More Questions than Answers

While I and the rest of the IFFP Shadow Panel were still pondering the fate of our chosen shortlist, Mark let us know of another interesting book he was reading.  Written by C.Y. Gopinath, an Indian journalist and non-fiction writer, The Book of Answers has been shortlisted for the 2012 Commonwealth Writers Prize.  While the novel has been published normally in India, the writer still has the rights for the rest of the world, and he was happy to allow any of us who wanted a read to download an e-version at Smashwords - an offer I was too intrigued to turn down...

*****

The story is set in India in 2015, where elections for the newly created position of Grand Convener are soon to take place.  Enigmatic (read evil) politician Shri Ishwar Prasad is hoping to strengthen his claim on power with new popular policies, one of which is abolishing the need for students to actually study for exams, instead making them go and find the answers (this is the Google age after all...).  This is all a little confusing for the elegantly-named Patros Patranobis, an average man wishing only for a quiet life, and the Mumbai accountant tries to ignore as much as possible of what is happening on the political scene.  Sadly for him though, one day, while running for the bus, he (literally) bumps into a plump gentleman - this is the start of a very unhappy time for the unfortunate Mr. Patranobis...

You see, the plump gentleman in question is a lawyer, and he is bringing Patros a bequest, a very special book called 'The Book of Answers'.  It is said to contain the answers to all the problems of the world, and soon, after a leaked report from a blog (!), the whole country is keen to know what exactly it says.  Patros, however, is not particularly interested, and despite the protests of his partner Rose, he decides to offload the rather heavy item to a rag-and-bone man.

What follows is a chaotic journey around India in which the reader is treated to a snapshot of all that is corrupt and broken in the world's largest democracy.  The Grand Convener's plans for the country, including a truly ingenious (and morally suspect) plan to eradicate poverty and a wonderfully inventive revenue-raising initiative, horrify our hapless hero - even more so when it turns out that the justification for, the provenance of, these crazy schemes is 'The Book of Answers'.  Poor Patros soon realises that these claims are lies - you see, there's a key to the book, and nobody knows where it is...

The Book of Answers is a humorous, chaotic look at politics in a country where rules are not so much set in stone as casually scratched in the sand, there to be followed or ignored depending on your status.  Poor Pat is a wonderful everyman character, a simple fellow who just wants a bit of peace and some affection from the fiery Rose.  Sadly for him, his friends, family and enemies seem to need him to be a symbol, a figure to rally around or demonise.  The more he sinks into the mire of Indian politics, the clearer it is that nothing can be settled until the mystery of the book is settled once and for all.

Gopinath's humour comes across on almost every page, from the collision which sets the whole affair in motion, to the mysterious figure of Tippy, Pat's son, a character who is always at least one step ahead of both his father and the reader.  The humour is helped by the language the writer uses, a sing-song variety of English which is slightly unfamiliar to speakers of British or American English.  Apart from the obvious vocabulary differences between the varieties of the language, sentences like the following -

"A gangly boy was playing awful guitar to an admiring girl, also gangly."

catch the reader's eye, dragging them into the story.

It's not a perfect book by any means.  Anyone expecting lyrical elegance à la Vikram Seth or Salman Rushdie will be a little disappointed.  It's more Bollywood than high literature, which is not a bad thing, of course (and, set largely in Mumbai, it's probably apt too!).  It's highly plot driven, and certain sections give you the feeling that some large holes need to be fixed, and this was the best way to do it (a conversation with a circus lady and a couple of days in the country with a dog certainly come to mind here).

On the whole though The Book of Answers is an amusing, thought-provoking novel.  Behind the humour, there is a very serious message about the nature of power corrupting and the inability of democracy, particularly in a country with such extremes of wealth and poverty, to stop this corruption.  The Grand Convener's political  beliefs sum up the situation perfectly:

"A politician is nothing unless he is in his chair, in power.  According to my doctrine, for this he needs three things: constituency, currency and chaos.  Never forget those words.  The three C's."

