Book Review: The Heart of Everything by Marc Levy

Book: The Heart of Everything 

Author: Marc Levy 

Translator: Maren Baudet-Lackner

Pages: 205

Publisher: Amazon Crossing 

Price: ₹129 (free for Kindle Unlimited users)

Book Source: Netgalley Review Copy

'Even stories that seem impossible can become real if just two people believe in them.’

One day, I happened to watch a film called ‘Just Like Heaven’, or maybe someone has recommended it on Twitter, I don't remember. I loved the film. And later re-watched it. When I googled it, I found out that it was based on a French novel, ‘If Only It Were True’ by Marc Levy. And with that search came another, very familiar book cover: ‘The Strange Journey of Alice Pendelbury’, which I had already read but, sadly, couldn't remember the author’s name. The author was Marc Levy, and I remembered that I had loved that book too.

And ‘The Heart of Everything' is no exception either. I loved it. There's a fascinating common factor of all three books I mentioned —they all have an element of fantasy or magical realism,
which makes the story even more intriguing and fascinating

‘The Heart of Everything’ tells a heartwarming story of Thomas, a pianist, and his dead father, who suddenly appears in front of him five years after his death, with a very strange request and a shocking secret that dates back to thirty years ago. And hence, they both, yes both, travel from Paris to San Francisco.

The book is all about this journey and the beautiful bond of a father-son duo. I won't tell you more, but it was such an entertaining read.

The writing is lovely, the conversations so endearing. The dialogues were so interesting and witty, from which pops out effortless humour. You might feel that humour is inappropriate for the setting (I sometimes felt bad laughing out loud) but it comes so naturally.

Every character, including the secondary ones, are so well defined. Thomas, as his father says, is such a nice man! Raymond rocks.

The ending, though, is poignant, a kind that fills you with a sense of loss.

‘There’s nothing funny to me about leaving you. But I’ve always found humor to be the most elegant strategy for dealing with adversity.’

I will definitely read more of Marc Levy books, as he is becoming one of my favourite authors. Pick this book up. You won't be disappointed.

Thank you, Netgalley for the review copy.

Book Review: Lonely People Meet by Sayantan Ghosh

 

Book: Lonely People Meet 

Author: Sayantan Ghosh 

Publisher:Bloomsbury India 

Pages: 218

Price: ₹282 on Amazon 

(Kindle copy available).

Book Source: Personal copy (Won it as a prize for my Bookish League - hosted by Ritu - Post - When No One Was Looking: a Bookish Dreamscape

Unique storyline, interesting storytelling and very engaging writing. 

I don't want to reveal much about the plot because it would ruin the fun; I’ll just say that, as the title suggests, it's about dealing with loneliness and holding on to memories. 

On an extraordinarily ordinary day, Karno accidentally meets Devaki. An instant bond is formed and thus begins a friendship —one that gradually leads to love and longing, one-sided perhaps. Just when Karno begins to absorb the feeling of love, one morning — right after a beautiful night — Devaki is no longer a part of his life, and he is left struggling to deal with her absence and the ache it evokes. 

‘I never knew the weight of an absence could be this heavy.’

—from the book.

Lonely People Meet is an intriguing story that encloses a deliciously sharp twist at its core. As the story unfolds, you find yourself walking alongside Karno, searching for answers with him.

I had earlier read a lovely story by Sayantan Ghosh featured in an anthology ‘Best Friends Forever’, and when I came across his debut novel, I really wanted to pick it up. This book carries several striking stories within the story, which I loved. I instantly connected with the author’s writing style and the feel of it. For me, it was a slow burn read, not because it lacks pace, it's just my mental state was a bit different when I started reading it; I just wanted to savour it. 

Devaki is a fascinating character and I found Karno endearing, a lost soul in several ways. Another character who stood out for me was Faiza. 

The only thing that bothered me was that, at certain places, the writing becomes overly descriptive and reads like political commentary. It feels more like the author's personal opinion rather than the character’s narrative, which is fine but it felt slightly out of place for a fictional story. 

Overall, it's a different, soothing read, which I genuinely enjoyed. Definitely looking forward to his next book.

