I've owned this book for the better part of a decade, and this was my most recent reread in years. I remember it held much interest in me when I first bought it, as I was just beginning organ studies. Enough about me--onto the book!
Seth's writing style is beautiful and prose-like, much like the dialogue of the main character from Your Lie in April. The story is about a violinist Michael who lives in London, who narrates from first-person perspective. He is a member of a local string quartet which has had quite the successful career for six years. Michael lives alone in his flat where he gives private lessons for his students. The opening exposition sheds light on his overall character, as well as his painful past with a former lover, Julia. They met and fell in love in a music-school in Vienna, and had quite the falling out due to Michael's performance pressure and depression. Ten years have passed and one day, completely by chance, he sees Julia reading a book on a nearby bus. After losing sight of her, his goal becomes to find her, apologize for the past, and see what goes on from there.
One could see this as a romance novel, as they have feelings for one another. As the book goes on, their relationship becomes both clear and muddied; Julia has a husband of nine years, and a six-year old son. She is, to Michael's shock, going deaf. Much of the story is about her overcoming her disability and each of them expressing their feelings for one another, but ultimately the relationship cannot continue, either as friends or lovers.
One unique aspect of this book I loved was how Seth writes about the life of a musician. Of course, this was set in the 90's, so a single violinist supporting himself on funds from lessons, performances, recording sessions, etc. would be ridiculous to imagine in today's economy! I love his visual descriptions of life in London. If I could describe this book under a cliche, or genre, I'd kind of...give it a theme of 'non-drama' as most of the turmoil and drama of the book is introvert and heart-felt rather than extrovert in nature. There is no action, like car crashes or gun fights or raised voices, only thought.
At first when I read this book I thought, "Oh, what a lovely romance of a man being acquainted with a former muse and lover. How gentlemanly of him to pursue her, give voice to his struggles, thoughts, and feelings!' I had the notion that his feelings and actions were true to heart, pure of intention, and what someo
... keep reading on reddit ➡All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -
Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.
In the city of which I sing There was a just and placid King.
The King proclaimed an arch should be Constructed, that triumphally
Would span the major thoroughfare To edify spectators there.
The workmen went and built the thing. They did so since he was the King.
The King rode down the thoroughfare To edify spectators there.
Under the arch he lost his crown. The arch was built too low. A frown
Appeared upon his placid face. The King said, ‘This is a disgrace.
The chief of builders will be hanged.’ The rope and gallows were arranged.
The chief of builders was led out. He passed the King. He gave a shout,
‘O King, it was the workmen’s fault’ ‘Oh!’ said the King, and called a halt
To the proceedings. Being just (And placider now) he said, ‘I must
Have all the workmen hanged instead.’ The workmen looked surprised, and said,
‘O King, you do not realise The bricks were made of the wrong size.’
‘Summon the masons!’ said the King. The masons stood there quivering.
‘It was the architect...’, they said, The architect was summoned.
‘Well, architect,’ said His Majesty. ‘I do ordain that you shall be
Hanged.’ Said the architect, ‘O King, You have forgotten one small thing.
You made certain amendments to The plans when I showed them to you.’
The King heard this. The King saw red. In fact he nearly lost his head;
But being a just and placid King He said, ‘This is a tricky thing.
I need some counsel. Bring to me The wisest man in this country.’
The wisest man was found and brought, Nay, carried, to the Royal Court.
He could not walk and could not see, So old (and therefore wise) was he —
But in a quavering voice he said, ‘The culprit must be punished.
Truly, the arch it was that banged The crown off, and it must be hanged’.
To the scaffold the arch was led When suddenly a Councillor said —
‘How can we hang so shamefully What touched your head, Your Majesty?’
‘True,’ mused the King. By now the crowd, Restless, was muttering aloud.
The King perceived their mood and trembled And said to all who were assembled —
‘Let us postpone consideration Of finer points like guilt. The nation
Wants a hanging. Hanged must be Someone, and that immediately.’
The noose was set up somewhat high. Each man was measured by and by.
But only one man was so tall He fitted. One man. That was all.
He was the King. His Majesty Was therefore hanged by Royal Decree
‘Thank Goodness we found someone,’ said The Ministers, ‘for if instead
We had not, the unruly town Might
... keep reading on reddit ➡Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile. You're twenty-six, and still have some of life ahead. No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I'll Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.
The world is too opaque, distressing and profound. This twenty minutes' rendezvous will make my day: To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around, Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.
I willed my love to dream of me last night, that we might lie at peace, if not beneath a single sheet, under one sky. I dreamed of her but she could not alas humour my will; it struck me suddenly that where she was was daylight still.
I'd imagine it would be about 50+ hrs long.
I am looking for the dramatised series of BBC Radio.
Does the Golden Gate novel completely follows me iambic tetrameter. I found so many line in the book that were not in iambic tetrameter. I’m not an authority over poetic meters, hence the question.
Across these miles I wish you well.
May nothing haunt your heart but sleep.
May you not sense what I don't tell.
May you not dream, or doubt, or weep.
May what my pen this peaceless day
Writes on this page not reach your view
Till its deferred print lets you say
It speaks to someone else than you.
I have never expected a book to very interesting as well as very long. Generally, when there are more number of pages, the story doesn't flow with ease. There appears to be a lot of drag. But this book has proved me wrong. The story is set in 1950's in India, post independent Indian state. It touches on a lot of matters, and it is almost similar to the way we experience things in the modern world barring the technological advancements. An overprotective emotional mother, an arrogant brother who is very much protective of his image than anything else. I don't want to reveal the characters, the casteism that existed then, the Hindu Muslim riots, etc. It touches on many things and tries to give an insight into each one of them. Take a bow vikram Seth. It's been a very memorable experience.
Just finished reading A Suitable Boy. I am looking for similar books. Topics I am looking for are: Books about India or a single town or country, multiple family dramas, very long engrossing reads.
All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hands to left or right,
And emptiness above –
Know that you aren’t alone.
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.
All you who sleep tonight Far from the ones you love, No hands to left or right, And emptiness above – Know that you aren’t alone. The whole world shares your tears, Some for two nights or one, And some for all their years.
Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile. You’re twenty-six, and still have some life ahead. No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I’ll Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.
The world is too opaque, distressing and profound. This twenty minutes’ rendezvous will make my day: To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around, Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.
I willed my love to dream of me last night, that we might lie
at peace, if not beneath a single sheet, under one sky.
I dreamed of her but she could not alas humour my will;
it struck me suddenly that where she was was daylight still.
- Collected in All You Who Sleep Tonight.
