ginpomelo's Reviews (678)

I do enjoy a well-characterized romance novel once in a while, and Mina V. Esguerra's No Strings Attached is a quick, one-day diversion that offers a lot in terms of intelligent characterization within the short novella form. However, the main quibble I had with the story itself lies in the fact that it is too short.

The story is about Carla, a smart, professional woman who meets an attractive man named Dante during an office party. Sparks fly immediately despite their age difference (isn't it strange how this is only a concern when the woman is the one older?) but what was supposed to be a casual hook-up turns into something deeper and much more uncertain.

The plot reminded me of How Stella Got Her Groove back by Terry McMillan, which I read when I was in high school. I was initially wary of the premise when I read the book blurb because it implies that despite an enjoyable career and great friends, the one obstacle in Carla's life is turning 30 without having a boyfriend. This is not how the story plays out at all. I like that the initial affair was very casual and laid back, that there was no moral hand-wringing about having an extended fling. Not that the characters don't get to angst, but that's really the nature of a romance though, isn't it?

My problem is the inevitable final scene. I won't give away spoilers, but I thought that the conflict that surfaces between Carla and her friends weren't established convincingly enough in the story, and I wish more wordcount was used on that. What could've have been an affecting final scene makes Carla seem uncharacteristically bitter and prone to grudges. This then made the happy ending all the more abrupt and unsatisfying to me.

In romance novels, we all yearn for that heart-pinching scene like Mark Darcy telling Bridget Jones that he likes her just the way she is and getting rebuffed, but that kind of expectation set-up and reversal needs a lot of buildup. I don't think it was earned here. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed the character interaction for the most part. And I particularly enjoyed Dante and Tonio a lot.


Originally posted on my blog.

(I forgot that I've written this review way back in 2007! Young!Me is quaintly embarrassing. I don't have enough critical distance from this, but I sure hope I've improved as a writer.)

I’ve been reading a lot about Britain lately, or at least novels set in Britain and its former colonies. The Impressionist traces the life of Pran Nath, a boy with British and Indian blood, with his attempts to survive the societies that are alternately seduced and repulsed by him. He assumes different guises throughout his life: first, as the son of a wealthy Brahmin, then as Rukhsana, a eunuch-to-be in the crumbling Kingdom of Fatehpur, then as the adopted son of Scottish missionaries named Bobby. Finally, he assumes the identity of a dead man, giving him the opportunity to leave India for the rarefied life in Oxford. His final metamorphosis takes him to the deepest jungles of Africa, the darkest reaches of the British Empire. The novel is about the complete dissolution of self, gender, race, and culture, an anti-Bildungsroman.

The premise itself has an amount of seduction to it, probably one of the reasons I picked up the book in the first place. Throughout reading, however, I could definitely sense an unevenness of tone. It seems as if the author couldn’t decide if it would become a piercing social satire or a dreamy tapestry of exoticism. Personally, I think he excels more in satire. The mixture may be a conscious decision, but even as Hari Kunzru occasionally manages to marry these elements exquisitely, it more often produces a discordant rhythm.

The one aspect that really resonated for me was the theme of miscegenation and how those who are born Anglo-Indian are anathema for both empires. As if the mixture of blood implies a possible weakness in their respective armors of superiority. Also interesting to note is how many of Britain's empire-building projects–military, bureaucratic, even scientific endeavors–are not treated as a product of a rational society, but more as a collective neurosis. Perhaps I can discuss this at a later time, preferably backed up by anthropological texts.

For all the novel's faults, Hari Kunzru does know how to turn a phrase. Many scenes are laugh-out-loud funny, with many of the jokes made with deadpan delivery, a parody of the tone that Rudyard Kipling and the likes used to employ. And while Pran Nath himself is hit-or-miss depending on the identity he inhabits, the reader is drawn by his bumbling opportunism, as well as his despair at never fitting in.