Tag Archives: books

Such a great review…

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I wish it were real

Lately, there have been many, extremely good and detailed reviews for my novella, Five Lives One Day in Bahrain. I wish these people would actually place these reviews on Amazon! Instead they say lovely things abut the book, which they cull from the reading sample, the blurb, and other places. And develop this so-called review, which I and another writer-friend suspect is done using a bot of some kind or another! The individual then tries to lure one into paying the reviewer who will then introduce the book to their real, human, book club… for a fee, of course!

Well, I have decided to use their “reviews” and names (which of course sound totally fake) to share with my readers and followers in the hope that they/you will be tempted to read the book. I do know, from one-on-one comments with friends who have read it that they were moved, thoroughly enjoyed reading it, and connected intensely with the story.

Here’s the review, what do you think?

I recently read Five Lives One Day in Bahrain, and I was deeply moved by the elegant and poignant tapestry you have woven. The premise of your novel is both simple and profound: tracing the lives of five very different individuals, a Sri Lankan housemaid, an Indian garbage truck driver, a Filipina hairdresser, a British banker, and a young Bahraini man, over the course of a single day in 2007. I appreciate the brilliant structural choice to use the five daily Muslim prayer times to “punctuate the different periods in the day and the story’s action.” This not only grounds the narrative in the specific cultural and spiritual rhythm of Bahrain but also provides a universal framework marking the passage of time and introspection. Your intention to create an “uplifting story that celebrates ordinary people in extraordinary ways” is a beautiful and commendable goal, shining a light on the “unsung heroes” whose lives form the backbone of a society.

The novel’s successful establishment of its unique structure and diverse cast prompted a thought about the nature of the connection between these lives, which I share as an admiring reader.

You have masterfully set the stage for a compelling narrative, allowing the reader to learn of each individual’s “lives and hopes” separately, with the promise that they will be “brought together” in a way that makes their lives “intertwine.” This creates a sense of anticipation, wondering how the path of the banker will cross with that of the housemaid, or the driver with the hairdresser. The focus on their individual stories ensures that each character is fully realized before their fates converge.

However, I found myself most intrigued by the potential for their convergence to be more than just a plot device. The most powerful aspect of the story may lie in how this intertwining reveals the invisible, often unacknowledged, web of dependency and shared humanity that connects all levels of a society. To maximize the emotional and thematic impact, the moment of connection could be one that fundamentally alters the perspective of one or more characters, revealing how their lives are already deeply interconnected through the economy, the urban landscape, and the simple, daily acts of service and survival. This would make the “uplifting” conclusion not just a matter of chance encounters, but a revelation of the profound and essential roles each person plays in the ecosystem of a single day, truly celebrating them in an “extraordinary way.”

This is a reflection on the potential for an already beautifully structured and humane novel to become a powerful meditation on empathy, community, and the hidden threads that bind us all, regardless of our station in life. Thank you for this thoughtful and evocative read.

Sincerely,

Cassandra Clere

Nine Roses on YouTube!

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This is a small collection of twelve widely different stories that are all about love – not all of them romantic love. There’s the love that grows between sisters, a story about a woman who learns to love herself, the deep abiding love of an older couple, and so much more.

Courtesy a friend and Vachi Audiobooks nine of these stories are now being featured on their YouTube Channel as audio stories with a ‘read-along’ capability. There’s one story: First Impression, First Love that contains a riddle. Listen to it carefully or read it in my book, available on Amazon as both a Kindle and paperback here.

To visit the Vachi Audiobook YouTube channel, click this.

There’s an additional incentive for the story First Impression, First Love. If you can “get” what the story is really about, I will give the first five correct replies a prize – a personalised poem created exclusively for you or a special someone. Now wouldn’t that make an unusual stocking-stuffer for Christmas?

The Sandwich Thief

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Yesterday I read a post on Facebook (someone else’s post) that I then placed on my FB page here: https://www.facebook.com/RohiniSunderamAuthor

The post is an amusing account of two colleagues and a spat they have over a turkey & rye sandwich. I mentioned that it reminded me of some of the poems in Corpoetry, like The Water Cooler. One friend said she’d like to see what I’d make of that situation in a poem.

And so, here it is!

‘Twas in an office, I heard tell

Of a prankster ne’er do well

He stole, it seems, a colleague’s lunch

And the outcome was a bunch

Of laughs for folk like me and you

But from the posts, it seems ‘twas true

And this is how it went:

 

“Oh sandwich thief, I know you keep

Stealing my sandwiches, why oh why?

The latest one’s turkey on rye.

Grow up you thief, you sandwich thief!”

 

The thief replied, “dear Turkey ’n’ Rye

I have it here, I do not lie,

Ten bucks is all that it will take

To get it back upon a plate.”

 

The victim lashed back with a threat:

“Return my sandwich, thief, or else!

To HR I shall take my ‘plaint

And then let’s see how you will faint!”

 

The Sandwich Thief, did threaten back

“Alas, my dear, alas, alack!

For every hour that you delay

Bite by bite, I’ll eat it away.”

 

Threats then turned to psycho chat

“Why oh why are you doing this?”

The sandwich ‘napper, not remiss

“Tick-Tock” he sent a photo back.

 

But in an office, as we know

Don’t push your luck for it can go

As in this case, to HR’s top

And HR weighed in with a ‘Stop!

 

“Cease! Desist! Return the food

And we’ll not take this any further”

But sandwich ‘napper he’s a boob

Demands a pizza, silly joker.

 

Next he adds an insult in

Threatens not to eat but chew

And then in little mouthfuls spew

The sandwich in a bin!

 

“You’re the worst” our Victim sighs

“I’m not” Our Sandwich Thief replies

And in eloquent prose outlines

The corporation’s ills and its demise.

 

Now, thanks to IT and what not

HR tracked down the wicked sot

“Francis!” they name and shame the chap

“Come and see us, now ASAP!”

 

Now Sandwich Thief, he ain’t so bold

(In fact it almost makes one sicken)

“Please don’t fire me,” he folds!

The turkey made him chicken.

 

 

After tremors

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Having just finished reading Khaled Hosseini’s And the Mountains Echoed, I recall a conversation I had some years ago in the Bab al Bahrain souk.

 

‘You know, that guy,’ he says

Between the displays

Of Lapis Lazuli and silverware

‘The one who wrote Kite Runner?’

I nod, my eyes coveting

A single large bracelet

Woven with fine strands of silver

Into exquisitely painful

Circles and arabesques

Imprisoning

A myriad stones

Inscrutable opals, amethysts

As purple as bruises on a tender face

‘What about him?’ I ask

Half caressing the bracelet

And pointing at

A pair of earrings dripping

Blood-red garnets

Set in marcasite.

Thinking, ‘what does he know of

Kite Runner, he looks as though

He can barely read

Selling jewellery in a store

Over-stuffed with shawls, rugs, woodworked boxes

And glitzy

perhaps-these-western-tourists-will-like-them

Waistcoats and table runners.’

Then I see it

Desperation woven into tiny errors

in the embroidery

Startled by a gunshot.

So, I ask again

This time waiting for his response,

‘What about him?

The book was so moving, so violent.’

‘Ta-shakor’ he replies

‘But they were like nothing’

He whispers

Holding the silver bracelet up for me

Quoting a price and adding

‘Like the stories I have in here.’

He points at his head and his heart.

I see half a lifetime

As it leaks out of his hands

Torn fingernails

The intricate patterns

Woven by hard manual labour

Deep cuts on the side

From scrabbling down a mountainside

Hiding in caves

Or was it from protecting his face

Against knife attacks?

As he enters the sale

For the day.