Life of Why

If we have our own why of life, we shall get along with almost any how. —Nietzsche

I often detect a subtle elitism among passionate booklovers. I mean, we want our books to be good, really good. But we also want our readers, our good readers, to occupy certain stations in life, you know, novelists, teachers, professors, academics, and critics. They’re the protectors of the literary flame. Not bloggers. And certainly not nurses or lowly technologists. Right? Well, I sincerely hope not. Which is why I always thrill at conversations with people whose livelihoods take place outside of bookish cloisters and academic santuaries, but who still know something about well-plotted novels and well-drawn characters, and who are also intimately acquainted with the shallow breathing and rapid heart rate that attend heated disputes over even minor points of interpretation.

Donna Fedor, a technologist who loves Austen and Shakespeare

Who are you?

I am an enthusiastic, glass-is-overflowing, love-to-laugh optimist; a technology-loving strategist with an inquiring mind for the fundamentals of science, nature and human behavior; an appreciator of simple beauty; and a recovering control-freak exacerbated by my ex-New Yorker tendencies. But, most of all, I am a loyal, loving and honest-to-a-fault wife, sister, daughter, and friend.

When it comes to books, what are your intellectual interests?

Over temporal-spatial vortices Donna hovers

Well, I am a bit of a geek, not a practical “fix my computer” geek but a conceptual “time-space continuum” geek. The fundamental “whys” of the universe and of humanity. The yin/yang of life. The struggle between good/evil. How we struggle to define good and evil. The choices we make as humans that challenge our beliefs in fundamental ways…. and the translation of those choices into how we live our lives. What drives our beliefs and the principles that guide us about love, power, knowledge, success, money, kindness, god… and life. Understanding why people believe what they believe is even more telling than what they believe. How open to changes are we? How set in stone are our beliefs? Basically, getting to the core of existence whether it’s science or human beings.

What books are you eager to read next?

Books are always piled up around my house… kitchen nook, bedside table, all over the office. For some reason, the bedside stack contains the too-tedious Dicken’s Bleak House… I keep falling asleep after only a few pages! I just finished A Tale of Love and Darkness by Amos Oz (for a book club) about a writer growing up in Israel as it is becoming a nation and The Handmaids Tale by Margaret Atwood… perfectly scary and frankly believable. I’m just starting The Political Mind by George Lakoff , a fascinating look at using cognitive and neuroscience to understand reason versus emotion in political change; and the classic The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith; and a few books mentioned on this blog (Herzog, Rushdie, Coetzee, Crowley). To satisfy the scientist in me, a whole slew of science books are lying around the house for when I have quick bites of time to indulge; A Guide to the Elements by Albert Stwertka, On Intelligence by Jeff Hawkins, and Genetics Demystified by Edward Willett.

What books shaped the “whys” of your existence?

Even with my terrible memory, there are definitely a few books that altered how I think about the world. When I as little. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis started my love for fantasy, the time-space continuum and the ever present battle of good/evil… which was continued by The Lord of the Rings series, leaving me awe-struck by the world of J.R.R.Tolkien. Since I wanted to be an architect, The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand struck a definite chord and expanded my pliable teenage psyche towards individual responsibility, which continues to this day. And last, there was that one high school teacher, Mr. Speight, who taught AP Modern Novels every morning at 8:00 a.m., greeting us with a hilarious stand-up routine mixed with a discussion about the whys of life as told through the authors… my first real experience in being pushed to question my beliefs. I will never forget him and how valued he made us all feel.

Are there any books you routinely recommend?

Books are so personal. What I find touching, moving, life-altering or even just plain hysterical, usually doesn’t translate wholly to someone else. Although I try not to make recommendations, there are a few I’ve bought for people over the years. The Source by James Michener, which tells of historical and present (1960) cultural and religious struggles at an architectural dig site in Israel through a series of uncovered artifacts and an ancestral storyline; two books by the wonderful journalist, turned writer, Geraldine Brooks, Nine Parts of Desire and March; and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. And then there are books that are so beautifully written that they take your breath away when you least expect it, not like someone suddenly shoving your head into a ice cold bucket of water, more like taking a deep inhale on the first page, continuing dizzily, not exhaling until you are forced to rise and put the book down… remembering that you have another life, fuzzy as it seems. Two that come to mind are The Discovery of Light by J.P. Smith and Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.

