Today I read a book: The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst.
It was eminently readable, and after i finished the book I realized that I had somehow missed or inadvertantly skipped the part which explains the title.
So I looked it up, and was pleasantly surprised to read that this randomly selected book is quite reputed in the literary world. And the title is from a poem, and puts the spotlight on one scene around which the whole story revolves. So I accidentally got to read an acclaimed book.
I have to agree. My experience with the book was that, in these days of distraction from multiple sources, I had read the 562 pages at one go. Of course, over two days, and when I was left with no work to do. It was about writers, and the world of publishing, of ageing, of changing times, homophobia and the randomness of fame.
After I put the book down, and even before I came to know of it being 'literary' I had actually browsed for History of Literature courses online and found one from a reputed University. I intend to enrol in it. So much did the book invoke memories of my college and the excellent lectures I had listened to therein.
I also began my second day with the book by reading a few verses from "The Waste LanD", a poem that I was asked to write about in my entrance exam to my English Course at Stella Maris College.
I am at cross roads of my life now and this book reminded me how much I had loved being a student of literature before life and its demands swallowed me up.
Though I may have lost the ability to review the book in a scholarly way, the lines here are my tribute to it as good literature; Literature that makes you want to be in touch with similar excellent works that have attempted to explain life with all its nuances.
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