It is not often that an author and his editor strike up a relationship which survives forty years of epistolary exchanges and intellectual sparring.
The strangely enduring and occasionally fractious friendship which developed between the famously outspoken historian Ramachandra Guha and his reticent editor Rukun Advani is the subject of this quite eccentric and thoroughly compelling literary memoir.
It started in Delhi in the early 1980s, when Guha was an unpublished PhD scholar, and Advani a greenhorn editor with Oxford University Press. It blossomed through the 1990s, when Guha grew into a pioneering historian of the environment and of cricket, while also writing his pathbreaking biography of Verrier Elwin. Over these years Advani was Guha’s most constant confidant, his most reliable reader. He encouraged him to craft and refine the literary style for which Guha became internationally known – narrative histories which have made vast areas of scholarship popular and accessible.
Four decades later, though he no longer publishes his books, Advani remains Guha’s most trusted literary adviser. Yet they also disagree ferociously on politics, human nature, and the shape of their commitment to India. They usually make up – because it just wouldn’t do to allow such an odd relationship to die.
Built around letters and emails between an outgoing and occasionally combative scholar and a reclusive editor prone to private outbursts of savage sarcasm, this book is never short of the kind of wit, humour, and drollery that has been strangled by contemporary political correctness.
Ramachandra Guha was born in Dehradun in 1958, and educated in Delhi and Calcutta. He has taught at the University of Oslo, Stanford, and Yale, and at the Indian Institute of Science. He has been a Fellow of the Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin, and also served as the Indo-American Community Chair Visiting Professor at the University of California at Berkeley.
After a peripatetic academic career, with five jobs in ten years on three continents, Guha settled down to become a full-time writer based in Bangalore. His books cover a wide range of themes, including a global history of environmentalism, a biography of an anthropologist-activist, a social history of Indian cricket, and a social history of Himalayan peasants.
Guha’s books and essays have been translated into more than twenty languages. The prizes they have won include the U.K. Cricket Society’s Literary Award and the Leopold-Hidy Prize of the American Society of Environmental History.
This book is a celebration of 4 decades long friendship between Guha and his editor Rukun Advani.
What I loved: 1. The insights and knitty gritty of what goes behind writing a book. Esp non fiction. 2. The sharp wit and sarcasm of Rakun unleashed in the last two chapters. 3. Politics and details related to Oxford University Press. 4. The subtle references and slices of life included of other peers of St. Stephen - Amitav Ghosh, Shashi Tharoor, Mukul Kesavan.
What i did not like much: 1. Most of the time, the narration felt dry and too academic. 2. I wish there were more letter/email correspondence included. In a way it was good that it wasn't exaggerated or made up.
Overall: An honest account of what goes on the world of getting published. Even if you are not a writer or aspire to be one, delve into this hatred turned respect account of a celebrated friendship.
So delicious — the epistolary extracts and the wry sense of humour hit all the right spots. Maybe a little less of Guha and a little more of Advani would have been better; the narrative does get tedious when just Guha is present (I clearly picked the book up for the back and forth between the author and the editor, forgetting all about the memoir bit) but it picks up and sparkles when Advani enters with his incisive comments and wicked humour. Easily my most enjoyable read in a while.
In summer 2023, while walking on the streets in New York, I discovered the book Avid Reader, the autobiography of celebrated editor, Robert Gottlieb who had just passed away. The book skirts across name dropping hundreds of writers whose works he edited, briefly mentioning a few anecdotes, the various lunches, dinners and holidays he shared with them and perhaps a little about their intellectual excursions together. The exceptions here being his work with Bob Caro, Joseph Heller and Bill Clinton. The mixed reviews of the book on its Goodreads page and elsewhere reinforces how readers found this to be particularly shallow or just surface scratching, unexpected from an experienced editor.
The book on hand, the latest by Ram Guha is the exact opposite of Avid Reader. Guha has leveraged his skills from historical scholarship and biographical writing to write this uniquely deep, but still chatty story of his long standing relationship with his friend, editor, mentor and college senior, Rukun Advani. Drawing from communications between them over four decades, Guha has reconstructed this relation and literary partnership, while compartmentalizing it based on the phases of life they were in, much like the chronology he follows in his historical writing.
What appealed the most to the inner reader in me was the vivid reconstruction of the intellectual back and forth Guha and Advani had when editing books together especially the Verrier Elwin biography. The questions posed by Advani at the end of each draft gives insight into how an editor's mind works and the effort they put in to pull off a great product with near zero attention. This section of the book is also reflective of Guha's utterly tenacious writing process when he spent years writing Savaging the Civilized, India After Gandhi and A Corner of a Foreign Field. The anecdotal descriptions provided through the book, when writing his previous works is a wonderful glance behind the curtains of how the writer is pushed to the brink.