Intermezzo

Housekeeping

Ends up that running a weekly feature takes time and effort. It’s well worth it, of course, but I need a break — and help. From you. The search for insight and understanding in unlikely places takes the most time. So if you know anyone, including yourself, who is passionate about books and eager to celebrate sentences, characters, novels, authors, and literary experience in general, tell them, urge them, command them to contact me at jkneilson@yahoo.com. We’re all evangelists in a worthy cause. Speak up, for crying out loud. Thank you, and long live Sancho Panza!

Home, a book recommendation

By Pulitzer Prize-winning author Marilynne Robinson, Home is a story about Jack Boughton’s return to Gilead, Iowa after a 20-year absence. His father Robert Boughton is a dying widower who is cared for by Jack’s 38-year old sister Glory Boughton. Through her eyes, through her hopes, sorrows, and disappointments, the story of Jack’s homecoming is told. A lost and scoundrel soul, Jack returns to Gilead with a carefully guarded plan to set his life aright. His stay is fraught with anxiety and tenderness, vulnerability and hope — always hope, especially by those who love him most and can be profoundly hurt by him. Countless scenes are so deeply moving that one stops in sheer amazement, as when Robert Boughton, eager to spend time with Glory, falls asleep at the table with his fork in hand, or when Jack gracefully plays the piano for his father’s enjoyment. Robinson is a master at evoking the reader’s deepest layers of experience, as well as making the presence of the past (excuse the expression) palpable in such everyday objects as shirts and lampshades. Home is a marvel, a gorgeous achievement, and is well worth your time. Savor Gilead first, otherwise a rich dimension of meaning will be lost, or as Robinson unforgettably writes in Gilead, you will miss “the great taut skeins of light suspended between them.”

Did you know?

Friends and family celebrating a fine achievement

Between the Lines averages about 350 visits per week. While this is nothing to sniff at, your kindly host is greedy as Gekko and wants more, a lot more, so please share the blog with anyone and everyone. Even better, list me on your blogroll (Mark Sarvas, chop, chop!), and who knows, I just might return the favor.

WordPress site metrics allows me to track search terms used by incoming traffic. Little did I know that when I captioned an image thusly, “Zaniest threesome ever,” I unwittingly spun a web to snag this tasty little morsel, “how to prepare wife for a threesome,” which is funny because it’s funny but vexing, too, because it’s hardly the kind of traffic I so richly deserve. Or is it?

Joyce Carol Oates and Harold Bloom politely declined to go Between the Lines. Don DeLillo, not so much. But in his defense, I did mis-spell his name with a lowercase “l.” Accidents happen.

Spooning the City electorate

San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsom still hasn’t responded to me. Which is commendable in a way, because he’s got more important things to do than to discuss ideas.

On the Horizon

Next feature will cross Monday, November 16.

David Mitchell’s feature will go live on Monday, December 14 at 12:01 a.m. To prepare, read Cloud Atlas, a wonderfully inventive novel, which was shortlisted for the 2004 Booker Prize. If you fear it’s too large an undertaking, shame on you, but somewhat pardonable, so read Black Swan Green instead.

Amitava Kumar

Amitava Kumar is a writer, journalist, novelist, and poet. Born in India, Kumar is Professor of English at Vassar College in New York, where he teaches prose, essay, film, and news writing courses. He is the author of several works of non-fiction, including Passport Photos, Bombay-London-New York, and Husband of a Fanatic. His novel Home Products was short-listed for India’s most prestigious literary award. Currently, he is writing a report on the global war on terror. For more about Amitava Kumar, please visit his blog. 

Who are you?

I am a writer who knows that the pain in my back is from a dagger called academics. You can see the blood pooling at my feet, you say. But I can’t take the dagger out. A part of me believes that the blade stuck in me is keeping all the blood inside. It’ll all be over if I were to do anything rash right now. I wasn’t a good student when I was studying in India, in high school and later in college. I wanted to write, but didn’t know how. When I came to this country, I began to read and then the old ambition to write faded. Instead, I wanted to read more difficult, theoretical books. That ambition lasted a long time. I have now returned to writing but I am a changed man. I can’t unlearn everything I have learned, good and bad.

What was the last book you read? How did you like it?