Some quotes that touched me:

‘All of us die twice in a single lifetime. Once when our body perishes and our mortal remains are buried or sent to the pyre. And again, when we fade from the memory of the last living person who remembered us.’

‘Sometimes sadness can be strength.’ 

‘One of them was meeting a long-lost lover, while the other was looking at a total stranger.’

‘In abandonment she had found the strength to renounce her memories.’ 

BOO!

Mystery, intrigue, a sense of unease and a touch of an eerie suspense —Horror used to be one of my favourite genres, even though I am not easily spooked by ghosts or the supernatural. I used to enjoy it mostly through movies and serials, occasional magazine stories but very few books ever seemed to truly ignite a sense of fear in me. And what’s the point of reading a horror story if you don’t feel scared? One of my family friends was flabbergasted to know that I could watch horror at night while I was alone. 

But then, for some reason, I stopped watching or reading horror for a while. Then about two years ago, I came across some really good horror books that rekindled my interest in this genre all over again.

Yesterday, Kiran Manral posted a photo of a horror book she is a part of —BOO! And it suddenly reminded me that I had bought that book but never got around to reading it. So, I dug it out and the first thing I did was check the index. I am thrilled to see some of my favourite writers listed —Jerry Pinto, Arunava Sinha, Kiran Manral. And there are also some writers I’ve been waiting to read —Shashi Deshpande, KR Meera, Jahnavi Barua. 

I already started reading the first story, He Ghoul by KR Meera, and I’m hooked. Now I can’t wait to read more! 

Have you read this book? Do you enjoy reading horror stories? 

This post is part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

Magic Box 2: A Delightful Collection of Children's Stories

If you listen to FM Radio, you must have come across Yaadon Ka Box –a wonderful audio storytelling platform, crisp stories full of heart and nostalgia. I feel truly thankful to be part of this amazing team. We are now stepping into Season 8 (my second season).

Last year, Neelesh sir started his own publishing imprint, The Slow Imprint, in association with Ekada (Hindi wing of Westland Books), and published five lovely books, including Magic Box, a well-loved collection of beautiful children stories. 

And now, Magic Box 2 is here, and available for pre-order. It’s a delightful collection of 18 exciting and imaginative children stories (Hindi) published by Ekada Westland and Slow Imprint. I’m thrilled that some of my stories have found a place in this volume too.

This book brings together a wide range of stories –a haunted house, unique friendships, an unusual fight, lessons from the animal world, a dash of fantasy, tales that evoke the innocence of school days, and much more. It’s a perfect fit for buddy reading with your children. 

The Blurb:

A new magic on every page, a hidden friend in every story! And this friend doesn't just laugh and play with children, but with anyone who has a childlike heart. This is Magic Box 2-the second book in the Magic Box series, with stories for children.

Inside the book, you'll find mischievous animals from the jungle, colourful birds, butterflies, curious kids asking questions, parents pondering answers, clouds, rain, sunshine and much more! When children step away from mobile and computer screens and dive into the stories in this book, they'll discover a world that is simple, straightforward and beautiful. Isn't that exactly what we want to give to our children?

Writers: Smriti Sachdev, Dr Ranjana Jaiswal, Anita Sethi, Harsha Chaudhary, Deepak Heera Rangnath, Kinshuk Kaushik and yes, Tarang Sinha too!

This post is part of Blogchatter Half Marathon

When No One Was Looking: A Bookish Dreamscape

When no one was looking, she found herself sitting on a stone bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, a book resting in her lap. Her face broke into a smile. 

‘Ve Din’ by Nirmal Verma. 

It was an old copy. She opened the book and ran her palm across the page, feeling the texture and the traces of a handwritten message:

‘उनके लिए जिन्हें शब्दों की जादूगरी पर यक़ीन है…’

(For those who believe in the magic of words.)

She leafed through the pages and paused on a paragraph.

‘—पुरानी लिखी हुई कॉपी के बीच एक अनलिखा, कोरे पन्ने सा सफ़ेद और विस्मयकारी। वह सपने सा लगता। ट्रॉली बस की तारों पर पक्षियों की काली कतार लग जाती―धूप में अपने पंख सेकती हुई। हम इन्हें झूठे बसंत के दिन कहा करते थे।’

A soft breeze caressed her face, and she looked up. A wispy cherry blossom waltzed down and brushed her cheek as it fell on the book. A faint fragrance lingered in the air.