Outside their relation, The Cooking of Books is also a memoir of Indian academia and intellectual life in the 20th century in the pre-Internet, pre-Right Wing days of Indian social and cultural life. Guha's description of coming off age at St. Stephen's, his Ph.D. days in IIM Calcutta and the career Advani and he shared as young writers in 1980s Delhi are particularly endearing. I felt transported to that time and space, longing to know more how life was there.
Beyond the serious academic and literary discussions, Guha does a great job in breaking the pace of the book with near saucy anecdotes pertaining to Indian academia and writing circles. He doesn't shy away from mentioning his political differences with Arundhati Roy, Advani's views on perhaps St. Stephen's most famous alumni- Shashi Tharoor and even the office politics and racial biases in the much revered Oxford University Press. These sections of the book make it accessible to the reader and humanizes the world of writing and editing to those who only consume the final product. This gives it the "memoir" status, a category still underdeveloped in India. It is only fitting that Ram Guha became one of the first writers in this category for the modern Indian reader.
The Cooking of Books is a must read not just for Guha's fans (and his critics from Twitter- but I am not sure if they will be able to perceive the intellectual depth) but also aspiring writers looking for a glimpse into the struggles behind the craft. You may read the book for Guha but you will walk away being introduced to the craft genius of Rukun Advani and a few good book recommendations.
An utterly delicious and enjoyable read, and surprisingly, a page turner. Ram Guha through his honest, wry and informative epistolary exchanges with his first editor and best friend, the reticent Rukun Advani, pays a tribute like no other. There wouldn't have been a Ram Guha without a Rukun Advani, proclaims the author.
The book apart from the wonderful nuggets on writing as a craft, offers a ringside view to being a Stephanian in the 1970s, and the central role the cricketing and the Woodehouse clubs(which I am now sure stoked my grandfather's lifelong love for the wry humour of PG Woodehouse and Jeeves) played. It also provides a detailed and interesting account of the publishing industry in India in the post colonial era. The letters over a period of 40 years capture the economic, political and environmental realities of the times, and bring out the thinking of the upper class intelligentsia at the time. Above all, it brings out the beauty and honesty of a lifelong friendship between two stalwarts.
A great memoir, a meditation on friendship, especially one that's formed at a particular stage in life, and continues through work, the author acknowledges and gushes about his friend and editor Rakun Advani, both together carve the career of Guha the historian, and cricket fan.
Wow. It is a wonderful book. A must read book for the aspiring writers and scholars. Like any other book of Ramachandra Guha, this is too compulsory to read. It tells his life story from St Stephens days in Delhi to become a renowned scholar. Full of joy and information.
A person with a literary mindset will always be partial towards knowing the writer behind the books they have been reading. And this is what The cooking of books gives readers: a behind-the-scenes account of the publishing world of the 1980s up to the 2000s, Guha's friendship with his editor that took a long time to grow and his nostalgic account of his friends and colleagues and his political leanings. Guha's writing is refreshing. He's known to be an influential academic with multiple bestselling books to his credit (Gandhi before India, India after Gandhi) but, according to him, he was an 'anti-intellectual sportsman'. An alumnus of St Stephens, Guha was mostly interested in playing cricket in his college days. Rukun Advani, who later became Guha's friend and editor, was a contemporary with a fine taste in music and a small coterie of friends. Guha writes, 'In those days he had contempt for me (preferring, naturally, the company of the future novelist Amitav Ghosh and other literary-minded folks), but later, after I rebooted myself and did a PhD as well, we became acquaintances and then friends.' Guha jokingly (or maybe seriously) writes that in an author's life, the person next in importance to his or her romantic partner is his or her editor. He goes on to elaborate that he saw Advani many years before he met his wife Sujata Keshavan and these two relationships have run parallel for many decades. Guha mentions that in early days of Indian publishing, sales and marketing were not given much importance. The process of bringing a book up to the shelves was considered enough. It was accepted that a few kind of books (academic writing) wouldn't make much sale. Amitav Ghosh recurs in the book as a side-character which gives a subtle note of humour to the book. Guha has written in detail about St Stephen of 70s when it was considered to be a prestigious institute, producing students that went on to join a number of respectable professions. Guha also talks about Ghosh's ragging, a delightful anecdote to read. Shashi Tharoor also makes a guest appearance, mentioned for his burning drive and fierce ambition. He was Advani's contemporary in St Stephens. A reticent, highly efficient person, Rukun Advani is present in the book in form of his letters that he wrote to Guha while editing his book he would publish and also giving him suggestions books he wrote for other publications. This is actually not a memoir of Guha nor is it an account of Guha's life. This is a partial biography of Guha's enigmatic, hill-dwelling, solitude-seeking editor who now lives in Ranikhet, runs a publishing press known as Permanent Black and is married to Booker-nominated author Anuradha Roy. A writer writes this about Advani: '[Rukun] has no interest in impressing others. This sounds impressive but it isn't because this freedom from human neediness isn't down to modesty or reticence or some karmic insight into the general maya-ness of things. It's simpler than that, so simple that he can't take any credit for it: Rukun doesn't like People. It explains everything about him. This is why he lives in the hills.’ The book is filled with such anecdotes and cheekiness.
