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Life of Pi: A Novel Kindle Edition
NOW ON BROADWAY
The international bestseller and modern classic of adventure, survival, and the power of storytelling is now an award-winning play.
After the sinking of a cargo ship, a solitary lifeboat remains bobbing on the wild blue Pacific. The only survivors from the wreck are a sixteen-year-old boy named Pi, a hyena, a wounded zebra, an orangutan—and a 450-pound Royal Bengal tiger.
Soon the tiger has dispatched all but Pi Patel, whose fear, knowledge, and cunning allow him to coexist with the tiger, Richard Parker, for 227 days while lost at sea. When they finally reach the coast of Mexico, Richard Parker flees to the jungle, never to be seen again.
The Japanese authorities who interrogate Pi refuse to believe his story and press him to tell them "the truth." After hours of coercion, Pi tells a second story, a story much less fantastical, much more conventional—but is it more true?
Life of Pi is at once a realistic, rousing adventure and a meta-tale of survival that explores the redemptive power of storytelling and the transformative nature of fiction. It's a story, as one character puts it, to make you believe in God.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherMariner Books Classics
- Publication dateJune 4, 2002
- Reading age14 years and up
- File size1621 KB
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What's it about?
A sixteen-year-old boy, a hyena, a zebra, an orangutan, and a 450-pound Royal Bengal tiger are the only survivors of a cargo ship wreck in the Pacific Ocean.Popular highlight
To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.14,363 Kindle readers highlighted thisPopular highlight
All living things contain a measure of madness that moves them in strange, sometimes inexplicable ways.8,666 Kindle readers highlighted thisPopular highlight
I must say a word about fear. It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life.5,853 Kindle readers highlighted this
From the Publisher
Editorial Reviews
Amazon.com Review
An award winner in Canada, Life of Pi, Yann Martel's second novel, should prove to be a breakout book in the U.S. At one point in his journey, Pi recounts, "My greatest wish--other than salvation--was to have a book. A long book with a never-ending story. One that I could read again and again, with new eyes and fresh understanding each time." It's safe to say that the fabulous, fablelike Life of Pi is such a book. --Brad Thomas Parsons
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
From Library Journal
Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
From Booklist
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Review
—AudioFile [Earphones Award Winner]
From the Inside Flap
A boy. A tiger. And the vast Pacific Ocean.
This is a novel of such rare and wondrous storytelling that it may, as one character claims, make you believe in God.
Can a reader ask for anything more?
This is a book that has been read, treasured, and shared by millions of readers. It is a book that, since its publication just ten years ago, has been translated into forty-one languages and is sold inforty-five countries. It has been compared to Robinson Crusoe and Aesop s fables, the work of Ernest Hemingway, Margaret Atwood, Salman Rushdie, and Joseph Conrad. It is an adventure and a survival story, a proof of life and faith, a challenge to our sense of the possible, the universal, and the miraculous. It is, in fact, a modern classic.
Open these pages and slip into a wondrous world, despite being almost entirely confined to a lifeboat, wholly expands our understanding of ourselves, the world, and the joys and responsibilities of our place in it.
