Narcopolis, by Jeet Thayil

9781594203305
Penguin, 2012 (USA)
9781594203305
288 pp
(hardcover)

“This is the story the pipe told me. All I did was write it down, one word after the other, beginning and ending with the same one, Bombay.”

My  sincere thanks to TLC Blog Tours and to Penguin for sending me a copy of this book.

*******

 Halfway through the novel at a point where my brain demanded sleep, before putting the book down  I wrote a brief note to myself on a piece of paper used as a bookmark: " Midway -- loving the book. Yes."  And after reading the last word (which also happens to be the first word) of the story, my mind hadn't changed one bit.  Although Narcopolis is a unique novel in its own right, it definitely belongs with the wave of incredible fiction that has recently been coming from India and other areas of South Asia. It is Jeet Thayil's first novel, filled with passion and poetic prose; it's a very good, one-of-a-kind read that captured me right away.

Much like the smoke that pervades Rashid's Bombay opium den on Shuklaji Street, Narcopolis has a somewhat swirly, surreal lingering effect, one that begins with its one-sentence prologue carried out over several pages, continues as it moves through the lives of the people who can be found on the street, and doesn't end even long past the time the last page has been turned. In this book, "the hero or heroin of the story" is the intoxicating city of Bombay, which over a span of about thirty years has had its share of  upheavals felt by all who live there.  In this novel, the people on the margins --  the whores, the addicts, the drug dealers, and other people who frequent the city's underbelly, the slums with  "roads mined with garbage, with human and animal debris, and the poor, everywhere the poor and the deranged..." are at the   heart of this story, in which  the author offers these people a chance to say things which might otherwise not be heard.  Indeed, the novel is very much character driven, and the stories of Bombay over the last three decades and those of  people filling  her streets are relayed through the very odd set of people who inhabit the book.  Their combined lives serve as a map through recent history, and through them the author introduces his readers to different facets of life on Shuklaji Street: drug addiction, poverty,  increasing violence, corruption, the ebb and flow of life in Bombay's back alleys, and to a way of a life in which "a man could smoke a pipe or two a day and live a long and productive life" which ultimately vanishes in the face of newer, more lethal forms of escape.

As noted in the prologue, a single, sentence spanning just about six pages, there are two " I machines" telling the story:

"maybe the O is the I and I is unreliable, my memory like blotting paper, my full-of-holes, porous, shreddable non-memory, remembering details from thirty years ago but this morning a blank, and if memory = pain = being human, I'm not human, I'm a pipe of O telling this story over the course of a single night, and all I'm doing, the other I that is, I'm writing it down straight from the pipe's mouth..."


The novel is broken into four parts, the first part narrated for a while by the very human narrator, Dom Ullis, whose firsthand narration doesn't pick up again until much later, leaving the "pipe's mouth" to get on with the story.  Ullis leaves Bombay for some time, returning in 2004, when the city he knew as a younger man has undergone a great deal of change.   At the heart of the novel is Rashid's opium den on Shuklaji Street, an area known for its red-light district, a slum with a “fever grid of rooms, boom-boom rooms, family rooms, god rooms, secret rooms that contracted in the daytime and expanded at night." Rashid's  is a popular place for opium smoking, "the best on the street," visited by tourists who stretch out on the cushions and fill their pipes with the freshly-cooked opium, or  sit around, drink tea and take photos. Then there are Rashid's regulars who go there to leave life behind for a while in a place where "we are all smokers here," despite their differences outside the hazy opium shop. 

