You Don’t Belong Here by Elizabeth Becker – Book Review

 

Publisher’s write-up:

‘The long-buried story of three extraordinary female journalists who permanently shattered the barriers to women covering war.   Kate Webb, an Australian iconoclast, Catherine Leroy, a French daredevil photographer, and Frances FitzGerald, a blue-blood American intellectual, arrived in Vietnam with starkly different life experiences but one shared purpose: to report on the most consequential story of the decade. At a time when women were considered unfit to be foreign reporters, Frankie, Catherine, and Kate challenged the rules imposed on them by the military, ignored the belittlement of their male peers, and ultimately altered the craft of war reportage for generations.

In You Don’t Belong Here, Elizabeth Becker uses these women’s work and lives to illuminate the Vietnam War from the 1965 American buildup, the expansion into Cambodia, and the American defeat and its aftermath. Arriving herself in the last years of the war, Becker writes as a historian and a witness of the times.

What emerges is an unforgettable story of three journalists forging their place in a land of men, often at great personal sacrifice. Deeply reported and filled with personal letters, interviews, and profound insight, You Don’t Belong Here fills a void in the history of women and of war.’

You Don’t Belong Here is a book written recalling the stories of three women – who were photo journalists during the Vietnam war – the first to break the glass ceiling of women being involved in wartime photography. The book is written by a woman war photographer herself, Elizabeth Becker.

It starts with the story of Catherine Leroy, a young woman from France who is not happy with her circumstances in a Parisian suburb and is looking to move abroad – to London, but later takes a one way ticket to Saigon (present day Ho Chi Minh city), to be a wartime photographer and goes through her experiences – when it comes to how she was seen as a woman and the constraints she had (such as, the fact that male journalists having Vietnamese partners were not seen as an issue but the other way round was). The next is on Frances Fitzgerald, daughter of US ambassador to Laos and is from the elite circles of US political sphere – whose trip to Laos decided to make her take this career. The last is on the Australian woman, Kate Webb, who also comes to Vietnam as a photographer and ends up in captivity of the Viet Cong.

This book details the story very well and we learn a lot – on the background of these women, their motivations and also the political situation around the Vietnam war. The author takes a lot of effort to inform the reader about the war, and the situation that was surrounding it, including touching upon less known aspects such as the bombardment of Cambodia and its impact. The struggles of Catherine was also well documented – but at the same time, the author also pointed out the few allies they had in this journey who helped them face these odds. Equally interesting was Kate Webb recalling her experiences, where there was a point where she was declared ‘dead’ by the Australian media and we are unaware to what extent hers was a case of Stockholm syndrome or a case of gaining understanding the other perspective that changed her views.

It was also interesting to know the steps that these women had to take to break these adverse circumstances – such as Catherine had to show herself as pro-war, pro-military action, more so than the average American conservative to be accepted in the area.

Having said that, much as I would not want to comment on the life choices of individuals and indeed, took a great step in opening up career avenues for women in the west, I also could not help but see how here were western women, who were bored of lives in their own countries and decided to make a career out of the misery and suffering of people far away from where they were. I might have viewed it differently had they been well informed of Vietnam, its politics, and its history and hence were passionate about it; which made them make this journey, but instead – they learnt all on the go.

Moreover, I understand that the book is about ‘women not belonging’ in photo journalism during a war and these women defying the odds; however, the author went a lot deeper than that, in explaining the war and the politics surrounding it (very well, if I may say so). In that case, to negate the earlier criticism, I would have like it if there was also the story of a Vietnamese or a Cambodian journalist who was trying to bring to light images from this war.

The last, I understood during the epilogue that the author herself is a famous photo journalist and if one of the few to have interviewed Pol Pot in Cambodia, post which she witnessed a traumatic incident which resulted in the murder of one of her colleagues in her hotel in Cambodia. So, adding her own story in addition to these three women could have also been an interesting choice.

On the whole, I would say that this was a very interesting book, and there was a lot for me to learn – about these women and their struggles in this field, the situation in Vietnam and its surroundings and the experience of someone in captivity with the Viet Cong. On that note, I had a good reading experience and I would award the book a rating of seven on ten.

Rating – 7/10

Have a nice day,
Andy

Home Coming by John Bradshaw – Book Review

 

Publisher’s write-up:

‘Are you outwardly successful but inwardly do you feel like a big kid? Do you aspire to be a loving parent but all too often “lose it” in hurtful ways? Do you crave intimacy but sometimes wonder if it’s worth the struggle? Or are you plagued by constant vague feelings of anxiety or depression?

If any of this sounds familiar, you may be experiencing the hidden but damaging effects of a painful childhood—carrying within you a “wounded inner child” that is crying out for attention and healing.

In this powerful book, John Bradshaw shows how we can learn to nurture that inner child, in essence offering ourselves the good parenting we needed and longed for. Through a step-by-step process of exploring the unfinished business of each developmental stage, we can break away from destructive family rules and roles and free ourselves to live responsibly in the present. Then, says Bradshaw, the healed inner child becomes a source of vitality, enabling us to find new joy and energy in living.’

Home Coming is a book on psychology by motivational speaker John Bradshaw – known for his famous 12 step programme, used by Alcoholics Anonymous. The book presents an interesting idea, that how, to get through any process of healing, we need to heal our inner child and the book talks about reclaiming this child at various stages, the ‘infant-self’, the ‘the toddler-self', etc. The author shares personal anecdotes from a lot of people whom he knows, to present the problems they were facing and how they could reclaim this ‘inner child’ in them.

I tried to read this with a very open mind – given that in the first few pages, I realised that should this author and I have a hypothetical conversation, we were going to disagree on most things. To start with, I did not like his writing style – which was non inclusive and even went on to say that when he writes ‘he’, he refers to everyone regardless of how they identify themselves; even for brevity, there are perfectly reasonable gender-neutral alternatives in English which the author did not consider.

But that was the point less contentious. I do not personally mind reading books from religious people or even books on religion – so long as I feel that there could be some takeaways for me even though I would disagree with a lot of their statements. The book invoked god a lot, and full disclosure here – I am an atheist and hence, reading with that open mind was important. Having said that, the author made a lot of sweeping conclusions – such as children being natural believers and religious. In his attempted inclusiveness, he wrote on several occasions (it was not one isolated citation from the book, if that had been the case, it would have been easy for me to overlook) - that regardless of the reader’s current relationship with ‘god’, their inner child is a natural believer.

This book hardly had any citations or references and most of his conclusions were based on anecdotes he shared. So, I would also share my personal anecdote that I was never religious despite growing up in a religiously conservative household – and was never convinced with the idea as early as I was five. While I went along with the religious rituals as a child – that was more because of my unconditional trust on my parents (as most children would, on their parents or caregivers), than an inclination towards belief and by the time I was eight, I said to myself that I could no longer do this and openly started identifying myself as an atheist. And I am no exception here – many irreligious people I know have had similar experiences as a child, and people whom I know who have grown up in households where their parents / caregivers were irreligious, this was never a question that crossed their mind.

So, to go ahead with what the author was suggesting, for me personally was not possible because of the author’s inherent assumption of the reader’s child self being religious. There were several other sweeping assumptions that the author made – such as the author assuming their reader to be in their mid 30s or early 40s, married at around 25, and with children.

I personally do not mind any assumptions that a writer makes – so long as the target audience is clearly specified, but here the author tries to sell it as a universal book which does not work. Moreover, the author makes some dangerous statements in this book – and if someone is trying to heal themselves from certain trauma – these are certainly not the best of words to read:

‘God does not die on the day we cease to believe in a personal deity, but we die on the day when our lives cease to be illuminated by the steady radiance, renewed daily, of a wonder, the source of which is beyond all reason.’

Perhaps the author is oblivious to the fact that there are people, several of whom are neither religious nor spiritual and telling them that they are effectively ‘dead’ is not the best of things to say. He is not the only person in this profession who has made such statements though, I have had therapists who have made similar statements.

To conclude, I did not enjoy this book and I felt the author was imposing his views on the reader than open up a discussion. This maybe suited to people who have an upbringing in his specific faith and continue to hold those beliefs, but for everyone else, it is not an ideal book. I award this book a rating of three on ten.

Rating – 3/10

Have a nice day,
Andy

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong – Book Review

 

Publisher’s-write-up:

‘On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is a letter from a son to a mother who cannot read. Written when the speaker, Little Dog, is in his late twenties, the letter unearths a family's history that began before he was born — a history whose epicenter is rooted in Vietnam — and serves as a doorway into parts of his life his mother has never known, all of it leading to an unforgettable revelation. At once a witness to the fraught yet undeniable love between a single mother and her son, it is also a brutally honest exploration of race, class, and masculinity. Asking questions central to our American moment, immersed as we are in addiction, violence, and trauma, but undergirded by compassion and tenderness, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous is as much about the power of telling one's own story as it is about the obliterating silence of not being heard.’

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous is an attempted novel from Ocean Vuong. The lead character is Little Dog, who is writing a letter to his illiterate mother – about his troubles growing up with his mother and grandmother, the abusive experiences he has had, both in the family and in the society at large, being a second generation immigrant of Vietnamese origins and yes, the lack of acceptance of his queer identity by his family.

The premise is interesting which was the reason why I wanted to like this book and I tried hard to do so. The book I understand is also autobiographical or what is increasingly happening – a type of autofiction, fictionalising one’s own story. The writer certainly had a style – and had a poetic writing style. I appreciate poetry, but I prefer to appreciate it while reading a poem, not read a prose that has forcibly inserted aspects of poetry.

What I find increasingly with many authors is that, they are trying to tick off a few boxes – given this character has issues with his mother, there is the angle of racism, struggles of someone with an immigrant background, struggles with his understanding of masculinity, the fact that he is gay in a family that does not accept it, etc. and he tried to insert all of this into his book. While I am someone who is sympathetic to all of these causes – and was precisely the reason why I tried to like this book, the narration fell flat.

If I had read the acknowledgements section a little earlier, maybe I would have avoided this altogether, given that the person whom he thanked in particular was Ben Lerner – the author of 10:04; a book that I read last year which I did not enjoy, at all – which was another case of a vague attempt at autofiction. If that was the target audience, it would have been evident to me from the very beginning that I was not the person for this book.

To conclude, I found nothing in this book, I read this book for my local book club discussion and like in many of these kinds of books, the discussion was more interesting than the book itself. Definitely the worst book that I read in 2023. On that note, I would award this book a rating of two on ten.

Rating – 2/10

Have a nice day,
Andy

Papillon by Henri Charrière – Book Review

 

Publisher’s write-up:

‘An immediate sensation upon its publication in 1969, Papillon is a vivid memoir of brutal penal colonies, daring prison breaks and heroic adventure on shark-infested seas.Condemned for a murder he did not commit, Henri Charriere, nicknamed Papillon, was sent to the penal colony of French Guiana. Forty-two days after his arrival he made his first break for freedom, travelling a thousand gruelling miles in an open boat. He was recaptured and put into solitary confinement but his spirit remained untamed: over thirteen years he made nine incredible escapes, including from the notorious penal colony on Devil’s Island.’

Note: I read this book in French

Afin de lire mon avis en français, cliquez ici

Papillon is an autobiographical book from Henri Charrière, who was accused of a murder and was eventually sent to French Guiana, which was then a penal colony. This book recounts his incredible story, where he took up the name ‘Papillon’ (Butterfly in French) and tried to escape the colony, several times and how he reconstructed his life.

