The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai (Review)

If I could give an alternative name to Kiran Desai's second novel, I would call it 'The Loneliness of the Long Distance Immigrant'. Because it centres on the solitude faced by many of its characters. Not only geographical isolation, mind, but also a mental one. However, 'The Inheritance of Loss' is just an apt a title because it deals with themes like dislocation and dispossession.

Biju is a young, recent émigré to the US where he can barely sustain himself through a mix of meagre, low-paid jobs. Back in India, though, his father delights in telling stories about how well his son is doing. Sai is barely out of her teens when she arrives at her grandfather's house after both her parents are killed in an accident in Russia. Her grandad is a retired judge, who worked in the Indian Civil Service and former student at Cambridge. Gyan, Sai's tutor and later her lover, is a Nepalese young man who gradually reveals a fervent patriotism towards his native land causing frictions between Sai and him. The peripheral roles fall to Biju's father, the cook, Lola and Noni, two elderly ladies who befriend Sai and love all things English, Uncle Potty and Father Booty.

'The Inheritance...' is a novel with a very distinctive trait: the richness of its language. And that's both from a literary and linguistic point of view. The former is represented by frequent page-breaks which convey a sense of intimacy and hearsay. We're often allowed to roam freely in a character's mind and be almost an active participant of his or her inner world. Moreover, this device is redolent of the ancient art of story-telling, where the narrators would usually have the opportunity to take a detour from the initial tale and end up recounting a whole different, though still amusing, story. Not that Kiran deviates from the plot too much. But it's still a pleasure to find a writer who likes telling stories as well as paying attention to mood, setting and period. The linguistic factor is provided by the mix of English, Hindi and Nepali in the novel. Desai's characters are constantly moving between languages, in the same way that they are also moving between countries, even if the latter happens only in the mind occasionally (for instance the judge lying on his bed at night, reminiscing about his time in Britain). The Hindi and Nepali words and phrases are italicised and highlight the sense of belonging and dislocation of Sai, her grandfather, Biju et al.

Another aspect of the book I enjoyed thoroughly was the humour. Satirical, witty and sometimes politically incorrect. The author is very careful when she addresses the ethnic divisions in India and you can't help thinking that she must have eavesdropped on many a conversation during her time there in order to come up with such an accurate portrayal of how the various ethnic and religious groups talk about each other. What could have been contemptuous recklessness in a different context, it's transformed into very well-written passages in the novel.

However, I was not prepared for the impact 'The Inheritance...' had on me personally, beyond its literary merit. There were two scenes that will stick in mind forever. The first one was during Biju's second attempt to go to the US. The description of the queue outside the American embassy and the reigning atmosphere reminded me of my own situation when I applied for a permit to the Cuban Immigration Service to visit the UK, minus the air-con:

'Outside, a crowd of shabby people had been camping, it appeared, for days on end. Whole families that had travelled from distant villages, eating food packed and brought with them; some individuals with no shoes, some with cracked plastic ones; all smelling already of the ancient sweat of a never-ending journey. Once you got inside, it was air-conditioned and you could wait in rows of orange bucket chairs that shook if anyone along the length began to bop their knees up and down.'

The description is so vivid that I could smell the sweat to which Desai refers in the scene. The despair and hopelessness are there, if not overtly shown, at least hinted at.

The second passage brought back memories galore of me sitting in a room at a neighbour's or a friend's, waiting for an incoming call from my then girlfriend, now wife. The same feelings of angst and forlornness that overcome Biju and his father are ones I recognise myself as I spent many an hour expecting the phone to ring any minute:

'The phone sat squat in the drawing room of the guesthouse encircled by a lock and chain so the thieving servants might only receive phone calls and not make them. When it rang again, the watchman leapt at the it, saying, "Phone, la! Phone! La mai!" and his whole family came running from their hut outside. Every time the phone rang, they ran with committed loyalty. Upkeepers of modern novelties, they would not, would not, let it fall to ordinariness.'