"
From the Back Cover
AN INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER
MORE THAN SEVEN MILLION COPIES SOLD
New York Times Bestseller * Los Angeles Times Bestseller * Washington Post Bestseller * San Francisco Chronicle Bestseller * Chicago Tribune Bestseller
"A story to make you believe in the soul-sustaining power of fiction."—Los Angeles Times Book Review
"Nothing short of miraculous. It's an adventure tale so filled with love for the animal kingdom that it ought to roar."—Denver Post
"Although the book reverberates with echoes from sources as disparate at Robinson Crusoe and Aesop's fables, the work it most strongly recalls is Ernest Hemingway's own foray into existentialist parable, The Old Man and the Sea."—The New York Times Book Review
"A fantastical tale."—USA Today
"A real adventure: brutal, tender, expressive, dramatic, and disarmingly funny."—San Francisco Chronicle
"Readers familiar with Margaret Atwood, Mavis Gallant, Alice Munro, Michael Ondaatje and Carol Shields should learn to make room on the map of contemporary Canadian fiction for the formidable Yann Martel."—Chicago Tribune
"Fantastic in nearly every sense of the word, Life of Pi is a gripping adventure story, a parable about the place of human beings in the universe and a tantalizing work of metafiction . . . Laced with wit, spiced with terror, it's a book by an extraordinary talent."—San Jose Mercury News
"If this century produces a classic work of survival literature, Martel is surely a contender."—The Nation
—
About the Author
YANN MARTEL was born in Spain in 1963 to diplomat parents. He grew up in Alaska, Canada, Costa Rica, France, and Mexico before settling in Montreal. His novel Life of Pi won the Booker Prize.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Life of Pi
By Yann MartelHighBridge Audio
Copyright © 2003 Yann MartelAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9781565117792
Chapter One
My suffering left me sad and gloomy.
Academic study and the steady, mindful practice of religion slowly brought me back to life. I have remained a faithful Hindu, Christian and Muslim. I decided to stay in Toronto. After one year of high school, I attended the University of Toronto and took a double-major Bachelor's degree. My majors were religious studies and zoology. My fourth-year thesis for religious studies concerned certain aspects of the cosmogony theory of Isaac Luria, the great sixteenth-century Kabbalist from Safed. My zoology thesis was a functional analysis of the thyroid gland of the three-toed sloth. I chose the sloth because its demeanour-calm, quiet and introspective-did something to soothe my shattered self.
There are two-toed sloths and there are three-toed sloths, the case being determined by the forepaws of the animals, since all sloths have three claws on their hind paws. I had the great luck one summer of studying the three-toed sloth in situ in the equatorial jungles of Brazil. It is a highly intriguing creature. Its only real habit is indolence. It sleeps or rests on average twenty hours a day. Our team tested the sleep habits of five wild three-toed sloths by placing on their heads, in the early evening after they had fallen asleep, bright red plastic dishes filled with water. We found them still in place late the next morning, the water of the dishes swarming with insects. The sloth is at its busiest at sunset, using the word busy here in a most relaxed sense. It moves along the bough of a tree in its characteristic upside-down position at the speed of roughly 400 metres an hour. On the ground, it crawls to its next tree at the rate of 250 metres an hour, when motivated, which is 440 times slower than a motivated cheetah. Unmotivated, it covers four to five metres in an hour.
The three-toed sloth is not well informed about the outside world. On a scale of 2 to 10, where 2 represents unusual dullness and 10 extreme acuity, Beebe (1926) gave the sloth's senses of taste, touch, sight and hearing a rating of 2, and its sense of smell a rating of 3. If you come upon a sleeping three-toed sloth in the wild, two or three nudges should suffice to awaken it; it will then look sleepily in every direction but yours. Why it should look about is uncertain since the sloth sees everything in a Magoo-like blur. As for hearing, the sloth is not so much deaf as uninterested in sound. Beebe reported that firing guns next to sleeping or feeding sloths elicited little reaction. And the sloth's slightly better sense of smell should not be overestimated. They are said to be able to sniff and avoid decayed branches, but Bullock (1968) reported that sloths fall to the ground clinging to decayed branches "often".
How does it survive, you might ask.
Precisely by being so slow. Sleepiness and slothfulness keep it out of harm's way, away from the notice of jaguars, ocelots, harpy eagles and anacondas. A sloth's hairs shelter an algae that is brown during the dry season and green during the wet season, so the animal blends in with the surrounding moss and foliage and looks like a nest of white ants or of squirrels, or like nothing at all but part of a tree.
The three-toed sloth lives a peaceful, vegetarian life in perfect harmony with its environment. "A good-natured smile is forever on its lips," reported Tirler (1966). I have seen that smile with my own eyes. I am not one given to projecting human traits and emotions onto animals, but many a time during that month in Brazil, looking up at sloths in repose, I felt I was in the presence of upside-down yogis deep in meditation or hermits deep in prayer, wise beings whose intense imaginative lives were beyond the reach of my scientific probing.