This strange assortment of people whose stories comprise this novel  include Ramesh, called Rumi,  a Brahmin business man who hates everyone and wears cowboy boots; Rumi has a penchant not only for opium and later garad heroin, but also for violence, including regularly beating his wife.   Then there's Rashid himself, who became a hippie, got into drugs, and opened his own shop in the late 1970s after watching a movie called "Hare Krishna, Hare Ram."   Helping Rashid  in his chandu khana is Dimple, a prostitute who was given away by her mother at a young age, castrated and given opium to help deal with the pain, and who serves clients at the local brothel specializing in eunuchs.  She brings Rashid opium pipes from her surrogate father Mr. Lee, whom she first met as a child.  Lee had left China during the Cultural Revolution, then died in Bombay where he had settled because of the sea. [As a brief aside, Lee's story is one of the best parts of this novel -- it is set in China during Mao's Cultural Revolution. His story also  closes a circle:  his revered opium pipes  come back to India, where the opium flow to China began with the British East India Company.] Lee  teaches Dimple how to use the pipes properly, tells her stories, and after he dies, the pipes are part of her inheritance.  They also become part of a deal -- Dimple wants to eventually leave the brothel and offers the pipes in trade for staying with Rashid.  Dimple also wants to figure out and become who she really is; along the way she dons the burkha, is saved from a mob by being a Christian, obtains different first names, and it is she who drives a great deal of this narrative. Dimple is trying to put the past aside in order to find a measure of peace and beauty in the world for her future.  Other people found in the area include Bengali, who deals with Rashid's money and keeps his ear to the streets, the gangster street boss Lala, and many other colorful people the author has created.

Thirty years pass quickly in this novel as it follows this generation of Rashid's customers and others  through their less than happy lives.  Bombay is rocked with floods, riots, corruption, etc;   it also experiences the switch in preference from opium to garad heroin,  "the unrefined shit they throw away when they make good quality maal for junkies in rich countries."  Garad comes from Pakistan; in Urdu its name means waste.  Rashid refuses to sell it, but that doesn't prevent its spread among his customers.  With the introduction of "Chemical," where strychnine is added to the heroin to  "give it a kick," it becomes more lethal, but is  more readily available than food, because the sales of heroin are "protected" by politicians and crooks.   As one character notes, "today the street belongs to whoever takes it. Today it's ours, tomorrow someone else will take our place."

Bombay's changes continue over the years, and when Ullis returns to his homeland, he finds that parts of the Shuklaji street neighborhood have received  a face lift and have become more modern, trying to keep up with twenty-first century trends. Everything is shiny and new, with splashes of color everywhere.  Rashid's son Jamal is now in charge of the family business, which has extended itself to making deals with the Russians. He and his wife Farheen go out clubbing in crowded spots bursting with the beat,  where she drops the burkha in favor of more trendy clothes. But despite the glitz and the glamour of this new, modern life, some things remain the same: the demand for escape in the city is still high, as are the suppliers'  twin drives for money and power. "Dance or we die," Farheen notes to Jamal, whose deals involve  newer drugs of choice, including cocaine and ecstasy.

I realize I've  barely skimmed the surface here, but it's because this book is very multi-faceted, with so much to capture one's attention and little time and space here to go through it all.  There are  exiles and eunuchs, poets and painters, ghosts and spirits, and dreams that leak from one person to another --  only a few examples of what you'll find  in this incredible book.   Narcopolis is a very human story, and although there's a bit of a surrealistic quality surrounding the characters' lives and experiences, it is grounded in the truth of Thayil's own experiences as a drug addict who left Bombay for a while, came to the US, and returned later to his homeland.

 Toward page 55 of this novel, I wrote in  my notebook that "it's hard to tell the drug-induced dreams and hallucinations from the reality,"  and I think that's not an unfair description of the way the author writes.   His background as a poet is quite obvious in the way he writes his prose. Dreams and hallucinations meld into reality and it's often difficult to separate them, Shuklaji street comes alive with even the smallest of details, and while you may feel little but disdain for many of the characters, some of them, like Dimple, become people with whom you can't help but sympathize.  There is a great deal of irony scattered throughout, and even a few moments of humor.  Thayil also blends different types of texts (magazine articles, books, an imaginary book set in the future also written with opium pipe in hand, movies, lectures, etc.) into his own narrative, creating a multi-layered effect that heightens the reading experience to the point where I never would have guessed that the book is his first novel.  I'm not an English major nor am I good enough at more in-depth liteary analysis to provide one here, and some of the symbolism more than likely escaped me.   I'll leave that side of things  to others far more qualified.  However, as a reader who enjoys international fiction, constantly on the lookout for something fresh and different, this novel blew me away.  I've never read anything like it, and I probably never will again. It's unique, a one of a kind book filled with passion; it's gritty and tough, real and surreal all at the same time. 

