Best Books of 2020

Gasp.

As I write the title of this blog post, I have to take a deep breath. The word "Best" doesn't sit well with the fiend 2020.

Friends and distant acquaintances alike used last year to read tons of books. I couldn't manage any such feat. 2020 was, reading-wise, a typical PhD year -- some meaningful books interspersed with long gaps in reading.

1. The Sympathizer by Viet Thanh Nguyen

The Sympathizer, Viet Thanh Nguyen's debut novel, starts in the twilight of the Vietnamese conflict. Our narrator -- and protagonist -- is nameless. As Viet Cong forces descend on Saigon, he describes the state of his lot, the losers, with crackling satire and Catch-22 verve. But the book is so much more. Through the frenetic retreat and exile of a chastened group, almost imperceptibly, the tale becomes a poignant story of a person who is destined to fall between the cracks. Even while seeing the hypocrisies on his side and the other, he cannot escape. He is a deviant and he will be punished.

Nguyen's voice is that of the Vietnamese; it is powerful and unsparing. The hollowness of dominant narratives are shown for what they are. Nguyen makes no concessions and pulls no punches in an entertaining story with a darkly melancholic undertone. Brilliant book.

2. The Anarchy by William Dalrymple

Dalrymple's latest was the best work of history I read all year. I wrote a longish review on Goodreads and the only person to have read it -- liked it at any rate -- happened to be William Dalrymple himself. C'est la vie.

In a world full of people holding steadfast to their extreme convictions and in a time when myth has replaced history as the source of our understanding of the past, William Dalrymple does great service by writing a magisterial and richly informative account of roughly the 100 years of the 18th century in India, a period he calls -- and I concur after reading his book -- the Anarchy.

The East India Company has been widely documented to be the progenitor of the modern joint stock corporation along with its Dutch sibling. In this book, Dalrymple dramatically shows how the EIC is also the ancestor of most corporate wrong-doings and malpractices. In fact, he persuasively argues that the EIC outdid its modern counterparts in a way which seems unlikely to be replicated in its audacity and rapacity. Excessive risk-taking to the point of being systemically too-big-to-fail ultimately leading to a massive bailout of the company. Toxic lobbying. Extracting profit at any cost of dignity and lives. (Leading to events such as the Bengal famine of 1770 killing at least 1.2 million people.) The EIC was there first.

Apart from the commercial history aspect what makes the book remarkable is how Dalrymple ties it up with India's political history. This is not a coincidence and forms the core of the book. Starting from tepid, meek origins when Sir Thomas Roe was at the mercy of the attention and benevolence of Jahangir, through the chaotic disintegration of the Mughal Empire after Aurangzeb's death (and his successor's colourful life), through the intrigue behind the battles of Plassey and Buxar, and then through bruising wars with Mysore and the Marathas, the account of the British slowly but surely tightening their grip over India makes for gripping and disturbing reading.

Dalrymple covers many fascinating characters which are far too many to recount here. His roll list covers the ruthless Robert Clive, the relatively gentler and later beleaguered Warren Hastings, many military commanders, and succeeding Governor Generals. He brings alive the court of the enfeebled Mughals. He induces cringe at the despotic regimes of the usurpers and rulers of local provinces. One laments at the inevitability of fate -- none of the many actors -- the Maratha confederacy, Tipu Sultan, Mirza Najaf Khan -- are able to prevail. What started off as a mercantile organization taking convenient advantage in a pocket of Bengal (because of internal bickering by the powers of the time) culminated in outright military and financial superiority at the close of the eighteenth century. The stage was set for the British Raj.

There is a lot to learn and understand. There is much that evokes despair and horror. Most importantly, any person who has been fed a smooth narrative of any of these actors must reconcile themselves with the nuances of history. One ends up sobered and, hopefully, wiser.

I recommend this book. It's not a book that can be rushed through in a couple of days. But it's well worth reading.

Other notable mentions in the history genre: Pankaj Mishra's From the Ruins of Empire, an immersive history of a motley crew of 19th & 20th century Asian thinkers who were tied together by the mission of rediscovering a place for their battered homelands in a rapidly changing world, and Tony Joseph's Early Indians, a delightful and accessible account of the genetics based history of the people who today inhabit South Asia. The conclusion? Beautifully complicated. 

3. Educated by Tara Westover

A reading year is incomplete without reading a good memoir. Educated is the story of a young girl who clawed her way out an abyss of terrifying depth. Born into a family that eschewed all contact with the outside world, surrounded by a paranoid father susceptible to bouts of mania and a mother showing shining resolve but troubling pliancy, scarred by a brother whose violence threatened to destroy her, Tara Westover found a way. Her story only speaks of formal education in the last fourth of the novel when she escapes to college and graduate studies but her true Education is in gaining something more profound: a fierce independence of thought unencumbered by the dictates of familial bonds, or traditional fealties, or the fear of estrangement. Remarkable story.

4. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

I wrote an entire post on Mrs. Dalloway last year. Let me add here this nice piece in a recent issue of The New Yorker. Statutory warning: Woolf's novels are not for the faint of heart or fragile of mind. But they read best when you are either or both of the above.

5. (BONUS) Collective Choice and Social Welfare by Amartya Sen

The big achievement of 2020 turned out to be a glorious book by Amartya Sen originally written in his prime in the 70s. This is an expanded edition of Sen's celebrated monograph supplementing the original with more than 300 pages of wisdom garnered in ensuing years. I wrote a review of it in greater detail, reproduced below:

I am going to make an exception with my rating rule. I typically only give five stars to a book I think everyone should read. I cannot truly say this book is for everyone: it is brilliant and it is incredibly profound but it is also technical and dense. But to give the book any less than 5 stars would be heresy.

Collective Choice and Social Welfare was originally published in 1970 and synthesized Amartya Sen's work in the field of social choice theory, taking its point of departure Kenneth Arrow's famous Impossibility Theorem, but moving well beyond. The original book had a beautiful stylistic experiment: each topic is covered in two chapters. There is an exposition chapter that assimilates the essence of the argument and presents an intuitive narrative to the reader. Followed by its corresponding mathematical counterpart.

Somewhat Technical

Social choice theory is considered a heavily technical field: it is often presented as a part of "mathematical economics." And so, each technical chapter in the book presents results that, among other things, (1) investigate the nature of the axioms behind Arrow's famous result, pointing out their non-basic nature, also understanding the boundaries and contours of the result; (2) compare the requirements of Pareto optimality with classical Liberty; (3) argue for the the possibility and appeal of partial comparability between individual values; (4) investigate theories of justice; (5) look at theories of voting.

All of the above was already present in the 1970 edition. Indeed, the book sparked off entire bodies of research in various domains and laid the foundations for welfare economics. It is also an important reason why Sen won the Nobel Prize in Economics.

It took me a lot of time to complete the original edition. The proofs were often involved and there were a plethora of concepts squeezed into every chapter. But I would hasten to add and, perhaps, hazard to claim, that it was all well worth the effort.

