Not The India Of Your Lonely Planet Dreams

Have I ever felt divided about a book as this? I had nothing against the writing. In most aspects it's a pretty good story: detailed (often, too detailed for my taste), visceral and well thought out. A good debut effort. But it's the things that the author made some of the characters do that really got to me. I think I'll leave the last verdict to readers.

And they left the "curry powder" reference in! Am I in trouble?

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Stark vision of India

first published in The Star, 22 August 2008


What's with the explosion of novels from Indian writers? Could it have something to do with Kiran Desai's Man Booker Prize? Or the buzz surrounding Monica Ali's Brick Lane?

Names I would normally associate with silks, embroidery and curry powder are showing up in bookstore shelves and best-seller lists. Now, waves of hopefuls from the subcontinent are on the horizon. And many of these Indian-sounding authors don't even live in India.

One of them happens to be Sujit Saraf, who made his debut with The Peacock Throne, an impressive novel that celebrates India's turbulent socio-political climate in the dying throes of the last millennium.

We are taken on a whirlwind tour of the period between 1984 and 1998, seen through the eyes of some colourful characters. The author weaves his settings and characters into actual events, going so far as to providing a map for key areas of the story and a glossary of terms. No effort is spared in his quest to make it "real".

The curtain rises from the calm of daily life in Chandni Chowk, the neighbourhood that much of the novel revolves around. Tea seller Gopal Pandey is minding his own business when all hell breaks loose after Indira Gandhi's assassination. He hides a Sikh trader from rioting Hindus, and is later sent by the trader on a rescue mission. Our humble tea seller will eventually be lifted from the ruins of his demolished tea stall and plunged into a storm in a political teacup, but that comes much later.

Meanwhile, the story continues through the vantage point of the other characters: Ibrahim, Gopal's Muslim buddy; the Sikh trader Kartar Singh; Gopal's ne'er-do-well son; old-fashioned shopkeeper Sohan Lal; the fawning, ambitious and scheming clerk Ramvilas; prostitute-turned-activist Gita Didi; corrupt cop Inderlal Jha; Western-educated female journalist Chitra Ghosh; and a thieving Bangladeshi scamp called Gauhar.

The overly romanticised India of yesteryears is pulverised and replaced by the stark, in-your-face grimness of Saraf's vision, which exposes the underbelly of life in contemporary India, complete with lurid tales of murder, politics, sex and other bodily functions. Readers are unceremoniously ushered into various venues where all the action takes place in such gritty, blood-curdling detail, the word "explicit" barely scratches the surface. Welcome to 21st century Indian drama.

This corner of Saraf's India has no heroes - or heroines. All the key players are disappointingly human. In the novel's troubled times their virtues are downplayed and we often see them in their selfish, arrogant, cynical and megalomaniacal worst. Even the goofy, affable Gopal has weaknesses and bad habits that make me want to throttle him.

The cast's purpose, it seems, is just to move the story along, like the cogs of some huge clockwork machinery. It's not about the people as much as it is about this slice of India's history, the one we always knew existed, but wouldn't dare bring up.

By keeping our emotions at arm's length, Saraf manages to enforce the psychological barrier that allows him to do nasty things with some cast members. There are a couple of bombs. Desecration of a national monument. Forced immolation. And of course, plenty of swearing, racist epithets, political double-speak and the usual "us versus them" rhetoric.

I am in two minds about The Peacock Throne. Like its namesake, it looks pretty, but behind it lies a tumultuous, bloody history. On one hand, it's well-written and the narrative flows naturally. The backdrops and scenes are rich in detail, though not necessarily pleasing.

The human drama it showcases, however, is like a dark, bottomless pit. There are a few parts that I found repulsive, particularly chapters featuring Gauhar. Delving too deeply into the pages will erode your faith in humanity - and maybe scupper your plans to backpack around India.

In the end, Saraf does the right thing by not making the characters too likeable. Given the heavy subject matter it's amazing how he managed to complete this book. How did he manage to keep himself going?

Someone once wrote that India will either capture your heart, or repel you. It certainly is true in the case of The Peacock Throne, a heady, eye-opening adventure for those who can stomach the repulsive bits. It's not a perfect novel, but really, how many adventurers expect things to go their way from start to finish?

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Peacock Throne

Sujit Saraf
Sceptre
754 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-340-89972-4

Palestine In A Nutshell

The structure. The added content. And the ending, too. More than half of this was changed. This was one of my worst fears come true. Has writing full-time blunted my ...edge?

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Primer on a political mess

first published in The Star, 17 August 2008


The history of the modern Middle-Eastern conflict is a babble of dissenting voices, each claiming veracity over the other. Many have tried in vain to seek the heart of the problem, and come up with its solution.

Among those seeking this Holy Grail is former US President Jimmy Carter, author of Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid, a memoir-slash-analysis of the Middle East conflict and his involvement in it throughout his political career. First published in 2006, another edition was released recently with a new afterword from the author.

Carter might have been an unglamorous peanut farmer before being elected president in 1977 but he was among the more intellectual of American presidents, many – including critics – agree. However, a host of hot button issues that cropped up in untimely fashion, especially the Iranian hostage crisis, cost him a second term.

(Almost 70 people were kidnapped from the US embassy in Teheran in 1979; the last 53 remained captive for 444 days – and, in fact, were released just after Carter had lost the re-election to Ronald Reagan.)

Carter is now the head of the Carter Center, a think-tank dedicated to peace, freedom, and human rights, and he's apparently giving the Middle East another go.

Before I get into the book, here's a quick (very quick, not to mention necessarily simplified) brief on the area's recent history culled from various widely available sources.

Modern Israel's story began with the British-engineered Balfour Declaration that promised Jews they could carve up a chunk of Arab land for their own state, which was born after World War II.

Hostilities between Jews and Arabs soon followed, of course; it got too hot for the British troops overseeing the new nation so they packed up and left.

Over the years, mediation (or should that be “meddling”?) by external political factions only complicated matters, resulting in the roiling cauldron of Tom Yam Goong that is today's Chez Middle East, a kitchen with two executive chefs – two colossal egos, each unwilling to yield to the other.

Today, the region is the fulcrum for a restless ideological see-saw that has the world on tenterhooks.

Throughout this book, Carter tries his best not to lean towards either side, stressing that ending the conflict requires both sides to pull together. He notes two major obstacles to peace: the extremist factions within both countries.

Palestine supplies a lot of information to help the reader understand the complex issues. Maps of the region showing shifts in territorial control over the years are scattered liberally throughout the book, along with key extracts of diplomatic agreements. The text of United Nations Resolutions 242 and 338, and details of the Camp David Accords have been included in the appendices.

Okay, so Palestine is not light reading, obviously. The language is serious – dead serious at times – because the issues are serious. Carter may not be an official diplomat, but he still writes like one.

If all UN speeches sound this serious and dry, small wonder many delegates look like they'd rather be somewhere else every time sessions are televised.

It is kind of him, however, to provide so much information (all seemingly meticulously researched) and so objectively, too. By not taking sides, he demonstrates Palestine's integrity, which makes it a good primer on the Great Middle East Mess.

This has earned Carter the ire of some Americans, while earning the respect of many people around the world.

And it should earn the general reader's gratitude, because we – yes, you too – need to keep an eye on this Mess. It's bound to boil over and involve the whole world one day if it hasn't already done so indirectly....

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Palestine

Peace Not Apartheid

Jimmy Carter
Simon & Schuster Paperbacks
270 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7432-8503-2

Do They Still Draw Cartoons?

"Legends tell of a legendary warrior, whose kung fu skills were the stuff of legend...!"

So goes the opening narrative for Dreamworks' latest offering, Kung Fu Panda. If I could raise an eyebrow, I would. However, it took several viewings before I got it; I secured a bootleg copy because I couldn't wait for the original. And this was after watching it at a cinema. Despite a few iCringe moments, it's just brimming with Fun™. What the hell was Zhao Bandi complaining about? The panda isn't even copyrighted by China.

And I swear, they're getting more and more quotable. A far cry from Yogi Bear's word-mangling and bad grammar, "zoiks", "jinkies" and "Heavens to Murgatroid!" Chalk it up to the scriptwriters. "Cartoons" ain't just for kids any more.

"He was so deadly, in fact, that his enemies would go blind from overexposure to pure awesomeness!"

Animated features have come a long way. I grew up watching the 2-D ones, admiring the artwork and the lengths they went to in making them. Then came the digital age, and the advent of not-so-cartoonish cartoons. However, the day when 2-D went 3-D was probably when Who Framed Roger Rabbit was released. Since then, PC processors got faster, hardware more sophisticated. Have you seen today's graphic cards? They look like miniature motherboards - complete with their own processors and cooling fans. Some cards run so hot they need their equivalent of a radiator.

But I wouldn't pack cel animation to the nearest retirement home just yet. The Japs are still at it, even though more and more of cel-CGI marriages are happening (Ghost In The Shell, Appleseed, Vandread, Vexille, etc). With so much history behind cel, it should be preserved as a heritage in case it is eclipsed by newer animation techniques. Hell, it might even be taught as an esoteric skill one day, like the erhu or didgeridoo.

"One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it."

But I'm also thinking: With Moore's Law running rampant like a flock of rabid Road Runners, it won't be long before anybody could make their own animated features on devices as small as a cellphone. Will we be networking using our own custom-made CGI avatars someday? To the point where we won't have to leave our chairs? The producers of WALL-E think so.

Great. Not only are they packing cinemas and driving CPU evolution, but predicting the future as well.

"There's no charge for awesomeness - or attractiveness."

I still think they put that into Jack Black's mouth just to rub it into our noses.

"There are no accidents."

Brought To You By Canon®

Sometimes I wonder why I started this in the first place.

With the exception of a few bad Photoshopped graphics, Bites has been mainly text. But I just can't be assed to update nowadays - at least, if I don't have anything substantial to write about.

I've sneered at blogs that are mostly pictures because, well, their photographs usually sucked. And they don't bother to shrink them to the proper dimensions and file size. But with so many now incorporating videos I feel like a Johnny-come-lately in the media explosion craze.

Pretty soon, they say, video will be the norm.

These photos (borked now due to file hosting hiccups) were taken during the last Readings at Seksan, but I could write little about it that hasn't been written before. Sharon Bakar does a good job of chronicling each session she attends. I didn't take any pictures of the Wayang Buku performance because there was too much movement - from the act and my shaky hands.

Dr Shih the historian talked about how the town of Sitiawan in Perak got its name, and shared some tidbits about Sitiawan-born persona non grata Chin Peng. Why is it often the spoiled rich kids who find their life's purpose by sponsoring anarchy?

He had approached me first and introduced himself. He's never attended a reading before. But once he started, it was smooth sailing. Reading is a lot like storytelling, after all.

The wine bottle-uncorking antics of Shahril and I were applauded by an appreciative audience which included Robert Raymer, an American expat who's living in Sarawak and author of Lovers and Strangers Revisited. Turns out he lectured Funnybunny when she was studying English. Much has been said about his writing and generosity.

Nic Wong's first foray into the big big world was to grow big big hair - and lots of it. We are grateful he decided to lop it all off for us before reading here. His art is growing (no pun intended - maybe) from strength to strength; let's just hope it doesn't come with (too many) eccentricities. Poets. You know how they are.

Speaking of which...

Was Sheena Baharudin on the readers' list? I think so (too lazy to check). She apparently came with a few comrades from Poetry Underground to cheer Nic and Kat. She only read one poem about racial discrimination. Has she been mistaken for an Indian before?

She obligingly posed when Sharon whipped out the digicam. It happened so quickly I couldn't catch it.

Soon-to-Be-Dr Jason Leong, author of the funny and honest Twisted Stethoscope, who almost couldn't make it. He had another reading to do at the Mid Valley Megamall. Looking closely, he sort of resembles my former managing director (also abbreviated, interestingly enough, as MD).

Don't you just want to pinch those cheeks?

When I first met Kathleen Choo, I had little idea of just how feisty she was, or how well she carries of her "slams". A suggested second career and a rap lyricist was politely brushed off. Are "all the great poets are male, white and dead"?

Bond Lives... Again

"Bond lives... again",
Off The Edge, August 2008

Besides the usual press kits, invites and all, there were books, books and more books. This was my first book review piece for the magazine - that much-hyped post-Fleming Bond novel, Devil May Care.

I thought it would be easy, until I got stumped by the additional requirements. Number of Bond books sold, or annual total sales; value of the Bond franchise, and all that. I was swamped with whatever I had found - how was I going to work it all in?

Then one midnight, nearly all of the pieces just fell into place. Two hours later, a serviceable piece that didn't need a lot of edits. I was beginning to feel that book reviews will always be the brightest feather in my cap - next to restaurant reviews.

Apologies for the poor image quality. I'm still struggling with balancing (image) beauty, bytes and bandwidth.

Inkvestment, Ping Pong

Every now and then, we would get press kits and e-mails from various advertisers about their products. It's nothing new, but one wonders just how fast some of these items would go, with or without our help.

Consumer Price Index: "Inkvestment" (left), and "Ping Pong",
Off The Edge, August 2008

My eyes bulged at the figures for the above items. RM18,000 for a ping-pong table and accessories? A RM36,000 fountain pen? I would later learn that not only are the prices justified (in most cases), but there are people who can more than afford these things, and that it's more than just the brand.

But the nature of the magazine is such that it's not just item, price, and where-to-find, but the whats and whys as well: why is it so expensive, what goes into the product, sales pitch and packaging, etc. I haven't seen a lot of publications that do that. I've never looked at "luxury items" the same way again.

Artistic Bodacity

Typing this on my new laptop. Feels strangely liberating, even if the keyboard's layout feels awkward. Can't wait to take it on tour, doing the rolling meditation stuff. Moleskines are so last millennium.

This month's Readings is a bit of a departure, even though it feels like the ship already left the port last month. We had an American expat, a historian, three poets and a medical student, plus a musician and stage actor for after-reading entertainment.

It started with a bit of deja vu involving liquor bottles. Unaware the corkscrews had extensions for leverage, Shahril Nizam and I tugged and tugged and tugged till our faces turned red (not just from the exertion). Sharon had to call in an expert, otherwise we couldn't proceed. And MPH's Tan May Lee (may have) photographed the sideshow.

Oh well, at least it was entertaining.

I'll admit that one main reason why I dropped by was to touch base with Kathleen Choo, whom I last saw at a mutual friend's book launch in 2006. Besides being floored by her poetry slammin', I got a chance to see her smaller-than-notebook notebook PC. Does the speed of technological evolution bring to mind malevolent biological agents from a sci-fi horror script?

Nicholas Wong returns! This was the young poet whose presence at a previous Readings was the condition for a veteran's participation - such is his reputation. Nic channeled Pixar by titling one of his pieces "Oogway" [sic], on top of reading a poem he composed (four pages long!) just two hours before.

With some history by Dr Shih, performances by Kathleen, Sheena Baharudin, Nic and the Wayang Buku (Book Theatre) guys, a bit of comedy writing by a doctor-in-waiting, the July Readings just reverberates with sheer awesomeness.

Another deviation in the usual proceedings is an announcement by some Arab dude (by his own admission) about a reading project. Zain also suggested spreading word about the project via the Internet because "Malaysia has a huge blogging community". Don't believe him? Believe Blogger then; it just announced the availability of the Malay interface because, "...Blogger has a large base of users in Malaysia".

Large number of bloggers, yes. Large number of good bloggers? Well... heh.

The Secret Of The Secret Lies In The Secret - Not

From "stealing secrets" to "no secret". Honestly... .

Anyway, my point is that the secret to The Secret is really no secret at all. The Secret rebrands and emphasises the power of positive thinking, and says that's all anyone needs. What kind of secret is that? And then these guys come in and say The Secret is not the secret everyone's looking for, but there is a secret, and that's the secret they've got and knew all along. They also claim that The Secret secretly subverts its adherents into going against their secret, while promoting laziness and wishful thinking. So the only way out is to embrace their secret, a beautiful mystery that's not really secretive at all - just mysterious.

In Kung Fu Panda, the secret is not really a secret at all, either.

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No secret here

first published in The Star, 18 July 2008


Blissfully drowning in my sorrows for the past year or so, I was unaware of the phenomenon that is The Secret. At one glimpse of the cover, my tired mind registered, "Not another novel..." It wasn't until I got my hands on another book that I found out I was totally wrong.

Through The Secret (originally a film, which was then developed into a book), Aussie TV writer and producer Rhonda Byrne explores the New Age concept called the Law of Attraction, which says that people can control their lives by the power of their own thoughts and emotions - in short: think (hard), and you will receive.

Wow, and all this time I called it "wishful thinking". What The Secret claims, however, is that it works. It's no wonder then that certain quarters are behaving like hungry lions watching a zebra herd. Just as with The DaVinci Code, numerous detractors published works countering The Secret. One of these is The Secret Revealed.

Had I taken a much closer look at the cover, I probably would have given it a miss and spared myself some pain. Why, you ask? Previously, James L. Garlow (who's also a pastor) had written another book, Cracking Da Vinci's Code. I remember the firestorm surrounding that one - the Jesus/Mary Magdalene hoo-ha that so terrified the Vatican and devout Christians everywhere that some form of rebuttal had to be made or the religion would collapse (The DaVinci Code is still listed under "Fiction", by the way).

Fearing a similar crisis of faith following the release of The Secret, the pastor once again whipped out his crusading pen. Predictably, the authors hit the ground running, underlining the fact that Bible passages are used to sell The Secret's glaringly un-Christian concepts. The preaching slowly intensifies from there until the end of the book, where it is implied that there is no secret at all - it's about "beautiful mysteries", and its source is God.

While they admit that there may have been good intentions involved, the authors of The Secret Revealed make no secret of their scorn for Byrne and others who aggressively promote The Secret. They say the Law of Attraction blames the victims for all their woes, while at the same time, appealing to the get-what-you-want-now mindset of the selfish, greedy and lazy.

They also pan the "deliberate" omissions of concepts like God and sin, and the notion that anybody can "will" whatever they want into being is practically blasphemous. They stress the futility of "transmitting your thoughts towards the Universe", when you could direct them to God instead (personally, I don't see the difference).

Sometimes the authors come off as snide, condescending even, when presenting scenarios where the Law of Attraction fails, as well as in the accompanying arguments.

Of course, they do point out that it's not all bad. They applaud Byrne's exhortations to do good and bring joy to others. They just don't like how she's telling people to go about it.

The Secret Revealed puts forth valid points against swallowing any hype in its entirety, but the Christian-leaning slant in the arguments were a big put-off, as is the assumption that without any help, devout followers of The Secret are like lemmings who will eventually march off a cliff towards certain doom (they don't say you're going to Hell if you follow The Secret, just that you might be headed for "trouble").

While flipping the pages I have to remind myself a few times that history is full of stories about weirdo farms and their shepherds, like Jim Jones of the People's Temple, and David Koresh's gun-toting Branch Davidians, so I guess some of the authors' fears are justified. Still, being inadvertently accused of wilful stupidity not only gets my goat, but the whole farm as well.

I won't doubt that The Secret Revealed does in fact fill in the blanks, but not all of them, and certainly not in the way that I would find comfortable. A more secular point of view would have been more convincing, and less cringe-worthy to my psyche.

Yes, my aversion to religious preaching did taint this review. No, I will offer no apologies for that. I will give some praise to the good pastor and his buddy for their efforts, with a gentle reminder that back then, as now, too much honesty is not always a good thing.

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The Secret Revealed

Exposing the Truth About the Law of Attraction

James L. Garlow and Rick Marschall
FaithWords
282 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-446-19796-0

I Has Mobile Computing - Kind Of

OK, I'm the owner of a Dell Vostro 1310 laptop. Sister #2, who's now with Dell, helped me get one. And because the folks thought it'd be a great birthday present, they footed the bill - and the sister piled on the bells and whistles. I'm embarrassed by the attention, and more than a bit ashamed.

And why don't I feel like a laptop owner?

I'll admit, I wanted this piece of technology so I can do stuff on the road. Demands of the new job and all that. But it's a constant struggle keeping the thing safe; I get apprehensive during lunch breaks. Preventing it from getting wet. Keeping an eye on it when it follows me to restaurants. And because I have two bags to carry now, I feel like Houdini when I lock and unlock the doors.

I tell you - it's like having a wife. But at least a wife can take care of herself when I'm not around, and open the doors when my arms are full of shopping bags.

Adjustments are painful.

Windows Patch Zones Out Firewall Users

Earlier this week, Microsoft released patches that prevent some kind of domain-spoofing bug. The patch, however, prevents Internet access on machines running Windows 2000 and XP with a ZoneAlarm firewall. Vista machines are unaffected.

In addition to providing the latest versions of their ZoneAlarm firewall, Check Point (who bought over Zone Labs) has issued a workaround for the problem:

• Go to the ZoneAlarm Firewall panel.
• Click the Firewall tab.
• Move the Internet Zone slider to Medium.

This workaround may reduce the effectiveness of the firewall, but it's better than being locked out of the net entirely. Eventually, affected users will have to install the latest version of ZoneAlarm.

A certain tech-geek subculture is to blame for this. All the talk about creating script-writing kits, bugs and malware for "purposes of education only" is pure bull-crap. If they're smart enough to come up with such tools, they should be smart enough to know what they're unleashing. They do know - they just don't care.

Virus-coding is no longer confined to a shadowy group of elites. Now, anybody - from bullied ten-year-olds to forty-something washouts - who wants to overcompensate for real-life deficiencies are so well-educated, they can create digital equivalent of the bird-flu virus with a few keystrokes and a couple of mouse-clicks.

Just because nobody's getting killed doesn't make these script kiddies and those who enable them less of a terrorist. I think they're even worse.

An Exceptional Exception

As I went over to the counter to settle my bill, the Indian/Bangladeshi manning the cash register stopped me. "Sir, we have dessert waiting for you, sir, on the house," he said. "Please take your seat."

Confused, I returned to my place at the table. What gives, I thought. It couldn't have been the digicam. I'd ordered a starter-portion oxtail soup and a smoky ranch steak, which I snapped photos of before tucking in. Normally I don't mind dessert, but it was late and I was full.

G*d, I hope he doesn't think I'm a member of the press or something.

My dessert arrived: half a poached peach in syrup topped with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream, crowned with a single mint leaf. Not a bad dish, really. It's been months since I ate there and the food is still okay.

The air cleared when I finally settled my tab. "Are you with GZK?" the Indian/Bangladeshi asked. I'm really sorry, but I don't know exactly who he was. And it's probably rude to ask.

"No," I said, feeling bad. I told him who I was working for now; no point having a free dessert I didn't deserve. I used to work with them - sort of - but not anymore.

The man at the counter shrugged. "Ah well, we don't have any arrangements with them, maybe soon." What he said next surprised me. "Didn't I give you one of these cards before?"

He, in fact, did. That was months ago, too. Get one stamp for each order of soup; drink X orders of soup and get one free. Too bad the card disappeared yonks ago. But his memory wasn't the only surprise he had in store.

"Never mind, I give you one more card," he said, and made two stamps on it. "One for the last time," he added.

Now, who was the whackjob who said Indians/Bangladeshis were nothing but trouble? When you meet an exceptional exception to the "rule", you just have to wonder.

Nobody Expects The Spanish Kama Sutra

Can the story of a fictional Casanova be used as a love manual? When the author's repertoire includes such books you have to wonder. There should be a disclaimer on each copy, something to the effect of, "Not a substitute for Valentine Day cards or bouquets"). Cards are much cheaper.

The title is a play on Monty Python's "Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition"; no, I didn't expect to read a Spanish Kama Sutra. Did anybody expect the Spanish to win Euro 2008?

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Stealing secrets

first published in The Star, 04 July 2008


Gone are the days when personal diaries were kept under lock and key. The delicious thrill of having your inner thoughts read by the masses are driving many towards blogging these days. Even Don Juan is getting into the act.

OK, so it's just Douglas Carlton Abrams, doing something akin to blogging. After co-authoring a few books on spirituality, love and sexuality, he tries his hand at narrative fiction, writing as Don Juan under the rather pedestrian title, The Lost Diary of Don Juan.

Kudos to Abrams for sneaking the handbook, How to Really, Really Love a Woman into this novel. Unfortunately, the package also includes How to Infuriate Said Woman's Parents, How to Tick Off Your Boss and How to Offend Fanatical, Uptight Clergymen – which I'm sure we all could do without.

Spain in the 16th century wasn't a very nice place. Plunder from the newly discovered American continent made the nation rich, but it brought about an increasingly venal, corrupt and "liberal" society. One of the results was Juan Tenorio.

Abandoned as an infant, Juan was raised in a monastery but ends up being a pickpocket and burglar in Sevilla. His "talents" soon catch the eye of the Marquis de la Mota, who trains him to steal secrets, and the hearts and virtues of women, especially those from his political rivals' households.

A slight deviation: Abrams' Don Juan goes on his rounds in a Zorro-like get-up, complete with a getaway vehicle, a carriage chauffeured by his loyal servant Cristóbal. I was half-expecting it to arrive at the Bat Cave on the next page, if not the next chapter. Fortunately, the campiness stops there.

At the height of his dubious career, Juan's patron nags him about writing a tell-all, intending to use it as blackmail material. Juan struggles with the request, knowing that he's expendable once it is completed – but he gets down to keeping one anyway. Even rogues need a hobby.

In Juan's point of view, he's no womaniser; he considers himself the balm of the lonely hearts of Sevilla's womenfolk. Of course, there is a very long queue of people who beg to differ, and pushing his way to the front is the Inquisitor Fray Ignacio de Estrada, who has pledged to rid the city of Juan at any cost.

In the face of these hazards is de la Mota's challenge: to steal the virtue of a chaste young noblewoman called Doña Ana. Juan accepts, and soon gets into the bad books of the woman's father. She proves to be a challenge for the suave, sweet-talking libertine, and eventually gets under his skin. Then, his boss shakes things up with his intention to marry Doña Ana.

Oh, the drama. What should Sevilla's notorious metrosexual do?

However, Abram's Don Juan is more than the stereotypical shallow, metrosexual narcissist. Juan is a loyal friend and faithful lover – the main reason for his (initial) reluctance to name names in his diary. He is also a good employer; in one chapter he even offers Cristóbal some advice on courtship. Towards the end, he reveals why he never laid one finger on the prostitutes in his best buddy's tavern.

You can see Abrams' application of his field of expertise everywhere – and that's the trouble with it. Hair-raising phrases like, "I sipped the moist nectar of her mouth as she opened her petals to me" abound, as well as his professions of "woe-is-me" and self-righteousness. There is also a totally unnecessary master-disciple scene, where terms like "Ultimate Skill" and "Supreme Pleasure" are bandied about (I am so glad kung fu was developed in the East).

To girlfriends and wives who think that The Lost Diary of Don Juan will help re-ignite that dying flame, do bear in mind that it's just a lit-fic novel. It's not a bad read, if you can stomach the cheesy parts so integral in such stories. Strange things happen when fiction is taken too seriously – remember The Da Vinci Code?

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The Lost Diary of Don Juan

Douglas Carlton Abrams
Atria Books
307 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-1-4165-4701-3