Sometimes I got my majors mixed up. A number of my fellow religious-studies students-muddled agnostics who didn't know which way was up, in the thrall of reason, that fool's gold for the bright-reminded me of the three-toed sloth; and the three-toed sloth, such a beautiful example of the miracle of life, reminded me of God.
I never had problems with my fellow scientists. Scientists are a friendly, atheistic, hard-working, beer-drinking lot whose minds are preoccupied with sex, chess and baseball when they are not preoccupied with science.
I was a very good student, if I may say so myself. I was tops at St. Michael's College four years in a row. I got every possible student award from the Department of Zoology. If I got none from the Department of Religious Studies, it is simply because there are no student awards in this department (the rewards of religious study are not in mortal hands, we all know that). I would have received the Governor General's Academic Medal, the University of Toronto's highest undergraduate award, of which no small number of illustrious Canadians have been recipients, were it not for a beef-eating pink boy with a neck like a tree trunk and a temperament of unbearable good cheer.
I still smart a little at the slight. When you've suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling. My life is like a memento mori painting from European art: there is always a grinning skull at my side to remind me of the folly of human ambition. I mock this skull. I look at it and I say, "You've got the wrong fellow. You may not believe in life, but I don't believe in death. Move on!" The skull snickers and moves ever closer, but that doesn't surprise me. The reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity-it's envy. Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud. The pink boy also got the nod from the Rhodes Scholarship committee. I love him and I hope his time at Oxford was a rich experience. If Lakshmi, goddess of wealth, one day favours me bountifully, Oxford is fifth on the list of cities I would like to visit before I pass on, after Mecca, Varanasi, Jerusalem and Paris.
I have nothing to say of my working life, only that a tie is a noose, and inverted though it is, it will hang a man nonetheless if he's not careful.
I love Canada. I miss the heat of India, the food, the house lizards on the walls, the musicals on the silver screen, the cows wandering the streets, the crows cawing, even the talk of cricket matches, but I love Canada. It is a great country much too cold for good sense, inhabited by compassionate, intelligent people with bad hairdos. Anyway, I have nothing to go home to in Pondicherry.
Richard Parker has stayed with me. I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. That pain is like an axe that chops at my heart.
The doctors and nurses at the hospital in Mexico were incredibly kind to me. And the patients, too. Victims of cancer or car accidents, once they heard my story, they hobbled and wheeled over to see me, they and their families, though none of them spoke English and I spoke no Spanish. They smiled at me, shook my hand, patted me on the head, left gifts of food and clothing on my bed. They moved me to uncontrollable fits of laughing and crying.
Within a couple of days I could stand, even make two, three steps, despite nausea, dizziness and general weakness. Blood tests revealed that I was anemic, and that my level of sodium was very high and my potassium low. My body retained fluids and my legs swelled up tremendously. I looked as if I had been grafted with a pair of elephant legs. My urine was a deep, dark yellow going on to brown. After a week or so, I could walk just about normally and I could wear shoes if I didn't lace them up. My skin healed, though I still have scars on my shoulders and back.
The first time I turned a tap on, its noisy, wasteful, superabundant gush was such a shock that I became incoherent and my legs collapsed beneath me and I fainted in the arms of a nurse.
The first time I went to an Indian restaurant in Canada I used my fingers. The waiter looked at me critically and said, "Fresh off the boat, are you?" I blanched. My fingers, which a second before had been taste buds savouring the food a little ahead of my mouth, became dirty under his gaze. They froze like criminals caught in the act. I didn't dare lick them. I wiped them guiltily on my napkin. He had no idea how deeply those words wounded me. They were like nails being driven into my flesh. I picked up the knife and fork. I had hardly ever used such instruments. My hands trembled. My sambar lost its taste.
Continues...
