The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides - Not a Book Review

 

I bought this book on someone's recommendation. Though I saw the book in various bookstores and its online presence was also excellent. But everything with a good online presence isn't actually good. So, I picked up this book from a local bookstore and started reading it. Before you read further, let me warn you that this post might have some spoilers, and yes, I'll not be writing much about the story. 

The Silent Patient, which is written by Alex Michaelides, is a thriller, which has its own pace. At some point you find things moving at lightning speed. At some places, you'll be wishing to skip a paragraph or two. It can be categorized under the psychological thriller head... Maybe not. Human Psychology and thrillers have an age-old relationship. It gives the writer a space to explore the areas which are less explored. It also makes the story less predictable and gives the reader a long-lasting experience/hangover. 

If I talk about the writing of the book, the author has left no stone unturned. He took all the liberty to move forwards and backwards with a smoothness, which is highly commendable. The format of the story demands watching the same thing with two pairs of eyes. It was a challenge, But Michaelides do it with ease which is worth appreciating. On one hand, he uses the narrator to tell the story, and on the other hand, he uses the protagonist/ the silent patient/Alicia to tell the story in the journal entry format.

The other thing I wish to discuss is the role of the narrator. As a reader, we don't give much attention to the narrator. In most cases, the narrator is shown in a neutral light or on the positive side of the equation. But, you can't expect this from this book. Here, the narrator can guide you or misguide you as the situation arises.

The characters are very well used. Every character demands attention. I personally saw each one of them with a sight of suspicion on various occasions. And that's what makes you more active and involved as you read. Of course, the suspense remained till the last page of the book. 

The last thing which adds charm to the writing is the description. I believe that description in writing acts like sugar in a cup of tea - You add more or you add less, in both cases, it will spoil the tea. And the sugar/description was almost perfect in the book. It gives the reader perfect light to march ahead on the bumpy road. And the light is not that bright to make you blind. I hope you got what I want to say? If not, write to me at hrntales@gmail.com. We'll discuss more about this book and a lot more things.

So, the book was original, gripping, and perfect in every sense.

Here's the link if you wish to buy the book.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

Private Delhi by Ashwin Sanghi and James Patterson - Not a Book Review

The City of Delhi was quite freezing when I reached the Indian Habitat Center with a sling bag filled with a couple of books, a pen, and a notebook. I was almost an hour early for the session and for the very first time I saw this gentleman, a little shorter than me, walking with a bunch of kids around him, asking for autographs or photographs. I won't lie to you. I was numb for a moment. My mind couldn't differentiate between reality and my imagination. 

I met Mr. Ashwin Sanghi after his talk at Times Literature Fest back in 2016. I will share that experience in a coming post of mine. For this post, let's talk about his second installment of the Private series, co-authored by James Patterson. It's called Private Delhi.

Story

I received the book in December 2016, but I got the chance to read it in the current lockdown only. 

The book begins with a gruesome murder, committed by this mysterious man, wearing all black. And soon after that, a dozen rotting bodies found in the basement of a shattered house, which is said to be government property. The case didn't get much attention from police or media, but the chief minister of Delhi, Mr. Jaswal hired Private, the well-known investigating agency, whose Indian operations are headed by Santosh Wagh.

The basic motto of Jaswal's interest, in that case, involved dirty politics. He wanted to know the involvement of the lieutenant governor of Delhi, Mr. Ravi Chopra. 

But the case is messier than it seems. With the involvement of various big players, this case is a big challenge for Santosh and his team. Will he able to crack it?

Review

I have noticed that many a time a story deviates if it is written from different characters' points of view. This world has a different definition for each one of us. And to write the same story from different characters' points of view is a task in itself. And Ashwin Sanghi and Mr. Patterson did a commendable job. Every characters' background, detail, and the aim is very well written. Each chapter starts with a different characters' vision and ends on a thrilling note. One gets so much involved in that chapter that one expects a continuation in the next chapter. But the next chapter is somewhat different from the previous one. And the beauty of writing this book in such a way is, it keeps the reader so much involved and on his toes. The thrill element, style, details make this an amazing cocktail, which can be termed as fast-paced fiction - a page-turner. 

Being an ardent reader of Sanghi's work, I picked up this book. And I have no issue in accepting that it's difficult to mark a border between his work and Patterson's work. 

What I liked about the book

I have a special space for fast-paced thrillers in my heart. When I say fast-paced, it should include appropriate detailing, research, and storyline. All these parameters are taken care of while writing the book. 

A lot of intellectuals can give you a hell lot of pointers on how a mystery/thriller should be written. I believe in only one thing - if I can crack the mystery before the author discloses it, it's not a very pleasing thriller.

You won't believe me but I sat with a pencil in my hand to write the details of the characters to crack who is the murderer. After chewing my pencil for two days, I have no problem accepting that I failed miserably.

What I dislike about the Book

If I don't compare this with the books I liked or disliked, I find this book perfect in itself. If you are a reader who reads books for leisure or peace of mind, this book is not for you.

So here's my take on this book. If you wish to buy this book, you can click HERE and grab your copy.

Thank you

HRN

Anamika...

 I used to love train journeys. Be it a short or a long-distance journey, I always prefer trains over airways, provided I have no urgency. Never I have thought that I'll be able to travel the length and breadth of the nation so frequently. I worked as a relationship manager of one of the leading construction companies in the capital city of India. The company was young, so its employees. We had a team of highly energetic people who always prioritize their work over anything else in the world. 

But I was a bit different. 

