After reading the Indra Devi book I was curious about finding a book on yoga more relevant to a modern, non-1950s-Hollywood practice. I’ve browsed Iyengar’s Light on Yoga before and didn’t feel very inclined to take it on, even avoiding the main bulk of it that is comprised of explicit instructions on poses, which isn’t really what I’m looking for. Desikachar is the son of Krishnamacharya, so this seemed worth checking out.

This book could function both as an overview for someone with limited knowledge of yoga or a bit of perspective for someone who is already practicing. There’s a chapter about developing a good sequence of poses that build on each other in a good way, using appropriate counterposes, as well as some instructions on pranayama (breath work). But mostly Desikachar discusses more of the philosophical aspects of yoga. I like that he stresses that it doesn’t necessarily have to be about religion or any specific religion. Some of these chapters I skipped because they were more than I was interested in thinking about for the moment, if ever. The book finishes with the entirety of the Yoga Sutras and some poems by Krishnamacharya, which I also didn’t feel like I needed to read right now.

This reads like it could have been a screenplay, and I spent most of the book thinking what a great movie it would be—a little David Lynch but in good ways.

As a novel it’s a little bit flat, but I still enjoyed the experiment in perspective. It seems as if there are a lot more characters interacting on one storyline, so while the book is very quiet in nature—everything takes place one night in (mostly) downtown Tokyo… the descriptions of this atmosphere are some of my favorite parts of the book—it also feels oddly crowded for Murakami. There’s one scene where there are five people in one room at the same time, and that seemed significant to me. Some aspects of the story don’t quite come together at the end, but overall I didn’t feel let down as some fans seem to be, judging from reviews.

I was a little distracted at the beginning when the first chapter opens inside a Denny’s in Tokyo; I kept wondering if it was a Americanized translation and what could the real diner be called? But it’s true, there are Denny’s in Japan. A 7/11 also features as a recurring setting. Both of which made me think about these quotes about translating from Japanese, one about Murakami specifically.

After reading Lighthousekeeping back in March, I had a feeling I’d come back to this again. Sure enough I was waiting for some things from the library and pulled my copy out—the top spine corner of the paperback is bent in from being shoved into boxes each of the five hundred times I’ve moved. This is probably one of the few books I’ve had since high school and continued to hold onto through each sifting and purging. It seems that I last re-read this book in 2002, so it’s probably the third or fourth time I’ve read this?

In any case, I have definitely moved a bit away from Winterson’s style. There’s a lot I still like about this book, certain passages with lovely language and atmosphere. But overall it feels haphazard. The recurring “I’m telling you stories. Trust me.” motif seemed forced and many times out of character for the narrating character’s point of view. I love how she writes about Venice and Napoleon, but the main characters aren’t as interesting. Even the web-footed boatman’s daughter can’t compete.

Despite the cues and markers that this story is taking place in the 1800s, it still feels very modern. It’s historical fiction Sofia Coppola style. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Reading up online about ashtanga yoga, I came across a mention of Indra Devi, who was one of three influential yoga teachers who studied with Krishnamacharya (Pattabhi Jois and Iyengar being the other two). I was intrigued about her as she was born in pre-communist Latvia and spent many years in India; then she was the first person to make yoga fashionable to the U.S., teaching movie stars and other famous people in Hollywood. She moved to Argentina in the 1980s until her death in 2002 (she was 102 years old, hardcore yogis live long lives).

This book was written during her time in the U.S., and the copy I got from the library is a printing from 1969 with plugs written by Ruth St. Denis and Gloria Swanson on the cover. Certain aspects of the book are essentially timeless, some incredibly dated. The most interesting parts were about the healing nature of yoga, specifically how it moderates the endocrine glands.

Not the most definitive or lasting text on yoga, but interesting nonetheless.