Excerpted from Life of Piby Yann Martel Copyright © 2003 by Yann Martel. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- ASIN : B0070Y46UY
- Publisher : Mariner Books Classics (June 4, 2002)
- Publication date : June 4, 2002
- Language : English
- File size : 1621 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 352 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 0156027321
- Best Sellers Rank: #24,221 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #43 in Psychological Literary Fiction
- #65 in Sea Stories
- #276 in Coming of Age Fiction (Kindle Store)
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About the author
Winner of the 2002 Man Booker Prize for Fiction
Yann Martel, the son of diplomats, was born in Spain in 1963. He grew up in Costa Rica, France, Mexico, Alaska, and Canada and as an adult has spent time in Iran, Turkey, and India. After studying philosophy in college, he worked at various odd jobs until he began earning his living as a writer at the age of twenty-seven. He lives in Montreal.
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Now, for my own version of Life of P.I. (Pine Island, that is). This won't mean much to you if you haven't read the original Life of Pi:
I find myself living on an island in SW Florida. I am trying to survive it until I find another place to land. Living here is hard because it's a place where people fish, or drink alcohol, or both. That's pretty much IT. The activities are not mutually exclusive, and both activities can begin at daybreak. I neither fish, nor drink, so I have to find other activities to keep me busy. Having found much beauty and solace in the great outdoors in the past, I've tried hiking through P.I.'s overgrown woodlands. I've tried kayaking the many waterways on and around the island. I've greased up my green thumb, and tried planting a garden, a rewarding pursuit in my past, living in other places. Here? All of those things are horribly disappointing! The air is thick with biting insects, some of whom could kill you if you're allergic or there's a mosquito-borne virus in the area. Fire ants crawl up your legs and deliver a fiercely painful bite--not one, but hundreds, all together now "let's really hurt this person." The bites fester and swell with pus and angry redness; infection often follows. There are poisonous brown recluse spiders who hide in your kayak and garden, lurking there to bite and possibly kill you, too. Never mind the snakes! Snakes lurking in the woods, in the water, in your garden. Rattlers, cottonmouths, coral snakes. You can never be too careful! Behemoth alligators swim whereever it's wet....beware! Did I mention the heat? It's relentless...burning, smothering, wet, nasty and oppressive. You can never escape it, night or day. The sky seems to be bearing down on you. And forget hurricane season! It's so nerve-racking and dangerous. Best to stay indoors and hope the air conditioner never stops working in home or car. This place is hell on earth!
or, if you'd prefer I can tell you the story of P.I. without all the animals, at least not the nasty ones:
Have I told you about my home, P.I. (Pine Island)? What a glorious place! The island folk are laid-back and friendly--they'll invite you out to fish on their boat or buy you a beer at the local saloon the first time they meet you. I was here during Hurricane Charley which was unpleasant and nerve-racking, but afterwards the people on this island pulled together and helped each other put our lives back together, like nothing I've ever seen. "Love thy Neighbor" truly practiced here...The island is luxuriant and forested--the predominant colors here are blue (the water and the sky) and green (the color of the woods that keep this island different from other barrier islands.) Oh, and I shouldn't forget the multicolored flowers, dragonflies and butterflies that flourish here in island gardens, along the roadsides, and in the woods. Large pink birds and brilliant white ones can be seen flying across clear blue skies or brilliant sunsets over the gulf. The warmth here embraces like a light blanket even when people in the north are shivering under real ones. At night the air is filled with the sound of bald eagles calling to their mates, and the delicious aroma of night blooming jasmine. There's so much to do! Fishing, hiking, kayaking, birding, gardening, trying to spot native wildlife, socializing with the locals. This place is heaven on earth!
Which version is true? I wrote them both, and on different days have believed both versions. Just like The Life of PI.
Why do we choose to tell the stories that we tell in the way that we tell them? Is it to portray unembellished reality or do we chose our narrative in service to a deeper purpose? In the novel Life of Pi, Yann Martel suggests that stories are how we find meaning in the universe; they are a path to God. Martel's characters tell stories that provide comfort, explain hardship, and provide inspiration without being literally factual. The author takes pains to remind the reader that the book itself is a work of fiction and that the literal representation of the truth is not his priority. In fact, Martel seems to say that sometimes we must abandon literal truth if we want to find meaning in the universe. If we fail to look beyond the literal truth in search of something deeper, we will "lack imagination and miss the better story"--we may fail to find God (Martel, 2007, p. 64).
