Desert Island Books

One of my favorite podcasts is the BBC’s Desert Island Discs. A celebrity from a wide range of fields is interviewed by the host Kirsty Young and during the course of the interview the celebrity plays DJ and picks out their top 8 tracks that mean the most to them that they would carry it along when castaway to a desert island. 

Although I don’t think I will ever be on a Desert Island (not a real one or on the program) I recently asked myself which books would I carry with me to a desert island. Then I realized that it was so hard to pick just 8 books so i cheated and said i will take the complete works of the following authors. So here is my list, not in any particular order:

1.   P.G.Wodehouse (I will certainly need a laugh) 
2.  Joseph Campbell (will take his lectures as audiobooks as i love his voice)
3. Margaret Atwood (A dose of feminism will be a boost when i am the only person on the island)
4. Jared Diamond (i can contemplate about our civilization as i will now have all the time in the world)
5. Steinbeck (i will get every variety of emotion with his books, and i can fondly think of California my adopted homeland with so much pride)
6. Harper Lee (she wrote just one, but that was enough and it will still teach me some life lessons)
7. Kalki (he made Tamil literature so accessible to me, and his books will keep me connected to my native land)
8. James Joyce (so i can finally claim to have finished Ulysses)

There were a few more in the running - Chinua Achebe, Tagore, Isabel Allende, Barbara Kingsolver were strong contenders. But these were the 8 that bubbled to the top.

Would be great to hear from you about your Desert Island Books!

OBOC - Spain

An object at rest will remain at rest, proclaimed Newton in his famous law of inertia, unless acted on by a force. Unfortunately for me there exists no such external force that can make me write, and no fracking seems to have been able to get to the intrinsic motivation that lies somewhere deep inside me.  I’ve heard many writers claim that the story just wrote itself, and they were just a medium. That (in addition to countless other reasons) explains why I could never be a writer. It has always been too darn difficult for me. Anyway today the resolve to write came to me as I could see the year drawing to a close and I didn’t want to close 2013 without an entry in December.

Shadow of the wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafron was my pick for Spain. I am a fan of most things used/recycled (read, I am cheap). So when I found the Shadow of the wind available at my local library for 25c I decided to ignore the alphabetical order of things and jumped straight to Spain. I am also a fan of most things Gothic. In fact one of my favorite Jane Austen novels is Northanger Abbey (gothic parody at its best) and my love for all things black and all art from Tim Burton is known to friends and family. So it was no wonder that I enjoyed Shadow of the wind. I mean a book that opens with a cemetery of forgotten books was certainly going to have my undivided (well, almost) attention.

The hero Daniel finds himself completely possessed by a book with the eponymous title written by the little known Julian Carax. Having “rescued” this book from the cemetery when he was 10years old, he finds that his whole life is governed by some kind of a gothic quest for Julian and the story behind the book. Interwoven into the story, is the Spanish civil war and the air of unrest, terror and suspicion that hung over Barcelona at that time.  Who is the mystery person buying up all the copies of Julian Carax’s works? What is the connection between the monstrous Fumero, who is now firmly with Franco and Julian? Will Daniel’s life mirror that of Julian’s or will he find a happier ending? The book is a great read, so I suggest you find out yourself.

The revenge of the dolls - Happy Navratri!

This is a story about stories and dolls, and this is the perfect season to narrate this story. Yes it is Navratri– the festival of nine nights which is also the doll festival called Golu in my native Chennai. Growing up I had very mixed feelings about this festival that when I emigrated, I chose to keep it under lock in the cultural corner of my brain and throw away the key.

What did I have against Navratri you ask? Well for starters I had to dress up in clothes that I hated, and for the one hour that my mom left me in charge when she was out visiting the neighbors I had to deal with women visiting ours, and I felt like Scout did when she was surrounded by her aunt’s friends in The Mockingbird. Instead of the starched walls of pink penitentiary, I felt cornered by the 6 yards of ornate, elaborate, yet sweaty silk sarees which adorned and draped these wardens of culture. How I envied the men who would gladly escape the ordeal and sought refuge in the inner chambers of the home for the nine evenings refusing to come out. And to add fuel to the fire, I was expected to play my veena and show off my talents, and if food was the epitome of the Indian festival, this one was dealt a bad card – just “sundal” for 9 nights! How can these lifeless dolls hold so much power and sway over my life? Do you blame me for stretching my hands out like Andy Dufresne in Shawashank Redemption when I crawled through the airport lines and touched down in America and proclaimed my freedom!

