Book review: Big Bully and M-me

Big Bully and M-me

Text: Arti Sonthalia

Illustrations: Sebin Simon

Duckbill. 2015. Paperback. Rs. 150. 68 pages. English. Age: 7+

ISBN: 978-93-83331-21-5

Some issues are so fiercely volatile, so intrinsically fragile, that they need handling with kid gloves, especially in children’s books. Yet, reading novels by British authors Jacqueline Wilson, Michael Morpurgo and Elizabeth Laird are like master-classes in how to communicate the most bleak, even gory, subjects. Broken homes. Refugee lives. Current politics.  Mental illness. The differently abled. They touch each issue with deep understanding, sensitivity and superb storytelling to make it child-accessible.

Within the Indian context, some authors have mastered this tricky turf. Names that spring to mind immediately include Sigrun Srivastav, Ranjit Lal and Paro Anand.

 To me, Arti Sonthalia’s book stands apart from the other Duckbill Hole books I have read because it is essentially issue-based. The series, for children just stepping into chapter books, has uncomplicated plots, fun characters and lively illustrations.

How is Sonthalia’s distinctive? Her plot, potentially a minefield because her narrator Krish has a speech impediment, is handled with intelligent emotion, laced with humour. Her quick-paced storytelling is a sure invitation to even reluctant readers. Her adept handling of the subject will silence adult doubters who ask, “But why write about this for children?”

Her main character Krish (he hates being called Krishna), is shorter and skinnier than his classmates at Bright Side School. Self-doubt clouds his days. Will his best friend Green pick him at basketball? Will Ishaan, the class bully, trip him up every day? How many wily ways must he think up to avoid oral tests, plays and debates?

His worst nightmare comes to life when Krish’s class teacher decides on an extempore speaking contest for the semester show, with an irresistible prize. But why must he be paired with the Big Bully? I will resist giving away more of this quirky plot.

Sonthalia gifts Krish a credible narrative voice: “Every time I open my mouth, my words break and jerk, making it difficult for others to understand what I say. Sometimes the words get stuck in my throat and won’t come out.’

The supporting characters are as vivid, as unforgettable. Like Dennis ‘the Menace,’ their class teacher, who ensures that classes are fun-packed. He believes Krish can conquer challenges.  

Krish’s mother promises him a new bicycle if his extempore is smooth sailing. His super-achiever brother wins an inter-school spelling bee. His smart classmate Khushi seems to read his mind. Krish is in awe of them until he discovers that everyone is human. This changes his world.  

Sonthalia evokes Krish’s plight just right. She does not talk down to young readers, neither does she preach. Her narrative sparkles, her vocabulary is spot on.

In an interview with Tanu Shree Singh on the Duckbill blog, Sonthalia says, ‘I did my research on stammering and what children face when they stammer. I also met the Indian Stammering Association leader in Hyderabad.’ She attended their sessions, listened to podcasts, read books ‘to feel the trauma a person who stutters goes through.’ What emerges is a poignant tale about the human condition, its sunshine and shadows, wrapped in an extra-large heart.

Sebin Simon’s zany illustrations enhance the story. Such as notebook jottings of Krish plotting his way to a new bicycle. Or a class joke translated as a teapot filling a car petrol tank. Or Dennis in a mighty stretched jump-stop. Or a Krish’s tall mother looming over Dennis as he announces the results.  

Sonthalia seems like a natural for the Hole books, even with her first book for children. Would young readers and older reviewers like to read more by her? Yes, beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

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This review was originally published in GoodBooks at: http://goodbooks.in/node/735

Book review: The Case of the Candy Bandit by Archit Taneja

THE CASE OF THE CANDY BANDIT.

Text and illustrations: Archit Taneja.

Cover illustration and design: Kaveri Gopalakrishnan.  

Duckbill. 2014. Paperback. Rs. 150. 130 pages.

ISBN: 978-93-83331-15-4

 


            I have been addicted to child detectives and spies since I was about seven. When I am bored today, my daydreams are often packed with Holly Short and Harriet the Spy, the Famous Five and Nancy Drew and, more recently, Andreas Steinhofel’s The Spaghetti Detectives. I am seriously tracking down The Great Cake Mystery, Precious Ramotswe’s first case as a schoolchild. Maybe with a detour via Anushka Ravishankar’s Captain Coconut and the Case of the Missing Bananas.

           I am puzzled by the dearth of captivating child detectives amidst the tidal wave of Indian children's fiction across the last twenty years. That is why my pulse quickened when I read about Archit Taneja’s Superlative Supersleuths. Who are they? The talkative, logic-wired narrator Rachita and her on-and-off sidekick Aarti, both aged about eleven or twelve. While Aarti is in week-long candy exile, following a root canal procedure, cupcakes, laddoos and candy go missing from classroom lunchbox treats. A promising start to an action-packed narrative, I think to myself.

          The assorted dramatis personae have everyday charm. This is as true of Rachita’s parents, totally in sync with their resident private eye, as of a dental evangelist who urges the children to quit their sugar fix. The motley classroom cast includes Arjun, who loves food beyond reason, and Mrs. Dutta, who teaches maths through thermocol-rich charts. The four-footed stars – a dog and a pet rat.

           Duckbill has packaged Taneja’s debut novel perfectly. Its aqua-blue cover with funky lettering has some key elements sprinkled on it. The illustrations within are a smart match. Sleuth notebook jottings. Diagrammatic desk settings. Suspect footprints. Mrs. Dutta’s maths chart. Cool chapter titles. And the irresistible fingerprint page numbers.

           Taneja’s writerly mind has a logical, playful quirkiness. I imagine him being a hit at sleuthing workshops or investigative quizzes that lead children up the garden path to a giggle-and-guffaw finale. But this plot lets Taneja down. It has too little pace or tension, too many meanderings, too meagre a scattering of clues. It trips over extended detailing – Rachita’s plethora of sheep dreams, a favorite sandwich recipe, or mundane thanks for a proffered guava.

          On an extended revisit after my first reading, I scout for reasons why. Could it be because the detective duo are not on the same page? Rachita is immersed in real-time facts, letting her mind roam irrationally only in her dreams. Of Aarti, she writes: “Aarti hates detective books. She doesn’t even share the table with me because she detests them so much. I convinced her once, to read one of them. After reading a few chapters, she threw it back at me in disgust… She’s into fantasy books.” Rachita’s voice – whether she is writing or dreaming, speaking or thinking – could have been delineated with more sparkle and conviction. The mix does not benefit from the excess of colloquial “aghhhs” and “ugghs” either. Even the clues lack surprise after the initial chapters. As a reader, I was upset that I could spot the culprit early on.

          It is not easy to get the Indian child's voice absolutely right in print and I admire writers who have perfected it – Anushka Ravishankar, Sigrun Srivastav, Asha Nehemiah, Poile Sengupta, Subhadra Sen Gupta and Uma Krishnaswami, among them.

         I now face a maze of pesky questions. Could the Superlative Supersleuths have been honed to a smoother finish with guidance from the editor/s? Perhaps a few drafts more? A sleuthing duo less reliant on adult help? More action, less sluggish thoughts? But I live in hope. Perhaps there’s a Superlative Supersleuths sequel in the pipeline. I’m sure that will live up to Taneja’s latent potential, with a guiding hand from Duckbill.

        To me, Duckbill remains one of my favorite Indian imprints for children. This book could have been a winner, but misses by more than a whisker. I wish…



(Originally published in GoodBooks online at: http://goodbooks.in/node/6874)