Piscine Molitor Patel, known as Pi, is the titular character of the novel. The book's central conflict is Pi's struggle to survive while adrift at sea in a lifeboat after his ship sinks. He must endure against elemental forces, lack of food and fresh water, and stave off despair. However, on top of these very serious challenges, he must also deal with the fact that he is not alone in the life boat. For most of his ordeal, his only companion is a Bengal tiger named Richard Parker: a wild and untamed creature that could easily kill him at any time. However, this is not a simple survival story where the tension comes from wondering if the main character will manage to triumph over adversity. Even before we know a single detail of his ordeal, Martel assures us that Pi is alive and well, living an almost ordinary life. At the same time, he assures us that this is "a story to make you believe in God" (Martel, 2007, Author's Note). Much of the tension of the book comes in discovering what the author means by this.
On the surface, this is a survival story. However, this is not really a book about Pi's ordeal at sea; it is about the telling of the story of Pi's ordeal at sea. In the course of the narrative, there are at least five different times that one character tells the story to another. We are only privy to the details of two of these exchanges; the others occur "off stage." However, after each one, Martel shows us the impact hearing the tale has on the listeners. We get the sense that nobody is truly the same after hearing it. This is true even though the two versions of the story we see are mutually contradictory. By this, Martel demonstrates that it is not necessarily the literal truth of a tale that makes it meaningful. There is some other aspect of the story that makes it meaningful.
In the Author's Note, Martel calls fiction "the selective transforming of reality" and says that writers create it "for the sake of greater truth" (Martel, 2007, Author's Note). This note is where the narrative actually starts; it is part of the fiction Martel has created, not something that lives apart from the rest of the book. The character of the author appears throughout the book in a series of interludes within Pi's narrative. Martel uses these recollections to describe the man Pi has become and how the events of the story have changed him. The author also uses them to heighten the mystery about what exactly transpired in the lifeboat. He makes numerous references to events that have not yet been shared with the reader, foreshadowing the action to come.
Martel devotes most of the book to telling Pi's preferred account of his ordeal. This is a story that focuses on both the practical day-to-day details of his survival and his internal struggle to retain his faith in a higher power. The account is striking in both its realism and its utter implausibility. Even if we ignore the improbability of being able to survive on a lifeboat with an untamed Bengal tiger for 277 days, there are many other aspects of Pi's story that are hard to believe. We know this because Martel takes pains to have other characters, such as the shipping agents who hear the tale, point out the implausibility of these aspects. Details such as encountering another lifeboat at random in the Pacific midway through the journey, finding an almost magical floating island, and just the act of being able to survive in a lifeboat for 277 days are all highlighted as being hard to believe. However, this is not the only account of the events that Pi offers. He tells an alternative version of the events that is just as brutal and unforgiving as the other, but far more plausible. In this story, many more things make sense. Pi's actions are selfish, even if excusable. His thoughts are about survival, revenge, and satisfying his hunger, not his relationship with God. This version has only ugliness; it offers no meaning. Pi tells the shipping agents both of these stories and offers them a choice; the author does the same for the reader.
Pi seems to prefer the version of the story where he finds meaning because that is something he craves. Earlier in his narrative, he describes how his search for meaning caused him to become a Christian, a Muslim, and a Hindu, all at the same time. Each of these religions tells stories that explain the universe; they provide meaning and comfort. Pi embraces all of them. He feels no need or obligation to choose between these mutually exclusive stories. Why should he choose? The author told us in the Author's Note that stories are selective transformations of reality for the sake of greater truth. Pi craves this truth; he wants to know God and not restrict himself to "dry, yeastless factuality" (Martel, 2007, p. 64).