And then I had a daughter and boy (or should I say “girl”) did that change everything! Suddenly words like "legacy, culture, heritage" came back into my language and started to make sense, as though I was a teenager in love and all the previously discarded meaningless lyrics of love songs suddenly start to make sense. So when she turned 3, I shocked my mother by proclaiming I was going to kick off the doll festival at our home here in America and I asked her if she had any of our old dolls still around. 

Contrary to what I said earlier, the old dolls were not truly lifeless. Life was breathed into them by the stories told by my grandmother – like the “Blue Shiva” which was always the first doll we would set up, the very first doll my parents bought as a couple; or the “baby boy” with his hands under his chin – a mirror of one that was at our cousins', or the pairs of animals that arrived at our home every year, thanks to my maternal uncle who probably thought he was Noah rescuing these pairs from the streets of Chennai to the ark that was our golu padi. As I write this my jukebox of a mind is popping up images of me in Kuralagam with my mom (the only other shopping besides books that I truly enjoyed) or my grandmother coming home in a rickshaw in pouring rain clasping a couple of dolls which she thought were absolutely needed for our collection, and the kids in my neighborhood going out on golu visits as a group and rating different golus and the sundals.

So here I am on my 4^th year of golu in America and although I started off with completely new dolls, some of them have stories attached to them already, and not just the mythological ones. Some remind us of friends who no longer live near us geographically, and others of our travels to countries near and far, still others tell us stories about my daughter’s current interest (Ninjas rule!), and some are just there to speak for my mom and they appear to be saying “I told you so” while she has the sagacity to not say so.

As we welcome friends to our home these days, I confess that I’ve come a long way from my first golu when I was seen sporting lounge pants, to this year when I am actually seen in a decent looking kurta (thanks mom!) and am making the same sundals which suddenly taste delicious, and asking my daughter to play the piano for the dolls which are back in power at our home… just nine nights after all.

Reading...just not writing

From the date of my last post, it can be easily misconstrued that I haven't been reading much. On the contrary I have been quite busy reading away, just not the OBOC-type of books. What I haven't been doing is writing of any kind (and nope I don't consider writing bulleted executive readable powerpoints as writing). So i know this one is going to come out not to my satisfaction, still I can't keep postponing.

I've been getting my fix of crime writing. Jo Nesbo has become one of my most favorite crime writers and Harry Hole, the alcoholic, morbid, lone wolf my favorite detective of recent times. So, yes other than The Bat and The Police I am through with all the Harry Hole novels.

I am also juggling two non-fiction, Jared Diamond's latest on what we can learn from traditional societies and Barbara Tuchman's Distant Mirror (I started this as a prep for our whirlwind 7 country Europe tour and about half way through). Hopefully will finish those in a month.

In all this, I haven't abandoned OBOC. In fact finished 3 countries.

• Lithuania - "Between shades of grey" (not to be confused with the other shades the whole world seems to have read) by Ruta Sepetys. This is a young adult novel that describes the untold and even forgotten horrors inflicted on Lithuanians by Russians following the invasion of 1939. Lina the 16 year old heroine of the novel is plucked from her seemingly normal life and is sent on what seems to be a one way journey to Siberia. How she survives and lives to tell the story is the novel. It is a work of fiction but inspired by true events. Somehow despite the poignant theme and the heart wrenching scenes this one did not work for me. 
• Malawi - read a short story nominated for the caine prize called "Love on trial" by Stanley Kenani. I was slightly disappointed with this story as it wasted the premise by settling into known comfortable arguments and there was nothing uniquely African about it. Charles, a final year law student is caught engaging in a homosexual act. An outpouring of outrage, and the media circus that follows, leads him to a debate with a leading TV journalist. All the arguments are well known and predictable and seem to have been heard elsewhere. Maybe the subject is very new to Africa, still I expected a lot more local flavor. But I am happy for the nomination as it meant we get to read a young writer from Africa. I also read "The boy who harnessed the wind" by William Kamkwamba, but a lot has been said about that already.

