Books and I

Books have been my constant companion, as far as I can see in the past.

I dread being a cog in a crowd of known faces. The boisterous jolliness and the superficial conviviality of such a gathering suffocates me. I cannot partake in the camaraderie most people experience in a benign communal activity.

What a contrast is the company of books. They speak only when spoken to. They take you to enchanting lands, opening up the world for you unobtrusively. They excite thought. They incite desire and sate it too. They give words to your emotions and feelings. They light up hitherto dark nooks and crannies of your mind.

They come in all personalities; some are fat, some slim, some austere, others garish, some stoically introvert, others big show-off, some offensively blabbermouthed, others exasperatingly  reticent.  You can chuck them after shortest of contact, they wouldn’t bat an eyelid. You can clutch a dear one to your bosom for ages, it wouldn’t be conceited or vexed.

I read for pleasure and out of habit. If separated from books for a day, I pine for them as must a drug-fiend for his fix. Somerset Maugham, in a short story, once wrote about his reading habit. I find it so true, that I can’t resist quoting it here. 
'Some people read for instruction, which is praiseworthy, and some for pleasure, which is innocent, but not a few read from habit, and I suppose that this is neither innocent nor praiseworthy. Of that lamentable company am I'.
I do not lament my book mania.

For decades, I read only fiction. I came to serious nonfiction very late in my reading life. And my book-world soon ballooned to a universe. Nonfiction gave me as much joy while opening up new vistas for gratification of my addiction.

I picked up the habit of writing my impressions of the books as I finished them, by a fortunate happenstance. In a course I had to take during my service years, one assignment was review of a book you had read. I wrote about a book I had read some time back. Eventually this assignment was annulled as most of my course-mates could not recollect or read even one. I came across the review I had written, after a few months. I found it conveyed to a large extent what the book had meant to me. I had enjoyed the exercise and decided to persevere with the practice.

I am an Anaesthesiologist. I am not trained in any language or any of the various nonfiction genre I read. I do not know how one should appraise a book critically. I have been reading for many years and have read a great many books. I believe, with decades of happy reading behind me, I have come to acquire a feeling for some of the attributes of books like: freshness of subject and its treatment, coherence of thoughts, ease of narration, and quality of language. I dare say my opinions, which are only subjective impressions of the book and not an attempt to critically review the book - a facility, I do not possess - are naive and immature.

These impressions were penned as and when I finished a particular book. On some occasions, as I read other books on the same theme later, I revised my opinion of the former. But I have not altered any of the reviews, though time may have changed my opinion of the book.

I have rated books on a scale of one star (couldn’t be poorer) to five star (perfect). This is as subjective as my opinion of the book.

My aim of sharing these reviews is to generate a dialogue with people who share this interest.

I plan to add new reviews regularly, perhaps a couple every few weeks. These will be new only with respect to the blog. Most were written years back.