It is the third of these three Cs that permeates The Book of Answers.  In an attempt to confuse opponents and profit from uncertainty to cling to power, the Grand Convener will do all he can to cause chaos throughout the country.  If that involves abolishing the need for people to actually study in order to pass exams, so be it ;)

If you're a fan of novels set in India and enjoy mysteries underlaid with a rich vein of humour, I'd definitely recommend The Book of Answers.  I'm very grateful that the writer offered me the chance to read it, and I hope it does well, even if it didn't make it to the final list of the Commonwealth Writers' Prize.  It is a book which sometimes hits a lot closer to home than you'd like, and for all its levity, there is a very serious side to it.  It's not often that a book manages to end on the perfect note, but Gopinath really nails the landing here - a very telling and sombre finale indeed...

*****
For more reviews of this book, follow the links to Mark's and Gary's takes on it :)

A Small Amount of Catching Up - Part 3

Hold on, everyone - there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Would you believe that I am almost up to date with the reviews I missed during my enforced absence?  You would?  Well, aren't you Mr/Ms Smartypants...  Just a few more books to slate review, and we're fully up to speed - a deep breath, and away we go.

*****

The first of today's books is Vikram Seth's An Equal Music, and I'm afraid Seth is one writer I doubt I'll be slating any time soon.  Just like A Suitable Boy, An Equal Music (if nowhere near as long) is quite simply a sumptuous read, one of those books you just lose yourself in, curled up in your favourite armchair on a cold, rainy, November afternoon.  It's the story of a violinist, who unexpectedly meets up with an old flame and falls into the trap of trying to rekindle lost passion and relive past experiences.  Set in London, Vienna and Florence (a place I have never visited but which has appeared alarmingly frequently in my reading recently), the story proceeds quietly, but measured, very much like the music described in the text.

As well as being a story of reignited love, An Equal Music is also, some would say just as much, a novel about music.  Michael, our romantic violinist, is a member of a string quartet, and Seth creates a credible picture of an incredibly complex set of relationships and egos, which must all be appeased and balanced in order to allow the group to make music.  Now, I wouldn't know a Stradivarius from a cheap fiddle, but many other people have hailed this book as a magnificent portrayal of what life as a musician is really like - so believe them, if not me, when I agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment :)

Alas, the problem with Seth is that he hasn't actually written many novels, something I'm rather upset with him for.  He's obviously too busy with his poetry, travel writing and keeping the streets of Gotham City free of crime (actually, that might be someone else) to devote himself to cranking out more fiction.  However, he is currently in the process of writing a follow up novel to A Suitable Boy, set two generations later and entitled (inevitably) A Suitable Girl, and I am greatly looking forward to the appearance of this particular book.  Sadly though, there is a cloud on the horizon.  The release date for the novel?  2013...

*****

No real slating for my second book today either (where is the bile?).  American Gods, Neil Gaiman's epic fantasy/mythology/crime novel, follows Shadow, a recently-released prisoner, across America in the company of a supposed deity who goes by the name of Mr. Wednesday.  As we travel from town to town in the company of the enigmatic Shadow and the much-larger-than-life Wednesday, Gaiman treats us to a story mixing a description of current American society and the origins of its multicultural people.  It's a classic road trip, in the vein of On The Road, but it's also a thought-provoking look at where we're heading.  Oh, and it's also a great whodunnit...

Where Neverwhere was claustrophobic, reading American Gods could make an Agoraphobe have a nervous break down.  Gaiman manages to capture the essence of a vast country of contrasting regions and lifestyles, all the time slowly unfolding his tale, a story of the Gods the immigrants brought with them in their heads, and the struggle between traditional and modern ways of life.  It's an allegorical last battle, where all must stand and be counted, rallying around their standard bearer in a fight to the death.  Or is it?

There's a definite progression from Neverwhere, and Gaiman succeeds in blurring genre lines, creating a book which will appeal to almost everyone who enjoys reading.  Anyone with more than a passing interest in mythology will enjoy seeing the Gods come alive, interact and adapt to modern life.  However, this book doesn't quite make it into the top rank of writing for me, and that's to do with, well, the writing.  Perhaps I've been spoiled by reading Vikram Seth and Natsume Soseki recently, but I missed the elegant prose of Kusamakura and An Equal Music.  Whether that's possible in such a book as this, I'm not sure, and I hasten to add that I still loved this novel: I just wish that the language had flowed just as perfectly as the tale itself.  Is that too much to ask?

*****
So, I'm pretty much up to date - yay!  Stay tuned in coming days for my first submission for The Classics Circuit and something new...

No, not telling ;)

Review Post 39 - Injustice and Unfairness in an Unbalanced World

It's understandable that after occupying India for centuries, the British Empire left behind a wide-ranging and remarkable legacy (by no means all good, of course).   Some of the more visible reminders include a passion for trains, a blazer-clad school system more suited to Manchester than Mumbai, and (if my reading experience is anything to go by) a love for Victorian literature.  How else could you explain the plethora of long, winding, lovingly-crafted classics written by English-speaking writers from the subcontinent?  Last year, I read Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children and Vikram Seth's bookshelf-busting tome A Suitable Boy; my latest read, Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, is every bit as enjoyable, brilliant... and long. 

A Fine Balance is mostly set in 1975, a year of particular significance in Indian history.  Against the backdrop of the Emergency, a period of virtual martial law declared by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in a desperate attempt to retain power (and avoid punishment after being found guilty of election fraud), four strangers meet in the doorway of a Mumbai house, unaware that the next year will see them bond into a group which will help replace their absent families.  Dina, a proud young widow seeking tailors to help with her sewing work; Ishvar and his nephew Omprakash, poor, low-caste tailors who have travelled to the big city to make their fortunes; Maneck, the son of one of Dina's old school friends, abandoning the mountains and his parents' shop to study for the future.  What follows is beautiful and heart-rending, touching but sickening, enjoyable yet despicable: it's a very emotional book.

Despite Dina's initial reluctance to get too close to her employees, through Maneck's persuasion she eventually softens her attitude, and the four start to create their own family-type unit, passing the lonely evening hours together and helping to fill the gap left by the dead, the absent or (in the case of Dina's brother) the unpleasant.  However, every time life appears to be looking up, it turns around and bites them, leaving them with literal and metaphorical scars to lick.  I won't say what they are.

Mistry's book is an epic work, condemning Gandhi's selfishness, exposing the cruel practices and horrific retribution of the higher of India's castes against the lower strata of society and revealing the chaos prevailing in the world's largest democracy.  It's not just the more brutal, violent events which stay in the memory; Mistry paints a picture of dilapidated slums, streets filled at night with crowds of homeless people and deliberately-crippled beggars hoping to stand out and make the relatively well-off passersby reach into their pockets for a small coin or two.  In its depiction of the urban poor, A Fine Balance is positively Dickensian - and that's a very good thing.

There is also a sharp focus on those at the top of the tree, who are divided into three, intertwining groups: the rich, those with high office or status, and the high-caste Brahmins who treat the lower caste Chamaars more like animals than people.  These lucky few are protected from the prevalent misery by virtue of their fortune, and they make the most of it by ensuring that anyone outside their group is trodden down mercilessly into the dirt of the Mumbai slums.  Anyone who has managed to scramble a little way up the ladder is even more fervently in favour of 'cleansing' the scum from the streets than the corrupt politicians who think up the ideas, happy to avert their gaze while the poor are mutilated, sterilised and left to rot in the streets.

There is a strong connection between A Fine Balance and Midnight's Children, particularly in the treatment of the events of the emergency.  In both novels, the blatant misuse of the government's policy of birth control by sterilisation is woven into the texture of the fictional tale, and in both the infamous Indira Gandhi casts a long shadow over events.  Mistry calls her the Prime Minister, Rushdie 'the Widow': like a certain fictional wizard, it appears that she is not to be named...

However, where Rushdie's story, despite the occasional unfortunate event, has an underlying cheery tone, A Fine Balance can be negative and depressing (in a good way, of course).  There is no progress here, just a series of cycles which sees people built up only to be brutally knocked down again.  This corresponds to the Hindu idea of chronological cycles, with time having no beginning or end, just a cycle of eras which repeat endlessly.  As mentioned in the text, we are currently in Kali-Yuga, an era of vice and ignorance lasting 432,000 years, where no virtue can flourish.  The good news?  Only about 427,000 years to go...

Now that I have thoroughly depressed you, I can give you the tiny ray of optimism that Kali-Yuga would not allow.  This is a wonderfully-written book, one which I am sure to read again and again in the future, even if, at times, it makes for painful reading.  The parallels to the work of Dickens are not limited purely to the idea of writing about the plight of poor people; the way in which Mistry's eye notices every little detail, his nose every pungent odour, his ear every conflicting note of the cacophony permeating Mumbai street life, is reminiscent of his Victorian forebear's description of life in nineteenth-century London.

However (sadly), I must leave you on a another depressing note.  At the weekend, I read an article in The Weekend Australian about the rather haphazard progress India is making in preparation for the Commonwealth Games in New Delhi later this year.  On top of the expected accusations of incompetence, ineptitude and outright swindling, came a familiar, yet saddening, tale: in order to ensure that the eyes of the world only see what the authorities want them to see, 300,000 slum dwellers have been removed from the outskirts of the capital so far, and a further 40,000 or so will be forced on before the games begin.  Plus ca change...

*****
P.S. Jackie of Farm Lane Books has created a wonderful array of supplementary information on this novel at Book Drum, a site where passionate readers help others get the most out of their favourite novels: please drop by to get even more information about A Fine Balance!

82 - 'The God of Small Things' by Arundhati Roy

Books. The more of them you read, the more links you see between them. Presumably, if you manage to read all of them, you will become omniscient and be able to tease out the strands linking every piece of writing in creation to every other scrap of text. At least, that's what I imagine having a PhD in English Literature to be like.

The reason for this random short aside is that this is the third book I've read recently where important times in someone's life are contrasted, and the second in a row where the author has decided to play with time, dancing back and forth across the years like a yo-yo in a tutu (now there's an image). However, where 'The President's Last Love' used a fairly straightforward approach to this time-travel nonsense, keeping the stories fairly untangled and linear (well, as linear as its possible to get when you're telling three stories at once), 'The God of Small Things' switches between two main time periods but jumps back and forth repeatedly during the first, revealing, teasing, concealing, hinting. Oh, and it's bloody brilliant...

A bold statement, perhaps, and one which should be backed up by a postgraduate-level analysis of the themes and motifs, but, seeing as I just scraped a B for GCSE English Literature in the fifth form (simpler days - more football, less Shakespeare), that's not going to happen. In fact, as discussing the plot in any great depth would destroy the pleasure you would get from reading the novel, I'm not going to go too deeply into that either. So, as the majority of you start muttering and heading for the exit, what exactly am I going to talk about? Wait, I'll think of something.

'The God of Small Things' takes place at two different times in a small, rural Indian village, before and after a devastating event which destroys the family at the centre of the story. It deals with several important themes, but the main one is love (in particular who should and can be loved, and the effect it has on those around you). Choices made contrary to what Roy describes as the 'Love Laws' not only lead the participants into deep water, but also cause ripples which reverberate throughout th neighbourhood and overthrow the smooth sailing of everyday family life. Four relationships of differing types - three consummated, one platonic (and longer lasting)- test these rules about who can love and be loved and the consequences for breaking them. As you may have gathered, there aren't a lot of happy endings, and yet the ending is happy. It does make sense.

The consequences of the protagonists' action are not limited to the human participants of the story. One of the compelling features of the book is the way the sprawling house owned by the Kochamma family sinks from its bustling status into decrepitude and decay. The lack of hope in the family is transferred to the walls it lives in; dust piles up, insects invade and take over. The garden, freed from the strictures of its tenders, reverts to wild jungle, overgrowing paths and even claiming a car as its own.

At the same time, outside influences start to creep into traditional life, displacing local customs and subtly altering the villagers' way of life. The arrival of satellite television accelerates the decline of the household as the shattered old women abandon reality for reality TV. The travelling Kathakali dancers, forced to perform bastardised twenty-minute shows of six-hour classics for an ignorant, uncaring tourist audience, seek solace in private performances away from the visitors, wailing and twirling their way through the dark hours in front of whoever happens to be around (a story which reminded me of what happened in 'Dirty Dancing' - see, everything is linked to everything else...).

However, in lieu of actually discussing the plot, I'd like to look at another feature of both this book and the other Indian novels I've read this year, namely the language and the way it is manipulated. Language is intrinsically linked to culture and mentality, and it seems that Indian writers are able to use English in a very different way to that of 'native speakers'. Roy has written poetry, and the way she approaches her writing can be very poetical. Rahel and Estha, the child (and, later, adult) protagonists, are given titles with Capital Letters, Elvis the Pelvis, Ambassador Stick Insect, names which run through the novel, at times humorous, at others sad, juxtaposed with heart-rending events in their lives. She also captures the way children speak and understand their environment, running words together and breaking them up incorrectly (the Bar Nowl living in the pickling shed) and seizing upon misspellings and repeating them throughout, often to great effect. While this may not seem unique to Indian writers, I believe that writing in what is a second language forces Indian writers to think more about what they write, and the first-language influences they have behind them contribute to creating a rich, unique variety of English, sometimes silly, sometimes beautiful.

Well, I know I haven't given you much to go on, but (as you may have seen from the cover above) 'The God of Small Things' was the winner of the 1997 Booker Prize, so I'm obviously not alone in finding it a pleasant read. There's just one thing which annoys me about this book, and its author, and that's the fact that Roy hasn't written a novel since, preferring to write essays and works of non-fiction (is it just me, or is that incredibly selfish?). Of course, one way of looking at that is that there's no point trying again if you get it right first time out, and that is exactly what she did with this book. Those of you out there in the blogosphere who haven't read this novel should seriously think about adding it to your list for Father Christmas. It is very, very good.

77 - 'A Suitable Boy' by Vikram Seth

On the front cover of my copy of 'A Suitable Boy', there is a quote from 'The Times' saying:

"Make time for it. It will keep you company for the rest of your life".

I'm sure it's meant as praise, but, with this book running to 1474 pages, it could just as easily be a warning to slow readers that this will not be a quick one. This book is very much an epic.

'A Suitable Boy' is storytelling at its best, the kind of novel not often seen since the rise of post-modernism and the demise of the great Victorian novel. The book is peopled with a whole cast of characters intermingling across the length and breadth of post-independence India. Through these connected stories, over the space of eighteen months, Seth explores the life of his home country and examines the political, social and religious institutions which existed after the departure of the English.

The story begins and ends with a wedding, and, in that sense, nods just as much in the direction of Jane Austen (who receives a few mentions throughout the book) as of Bollywood. However, despite the frequent allusions to British literature, it is Russian novels which come to mind; the multiple strands with characters appearing in several different cities and households is strongly reminiscent of the way 'Anna Karenina' makes use of its characters to broaden the reader's horizons.

Of the major plot-lines, the foremost one is, as you would expect from the title, a search for 'a suitable boy'. At the wedding of her elder daughter, Savita, in the (fictional) city of Brahmpur, Mrs. Rupa Mehra (or 'Ma', as she is known to one and all) decides that it is time to find a husband for her younger daughter, Lata. This 19-year-old student is, understandably, not overly pleased at the prospect of an arranged marriage and becomes even more obstinate when she falls in love with a fellow student she meets in a bookshop. However, as the story progresses, Lata's character develops, and she comes to see the importance of family and the necessity of pleasing everyone, not just oneself, when choosing a life partner. Eventually, she is faced with the choice of three men, each of whom wishes to make her his wife...

Each of the men has his good (and bad) points, and, predictably, each of them is connected to the main families of the story somehow. Kabir, a young Muslim student (and cricketer) who crosses paths with the Mehras at several points; Haresh, the English-educated shoe manufacturer whom Ma puts forward as her candidate for an arranged marriage; and Amit, the brother of Lata's sister-in-law and a published poet. Despite the great size of India, and its vast population, the mischievous Seth even manages to create a casual meeting for Lata's three suitors, of whom only Amit knows the intentions of the others (the fact that the meeting of Lata's three lovers occurs in Calcutta on the third day of the third cricket test between England and India is especially cheeky!).

The other main strand is the 1952 general election, the first 'real' election, after the rubber-stamping of Congress at India's first (restricted) election. The reader follows Mahesh Kapoor, the State Minister of Revenue, in his struggles of both power and conscience. While he is initially concerned merely with the passing of a law transferring land ownership from powerful local barons to the peasants who have tilled the land for generations, he gradually becomes disillusioned with the Congress party (which is being taken over by a right-wing Hindu element) and considers leaving the party.

Of course, in post-partition India, politics cannot be separated from religion, and the unprejudiced Kapoor becomes more and more dismayed by the increasingly heated nature of the political scene. Matters are not helped by the plans of the Hindu community to rebuild a Hindu shrine to the west of the local mosque - and install a giant statue of a phallus inside... This religious tension comes to a head when the festivals of Dusserah (Hindu) and Moharram (Muslim), taking place simultaneously by chance due to the Muslim use of the lunar calendar, cause blood to be shed in the streets of Brahmpur, events which will continue to have repercussions for the main characters.

The third main story concerns Kapoor's younger son, Maan, and his relationship with the courtesan, Saeeda Bai. His passionate love for the famed songstress and their subsequent affair lead to a break with his family and exile to the countryside while he sorts himself out (a move which, as with everything else in this book, has much wider ramifications than first expected). This forbidden love causes tension not only with Maan's family but also with their friends - especially the family of Nawab Khan of Baitar, which has its own links to the alluring Saeeda...

While I have outlined a few of the main plot strands, it would be impossible to discuss every sub-plot of this gargantuan book. I haven't touched on Pran's (Savita's husband) struggles with his health and his promotion prospects, Haresh's attempts to find a suitable position in the shoe-making industry, Mrs. Kapoor's ongoing attempt to win Brahmpur's best garden prize... All minor tales, yet inextricably linked to the main strands and, once the reader has immersed themself in the book, just as important.

For such a long novel, 'A Suitable Boy' is very easy to read. The story comes together as a whole so well, its structure so masterly, that the reader is compelled to press on as quickly as possible, desperate to find out what happens next. Like life itself, long sections seem to move on slowly with no real drama, only to be interrupted suddenly by chilling, unforeseen events. Good as the book is, however, there are a couple of criticisms that could be levelled at it. Firstly, this is not really a book which concentrates on characterisation (and if it had, it probably would have been a few thousand pages longer): with a few exceptions, most of the characters are described rather than felt, and the books stands on its storytelling rather than on the complexity of the psychology of its protagonists. It's also true that, as with many 'big' books, characters can go missing in action at times. With so many parallel settings to deal with, Seth handles this side of the writing well, but the reader can feel a few seconds of confusion when a character is reintroduced 300 pages after their last appearance. Amit, especially, is treated in a very cavalier way for such a major character.

However, these are minor quibbles, and the fact is that 'A Suitable Boy' is an incredible achievement. It is little wonder that Seth spent over a decade working on what was originally to be a short tale about Indian marriages. Anyone who reads it will quickly get caught up in the intricate web of interconnected lives, turning page after page in the hope of finding out how the election results will fall, whether Pran will get his promotion, who Lata will eventually choose...

As mentioned, the book finishes as it started, with a wedding, and we are able to compare the two scenes and the people present at both. Some are better off, some have loved and lost; there are some new faces, and some loved ones are no longer with us; some friends have fallen out while others have reconciled old differences. It seems as if all the loose ends have been tied up neatly for us by the end of the novel. And yet... The final scene, with Lata moving away on the train, looking back from the window but unable to see what is happening behind, is a metaphor for the reader's experience. Despite the apparently 'clean' ending, life goes on, and the characters we have come to love will continue their lives after we (finally) put the book down. Which is, in a way, slightly depressing :(

But there is good news in sight! According to Vikram Seth's wikipedia page, the novellist is tentatively planning to revisit his most famous novel, skipping a generation to look at Lata's attempts to find a good wife for her grandson; yay! This book is scheduled to be released in mid-2013 (by which time, any slow readers should have finally finished the original!). And the proposed name? 'A Suitable Girl', of course. I, for one, am counting the days...

51 - 'Midnight's Children' by Salman Rushdie

I believe that I left you, dear reader, on the precipice of a cliffhanger (if such a thing is possible) while I hurried to complete Salman Rushdie's superlative novel, 'Midnight's Children', and, having waited for a few days for the answer to my question, I'm sure you won't mind waiting for a few hundred words more. Such is life (as a famous Australian criminal is reported to have said...).

Saleem Sinai, born at the stroke of midnight on the 15th of August, 1947, shares his time of birth with the country of India itself. Almost thirty-one years later, exhausted by fate, he sits in a Bombay pickle factory with his would-be lover, Padma, recounting the history of his family, how he came to be born, and the effect his life, and those of the other Indian children born in the first hour of the country's independence, had on national affairs. On a vast canvas, Saleem paints a picture of a country struggling to find its identity and a boy struggling to come to terms with his destiny as a mirror of the nation's fate. And a very big nose...

This is a big book. Yes, I've read longer novels, but this has a hell of a lot crammed into its 647 pages, a portrait of a young, yet ancient country, which strays into the magical realism territory of books such as 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' and 'Kafka on the Shore' while evoking experiences of the sub-continent so powerful that even someone who has never been near India can smell the streets of Bombay and see the crystal Kashmir lakes. One of the great tricks Rushdie pulls off in this novel is making the different scenes in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh come alive. Saleem's nose acts as a guide for the reader through not only the worldly smells of excrement, perspiration and naan, but also the more subtle aromas of bitterness, betrayal and danger.

The children of midnight of the title, the 1001 children born in the first hour of India's independence, are supernatural beings, with powers beyond those possessed by ordinary humans. Saleem, who accesses his telepathic powers after a series of childhood accidents, is able to connect with the other children and organises a nightly meeting, the Midnight's Children Conference (M.C.C. - an acronym which will raise an eyebrow of any Commonwealth citizen among you...) in the hope of harnessing the powers of the children for the good of the nation. However, there is a traitor in their midst, and the children of midnight are doomed from the start...

So what does Salman Rushdie have in common with Forrest Gump and Hiro Nakamura? Not a lot, obviously: having written a book of this magnitude, there's no way the author has an I.Q of 75, and I'm pretty sure that his temporal manipulation abilities are not that flash. However, by now, patient reader, I'm sure you will have started to see the connection between Hiro Nakamura, the time-travelling Japanese salaryman in the T.V. show 'Heroes', and the array of characters in this novel. In fact, with a time-traveller, a telepath, a boy who can walk through mirrors, a traitor and a government with a desire to eradicate the powers of superhuman beings, it's hard to imagine that the show's writers didn't have a well-thumbed copy of Mr. Rushdie's book on their desk when creating the concept. The idea of the Widow seems especially reminiscent of 'Heroes' sinister governmental interference in the lives of the central characters (although 'X-Men' deals with similar themes).

This Widow, based on a real political figure (saying who would spoil the story a little!), is also involved in the second allusion of my previous post. Just as Forrest Gump lives his life in the shadow of American politics, shaking hands with presidents and living through wars, so too does Saleem become involved in the dramatic events of the Indian post-colonial era. From being the accidental instigator of Bombay's language riots and a witness to West Pakistan's military coup, to being present during the invasion of East Pakistan and the eventual birth of an independent Bangladesh, Saleem's fate really does seem linked to that of his homeland, and it is precisely for this reason that the Widow and her brood of helpers make the decision to eliminate the problem of the Midnight Children (under cover of the Emergency period of the mid-seventies).

It all seems a bit fantastical and far-fetched (and it is!), but Rushdie holds it all together, thanks mainly to the interaction between our narrator, Saleem, and his disbelieving (but eager to hear the story) listener, Padma. Saleem himself admits that certain aspects of his story are not true, contradicting himself and forgetting vital information while Padma interrupts, questions and rubbishes the child of midnight when he gets too big for his boots, or when the story takes a turn too incredible for her liking. In doing so, she takes our part, asking the questions we would ask of the story-teller, raising an eyebrow when we start to get restless. In short, we are Padma (with less chutney).

After almost 650 pages of mesmerising yarn spinning, Saleem's story ends unfinished, with an empty chutney jar ready for the last instalment of his life, the final chapter in the life of this Midnight Child yet to be written. However, we know that the story goes on; another generation of magical beings is set to take over from the first, just as in the more mundane outside world, sons take over from fathers (or mothers...). Whole in itself, yet hinting at a lot, lot more, Rushdie's superb novel has created a story, and character, to rival anything Hollywood has to offer; very apt for a work set largely in Bombay, the centre of the Indian film industry. This sub-continental Forrest Gump has taught us that while life may be a box of chocolates, it's infinitely more interesting if you add a spot of lime-green chutney. And a large dollop of imagination.