For the most part, both versions of Pi's narrative have the same elements; each of the fanciful aspects of the first narrative has a corresponding aspect in the second narrative that is tragically believable. However, there is a key part of the first narrative that does not appear in the second one: the floating island. This is the least plausible portion of Pi's first narrative. The island is an idyllic place (at least at first) with almost magical properties. It is wholly absent from the second narrative. This is a mystery within a mystery; the shipping company representatives he tells the story to give up trying to understand it. We are left to wonder if it points to a gap in Pi's second story, a piece that explains how a man could survive that long at sea. On the other hand, maybe it does not appear in the second story because it was literally true and needed no amendment. We are left to wonder.
Martel is careful to leave the door open for both interpretations of the story. For instance, one of the shipping representatives calls the island a botanical impossibility (Martel, 2007, p. 294). However, the representatives had also just assured Pi that the floating island of bananas that appeared earlier in the story was similarly impossible, an assertion that Martel shows proven wrong (Martel, 2007, p. 293). In this way, Martel hints that if the representatives were mistaken about one floating island, they might be mistaken about another. If one thing that is hard to believe is possible, perhaps another incredible thing also can be so. Even when we are convinced we know what happened, Martel reminds us that we should have doubt. The author tells us how he has read the diary that Pi kept during his ordeal. In it, we are shown Pi questioning his relationship with God. This is the Pi of the first story, not the survival obsessed pragmatist of the second one. There is always reason to doubt.
Why does Martel tell this story in the way that he does? Why is this not a simple linear narrative of a boy trapped on a lifeboat with a tiger? Martel tells the tale this way because he wants the reader to face the same choices that his characters face. He uses a complex structure of narratives within narratives in order to create ambiguity. The reader is left to decide what really happened. Do we choose the version of events with meaning, or the one with plausibility? Which one do we prefer? Is the "more plausible story" truly plausible? Martel refuses to give us definitive answers to these questions. Martel uses the plot and structure of the book to show that it does not matter if either is true. It does not matter if the author invented this story or if, as he says, it was told to him. What matters is the meaning we choose to give the story as readers.
Work Cited
Martel, Yann (2007). Life of Pi (Kindle Edition). New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. (Original work published 2001)
Top reviews from other countries
Although occasionally uncomfortable at school, Pi is incredibly happy at home surrounded by a veritable wonderland. He learns that the zoo animals live by habit and, once their basic needs are met, are content to repeat the same rhythms and rituals every day. Change the routine in the slightest way, however, and the animal will express confusion, anger, or retreat into a safe place. He grows up knowing not to anthropomorphize — assign human characteristics — to the animals. In one very scary scene, Pi's father demonstrates than animals are ferocious beasts who are driven by their hungers and passions. He also teaches the boy about how a circus animal trainer is able to control large animals by assuming the position of the alpha male, demonstrating dominance and an ability to provide for their needs.
Pi's parents are secularists with no interest in religion. This teenager, who is a Hindu, finds himself also attracted to Christianity and Islam. Although he thinks that Jesus' ministry can't hold a candle to the exotic adventures of Hindu gods, his message of love seems very important. He begins to meet regularly with a Catholic priest and soon asks to be baptized. Pi finds Islam to be "a beautiful religion of brotherhood and devotion." After meeting a Sufi mystic in the market, he puts a prayer rug in the garden facing Mecca and prays five times a day. However, once the local leaders of each religion discover what he is doing, they try to convince Pi that he must choose one over the others. But this ardent teenager refuses to give up his multifaith path of loving God.
All of this spiritual practice leads to a mystical experience which he describes this way: "I left town and on my way back, at a point where the land was high and I could see the sea to my left and down the road a long ways, I suddenly felt I was in heaven. The spot was in fact no different from when I had passed it not long before, but my way of seeing it had changed. The feeling, a paradoxical mix of pulsing energy and profound peace, was intense and blissful. Whereas before the road, the sea, the trees, the air, the sun all spoke differently to me, now they spoke one language of unity. Tree took account of road, which was aware of air, which was mindful of sea, which shared things with sun. Every element lived in harmonious relation with its neighbour, and all was kith and kin. I knelt a mortal; I rose an immortal. I felt like the centre of a small circle, coinciding with the centre of a much larger one. Atman had met Allah."
