Book Review | The Twentieth Wife by Indu Sundaresan

It's a well founded opinion that knowing the half of something is worse than not knowing anything at all. It forms the basis of why historians love to pick at historical fiction. They point at the glaring inaccuracies, gross character embellishments and runaway prose that authors use to create dramatic tension and conflict, the corner stone of a good yarn. But for travelers and ardent fiction readers like me  historical fiction like The other Boleyn Girl or Anger & Ecstasy is the only we can understand the  importance of Tower of London or Michelangelo.

The Twentieth wife recounts the early life of Nur Jahan (nee Mehrunisa) and her turbulent relationship with Prince Salim otherwise known as  Emperor Jahangir (the fourth ruler of Mughal India and Emperor Akbar's son). It traces her almost mystical birth, her petulant adolescence, a failed marriage all leading up to becoming Jahangir's twentieth wife, all woven through a tapestry of Mughal court intrigue, love and deceit- the makings of a perfect historical chick-lit. Sundaresan's captures the zeitgeist of the time perfectly and her knowledge of court etiquette is impressive and, in my opinion, the lynch pin of the novel. It allows her to create beautiful miniatures of the time by talking about clothes, the architecture and even the food with exquisite detail. I would often end my reading session aching for a lamb curry and rice and a trip to Agra.

Mehrunissa herself is a somewhat disappointing character, possibly because she started out as nothing more than a beautiful bewitching social climber, a Kim Kardasian or perhaps even a Kate Middleton of her day, spurred on by her parents who made sure she got a great liberal arts education and a fair amount of freedom for a girl in her time. But more often than not, it feels like Sundarasan is struggling to create a clever and beguiling protagonist by giving her some political insight and overplaying her ability to withstand a bad marriage and infertility. This is probably because not much is known about her. The story of her early life is fabricated since very little was known of the woman until she wed Jahangir. It's quite possible that their erratic courtship is also unfounded. What is clear is that she was beautiful, wily and well versed in court politics possibly because of her closeness with Ruqayya. Sundarasen makes it clear that what Mehrunissa wanted most as a young girl was to be Empress and any real love for Prince Salim developed much later on. But who could blame her? Life was terrible for Mughal women unless you were a royal woman of importance. Things must be bad if becoming a concubine was an honour for the family and you best shot at a good life.  But Sundarasen's curiosity stemmed from the influence Nur Jahan wielded during her reign as Empress and ergo the novel and a journey through a somewhat interesting romance. No doubt once the two got to know each other, they made a formidable team.

The problem with historical fiction is that you cannot create likable characters and have to depend on men like Prince Salim, arrogant, ambitious and without any redeeming qualities. This is why fiction is so much better to work with. In many ways, Mehrunisa reminded me of Anne Boleyn. She teases Jahangir in the same way that Anne does Henry and uses her charms to make sure she became a queen and not a concubine. The Empress Nur Jahan, however, did not lose her head. Instead she went on to rule Mughal India in the Emperor's stead -he was in an opium filled haze, and was his last wife. She became formidable and that is Sundarasen's fodder for the sequel and I have a feeling I will like that Mehrunnisa much more. Let's be clear, this is no Wolf Hall. The pretty prose drags the book down in the middle and Mehrunisa's ebony hair featured one too many times. But there is no doubt the author is a gifted story teller that brings a glittering time to life- a time when we bathed in almond milk, had jewels that made the Kohinoor look like a trinket, and English monarchy look like peasants. I have already ordered the sequel and made plans to visit Fatehpur Sikri and revel in all its gloriousness.

Verdict: Buy. Perfect monsoon read while you munch on samosas and sip coffee.

Call the grammar police | Bared to you by Sylvia Day

I love my friend Sonia's choice in trashy literature! Don’t get me wrong. She’s quite the literary hound when she wants to be – she’s part of our book club after all and has a track record of getting through the toughest of reads -- Frank Herbert’s Dune for example, which had most members falling asleep the minute the Gom Jabbar was unsheathed. But when you spend a minimum of two hours going back and forth on a loud, crowded and muggy train, good literature doesn’t always shut out boredom, fatigue and chaos. Nor does it help in purging those parts of your brains that can't be asked to retain another fact, prophecy, metaphor or anomaly.

That is why I was quite happy when Sonia offered to lend me a book called Bared to You by Sylvia Day – “If you loved Fifty Shades of Grey, you’ll love this”, proclaimed the silver sticker of its black cover; in addition to (someone please call the grammar police) “He possessed me, and obsessed me”.