• Mexico - I started off with Death of Artemio Cruz, but I have to concede I was not proceeding at a satisfactory pace and all I can say it was not entirely my fault. Carlos Fuentes is partly responsible.Instead I switched to "Like water for chocolate" by Laura Esquivel and now that was quite a fast read! She is not Isabel Allende, at least not yet, and her magical realism is a bit over the top, still I loved the concept for the book. Each chapter begins with a recipe and a number of themes like feminism, marrying for love, the Mexican revolution are all "baked" within.

I am now reading "Shadow of the wind" by the Spanish writer Carlos Ruiz Zafron and loving it. It is gothic, and is book about books, and has some really spectacular writing. So as I said, I am completely captivated. Will write more when I am done.

That's a wrap!

OBOC - Malaysia

"The Garden of Evening Mists"  by Tan Twan Eng made me a) want to visit Malaysia b) recall my visit to the Imperial Garden in Tokyo, Japan.  I have to concede that I am not a huge fan of Japanese gardens because I always felt they were a bit too artificial for my taste, but this book's evocative descriptions of a Japanese garden designed by none other than the Emperor's gardener himself, made me want to go back and re-experience the gardens of Tokyo.

Set in Malaysia during World War II the book brings together Yun Ling Teoh the sole survivor of a prisoner of war camp run by the Japanese, and Aritomo the Japanese gardener who was once exiled from Japan and who has chosen not to return to his homeland even after the war ended.  Yun Ling becomes Aritomo's apprentice so that she could learn to build a Japanese garden in honor of her sister's memory, and during that process slowly deals with her problems - her sense of betrayal, anger, and her desire for revenge. We also see Malaysia come into its own following the British, Japanese occupation and then struggling to fend off Communist guerillas.

The novel is set in the present with Yun Ling now retired from the Supreme Court, returning to Yugiri the estate of Aritomo to take care of some unfinished business from the past, especially now that she knows she has a debilitating disease that is causing her to lose her memory. As she starts writing down her story, we also learn that Aritomo was not just a master gardener but was also a well respected tattoo and wood block prints artist and Yun Ling herself is the final living proof for his horimono skills.

Imperial Garden, Tokyo

Why did Yun Ling survive the camp when everyone else perished? What was Aritomo doing in Yugiri? How did he meet his end? Will she build her Japanese garden? What will she do with Aritomo's garden, his wood prints and his horimono?

From the opening sentence "On a mountain above the clouds once lived a man who had been the gardener of the Emperor of Japan" this book had me hooked. I found it hard to put down although the pace was quite slow and meditative. The detailed ceremonies - tea, tattoo, gardening, archery, Chinese mooncake festival - were captivating. The Malaysia of Eng is a melting pot of cultures and nationalities - South Africans, Japanese, Tamils, Chinese, and indigenous Malaysian tribes all figure in the story and anyone familiar with the region knows that it is not far off from the Malaysia of today.

Yes there were some sections of the book that read like a history book and others which were crawling at snail pace, and some that felt rushed but I thought the book was like Aritomo's garden.  "A garden is composed of a variety of clocks.... Some of them run faster than the others, and some of them move slower than we can ever perceive".  Tan Twan Eng lost out to Hilary Mantel at the Booker, but FWIIW I am still plodding through "Wolf Hall" whereas I easily strolled through the Garden of Evening Mists :)

OBOC - Libya

It has been 3 weeks since I finished "In the country of men" by Hisham Matar, and i am still "marinating" (to use a borrowed expression from a friend) in the experience. This book has stayed with me long after I've returned it to the library, and I've been touched by it enough that I've watched countless interviews with Hisham Matar on youtube and replayed his interview with the BBC world book club multiple times. Although not autobiographical, the story is inspired by Matar's personal

experiences of losing his dissident father to the Qaddafi regime and being forced to live in exile.

Any comparison between "In the Country of Men" with the "Kite Runner" is, in my mind very superficial. Yes, both deal with young boys growing up under brutal regimes, trying to get closer to their dads and dealing with betrayal and guilt. While it does look like they have more things in common I personally think In the Country of Men is in a different league.

As a mom I often think about how open and honest I should be with my 8year old especially when it comes to explaining the "grown up" world - how do you explain loss of life to natural disasters, mass shootings, death in the family, loss of a job, poverty etc. I constantly grapple with nurturing her idealism - "I want everything in this world to be fair, everyone should win, everyone should have fun", was her bedtime wish last night - and at the same time exposing her to day-to-day realism. Luckily I live in a part of the world where she doesn't have to grow up too fast and where I don't have to weave a complex web of lies everyday, just to protect her.

