A friend let me borrow the book Svera Jang written by Seema Gill. It seemed very promissing, written by a woman originally from India who later lived in Denmark, various countries in Africa and eventually in England. It also promised to be very personal.
I love reading. It’s one of my favourite things to do and a good excuse while commuting or waiting, to hold your book as a barrier against people around you. But I also know that when I start being reluctant to read, I don’t really like the book I’m lugging around with me. Svera Jang is unfortunately one of those books. It’s one where I wonder why I even decided to continue reading with so many books on my wish-list. I suddenly prefer my mp3 to keep me company on the tube rather than my book.
I really wanted to like this book. It’s well written and in a very unusual style, with poetry to complement the story. Gill must have lived an extraordinary life but the book only gives a glimps of it and as I near the end of the book, I’m still wondering what her life story is and I feel a little bit let down that I have grasped so few of the facts.
A writer as good as Gill, should be appreciated and I hope that I’m simply not her reader.