The original book would have been, by itself, a crowning achievement for any formidable intellect. Sen has written another 300 pages in this 2017 edition. The canvas has subtly changed. He assimilates progress in social choice theory for the reader in the 40+ years between the two editions. He provides a scathing critique of rational choice theory and its need for internal consistency of choice. He spends a fair bit of time evaluating various theories of justice. What's remarkable is that his theory flows from his formal mathematical work in social choice and also incorporates the thoughts of an incredible array of philosophers and thinkers even while adding his own originality, for example, in terms of the need for a focus on capabilities, on reasoned discussion, and on the willingness to accept improvements rather than an endless -- possibly impossible -- search for perfection.

There is far too much for me to write about and, to be perfectly honest, I will probably take a long time to absorb the arguments Sen has made in this wonderful book. It represents a large part of his life's work and there is much to learn. And so much more to admire.

Onwards we go. Here's hoping 2021 grants us some much needed relief and joy.

Best Books Lists 2020

1. The FT's list by different categories. I particularly liked their best fiction list.
2. The Economist.
3. Foreign Affairs.
4. New York Times.
5. Wall Street Journal.
6. Time.
7. New Yorker.
8. The Paris Review.

Mrs. Dalloway, Again

Fifth year of an economics PhD is all about rhythm. You're supposed to be in the groove and on your way. Discipline, focus, and a self-reinforcing web of commitments.

Which is to say you shouldn't be surprised if I tell you my insomnia has grown in stature and I am a pebble away from collapsing under my own weight.

So what does one do at 2.46 am on a Wednesday with a once in a century pandemic on the loose along with a generation-defining election in a week?

A Review of Mrs. Dalloway

I have mentioned before that my favorite Virginia Woolf novel is To the Lighthouse. Indeed, that book touched me in a way no other work by Woolf has done, and though my opinion hasn't changed after reading Mrs. Dalloway again, I have a lot to say.

This time's sojourn in the London of 1923 began on a train ride to Southampton. I needed something to distract me from the worries of traveling in the midst of covid. And so I decided to get into a different stream of thought. A stream of consciousness, if you will.

Virginia Woolf's books have some common traits. They are all demanding reads: your concentration cannot drop or waver. Woolf is constantly moving across several characters' heads; she's switching the subject of the sentence deftly; and she's doing it all beautifully. Missing a beat doesn't only mean losing the flow. A distracted read probably means you would end up not liking the book, at a minimum.

The cold stream of visual impressions failed him now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china wall unrecorded. The brain must wake now. The body must contract now, entering the house, the lighted house, where the door stood open, where the motor cars were standing, and bright women descending: the soul must brave itself to endure. He opened the big blade of his pocket knife.

Second, Woolf's books carry an undercurrent. Even if it is a scene of tranquility that she is painting, there is, right there, subtly, just underneath the surface, a whirlpool of anxiety and anger. It recalls Louise Glück's commentary on John Berryman, "The background is the abyss; the poems venture as close to the edge as possible." Virginia Woolf's darkness spills out through her characters, as with other writers, but it also seeps through her prose.

The secret signal which one generation passes, under disguise, to the next is loathing, hatred, despair. Dante the same. Aeschylus (translated) the same.

Third, her books are emotionally heavy. Virginia Woolf did not have a happy life. She was introspective and incisive with her assessment of the world and its many flawed characters. Her books can easily put you into depression. They are not for the faint of heart. Mrs. Dalloway is still a more sprightly read, unlike To the Lighthouse, but the abyss of despondency is a step away, all the same.

...with hazel eyes which had that look of apprehension in them which makes complete strangers apprehensive too.

And, finally, her books are extraordinarily perceptive. 

She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on.

The story covers a day in London and flits across the lives of several protagonists, chief among them being Clarissa Dalloway and Septimus Warren Smith. It's really just a single solitary day. The characters, however, are not merely living out the present -- they cannot -- for they cannot escape how their lives are inextricably connected to their past and how they are living out the consequences of decisions made many many years before. It's one of the themes of the book: the weight of past decisions lingers and its consequences cast a shadow decades removed. 

The notion of Time is not only connected to the past. Clarissa and Septimus both understand the fragility of their existence. Its finiteness and their sheer mortality troubles them. In To the Lighthouse (TTL) too there are questions about what a person leaves behind when they are no longer alive. But while this vexed question is left as the backdrop in TTL, in Mrs. Dalloway the characters actively consider their own mortality. 

Clarissa worries about the futility of her life. She finds it difficult to accept that her place in the world is transitory. She hopes the echoes of her existence reverberate in other people's lives. She wonders if the very wind and the leaves and everything else gets suffused by the momentary presence of ephemeral individuals. Septimus, in his fits of madness, feels he has obtained immortal knowledge which the wretched world cannot comprehend. He sees through it all. But the burden of knowing is crushing him, his mortal self. 

Time even makes its corporeal presence felt through the booming leaden circles cast by Big Ben. The striking of the tower is interspersed through the pages as it faithfully marks the passage of the day but also serves a constant reminder to all about the inexorable passage of time.

Big Ben was beginning to strike, first the warning, musical; then hour, irrevocable.

Yet it is not the role of Time that affected me while reading the book. It was its discussion of mental illness. Septimus Warren Smith is a veteran. He lost his closest friend in the battlefield. The trauma of the loss ensconces his soul slowly. It grows like a parasite. It affects his ability to communicate with his wife, Rezia, who he courted while billeted in Italy, who grew up in a convivial atmosphere of a family hat-making business, and who is now tormented by her husband's madness and terrified by his suicidal tendencies.

Even more troubling is the relationship Septimus has with his doctors. We begin with Dr. Holmes, a man completely out of his depth. Holmes thinks Septimus has no affliction. He gives an ignoramus' assurance. He lets Septimus' neurosis grow unabated.  It grows to the point when Rezia finally approaches the considerably more famous and expensive Sir William Bradshaw.

Woolf's dissection of Bradshaw is extraordinary and unnerving. It was possibly informed by her own experience with psychiatrists and psychologists -- Woolf suffered several nervous breakdowns throughout her life. There is a public facet of Bradshaw. He is kind, impressive, and an adherent of "Proportion." Proportion being the principle that the secret to a good life of health and success is keeping life's elements in check. Having the right balance. Superficially, his proposed treatment for Septimus is merely so: sending him to a house in the countryside where he is monitored and allowed to recover, away from Rezia.

But Rezia senses a sinister counterpart to Proportion. She calls it "Conversion," the tendency for those who live life in Proportion to force deviants into shape, to whip them without remorse; dehumanizing their worries as mere pathologies. In other words, Conversion seeks to conquer. Rezia fears for Septimus. She sees the ruthless cruelty in Bradshaw's methods. Cruelty, not of the physical kind, but something far worse. She is powerless. 

That is the most disturbing part of the novel. What is mental health? How do we understand it? How do we treat it? And what terrors does the patient suffer that are inaccessible to a closed well-educated well-polished professional? Rezia did a far better job of keeping Septimus sane than any doctor did. I do not think this is coincidence.

When I read Virginia Woolf there is always one character that seems to speak Woolf's mind most clearly. In TTL, it is Lily Briscoe. In Mrs. Dalloway, it is Septimus. Septimus is asking for help. Help is nowhere to be found.

The day ends. Clarissa organizes a party where prominent names pay visit. She also meets old friends who have influenced her life indelibly and about whom she cannot stop reminiscing on most days. But she has no time for them. The Prime Minister is here. And so is Sir William Bradshaw and a dozen other dignitaries.