And then, as the place came into her full view, her breath caught in ecstatic surprise. A cobblestone boulevard, lined with flowering trees in various colours, stretched ahead, opening towards a cerulean lake. It looked as though all four seasons had merged. 

The sunlight was soft, hanging like a transparent curtain. ‘I have this book; can't wait to dive into it!’ She put the book on the bench and rose to her feet. 

Books —lots of books, were tucked into charming little shelves built along the roadside. Lovely pink carts laden with volumes, and an old blue jeep, half hidden among the fluttering wildflowers in the velvety meadows to the left—all unattended as though waiting for anyone who loved to read. On cue, a faint scent of old paper drifted through. 

It was a mesmerizing dream, so vivid that it felt lucid. A giddy sensation filled her as she sauntered ahead, taking in the dreamscape. A man was turning the pages of a book, leaning against a moon shaped bookshelf. 

She could see the cover. ‘From Scratch’ by Tembi Locke.

‘Oh, I really want to read this book!’ She blurted in delight. 

The man turned to look at her. Enchanting eyes behind golden framed spectacles. He smiled. ‘I’m sure you’ve watched the series,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes! It was so heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time.’

The man stretched out his hand, the same lopsided smile on his face. ‘Here, take it. You won't be able to decide whether the series is more beautiful or the book.’

She took the book hesitantly and kept it close to her heart. ‘Really?!’

‘Absolutely really.’ He laughed and looked around. ‘You can take any of these books. No worries at all.’

She turned to find a small cottage style bookshop across the road, close to the lake. Turquoise panels, glass windows, nestled beneath a large Jacaranda tree, purple blooms hugging the red tiled rooftop of the shop. Bookshop Sirimiri. She gasped and the man, busy with another book, chuckled.

She opened ‘From Scratch' as she sprinted towards the library. 

‘…a memoir of love, Sicily, and finding home’

As she stepped into the bookshop, a woody scent mingled with the faint aroma of coffee and cinnamon greeted her. Tall shelves artfully lined with many beautiful editions.

A book seemed to be smiling at her from the reception desk —‘Boy, Unloved’ by Damodar Mauzo, translated by one of her favourites: Jerry Pinto.

An adorable elderly woman looked up, smiled and said, ‘We have many lovely reading corners. Read whatever you like, as much as you want.’

A strange calm whispered through the space. She made her way towards her reading nook, reading a paragraph from the book:

‘Like scars, these memories will stay with me for a lifetime. What age was I when the windows and doors of the house last stood open? When Daddy and Ma sat and actually talked to each other, discussed things? When someone said a word of praise to me?’

She slipped into a comfortable chair resting beside a white wooden table; a wall-sized window overlooked the same cerulean lake that ran alongside. 

And then someone placed another book on the table and drifted away.

‘Lonely People Meet’ by Sayantan Ghosh. She picked up the copy and read a paragraph: 

‘He didn’t feel the instant desire of puppy love which convinces people to seek immediate companionship. Instead, he wished this to be like catching a slow-moving train. One that’s about to leave the station, the whistle has been blown, but there’s enough time to jog alongside before finally grabbing the handle and taking the leap.’

She set both the books on the table. There was something about the titles and the passages. A soft melancholy settled over her. She sighed and looked out the window. It had started to drizzle. Sirimiri. 

P.S: The books mentioned in this post are on my TBR list.

This post is part of BlogchatterHalfMarathon

For Bookish League hosted by Ritu.

The Classics Swap

 

 Image source: Pinterest (AI modified)

Ananya opened the wooden gate, framed with bougainvillaea, and entered the beautiful garden where poppy, jasmine, dahlia, aparajita and guldaudi fluttered in full bloom. She turned right to a separate cottage-like room where her Dadi Ma lived. 

Dadi Ma sat in her room, engrossed in a book - ‘Saket’ by Maithilisharan Gupta that Ananya had bought for her from a very popular bookshop - Granthalaya - in the main market of the town. She’d brought another bag of books today —Rashmirathi by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar and Chitralekha by Bhagwati Charan Verma… the kind Dadi Ma devoured like sweets. Two months ago it was 'Vayam Rakshamah' and 'Jaidrath Vadh'. 

