And this part of my life is called … reading books

Since childhood, I've always been driven, like those characters in pulp paperbacks by Jeffrey Archer, et al. The only difference is that in contrast to those glorious heroes who have been driven singly by a sense of adventure or a sense of patriotism since 'as far back as they can remember'; I'm driven by different things on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes the urge to get out and do something is a little stronger, and lasts about a week. A week of smoldering tensions and plans and initiatives that never leave the drafting table.

I've also been fascinated by the act of collecting stuff, from 'as far back as I can remember'. When I was a kid, I was a stamp collector, like so many others. Ever the intellectual, I quickly reasoned that philately would be the easiest occupation for me, given that both my parents used to collect stamps when they were young, and had preserved their collections for posterity (and me). So, one day I decided that I would collect stamps, and the next day I had ~3000 of them. Some collection that! I think the seeds of the decline of this wonderful hobby of mine were laid when I visited a stamp exhibition at Nehru Center (which is what connoisseurs did, someone I prided myself on being). Much to my dismay, the exhibition also had an area where budding collectors could buy a packet of 1000 stamps for a very reasonable price. Not reasonable enough for me though (I had a very Spartan childhood, without any pocket money). I'd gone to this exhibition with a pal and his grand-dad. I enjoyed hanging out with this friend, as he had also just begun, and had a princely collection of 10 stamps. Our favorite occupation during our summer holidays was to pore over our collections. I would run through each one of my stamps and say, "Have you seen this one?" or "Guess which country this is from". After a couple of hours, he would say, "Let's look at my collection now." And 2 minutes later, he would go home. Much fun! People might wonder as to the relevance of this aside here, given that we were at the exciting juncture of my discovery that I didn't have money to buy stamps. Well, unlike yours truly, the friend used to receive pocket money. And approximately 10 minutes after my discovery, he had more stamps than me. His grand-dad offered to buy me a pack too, which I reluctantly refused because much though I adored stamps, I didn't care much for the beatings I would receive at home sweet home for accepting money from people. However, one shouldn't look at my parents in an unkind light. After all, they could have easily offered me pocket money to see if I accept it, and then proceeded to beat me; but they were clearly never that malicious.

Afternoons were not that much fun anymore, as he also had a (positively) boring collection now. Soon, I gave it up, and rummaging through my parents' old stuff, I became a veteran numismatist. Then, moving from coins to MP3s to E-books to movies over the years, I am now firmly a book collector. And over the past few months, I have taken up reading with a renewed vigor. The past week was exceptionally exceptional (what's this figure of speech called? Have I invented a new one?), as I am now 'driven' to read. Since last Sunday, I've read The Great Gatsby, William Golding's Lord of the Flies, The Little Prince (shouldn't really count, as this excellent book has probably fewer words than this post will end up containing), Umberto Eco's Faith in Fakes (another grueling chapter in my seemingly ill-fated and arduous struggle to become a stoic European erudite) and Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut. While I thought that The Great Gatsby was overrated, the others were definitely worth the read. And I would assume that my less-than-ebullient response to the former is quite possibly a function of the different time and place for which it was penned, given that the book does count among the best ones written in the last century.

Both Slaughterhouse 5 and Lord of the Flies (similarity to Lord of the Rings begins and ends with the title) are excellent reads, and are both about war. They are also similar in that they both enjoy pride of place in TIME's list of best English novels since 1923, a pride they share, incidentally, with The Great Gatsby. In an event of pure chance, I was lucky to read these two not necessarily divergent but slightly dissimilar takes on war and human nature, within a short span of time. While Lord of the Flies was written in a dark, allegorical fashion, Vonnegut's book was a satire, intermingled with good-old 'aliens!' science fiction – two genres not often blended, I dare say. Vonnegut's protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, is sent to the war as a chaplain's assistant (a chaplain played a stellar role in Joseph Heller's Catch 22 as well, I seem to recall). There, stumbling from one misfortune to another, he ultimately reaches Dresden, a scene of one of the most equally horrific and ridiculous massacres at the hands of the US during World War II. The story is not linear, as Billy has 'come unstuck in time', i.e., without any control, he keeps meandering from one stage of his life to another. At some point in the interim, he believes he was abducted by aliens as well, from the planet Tralfamadore. While the author never says outright whether the alien abduction is a figment of Billy's imagination or not (he broadly hints that Billy is imagining it), the overall point he makes is about the lack of free will. While describing how absolutely unneeded the aerial attack on Dresden was (it killed almost double the number of people annihilated at Hiroshima), he also says that history would not have had it any other way. As one of his aliens puts it, Tralfamadorians have visited many planets across the breadth of the universe, but it is only on Earth that anyone believes in 'free will'. As the author and these incredibly gifted aliens would condescendingly say, "So it goes."

William Golding, in Lord of the Flies, talks about a group of kids (oldest being 12 years old) stranded on a remote island, with no escape. He describes starkly their descent into savagery, as lack of any societal encumbrances stimulates the surfacing of the baser instincts in children who were otherwise 'propah' English schoolboys. As the struggle for authority and survival continues, violent clashes of steadily increasing ferocity begin to take place among the children. How the book concludes is something that readers should find out for themselves. This storyline is an incredibly far cry from pre-war style; in James Barrie's Peter Pan stories of 1904, the Lost Boys engage in vivid adventures of many kinds, in a land where they never really lose their innocence – a startling example of the effects of the bloody unfolding of the 20^th century on the psyches of those who had the misfortune of partaking in the harrowing experience.

When I started writing a little while ago, both books seemed to be similar only insofar as both of them spoke of human nature, etc. But as I went on, I realized (and this is something I should have known all along) that they are not that different after all, the style of writing, the characters and even the complete stories notwithstanding. While one spoke of the absolute lack of free will, the other lends to an extrapolation that awarding anyone free will (which now seems like the Holy Grail, given my incessant harping on it) will inevitably result in complete loss and anarchy, an outcome not dissimilar to a Pyrrhic war.

There, I think I'm done. What was meant to be a decent comment on two more-than-decent books has turned out to be a narcissistic monotone, with the aforesaid objective relegated to an epilogue. Anyway, hope the future makes me less self-indulgent, for my stories of childhood and friends et al are bound to run out sometime. And a friend, who has begun blogging in recent times, is fast proving to be a far more able chronicler of funny goings-on in my circle of friends. The next book I'll read is a collection of Anthony Burgess' (author of A Clockwork Orange) writings. I'll be sure to write how that goes.

For people who haven't been distracted by my random rambling from the strong sense of déjà vu that the title inspired but have still not quite figured out why, let me help out a bit (another instance of the magnanimity which is clearly visible in how I let my philatelist friend enjoy my riches). For the next few weeks, I'll be arranging to pay my taxes for the first time. While the utter lack of connection with the previous statement may move some to dismiss this as work of a deranged maniac, rest assured that the previous statement holds within it the solution to the sleepless nights you will doubtless endure in attempting to uncover the reason for the strange familiarity of the title (if you think it is familiar, of course). May you succeed!

Elementary, my dear Watson

Yesterday I had a flashback. To the time I was 10 or 11, and had just finished an abridged version of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. You know, that pocket-sized 'Classics' series, aimed at getting children interested in books? I was already interested in books (I think I had read all the Hardy Boys stories when I was in 3^rd or 4^th), but the one in question certainly caught my eye. So, consequent to some beseeching and imploring with my parents, I got my hands on the Complete Stories of Sherlock Holmes or some such, which contained all 56 short stories and 4 long ones. Unabridged, of course. It was a blissful read. My next major problem was that 10 days after I got the book, I'd already devoured it (it was during my summer holidays, and I was in Madras with nothing to do). I still remember jumping around then, saying I wanted to become a detective. This continued, if my memory serves me right, for a reasonably long time. My next major career decision was when I was 14, after reading Chromosome 6 by Robin Cook. At that point, it was obvious to me, for I had seen the light. I was destined to become a genetic engineer… Of course, today I'm neither. But nevertheless, those were glory days. I used to feel I was Superman (He-man is also a very applicable metaphor – I used to love that series and the sword used therein when I was 4-5 years old). After reading the Bible Code, I wondered where I could get my hands on the software the book mentioned, to check what it would unearth about me from the Torah. Funny days, too. Paradise lost and all that.

Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant invention of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's mind. He gripped the imagination of avid readers like no fictional character before. Of course, there were only two notable detectives in fiction before Holmes came along (Edgar Allan Poe's Dupin and Gaboriau's Monsieur Lecoq; Agatha Christie's Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot came much later). I've read of neither of Holmes' esteemed predecessors, but he does disparage their techniques and intelligence ever-so-slightly. So much for them. His popularity was unprecedented. The story of how he was literally brought back to life (dare I say poorly constructed pun intended? The most redundant two words in English ever, closely competing with "Don't laugh") is a very well-known one. And Sir Doyle wasn't the only one who resurrected him. His story has been adapted into numerous plays, television series, etc since. In fact, an intriguing tidbit about Holmes concerns the title of this blog post – 'Elementary, my dear Watson'. Although this phrase immediately conjures up an image of a man with a sharp countenance and a deerskin cap, smoking a pipe (Holmes, in case these 'clues' didn't give it away), it never really appeared in any of the stories as penned by Sir Doyle. In that sense, it is a misattribution (one cannot call it apocryphal though, since Holmes himself is, arguably, fictional). It did appear, however, in a later adaptation, and pretty much stuck.

The reason for this (extremely) labored journey back in time was a book I just finished reading yesterday (and started the day before – it was an incredibly easy read) – The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, by Mark Haddon. For those you haven't been extremely devoted Holmes-ians, this is a line from the mystery Silver Blaze, a story about a missing race-horse. This is how the exchange goes. I've taken the liberty of embellishing the statements slightly for effect, given the near-total lack of context, and given the fact that I don't remember them phonographically.

A little while after our discussion, Holmes said, "Well, Watson, there was also the curious incident of the dog in the night-time". I replied, "But Holmes, the dog didn't do anything!" "That, my dear Watson", said Holmes, "was the curious incident."

And just like the story referenced in the title, this one too is a mystery – revolving around the murder of Wellington, a dog that was killed in the night-time. It is a great read, but not because the intricacies of the murder and its consequent solution are brought out exceedingly well. The story is as penned by Christopher Boone, a 15-year old autistic child. It made a reasonably deep impression on me, and also reminded me of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, a children's book of which they say, extremely accurately, 'a book that every adult should read'. I agree. If anyone hasn't read this book yet, it must go to the top of one's reading list (and if one doesn't have a reading list, this book merits the creation of one). I think what works for The Curious Incident… is the fact that it underlines everything we take for granted but shouldn't. The author very effectively forces the reader to see the world through the eyes (and pen) of a child who hates being touched, and thinks that seeing 5 yellow cars on the road is a premonition of an exceedingly bad day. He doesn't talk to strangers (good advice for anyone), and doesn't eat his food if two or more items are touching each other on his plate (not so good advice).

The boy's heroics as the book proceeds are indeed noteworthy, as are his skills in mathematics, which overcompensate for his deficiencies elsewhere. I think the book's success cannot be summarized better than by saying that when you're done, you don't pity the boy, you admire him for what he is, what he achieves and what he plans to become. When, at the end of the book, Chris realizes that he can 'do anything', you realize it with him. And with the benefit of an external frame of reference, maybe even more so. Few books have left me with as much of a proverbial lump in my throat as this one did.

Unfortunately, however, I don't think I'm going to read any other book by Mark Haddon. He's written some others, mainly for kids. A Spot of Bother, published in 2006, is more targeted at adults. But I'm not going to read it. I'm convinced that he wouldn't have been able to create the same magic as the first one. Just like Harper Lee, incidentally, who's not published much since To Kill … Maybe that's how it should be. Maybe, just like Sherlock Holmes, the magic was never really the author's prerogative.

A Flawed Masterpiece

Life was so good back in school.. Always had plenty of time to watch movies and read books. Now, on most days, I have just about enough time to catch some sleep. Just about.

But, my cleverness and ingenuity led me to a solution – I started watching movies in episodes! Isn't the idea brilliant? J (my ineffectual attempt at sarcasm duly noted, I hope). Anyway, I saw Burn After Reading over a 2-week period, and the comedy didn't flag. I saw Slumdog Millionaire over a similar span of time, but that was because I found it too boring for one sitting. Speaking of Slumdog, I don't know how many people were shocked or pleasantly surprised that it won an Oscar, but I certainly was. And I set out to provide a basis for my incredulity by watching the other popular movies of the year. I'm done with The Reader and Vicky Christina Barcelona, and I must admit that Slumdog is much better. But more on that later…

One director whose work I've seen with some interest over the years is Clint Eastwood. The manner in which he's reinvented himself from a trigger-happy Westerner to a storyteller with other plot-lines up his sleeve has been worth watching. Although I cannot claim to be an expert in his direction style, etc – having watched only 4 movies directed by him; I can pinpoint sufficient differences between his previous movies and his latest slate to be convinced of the metamorphosis.

I saw Changeling a few months ago, and Gran Torino in the past few weeks, and both of them were exceedingly good movies. There's something about the manner in which this 70-year old geezer projects his stories, that forces you to accept every time-worn cliché he throws at you, with equanimity. In both these movies (and previous ones), there have been enough and more instances when any movie-watcher worth his salt would be able to guess the next dialogue or plot twist. But the way Mr. Eastwood tells it, or the way he grunts his dialogues, you decide to give it to him.

Gran Torino is a great movie, period. The clichés are present in full force, true. But the most important juncture, the plot towards the finale, wasn't entirely expected. In fact, it was a particularly apt example of the transition that Mr. Eastwood has been through. Without descending in to spoilers, let me just say that watching the last 15-20 minutes of Gran Torino and Unforgiven in quick succession, one wouldn't fail to appreciate the key differences.

No need for a movie review here, those are abundantly available. But yes, both movies are must-sees, from a master storyteller. Dirty Harry has made a clean break.

The Great Technicolor Dream

An event of the week before last makes this year a watershed in movie history for many. All right, it’s not that big a deal (in fact, I started this post last week, but left it midway because I didn’t feel like writing), but a stellar work of art and movie-making did get its due..

This event of great consequence relates to the Internet Movie Database – a very popular film website, and one whose widget I have unsuccessfully been trying to install on my blog for the past few months. The Shawshank Redemption finally toppled Godfather (and The Dark Knight) as the #1 movie of all time according to movie-watchers who frequent iMDB. Many of you might have your own favorite movies and scoff at this development, but I welcome and completely support it, so I thought it would be apt to write about the best movie I’ve seen (but don’t watch it too many times – the 3rd time was slightly boring).

The movie didn’t have much impact on the box office when it released – it just barely covered costs in its movie-hall earnings. Although nominated for 7 Oscars, it walked away with none. That’s not such a big deal in retrospect, because Pulp Fiction didn’t win much that year either – Forrest Gump trumped everyone else. But this movie slowly caught on to the movie-watcher’s imagination, spreading mainly through word-of-mouth to become the most-rented movie of 1995.

So why do I think this 1994 flick was more special than the rest? The usual suspects are, of course, fine acting, visionary direction and a superlative storyline. But delving deeper, I discover (and I can smugly say that I suspected this all along) something about the human psyche to which this movie appeals like not many others.

Hope is an interesting concept, a deep feeling. It pervades most of our daily lives when we are kids, but our store of hope dwindles ever so slowly but ever so surely, as the years in our lives increase. Which is a dismal thing to occur, for the one good thing that came out of Pandora’s Box is surely to be treasured. The Shawshank Redemption is all about hope – it could very well have had just that one word as its title (which would have presumably improved its box office chances – all that some movie-goers remembered of its name was ‘that rickshaw movie’). Andy Dufresne, a man sentenced to two life-terms in the Shawshank prison, is not guilty of the crime he has been convicted for. And he hopes for redemption – someday, he’ll be free again, and people will recognize his innocence. Whether he gets what he hopes for is another story, and I for one don’t want to be guilty of sparing anyone the amazing experience that this movie is – believe it or not, some people still haven’t seen it (but I know only one such person).

Many movies I have seen lose themselves in trying to execute too many plots and sub-plots – something that this was also in danger of doing. But the superb screenplay ensured that each and every subplot was executed with great finesse, and added something intangible to the poignancy of this epic depiction of one man’s stubbornness towards his fate. That’s one of the beauties of this film to me – the institutionalized librarian, the new kid on the prison block, Andy’s friendship with Red (Morgan Freeman in the role of his life); all made this movie truly memorable.

I especially like one scene (there were many others, but this is the one that lends itself least to the term ‘spoiler’). Andy’s perseverance in procuring resources for the fund’s library finally succeeds, and some old books and records come his way. He locks himself into the jailors’ office, and plays an opera duet on the speakers. The look of rapt enchantment in the eyes of all the prisoners is a testament to the pervasiveness of hope, of the belief that one’s lot will get better.

Red learns many things from Andy. In his eyes, Andy made a simple choice – get busy living, or get busy dying. True, pessimism ensures that you either expect the outcome or are pleasantly surprised. Optimism doesn’t afford such luxuries, but the feeling is its own reward. For that is what makes us human, pushes us to work and back everyday, hoping that some day, life will give us all we wish for.

I told someone recently that people grow up when they realize that their dreams aren’t going to come true. A trifle harsh, I knew. But I realize now that maybe, just maybe, growing up isn’t such a good thing.

Chaos – one reigns in it, one reins it in

So I saw the Dark Knight yesterday (finally), and I immediately rushed home to watch Batman Begins, so I could compare the two – it had been a very long time since I saw the first one. But to my dismay, I couldn't find it anywhere. So instead, let me try to talk about the sequel alone, for I know that when I get time to write again, I would have forgotten about this one as well.

At the very outset, let me opine that Christopher Nolan is brilliant. He doesn't disappoint one bit, and the movie is as spectacular and well-made as any in his illustrious past – Batman Begins, Prestige and Memento. He shows us yet again why Batman is probably the best superhero ever – he has Nolan directing his movies. All week, I kept hearing about how the Joker is simply the best one ever – he puts even Jack Nicholson to shame. I think I am inclined to agree with this – credit to both Heath Ledger and the director, who's made this franchise consistently darker than any other superhero series (I am not counting pretenders like The Crow or The Punisher in the same category). If you haven't seen the movie yet, please don't read this blog (I know the chances of this are slim, given the brilliance of the movie and my scant readership). Your time is much better invested in finding a compatible time when the movie is playing at a theater near you. Additionally, although I will do my utmost not to, I might give away some details that you would be much better off finding out on your own. But if you have seen it already, then go ahead unafraid.

Starting with the tagline, did anyone else surmise as to why it was 'Why … so … serious?'? I preferred the line on many movie posters in Mumbai – 'Welcome to a world with no rules'. Like Alfred and the mob boss told Bruce Wayne, the Joker has no rules. You might try to guess at his motivations, but you would be wrong. Case in point being what the Joker does with his share of the money which he so painstakingly stole back for the mob. Pure chaos, that's what he was about - pure absolute chaos, no sordid childhood, no jilting lover. Mixing pure evil and pithiness, he was a revelation – the scene outside the hospital (with the remote control) and in the prison (where he demanded his phone call) were amazing, or to use words from another recent movie – awesome (if you think you deserve a prize for guessing the name of this movie, then you better get out and get a life). And I bet all the Batmen of the world would be stumped if the Joker tells them, 'You complete me'. Move over Tom Cruise, we have a new romantic in town. I read somewhere that Ledger spent a month in isolation, planning the Joker's mannerisms, tone and voice. I have to say, he's got it spot on. His reaction to the Lieutenant's promotion was spontaneous, and not a part of the script – but everyone who saw the movie would admit that it perfectly added to the Joker's persona.

So what did I like best about the movie? There was no single sequence that clearly trumped, but I can readily name three.

First, the Joker – right from his chuckles as he was being beaten black and blue, to his spine-chilling 30 seconds with Rachel Dawes (I bet it felt a lot longer). They got it inch-perfect and created the stuff of legend.

Second, Harvey Dent's line to the Batman – 'Either die early a hero, or live long enough to be seen as a villain'. This troubles Bruce Wayne throughout the movie, for Batman never became more than an 'outlaw vigilante'. It couldn't be summed up better.

Third, the last 2 minutes. I would be the first one to agree that the new Commissioner's family made it a little melodramatic, but Batman says it the best it could – he is whatever Gotham wants him to be. Never before during his exploits did he ever become the hero that Gotham deserved. Or maybe it didn't.

Live forever … Or die trying

Immortality has gripped the senses of humankind for almost as long as history can remember. Philosophy-wise, Sophie's World (an excellent book by Jostein Gaarder) tells me that the Hellenistic period (circa 320 BC-150 BC) was the very first time that thinkers expounded on the subject of eternal life, and wondered what one would need to do to extend one's life on earth. Since then, many such thinkers have come and gone (evidently, they were as clueless as the rest of us). But that is not to say that there haven't been charlatans who've pretended to have first-hand knowledge of events long before their time. One of the more notable ones was the Comte de Saint-Germain in 18^th century France, who claimed to have lived for over 2000 years. His supposed pupil, Cagliostro, also claimed the same, famously making the ill-thought statement, 'Jesus should have taken my advice'. Ill-thought, because he was subsequently sentenced to death, and so ended his eternity. Many movies have also broached the subject, most recent being The Man from Earth (a decent low-budget 2007 movie). The movie that I shall talk about, however, is The Fountain, a 2006 movie by Darren Aronofsky (of Requiem for a Dream fame).

This movie follows three parallel stories (or two … or one, according to some interpretations). There's probably only one person who understands this very confusing movie completely, and that's Aronofsky (and even that is only an assumption). A look at his previous movies would lead us to very quickly dismiss this movie as 'weird', but aren't we all, at some level, weird? (One thing's clear, I'm probably weird too). So, coming back to the story, it follows the life of a doctor and his wife, who has terminal cancer. It also concerns an ancient fabled tree, which promises the gift of immortality (the Fountain of Life, as it were). The wife is penning a story of a Spanish Conquistador in search of this tree, and she dies with the last chapter unwritten. With her last breath, she tells her husband to finish it for her (to those of you who dismiss this movie as a Hindi potboiler right now, a fervent appeal to persist). But he's in search of immortality too, and only when he gives up trying to bring his wife back from the dead does he realize how to finish the story. What happens in between is very beautifully shot (on a low budget), and needs to be seen to be fully appreciated.

But of essence in the movie is its conclusion. Throughout the movie, the belief is that death is no more than a disease, one whose cure is still beyond the realms of human medicine. The Conquistador's Tree of Life is just a metaphor for this cure, this elixir of life. Like the character in his wife's book, the doctor is also besotted by this notion. But as cynical realists, the audience knows that the real question is not when the doctor will be successful, but rather, when failure will be accepted. Death is, after all, not a bad thing for us non-philosophers who are tired of our mundane lives or crappy jobs or empty schedules or full schedules or blogs with low readership (J). Anyway, the story ends in a manner that sums it up best. The Conquistador sure finds the Tree of Life. But of course, it's not what he thinks it is. See the movie, and let the end surprise you. This was one movie that kept me interested throughout, and yet satisfied me completely with its finale (The Departed is one movie that had only the former quality). And one thing I am sure of is that even the most imaginative of us will agree that no other end would have been more appropriate. A great movie which, unfortunately, won't promise Aronofsky immortality (you've probably not even heard of it before). But well tried, nevertheless…

Catch - 22

I have read a lot of books that haven't made an iota of difference to my life. These books have made me happy, sure, but only because I was done with them and wouldn't have to read them again. Catch 22, by Joseph Heller, isn't one of them. An incredible satire on the foolishness of war and the attached bureaucracy, it has been widely acknowledged as one of the most powerful books of the previous century. It was also the origin of the famous phrase (its name), and means a situation where there is no possible solution with a positive impact. One is, figuratively (and sometimes literally), stuck.

So what makes this book so great? The hero of the book, Yossarian, is a bombardier for the US Army in the War, and is stationed at the island of Pianosa. In describing his travails, the author makes a compelling point about the stupidity of war, and how all military actions are motivated by personal wishes of those in power, which are almost always silly. I read somewhere that the author himself was a bombardier during the war, so one can presume that the character is autobiographical, or the author's ideal of himself at the very least.

The character of Yossarian is best summed up by one of his exchanges with his camp doctor Doc Daneeka. He says that he doesn't want to fly missions anymore, because he didn't want to get killed. The doc (who was slightly more patriotic, given that he never had to fly) asked him what he thought would happen if everyone thought that way. To which Yossarian replies, 'Then I'd be a damned fool to want to fly, wouldn't I?' The character of Yossarian captured the imagination of millions of people, who always wondered whether or not he survived the war (doing my best to maintain ambivalence regarding the end of the book). Well, he did, which was confirmed by a later novel by the same author, Closing Time, which spoke of Yossarian's life after the war. This novel was clearly motivated by the public's strong interest in the hero, epitomized by some placard that the author saw someone holding somewhere, (I have absolutely no specific idea, as you no doubt guessed) saying 'Yossarian Lives!'.

But let me speak a bit more about the title. Readers come across catch 22 situations many times in the book. But the one situation that best exemplifies the title is the rule which says that an insane person need not fly missions. However, if an insane person were to come up to a military doctor and say that he was insane, such an action would be motivated by an urge to protect oneself, which is a highly rational and sane wish. In short, an insane person need not fly, but pointing this out would mean that the person is sane, as only sane people would have a strong desire not to fly. Being proven sane, the person would have to continue flying. Pretty impressive, huh! Yossarian thought so too, when he first heard it.

This kind of catch 22 is fairly similar to a problem in economics that we call The Prisoner's Dilemma. Consider two people, who have been captured by the police, and whom the police are attempting to get a confession out of. If neither confesses, both get a jail term of 2 years. If one of them confesses, however, the other gets a jail term of 10 years, while the confessor gets only 1 year. If both confess, they each get 5 years. The optimal solution here, for both prisoners, is for neither to confess. However, this will not happen, as there is a fear of the other prisoner betraying you. What always happens, (and there are economic terms for this of course, all of which sound really sophisticated) is that both prisoners confess, and get a jail term of 5 years. Thus, while this is clearly not the best combined decision, no other decision will ever be made, because the best independent decision for either prisoner is to confess. Kapish?

So please read the book, if you can. Or see the movie; it's an exhaustive take on the book. You won't regret it at all. However, there's another very hilarious character, whom I must mention. The mess officer of the camp, Milo Minderbinder, hits upon a fantastic plan to make money off the war. He uses restocking the mess as an excuse to fly around all over Europe, buying and selling stuff to collect margins for a 'syndicate', which no one knows whether one is a member of. Milo, of course, insists that 'everyone has a share'. Well, so Milo ends up with the entire cotton crop of Egypt, which he then tries to include in mess food (but he isn't a domineering tyrant, so he coats the cotton balls with chocolate syrup). In another absolutely ROFL moment, he and his accomplices take off in the camp's own planes, off the camp's own runway, to bombard the very same runway. Obviously, everyone on camp had a share in the contract which Milo entered into … with the Germans! Anyway, read this book, and tell me what you think.