There are a few things about this novel that may concern potential readers:  summarized briefly,  the novel sort of rambles so if you're into linear, clear-cut plot development and a story that moves quickly from point a to point b, has a climax and then ends on a high note, well, this book might not be for you.  Also, throughout the novel there is a great deal of sex, graphic language, graphic violence and a rape scene here and there, not to mention the drug use.  While these are all things that might actually happen given the environment, some people may be not quite ready to deal with the author's descriptions or subject matter.   Frankly, Narcopolis is probably not going to be everyone's cup of tea; if, however, you can get past the usual and are attracted to something very different,  then you might want to give it a try.

Although I was going to read this book on my own anyway, I jumped at the opportunity to read it as part of a series of TLC blog tours.  The remaining stops for this book are listed here if you're interested. 

*The Wandering Falcon, by Jamil Ahmad

9781594488276
Riverhead  Books, 2011
243 pp
(hard cover ed.)

"One lives and survives only if one has the ability to swallow and digest bitter and unpalatable things. We, you and I, and our people shall live because there are only a few among us who do not love raw onions." 

If you are considering writing as a vocation and you're getting along in years, do not despair: Jamil Ahmad wrote this lovely little book in his 70s, and this year it was shortlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize.  

Courtesy of  Wikipedia

The book is set in what is now considered to be a very troubled and indeed, very controversial area, the Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Afghanistan.  Of of these areas, Waziristan,  has been in the news for some time due to its fame as a Taliban refuge, but Ahmad's focus is on the numerous tribes who occupied this region prior to modern-day conflicts; he examines how they maintain their ways of life as modernity encroaches on traditional societies.  The title character is Tor Baz, (Black Falcon) who was born near a military outpost, a "tangle of crumbling, weather-beaten, and broken hills where the borders of Iran, Pakistan and Afghanistan meet," to a couple of illicit lovers from the Siahpad tribe who had run away from their home.  All goes well with this family of three until their pasts catch up with them and they are found by their kinsmen and dealt with in accordance to tribal custom. Tor is spared, but  abandoned; he is later picked up by Baluch tribesmen, then handed off from person to person and eventually, he simply strikes out on his own.  

Throughout the book, he  moves throughout  the various border areas, serving as the vehicle through which Ahmad brings his readers into the lives of the different tribes who inhabit this landscape: the Wazirs, Mahsuds, Brahui, the Kharot  and the Afridi; there are also the  Nasirs, the Dortanis and Baluchs.  Along the way Ahmad describes how changes in the world outside of these regions have affected the tribespeople. In one story, for example,  nomadic Kharot Powindas ("foot people") have brought their livestock to graze along their traditional wandering routes, but now the border is guarded by soldiers who will not let them pass without proper papers.  But these documents cost money and require birth certificates, health documents and identity papers, neither of which the thousands of Kharot possess.  One brave woman puts the Quran on her head, banking on the fact that she will be protected, and leads her animals forward only to be fired on by soldiers. As others make the same attempt, they and their animals are mowed down in what will become a massacre.    In another, tribes are aligned either with the British or the Nazis during World War II; and in still another, the key guide leading  climbers up the Tirich Mir in the Hindu Kush area finds himself with no income and unable to provide for his family once the summit is conquered; his daughter is stolen and later sold into prostitution.

Ahmad writes simply, adding few embellishments to his prose, but it is the sense of place that stands out in this book.  From the harsh, dry deserts with their blinding sandstorms to the peaks of the Hindu Kush, the landscape is eloquently and realistically described.  Combining his writing with his expert knowledge of the area, Ahmad takes his readers on a journey through lands they might otherwise never see,  revealing a longstanding way of life that has been disappearing for some time. The book is also filled with scenes that create vivid images in the reader's imagination; for example, in one story, a wife calls to her husband to come out and witness the beginning of spring:

"There was a full moon, and it hung half hidden behind the northern cliff.  The moonlight was strong and dazzling to the eyes... A long distance away on the mountain crest, he could see small antlike figures silhouetted against its orb. There was a long chain of them moving slowly with loads on their backs. These were the ice cutters." 