As she entered the room, Dadi Ma looked towards her and her beautiful, wrinkled face broke into a bright, affectionate smile. 

‘Anu, you know I recognize your footfalls.’ Dadi Ma often said and Ananya absolutely believed her.

‘Ah, I knew it. Come beta, I have a box full of pedas for you,’ Dadi Ma said, as she bookmarked the book and put it on the bed. 

‘And I have two new books for you! Tantanaan...’ Ananya offered the packet dramatically.

Dadi Ma’s face lit up at the mere mention of the books. ‘The bookkeeper must be thinking that there’s an old spiritual soul trapped in this young, tomboyish girl,' Dadi said and began to open the packet. Ananya laughed as she stuffed a peda into her mouth. ‘Ha! Only if he knew that I have no patience to read such fat novels. How come you are so addicted to reading?’

‘Don’t call it an addiction. And even if it is, it's a beautiful one.’

‘Well, I have no interest.’

‘You have no interest because you haven’t found the right book yet.' Dadi Ma smiled but her smile disappeared as she looked at the new books that emerged from the packet. 'Shukra Grah Par Dhava?' She said.

‘Shukra Grah Par Dhava? What do you mean?' Ananya asked, her eyebrows furrowed. Dadi Ma didn’t say anything, just handed her three slim books. Ananya stared at the cover. 'Samay Ke Swami'? What on earth…?’

‘And Antariksh Ke Hatyare. All written by some Professor Diwakar! I haven't even heard of this author. They seem like science fiction,' Dadi Ma said.

Ananya took out her mobile phone from her jeans pockets and called the bookseller, as she pushed back her spectacles. 

‘What book have you given me?’ She chided as soon as the bookseller picked up the call. 

‘Someone else just called me saying the exact same words. Sorry about the inconvenience but could you please come over with those books? The other person is also coming to the shop and then you guys can exchange?’

After half an hour or so, Ananya entered the shop and found a young man anxiously waiting along with the bookseller. He was tall and handsome with a serious look but kind eyes. His hair was ruffled, and a one-day stubble shadowed his jaw.

‘Thank God!’ he said as he almost snatched the paperbag from her hands.

‘Thank God!’ Ananya mimicked. ‘I got my precious classics back.’

‘Excuse me! These are classics too,’ the man said.

‘Yes, classics that nobody has heard of.’

‘That’s sadly true, but these are really good and expensive and rare. I have paid four thousand for these books.’ He looked at those books with such longing.

‘Are you serious? Four thousand for these three little books?’ Ananya asked, flabbergasted.

‘Yes, you would know if you read them. I wish I could lend them to you but you know –’

‘No, thank you. I am not interested.’ Ananya cut him short.

‘But, I am really thankful that you brought them back. I’d like to buy a book for you as a thank you.’

‘No need because I don't read novels.’

The man looked incredulous. 'Well, that’s because you haven’t found the right book yet.’

‘Hey, that’s exactly what my Dadi Ma said!’

‘How sweet. And these classics are for your Dadi Ma, I guess.’

‘Yes. Anyway, bye and thank you.’ Ananya turned to go when he called, ‘I insist.’

Ananya turned back. ‘Insist?’

He smiled and held out a paperback with a uniquely beautiful cover. ‘I mean I have this book.’ 

‘Love Virtually by Daniel Glattauer.’ Ananya mumbled.

‘Yes. You can borrow. If you don't like it, return, but if you like it, then you will come back for its sequel, ‘Every Seventh Wave’.' He flashed another book. 'And then you will finally find the right book for you,' he said, his eyes glinting with excitement. His love for reading mirrored her Dadi Ma's. 

There was something about the title of the sequel. Every Seventh Wave. 

He was still looking at her, the book hovering like a pause in their conversation, a sweet smile playing on his lips. 'And then, I'll buy you a book. Deal?' Ananya said. 

He chuckled. ‘An offer I can't refuse. So yeah, deal!’

Written for: Bookish League hosted by Ritu.

Shared with Blogchatter 

The Slow Imprint Books by Neelesh Misra: A Fresh Path to the Art of Storytelling

Listening to Yaadon Ka Idiot Box stories had been a part of my life, but at that time, I never imagined I would one day be writing for the show—mainly because I didn’t write Hindi stories back then.

It’s been exactly two years since I became part of Mandali—the wonderful YKIB writers’ team that has allowed me to grow as a writer. We discuss stories and find every possible way to enhance them. It’s always a joy to attend those meetings.

I’m happy to share that Neelesh Sir finally stepped into the world of publishing, amplifying fresh and powerful voices (which I had always expected)—The Slow Imprint, in association with Eka by Westland Books. 

There was a wonderful book launch event yesterday (18th November). While I couldn’t attend the launch, I’m delighted about this new initiative. Happy to share the details.

The Books are on Pre-Orders.

And look at the lovely covers!

Gaon Se Bees Postcards by Shri Shiv Balak Misra,

the father of Neelesh Misra.

He is a geologist, and it’s a fascinating collection of his essays, experiences, and anecdotes.

Main Aksar Sochta Hoon by Neelesh Misra.

I’m sure you know that, apart from being a storyteller, Neelesh Sir is also a Bollywood lyricist with many popular songs to his credit. This book is a collection of poems written by him.

Junglee Phoolon Si Ladki by Anulata Raj Nair

The creative head and producer of YKIB, Anulata Ji writes lyrical and evocative stories across various genres. It’s a collection of her lovely, lovely stories.

Magic Box: A Collection of Children’s Stories

My son is particularly looking forward to this book. It features stories by Anulata Raj Nair, Deepak Rangnathan, Anita Sethi, and Deeksha Chaudhary.

Kaaljayi: Stories from the Vedas and Puranas

It’s a collection of imaginative spiritual tales by Chhavi Nigam, Anulata Raj Nair, Hrushali Jain, Shikha Dwedi, and Anulata Raj Nair.

So here are a variety of stories, and I’m really looking forward to reading them. I hope you find them interesting!

Also, if you enjoy a tale with an unexpected twist, you can pick my Free short story, The Accident, published by Juggernaut Books. 

Sharing with Bookish Leaguehosted by Ritu Bindra

And Blogchatter

If We Were Having Tea: Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay

 

I’m not sure where it came from but I suddenly imagine myself in a Bengali household. It’s an old fashioned Bengali home with a large verandah and a small courtyard where a huge neem tree stands tall. This room I stand in has a high ceiling, lined with heavy beams. There are two large windows with green shutters. A big, wooden almirah is tucked at the far corner; its glass doors flaunt nicely stacked books. Old books. I walk towards it and the first book I see is probably Datta, as my very limited knowledge of Bengali tells me. I have read the Hindi translation of this book.

I walk back and sit on a chair by the window from where I can have two views —inside there is a long corridor which leads to a couple of closed doors. Outside, there’s a narrow, quiet alley. The purplish grey sky waits for the dawn to break.

At this eerily early hour, the still sleepy house is breathing a pin drop silence. 

A gust of wind makes the white curtain hanging from the door frame flutter and I glance towards it. Suddenly you appear from nowhere, clad in a crisp white dhoti-kurta, a sombre expression on your face, and my childhood comes rushing towards me. My heart skips several beats as I cannot believe I am actually seeing you. Is it a dream, I wonder. It feels like I have time travelled. And now I feel what if you sit across from me and we have a little chat with a cup of tea? I can almost smell adrak-elaichi waali chai brewing somewhere. 

If we were having tea, I would simply tell you how much I have adored you all these years. 

I don't remember how I got introduced and drawn towards your books. Maybe it was after I found Mannu Bhandari’s ‘Swami’ in the small library of our home. You may not know about it so I’d tell you that it was a modified version of your book Swami. It remains my favourite till date. 

Or maybe it was after I read your poignant short story ‘Ram Ki Sumati’. 

I could see a flicker of a smile on your face and I’d quickly add, with a hint of pride, that we share our native land. I would tell you that I had even crossed  your school in the town where you used to study as a young boy. It was Durga Charan High School, right? This thought fascinates me so much that it's indescribable.

If we were having tea, I would tell you that I read your books in Hindi without even realizing that I was reading translations. I feel so lucky to have access to your books because of beautiful translations. I would gladly inform you that I have become a translator, something I had never thought I would do. But now that I am a translator, it gives me a different kind of feeling thinking of your books. 

If we were having tea, I would tell you that your books have been adapted into many beautiful movies like Khushboo, Swami, Parineeta and many more. I would see a flicker of surprise in your eyes. You shouldn't be surprised though because I have heard that you were on the sets when Devdas was being made. 

I was at my Maa’s friend's place when I found Devdas first. It peeked through the glass doors of an old, dusty bookshelf and I shamelessly borrowed it from her. 

I’d tell you that we have at least fifteen other Devdas movies, and I’m sure it would make you laugh. 

If we were having tea, I’d tell you that I had requested someone to buy your books from Calcutta and she brought me a big fat book — a collection of your novellas — Grihdaah, Chandranath, Parineeta, Srikant, Brahman Ki Beti, Path Ke Davedar, Charitraheen, Biraj Bahu. 

Sometimes I wish I could read Bengali.

 

If we were having tea, we would talk about writing and good storytelling. How could we not? How could I miss this chance? I would tell you how I felt that your stories were way ahead of time. Would you teach me a few (a lot of, actually) things about storytelling and creating memorable characters? Particularly strong female protagonists.

I am sure I would see a content smile playing on your lips. 

If we were having tea, I’d tell you that I dug out your book Panditmashai (Pandit Ji in Hindi) after 17-18 years and am currently reading it.

As we continue to talk, the dawn breaks into a golden, gleeful morning. Streaks of sunshine make a crisscross pattern on the table. A voice comes from somewhere. The sunshine turns bright, so bright that it blurs your presence, as though it's emanating from you. It feels like you are disappearing and my heart sinks. I don’t want this rendezvous to end. I want to talk more. 

‘I have to go. It was lovely talking to you,’ you say with a soft smile and my heart melts. You get up and walk towards the same door you came from. The brightness subsides and I see you fade into the length of the corridor. 

(It is Saratchandra's birthday today)

Written for Bookish League hosted by Ritu Bindra

Sharing with Blogchatter

Book Review: White Mulberry by Rosa Kwon Easton

Book: White Mulberry 

Author: Rosa Kwon Easton

Publisher: Lake Union 

Source: Netgalley (for an honest review)

Genre: Literary/Historical Fiction

Pages: 331 (to be released on Dec 1, 2024)

I love reading multicultural stories, particularly stories set in Japan fascinate me. This story, however, is more about Korean people and their culture, dominated by Japan army and administration during WWII. The book is inspired by the true life story of the author’s grandmother’s (Halmeoni) life. 

This is Miyoung/Miyoko’s story, who lived with her mother and stepsister in Japan-occupied Korea (during World War II). When she is 12, her sister Bohbeh is forced to leave for Japan to marry an unknown man, in hope of a better life for her. When Miyoung turns 13, she too leaves Korea to live with her sister in Japan (mainly to study and escape an unwanted marriage). 

The story, which spans over 13 years, tells about familial bond, determination (to achieve something substantial in life), love, loss, and survival.  

I enjoyed reading the book from the very beginning when Miyoung is perched on the sole mulberry tree outside her house and watches a stranger stopping outside the gate, eyeing her sister, Bohbeh. 

The writing is mostly good. However, at certain points it slips into the ‘too much telling’ mode and gets repetitive. I could not ignore the repeated usage of ‘Warmed’ (her/her tired body or heart or her body/heart warmed). But overall, the book is nicely written and, most importantly, in a very engaging manner. The descriptions of setting, food, and culture are vivid and create lovely imagery. 

The characters: I really liked Miyoung/Miyoko (her Japanese name). She is smart, intelligent, determined, so focused on her studies and career, and practical. Too practical that sometimes it smacks of selfishness. I don't know if the author has done this purposefully (because there are several other ways to show the practicality as per the situation), but Miyoung’s emotions suddenly brim when she finds some kinds of benefits, even if it's love. 

I loved Teacher Kim, Taeyoung (her stepbrother), and Bohbeh. The last two chapters were full of apprehensions that kept me on the edge of the seat. 

Overall, an interesting, well-written, and culturally rich story that I enjoyed reading.