Neel Mukherjee’s The Lives of the Others has been shortlisted for The 2014 Booker Prize. Mukherjee’s epic Kolkata-set family saga […]
Indira Chandrasekhar is the Founding Editor of Out of Print magazine that focuses on short fiction. She shares with Kitaab her thoughts on the DNA Out of Print short fiction contest, how it came about and how it works.
Out of Print is a magazine that focuses on short fiction. We are a quarterly, offering a stringent selection of carefully edited short stories every three months. The stories all bear some connection to the Indian subcontinent.
Tell us about the DNA Out of Print short fiction contest. How did it start?
The contest, like many interesting confluences, came about in a wonderfully serendipitous way. A common interest in literature led to a conversation in writer Sanjay Bahadur’s drawing room between poet and novelist C P Surendran who is Editor-in-Chief of DNA and Indira Chandrasekhar, Founding Editor of Out of Print, which very quickly veered to the seed of what is now the DNA-Out of Print Short Fiction Contest.
Of course, the idea was then developed and detailed, but even the theme and format were fixed in the surge of that initial moment.
This anthology of literary voices from Sri Lanka offers a unique “opportunity to know a country and its various cultures in a holistic way,” says Kitaab’s fiction editor Monideepa Sahu
Edited by Shyam Selvadurai
In a war-torn land where people are trying to heal deep wounds in the aftermath of widespread devastation, the anthologist hopes to provide “an opportunity to build bridges across the divided communities.”
This literary bouquet will excite readers everywhere by offering an intricate mosaic depicting Sri Lanka’s peoples and their cultures. Translations from Tamil and Sinhala are also included to give a faithful representation of Sri Lanka’s ethnic and literary diversity.
For Indian readers, this collection shows how similar we are beneath the superficial differences. It also serves as a warning, portraying the dire consequences, the stupendous human toll, that results when neighbouring linguistic and religious communities sharing the same homeland push their differences to the point of fratricide.
It is a novel that raises and puts on the table truths-that-must-not-be-named as we collectively collude in an unspoken conspiracy to paper over the unseemly pockmarked aspects of the accepted model of ‘development’. The putrid underbelly under the glossy ‘modern’ feel is exposed as the author fixes her clinical gaze through her narrator on the unacknowledged recesses and crannies of urbanisation, says Preeta Menon in this review
Author: Kavery Nambisan
Publisher: Aleph, India
There is a sense of déjà vu when you read this quiet unpretentious novel; and you realize that the title primes you for it. A Town Like Ours is full of characters and stories that seem to be a part of something or someone we have heard of, read about or know. It zooms in on the otherwise neglected territory of emerging small town India with its unapologetic local flavour, through which Nambisan fashions a commentary on the larger picture. It is a novel that raises and puts on the table truths-that-must-not-be-named as we collectively collude in an unspoken conspiracy to paper over the unseemly pockmarked aspects of the accepted model of ‘development’. The putrid underbelly under the glossy ‘modern’ feel is exposed as the author fixes her clinical gaze through her narrator on the unacknowledged recesses and crannies of urbanization.
National Library Board CEO Elaine Ng says it has found a “means and method” to put controversial children’s books in the adult section of the library: CNA
The National Library Board (NLB) will move the children’s titles that have been the subject of recent controversy to the adult’s section, and plans to create “more transparent review processes” for its books, CEO Elaine Ng said on Friday (July 18). The announcement follows instructions from Communications and Information Minister Yaacob Ibrahim to reinstate the books in a separate section.
The Bangladeshi-British writer on news versus novels, swapping rural poverty for Wall Street, and “the power of story on the human mind”: Guernica
The American physicist Richard P. Feynman once spoke of the “difference between knowing the name of something and knowing something.” It’s a distinction that seems important in Zia Haider Rahman’s first novel, In The Light Of What We Know, which spans several decades and flies us between London, New York, Islamabad, and Kabul. Many of the characters have had the chance to get acquainted with Yale University’s motto, “Lux et Veritas.” But few have had the bone-deep experience of poverty and struggle that can lead to a different kind of knowing—an awareness that there are things you can’t be taught in the Ivy League; that there are different lights and different truths depending on matters of simple caprice: “the circumstances of our parents, the home and inheritance, the unearned talents…” Some kinds of knowledge go no deeper than language—are unaccompanied by experience or empathy—and the novel’s most memorable zingers are reserved for “that breed of international development experts unsparing in its love for all humanity but having no interest in people.”
China’s Beijingcream has extended their flash fiction deadline until this Sunday.
“Submit stories 500-700 words to firstname.lastname@example.org before 11:59 pm this Sunday for a chance to read your piece over beers at Great Leap Brewing’s Original No. 6 courtyard on Sunday, July 13. If you need any inspiration, check out the piece that just went up on the Anthill about the heartache of being alone in a city of 21 million.
She was an art student from Beijing, and said she drank so she could get a good night’s sleep. I wondered what personal tragedy, heartache or sadness was at the bottom of her glass.
Shafts of humour help to illuminate this brilliantly bleak satire on the ‘one family, one child’ policy: The Guardian
If a criticism must be made of Ma Jian’s devastating and powerful attack on contemporary Chinese oppression, elegantly translated by his wife Flora Drew, it lies less in the writing and more in the society described. Jian, who researched the novel while posing as an official reporter in the backwaters of China, depicts a terrifyingly random world in which the “one family, one child” policy of population engineering is stuck to with such rigid adherence that mothers-to-be can be seized, taken to down-at-heel makeshift clinics and forcibly aborted, often at extremely late stages in pregnancy.