English, the richest of the world’s languages in terms of its vast vocabulary, the number of journals, the number of articles, books, libraries, and many other measures, is poor on one point: because it is a modern language, it lacks original scriptural texts, or even many important mystical works.  These are usually from translation.  No matter which religion or mystical philosophy we subscribe to, we will usually find ourselves needing to read books in translation.  And translation is not a great means of approach to the original thinking.  There are any number of examples of this.  Anyone who knows Hebrew can be amazed at the ways in which the Bible has been so woefully mistranslated into English, and oftentimes the mis-translations become axiomatic to the faith. There are similar problems with translations from Sanskrit, Chinese, Arabic, Persian, Greek and other texts.  The Muslims, in their wisdom, insisted that the Quran should be read in Arabic.

When I read Sri Aurobindo’s epic poem, it is with the appreciation that here is an inspired text that finally is written originally in English, by a master English-language poet, who had a fine understanding of classical Sanskrit texts.  He was also an original thinker, a philosopher and a mystic.  His poem is a piece of literature, a source of inspiration, and unique.  It may be the most important book to be composed in the English language.  It’s certainly one of its most ambitious poems. 

The only reason that it goes unappreciated is that it is hard to read and understand.  It’s hard even to understand the structure of the poem and its development.  Besides, since this is a work of mystical philosophy, comprehension depends on being versant in the ideas that motivate the poem. One really needs a guide.

English has a few other rather impenetrable works that are regarded as classics and worthy of study.  Savitri is valuable for the beauty of the language, for its deep inspirations, and for its mystical underpinnings.

Fortunately the internet has many resources to ease the approach to Savitri.  I’m collecting some of these under the category “savitri” in my Hubzilla Cards system, and will add some texts in the books sections of my files.

Not utmostly impressed so far with Arundhati Roi’s new novel. It’s kind of all over the place and I’m not sure who I, the reader, am supposed to be. Political writing, and I suppose any type of writing, from India has to decide who it is written for. In my opinion, the best writing doesn’t try to be over-accommodating. Sonia Faleiro, for example, in “Beautiful Thing: Inside the Secret World of Bombay’s Dance Bars” didn’t make things at all easy for a non-Indian reader. As a result, there was a lot that I didn’t understand. But that was fine – it was even fine with a British newspaper that declared it to be one of the best books of the year. Roi tries, sometimes in a rather convoluted way to try to explain political issues or historical events, in long boring asides. At other times she goes to extraordinary measures not to mention politicians by name, though it’s perfectly obvious enough who she is talking about. I don’t get it. I can’t imagine that she is keeping anyone happy; either an Indian or well-informed non-Indian reader on the one hand, or a foreigner who knows little about India or its issues.

With regard to the content, I haven’t encountered much that is new to me, though I’m admittedly comparatively well read in her subject matter. What I enjoy most about Indian novels is the story telling. Indians seem to have some kind of innate ability to create interesting characters and tell amazing stories about them. And the best writers, among whom I count Rohinton Mistry and Amitav Ghosh, also know how to weave politics and history into their writing expertly and keenly. In the same way as a Charles Dickens brings 19th century London to life, Mistry can make me feel like I know 20th century Bombay from the inside. Anita Desai and Vikram Seth perform a kind of magic in translating a world that is completely foreign and making me feel at home in it. Reading U. R. Ananthamurthy is almost like encountering an anthropological study, but in a completely enjoyable way. Arundhati Roi seems less sure of herself. Perhaps she is trying too hard. I feel like I need to winnow away some of the chaff in order to get at the grain of what she is trying to tell me.

More later, when I’ve finished the novel.

Just finished Homeland by Cory Doctorow – a good read.  Strange to read the book’s after words by Aaron Swartz and Jacob Appelbaum – the former driven to suicide; the latter recently banished from Tor for alleged sexual misconduct.

It’s odd as well to see Doctorow speaking of services like Skype and dedicating the last section of the book to Amazon. “The founder, Jeff Bezos, even posted a reader-review for my first novel! Amazon’s in the process of reinventing what it means to be a bookstore in the twenty-first century and I can’t think of a better group of people to be facing down that thorny set of problems.”   If he can mention large corporations without irony or prudence, how can I trust him?

In the balance, he’s on the right side, urging people take back control, cautioning against government tyranny and corporate power. But it seems to me that a genuine social critic, or someone with well-honed critical thinking skills, or someone who is just honest, does not choose certain large targets, while letting others off lightly.   It’s because the heroes of his novels are people who are both streetwise and distrustful to the level of paranoia, that it strikes an odd note when essential players in their and our world seem to get an easy ride.

Confession, I downloaded both Little Brother and Homeland for free from Doctorow’s site: but perhaps I will pay for the next one.