“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenburgs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. I’m stupid about executions.”
“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenburgs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York. I’m stupid about executions.”
On cold winter morning of February 11, Sylvia Plath was found dead in her London apartment, her children sleeping in the next room. The psychologists, promptly called it the “Sylvia Plath” effect and said all Female writers are more prone to suicide. Surprisingly, the examples they gave to prove this theory were of Virginia Woolf and Emily Dickinson, both novelist and poetess of a different era altogether.
My relationship with Sylvia Plath started when I heard a Ryan Adams song of the same name, of course that was just a song of love long lost and had nothing to do with her. But I had started on a quest. I asked around the Indian Literary Circles about Sylvia Plath. Shockingly, the author that had rocked America with her controversial confessional poetry was lost in translation in these parts of the world. I found her finally, in an ultra modern book establishment lost in the section of Poetry, where no one goes!. And then I read “Daddy”.
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
Says there are a doze
n or two.There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.
On November 5, 2008, while I was sipping my morning cup of coffee, my friend dutifully sent me a message that Micheal Crichton, the man who was the one of the reasons I loved Science had passed away, I stopped my life for a moment and thought of a world without Crichton.
When Pirate Latitudes hit the stands, I decided not to go to the second hand Moor Market, because I wanted to pay my final respects to the man. But I had read the reviews, New York Times had said :”The Crichton reputation and legacy are based on works far heartier than this.” True Enough. But they don’t get it, I would just read it because it didn’t matter, for it was Crichton once again and that was enough for me!
Pirate Latitudes starts in a typical period novel fashion describing the morning abulations of a certain Jamaican governor Sir James Almont. The book gives an interesting insight on what Piracy and Privateering meant in 1665 Jamaica when the Governor hangs a pirate and offers a deal to a privateer in the same morning. This particular Privateer is the famous Captain Charles Hunter, our quintessential protagonist, he’s hot, adventurous, brave and is (as is the case with all heroes) a Ladies’ Man. He’s introduced in the book in a truly Jack Sparrow moment when he is peeing out into the streets.
The Story is simple, England is surrounded by Spain in the Carribean and the only island colony left to them is the tiny Jamaica, to save some grace and make some money for themselves, the crown cuts deals with “Privateers”. So when a Spanish ship loaded with cash is stuck deserted on a fortified island it’s upto Captain Charles Hunter and his crew to get the gold, kill the wicked Spanish General, save a certain damsel in distress. It has everything that we saw in Pirates of the Carribean. Even words like, “And my mistress shall dine on your testicles,” (I mean come on!) Crichton even went on to incorporate Sea Monsters!(Did he by any chance give ideas to the Pirates of the Carribean Team?)
But there is one thing that has always set Crichton apart, the attention he pays to the crew, Charles Hunter is just a part of the story, the description of each member of Hunter’s crew is rather interesting(the Jew and Lazue take the awards for the weirdest pirates ever!) and so is the character of the damsel in distress Lady Sarah Almont and the Mrs-Robinson like character of Mrs. Robert Hacklett. Crichton did loose his touch with the precious slave girl Anne Sharp could’ve been better there.
But who cares! It’s Crichton! come on! I lived through the pages of sea storms and gun battles and ultra cool navigational manoeuvres. I even believed him when he talked about Sea Monsters. But essentially, I sailed the Spanish Main and back with Micheal Crichton and well…the journey was worth it!
Do I call
a spade a spade
or knaw fruitlessly
at eternity’s gate?
Joy is fleeting
Sorrow stands still
The mind mocks the mind
as I look out the window sill
Want an irony?
Then wonder what
these walls are for
to keep the inside in or the outside out
the barbed wired fences
my prickled tenses
are all but a fantasy
for I’m locked in, the world locked out
in a mirage of empty seas
At length, they want to fly away
my birds of sanity
but when they re free my mind begins to see
how the cage was a godsend!