Ved Mehta joined the staff of The New Yorker in the 1960s, blind since the age of four and already on his way to a career as a writer. In a series of four relationships he demanded that his lovers, like him, pretend he could see. With lyrical and stirring accuracy, Mehta revisits these love affairs today, tracing the links between his denial of his disability and the cruel transformations that each of his lovers underwent. “Poignant and occasionally hilarious.”—The New York Times Book Review “This elegant volume remains a striking piece of insight into the nature of love.”—Publishers Weekly “[An] excoriatingly truthful and heartbreaking account of the pursuit and loss of love....”—The Times of London “A mesmerizing account ... the most arresting passages are Mehta’s mind-expanding descriptions of how he perceives the world.”—Booklist
I live oceans away from New York, and my knowledge of The New Yorker is limited to the two copies I own. An article by John McPhee in one of them introduced me to their erstwhile copy-editor, Eleanor Gould Packard and I have since read everything I could find about her. I picked up this book because it was edited by her.
And I am glad I did. This is the first I've read by Ved Mehta. The account is not only engaging and informative, but also brutally honest. I've come out feeling wiser and eager to read his other books.
I was also thrilled by his occasional reference to Muriel Spark, whose autobiography I have read and also enjoyed.
Autobiographical novel of a man, who is disabled by blindness and the disappointing relationships with several women. Mehta is honest and open with his emotions; something that few men would do.
My first encounter with this author and I quite liked it. I'm a fond lover of this kind of language in a book, the story sometimes even comes in a second place to the language for me. And this book was a joy to read, in the first place because of the sentences, the words,... Quite liked the story too, but it was not the best I ever read.
At times brilliant, at times meandering, this is a brutally honest depiction of one man's failed loves and his efforts to understand what he brought (or didn't bring) to these intimate relationships. Most heart-wrenching of the four tales is that of Lola, with the misunderstandings, pain and confusion rendered in excrutiating detail. The concluding chapter about his four years of deep psychotherapy is interesting, but ultimately a bit of a muddle, especially as a way to conclude the book. All in all, a fascinating but uneven read.