 It is very obvious that Ahmad has a deep fondness for the people and the landscape of these areas.  He is not critical of the people who inhabit this region; at the same time, he does not idealize them either. Through his eyes perhaps his readers will be able to envision a place, a time, and groups of people before all became  synonymous with terror and war.

Many of the book's critics have complained that it is misrepresented as a novel, and I agree. It is really a set of short stories, and using Tor Baz  as our eyes and ears in some cases does not imply that the book revolves around his character. The dustjacket blurb is a bit misleading in that respect. However, when all is said and done, whether or not it is a novel or a short-story collection just isn't that big of a deal, because it is such a good book no matter what you want to call it. Definitely recommended. 

You can find a brief article about the author here.

fiction from Pakistan

*Rebirth, by Jahnavi Barua

9780143414551
Penguin India, 2010
203 pp
(trade paper ed. - India)

Rebirth is Jahnavi Barua's first novel, although in 2008 she also authored a book of short stories entitled Next Door.  It is narrated by the main character Kaberi, and the narrative is addressed to her unborn baby, the type of thing I normally shy away from in my reading choices. No wait. I normally RUN from this type of thing. However,  to be perfectly honest, and much to my own surprise, there are several features that elevate this novel from being just another book of women's fiction or chicklit.  It has a vividly-evoked sense of place and time,  quality prose that does not fall prey to overdone cliches, and the reader catches a glimpse into  issues facing not only modern Indian women, but a bit of India's ongoing regional, political strife that affects people in all walks of life.   There is also a nice, reflective symmetry at work that is well constructed:  the story takes place over the few months between Kaberi's discovery that she is pregnant and the first pangs of labor contractions, and as Kaberi is patiently awaiting the baby's emergence, she is also on a path toward her own.

Kaberi is married to Ranjit (Ron) and lives a very middle-class existence in a nice flat in Bangalore. She has been working on a children's book for about a year, unbeknownst to her husband, and the book is now ready for her to begin the editing process.  But despite her environment, upscale life and her happiness about being pregnant, things are not so great for Kaberi: Ron is having an affair and living with another woman, and has moved many of his things out of the flat.  Ron's behavior toward Kaberi fluctuates erratically; often when Ron wants something from Kaberi, she usually acquiesces with little protest, but he is not above using physical violence on her from time to time. Kaberi hasn't mentioned the pregnancy to her husband; she wants him to return to her not because of the baby, but because he still loves Kaberi.  Actually, Kaberi hasn't mentioned the pregnancy or Ron's absence from their home  to anyone; the one friend in whom she may have confided early on was killed in a bus explosion  during an insurgency in Assam, and Kaberi just lets on that Ron's company frequently sends him away on business.  When Ron comes to her to ask for a divorce, he expects that she will give in to his request, but Kaberi realizes  that now she is in a position of strength, one that is only bolstered by a trip home to Assam when an unforeseen event occurs. Obviously there's a great deal more to the story, but to say any more would be unfair.

Yes, yes, yes, I know it sounds like the standard women's fiction/chicklit kind of story, but there is an unusual amount of depth at work in this novel which lifts the premise of this story from what it could have been to something on an elevated level. The sense of place moves the reader from modern city -- where even in the midst of the city's hustle-bustle an open  verandah attached to a flat can be an isolating experience --  to muddy roads to the lush jungle near Bangalore and then to the scenic river views in Assam where people float on barges for parties, each with its accompanying wonders and vivid colors in terms of flora and fauna. Moving along, the author never feels compelled to document incidents of domestic violence in graphic detail, nor does her main character wring her hands, bemoan her fate in a "poor, poor, pitiful me" kind of way, take revenge or take a lover to spite her unfaithful husband. The spotlight is always on Kaberi, her sense of isolation and the slow realization of her empowerment that comes about as a result of her inner strength, and the prose moves steadily and is, if anything,  quietly understated.  Finally, the author manages to weave in some of the political and social issues of the agitation in Assam, where people took to the streets to make their voices and agendas heard, only to be betrayed in the long run.