Right now I’m in the middle of a fat anthology called True Crime. It is required reading for a writing class that I’m teaching. I have only so far read a few pieces in it. Just today I read Elizabeth Hardwick’s report on a criminal called Caryl Chessman. Such sharp writing! Short, descriptive sentences about the man’s actions, followed by equally short, incisive remarks which are quick to interpret and present judgment. I’m liking the book very much; I hope my students are too. The last book that I read, which was so many weeks ago, was Love Is A Four-Letter Word, a collection of break-up stories. It is edited by Michael Taeckens and several of the contributors are my friends; I recommend the book highly, especially if you have ever fallen out of love. While reading it I experienced joy, laughter, anger, despair, and about five different kinds of regret.

Who is your idol writer? Why?

V.S. Naipaul has been called the finest writer of the English sentence. But that is not why he has occupied the highest place on my private pedestal. I have been drawn to him by his power of observation, the ability to convey to his readers a sense of his past, and also his often weird but striking judgment. What has been most powerful for me has been his repeated dramatization of the scene of writing, and thereby also a writer’s life. I noticed that about him when I began to write and it has been very important to my own formation.

What is your favorite unknown or under-appreciated book?

My friends in cities like Delhi, writing in Hindi or other Indian languages, often place little riffs in their books where characters will talk bitterly about not being visible because they don’t speak or write in English. Which means that when people ask me the question you have, I think about those writers who feel they’ve been robbed of a place in the sun. Last winter I read a novella by the Hindi writer Uday Prakash that had been translated into English, The Girl With the Golden Parasol. I was touched by its grace, and by its anger.

At the moment, what popular books are being bathed in over praise?

I will not come off well in this answer. I confess that I wasn’t able to complete Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives. Earlier, I had read his By Night in Chile, and that short novel drew an unforgettable picture of people and art in a fascist culture. But I found The Savage Detectives shapeless, and its garrulity didn’t sit well with me. Many people that I admire swear by him, but give me J.M. Coetzee any day.

What book do you put on the coffee table when you want to impress your guests?

What coffee table? What guests? I have a six-year-old and another baby on the way. Kids’ toys and other paraphernalia take up much of the space where a coffee table could be. If and when guests come, they are greeted by a flurry of apologies and then we quickly spread a sheet where we can put a few bowls and a bottle of wine. Usually, I hide books anyway. I don’t want peanut butter smeared on them with little paws. Ten-fifteen years ago, I’d still keep my books in my study but wanted to display in the living-room, perhaps because I wanted to be thought of as artisitic, journals like ArtForum and ARTnews. Well, I don’t blame myself. They were the ones with bright, inviting covers.

Who is the Joyce of Delhi?

It is my friend Siddhartha Chowdhury who has published a novel called Patna Roughcut. He and I both grew up in Patna. He now lives and works in Delhi. His second novel should be out soon. It’s called Day Scholar. An excerpt from that book appears in Delhi Noir, a new collection brought out by Akashic Books. I thought of him when you posed this question because his language is new and yet it is marked by Patna and Delhi. When I think of his language I tell myself that this is what it means to be rooted and yet to be inventive.

Do you have any quirky reading habits a Martian would observe while studying you?

I only read when I’m lying down in bed.

Why do you read?

I wish I read to discover new language. It would be great if there was a pure side of me that always demanded that. Instead I read to bring some sort of order to my life. Which is to say, I read so that I can take the chaos of the outer and the inner world and reduce it to the neatly-ordered lines on the page.

Angel of War and Violence

Every angel is terrifying. —Rilke

You know you’re in for a special treat when Dr. John Wegner, Professor of English at Angelo State University, wryly remarks, “The last thing I want to ever imagine is Dick Cheney dancing naked claiming he will never die.” To fully appreciate the terror and humor of Wegner’s remark, you need to know a thing or two about Holden. No, not Holden Caulfield, the puling adolescent in Catcher in the Rye, but Judge Holden, the pale, burly, hairless metaphysician and mass murderer in Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian. Like all characters who exist beyond good and evil, the Judge knows how to shock and awe the world. Hence, the naked dancing. Next time you’re ready to wrestle with the angel of war and violence, gaze deep into the Judge’s face. I dare you.

Dr. John Wegner

Who are you?

I ask myself that each morning. Fortunately, the answer differs day to day, and, sometimes, minute to minute. I’m a 40-year old father of a 14-year old and an 11-year old, a husband of 19 years still trying to get it right, a professor at Angelo State University, an editor of a scholarly magazine, a little league coach, a writer of scholarship and short fiction, and a lover of almost all things chocolate, among other things. Each day I remind myself that the past might define us, but we are not obligated to become slaves to it. For me, the cosmic joy in life is the ability to continually wake up each morning and decide to push that boulder up the mountain.

 What’s the best book you’ve read this year?

In the Woods

This question ranks right up there with picking 10-12 novels to teach in an American novels class. Starting the list creates a flood of possibilities. I read an eclectic blend of five to six novels a month, most recently re-reading James Lee Burke’s early Dave Robicheaux crime novels. I think I’ll cheat on this question and offer a list (that I will probably regret once I hit the send button): Tana French’s In the Woods, Denis Lehane’s Mystic River, Tom Perotta’s Little Children, Philip Kerr’s A Quiet Flame, and the Odyssey. Each of these works seems to capture a character struggling to hold on to some moral compass in the face of competing ideologies that both seem, at least on the surface, legitimate. French, Lehane, and Perotta, in particular, push our sympathies to their limits, essentially asking us to consider what happens when past histories collide. Each character is haunted by unsolved or unresolved past crimes. What is justice in such a situation? What is the nature of mercy and forgiveness? The Odyessy always works as a touchstone for those essential questions. In addition, all these works are well-written, intelligently crafted, and unflinching in their portrayal of the world in which they exist.

Because of your areas of interest, I’d be remiss if I didn’t squeeze you for information about Cormac McCarthy and his work. What’s your assessment of his literary status?

In an attempt to avoid hyperbole, I’ll simply say he’s one of the most creative artistic living writers in America today. Despite my comments regarding Cities of the Plain, I think we see a writer able to work within multiple genres and a writer so focused on his craft we won’t entirely appreciate him for another few years. Within his lifetime, his Blood Meridian is already considered one of the best novels written. I think we will be able to discuss at least three to four other novels as masterpieces of contemporary fiction some day. The difficulty we have with McCarthy is his larger vision and his ability to capture multiple complexities within his works.

What do you think of his stint on Oprah? Does it teach us anything about the relationship between the man and his work?

I’m happy he felt compelled to strike while the iron was hot. I think those of us in the academy tend to look down our noses at authors who tap into popular culture as somehow inferior or less serious artistically. Nina Siegal has a fascinating new essay “The Truth About Bestsellers” recently posted on her site. She notes: “There is a very real crisis of American letters that began in the 1980s and seems to have only gotten worse in the last 25 years – and that is, the books that most Americans are buying and reading correspond very little to what we hope we’ll hand down to future generations as works of great literary merit.“ If Oprah can help bridge this gap, more power to her. Having written that, I trust the tale, not the teller. McCarthy is a fascinating, intelligent man, but I’m not sure the relationship between an author and his work is really relevant.

Why is McCarthy’s work stained with sewage, degradation, and violence?

I love this question but I don’t know how to answer it other than the overly simplistic claim that life is filled with “sewage, degradation, and violence.” I think initial readings of his works overlook the linguistic beauty with which he constructs worlds that often feel like an assault on our intelligence and our intellect. It’s easy to accept those things that are attractive and make us comfortable; McCarthy, like the Greek tragedians, asks us (commands us?) to recognize the world’s infinite capability of both comedy and tragedy.

He is the Homer of the sewer!
—Proust, In Search of Lost Time, Vol. III: The Guermantes Way

Ahab, Humbert Humbert, Iago, Judge Holden, or Roger Chillingworth — from whom can we learn the most, and why?

Another great question. Holden is, in many respects, the compilation of these other characters. I find myself, periodically, quoting Holden as if he possesses words to live by. Then I realize what I’ve done and shake my head in wonder at myself. Holden is dangerous precisely because he seems so reasonable. Reading Holden requires a critical thinking that we should be willing to apply to any and all texts. The other characters become examples of who we don’t want to be—Holden is an example of who we might too easily become. I might add, by the way, Chigurh (No Country for Old Men) to this list. McCarthy’s characters live by a code and I think we often have in mind that evil is somehow radically different and easily recognizable. There’s no thing that flips the switch on true evil.

