he is offering to you for free, even when what he is offering is, essentially, a premium piece of literature that deserves accolades equivalent or greater than those heaped upon the public school storytellers from the glorious days of our literary past. 

And fucking Cheat’n’Bugger is a bestseller for people! The horror!

Alright. I see ire seeping into my wordage. So let me finish the review before the good stuff gets drowned in the filth. 

Aided by a select handful of premise-perfect illustrations that etch certain lines, scenes and character descriptions into your brain with most singular precision, the author once again provides, for our entertainment, a breezy peek into the 'Wodehouse-esque' universe of Midgard-Caledonia with its peculiar inhabitants and their peculiarly idiosyncratic doings that result into some of the wittiest dialogues I have come across in my readings.

And what more! Love is in the air this time around, what with the tale being set against that auspicious mid-February phenomenon we call as Valentine’s Day, which, more often than not, leaves a trail of broken hearts in its wake. 

And thus, Jormund Elver, our unlikely hero- whom I am sure you will get to see more of if young master Wadiwala obliges and who I have come to consider as the perfect specimen of a colourful albeit clumsy Sagittarian- finds himself being dragged into another adolescent love triangle that is commonplace in life at Midgard-Caledonia High School.

If you are no stranger to Jormund’s world, I do not see purpose in spilling the beans here as you would be aware already how minor conflicts can turn gargantuan when the bumbling Elver gets involved.

If you ARE a stranger, you need only be aware that minor conflicts can turn gargantuan when the bumbling Elver gets involved. Period. So let me not talk any more on the story. 

But stranger or not- rest assured, you are bound to have fun while reading this and you are bound to feel light and airy from the inside after you’re done reading. 

Maintaining an almost stately poise in his flow, the author ensures that his character descriptions are done lovingly enough to breathe life into both their features and flaws. His portrayal of feminine beauty deserves a special mention here. It is omniscient, to say the least and when considered alongwith the intermittent pictorial insights, makes the frequency with which the male leads keep falling head-over-heels in love seem all the more plausible.

Mind you, the breeziness of the tale and other ancillary elements were not what appealed the most to me. What did, was the unabashed love for writing and the astonishing flair for language that the author possesses, such that each page of his rib-tickling narrative stands out so vibrantly in the readers’ imagination, making them ponder whether it is indeed a story that they are reading, or is it actually a painting in disguise. 

“What ho, old chap!” I am addressing Perseus now, in his own Elveren greeting style. 

“When will we be served ‘Something Fresh’ from your writing lair? My frontal lobe aches in anticipation mate!”

Disclaimer: Percy Wadiwala is a dear friend whom I- in my infrequent spells of optimism- like to think of as an actually intelligent version of myself. Though I may consider him as a mentor of sorts and turn to him for inspiration and advice from time to time, to think of this review as me trying to kiss his ass would only be the readers' own folly, causing him to miss out on something genuine. (Also I'm not sure if this helps but FYI, we've always gone Dutch so neither owes the other a penny for coercion or undue influence to enter the picture) 

Bottom line is, just read the bloody story because its a bloody good one. Peace.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

My first Kafka!

And now I am a bit less clueless as to what it means when they call a piece of art 'Kafkaesque'.

No wonder the likes of David Lynch and Co. consider him their source of inspiration.

The story begins with our protagonist, Gregor Samsa (a metaphorical representation of Franz Kafka​ himself, if I am not mistaken), waking up one fine morning to find that he is not able to get out of bed as he has transformed into a large bug. Worried that he will be late for office- where he is employed as a travelling salesman- Gregor then makes several attempts to come to terms with his new body and get on with his routine before his father or his boss's chief clerk- who has come to his house to check why he is late today- will get a chance to reprimand him for being tardy and ungrateful.

Yes. That is how surreal it is.

And, to top it all, by never giving an explanation as to why the metamorphosis actually happened in the first place, Kafka ensures that the physical deformity does not take centre-stage in the plot even if it is precisely what triggered the conflict.