Rebirth is a very fast read but a good one, and if this is Jahnavi Barua's very first novel, then she's off to a running start in her writing career.   I did get a bit tired of reading through longish descriptions of different outfits the women wore in this book, and the colors and styles various people used in decorating their homes -- it was just too extraneous for me to really care about and added little to the overall story. But really, if that's the worst I have to say about this book, then that's a good thing! I'll look forward to more from this author in the future.

 *****

A note to publishers or to anyone else who cares: as an extremely avid consumer of the written word and buyer of hundreds of books per year,  I think it would be very nice if books listed for international prizes were available on an international scale, but I do understand that there are rights restrictions and whatever.  Personally, I don't get this phenomenon of  limiting award-nominated books to only one country or one region when the publishing business isn't doing so well these days and international releases might boost sales.  After looking around my usual online haunts to find this book, I had the choice of going to Penguin India or paying about $60 US for a 200-page paperback. I went with Penguin India and was happy to do so, but I can't speak for everyone else who might want to read this book here in the US.

*River of Smoke, by Amitav Ghosh

9780719568985
John Murray, 2011 (UK)
517 pp
(Hard cover edition)

"Look there, he said, pointing upriver. You'll see a big fort, down by the water, right at the river's mouth. The lascars call it 'Sher-ka-mooh,' the Tiger's Mouth; the Angrez call it the Bogue. It was built just a few years ago, to defend the river, and to look at it you would think no one could ever get into such a stronghold. But at night you or I or anyone else could walk in, without anyone stopping us. The soldiers are all lost in smoke, and their officers too. This is a plague from which no one can escape."

 ****

River of Smoke is book two of Ghosh's Ibis Trilogy, so named for the ship introduced in book one, Sea of Poppies.  In book one, set in 1836, the British colonial powers had changed the rich fields of Indian farmland into a veritable "sea of poppies," and had economically hogtied the people who used to raise their own food crops to the opium industry. Opium often forced farmers into debt and into leaving their homes, causing many of them to make voyage to plantations in Mauritius and other places where the abolition of slavery left a great demand for indentured workers. Now two years later, River of Smoke follows the opium from its origins in India to its final destination in China, where in thirty years the amount of the "black mud" penetrating throughout the country has increased "tenfold," and where

"...thousands, maybe millions of people ... have become slaves to it -- monks, generals, housewives, soldiers, mandarins, students,"

and now, in 1838, the Emperor has had enough, and he's sent an emissary to Canton to force the issue.

Despite what may be expected of the second novel of this trilogy, River of Smoke does not actually pick up where Sea of Poppies left off.  Although some answers as to the respective fates of the characters from Sea of Poppies are partially revealed, and although some familiar characters continue on in River of Smoke, Ghosh sets the action in Canton and brings in new faces, most notably that of Bahram Naurozji Modi, a wealthy Parsi merchant from Bombay.  He had married into a family of famous shipbuilders who had made their fortunes after being awarded a contract from the East India Company;  he decided that he would like to get into the export business. At age 21, he made his first trip to Canton, where he was "stripped of the multiple wrappings of home, family, community, obligation and decorum," and became a different person altogether, even taking on a mistress who gave him a son.  Known there as Barry Moddie, he has returned after a three-year absence, sailing in his beloved ship Anahita, with a hold full of opium, "possibly the single most valuable cargo that had ever been carried out of the Indian Subcontinent." He is banking on making enough money to satisfy his investors, make a fortune for himself and prove something to his wife's family.   Now that he is in Canton just as the Emperor has decided to crack down and start enforcing the longstanding ban on opium imports, his ability to sell his cargo is on hold; in the meantime he is appointed to "the Committee," which runs the Canton Chamber of Commerce, "the foreign enclave's unofficial Cabinet." Bahram has his appointment because he is the longest-standing merchant from India, not because of any feelings of equity from the other members of the Committee. It is there that the merchants' battles over the opium trade will be fought, and where Bahram, as the member from India, will be caught in the middle of the debate between free trade as a God-given right of imperialistic nations and the morality of the opium trade as well.   With this role comes great responsibility, as his friend Zadig reminds him:

 "You will have to ask yourself: what of the future? How do we safeguard our interests in the event of war?...And if the Chinese manage to hold off the Europeans, what will become of us, and our relations with them? We too will be suspect in their eyes. We who have traded here for generations, will find ourselves banned from coming again."

But it is not just the future of trade that Bahram must contemplate: first, he must acknowledge his own role in the opium trade currently devastating China, since


"almost all the 'black mud' that came to Canton was shipped from your own shores; and you knew also that even though your share of the riches that grew upon that mud was minuscule, that did not prevent the stench of it from clinging more closely to you than to any other kind of Alien."

and this truth will have ultimately have devastating implications for Bahram as a human being. 


There is a great deal of use of the term "civilized nation," and it is ultimately up to the reader to decide what this means.  River of Smoke also presents the flip side of relations with China, in which cultural exchange has benefits for all nations: in art and poetry as represented by the character of Robin Chinnery and in the exchange of plants, carried out by Mr. Penrose, a wealthy man whose nurseries in Britain were famous for their wide variation in imported plants, and Paulette Lambert,  one of the original passengers of the Ibis from Sea of Poppies. While Paulette sort of sits on the sidelines of all the politics since as a woman she cannot enter the foreign enclave in Canton, she and her patron work to collect and trade plants with the Chinese, but even their work is interrupted by politics.

If you read Sea of Poppies, you will remember the fast-paced action of that story; don't expect the same here. I have to admit to being skeptical of this novel at first because the action in River of Smoke is slow to build, but once the story got to Singapore, the pace picked up and I found myself  in the role of observer of events leading to a critical moment in China's history.  I often use the phrase "I couldn't put the book down," meaning I was absorbed in the pages in front of me, but this time I literally did not stop reading until I had come to the very end and I have the dark circles under my eyes to prove it. This book put me in the skins of the main characters and I was caught up in the all of the political and  moral debates, felt the tensions rising in the foreign enclaves, and then became ultimately saddened by knowing what's in store for the Chinese within the next year or so and where it's all going to lead.  And in today's global geopoliticking, the same old songs are being heard again and as in the past, the big powers aren't listening. 

Although tempered by humor, especially in terms of language misunderstandings, River of Smoke is an intense novel that rises above the ordinary to tell an incredibly devastating story while offering a glimpse of what could have been if greed and nationalistic pride hadn't interfered. It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea, but it is an excellent book, and I recommend it very highly.

fiction from India

The Sly Company of People Who Care, by Rahul Bhattacharya

9780374265854
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011
278 pp
(hardcover ed)

The Sly Company of People Who Care is Rahul Bhattacharya's first novel,currently  shortlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize, and winner of the Hindu Literary Prize for Best Fiction in 2011.   It is structured in three parts, told via first-person narrative and set in the country of Guyana. It's also a  hell of a good book that will leave you thinking long after you've set it down. 

The story is told from the point of view of the narrator, who has left his home in India for Guyana to escape the "deadness" of his life.   His plan is to stay for a year, to become a "slow ramblin' stranger." He'd been in Guyana before for a week reporting on a cricket match, and during that time he sensed "moods and images, names and rhythms, contours of a mystery world one could perceive but not grasp."   This time around,  he  finds this place  to have the "feel of an accidental place," a place of "epic indolence," with a multitude of voices to be heard: "chinee, putagee, buck, coolie, and the combinations emanating from these, a separate and larger lexicon."   While  traveling into the interior with a local huckster and "porknocker" (diamond miner) named Baby, he soaks up local life along the way,  and becomes enthralled with Guyana's natural beauty. There he discovers that while he's in awe at Baby's freedom and ability to live off little more than his wits, he also finds witnesses an act of betrayal and something worse that leaves him wondering.  On his return to Georgetown, after recovering from a case of dengue fever, he realizes that

"One escapes one's life for however long, seeking adventure - I think of the Hindi word dheel. That is what kite-flyers in Bombay shouted when they wanted the spooler to let loose the thread...So one escapes one's life seeking adventure, and with enough dheel and some luck, that happens.  But the thread is anchored. You can only go so far. The impulse must change. Instead of adventure one seeks understanding."

