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normtheminotaur's review
5.0
When I heard that Manto was a writer that was continually boycotted and banned in India, I figured it was because of the typical "puritanical culture reaction to media" reasons but after reading these stories, some of them are DARK. Still, Manto writes in such a beautiful manner and develops exquisite scenes, it's no wonder he is considered the best Urdu writer. Wholeheartedly recommend this book of short stories.
aabha's review
3.0
I have a lot of scattered thoughts about this. For one manto is an unrealized talent. No that came out wrong.
He’s extremely talented. His stories lack plot but they make up for it in gorgeous descriptive detail. He was living in poverty, persecuted repeatedly by the government of both India and Pakistan for writing with sometimes horrifying truth about his fellow citizens. This poverty and dearth of intellectual acceptance from his countrymen clearly shaped his extremely dim worldview. I get that. But reading it can get real depressing. And I love dark depressing books. This collection was a bit of a downer, even for me.
Also can someone clarify the Uncle Sam letters for me? He seems to have contradictory thoughts from one line to the next, praising American freedom of speech to being bitter about how rich America is to how beautiful American women’s legs are and then to how America needs to stop interfering in Pakistani politics and then to how American culture is a “show off.”
I can’t help but think if he was born in America he would have been one of the best known literary talents of the world and dominated literature. And his stories could have been even more. His genius shining through universal themes and ideas. The world would behold his gifts. Instead he wasted away, drinking poisonous locally brewed illegal liquor, fighting for his right to write the truth, unable to afford a decent life for himself and his family.
Saddens me, how we treat our artists. Actually in countries like India, Pakistan etc survival trumps art. We persecute, underpay, undervalue, oppress, victimize truthful art. We fear it. Because to acknowledge it would mean we need to change. That’s hard work. Not work that we feel equipped to deal with because the burden of our everyday lives seems too heavy to have any additional work. And the cycle perpetuates.
Anyway, back to the book. I sincerely enjoyed parts of it. Some sentences were so beautiful I was a bit stunned for a few moments. And I had a lot of pondering to do. So I would recommend this. Read with an open mind(as you should all books) and step into the filth and muck of Indian society.
He’s extremely talented. His stories lack plot but they make up for it in gorgeous descriptive detail. He was living in poverty, persecuted repeatedly by the government of both India and Pakistan for writing with sometimes horrifying truth about his fellow citizens. This poverty and dearth of intellectual acceptance from his countrymen clearly shaped his extremely dim worldview. I get that. But reading it can get real depressing. And I love dark depressing books. This collection was a bit of a downer, even for me.
Also can someone clarify the Uncle Sam letters for me? He seems to have contradictory thoughts from one line to the next, praising American freedom of speech to being bitter about how rich America is to how beautiful American women’s legs are and then to how America needs to stop interfering in Pakistani politics and then to how American culture is a “show off.”
I can’t help but think if he was born in America he would have been one of the best known literary talents of the world and dominated literature. And his stories could have been even more. His genius shining through universal themes and ideas. The world would behold his gifts. Instead he wasted away, drinking poisonous locally brewed illegal liquor, fighting for his right to write the truth, unable to afford a decent life for himself and his family.
Saddens me, how we treat our artists. Actually in countries like India, Pakistan etc survival trumps art. We persecute, underpay, undervalue, oppress, victimize truthful art. We fear it. Because to acknowledge it would mean we need to change. That’s hard work. Not work that we feel equipped to deal with because the burden of our everyday lives seems too heavy to have any additional work. And the cycle perpetuates.
Anyway, back to the book. I sincerely enjoyed parts of it. Some sentences were so beautiful I was a bit stunned for a few moments. And I had a lot of pondering to do. So I would recommend this. Read with an open mind(as you should all books) and step into the filth and muck of Indian society.
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