In a novel about one's exhausting battles with inner demons; still having to make sense of life in the physical world; living in the shadow of a disorienting First World War, all in an exquisite, if demanding, stream of consciousness writing style, one hopes to find meaning in futility. And to answer the following question:

"What does the brain matter," said Lady Rosseter, getting up, "compared with the heart?"

Suite Française

When Irène Némirovsky started writing Suite Française, she envisioned the novel to have five parts – a massive tome that would promise to be her finest achievement; her tour de force.

Irène was a famous writer of her times already. But she was also a Jew. And so, in 1942, she was arrested and deported to Auschwitz. She died a month later.

Before this unthinkably tragic end, Irène could only write the first two parts of her novel. Her manuscript should’ve been lost but it miraculously survived, preserved by her daughter as she successfully fled the Nazis. It still took sixty-four years for the manuscript to finally see the light of public attention. As possibly the first novel to be written about World War II, and because of the way it was written – in Irène’s journal compressed into 140 pages written in a tiny font while she was hiding in the countryside somewhere in Central France – it has since been widely acclaimed and was recently made into a movie by the same name, in 2014. (The movie is good but doesn’t really cover the intricacies of the novel.)

The copy of Suite Française that you can get now contains the first two parts – Storm in June and Dolce – as well as an appendix that contains Irène’s notes. These notes are morbidly fascinating, dealing with both the novel and her initial exasperation followed by leaden dread at what was to come.

The book was intended to be a story of a few individuals and their families in France in the time of World War II as they experienced the incursion and invasion of the German troops, followed by occupation, and was to chronicle their struggles as they sought to hold on to their lives, their livelihoods, and dignity.

Suite Française is an incredibly humane and compassionate story of France in the midst of invasion. It also challenges the reader’s conception of the individuals who comprised the conquered and, to a limited extent, the conquerors.

(Despite the author’s own turmoil, it elides any mention of the Jews – I think I could count only one or two instances where she even mentions the word.)

A short summary would be thus: it is a compelling book about inequality and collaboration dealing with the turmoil of emotions in the minds of the conquered as they find a way to survive, some choosing to compromise, others torturing themselves through hope, and yet others simply forgetting their circumstances. There are no modern twists and turns and yet the book is gripping in its own way.

Below, I present a synopsis of the novel. I keep it separate because I know of people who prefer not to know anything about the plot, and I respect that.

************

The first part, Storm in June, describes in vivid detail the Exodus of Parisians from their beloved city as the German army reached their doorsteps. In the midst of air raids and chaos, we follow a set of individuals from different classes and professions as they prepare to leave.

We follow a prominent family, the Péricands; a famous writer and his partner; a working class couple; a collector of antiques; and a few other well fleshed out characters, as they deal with panic and desperation when fleeing from one place to the other. Their lives occasionally intersect in the madness. Even in this dog-eat-dog world we see moments of collaboration and cooperation. Kindness shows up in the unlikeliest of places.

Némirovsky’s prose is unsparing as she provides a searing indictment of class inequities. This anger spills out on occasion,

"But why are we always the ones who have to suffer?” she cried out in indignation. “Us and people like us? Ordinary people, the lower middle classes. If war is declared or the franc devalues, if there’s unemployment or a revolution, or any sort of crisis, the others manage to get through all right. We’re always the ones who are trampled! Why? What did we do? We’re paying for everybody else’s mistakes. Of course they’re not afraid of us. The workers fight back, the rich are powerful. We’re just sheep to the slaughter. I want to know why? What’s happening? I don’t understand. You’re a man, you should understand,” she said angrily to Maurice, no longer knowing whom to blame for the disaster they were facing. “Who’s wrong? Who’s right? Why Corbin? Why Jean-Marie? Why us?”

Ultimately their escape is futile – the Germans are victorious and take over large parts of France. Storm in June ends here and we segue to occupation, which forms the second part of the novel, Dolce.

If the first part was urban in its scope and concerns, Dolce is all about pastoral life. We shift to a village far removed from the cities. Némirovsky herself was situated in a village when she fled Paris and one wonders how much of the content derives from her experience there.

With German occupation, invading troops were billeted with local families. This meant the presence of a German soldier living in a house with no men, for most French men were prisoners of war or killed in battle. The uncomfortableness of this situation is clear – the women of the household had to tolerate the presence of a person whose country was responsible for incarcerating or killing their husbands and sons. The Germans were their overlords, and the women were helpless. How they reacted and dealt with this intrusive occupation is an important theme of the book.

But what strikes the reader is Irène’s ability to get into the minds of the conquerors. Némirovsky’s lens is one of incredible humanity. She manages to make the occupants somewhat human and allows the reader to imagine their thoughts. This is remarkable. We follow, in particular, the strained relationship between Lucile Angellier and Bruno von Falk, the former being the daughter-in-law of a prominent land-owner in the village, the latter an officer, a Nazi.

It’s a truism that people are complicated, multifaceted, contradictory, surprising, but it takes the advent of war or other momentous events to be able to see it. It is the most fascinating and the most dreadful of spectacles, she continued thinking, the most dreadful because it’s so real; you can never pride yourself on truly knowing the sea unless you’ve seen it both calm and in a storm. Only the person who has observed men and women at times like this, she thought, can be said to know them. And to know themselves.

The book raises uncomfortable questions about the compromises individuals made to survive. Even here, the privileges that the aristocrats have over the farmers and working classes are glaring.

In the end, one cannot help but feel a great deal of regret in not seeing this novel attain completion. The story ends on an exciting turn and sets up what would have been the intertwining of the urban and the pastoral. We can only wonder at what could’ve been.

Word Ruminations

One of the many delightful quirks of the Harry Potter series is the naming scheme JK Rowling bestows on her characters. The Black family, for example, are mostly named after stars in different constellations such as the Orion, Canis Major and Leo -- everyone knows that.

Bellatrix is my favorite name from the set, unfortunately given to a vile and evil character. The name comes from the female version of the Latin word for 'warrior.' 

And then, somehow, even though the words are very different in meaning, my mind jumps to the word 'belletrist,' which, according to Oxford Languages, means

a person who writes essays, particularly on literary and artistic criticism, that are composed and read primarily for their aesthetic effect.

Both are pretty words. 

EDIT: An earlier version of the blog suggested -- somewhat embarrassingly given my claim "everyone knows that" -- that all of the Black family members are named after stars in different constellations. My friend and immortal quiz partner, Abhinav Malhotra, pointed out that Narcissa Malfoy is not named after anything in the night sky. Some more research brought out another example in Lycoris Black. Both Narcissa and Lycoris are named after plants. Thanks bhai.

Best Books I Read in 2018

Now that I am on a roll and churning out blog posts by the day-I-happen-to-have-insomnia, I feel that this is my only chance to write posts I should have written literally years ago.

Starting with a list of the best books I read in 2018!

I want to assure the kind reader (hi mom!) I already had my list ready. I even had fragments of the post, in a shape worse than mint-conditioned Draft Picks but enough to crank this out before I lose myself again.

So instead of writing long descriptions and full-er reviews in all their excruciating detail I list below the best books I read in 2018. Usual disclaimer: this is not a list of the best books published in 2018. I usually never read a book the year it's published -- my to-read list is a couple of years behind, despite 50+ books/year deep into PhD life.