The story starts with his conviction in France during the inter-war period. He was first sent to the prison in Caen, Normandy, before being sent to French Guiana. He recounts the tough conditions under which he lived, the friendships that he had made in the prison during these times, and the steps he took to get reprieve from the miscarriage of justice. During this story, he did succeed initially to escape the colony, set up a new life with the indigenous people in an island in the Caribbean before deciding to go back to French Guiana to get his justice.

This was an incredible story that almost felt like reading a thriller novel. I am using the word ‘novel’ deliberately over here as I am not sure if the retelling by the author is entirely honest; which included me not being sure on where he was exaggerating or simply making things up. However, it was still interesting to know what was going on in French Guiana during this time and how it was used as a prison which had harsh living conditions. The political aspect was also interesting, given the French Guyanese administration backed the Vichy regime and the impact that had on his potential acquittal was interesting. The most interesting character in this whole book is for sure, that of Papillon, maybe a tad too glorified, as someone who had solutions at any given situation. The conversations he had with the priests at the church was very something I enjoyed, given that Papillon was an atheist.

The only problem I found with this book is the character of Papillon himself – even though he was unjustly condemned in France, the actions he took while in the colony were hardly honourable, which included betraying his peers, and even abandoning his wives from the indigenous islands after having impregnated them. Thus, it was difficult for me to believe that he was someone completely clean and was certainly capable of doing very bad things.

To conclude, whether we believe this book to be the whole truth or not, I still found it to be an interesting read which gave a good insight into the historic situation in French Guiana. On that note, I award the book a rating of seven on ten.

Rating – 7/10

Have a nice day,
Andy

Strangers to Ourselves by Rachel Aviv – Book Review

 

Publisher’s write-up:

‘Strangers to Ourselves is a compassionate, courageous and deeply researched look at the ways we talk about and understand ourselves in periods of crisis and distress. Drawing on conversations as well as unpublished journals and memoirs, it follows people who have found that psychiatric language has limitations when it comes to explaining who they are, or that a diagnosis, while giving their experience a name, creates a sense of a future life they wish to question or resist.

Rachel Aviv is known for her radical empathy: she excels at seeing the world through the eyes of her fellow human beings. Writing first about her own experience of being institutionalized at the age of six, she introduces, among others, a mother recovering from psychosis and rebuilding her relationship with her children; a woman who lives in healing temples in Kerala, where she is celebrated as a saint; and a young woman who, after a decade of defining herself through her diagnosis, decides to stop her medication because she doesn't know who she is without it.

Through startling connections, intimate testimonies and diverse cultural perspectives, Aviv opens up fresh ways of thinking about illness and the mind, in a book which is curious, transformative, and above all, profoundly human.’

Strangers to Ourselves is a book written by writer and author Rachel Aviv. The book comprises accounts of five individuals going through severe mental illnesses and there is also a personal touch from the author herself, given she herself was diagnosed with anorexia at a young age.

The book talks about the starts the book with her own story and her struggles over the years and then moves on to the story of Ray, a person who is unable to accept the failure of his business which leads him to an identity crisis and eventually, ends up suing his doctor and other mental health professionals. The next is the story of Bapu – a woman from an affluent family in India who frequently abandons her family to seek refuge in religious institutions, and has schizophrenic visions of interacting with god and the divine. The next is the story of Naomi – a woman of African descent in the US, and the impact the societal circumstances has on her, and the people around her (including the youngest of her family).

I appreciate the author trying to narrate these complex mental situations through stories of people in the real world than citing multiple research papers (I am not demeaning the latter, but it is difficult for someone to relate to them from outside the field). She also spoke of multiple approaches that were used in these situations, including taking into account cultural considerations when talking of treatment. However, there were also some very far-reaching claims, such as on the Zoroastrian community in India having ‘westernised’ too fast which led to impacts on their mental health.

On the whole, while the stories themselves were interesting, I was not sure what was the point that the author was trying to drive home. If it was that there are different mental health diagnoses which could have dire impacts on people and also their entourage, we are already aware of that. I did like the approach of the author of discussing these people as individuals than ‘medical cases’, especially the detailed interviews with people around these patients, such as the children of Bapu, the ex-partner of Naomi, etc.