Hooking up with a local character named Ramotar Seven Curry, a professional wedding guest, the narrator is at one such event, "where everyone is welcome," regardless of social class, but as it turns out, that blanket doesn't exactly include Africans.  Here the narrator begins to grasp what really lies beneath Guyana's beautiful exterior.  The tone of the novel begins to shift, as the author explores "the wounds left behind," and where the narrator makes a critical discovery about the country he at first thought so "accidental." While discussing India's hierarchical class rigidity and the fact that Indian nationals do not see their fellow Indians in Guyana as Indian at all, in a mix of both fiction and nonfiction, the narrator also relates how Guyana became a nation divided along the lines of race beginning with its European colonization. The narrative  goes back into Guyana's troubled past to make some sense of its troubled present. It is a story of the forced migration of slaves, the end of slavery and the introduction of indentured servants largely from India, and the social, political and economic displacement of one set of people over another via policies set by the Europeans. What's left now is a  "competition of suffering" between the two groups," with  the Afro-Guyanese seeing things from one point of view and the Indo-Guyanese having an altogther different take on the situation.   What Europeans started before leaving the country has left long-standing wounds that continue to inform most aspects of life in this country, and not just the economic and political aspects. And the pattern of movement and displacement continues today, as "there are more Guyanese living outside Guyana than in it."

In another shift of tone, the narrator's story picks up with him becoming a bit bored and restless, ready for yet another journey.   He meets a local girl named Jan, and they're off to Venezuela.  He falls head over heels; she's looking for an escape.   They're attracted to each other by the sex, but otherwise he comes to realize that they have very little in common, and the excitement begins to wear thin.  As his visa is about to expire, the two head back to Guyana, and it is then that he runs into a moral dilemma or two over "wounds left behind" for which he might be responsible.

There's a great deal more to this book, but there's too much to encapsulate in a few paragraphs.  Suffice it to say that the narrator ultimately comes to realize that in Guyana, everything is not so accidental after all -- that everything has been created, seeds have been sown that have taken  root deep within the very souls of the Guyanese people, and they all stem back to the European colonizers.

At first I wasn't so sure about this book, but after finishing it and giving it some thought, I grew to really like it as I considered all of the ironies within.  I'll leave you to figure them out for yourself. The prose is lush and  descriptive, especially in detailing the beauties of the Guyanese landscape.   Some people have criticized the book for having no real resolution, but perhaps the lack of an ending tied up neatly in a little bow is reflective of the content of the novel.  Definitely and highly recommended.  There is a lot of really good fiction coming out of South Asia right now, and this book is no exception.

Chinaman, by Shehan Karunatilaka

9780224091459
Jonathan Cape, 2011 (UK)
397 pp.
(hardcover)



There is a Sinhalese expression "Konde bandapu cheena," which translates as "ponytailed Chinaman,"  and connotes someone gullible -- someone who will believe anything.   A "Chinaman" in cricket terms is (according to Wikipedia) "a left-handed bowler bowling wrist spin (left arm unorthodox). For a right-handed batsman, the ball will move from the off side to the leg side (left to right on the TV screen). "  The question asked by the narrator of this novel is this:

"Is this a story about a pony-tailed Chinaman bowler? Or a tale to tell a pony-tailed Chinaman? That is for you to decide." 

Whatever your choice may be after finishing this novel, Chinaman is one of the best novels I've read so far this year.  I know jack about cricket, which features heavily throughout the story; no surprise there, considering Americans are far more involved in football, baseball and basketball.  Strangely enough, my lack of knowledge was not a drawback in any form.  The mix of Sri Lankan history, contemporary politics, humor, the characters and the author's prose all come together to make this book an unforgettable experience.

"There is nothing more inspiring than a solid deadline," notes  retired Sri Lankan  journalist WG Karunasena,  and after a long career of both sportswriting and serious drinking, he has been given  his last one.  His doctor has given him about a year to live if he does not stop drinking;  if WG  cuts down to two drinks a day, maybe a year or two at most.  He decides that it's a good time to do a "halfway decent documentary on Sri Lankan cricket", and is obsessed with a cricket player named Pradeep Mathew, who he says, is Sri Lanka's all-time best cricketer.  Mathew was a "top spinner...," "Chinaman, googly, top spinner and that amazing arm ball that god rid of the Aussie captain."   Along with his friend and fellow cricket fanatic  Ari Byrd, WG begins to gather information on Mathew, who has long-since disappeared from the cricket scene, official records  and also from Sri Lanka, seemingly vanishing into thin air.   As they start the documentary project, which will later evolve into a book project for WG, they run into several people who claim to know something about Mathew, and they run into others who do not want WG to go any further with the project. Is there some conspiracy at work here?  As WG and Ari embark on their at times rather strange quest, WG's obsession with Mathew and his discussions about the game of cricket become a vehicle for exploring Sri Lankan politics and history, and life in contemporary Sri Lankan society.  

But there are other considerations at work in this novel as well, both on and off the cricket field  -- relationships within families;  friendships;  politics and money that get in the way of sportsmanship;  old age; the sadness and regret of wasted lives; the inescapable power plays --  all presented in a style that fits well into the story without ever getting overly preachy.   There's WG's old nemesis, once a rival for WG's wife Sheila, who may or may not have had six fingers and who  may or may not have been Mathew's school coach ; a midget who claims to have had an underground bunker and to have secretly taped damning conversations on the cricket field; a friend  of WG who may or not be a pedophile; and there's WG himself, the very center of the novel -- should anyone even believe his ramblings,  considering his alcoholic bent toward self destruction and considering the characters that populate this novel?   The story is punctuated throughout with definitions of cricket terms, diagrams of different cricket techniques, parts of the field etc, largely to help the reader and to move the story along. .  There are also fuzzy photos here and there that may or may not lend credence to WG's search for the truth about Pradeep Mathew. 

Chinaman is funny and downright sobering at the same time, which given the seriousness of the history of ongoing problems in Sri Lanka is a good juggling act, keeping the reader entertained on one hand while exploring the problems of this nation.  And then there's the sports aspect: the author clearly brings out the "magic" moments of sporting events that tie people together:  "sport can unite worlds, tear down walls and transcend race, the past, and all probability.  Unlike life, sport matters." As WG notes,

"In thirty years, the world will not care about how I lived. But in a hundred years, Bulgarians will still talk of Letchkov and how he expelled the mighty Germans from the 1994 World Cup with a simple header."

As an American who knows little to nothing about the sport of cricket, at first the book was a bit daunting, even though the author lays out the basics and then throws in bits about different throws or batting techniques.  When I realized that this could be problematic, I went to the internet for help in getting a quick rundown on how this game is played -- problem solved.  Cricket  might be a sticking point for some readers in this country, but ultimately I discovered it didn't really matter -- the overall story is so good and is so well told that my lack of cricket knowledge was only a momentary glitch that really did not distract from the narrative.   The ending may be a bit gimmicky for some readers, but  the book's good points are so numerous that they outweigh any negatives. 

Whether or not you care about cricket, I definitely and highly recommend this book -- it is that good, offering its readers a glimpse into life in another country, and into one man's journey of discovery  in his last months of life. It's a beautiful book, and I hope it finds other Americans to cheer it on.

addendum: One of my online book friends informed me yesterday that this book is going to be published by Graywolf Press under the title of The Legend of Pradeep Mathew. According to Graywolf's page (linked under the title), it will be coming out May of this year.