Let's begin:

1. Death's End by Cixin Liu

Okay, this was a no-brainer. The Remembrance of Earth's Past trilogy is by far the best work of science fiction I've read in years. I also believe the trilogy would have attracted more attention if it had been written by an author from the traditional bastions of fiction literature.

In the two years since I've read the trilogy, it seems a lot more people are reading the books. That's brilliant and richly deserved. Don't miss it.

2. Ants Among Elephants by Sujatha Gidla

A disquieting personal history of a Dalit (untouchable) family, Gidla nonchalantly reveals the unimaginable horror and humiliation that a large chunk of India's population has had to face for an unthinkable span of time (and which continues in various ways today). The history walks through several generations of Gidla's ancestors and is intimately tied to the events around and after India's independence - a narrative that refuses to be slotted along traditional political lines and ideologies. Very honest, non-sugar coated, unsentimental account leaving you blown away by the details and powerful (but subtle) imagery. Guarantees to leave you uncomfortable.

The thing about any good memoir is that it brings intimacy to the story and (in this case) the theme at hand. You become part of their family, the quirks of the individuals in them, and the ambitions and miseries they all face. What that does (and Gidla does it here superbly) is that all the injustice, the humiliation and the inhuman deprivation becomes personal. It adds to the sense of outrage you feel. I've been reading on caste for decades. It's one thing to study it from afar and nod your head in empathy or shake it with academic disgust. It's quite another to feel part of the story and to feel the pain and distress.

The second thing about the narrative is that it moves quickly and smoothly through the half a dozen plots. There is no time for Gidla to wallow in self-pity or provide any philosophical take on any of it. No academic dissection or analysis. It's just an honest, authentic story. And I found that to be far more effective and galling than many deeply sympathetic but distant descriptions.

The book is interesting and entertaining in its own way. Fast paced. The fact is the basic idea of the memoir could've been an account of any person's personal family history. What changes it and makes it fascinating are the characters and the intimate details of the struggles and the decisions they make. None of them justified by the author, or indeed, sentimentally weighted.

Lastly, it's a jaunt through decades of post Independence events as we only see their reflection on small, mostly insignificant individuals.

3. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World by Jack Weatherford

Some revisionist history now. This is a well-written and entertaining book. Most people have heard a lot about the cruelties and barbarities of the mighty warlord and it is hard to argue against the havoc he created in the world as he conquered. It is also true that Weatherford is a little too enamored by his subject yet this book ends up being a good counter-weight to the dominant narrative and pushes the reader to give a second thought to aspects of Genghis Khan's reign that escape attention, namely, his administrative capabilities (once regions were absorbed) and his policies in matters of communication, trade, law and religious freedom. These aspects are arguably admirable.

For a reader, the book is delicious. It starts off with the story of young Temujin and his improbable ascendance to dominance from the deeply fractured tribal system in Mongolia. Given that Genghis Khan had one of the largest Empires in history it goes without question that the tales of his conquest are jaw-dropping.

Jack Weatherford does well to reinterpret the Mongol period of dominance without the prejudiced blinkers that see every "outside" conqueror to be barbaric. He also does well to contrast the comparatively progressive administration of the Mongol Empire with civilizations in the rest of the world. But a caveat. Yes, the Mongol Empire deserves much more respect from the modern world on many fronts - as one of the mightiest Empires of all time, a fearsome military power and a highly sophisticated administrative behemoth. But I wouldn't go as far as making everything that happened in the world to be a consequence of this era. This isn't damning criticism -- clearly a lot of things we take for granted in the modern world such as several country boundaries, regional cultural traits, as well as the diffusion of technological progress directly flow from the actions taken during the Mongol Empire. But it is important criticism -- Weatherford gets speculative on occasion.

4. How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid

Hamid is a fantastic writer. His writing style is accessible and piercing. In this bildungsroman masked as a self-help book, he pieces together a picture that is instantly recognizable to most people from Asia.

The beauty is that you never noticed it yourself. Hamid paints in vivid detail the backdrop to the lives of the privileged in South Asia. The overfull bus bouncing down a pot-holed road; people in constant danger of spilling out. The slow moving marauding cyclist on a busy road; an idle turn away from death. The salesman going door-to-door to face almost certain failure and disdain; preferring this life over back-breaking labor. You see because Hamid moves them to the foreground. He throws the light.

There's also something to "you" being the protagonist: adding another layer of intimacy that comes by the use of the second person. Ultimately, what starts out as a brash and seemingly unemotional guide to climbing out of the ditch of despair and destitution in an emerging country becomes an endearing story that touches you with its rawness and simplicity. This was my first book by the author. Quite impressive.

5. Inglorious Empire/An Era of Darkness by Shashi Tharoor

Not Tharoor's best book but there are good chapters in this one. The Myth of Enlightened Despotism is that one chapter I'd recommend anyone and everyone to read.

Content-wise the book packs a powerful punch. At a time when the legacy of colonialism sees many back-and-forth discussions the book carves out its space by offering perspective on something which statistics and the dehumanizing long term view of history often miss - that many ordinary people suffered grievously, and that millions died at the hands of the policies (and deliberate neglect) of colonial leaders. This at a scale and over a period never before seen in India.

It's a great book because it directly addresses many hearsay theories about the supposed good brought about by the Empire. Tharoor by no means aims to demonize the British; indeed his own passion for many things British is freely admitted and expressed. He only points out that the colonial project of extraction and exploitation spread over some centuries should not, at the very least, be whitewashed by presumptuous theories about there being good intentions behind the actions taken by the oppressors. It's hard to refute this claim.

Best Books I Read in 2019

Before half a year elapses again, and taking advantage of another night of insomnia, let me quickly recapitulate the best books I read in 2019. The usual caveat applies: this is a list of books I read in 2019 and liked/loved the most. I wish I could keep up with the newest releases every year but I never do.

1. A House for Mr Biswas

As a soon to be released book review will explain, VS Naipaul's passing away two years ago reminded me that I had not read his supposed magnum opus. The book, about one Mohun Biswas, is a tragicomedy and a deeply perceptive tale of pre- and post-colonial Indian societies in the Caribbean. Mohun has lived his childhood and youth in wretched poverty and humiliation. He seeks redemption and he seeks dignity. His life is spent in the fevered dream of building his own house. Will he do it? A House for Mr Biswas is a poignant story. It is dark comedy. It is an insightful glimpse into the dynamics of "joint-family" politics in that era and speaks to the politics of relationships even today. It is, in sum, very well-written.

2. Culture of Encounters: Sanskrit at the Mughal Court

This is a fantastic book that has sadly never been mass published. Audrey Truschke is most commonly known for her Aurangzeb book -- a lucidly written, fast paced, and informative account that is not without contestation, both (fair) nuanced academic and (obviously) rabid lunatic. I would recommend reading that book but not before Culture of Encounters, if you can get your hands on it.