While I got to know some interesting case studies, I was unsure of the title or the purpose of this book and they often had very dire conclusions given their premise. On that note, I would aware this book a rating of four on ten.

Have a nice day,
Andy

The Dissident Club by Taha Siddiqui and Hubert Maury – Book Review

 

Publisher’s write-up (translated from French by me):

‘In 2018, Pakistani investigative journalist Taha Siddiqui is the victim of a kidnapping and an assassination attempt. He managed to flee and take the first flight to France… What happened? What could have driven the Pakistani government, if it is indeed the Pakistani government, to do this?

Accompanied by cartoonist and scriptwriter Hubert Maury, 2014 Albert-London Prize winner Taha Siddiqui looks back on his life, from his early childhood 35 years ago, which saw him evolve from Saudi Arabia to Pakistan in a culture where comics were forbidden, practicing fundamentalist Islam and raised by a radicalised father.

Taha dreams of studying art and journalism, of independence in the midst of a rigorist family and a society of prohibitions that young people do their best to circumvent. After the shock of the September 11, 2001 attacks, and his admission to university, between Quranic school and censorship, Taha sought to emancipate himself and, with courage and determination, became an investigative journalist. But being a journalist also makes him a target.

A chronicle of childhood and adolescence, Dissident Club traces, with liberating humor, the daily life of a young man grappling with the most severe religious fundamentalisms. As uplifting as it is edifying, this book offers an indiscreet vision of Pakistan over the last thirty years, a reflection on the excesses of religious thought, and above all, one man's fight for freedom.’

Note: The English version of the book has not been released yet – to be available in 2024

Afin de lire mon avis en français,cliquez ici

The Dissident Club is an autobiographical graphic novel from the Pakistani journalist Taha Siddiqui, a winner of the Albert Londres prize for journalism in 2014 (a Francophone equivalent of the Pulitzer). The graphic novel has been designed by the cartoonist Hubert Maury and in this story, there are several places around the world to showcase, such as Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and France.

Taha Siddiqui lives in exile today in France, and this graphic novel starts with his kidnapping by the gangs allegedly engaged by the Pakistani Army. From here, it goes back in time starting with his childhood in Saudi Arabia, born to a family of Pakistani immigrants to the gulf kingdom. He describes he challenges growing up in a highly conservative society like that of Saudi Arabia and even his relationship family, where his father practiced a fundamentalist version of Islam – where for example, the children of the family were not even allowed to celebrate birthdays as it was against Islam according to him. It is a story Taha growing up and through his point of view, we also see the evolution of the situation in Pakistan, including the hanging of Prime Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the successful nuclear tests performed by the country in the 90s and eventual return to dictatorship after the coup by Pervez Musharaff.

To those who are not very familiar with the situation in South Asia, but are still interested to know about it, this book could be an ideal place start, as with the story of Taha, you also have a brief summary of Pakistani politics from 80s to present, its relations with its neighbours, etc. In the western world, we have a tendency to group countries such as Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Bangladesh, etc. as ‘Muslim countries’ with a homogeneous identity even though the situation in those countries are totally different – like for example, how Taha felt a lot more independent in the book upon his move to Pakistan, given at the end of the day, Pakistani society is less conservative than that of Saudi Arabia.

With that said, I enjoyed it further since I grew in a neighbouring country and also someone, who has been interested in politics since I was young. To start with, to understand the personal situation of the author, one needs to understand that the Pakistani military establishment is very powerful, and for a journalist or any individual to question their actions is done at a great personal risk – like what was done by the author of the book. One more aspect, which I learnt and was rather shocked by, was the pervasive nature of radical terrorist organisation in the Pakistani society like the Lashkar-e-Taiba (recognised as a terrorist organisation by the governments of Pakistan, India, EU, US, etc.) even in privileged families like that of the author.

Even though these different names like that of Pakistani politicians and organisations are evident for someone like me given I am from that region, I am not in a position to judge how easy it is to grasp all of these for a reader who is not familiar with this region (if you have read it, please leave your comment explaining how it was for you).

I also liked the part where the relationship of the author with his family was explored – particularly his father and also his two brothers and mother. In fact, I could not help but compare the similarities with another famous French graphic novel – L’Arabe du futur by Riad Sattouf, who also grew up in Arab countries with his two brothers and a radical extremist father – where in Sattouf’s book, his father liked dictators such as Saddam Hussein and here, the authors father admired dictators of Pakistan like General Zia Ul-Haq).

The penultimate part of my review would focus on the artwork of Hubert Maury. I liked the different colours he had used to distinguish the different countries where the story was taking place – for Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and France. I also found the drawings of Karachi and Islamabad very realistic and relatable. The only factor that bothered me a little was that drawings of the younger women around Taha – there were at least three important people and they looked quite similar that at times, I had to struggle to distinguish between them.

To conclude, I would strongly recommend the graphic novel when it is released, which gives us an interesting autobiographical account and at the same time, we could skim through the politics of South Asia (Pakistan in particular). I award the graphic novel a rating of eight on ten.

Rating – 8/10

Have a nice day,
Andy

The Pyre by Perumal Murugan – Book Review

 

Publisher’s write-up:

‘Saroja and Kumaresan are in love. After a hasty wedding, they arrive in Kumaresan's village, harboring a dangerous secret: their marriage is an inter-caste one, likely to upset the village elders should they get to know of it. Kumaresan is naively confident that all will be well. But nothing is further from the truth. Despite the strident denials of the young couple, the villagers strongly suspect that Saroja must belong to a different caste. It is only a matter of time before their suspicions harden into certainty and, outraged, they set about exacting their revenge.’

Note : I read the novel in Tamil and its French translation

The Pyre is a novel of Perumal Murugan, known for is plots that are set in rural Tamil Nadu, in India. He often talks about the difference between the lifestyle in the cities as against the countryside, the social problems, particularly ones related to caste discrimination.

In The Pyre, we have a young couple, Kumaresan and Saroja. Kumaresan is from a village, working in a soda bottling factory in the city, and while delivering these sodas, he saw Saroja and immediately falls in love with her. After a few months, they elope and marry in a temple en route to Kumaresan’s village. Ever since they settled down at the house of Kumaresan’s mother, they face problems, the first being that Saroja being from a city, is not accustomed to a village life but the latter and more important problem is that the two are not from the same caste. Thus, nobody in Kumaresan’s family or the extended family in the village accept Saroja as their daughter-in-law. That is the principal theme of the novel – would Saroja get used to her new circumstances and be accepted by Kumaresan’s family?

There are elements of the Tamil countryside which was used well by the author. For those who have been in the countryside in South Asia, it is easy to visualize the descriptions given by the author. The conflicts between Saroja and Kumaresan’s family was described in detail, including the friendship and love between Kumaresan and Saroja, given that Kumaresan was the only source of support for Saroja in the whole village. Even though the author never specified when the story ws taking place, based n certain cultural references, it was evident that it was in one of the last decades of the 20^th century.

However, that was what was missing for those who would read the translation without being familiar with Tamil culture or customs, given that the translator gave very minimal footnotes, for instance, a word like ‘thali’, it is evident for someone like me from the Tamil culture that it is a wedding jewellery, but for anyone else, it would be difficult. The author also introduced several aspects to the story, such as the relationship  between Saroja and her brother, which the character describes in detail, but this was never relevant to the plot and I did not understand why the author chose to introduce it in the first place.

It also needs to be said that those who do not like the background melancholy and the excessive suffering that the main characters – Saroja and Kumaresan go through, it would be difficult to read the book.

To conclude, it is a well written novel where I felt very much immersed in a Tamil village while reading the book. I award the book a rating of eight on ten.

Rating – 8/10

Have a nice day,
Andy