Ramachandra Guha’s The Cooking of Books is a delightful and heartfelt literary memoir that I devoured in a single sitting. At its core, it's a tribute to Rukun Advani—Guha’s senior at St. Stephen’s College, first editor, and enduring friend. Advani emerges as a brilliantly cantankerous figure: erudite, witty, a lover of dogs, a misanthrope (with exceptions), and an internationalist critical of nationalism. Guha's portrayal is both affectionate and humorous, capturing the essence of a man who could easily be a character in a mockumentary like The Office.
Structured around decades of letters and emails, the book chronicles their evolving relationship, offering insights into the world of publishing and the nuances of intellectual camaraderie. Guha’s admiration for Advani is evident, yet he doesn't shy away from highlighting their disagreements, especially on politics and human nature. The narrative is enriched by mentions of other literary figures, editors, and archivists, providing readers with numerous avenues for further exploration.
What stands out is the wry, sometimes snarky wit of Advani's correspondence, making one hope he steps out of his reclusion for more public engagements. The Cooking of Books is more than a memoir; it's a sincere letter to a friend, a colleague, and a mentor—a testament to the enduring power of literary friendships, something which, one could argue, we have lost in the present age of instant messaging and byte sized everything.
The reclusive and legendary editor Rukun Advani, the reflected subject of this “literary memoir” by Ram Guha, said on reading a draft that this was “the longest thank-you letter to an editor by their author” – attesting his keen (and famously terse) judgment of books.
Using letters exchanged between the two, Guha outlines the decades-long relationship of editor and author, with generous credit given to the self-effacing party. For those interested in Indian publishing, there are plenty of details about its craft and commerce, anecdotal history of its beginnings (booming in the 90s), and inside scoop on its luminaries.
This book is also a sort of paean to the "Lutyen's elite" (the now-derided set of English-speaking, all-boys private-school, St. Stephen's or OxBridge grads, which gave us exemplary literary figures such as Amitav Ghosh, Vikram Seth, Sashi Tharoor, Allan Sealy, Mukul Kesavan, and, of course, Guha & Advani, among many others) and an unabashed defense of their "excellence" (especially in literary & scholarly matters) in the face of jettisoning of rigor and naked embrace of markets in India's burgeoning publishing industry.
I picked up this book because I had heard of Rukun Advani's fabled editorial expertise for years. I was a new editor when I was handed a detailed, marked-up copy of Nayanjot Lahiri's manuscript that was edited by Rukun, and asked to go over it thoroughly to learn how to query and guide an author's writing appropriately. I remember wondering how someone's mind could work like that because of the many crucial observations he had made in the manuscript. Reading Guha's book expanded on this sense of wonder for me. It is such an art to have epistolary wit, even more to see it be elevated to banter. I thoroughly enjoyed savouring all the delicious prose in this book. Thanks to Guha's varied bibliography, this book skips across a range of disciplines. As someone who hasn't read too many titles of biography or environmental history, I enjoyed reading about the process behind creating these books.
Final verdict: The letters from both Guha and Advani are witty and thoroughly enjoyable. Read this for its literary sass.
Earnest, inquiring and insightful on not just editing but relationships, work, life choices as well as a political, social and cultural commentary on India. A bit repetitive, often reverential The Cooking of Books is more of an homage the editor Rukum Advani than memoir of the author, Ramachandra Guha. The editing inputs by the editor Rukum Advani on the authors' work are valuable gems that every writer must imbibe. That they are mixed within emails and calls makes them more relatable and relevant for a reader and editor. It's an interesting read as it cuts across the humanity, the Indian-ness and intellectual aspirations of the average educated Indian. Of course the name dropping makes it immensely juicy and layered about what and how India is evolving. The links within history, culture and society explored effortlessly and explained easily lends depth to this book. An engaging and intellectual book that nurtures commentary and conversation.