The book covers the fascinating history of Sanskrit scholars during the times of several Mughal emperors, most notably Akbar and Jahangir. The first chapter is a stultifying chronology of all scholars who took patronage over the dynasty's time. The book then picks up and soars with its description of Akbar's efforts to integrate Sanskrit literature and its rich cultural history into his reign. The most brilliant chapter is his project to translate the Mahabharata into Persian calling it Razmnamah or the Book of War. There is much to learn and admire in this syncretic and beautiful time in India's history. Here's a review I wrote last year:

"The book itself has been on my TBR for a long, long time. Audrey Truschke first came on the Indology map with this book that is basically her PhD dissertation at Columbia. I waited quite a bit for the book to become cheaper but that didn't happen. In a fitting move - Columbia History PhD writing a book published by Columbia University Press - I borrowed the book from the Columbia University Library. 

Before I talk in detail about the book, a caveat. Whether you're on the Aurangzeb-was-terrible side, or the Aurangzeb-was-a-great-king end, or somewhere in the convex combination between these two points, this book is NOT about Aurangzeb. So hold your tongue.

The book. The book is gorgeous in its own way. It captures a rich history of the cultural and aesthetic interactions between the Indo-Persian and Sanskrit schools of thought at the Mughal court. For instance, one learns about the representatives from the Tapa Gaccha and Kharatara Gaccha at Akbar's court (and later Jehangir) and how Jain Sanskrit scholars sought to integrate the Mughal court into traditional Sanskrit accounts and histories. 

The book can be deceptively off-putting because Truschke starts this book - quite unlike her later Aurangzeb book - with typical academic caution and dryness. In fact, the introduction and the first chapter - a kind of an encapsulation of all major Sanskrit scholars at the Mughal court across several kings - is very boring. She does this, I assume, because she wants to set the context and the stage as one would do when writing an academic paper. 

It's in the chapters that deal with Akbar's reign that the book soars, and how. The second chapter deals with the different kinds of Sanskrit encomiums addressed to Akbar written by different Sanskrit scholars. The praises throw light into the unique reign of Akbar, when the best artists and scholars of the era held residence at the Mughal Court, many of whom are part of contemporary Indian lore. Truschke shows off her hold over these many written works and describes many of them in rich detail. 

The third chapter contains a gripping and very interesting account of how Akbar commissioned some of the best Persian and Sanskrit scholars to sit together to translate the Mahabharata into Persian, called the Razmnamah (Book of War). This is a glorious chapter and talks about many details about this unprecedented mission undertaken at the behest of Akbar, and executed by his grand vizier Abu Fazl. There are many interesting tidbits here, including the focus and attention that the translators gave to different books of the grand epic, and the way the translators made sense of the content for an (ostensibly) Persian speaking audience. 

There are far too many details for me to put out here (watch out for my blog) but one does come away with one conclusion. The moniker of Akbar the Great (I hasten to add that Truschke NEVER uses or suggests this term) is well-deserved. 

The other chapters deals with aspects such as how Persian thought was introduced into Sanskrit texts and vice versa. Richly detailed. 

There is the overarching question that Truschke grapples with: why did the Mughals do this in the first place? Her main contention is that the Mughals sought to integrate themselves culturally and aesthetically with the Sanskrit history of India mainly because that is how they envisioned their place as being in a long line of kings of India. This was, in other words, their way of becoming a fabric of the land. This makes sense to me. However, the added motivation for doing this can be seen in a emotional sense or in a transactional sense. My own reading is that the prolific investment in Sanskrit based culture made by the Mughal court (including by Akbar, Jehangir and Shah Jahan) must have involved a mix of both factors. Truschke doesn't enter these waters of trying to disentangle the two sources. 

There are some minor errors but really trivial ones that escaped proof-reading efforts. They have absolutely no bearing on the substantive content of the text."

3. The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer

Siddhartha Mukherjee writes extremely well. If you haven't read this book, and if you can stomach some unease, you absolutely must read it. Mukherjee presents cancer as our greatest and -- persuasively argued -- hardest battle. The latter because the occurrence of cancer is linked with deeper questions about mortality. Cancer happens by hijacking the very processes that keep us alive and healthy. It does so with chilling and ruthless efficiency. But unlike the more modest normal cell the hyper efficient cancer cells fail to incorporate the externality of their growth on the body ultimately consuming it. (This last sentence was brought to you by my economics education.)

That said, the book isn't by any means exclusively focused on the biology/genetics behind cancer. It is so much more. My short review:

"One of the best works of non-fiction in the past decade, SM's Pulitzer Prize winning book deserves all the plaudits it gets. It is at once a medical history of the disease the Greeks named karkinos because of the resemblance of swellings to carapace; a story of generations of doctors coming to grips with its mystery over several centuries; a throwback to the many individuals who mounted a prolonged, attritional, and ultimately humbling war on the disease, their character sketches delightfully fleshed out; an account of human hubris and a very good demonstration of the frustrating role of paradigms in the sciences with many wrong turns and dead-ends. Lastly, it gives a cellular biologist's recapitulation of the slow but fruitful progress of genetic research in understanding cancer's genesis. This research program led to the most commonly known drugs treating cancers today. It also sets the stage for his next book.

Above all, the book is a compassionate and poignant glimpse of the courage and resilience of the countless unnamed patients who have had to fight the disease. SM speaks of their willingness to experience complete uncertainty while embracing new forms of treatment. He speaks of their boldness in demanding experimental methods which would leave them drastically changed physically and psychologically. And he speaks of their grace and determination in accepting the merciless, slow stream of information that often accompanies different phases of treatment. SM thus imbues the narrative with humanity and transforms the battle against this most ancient and sinister of enemies into a deeply personal tale.

It is a book on cancer and therefore one cannot help be a tad squeamish at times. Some chapters can be morbid. Despite that, it's a wonderful book. Extremely well written. 

A rewarding and highly recommended read."

And that's that! Oddly enough, I could only shortlist 3 books. 2019 had a lot of disappointing reads and my resolution for 2020 is to avoid bad reads as much as possible. Wish me luck!

Dust and Rubble

I am a cursed being. I love books. I always have. I have completed the book a day challenge, all 365 of them à la Shashi Tharoor.

I am also old school. I cannot stand a book's e-counterpart. I refuse to buy a Kindle or use any kind of e-reader. I have always found the concept insulting to the idea of reading. Reading a paper book means curling up with a friend -- old or new -- and discovering joy, mystery, and intrigue. Every page has a memory even if most wash off. When I open my eyes in the middle of the night I glance at my book shelves taking in the warmth they have exuded ever since I've been a child.

My curse is not that I love books. It is far more embarrassing and chastening.

I am allergic to old books. The sort of book that makes ardent readers excited. That makes them sniff the pages and relish its dusty smell. That sends them down involuntary detours of fantasies about the book's previous owners; about the history elapsed from the time the book was published through the rollicking journey it may have had to ultimately reach the present owner. The annotations in the margins. The inscriptions.

It's not that I haven't resisted. Every once a while I pluck up the courage and get myself a battered yellowing old book to read. And though I have failed almost every time the allure of conforming to the habits of my brethren refuses to perish.

*************

Neuromancer is a famous book. As the first novel to win the Hugo, the Nebula and the Philip K. Dick awards it stands out as the mighty Sirius in the star studded map of Science Fiction literature.

"How far you’ve come, to do it now, and what grotesque props. . . . Playgrounds hung in space, castles hermetically sealed, the rarest rots of old Europa, dead men sealed in little boxes, magic out of China. . . ."