Najwa, the mom who is the central character of the book, doesn't have it easy like me. How does she survive "In the country of men"? Simply by turning to her "medicine" and cloaking her son with a web of lies. Everytime her husband Faraj leaves the home to engage in Anti-Qaddafi activities, Najwa seeks solace in the bottle. She shields her young son Suleiman from the brutal realities around him with such fierceness that the boy gravitates towards some unseemly characters who are with the regime purely because they don't shield him.

The stage for the story is set in the neighborhood of Mulberry street, and the only mulberry tree that has remained is in the compound of Ustad Rashid. That is not the only reason why that compound stands out. Ustad Rashid is taken away one day by the "Guide's" men accused of treason and in one of the most harrowing scenes in the novel he meets his end at a public hanging with the whole nation witnessing the hanging in person or through television. When it is time for Faraj to be taken by the Guide's men he doesn't meet with the same end thanks to Najwa's initiatives.

As a reader one is able to comprehend what the 9 year old Suleiman is unable to, but I found it very hard to digest Suleiman's acts of betrayal.  I found myself wanting Suleiman to be more righteous and do the right thing despite living in horrific situations. Hisham Matar on the other hand passes no judgements on those dissidents who "betray" their comrades under the circumstances. When a whole nation is suffering from collective psychosis what can one say about bravery or betrayal? Whether one chooses to live under the oppression of the regime or leave to live in exile one carries a burden that is not easy to get rid off.

OBOC - Lebanon

My pick for Lebanon was "The Rock of Tanios" by the award winning writer Amin Maalouf. Set in the late 1800s when you have a number of powers jostling for prime position in the Middle East - the Turks, Egyptians and the British and the French, the novel takes one historical event and spins a fascinating fictional story around it.

The story is told by a modern day narrator who grew up in the village of Kfaryabda, where he recalls not climbing one particular rock - the rock of Tanios. Legend has it that Tanios, the wise fool whose hair turned white when he was 15, was last seen sitting on that rock gazing at the sea. The narrator reconstructs the legend of Tanios with the help of the old man Gebrayel, a book called The Mountain Chronicle, the notes of Rev.Stolton who ran the Protestant school in Kfaryabda and the writings of the peddler Nadeer to whom Tanios first revealed his love for Asma.

Kfaryabda is a small insignificant village which finds itself an unexpected stage for major political action. The hero of the novel is the young teenager Tanios who although the illegitimate son of the Catholic Sheikh is sent to a school run by a Protestant preacher in the village along with the Sheikh's legitimate son, a simple act that has major political ramifications. Tanios who is outraged by his illegitimate status and the subservient ways of his "adoptive" father Gerios the right hand man of the Sheikh  views the Protestant school as his escape route from a life of servitude. When Tanios fails to win the hand of the girl he loves on account of his low status, Gerios in an effort to regain the respect of his son assassinates the local Patriarch who he holds responsible for Tanios' fate.

Gerios and Tanios escape to Cyrpus where Gerios is captured and later killed by the Emir's spies. Tanios finds himself recruited by English spies who use him as a diplomatic mediator with the Emir. Tanios displays leniency and diplomacy in the way he deals with the Emir in an attempt to break from the cycle of violence that has plagued the region. He returns to Kfaryabda as a triumphant local hero ready to take his rightful place as the Sheikh's successor, surprised to find that his heart was not set on it.

The book is a fantastic read, once you get a hang of the politics. It is lyrical, intriguing yet leisurely paced. Day to day petty quarrels, family discords are contrasted with big political machinations. Caught between two fathers, two women, two political powers, no wonder Tanios' hair turns white at 15! What does it mean to be forced to leave your country, how does it feel to be wronged for no fault of yours, how do you break the cycle of revenge, of servitude, what does it mean to be a man, a leader, and how do you evolve your unique identity in an era where conformism is the norm ? The book raises all these questions without weighing down the reader.

OBOC - Laos

I violated the OBOC rule once again, when I picked Colin Cotterill's "The Coroner's Lunch" for Laos. Colin is a British/Australian living in South Asia and is known for his two series - Dr.Siri Paiboun Series set in Laos and the Jimm Juree novels set in Thailand. Although not native to Laos, he has spent many years in the country and seems to have done an excellent job in capturing Laos - the people, the politics, the culture - all within a crime novel. As you can tell I enjoyed the book!

Set in 1976 when Laos had just turned  Communist, the story has Dr.Siri a 72 year old doctor now forced to take on the role of the coroner as it's unlikely hero. Dr.Siri is sharp, witty, and has adopted communism first for love in his youth and now for convenience. He is the only doctor left in Laos following the Communist take over and therefore chosen to be the state's coroner despite having no training in the field. He has for his assistants the very lovable Down's Syndrome affected Mr.Geung and the spinster Drui and the three of them have managed to establish a haven of trust, affection, good humor and camaraderie in the unlikely environment of a mortuary when the world outside seems to have completely lost all those qualities.

Without going into details of the crimes at the heart of the novel I can say that it was quite a page turner not from just a suspense point of view, but also because of the humor (yes, dark in some places), the character development and the almost absolute lack of condescending prose. Dr.Siri is forced to become an investigator of sorts with his team and along with his counterpart from Vietnam and some able assistance from his long time friend Civilai, and Inspector Phosy he unravels the murders one by one and in that process we the readers peel off layer by layer of Laos society and it's culture.

When you read the book, you cannot help compare it to Alexander McCall Smith's series set in Botswana which also features an unlikely investigator, but for some reason I liked the tone of the Dr.Siri mystery much more than the No.1 Detective agency. In a time when the Scandinavian crime novel heroes are so popular I thought Dr.Siri offers a different type of hero to the dark, gritty Wallander type heroes. The dignity, poise and wit of Dr.Siri brings humanity to gruesome situations. I think I've found my lazy afternoon or late night quick- mystery-fix  i.e if the other books are as good as the first one :) Now if only someone can make a TV show out of the Dr.Siri series I will be set!

Losing myself in Genoa

San Lorenzo

Although not a big fan of Columbus the "discoverer" of America, I got some amazing insight about the man on my recent visit to Genoa. I find it ridiculous on many levels that Columbus gets so much credit for just managing to lose his way especially because he is a Genoese and getting lost must've been second nature to him! Before you accuse me of dissing Genoa and the Genoese, let me clarify I have nothing but respect for the Genoese people. In fact I found them to be very friendly, very eager to help, and they do know their pesto.

But the city is amazingly well suited for getting lost. I learned that since the Medieval times the city tried to shore up its defenses with well laid out forts and palaces. Why bother! Which enemy in their right mind is going to navigate the carrugi and get to the heart of the city to storm the seat of power?

The first day in Genoa I had a seemingly simple task of locating a ATM machine to get some Euros. Like most Americans i had just assumed everyone around the world, would gladly take the Dollar, but NO! One would think I was trying to pull a fast one trying to trade with them in Bitcoin. I won't name the hotel that I had the misfortune of staying, but after a 6 hour plane delay, a day of near starvation, and a room which felt like a boiler, was it too much to expect a hotel to have a concierge who could've pointed me to an ATM? Bates Motel would have got one star more from me on tripadvisor when compared to this one.

Atop one of the museums in Via Garibaldi

I felt like Jack Lemmon in the out of towners and would've boarded the next flight to America, that is if I could a) get the Lufthansa website to load on the phenomenally snail speed Wi-Fi at Bates Motel b) ignore my professional duty c) accept defeat and say I am too old to deal with such (mis)adventures in a foreign land. But I couldn't bring myself to do any of the above 3 so I stayed on and like all species that have survived, I learned to adapt.

After a night of good sleep with the balcony door open (I did a well thought out risk analysis which took all of 5 minutes and decided that getting robbed in sleep was better than getting fried trying to sleep ) everything seemed better. Armed with an umbrella (now that, the hotel had) which I thought could come handy as a mugger-deterrent i stepped out to explore. I am glad to report that I didn't have to use the umbrella even once.

Dog outside San Lorenzo

After navigating the countless street vendors (amazingly all of them from some part of Africa/India, who equally amazingly spoke to me in Espanol) who wanted to sell me trinkets and magnets, and some who just wanted to celebrate their African nation's day of freedom by "giving" me a gift of friendship, I managed to end up at the Palazzo Tursi eager to see Paganini's violin. As I navigated the museum i was struck not just by the art, but by the fact that there was one volunteer in each room of the palace who walked with you to the next room to hand you off, so you won't get lost within the 5 or 6 rooms! Hey, where are these volunteers on the streets, where I really need them?

By the time I reached San Lorenzo cathedral and touched the "lucky dog" outside, it certainly looked like my luck had turned for the good. I met this amazingly funny tour guide who was not just a wealth of knowledge but also a keeper of secrets and she let me in on a little but crucial secret on how to survive in Genoa. If ever you get lost in the carrugi, she said, just look for a road sloping downhill as all downward slopes can only lead to the sea, and you will find your way to Roman Polanski's pirate ship. Elementary! So with gravity as my friend I happily lost myself in Genoa, just wandering through the Carrugi getting lost on purpose to see if I could get back to the port, and here I am living to tell the tale.

Polanski's Pirate Ship

No offense to my family or friends (and you know how much I love you all), but that Saturday when I spent dawn to dusk walking alone amidst a sea of people was one of the best times in recent memory.  I completely lost myself in the sights and sounds of Genoa and as I was winding down (no pun intended), I heard a familiar refrain "I think we are lost....again, Mom"! I turned to see a young American family. A little Columbus in the making I thought, but given how much I dislike Columbus, wasn't sure I would wish it on the little boy, so I said "I learned a small trick to navigate the Carrugi"....

OBOC - Kyrgyzstan & Kazakhstan

It is with trepidation that I picked up “The Day Lasts More than a Hundred Years” by Chingiz Aitmatov the most celebrated writer from Kyrgyzstan. The novel itself is set in Kazakhstan; hence this OBOC project is for both the countries. I had almost decided to skip Kazakhstan, but felt it would be great injustice if the only thing I could associate with the country is Borat. The Hundred Years in the title reminded me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude and that was quite a difficult read. But I am glad I forced myself to pick up this book, because once I did there was not much coercion needed to make me finish it.

Set in the remote Sary-ozek steppes of Kazakhstan in the early 50’s close to the end of Stalinism, one would think that besides the railways there was hardly any modernization. After all a Bactrian camel plays a colorful and significant role throughout the novel. But hidden among the barren landscapes are the spacecraft launch stations which are lighting up the night sky with rocket launches.

Yedegei Burranyi the hero of the novel is a railway worker at the Boranly-Burranyi Junction. When his friend and coworker Kazangap dies, Yedegei begins a long arduous journey through the Steppes to bury him at the Ana Beiit cemetery as per the dying man’s wish. The day long journey is carried out by Yedegei on his camel followed by the grave digger and his equipment, a tractor and the close male relatives and friends of the dead man. The novel is basically Yedegei reminiscing about his life, his friendships, notably his relationship with the family of Abutalip who is wronged by the Party, and life in Burranyi Junction, combined with myths and folktales from Kazakhstan. 

Running in parallel is a science fiction plot where 2 cosmonauts, 1 American and 1 Russian have made contact with an extra terrestrial civilization on the planet Lesnaya Grud which now wants to reach out to the humans on Earth. Both nations decide not to entertain any contact with the extra-terrestrial civilization and therefore choose to abandon the two cosmonauts who went over to Lesnaya Grud. The whole operation is kept secret from the Public and the two governments decide to launch missile-equipped satellites to defend the earth from any launches from Lesnaya Grud.  

Although there is some discussion about the “mankurt” (people alienated from their motherland, culture and overall society) and the story of Abutalip’s imprisonment and persecution can be viewed as containing dissident themes, I found “The day…” to be fairly ambiguous that it escaped the censor board in Russia. Yedegei is a practicing Muslim and in the death rituals we see that he hasn’t given up his way of life. At the same time “The Party” which is seeing winds (maybe I should say light breeze) of change following the death of Stalin re-opens the case of Abutalip and clears his name, and there is overall optimism.

The science fiction plot was loosely tied with Yedegei’s life, and if one wants to make any kind of analogies to the main plot, it is tenuous at best. I still enjoyed the book.  Wouldn’t call it a classic, but this is a perfect book for a project like OBOC. Learned about a new country, a new author and a different narrative style and it was mostly easy-reading!