If you could give a novel to former Vice President Richard Bruce Cheney (“Dick,” more accurately) for his moral and spiritual improvement, what would it be? Why?

If I had faith in his ability to understand, I would give him Blood Meridian. Unfortunately, I think he would see himself as Judge Holden and the last thing I want to ever imagine is Dick Cheney dancing naked claiming he will never die. Perhaps I would give him Moby Dick. His wife would approve (it’s a classic!) and maybe she could explain how obsession of whiteness leads to destruction.

If ever a novel had two strange, ambiguous endings, Blood Meridian is it. What do you make of the Epilogue?

Wasn’t it Patton who said that the idea wasn’t to give your life for your country, the goal was to make the other guy give his? The essential complexity of Blood Meridian is that Holden tells the American story. We might find his methods problematic, but without him America is a different country. The kid has to be abused/killed/discredited because his story might differ from the Judge’s notebook. The kid’s story might make us guilty or feel complicit in the ugly “progress” of western expansion. We willingly adopt the Judge because to deny him is to accept that the past we celebrate (Thanksgiving, Independence Day—how many times a year do we celebrate the past?) as integral to the very core of our being as a nation is flawed and must be re-examined. To do so would be to question the very notion of who we are. I think the nation’s unwillingness to fully engage with the debate regarding torture is evidence enough that we willingly avoid the seedy underbelly of life. Torture (and the Judge) is problematic because we are forced to recognize that our interest in safety might allow us to put our soul at hazard. The Judge will never die because we are all willing to enjoy our indoor plumbing and the lack of savagery beating at our doors because he helped “tame” the world. Those post hole diggers might strike rock deep in the soil, but their ability to create domestic space (fences) is because the judge has cleared the way.

On your view, what’s the most important role of the novelist?

In a lot ways, the novelist has to be a damn good liar. The novelist creates a world that resembles ours while also moving beyond it. The novelist’s goal is to capture the historical, intellectual, and culture moment all the while trying to transcend that moment. I once listened to an interview with singer/songwriter Mary Gauthier who said something like all my songs begin with me, but I hope they never end with me. When I write I try to remember this admonition. It’s not about the novelist—it’s about the larger moment. The writer should dedicate himself or herself to getting out of the way without becoming simply a reporter.

There and Back Again

Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.) —Whitman

Born in Prague in 1947 to parents of Russian descent, Eva Chapman’s story reads like an odyssey. From Prague to Adelaide, through Paris and London, and back to the shores of Adelaide again. Against the backdrop of these ever-changing cities, Eva mastered the art of reinvention and embraced her many and other selves. Yes, Eva contains multitudes; she’s a regular Russian nesting doll. Go ahead — twist and take a peek…

Who are you?

Eva Chapman

I’ve spent many years and hours of meditation pondering this profound question and eventually came to the realization “I just am.” But on a more mundane level, who I am has expressed itself in a variety of roles. After being a secondary teacher, psychotherapist, researcher and academic (gaining a Ph.D. in 1987), I was then a successful business woman in my husband’s energy efficiency company, before finally becoming an author. Add to that a wife (3 marriages), a mother (of 4), a grandmother (of 4), and a daughter (of 2) crazy (literally) Ukrainian parents. It was in trying to unravel that heritage, that led me to write Sasha & Olga, my first book. That task took me to Ukraine and Australia several times. The upshot was I healed a 33-year bitter rift with my father Sasha, who unburdened his horrendous story and died a happier man.

What was the last book you read? How did you like it?

Well it was two books (I often have several books on the go). The Case of Comrade Tulayev by Victor Serge, totally extraordinary, beautifully written and translated, about the ghastly web that people found themselves trapped in, during the Stalinist purges and how both ordinary and influential people responded to accusations, mock trials, and death sentences. And The Island by Aldous Huxley, an amazing crystallization of Huxley’s thought.

As a former psychotherapist, who is the most astute psychologist among novelists, living or dead?

All good writers I believe are psychologically astute. They have a handle on what makes people tick. Susan Howatch in her excellent series of Church of England novels, cleverly and thrillingly, uncovers unconscious motivation in how people act in the world. Salley Vickers lets her career as a psychoanalyst inform the unfolding of the development of her characters, and in her later novels, tackles the thorny problem of how to treat mental illness. Charles Dickens observes people’s psychological foibles accurately and often hilariously, e.g., the cloying obsequiousness of “umble Uriah Heep” and the kindness of Joe Gargery who doles out more gravy on Pip’s plate every time Pip is insulted by Joe’s shrewish wife. I think it may be an interesting exercise to see what stands out for people in novels. For instance, I can see strands of Uriah Heep in myself, and I would have loved a supportive Joe Gargery at my own childhood dinner table.