Neuromancer is widely considered to be one of the first major works of cyberpunk (the dystopic genre of Sci-Fi that is described by Wiki as high tech and low life). The story follows the exploits of a delinquent wasted individual, Case, who is a has-been cyberspace thief (a "hacker" for lack of a better word). Case lives on the edges of society as an outlaw doing petty crime and dragging out his existence in a hell-hole in Japan all the while scraping the bottom of the barrel to make ends meet.

Things take a dramatic turn when he meets the samurai shotgun Molly (a memorable and awesome character) who offers Case a way back to health and, more enticingly, the work he reveled and excelled in. There is a price, of course, setting in motion an exciting chase as the protagonist and his rag-tag associates seek answers to a deepening mystery.

Case's skill is to jack himself into the Matrix and find ways of breaking the ice -- Intrusive Countermeasures Electronics -- of organizations. The Matrix is a world removed from the normal world and allows Case to switch between personalities and locations at will. His targets eventually lead him to an AI which controls the mercenary guiding him. Matters deepen as the AI wants stuff that promises to wreck havoc with the usual order of the world.

I found the book in one of those cardboard boxes hastily labeled with a marker-ed "FREE BOOKS" that are reasonably common in any university. There it was, lying between a Dover classic by Le Corbusier and a ragged old book on the Economics of Crime. I had heard enough about Gibson's masterpiece to lay claim to the book. As well as its neighbors.

The copy was dangerously old. This was going to take effort. And some skill. Most definitely some pain too.

The reward to reading Neuromancer is perspective. Neuromancer makes The Matrix trilogy and Inception look like derivative works feeding off the incredible imagination of William Gibson. In fact, in the novel, one can enter a deeper state than the Matrix where time flows more slowly for the outside world even as weeks pass by in the innermost state. It's that familiar.

Iacta alea est.

*************

My own journey began with trepidation. The first two days of reading ended with angry rashes on my hands and chin. My body was rejecting the old book with astonishing ferocity. I had to regroup. Use my unreliable brain to figure a way out.

A tissue box. Aha.

Two pieces of tissue carefully enclosing the fingers on my left hand. Another two guarding the right. And thus began my painstaking quest to read the book. No archival scholar, no Egyptologist and certainly no surgeon ever paid more steadfast attention to the movement and exposure of their fingers as I trying not to touch the ruinous substance on the pages. (Apparently it's the acid used in curing that causes the reaction.)

Thankfully, I do this at home. My parents are used to my eccentricities. My sister rolls her eyes. Visitors think I am delving into the depths of eternal knowledge. Our domestic help, Valli, doesn't understand what I am up to but she gives me the benefit of doubt.

It worked. Barely. I could see I was reading large chunks of the book in one go stopping only because the smell of the book ultimately irritated my nose and made my scalp itch.

Four days like this and the deed was completed. I sent the book on its way, hopefully, to an owner who doesn't share my vulnerabilities.

For all the praise I've bestowed on the book, it is written in a faintly clunky manner. The writing quality has its moments but one struggles to find reading flow.

But maybe it was just the clunky way I read it. Mission accomplished.

Best Books Lists 2019

Putting them all in one place. Will be updating this post over time.

1. New Yorker
2. The Economist
3. New York Times
4. Smithsonian
5. FT
6. Wall Street Journal
7. Electric Literature
8. The Guardian
9. Time

Am I missing a list? Please share them in your comments!

Book review - The Third Pillar by Raghuram Rajan

Around the time of independence, Gandhiji and Babasaheb Ambedkar clashed over the kind of structure the new nation of India would possess. Gandhiji believed in what would today be called a version of localism as he wanted most of the powers of the state to be vested with villages with the federal government having minimal interference. Ambedkar, having lived a life full of discrimination and social exclusion, did not agree. He saw villages and local communities as regressive centers of oppressive customs and traditions, with a hierarchy meant to subjugate those at the bottom, and which would not give all Indians the freedom that they should deserve.

Fast forward to today. Raghuram Rajan writes a book that is part of the many, many...many books out there at the moment on (i) the ills plaguing (predominantly) the developed world; (ii) an analysis of the conflicts therein; finally, (iii) offering a set of solutions. As is unfortunately the case with all these books, written by very smart people, the analysis is often highly informative and enlightening but the solutions are impractical or hopelessly naive.

What comes out is a book that has an intriguing thesis - that there is a third oft ignored pillar of the community that can bolster the support systems that individuals need in a time of great turbulence, and which can more efficiently take decisions for the people living in their communities.

There is much to agree with the thesis. Rajan is a nuanced person. He does not think in terms of ideological manifestos. He does not, at least for the developed world, think Ambedkar was right, but he doesn't want us to push out the state and the market to the extent that Gandhiji would have wanted.

The book itself, though, leaves a lot to be desired. In a topic as complex as the one Rajan has picked - of analyzing the community's role and empowering it in specific ways - the big flaw that comes out, and I can't believe I am saying this, is that he chooses to look at most of these problems purely as an economist. Not always, I hasten to add, but almost everywhere of note. Therefore, the analysis (historical and current) is often based on incentives. Give the right incentive and communities will not be overly insular or discriminatory, even in subtle ways. This line of thinking is not persuasive not least because there exists a history of regressive community structures and bad equilibria where the community chooses to live in a manner that is hostile to all kinds of outsiders as well as interruptions to their way of life. Despite these decisions affecting those communities economically. Despite the state trying to interfere.

In addition, the solutions miss an important aspect of so much of populist anger in the world today (something that Rajan himself mentions earlier in the book). People are not convinced the world is fair. That there is justice out there. People will not feel better by rising in their local community boards or church groups as compensation for feeling excluded from those who are far wealthier than they can imagine themselves to be. The number of roles that the community is ostensibly supposed to support is huge. One cannot see how all these roles can be smoothly and uniformly fulfilled. If people feel that they cannot live in the same elite circles as the elite, or have their children study in the same public schools, or see a way up if they work hard enough, the communities will not be able to compensate for this kind of distrust and disgruntlement.

I think the book would have done better if it had a more practical view of how changes can be implemented. Who is going to make the change? How do you engender this change endogenously? Or at the very least, what's the sequencing of the many tweaks and modifications (admirably) analyzed and recommended. One would expect that changes to how fair the system is perceived has to come first, for example.

Finally, the book is far too long for what it wants to present. Part I has a hurried jaunt through history and is neither insightful nor coherent; there are far too many digressions. The point of the argument struggles to come across. Part II is the analysis of the current situation. This is where Rajan's immense scholarship in the field of finance, contract theory, policy making etc comes to the forefront. I learnt a lot from this section. Part III is the solutions part. Interestingly, I found the author's analysis of solutions for the market and the state to be highly thought provoking; the solutions for the community are vague and seem to be a rather long laundry list of possible steps that can be taken.

All in all, the thesis is interesting. Some parts are very good. And to be fair, it is probably the start of a debate on this topic. This is not Rajan's best book but then, we hold him to the highest standards of expectation.

Notable Book of the Year 2016: The Three-Body Problem

One of my favorite Hindi songs is Jo wada kiya woh nibhana padega. You know where I am going with this...

Or also, directly from the book

"But Ye had the mental habits of a scientist, and she refused to forget."

