I want to write. I really really do.
I, however, seem to have been afflicted with this sudden and rather severe case of blogger's block. Not a serious malady to most, I know, but anyone who's read my previous post will readily understand my subsequent empathy for the Rani Mukherji character in 'Black'.
There I was, several weeks ago, happily swimming through a pool of ideas, where words would go floating past, so I could grab them, sample and savour them, and let them swim through my fingers only to see 2 or 3 more appear in front of me. In short, I was in pure unadulterated bliss, when...WHAM! The evil hand of fate pulled the plug out from beneath me. All my wonderful text went gushing through the drain, and I was left scratching and clawing at the bottom of a bone-dry pool.
So, it is with an effort to awaken my slumbering literary genius that I embark on this post. It is in the absence of all ideas that one turns to desperation...and thus it is, that in my deepest hours of darkness I turn to the single ray of hope that presents itself...a book review!!
Hold your horses, you say!! Thats all fine and dandy, you say, but aren't we forgetting something? Namely, that we need to have a book in order to do a book review? And where is a man bereft of ideas expected to come across a good read? An astute observation, indeed, except for the fact that I am afflicted with blogger's block, not reader's block. Besides, I say, I already have one in mind. What, really, you say? Yes, Blindness, I say.
Now lets move away from this increasingly confusing conversation, on to the main topic of this post, a review of 'Blindness' by Jose Saramago.
I believe that books, like movies, should not focus on the mundane. Thats one reason I read science-fiction. That and the fact that they have laser guns. But, to elaborate, science-fiction is one of the few areas where one isn't bound by the laws of this world, where one has the freedom to dream up alternate worlds, new truths, as it were, and then ponder how mankind would react when faced with these truths. This is what Jose Saramago does in Blindness. He thinks up an alternate scenario, one that is as far-fetched as it is horrifyingly real, and then gives you his version...a startlingly accurate version...of how humanity deals with this reality.
The premise of the book is this...in an unnamed city, an epidemic of blindness spreads. A man driving a car stops at a signal, and is suddenly and spontaneously rendered blind. A good samaritan (or so it seems at first) helps him home to his wife. The 'good samaritan' then takes off with his car. The wife, in the meantime, takes the blind man to a doctor. Pretty soon the wife, the car thief, the policeman who stopped him, the doctor and all his patients turn blind. And thus, the epidemic starts to spread across the city.
Interestingly, this is a unique 'white blindness', where the afflicted see white instead of black. A pure, dazzling whiteness all around them, enveloping them, wherever they look.
If that in itself were not frightening enough, Saramago proceeds to paint a bleak picture of how society deals with this disease. The authorities round up all the blind people, and everyone they've been in contact with, and herd them into an abandoned mental asylum. The building is surrounded by high walls, with guards posted to shoot anyone who tries to escape. There is, of course, no point caring for them or investigating the disease; anyone who attempts to make contact would certainly go blind as well.
Thus the narration starts, a group of blind inmates in an asylum, cut off from the world outside, and their attempt to live a 'normal' life under the circumstances.
What strikes home for me, is the fact that we pride ourselves so much on being a cultured and civilized race. We have all these wonderful policies and principles that give us a good life, and above all, we have this priceless gift called a brain that elevates us above the rest of the life on this planet. Right??
The question that Saramago poses is, 'what if'? What if these rules failed? What if science and our vast knowledge failed to help us? Is a human being a human being only because of these external factors, or is there something else, something intrinsic, that defines us as a race? What do human values and morales actually stand for? And the fact that he makes us think about all this without having to conjure up some nonsensical scenario like Earthlings being invaded by the planet Zorko, is what makes it all the more remarkable.
Now, this book is not unique in that it poses these questions. I know of atleast two others which make you think along these lines. 1984, which I've read, and Plague, which I haven't. While I think 1984 is a brilliant book in its own right, what differentiates Blindness from it is the realistic setting. While George Orwell thought up an alternate future, what with thought-police and vision-screens and all, Saramago presents his offering in a normal city, which could be one of any in the world. While I admire Orwell for his genius, there is a part of me that knows that his vision of a future will now never exist, or is highly unlikely, at the very least. Blindness, on the other hand, transcends time. Since Saramago does not use these gimmicks of alternate worlds or outlandish theories, his work is as believable today as it will be 100 years from now.
And lest the proceedings all appear too dark and pessimisstic, he also makes a provision to demonstrate kindness, humaneness and love in the midst of all this chaos. One lady, the aforementioned doctor's wife, is the only person who fails to contract this disease. She, however, pretends to be blind and goes along to the asylum so she can care for her husband, and there are several touching scenes of her coping with the madness, while yet maintaining her compassion.
If you dont care for any of the above, and just want mind-tingling horror, thats there as well, and its much more compelling than a Stephen King or Michael Crichton kind of horror, again because of the realism. Like this passage about a conference being held to discuss the epidemic, where the speaker cries out in mid-speech "I'm blind! I'm blind", and within a minute, everyone in the conference hall loses their sight. Or the part about a blind man getting out of the asylum and groping towards the gate, and the pandemonium it sparks among the guards. I was afraid to close my eyes or stare at a tubelight for hours after this book.
Not to forget the more subtle, yet lasting horror that strikes you once you read his portrayal of the weaknesses, fallibility and brutality of Man.
All in all, an absolutely mesmerizing read. One of the best kinds of unputdownable books. One that stretches across several genres. One that continues to make you think ages after you've put it down.
Now...if only it had laser guns as well.....