When Pi's father decides to leave India and move to Winnipeg, Canada, he closes the zoo and arranges to distribute its inhabitants to other facilities. The family and some of the animals board a Japanese cargo ship. Then the unexpected happens, and the boat sinks in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Pi makes it to a lifeboat where his only companions are a zebra, a hyena, a orangutan, and a Bengal tiger named Richard Parker. The sixteen-year-old boy watches horrified as the war begins for supremacy between the animals. In the end, of course, just he and the tiger are left.
Luckily, the lifeboat is stocked with survival supplies and a detailed survival manual. Pi sets up equipment to collect water, learns to fish and catch turtles, and makes a raft for those times when he needs to stay some distance from Richard Parker. Everything he has learned about animals serves him well. In shark-infested waters, with no land in sight, Pi attends to the needs of the 450-pound tiger. This section of Martel's phantasmagorical novel is absolutely enthralling, a true adventure where Pi's physical prowess, intellectual courage, and spiritual perseverance are all tested. At one point, he observes: "For the first time I noticed — as I would notice repeatedly during my ordeal, between one throe of agony and the next — that my suffering was taking place in a grand setting. I saw my suffering for what it was, finite and insignificant, and I was still."
Throughout his journey, Pi practices religious rituals — "solitary Masses without priests or consecrated Communion hosts, darshans without murtis, and pujas with turtle meat for prasad, acts of devotion for Allah not knowing where Mecca was and getting my Arabic wrong." But these provide a stay against despair and loneliness and his grief for his lost family. The worst enemy is fear. He observes:
"It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease. It begins in your mind, always. One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy. Then, fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy."
One of the things that makes Life of Pi such an extraordinary read is that it covers so many fascinating subjects with aplomb. Martel provides overviews of animal behavior, survival at sea, the limits of reason, and a boy's coming of age. The novel is a work of spiritual adventurism, a expression of mystical awareness, and a salute to the ample powers of imagination and the versatility of storytelling. During his long stay aboard the lifeboat with the tiger, Pi notes: "My greatest wish — other than salvation — was to have a book. A long book with a never-ending story. One I could read again and again, with new eyes and a fresh understanding each time. Alas, there was no scripture in the lifeboat."
This ambitious novel is stuffed with ideas, interesting people, and exciting situations. Each reader could spend quite a bit of time pondering the spiritual implications of the deep relationship that develops between Pi and Richard Parker over the course of their confinement together. At first, the teenage is scared out of his wits that the animal will eat him. Then he tries to keep the tiger happy with food, fresh water, and regular routines. The final level of their interaction is a surprise that will only startle those who haven't had the delight of close mystical relationships with animals.
Life of Pi is a multileveled exploration of the beautiful mysteries that light up our lives and have no rhyme nor reason of their own. Yet without them, we would be nothing more than wonder-deprived creatures.
Reviewed in India on February 14, 2022
Although occasionally uncomfortable at school, Pi is incredibly happy at home surrounded by a veritable wonderland. He learns that the zoo animals live by habit and, once their basic needs are met, are content to repeat the same rhythms and rituals every day. Change the routine in the slightest way, however, and the animal will express confusion, anger, or retreat into a safe place. He grows up knowing not to anthropomorphize — assign human characteristics — to the animals. In one very scary scene, Pi's father demonstrates than animals are ferocious beasts who are driven by their hungers and passions. He also teaches the boy about how a circus animal trainer is able to control large animals by assuming the position of the alpha male, demonstrating dominance and an ability to provide for their needs.