Wrapping up this belabored edition of Notable Books is Cixin Liu's The Three-Body Problem. It's a book that combines the contemporary history of China with a well utilized toolbox of cutting edge science research (with the usual liberties that push the envelope) to send the reader on a suspenseful and melancholic journey.

I have written before on the virtues of Science Fiction; about why it isn't categorized, typically, as Art in the world of literature by more established and conventional cliques.

I refrain from explaining much about the plot. If, by now, you've already checked the book's description somewhere you know but in case you haven't, DON'T DO IT. Buy it in good faith - not my own; the book won the Hugo Award last year.

Read the book and as I noted in Goodreads, experience the feeling of tension as the plot unravels and the individual streams connect to form a grand over-arching narrative.

I've already made this post very late so I'll end here. The Three-Body Problem is a trilogy and yours truly is already in the middle of the second part.

H

(This concludes a series of 5 posts on the best books I read through the year 2016. The last ones dealt with fiction, non-fiction,  comic books/graphic novels and the first one was an Autobiographical work. Follow me at hamstersqueaks.blogspot.in) 

Notable Book of the Year 2016 - The Vegetarian

“There's nothing wrong with keeping quiet, after all, hadn't women traditionally been expected to be demure and restrained?”

I've been meaning to write this review for several months now. I got derailed initially by the gruesome discovery of being allergic to Seltzer water, a discovery that was accompanied by pain and exhaustion for many a day. And just when I thought I was okay again, I realized I had my PhD Certifying Exams on the horizon. Fast approaching.

Anyway, after a nice and relaxing vacation (I cleared the exams; thanks for asking) I am back to finish what I started even if it is August and I should be getting ready a list for 2018. I think I have digressed enough.

So, why The Vegetarian? Arguably, the year saw some great works of fiction such as Zadie Smith's Swing Time or Elizabeth McKenzie's The Portable Veblen. That is true; it's just that my selection is a spectacular achievement on a different plane.

The Vegetarian is a dark, sordid novel. It reads very much like a horror movie. There is an icy feel to it that refuses to leave you. The author's tone immediately makes you believe that just about any bad thing could happen. Split across three parts, the novel touches on the inherent violence in relationships, and how the need to force outliers to conform to societal roles can end up damaging these individuals in the most awful way.

Han Kang is a Korean author who (as I understand it) has often touched on the lack of agency that women have in their lives. The Vegetarian is a gruesome story in the same vein except that its complexity and unpredictability - I struggle to mention any "similar" story - leaves you hooked and in suspense.

It's a short book and it wouldn't do justice to talk about it at great length. Suffice it to say that the main character, Yeong-hye, is introduced as an unremarkable woman who decides to turn vegetarian after seeing a disquieting and mysterious dream. Nothing that follows is quite according to script.

The Vegetarian is grotesque, its invasive imagery only faithfully accentuating the torture Yeong-hye sees through her life with perverse violations of her freedom. If you think you've gained an idea of what the book is about, believe me, you're probably wrong.

It's a story of estrangement with allegory in the class of Kafka. I am disappointed by the Goodreads score on it but then again, I've consistently noticed that the Goodreads community under-rates books that are multi-layered. That's just unfortunate.

Read The Vegetarian to experience a mythical story - it can be lifted from its own context and find resonance - if only through a trying and discomfiting ordeal - anywhere else in the world.

"That shuddering, sordid, gruesome, brutal feeling. Nothing else remains. Murderer or murdererd, experience too vivid to not be real. Determined, disillusioned. Lukewarm, like slightly cooled blood." 

(This is fourth in a series of 5 posts on the best books I read through the year 2016. The last ones were on non-fiction,  comic books/graphic novels and the first one was an Autobiographical work. The final book in this series will be a science fiction novel! Follow me at hamstersqueaks.blogspot.in)

Notable Book of the Year 2016 - Saving Capitalism

“I believe that if we dispense with mythologies that have distracted us from the reality we find ourselves in, we can make capitalism work for most of us rather than for only a relative handful.”

tl;dr

Repeating what I wrote in my Goodreads review. If you're reading one non-fiction book this year, it should be this one.

Cold winds of change are blowing across the world. One cannot but think gloomily about our future in the midst of revanchist tendencies simultaneously and organically emerging in countries otherwise different in almost every aspect - think of the UK and the Philippines. There is no one grand overarching thesis that I think describes why all these countries are turning to the Dark Side. That would be ambitious or worse, disingenuous.

Being from India though, it is often surprising and a tad chilling to see the very beacons of "progress" and "development" (the quotes offered because their connotations vary wildly) turning their backs against the same ideals they held up to us for over decades now. Globalization is a doctrine that was developed when the benefits of fair trade and free mobility of labor and capital was seen as an essential step towards progress. When emerging countries resisted components of this policy it was the developed world that reminded us of its supposed virtues.

Similarly, despotic or xenophobic regimes were assumed to be signs of immaturity. In a democracy it was hoped that a combination of institutions and experience (and guidance from Paternalistic States) would push these backward tendencies away. There were other lessons that were offered not least of which were the benefits of unfettered markets, of intellectual property rights, of balanced budgets and what not¹. Francis Fukuyama's End of History hypothesis was a symptom of the optimism that liberal democracy would soon take over the world.

It didn't. Clearly.

So what went wrong? Many say that the benefits of trade were oversold - while the economics behind it was solid it was based on giving adequate compensation to the losers (implicitly or explicitly). Some say that a productivity decline and the probable absence of new inventions (of the order of the telephone) imply that growth in the developed world may never be the same. Others talked about a skill mismatch as technology demanded a more skilled workforce and rewarded these workers with higher wages.

Whatever it is, the ground facts are distressing and are routinely reeled off, by Left and Right. To quote one common example, a slow down in median household wages in the US means that, after adjusting for inflation, the levels were lower in 2013 than they were in 1989.

This is where Saving Capitalism comes in. I had ordered the book for the IIM Ahmedabad library last year (I wonder if anyone read it after me). The book arrived late and convocation was around the corner. I could only manage to get through 75% of it and, with a heavy heart, returned it to the library.

That was until I got my PhD admit at Columbia, and to say thank you to friends and professors (the intersection is pretty high), I was back in the institute in June. I finished the rest of the book in under an hour at the KLMDC makeshift library. I've been meaning to review the book ever since.

The fundamental thesis of Saving Capitalism is that capitalism is under threat from the concentration and subsequent abuse of market power. It starts with a simple and persuasive argument that is difficult to deny. Can markets exist without the government? Surely not, the government sets the rules of the game and offers protection to its participants. But that's what people are told. The simple and erroneous dichotomy offered to most people is that it's government versus free markets. That's problematic in several ways.

“Government doesn’t “intrude” on the “free market.” It creates the market. The rules are neither neutral nor universal, and they are not permanent. Different societies at different times have adopted different versions. The rules partly mirror a society’s evolving norms and values but also reflect who in society has the most power to make or influence them.”

Reich, a professor at UC Berkeley, spends chapter after chapter describing how concentration of market power has weakened the better angels of capitalism. It's pretty persuasive and the data he presents is uncomplicated yet revealing.

It is important to note at this point that the intuition offered by the basic economics most of us learn is often not sufficient to understand real life. In other words, it's too simplistic. Consider this example: for years the idea of increasing minimum wages at the Federal or State level was taken to be taboo. The argument, as some of you may say, is that if you artificially increase wages, this price floor will lead to lower overall employment in the labor market - firms will hire less.

