I finished reading Jhumpa Lahiri’s ‘In Other Words’ today. Even as I write, I feel a bit unsure about completing the book. The book is 250 pages long and as I crept towards the first half of the book, I began to sense closure. And to my surprise, right in the middle, the book ended. Turns out the book consists of both, the English and the Italian version! The second half is the original Italian rendition of the book. You got me there signora :) The first thing that struck me when I picked up this book, is the author’s name. It is quite unusual and seems unique. I love finding the meaning behind names. When I looked it up, this is what the author had to say - “Jhumpa has no meaning. It always upset me. It's like jhuma, which refers to the sound of a child's rattle, but with a ''p.'' In this country (America I presume), you'd never name your child Rattle. I actually have two good names, Nilanjana and Sudeshna.” I feel quite sorry for her. For a person who brings such deep meaning to words strung together, it seems nothing short of irony to have a meaningless name. Leaving that aside, I was very excited to read this book. I am always eager to read the works of Indian authors. I want to see how they fare against the foreign authors. Not in a judgmental way, more out of pride. Although Jhumpa Lahiri has lived all her life in the U.S.A. and English is her dominant language, she is of Indian origin. And I could not wait to dive in.
The book is more of a memoir. The author captures her love for Italian and her struggle to make it her own. It starts from what attracted her to Italian, how she moved to Rome to truly master it and how she reached the point where she was able to publish her independent book completely in Italian. Being an Italian illiterate, I read the English transliteration of the book. So, a part of the credit also goes to the translator. The book opens with a beautiful analogy of a man swimming by the side of a lake afraid to cross over to the other bank. It describes the author’s limited Italian knowledge which does not give her the confidence to move from the shores of English to the banks of Italian. Through out the book, the language is fluid and the reader is transported to an altogether different world. The author uses a lot of metaphors to convey her feelings, which may seem a bit too much at times. Nevertheless, they depict her situation quite effectively.
Her persistence shows as she struggles to gain a strong foothold, battling articles and prepositions. She had to endure a lot of prejudice as she was constantly deemed inferior to her husband, who barely knew Italian. You feel for her when she says she feels foreign in every language known to her; be it Bengali - her mother tongue, or English -the language she grew up with or Italian - for which she left everything behind. The only place where I did not relate to the author is when she says that she had to cope with speaking Bengali at home and English everywhere else. As a child, I grew up learning four languages. My native language is Tulu while the local language is Kannada. I was taught English and Hindi at school. And I am proud to say that I have professional proficiency in all four languages and do not feel alien at all. However, I understand that India has always been a diverse country with a lot of cultural tolerance. I may not have been subject to the kind of ridicule the author faced in her life.
I have always had a special liking for autobiographies and memoirs. It gives so much insight into a person. If I had to choose an alternate career, then it would definitely be writing. So these two factors combined made this book a very enjoyable read for me. It is a story of love towards the language which can be felt only by an author or poet. I don’t feel this way often but I am sure I will read this book again.
The book is more of a memoir. The author captures her love for Italian and her struggle to make it her own. It starts from what attracted her to Italian, how she moved to Rome to truly master it and how she reached the point where she was able to publish her independent book completely in Italian. Being an Italian illiterate, I read the English transliteration of the book. So, a part of the credit also goes to the translator. The book opens with a beautiful analogy of a man swimming by the side of a lake afraid to cross over to the other bank. It describes the author’s limited Italian knowledge which does not give her the confidence to move from the shores of English to the banks of Italian. Through out the book, the language is fluid and the reader is transported to an altogether different world. The author uses a lot of metaphors to convey her feelings, which may seem a bit too much at times. Nevertheless, they depict her situation quite effectively.
Her persistence shows as she struggles to gain a strong foothold, battling articles and prepositions. She had to endure a lot of prejudice as she was constantly deemed inferior to her husband, who barely knew Italian. You feel for her when she says she feels foreign in every language known to her; be it Bengali - her mother tongue, or English -the language she grew up with or Italian - for which she left everything behind. The only place where I did not relate to the author is when she says that she had to cope with speaking Bengali at home and English everywhere else. As a child, I grew up learning four languages. My native language is Tulu while the local language is Kannada. I was taught English and Hindi at school. And I am proud to say that I have professional proficiency in all four languages and do not feel alien at all. However, I understand that India has always been a diverse country with a lot of cultural tolerance. I may not have been subject to the kind of ridicule the author faced in her life.
I have always had a special liking for autobiographies and memoirs. It gives so much insight into a person. If I had to choose an alternate career, then it would definitely be writing. So these two factors combined made this book a very enjoyable read for me. It is a story of love towards the language which can be felt only by an author or poet. I don’t feel this way often but I am sure I will read this book again.
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