Pi's parents are secularists with no interest in religion. This teenager, who is a Hindu, finds himself also attracted to Christianity and Islam. Although he thinks that Jesus' ministry can't hold a candle to the exotic adventures of Hindu gods, his message of love seems very important. He begins to meet regularly with a Catholic priest and soon asks to be baptized. Pi finds Islam to be "a beautiful religion of brotherhood and devotion." After meeting a Sufi mystic in the market, he puts a prayer rug in the garden facing Mecca and prays five times a day. However, once the local leaders of each religion discover what he is doing, they try to convince Pi that he must choose one over the others. But this ardent teenager refuses to give up his multifaith path of loving God.
All of this spiritual practice leads to a mystical experience which he describes this way: "I left town and on my way back, at a point where the land was high and I could see the sea to my left and down the road a long ways, I suddenly felt I was in heaven. The spot was in fact no different from when I had passed it not long before, but my way of seeing it had changed. The feeling, a paradoxical mix of pulsing energy and profound peace, was intense and blissful. Whereas before the road, the sea, the trees, the air, the sun all spoke differently to me, now they spoke one language of unity. Tree took account of road, which was aware of air, which was mindful of sea, which shared things with sun. Every element lived in harmonious relation with its neighbour, and all was kith and kin. I knelt a mortal; I rose an immortal. I felt like the centre of a small circle, coinciding with the centre of a much larger one. Atman had met Allah."
When Pi's father decides to leave India and move to Winnipeg, Canada, he closes the zoo and arranges to distribute its inhabitants to other facilities. The family and some of the animals board a Japanese cargo ship. Then the unexpected happens, and the boat sinks in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Pi makes it to a lifeboat where his only companions are a zebra, a hyena, a orangutan, and a Bengal tiger named Richard Parker. The sixteen-year-old boy watches horrified as the war begins for supremacy between the animals. In the end, of course, just he and the tiger are left.
Luckily, the lifeboat is stocked with survival supplies and a detailed survival manual. Pi sets up equipment to collect water, learns to fish and catch turtles, and makes a raft for those times when he needs to stay some distance from Richard Parker. Everything he has learned about animals serves him well. In shark-infested waters, with no land in sight, Pi attends to the needs of the 450-pound tiger. This section of Martel's phantasmagorical novel is absolutely enthralling, a true adventure where Pi's physical prowess, intellectual courage, and spiritual perseverance are all tested. At one point, he observes: "For the first time I noticed — as I would notice repeatedly during my ordeal, between one throe of agony and the next — that my suffering was taking place in a grand setting. I saw my suffering for what it was, finite and insignificant, and I was still."
Throughout his journey, Pi practices religious rituals — "solitary Masses without priests or consecrated Communion hosts, darshans without murtis, and pujas with turtle meat for prasad, acts of devotion for Allah not knowing where Mecca was and getting my Arabic wrong." But these provide a stay against despair and loneliness and his grief for his lost family. The worst enemy is fear. He observes:
"It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease. It begins in your mind, always. One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy. Then, fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy."
One of the things that makes Life of Pi such an extraordinary read is that it covers so many fascinating subjects with aplomb. Martel provides overviews of animal behavior, survival at sea, the limits of reason, and a boy's coming of age. The novel is a work of spiritual adventurism, a expression of mystical awareness, and a salute to the ample powers of imagination and the versatility of storytelling. During his long stay aboard the lifeboat with the tiger, Pi notes: "My greatest wish — other than salvation — was to have a book. A long book with a never-ending story. One I could read again and again, with new eyes and a fresh understanding each time. Alas, there was no scripture in the lifeboat."
This ambitious novel is stuffed with ideas, interesting people, and exciting situations. Each reader could spend quite a bit of time pondering the spiritual implications of the deep relationship that develops between Pi and Richard Parker over the course of their confinement together. At first, the teenage is scared out of his wits that the animal will eat him. Then he tries to keep the tiger happy with food, fresh water, and regular routines. The final level of their interaction is a surprise that will only startle those who haven't had the delight of close mystical relationships with animals.
Life of Pi is a multileveled exploration of the beautiful mysteries that light up our lives and have no rhyme nor reason of their own. Yet without them, we would be nothing more than wonder-deprived creatures.