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Farshad Ghiasi farshadart98d2 — The book threatened to take the drama too far here and there, but it somehow worked. The only book that has actually made me cry. "Daddy?" You gotta realize, I think I'm the only boy on earth that ran out of Judy Blume books and read Are You There God It's Me Margaret? God?...God?

Daniela Guzmán recortable — It is impossible not to smile all the time while reading this. I would recommend this book to everybody who needs to up the mood a little.

Karla Gonçalves _adah_ — Quirky western about two brothers/assassins pursing a target to San Francisco. Contains one-eyed horses, witches, illicit substances, viscous fluids, toothbrushes, and a very high body count.

Mary Lee mlee15bad5 — I couldn't complete it but it was interesting. A bit too much of non-fiction and ideas that need a bit of processing. Not a read for before bedtime.

Samin Zolfaghari samin_zolfaghari — Hunter S Thompson is one of my personal heroes, a man who forged a path straight through the dark parts of America and the soul and stayed true to himself. This is the well known tale of Thompson's journeys in and around the city of sin while demolishing himself with every foreign substance known to man. No one described the sheer chaos of the trip like Hunter. He got the people, the city, the drugs, the madness, and the sheer idiotic poetry of it all.

Stephen Konsor dioramastudios — Central Idea: A man does not do a saintly act, nor does he commit sin; a man just does what he has to do. Plot: Two students, keen to understand the true nature of 'sin', are commissioned on a project by their Guru. One is sent to a rich young man enjoying all the pleasures of life, while the other is sent to a Yogi, who has abnegated all that is worldly for the spiritual. The students are required to serve these masters for one year and then revert with an answer to their question. Pathetic Novel! But this terrible novel does one good thing: it reveals the truism that stylization, restraint and contextual relevance are necessary components of all fiction, even one -- in fact especially one -- whose purported aim is philosophy. With this thought, 'Chitralekha' may not even be regarded a novel, for it is a brutal failure on all these aspects. Its characters -- or rather types -- are so deplorably tied to the inescapable, shrill voice of the author, that it reads not as a subtle display of his intelligence -- as it could have -- but as a loud, over-the-top honking of it. Verma grossly marginalizes texture, concentrating unceasingly on ill-conceiving events to enable him to engage his characters in debates on philosophical issues. The fake characters exist solely for the delivery of the author's point and counterpoint, and nothing else. A Dostoyevsky reference may be made here, but any comparison is impossible; Verma is too verbose and straightforward to come anywhere close to the Russian (who, incidentally, is not a big hit with me). So pathetic is Verma's desire for control, that at no single page is he able to distance himself from the work and let it flow. All in all, the plot and the central idea are simplistic yet strong, but their translation into fiction is poor. 'Chitralekha' is paragraph after paragraph of logical conversation (the logic by the way, if it really matters, is solid at times) delivered by characters who are clueless of what they will do next, other than talking, that is. 'Chitralekha' is hurried, as if it was written by a writer restless to provide his soul some deliverance from his own cumbersome intelligence. But now I'm wondering. Should I deliver the final insult? I think I should: Chitralekha, ostensibly a masterpiece of Hindi literature would have never EVER found a decent publisher if it was written in English (Is that the reason why there are no translations in print?) You may call me biased. I am, but not too much. I have read one more book by Bhagwaticharan Verma -- 'Veh Phir Nahi Aayi' -- and it had the same problems as Chitralekha (the stentorian philosophizing was absent, which made it passable). I have not yet read 'Bhoole Bisre Chitr', supposedly Verma's best book, and so I will abstain from making an unqualified comment about his writing -- or about Hindi-Urdu-literature-that-is-not-social-realism. But after reading some examples 20th century Hindi novel, I have decided to be a bit skeptical of its claim of being as good as its Western counterpart.