Meet Eva. She’s the anti-Anastasia. She’s rich, for one, lives with a bisexual roommate, makes love to a vibrator and even though she wants to make it on her own in the big bad world – by which I mean she has a job as an assistant to a manager in an ad agency – she’s quite happy to be living in a posh hood in New York.

The male attraction in this novel is multi-billionaire Gideon Cross, whom she christens (pun intended) Dark and Dangerous. Obviously he crudely propositions her in the first 15 pages of the book. While she refuses at first, she can’t help but drink in his manliness, good looks, etcetera, etcetera, which Day painstakingly takes a paragraph to describe on every page. She finally gives in and they forge a deep obsessive relationship, a first for both as they’re brutally damaged souls.

Needless to say the book is quite disturbing in parts – Cross keeps a track on her whereabouts, owns her apartment building and gym, has a somewhat public argument with her in front of her boss and makes sure that all men are kept at a safe distance at all times. He also has a copy of her keys, breaks into her cellphone to retrieve some footage and replicates her bedroom in his own home so she has a safe place to run to every time they have a fight. It's even more disturbing when Cross tells Eva that her boss is lucky he's gay, though her bisexual roommate still has him on edge.

All in all, it reeks of the formula that made Fifty Shades such a raging success! In fact, I think publishers have a pre-requisite on what sort of erotica they want to publish -- the man must be damaged, a dominant in search of a submissive, the woman must have self-esteem issues and must secretly love being 'owned' like a piece of property. Even so, Fifty's language didn't allow much room to complain. Bared in contrast is nothing short of awkward. For one, it’s tough to get a sense of the where the action is taking place, especially with simple things like the first few pages of the book where you don't know if she's entering her office building, or leaving. A few chapters in, before their charity ball date, you're left wondering whether they're making out on the living room couch, floor or standing up? What I find even more strange is the voice of the story – narrated in first person – which is sometimes very typical of romantic novels that speak of peaks, manliness and mountains; but at other times it is downright pornographic.

It’s a relatively ‘okay’ book to keep you satiated if erotica has replaced chicklit on your bookshelf. But I would suggest you save your money for something better. Moreover, what kind of women are we if we crave dysfunctional romances such as these just because the men in question are heartbreakingly handsome and stinking rich? I get the lure of kinky sex. But men who insist on following you around, or rather, have the 'resources' to have your movements tailed, erm, there's only one word for that and honey, 'erotic' isn't it!

We suggest: Borrow it and hang tight until The Caterpillars publish their favourite erotica novels of all time! Coming SOON.

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Review | Horse Play by Jo Carnegie

We have been away. Despicable I say, absolutely despicable. But that's because we have been reading and well Afsha has been off writing about food, sunburn and all things nice.  I just finished Horse Play by Jo Carnegie and I must say as chicklit goes, this was cocho-block full of sex, drama and bad language- a complete winner.  It's the fifth book in Ms Jo Carnegie's romp through the little country village of Churchminster and I think she's just gotten better. Think Joan Collins in the stables. We have sexy trio of sisters, Calypso, Camilla and Caro ( Even the names are so LA!) who are going through various stages of relationship bliss, Calypso - confused, Camilla- in that familiar state of discontent and Caro- blissfully happy until her scheming ex-husband walks in through the door wanting to spend more time with his son.

The other key plotline includes Ms Kizzy who finds the horse of her dreams only to have it all taken away in a heartbeat. In return cupid feels sorry for her as she gets a little too close to the sexy, mucho caliente Javier Scott Smith, dressage champion and all round hotness. Tsssss! There is also a lovable fuzzy couple Angie and Fred, who take in a strange jockey, Edward, who seems to bond with Nobby - the underdog horse at the center of it all. It's all very  Sea biscuit in its plotting but still cleverly done. Jo Carnegie wants to get the fun back underneath the sheets and she does it. After reading the disappointing  RSVP,  I was almost beggining to buy that rumor that funny women's fiction - otherwise known as chicklit, was dead.  But it's not. Only the wrapping has changed and instead of pastel blues and shoes on the cover, you have a whip and tight jeans that put it out there. This is about relationships and sex. Thanks to Ms Carnegie, good old romance is back.





The plot is a tad predicable, especially with regard to Caro's story arch, so much so you can see it coming for miles and roll your eyes when it actually happens. I must have said- 'I told you so', a few times during this read but it doesn't matter because she really does create magical dialogue and characters you fall in love with. Especially Edward; all I wanted to do was feed him chicken soup and beat up anyone who dared to threaten him. In other ways the plot even surprises you, as it did me with the horsey storyline. All in all there is only one real villian. No prizes for guessing who.

Heat Magazine is calling it SATC- 'Sex and the Countryside' but am not too sure about that since the fashion is limited and any reference to brands is perfunctory. This is no Candace Bushnell setting the tone for the women of my generation with regards to their opinions on sex and careers. This is just a romp in the hay and an extremely fun one at that. The beauty of it lies in its simplicity; it could really happen anywhere. Her language is hilarious and unapologetically frank as are her sex scenes. Yes, sex scenes are back in fashion and I am so happy to read something adult. No, not the 'I feel something hard against me and shudder in ecstasy', more like ' I feel his c*8k against me and I want him to sh&* me like no tomorrow'. This one is not for the tweenies but I loved it and cannot wait for more scandal from Churchminster.

Verdict- Worth buying and lending to your girlfriend when she's in the need for a good cheering up. Or else join  The Caterpillar Cafe book club and get your hands on it during the book exchange.

For more women's fiction recommendations - visit our women's fiction page

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Book Review | RSVP by Helen Warner

Last week The Economist came out with a chilling article, no it wasn’t about how the oil bubble was about to burst or a financial Armageddon, but about the demise of a much loved genre of our generation--Chick-Lit. Devastated, as the state of my near financial future is directly correlated to how this particular genre of women’s literature does on the shelves, I hiked up my skirt and ran to my nearest bookshop. Lo and behold, staring right in front of me was the zeitgeist of our times - vampire blood lust semi soft porn catering to teens, Nora Roberts, the new Michael Crichton novel and finally countless paperbacks with colorful pastel colors that made me sigh with relief. One such book was RSVP by Helen Warner. A novel about four girls- Anna, Clare, Ella, and Rachel, and how they battle with love lost and weight gained.

Anna is a dowdy teacher dragging herself through countless dreary days when she receives a wedding invitation from the ‘One that Got Away’. Obviously distraught she turns to Clare, a serial dater and tomboy sidekick, who convinces her to attend it. Ella, think Joan Collins from Dynasty sans the power shoulders since this woman is only a PA,  a consequence of being a bitch in university and wanting said man, is also considering attending the wedding. Finally Rachel, the women about to marry Anna's ‘One that Got Away’ has doubts on whether the object of everyone’s affection, is actually IN love with her.

Anna’s love story is told over a period of flashbacks that take us to Trinity College, a wasted opportunity, as Trinity could have by itself been the heart of the novel. But no, it features as a staid backdrop for a boring story of love at first sight. By far the most predictable yet most interesting character arc is that of Ella who is portrayed as devil incarnate. It has been a long time since I have actually encountered such a one-dimensional villain without an ounce of humour. I skipped many pages containing predictable dialogue and description, the man – I forget his name, is often described as ‘handsome’ or ‘with dazzling smile’. The climax revolves around the wedding scene, where the obvious takes place and the book ends as the sinner repents and the saint is rewarded.

The actual plot line had serious potential; anytime four women feature in a book and are friends, things are bound to get dramatic. This book is however never takes off and is perhaps a reason why chick lit is in demise. The writing is often lazy, refusing to give us anything but a constant commentary of what is going on in the heads of four girls instead of working to show us a little of their world outside, thereby allowing us to see the characters more clearly. The voices of three out of the four could have been easily interchanged and while I commend anyone who can get published, this was a difficult read. I believe even the simplest love story can be a journey filled with wit and drama. Candace Bushnell, Helen Fielding and Sophie Kinsella make you laugh, cry and wanting more.

Courtesy NovelWhore Blog

Long live the intelligent woman's need for romantic fiction! Helen Fielding-- when is your next book coming out? For more fun suggestions see the following posts Reviews|Return of the Chick-Lit. 