I loved my job not because of the team or the company, but because of my profile. I had the freedom to approach clients on behalf of my organization and fetch the deals. It involved lots and lots of traveling. So every fortnight, I had to travel to different cities of the various states of the country.

Did I tell you that I love train journeys?

Until that day...

It was mid of march and I was traveling from Delhi to Amritsar. It was an evening train I caught from Hazrat Nizamuddin Railway station. I didn't get a reservation. So I had a word with the Ticket checker who allotted me a seat in the second AC coach. 

The coach was almost vacant until Panipat. There, around six or seven people boarded the train. I was reading the recently purchased copy of The Alchemist when she entered my compartment.

'Berth number 3' she pointed towards the seat I was sitting on. 

I quickly stood up and sat on the seat opposite her. I was happy that I got beautiful company for the rest of the journey. I smiled at her but her stoned face was unturned and unreceptive. And with all the things I have learned in my life, the best one is Minding my own business.

We spend an hour or so in utmost silence when this gentleman came to ask whether we'll have vegetarian food or non-vegetarian. We both opted for Vegetarian and after twenty minutes, we both received shiny containers of Rice and gravy, served in an age-old red tray. 

She sat numb for some time. I don't know why but that silence between us was disturbing me. I didn't feel like opening the packaged food and start eating alone.

'Shall we start?' I asked her out of courtesy.

It looked like she came out of some distant thinking. She didn't reply but started opening her container in a hurry. I didn't mind that, at least I could have my dinner in peace.

She was gulping her food very quickly, without chewing. I was finding all that quite awkward. Her face was tensed and sweaty, provided March's nights are not that hot. She was wearing an embroidered black suit with a white dupatta and looked like someone who comes from a very decent background. 

Suddenly something got stuck down her throat and she started coughing. I quickly gave her my water bottle and she quickly gulped some water. It gave her some relief. She gave my bottle back, without saying thank you, of course. She kept her leftover aside and went to the washroom. 

After a couple of minutes, she came back and sat cross-legged on her seat. She was looking directly into my eyes without any particular emotion. That was scary and disturbing. I was wondering to change my seat, but again, I find it a bit rude. 

I tried again to start a conversation.

'So where are you heading to, Ma'am?'

After a disturbing silence, she said 

'I have no idea where I'm heading to'.

End of conversation. There was nothing left to say anymore. 

As time passed, I was feeling a little sleepy. So I stretched my legs on my seat and I don't know when I went into a deep slumber. I opened my eyes once or twice in between. I saw her writing something on a ruled notebook. But whenever I used to look at her, she used to stop writing and looked at me again with that stone face. Every time I chose to close my eyes again. After an hour or so, I woke up and saw her still writing. I wore my shoes, took my Jacket and went to Washroom. I had this urge to smoke after dinner. Though It is not allowed to lit a cigarette on the train, I went near the washbasin, open the coach's door, and lit the cigarette. I was completely lost in my world when someone tapped lightly on my shoulder. My cabin mate was standing there.

'do you mind if I take a puff?'

I took out another cigarette but she quickly snatched the lit cigarette from my hand, closed her eyes, and started taking slow puffs.

'I was in college when I smoked last.' she more or less talked to herself.

I stood silently, looking at her face.

'What's your name?' I asked.

'I have no name.' she said.

After an awkward silence, she said 'Anamika, the one who has no name.'

'Avinash' I said 'The one who can't be destroyed.'

'So you are the unfortunate one.' she smiled the first time since I saw her. 'You have to destroy yourself to end all the pain, all the troubles, all the miseries'

I smiled, looking at her moist eyes. I could sense pain. 

'What's your story?' I asked.

'Oh it's a tragic one.' she smiled again

'I'm not sleepy at all' I looked directly at her.

'Umm it has a very happy beginning, a disturbing middle, but a beautiful end.' she said.

I folded my arms and started listening to her story.

'I met him in my college and I knew that he is the one. We started dating and got married after a couple of years.' she said looking into the void outside the coach's gate.

'First few months were good but he tortured me mentally after that. He blackmailed me and told me to bring Money from my Dad or he'll do all that which can't be expressed in words. Neither I can tell you, nor you can listen to that. My Father, who was already a Cancer patient, died a month back as he couldn't afford good treatment. He was handing most of his pension money to my husband. That's my friend is the disturbing middle of the story.' she smiled. I could see a cold sweat rolling down her face.

I wanted to comfort her. I want her to vomit out whatever was disturbing her. I was making sure not to sympathize with her, not to judge her, but listen to her. That's what, according to me, is the best way to comfort anyone.

After a long silence, she came towards the washbasin and started washing her face. I came a little backward, balancing myself so that I don't fall on her. 

She asked for another cigarette. I gave her the second last cigarette I had. She kept her between her lips. I lit the cigarette for her.

'And what's the beautiful end to the story? ' I asked her, hoping to see some light at the end of the tunnel. 

She smiled and gave me a piece of paper she was holding in her left hand.

'You'll see it yourself Avinash, the beautiful ending to my story.' she said.

I unfolded the paper and saw a line neatly written on it.

I gave full blame for my death to my husband Aakash, who tortured me, physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

-Anamika

I wasn't expecting that. When I looked at her, she was standing near the gate. I ran a step forward and tried to hold her arm. But she took a step backward, looking directly into my eyes. Her eyes were moist again. 

And that face still haunts me. 

Everything happened in a fraction of a second. But for me, it became a lifelong haunting.

I shouted at the highest pitch of my voice. I sat near the washbasin, keeping hands on my ears, and cried like a little kid.

That might be the beautiful end of her story but a tragic end to the happiness of my life.

I hate train journeys, did I tell you that before?

HRN