This was my first book by Ramachandra Guha for I always thought of him as an academic with works beyond my understanding such as "India after Gandhi" and his biography of Verrier Elwin. A memoir was easy to pick up compared to his other works and I am grateful that I did for it introduced me to many topics in academics, authors who have contributed a lot to the respected fields along with this beautiful depiction of the relation of a writer with his editor. In this book Guha writes about his first and best editor, Rukun Advani with utmost reverence and adoration. I enjoyed reading this immensely and not to mention the sarcastic and witty remarks I got to read about both the academics! I was, to say the least, awestruck by the author and more so by the lucidity of the writing itself!
Surely such writing is rare to come across and now it seems I will have to struggle with my usual genre XD
Ram Guha's memoir of an uncommon friendship with his editor friend, mentor, sparring partner, publisher, and fellow Stephanian Rukun Advani is both entertaining and educative. Starkly contrasting in personalities, the duo's mutual respect and affection grew over the four decades of their association. Guha is a witty raconteur, with several sharp anecdotes about the influential and the famous from all walks of life, particularly the writers and scholars. Sometimes though, his felicity of expression can leave the reader wondering if a compliment to his subject is not actually a long held back peeve, or his efforts at self deprecation an outlet for an immodestly buoyant self-image. But good fun all the same!
I'm not a fan of Ram Guha. It seems unlikely I'll suddenly become one after this book. But The Cooking of Books will stand out as that one book of Guha's that I absolutely cherished from the time I began reading its preview. Largely because we all grew up reading and loving authors published under Permanent Black even as its editor, Rukun Advani, the subject of this book, continued to be a mystical character who does not like being talked about but perhaps prefers it over the prospect of being talked to. If you know nothing about academic writing and publishing in India, I'm not sure how much this would appeal to you. But if you are a fan of epistollary friendships and biographies based on them, you will cherish it nonetheless.
This book gave an insight into the Intellectual community that exists in our country and the mess that it is; also confirming how more true the pair phenomenon like Jeff Dean and Sanjay Ghemawat, Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky and the more known Steve Jobs and Steve Woz, Warren and Charlie is where 1 and 1 is more than 2. The writing is good as always, I enjoyed the flow and quality. None the less discovering Rukun and his story, I related more with his approach to life and philosophy. This book ended up me expecting more references and texts from what Rukun published, this falls in line with the pair thing where the one more reclusive and seems more interesting. I would suggest Rukun publishes, creates more so the world is able to enjoy more of his satire and dark tone.
This book is for those who write/ have an inclination to write in future. The book is all about the relationship between the author and the editor - they were good friends. I loved every aspect of this book. A typical memoir and excellent at that. It has the story that can captivate you to read how relationships mature over time, or should I say how the relationships COOK over time.
This book is so relatable. I was an academician for over a decade and never looked at Oxford Press published books. Now I know the reason why I never liked the content.
This was such an interesting read. I don't think it had ever occurred to me that a writer and his editor could have such an intimate and lovely relationship, or any at all, if I am being honest. I thought conversations between an editor and a writer must be extremely boring, full of literary/ historical/ political (etc) jargons, and definitely not worth reading. But if conversations between writers and their editors are as hilarious, clever, and interesting as between Advani and Guha, I can be persuaded to read another book that is just their emails.
The preface of the book gives the gist of the book including why the book. A well-written memoir about the relationship between the author and editor. Through mostly correspondence and discussion quoting in various places, the author brings out the personality of Rukun Advani, the editor who later started the publishing house Permanent Black. The book on the other side gives the writing career and friendship of the author with the editor.
Guha's longstanding relationship with Rukun Advani, first as author-editor and then as friends makes for interesting reading for his (Guha's) fans, who will realise the enormous influence that Advani's had on his career. Of secondary interest are the stories of early 70s St. Stephens which produced a dazzling array of world-class writers such as Amitav Ghosh, Mukul Kesavan and Seally.
(Almost) shockingly heartwarming, riveting and educational. A fascinating book about what I call the diss-tory of Indian publishing and intellectual standards, the literary development of one of the most enduring voices of our times, but most brilliantly, an endearing testimony to the 40-year-old friendship between two wildly different characters.
Loved it as an incredibly entertaining, insightful book on reading and writing. Its setting in India (and the Indian academic and literary circles) made it even more special. Would have loved it even more without the slightly nauseating lavishing of Stephen's old boys club.
I quite enjoyed this. What a lovely work focused on the writer’s friendship with his editor. I loved the behind-the-scenes look into publishing, especially academic publishing, and of researching.