Kafka, in its stead, maintains a firm grip on the telling, ensuring that the focus remain on presenting it as an absurdist commentary on authoritarianism and the impact it has on an obliging mind.

Gregor, despite facing the misfortune of having metamorphosed into an insect-like creature, is never shown to rise above thinking about how the people around him will react; whether his family will forgive him for the burden that he has become by losing his source of income; whether his father will notice the little acts of obedience he is still displaying undeterred by the loss of his ability to communicate; whether his sister is aware of how grateful he is for trying to make life a little less miserable for him by clearing out the furniture so he be able to crawl around freely and by putting out stale food in his room, twice a day.

By setting the scenes inside closed rooms till the very end and by describing them in a bleak, claustrophobic manner, Kafka makes the reader experience better the unintelligent and over-complaisant mindset of the main character. Gregor never reaches a point where he can starts believing that he, and not his family, is the one who is suffering. Neither does he understand the selfish nature of the people who rule his life.

And that, I believe, holds true for any person who chooses to remain co-operative and accommodating of a society- or the few who govern it- that is ever ready to impose on anyone and everyone willing to bend.

The writing is 'German' stern, yet packs quite a few moments of absurdist hilarity that makes one smile, cringe and ponder- all at the same time, if you will believe me- at the silly little travelling salesman whose life has been turned upside down and yet whose first thought is, 'Heck, I'm going to be late for work!'

Certainly worth a read.

Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn

This was one mind-fuck of a book. I have no other term to describe it better.

On a side note, it feels good to have picked up, at long last, a book that shouldn’t take more than two days of reading time (which sounds like a lot to ask for when compared to the last one I unfortunately picked: King’s Cell which is-I am restraining myself here- excruciatingly longwinded and purposeless).

Been a while since I read this light. Phew!

But that’s not exactly a merit in itself, is it? I mean, why do you reckon I don’t normally go for light reads? Because more often than not, they are written by light headed writers whose capacity for depth and detailing is as rich as the average Bombay street-urchin.

The exact merit that I would want to talk about here- apart from the fact that this is one mind-fuck of a book- is this:

To the authoress’ credit, I can’t seem to think of any aspect, literary and otherwise, that has been sacrificed by her to present her book as fast paced.

The character depth and scene buildup is almost exquisite. The detailing is perfectly generous without making the prose lose its purpose at any place or become flowery (believe you me, ‘flowery’ is definitely not a word I would use to describe anything even remotely related to Gone Girl) and the amount and the standard of wit in the writing was stand-out enough to question my belief that nobody can beat Irish authors in black humour.  

And, this is a four hundred and fifty paged, no double spacing, no generous margins and regular font book we’re discussing here. That’s a lot of space for a lot of things to get out of hand and turn the whole manuscript jarringly messy.

So, I for one simply cannot imagine the kind of intelligence and brutal perception of people and situations that a person would require to come up with shit this fucked up.

And that’s not all!

What I cannot even BEGIN to imagine-forget simply imagine- is the kind of literary talent it would take to suppress the urge to go full crazy while coming up with shit this fucked up and continue to write in such an abso-fuckin-lutely controlled manner till the very end!

Phew, I’m just blown away. Crazy stuff!

Immersive storyline, taut writing style, nerve-racking plot development, vicious twists that leave you laughing out loud helplessly and characters who are such a horrifying mess, after a point you start to think of them as really perfect, or worse, perfectly real (in a twisted sort of way).

Marriage as an institution never looked this naked. Really.

Crap, I can’t review further without giving away precious plot points; that is if any of you are left who haven’t still seen the movie adaptation. (Well I didn’t, and I was rewarded thoroughly by getting to read without knowing what would happen next.)

Recommended for sure.

Flynn, you evil little genius you.

Do I even have a choice now of not ordering your other two books in the next ten minutes?

                       ****Slyly opens Amazon.in, debit card in hand***