I, however, seem to have been afflicted with this sudden and rather severe case of blogger's block. Not a serious malady to most, I know, but anyone who's read my previous post will readily understand my subsequent empathy for the Rani Mukherji character in 'Black'.
There I was, several weeks ago, happily swimming through a pool of ideas, where words would go floating past, so I could grab them, sample and savour them, and let them swim through my fingers only to see 2 or 3 more appear in front of me. In short, I was in pure unadulterated bliss, when...WHAM! The evil hand of fate pulled the plug out from beneath me. All my wonderful text went gushing through the drain, and I was left scratching and clawing at the bottom of a bone-dry pool.
So, it is with an effort to awaken my slumbering literary genius that I embark on this post. It is in the absence of all ideas that one turns to desperation...and thus it is, that in my deepest hours of darkness I turn to the single ray of hope that presents itself...a book review!!
Hold your horses, you say!! Thats all fine and dandy, you say, but aren't we forgetting something? Namely, that we need to have a book in order to do a book review? And where is a man bereft of ideas expected to come across a good read? An astute observation, indeed, except for the fact that I am afflicted with blogger's block, not reader's block. Besides, I say, I already have one in mind. What, really, you say? Yes, Blindness, I say.
Now lets move away from this increasingly confusing conversation, on to the main topic of this post, a review of 'Blindness' by Jose Saramago.
I believe that books, like movies, should not focus on the mundane. Thats one reason I read science-fiction. That and the fact that they have laser guns. But, to elaborate, science-fiction is one of the few areas where one isn't bound by the laws of this world, where one has the freedom to dream up alternate worlds, new truths, as it were, and then ponder how mankind would react when faced with these truths. This is what Jose Saramago does in Blindness. He thinks up an alternate scenario, one that is as far-fetched as it is horrifyingly real, and then gives you his version...a startlingly accurate version...of how humanity deals with this reality.
The premise of the book is this...in an unnamed city, an epidemic of blindness spreads. A man driving a car stops at a signal, and is suddenly and spontaneously rendered blind. A good samaritan (or so it seems at first) helps him home to his wife. The 'good samaritan' then takes off with his car. The wife, in the meantime, takes the blind man to a doctor. Pretty soon the wife, the car thief, the policeman who stopped him, the doctor and all his patients turn blind. And thus, the epidemic starts to spread across the city.
Interestingly, this is a unique 'white blindness', where the afflicted see white instead of black. A pure, dazzling whiteness all around them, enveloping them, wherever they look.
If that in itself were not frightening enough, Saramago proceeds to paint a bleak picture of how society deals with this disease. The authorities round up all the blind people, and everyone they've been in contact with, and herd them into an abandoned mental asylum. The building is surrounded by high walls, with guards posted to shoot anyone who tries to escape. There is, of course, no point caring for them or investigating the disease; anyone who attempts to make contact would certainly go blind as well.
Thus the narration starts, a group of blind inmates in an asylum, cut off from the world outside, and their attempt to live a 'normal' life under the circumstances.
What strikes home for me, is the fact that we pride ourselves so much on being a cultured and civilized race. We have all these wonderful policies and principles that give us a good life, and above all, we have this priceless gift called a brain that elevates us above the rest of the life on this planet. Right??
The question that Saramago poses is, 'what if'? What if these rules failed? What if science and our vast knowledge failed to help us? Is a human being a human being only because of these external factors, or is there something else, something intrinsic, that defines us as a race? What do human values and morales actually stand for? And the fact that he makes us think about all this without having to conjure up some nonsensical scenario like Earthlings being invaded by the planet Zorko, is what makes it all the more remarkable.
Now, this book is not unique in that it poses these questions. I know of atleast two others which make you think along these lines. 1984, which I've read, and Plague, which I haven't. While I think 1984 is a brilliant book in its own right, what differentiates Blindness from it is the realistic setting. While George Orwell thought up an alternate future, what with thought-police and vision-screens and all, Saramago presents his offering in a normal city, which could be one of any in the world. While I admire Orwell for his genius, there is a part of me that knows that his vision of a future will now never exist, or is highly unlikely, at the very least. Blindness, on the other hand, transcends time. Since Saramago does not use these gimmicks of alternate worlds or outlandish theories, his work is as believable today as it will be 100 years from now.
And lest the proceedings all appear too dark and pessimisstic, he also makes a provision to demonstrate kindness, humaneness and love in the midst of all this chaos. One lady, the aforementioned doctor's wife, is the only person who fails to contract this disease. She, however, pretends to be blind and goes along to the asylum so she can care for her husband, and there are several touching scenes of her coping with the madness, while yet maintaining her compassion.
If you dont care for any of the above, and just want mind-tingling horror, thats there as well, and its much more compelling than a Stephen King or Michael Crichton kind of horror, again because of the realism. Like this passage about a conference being held to discuss the epidemic, where the speaker cries out in mid-speech "I'm blind! I'm blind", and within a minute, everyone in the conference hall loses their sight. Or the part about a blind man getting out of the asylum and groping towards the gate, and the pandemonium it sparks among the guards. I was afraid to close my eyes or stare at a tubelight for hours after this book.
Not to forget the more subtle, yet lasting horror that strikes you once you read his portrayal of the weaknesses, fallibility and brutality of Man.
All in all, an absolutely mesmerizing read. One of the best kinds of unputdownable books. One that stretches across several genres. One that continues to make you think ages after you've put it down.
Now...if only it had laser guns as well.....
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