But that understanding is dangerously incomplete. In a now seminal paper in 1994 by David Card and Alan Krueger, a natural experiment found that employment does not fall when the minimum wage is hiked. The reason? The leading answer to this is believed to be a monopsony. Buyers of labor are concentrated and therefore they have the market power to artificially push down wages in the labor market. A mandated wage hike therefore, in a sense, remedies this situation².

So that's market power. It distorts the incentives in the market and can lead to a net loss in welfare. Reich argues that this concentration hasn't happened naturally. It is the result of decades of lobbying activities that have ensured that legislation does not curb the excesses of companies - allowing for only two players, for example, in cable; or letting patent laws being ridiculously generous. You can read more on this here. Another interesting discussion is on the argument that you get paid what you deserve.

“Yet the notion that you’re paid what you’re “worth” is by now so deeply ingrained in the public consciousness that many who earn very little assume it’s their own fault.”

It's a smooth read. The last part deals with what Reich calls countervailing forces. In other words, unlike what many of my friends complain about in books like these, he actually offers solutions to remedying the situation. Admittedly, this part reads a bit optimistically; some suggestions ring a bit hollow with the recent election results but others are thought-provoking.

However, this book is your best bet to assess and analyze the state of an important developed nation. It gives you cues to understand and predict what'll transpire in the coming five years. In many ways, Reich was prescient about what came to be...

You'll struggle to find a shorter and crisper book that does that.

Other reviews

I am listing just the one by Paul Krugman which offers a more informed history of the conditions leading to, as he sees it, the mess we are in today. Also, on how Robert Reich changed from writing a book offering optimism and bullishness in the 90s to downright despairing in this book.

^{1. I have disagreements with many of these points but they are nuanced. There is great virtue in having a market for goods and commodities but is it necessary or even desirable to have markets in healthcare or primary education? We need strong contract and property rights but how do you ensure that these rights are not in favor of those who can manipulate them? Expect more rigorous discussions on these topics in the coming months.}

^{2. In case you're wondering about the viability of a 25 year old study, here's a recent one that compares the performance of minimum wage increases in 18 states in the US. The results are the same. By and large, what we do know is that there is no negative effect on employment. Studies over the past two decades have encouraged governments to implement minimum wage laws in over a dozen countries.}

^{(Quiz: So what does NREGA do well and how is it different, not necessarily in a wrong way?)}

(This is third in a series of 5 posts on the best books I read through the year 2016. The last one was on comic books/graphic novels and one before was an Autobiographical work. The next in this series include fiction and science fiction novels! Follow me at hamstersqueaks.blogspot.in)

Notable Book of the Year 2016 - The Saga Series

“Once upon a time, each of us was somebody's kid.
Everyone had a father, even if he never provided anything more than his seed.
Everyone had a mother, even if she had to leave us on a stranger's doorstep.
No matter how we're eventually raised, all of our stories begin the exact same way.
They all end the same, too.”

This edition of Notable Books of 2016 covers Comic Books/Graphic Novels.

(A disclaimer: I will not cover essentials and must haves such as The Watchmen, Maus etc. You should read them as soon as you get the chance)

The best comic book series of the year came to me in late November. In the middle of solving Real Business Cycle Models and finding General Equilibrium Pareto Optima, I was handed the series by a classmate and friend... to whom I am eternally grateful.

Saga is by Brian K Vaughan and Fiona Staples. It's not new - the series started way back in 2012 - but it's still ongoing and is expected to continue for many more years.

To give you a tl;dr summary and at the risk of shameless self-indulgence this is what I wrote in my diary immediately after completing its third volume,

"Damn, it's been a while since I read a good comic book! The Saga series is just about everything you can possibly demand from an awesome comic book series and it's a gift that keeps on giving. A combination of satire and über-cool imagination laced with humor and gripping characters it comes at the top of any must-read book lists I can think of this year."

Two days later and all volumes down my opinion only metamorphosed from calm admiration to crazy addiction. There are six volumes that are out at the moment and the series has been met with wide acclaim from critics and immense love from a growing legion of fans.

By Source, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=35115924

Saga is what you get when you blend a story of war, of love in the time of war (with the lovers from the opposite camps), of robot royalty, of mercenaries, and, in general, of well chiseled characters that are surprisingly relevant in our own modern world.

The backdrop of Saga is a war between Landfall, a large and important planet in the galactic neighborhood, and Wreath, its satellite. The two worlds are vastly different from each other. For instance, people from Wreath routinely use magic in their lives (including as a weapon). Landfall and Wreath went to war a long, long time back and eventually wearied of it so much they decided to outsource the war to other worlds, recruiting or forcing other civilizations to fight on their behalf.

Alana (from the Landfall side) falls in love with her prisoner Marko (a native of Wreath) and that's disastrous for both sides, not least because Alana has given birth to a Landfall-Wreath baby. That's where we begin.

“Never worry what other people think of you, because no one ever thinks of you.”

Alana and Marko form the initial mainstay but they are soon supplemented by an impressive and intriguing set of characters who are slowly fleshed out in detail, their backstories opening up at different points leading inexorably to the impending grand finale. That's the thing that stands out for me in Saga - its medley of characters.

There are robots
A coalition partner of Landfall is Robot Kingdom, led by blue-blood robot royalty. The robots are fascinating analogues to Rorschach - inscrutable and hidden behind a veneer of inhumanity while burying a maelstrom of emotions underneath.

There are mercenaries
A neutral group of mercenaries can be hired by either side to execute more devious and nefarious plans. There are a bunch of them and their paths intersect, in wicked ways.

There's a lot more - a whole lot more

Making a list of all important characters is hopelessly futile - there are just too many - and pretty boring - for the writer and reader alike. The story makes you love them all and this is the moment when I should just ask you to go ahead and procure the series.

Before I conclude, however, let me note another praiseworthy feature of Saga. Through all the action and drama and laughs the series subtly weighs in on gender relations, on race and ethnic relations, and on the collateral damage a war creates. These are complex and multi-layered issues and Saga's magic is to elicit empathy from the reader, an invaluable and rare lesson newspapers and dry debates pathetically fail in achieving. All this without batting an eyelid or dropping pace. Indeed, you can probably finish the series in a day and leave yourself waiting until March 2017 (like me) when the next volume is scheduled for release.

Must Read. A story of war and love and, somewhere in between, a story of a family as it tries to sort itself out.

“All good children's stories are the same: young creature breaks rules, has incredible adventure, then returns home with the knowledge that aforementioned rules are there for a reason.
Of course, the actual message to the careful reader is: break rules as often as you can, because who the hell doesn't want to have an adventure?”

Honorable Mentions
I am late to works by Joe Sacco but I would highly recommend them. Safe Area Gorazde (duh, I can hear the fans saying) must be read. Sydney Padua's The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage was also a smooth read. And the graphic novel I would've covered if I hadn't read Saga? Daniel Clowes' Patience. It's just awesome.

What was your favorite work this year?

(This is second in a series of 5 posts on the best books I read through the year. The last one was an Autobiographical work. The next in this series include non-fiction, fiction and science fiction novels! Follow me at hamstersqueaks.blogspot.in)