A few minutes ago, I was chatting with a friend and we talked of the state of “time hasn’t come” that we often experience with books, movies, and blog posts.
Life of Pi, Yann Martel, is one such book. I recall having picked up this book thrice before and for reasons incomprehensible, even as I write this review, put it back on the shelf in the store.
When I did pick up this book, it was almost without thinking.
I thought, the Life of Pi was a wonderful book. In a literal sense — full of wonder! After a very long time, a book that I have completed in a single sitting. I have read a lot of non-fiction lately, most of them left half-read, all the more reason that this book was clasped tightly, till Pi made it home. And even though we know right at the beginning that Pi made it home, the tension prevails.
The presentation is wondrous. The build-up is good. I thought that the travel bit was a bit too long, and there were parts of the story that didn’t seem to fit in very nicely with the big story, but it was still fine. The bigger story is nice — it keeps building itself and changing forms during and after the read. Well-researched, I would say, because I am not aware of Martel’s biography, and I doubt if he spent a lot of time in India, to know things intuitively. The language is as simple as can be, except for technical nature of the boat.
Some of the statements come very close to the heart. They touch you, like a feather, leave an almost everlasting smile on your face.