Reviews | Return of the Chick-Lit

Our current obsession with The Piano Teacher and catholic literature might have lead you to believe that we are ponsy stuck up readers who roll our eyes at Meg Cabot and hit our beautiful heads against a brick wall when we hear the word “Shopaholic”. You don’t? We obviously need to work on our cloak of erudition. Who am I trying to kid? When I am not tucking into fantasy or crime, I always turn to that vague genre - Women’s literature or Fiction. It’s a strange one that. It encompasses everything from Jane Smiley to Nora Roberts and this one glove fits all works fine until the glove starts to tear in bitter winter. This umbrella term branches out so many ways and each one has its own place in our reading time. Smiley works for that long weekend in the hills while you listen to Chopin in the background and Nora Roberts works for when you are stuck mid air circling around Mumbai like a vulture and her “Blue Daisy” or “Pink Dahlia” is perfect titbit to scavenge on. As I speak there are readers who are making voodoo dolls of me because I dared to mention Jane Smiley and Nora Roberts in the same breath. Get over it, have you written a book or even 147 of them? I am in fact planning an entire post dedicated to Ms Roberts soon.

But today is not that day. This weekend I decided to read one of those sub-divisions, ‘Chicklit. This poor genre is getting a bad rap these days what with the huge row over the book This is NOT Chick-lit and the consequent response, This is Chick-lit. Then of course came Edward and Bella who pulled the rug from under Chicklit. What is Twilight if not supernatural chicklit? Bella is about the most annoying protagonist in recent history but she is still a confused, clumsy girl who falls in love with a boy, and another boy and (Gasp!), has to choose. CHICKLIT! So this weekend I decided to put away those so called ‘posh’ books and settle down to a little bit of Shiela O’ Flanagan and Lucy Cavendish, both queens of their respective genres. Ms Cavendish is a low profile chicklit author who focuses on ‘yummy mummy’ literature whereas Ms Sheila O Flanagan is a prolific Irish writer with over fifteen books to her name.

Stand By Me - Sheila O' Flanagan

I finished her latest - Stand By Me, in about three hours. For a change the protagonist was neither stunning nor frightfully funny. Dominique is in fact a most lackluster girl living with her fervently catholic parents who are ideally suited to star in a sequel to the Exorcist. She decides to spice up her life by falling in lust with a local ambitious builder and in turn finds herself snagging the glass slipper as she finds herself the belle of the social ball. The cast includes a criminally handsome, self-righteous brother, the prom queen best friend who is using Dominique to fulfill her own ‘Thorn Birds’ agenda and a host of family that are given character traits to help us distinguish between them. This is a typical Irish soap opera where the fall from grace is as predictable as the grand entrance made by infidelity. But what did get my goat was that despite a predictable story line and an annoying cast, I began to root for Dominique. I wanted to her to overcome her obstacles, fight fire with fire and be the Scarlett O Hara that we all want for our protagonists. Was it fantastic fiction? No, but it was an entertaining three hours that you are welcome to borrow.

Verdict: Don't buy and only read in lieu of a Nora Roberts. Feel free to borrow.

A Storm in a Teacup - Lucy Cavendish

Deciding that I wanted some more female angst, I immediately picked up Cavendish's ‘A Storm in a Teacup’ and fell in love with Samantha Smythe and her four children. Samantha is every mother I know who has more than one child- overworked, underappreciated and generally invisible. Buried in poo and dirty laundry, she not only has to find time to deal with a troublesome little boy who has a penchant for wearing little girls clothes but also a teenager trying to find his way through a relationship with a girl who likes too much glue and a husband that seems more interested in muppets than he is making out with the real thing. Predictable again? Maybe the context, but the story in itself is told with such sincerity that you can’t help but join in this madness of Jamie’s antics and his invisible best friend, Sophie. When he says, “Twinkle, twinkle little willy, Baby sparkle is silly. Baby Sparkle is a bum-bum” and takes his shorts off in front of the child psychologist, you can’t help but feel for the mother and giggle away. So to fix this dastardly situation, the entire family, dog included, take a small trip to a seaside village in Devon. Suddenly, Samantha suddenly finds herself embroiled in local politics and spearheading a fund raising campaign to help save an eccentric old lady’s roof while her teenage son starts disappearing into the night to checkout G-strings. The book is Chocó block full of characters including a mysterious old man who is obsessed with moths, but romance is not one of them which consequently allows the book to be about so many other wonderful things that are much less predictable, namely children and old men. Besides any story where a character is called Baby sparkle has to be read. Is this one for the bookshelf, I think yes. Buy and then lend it out to your girlfriends who will then lend it out to someone else who needs an afternoon off and a good laugh.

Verdict : Fun read. Buy it, better yet borrow it from me and lend it to someone else after you finish. It's a treat.

Favorite Chick-lits: The Domestic Godess - Sophie Kinsella, Bridget Jones (But of-course), The Nanny Diaries, Devil wears Prada and the cracker of a novel, Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination.