Modern Literature

Its been a long long while (almost 4 months to be precise) since I wrote on this blog. But I have learnt a lot in terms of self introspection during this time. I have learnt to appreciate the finer things in life, and have also learnt to give importance to my priorities. Fortunately, I am someone who has very limited expectations from life, and I feel happiness and expectations from life are inversely proportional. During this time, I rediscovered reading as a habit, which has compelled me to write this blog today.

Modern literature is an amazing kaleidoscope. It is one of those few things that can be rightly associated with modernism, for it is something that has really progressed with time. There are certain ageless poems and stories that are beyond the trifling comparisons, yes, but they do not diminish the power modern literature exerts on the psyche of the thinker today. Literature in the modern world has its share of drama, excitement, learning and exclamation and yes, FLAWS. When I read Sidney Sheldon, for instance, I am transported into a different era where I can literally see western culture all around me. There are, of course, many who think Sheldon writes trash. I disagree. For the simple reason that he writes what is for real..around him! I also read his autobiography recently, and it spoke lucidly on what filmmaking and publishing are all about. So, it really depends on perception and how much you are willing to admit into your psyche.

A comparison with older literature (say, a Frost poem or a Shakespearean play) would be silly. The reason is, again, obvious. Older literature touched upon what is seen as esoteric today. It basically touched upon the simpler, more beautiful things in life. So, when you read a poem by Robert Frost, you are thinking about the road that diverged in the yellow woods...and NOTHING else ! There is such a beautiful imagination in the whole thing. On the other hand, modern literature focuses on the REAL. The present. What you see today. Around you. Recently I read Aravind Adiga's booker prize winner - The White Tiger. I was surprised by the serene flow of the work, as well as its explicit connection with the real world around me. You don't have to even TRY to relate to it. It comes...almost like a sudden fall in the stock market !

To conclude, I must add here that literature transcends boundaries - regional, linguistic and cultural. It cannot, however, transcend modernism. Any book you see around you - Sheldon, Dan Brown, Jeffery Archer, Danielle Steel.... - is living proof !