Let’s do a round of free association. I encourage you to riff however you like. Ready?

—Kafka.

I was gripped by the world Kafka created in The Trial. I discovered it was not so far fetched, when I had a similar experience in Australia; I was taken to court, twice in 2007-8, and put on trial by social workers about my mentally ill sister. This Kafkaesque nightmare lasted for over a year and much of the time I didn’t know what I was being accused of. It was horrendous. If I can bear it, I will write a book about it. I loved Unbearable Lightness of Being, in which Milan Kundera described a similar entrapment, and I was grateful to my mother for escaping from Communist Czechoslovakia in 1949, with me in tow.

 —Smerdyakov.

Brothers Karamazov like The Trial appeals to my crazy Russian paranoid persona.

—”All happy families are alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

I am in raptures over Tolstoy, Anna Karenina being my favourite book of all time. I’m not sure I agree with Tolstoy’s first line. I think there are very few happy families, and the ones I have heard of are unique “and happy in their own way” and I love hearing or reading about them. I think it takes a lot of hard work and effort to create a happy family, and perhaps there should be more examples of that in literature.

What five books should everyone read? Why?

I’d like to reframe the question as I don’t think everyone should read a book. For me books have always fallen my way – often quite serendipitously – and it has turned out to be exactly the right book at the right time. At University, when I read English, there were a lot of shoulds and that often spoilt the reading experience for me.

So five extremely important books for me have been:

Structures of Scientific Revolutions Thomas Kuhn. This opened my eyes to the relativistic nature of Scientific truths.

The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom. This extraordinary book about Corrie’s experiences in Nazi concentration camps taught me what real forgiveness is.

Silas Marner, a tale of love, hope and redemption, introduced me to the fabulous novels of George Eliot and the extraordinary way she invokes the era in which she lives.

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Murakami, just breathtaking in its originality and provides an insight into the viewpoint of Japanese people going through profound cultural change.

The Court of the Red Tsar by Simon Sebag Montefiore, well written study about power and Stalin, showing how whacky and poisonous he was.

What are the most important works in American fiction in the last 25 years?

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, such an exciting book in that it experiments with the novel form in breathtaking ways. Chabon’s stunning descriptive passages, I think, take a lot of beating. However, I have not read a lot of recent American fiction. Suggestions welcome.

When it comes to books, what’s your greatest pet peeve?

Books which are so obviously products of writing courses. Many of these books have their own artificial strait jacket, e.g. , all show and no tell – ridiculously obtruse ways of weaving in a backstory – no adjectives – strictly no cliches. This drives me potty. I’m so distracted by the political correctness of the style that I can’t follow the story!

Kindle, audiobook, or good, old-fashioned paper pages? Why?

I like the musty smell of books in basements of libraries and the crisp newness of books in shops. But would like to get a Kindle as I could make the typing big and not have to wear glasses. I can also see the potential of Kindle and its ilk, for multi media applications, e.g., switch the screen to audio if I need to get on with a task and listen to the next bit of the story – or switch to photo albums or videos attached to the story. There is also the potential for cyber-bridging between reading and watching films or videos of the characters and part of the action in one novel. This would require collaboration between artists. However, that would detract from immersing myself in the written word and entering the world of my own imagination.

Have you had a freakishly bizarre epiphany while under the influence of a novel?

Yes, I was in the mediaeval town of Taroudant, South Morocco, reading Carlos Castenada’s The Teachings of Don Juan and came across a passage which contained the phrase “Let death be your advisor.” At that moment, I dropped the book over the side of the iron bed, we were sleeping on, when I noticed a live electricity wire just millimetres away from the iron bed leg. We were so close to being eletrocuted that I now take Castenada’s piece of teaching seriously.

Is there a book you want to consign to the flames? Explain.

Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code. Couldn’t stand his boring style. And yes I am jealous he’s made millions!

Why do you read?

To glean what another person who writes well, makes of this thing called life. To lull me to sleep last thing at night.