I bought Cloud Atlas in August 2011 after hearing exorbitant praise from people who are generally stingy with the stuff. It sat patiently on my shelf for the past 15 months, gathering dust, acquiring the heady aroma of aging paper and giving me occasional twinges of guilt. I had just about forgotten about it when the movie got released and all at once, Cloud Atlas became the talk of the town. Oh the pain, the agony. Having to say no to movie invitations from friends because I had let the book rot on my shelf. So, last Sunday, I opened the book, threw away the odious flipkart bookmark and started.
The story, or in this case stories, are told through writings in a journal, letters to a friend, the manuscript of a novel, an autobiography of sorts, recordings of an interrogation and at the very core, a first person narrative. Set in six different time frames, separated by centuries and generations, Cloud Atlas tells the stories of six interwoven lives. Each story begins, gains speed and is cut off to make way for the next. Five story lines are left open in this way when you reach the last story at the middle of the book which is the only uninterrupted whole. After that the author starts tying up the threads in the reverse order and the book ends with the completion of the very first tale. In the midst of all this, there is that gossamer strand that connects the narratives. A connection that is left mostly to the reader’s imagination to make of what he will. Reading the book was for most part, anticipation of the appearance of the next connecting link .
David Mitchell has endeavored to narrate six different stories in six different styles and succeeded. The way each character speaks is so distinct, a reader could perceive the shift in the story to a new plane even without the helpful title pages. This success is, to my mind, also in a way its downfall. Even though I admired the craft that had gone into its making, even though I found it an enriching experience; I found nothing in it worth cherishing. It is undoubtedly a very well written book - a well conceived and well executed project. That is all there is to it.
The plots are at best mildly interesting. They do pique your curiosity, but none of them have you jumping up and down howling with frustration when they are abruptly cut off to make way for the next bit. The characters are spelled out for you as there is very little time to do much more, what with six different stories to finish in as many hundred pages. Even then, they end up being puny and unremarkable, being driven down life’s path by an avalanche of events. Each situation that calls for any action from a protagonist is built up in such a way that there is only one clearly defined exit which the character invariably takes.There was no point where the book surprised me. Worst of all, there is no underlying theme or purpose to the connection than hinting at a vague possibility of shared genes or if you wished to speculate wildly, rebirth. It could, for all you know, be an excuse for writing six stories together and not having to call it an anthology.
All that said, I honestly think it would be a better movie and this I hope to confirm shortly. I also have a niggling suspicion that I would have liked it better if it had not been hyped to the skies. Though I am not a fan, Cloud Atlas is definitely one of the best books I have read recently and is worth picking up for its sheer novelty. But now that I have read it, I think I’ll put it back on the shelf and happily forget about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment