Rating: *** 1/2 (3.5/5)
This book is perhaps unlike any other book I’ve ever read, and I say that because this book presents itself in a way that is so vigorous, tantalizing and unscathed—that it becomes impossible not to squirm every once in a while, but still go back to the story. Indu Menon refuses to put the wild-horses of her plotlines under any rein, but she reigns atop the intense portrayals like a winner. What gets highlighted the most is the unusual quality of the diction: which can turn horrifying and equally rewarding in the blink of an eye. Out jumps instances of societal brutalities and masculine tramplings, but all so in an imaginative, vivid way. I often came across unshielded violent consequences, severely gory descriptions and a jugglery of magical realism with real mayhems. Sometimes the transition between actual reality and supposed meanderings was so unhindered, it became tiresome to distinguish the mental stomping of the characters vis-à-vis their physical complicacies.
Trailing along the obvious gruesomeness in how Menon’s humans ended up in her stories, was the essence of pain, jealousy, and being wronged. It was easy to identify strands of invigorating desirous actions being put to play, as it was easy to shed some tears borne of out of the visible trauma and helplessness. As I read along, I had to ask myself frequently—why was it that Menon was so invested in adding so much gore, rawness and intensity to her stories? Perhaps it sources from the fact that Menon chooses to write about several cases of marginalisation, of ostracization. And so, she has to add rebellion, untamed fury, indomitable vengefulness in her stories—which in turn, brings forth the need for such language. The imageries pave the path for the author and the translator to simultaneously whisper and scream unheard voices into the ears of the readers. But the question springs up—is this kind of violent writing a necessity for the portrayals which Menon writes about? Is this kind of fluent jugglery between fact and fiction, and the complete dismissal of moderation in the context of the text a dire need of storytelling? Opinions may route us to various paths. For some like me, excessive indulgences in the story could take away the primary instinct of the storytelling. It could lead to a lot of forced visualisations of unfortunate happenings, where the hyperboles often invite confusion, jostle and trigger a derailment from the story’s message. Imageries are a treat, only if they are not perceived as patchy and forced. In ‘The Lesbian Cow and other stories’ the language and the plotline often confront each other, emitting sparks and blood—to some, this might be exciting, but it can also be equally unsettling for some.
Thanks Westland Publications for this book.