Juhi

“Past is anything but bygone”.

Only few know the struggles I had with this book since the last one month. Sure, it started off slow; sure, I had to push through it reluctantly for days; sure, I reissued it maybe 5-6 times; but I cannot hate it anymore now that I've finally completed it.

I love how the the book has predominantly female characters, each with a distinct and quirky personality. I love how their stories intermingle in a painfully striking manner. The book doesn't hit you until you've reached the end. But when it does, you're left with a plethora of thoughts.

The best part about the book is that it made me feel deeply connected to a place I've never visited. But then that's what books do, i suppose - take you to places you've never been and make you yearn for them. On many levels, Istanbul (or Turkey) felt like India - similar family values, rich cuisine, rich heritage, culture and a painful past - delibrately erased, slowly forgotten, but ever present ghost of the past.

Still debating whether it's best to forget what happened, to erase it completely, to have no knowledge of it, or to remember it each daily, to have full knowledge, and re-live the pain or the guilt of the past. Is it better to be ignorant and blissful or knowledgeable and ever suffering?
“Past is anything but bygone”. Only few know the struggles I had with this book since the last one month. Sure, it started off slow; sure, I had to push through it reluctantly for days; sure, I reissued it maybe 5-6 times; but I cannot hate it anymore now that I've finally completed it. I love how the the book has predominantly female characters, each with a distinct and quirky personality. I love how their stories intermingle in a painfully striking manner. The book doesn't hit you until you've reached the end. But when it does, you're left with a plethora of thoughts. The best part about the book is that it made me feel deeply connected to a place I've never visited. But then that's what books do, i suppose - take you to places you've never been and make you yearn for them. On many levels, Istanbul (or Turkey) felt like India - similar family values, rich cuisine, rich heritage, culture and a painful past - deliberately erased, slowly forgotten, but ever present ghost of the past. Still debating whether it's best to forget what happened, to erase it completely, to have no knowledge of it, or to remember it each daily, to have full knowledge, and re-live the pain or the guilt of the past. Is it better to be ignorant and blissful or knowledgeable and ever suffering?

Average read. Pretty predictable.

This was one hell of a weird book from beginning till end. I wonder if it was Agatha Christie who wrote it, or it's one big conspiracy to name her the author of this weird, un-poirot-y, un-agatha book. For starters, the character of Poirot was so off the whole time. Instead of the Poirot, who's known to use his “grey cells” to solve murder mysteries, the Poirot in this book was off fighting and using bombs, and what not to defeat some weird secret organization. It felt like Christie wrote random short stories, and then created some fantastic organization of 4 to thread the stories together, and convert it into a book? Don't even get me started on the climax and the ending where she keeps you wondering if the number 4 is even dead. Was she trying to keep his demise doubtful to bring him in some future novel and kill off Poirot. Now I've not read the last Poirot novel yet, so I'm just left wondering..hmm.

So anyway, the book in short:

1. Poirot calling himself a “triple imbecile” whatever that means.

2. Hastings losing consciousness now and again.

3. Number 4 appearing in each chapter as a new character.

I must say I lost a considerable amount of respect for Agatha Christie after this novel :(

4.5 stars.

Although I absolutely loved the book and enjoyed reading every bit of it, the climax left me a little disappointed.

For starters, the book became too descriptive towards the end, and seemed to stretch out unnecessarily. The divine ramblings of the camerlengo was frustrating and it could've been cut into half easily.

The writing apart, I believe I would've liked the book more if they had decided to reveal the truth to the world at the end. Truth supercedes faith, and more than trying to preserve a faith built on lies and deceit, the people deserved to know the raw truth.

“If my view of the world disappears, then everything I see disappears too”

It is brutal living in a world that values you only for your usefulness to the society. But what about those who are forced by circumstances to lead an existence that is not inherently useful to the society? The author executes the idea beautifully through the lens of an ex-convict, an elderly woman with a troubled life, and a lonely teenage girl. Just like Sentaro never imagined he would work in a dorayaki shop; how many of us are not stuck doing things we never thought we would because of circumstances we did not forsee? Amongst the all the ups, and downs in life, there is always a point where we wonder whether our live has any meaning or whether it is worth living at all. The book tells us - it is. Just our existence makes the world what it is. If we never existed, the world as we see it would not exist. I think it's a beautiful idea. And I loved the way the author delivered the message through the story.

The writing is simple and lucid, yet powerful in invoking sentiments that are generally deep buried. It makes you think, and question, and forces you to evaluate the merit in notions the society has about certain people, or categories of people; the prejudices that we blindly hold, or the social stigmas that make life difficult for the people against whom they are held. As sweet as the name is, the book is even sweeter. It makes for a perfect breezy read, and definitely helped me out of my reading slump!