'The Inheritance...' is above all a book about the migrant experience. And unlike other novels where there's a happy ending or a predictable one, in Desai's book, the dénouement caught me by surprise, even if she prepares the reader for it several pages before. This might be the reason why some readers have felt cheated - besides alleged inaccuracies in Kiran's descriptions of places, people and some of the idioms she uses, especially the Nepali ones. In my opinion, the ending more than justifies the plot, which is about disorientation, lack of sympathy and empathy and displacement. Combined with running themes such as food, language, nationalism and attitudes to colonialism and supported by a beautiful poetic prose, Kiran Desai's 'The Inheritance of Loss' is a novel I will be re-reading in the near future.

© 2010

Next Post: 'Living in a Bilingual World', to be published on Thursday 1st July at 11:59pm (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

As I write these lines two thousand people are believed to have been killed and forty thousand displaced by the conflict in Kyrgystan. A few weeks ago, Israel's raid on a Gaza-bound flotilla caused the death of eight Turkish activists. And David Cameron's recent apology to the victims of the Bloody Sunday massacre caused a veteran correspondent, who covered the event, to claim that the Prime Minister would be a worthy recipient of the Freedom of Derry tartan. In a bookshop, in Kuala Lumpur, I held Amartya Sen's 'The Idea of Justice' in my hands, wondering whether to buy it or not.

The first three events are linked. The fourth one is not prima facie. But it is indeed, and I will explain to you how.

Amartya Sen is a name that has cropped up very often in articles I've read in The Economist magazine, The Guardian and The New Statesman. Although I had never thought of buying any of his books, a recent feature by this Nobel Prize winner on how justice can address powerlessness made me think a great deal about that subject and ultimately hold his 'The Idea of Justice' in a bookshop at the airport on the day (or night, rather) I was coming back from Malaysia.

For Sen the hypothetical contract entered by the state and its people in which both parties are involved in identifying the institutions they need is flawed. In contrast, he believes that it's people's actual lives and circumstances that ought to shape up the justice system.

This is where the first of the three examples I mentioned before comes in. Is justice a byword for fairness, too? The crisis in Kyrgystan is not rooted in the violence unleashed by the pro-president Kurmanbek Bakiyev brigade, but in the ethnic carving up in which Stalin indulged right after Lenin kicked the bucket in 1924. After the disintegration of the ex-Soviet Union, the justice system was modified, but ethnic divisions were not addressed. The question is, then, can there be a structure based on moral principles that ignores - or even encourages, sometimes - bias and prejudice?

This is where the Gaza flotilla raid comes into the picture. And no, I'm not interested in whether you, reader, are pro-Israeli or Palestinian, but rather in whether you think there can ever be a body of laws that seeks to enforce the moral principles I mentioned before whilst atempting to be fair. When the Israeli forces attacked the Free Gaza Movement's boat, they claimed the organisers' intent was violent. Ties with global terrorist groups were given as the justification for their actions. But was their excessive use of force fair? Even if we take their excuse that they were acting in self-defence at face value, their response looked disproportionate. This is where Amartya Sen's assertion that 'If our concentration has to be on the actual lives of people, the question that immediately arises is how to understand the richness and poverty of human lives. The approach I have tried to pursue has largely focused on the freedoms, in various forms, that people enjoy' comes into play. The problem is when people have been denied that freedom for a long time.

Enter then, the Saville inquiry. Justice was finally done. And Sen would be happy, because it was the powerless, in this case the families of those killed on that fatal day ('Sunday, Bloody Sunday', remember that song by U2?), who benefited more from this significant victory. The hurdle was overcome. However, the relatives of those murdered and injured on the streets of Derry had to wait thirty-two years to see a prime minister making the following statement to the House of Commons: 'On behalf of our country, I am deeply sorry'. Is it fair? Thirty-two years? Is that with what the family of Ian Tomlinson will have to contend?

Justice, fairness, powerlessness, freedom. Big, abstract words, but terms with which we come into contact very often. As a parent, I've had to mete out punishment to one or both my children every now and then, only for one party to retort: "It's not fair". Do you recognise the scenario, fellow parents? In this case, I think, the course of action to take is not to highlight distinction ('your action was different') but remark on the quality and equality of punitive measures ('why do you think I did this?'). The goal would be to eliminate any persistent notion of deprivation or low self-esteem.

It is those two last symptoms to which Amartya Sen refers in his piece. The Uzbeks fleeing southern Kyrgystan were already suffering deprivation of freedom, denied to them both by the former Soviet Union and by their current government. The Palestinians living in Gaza are caught in a crossfire between Israel and Hamas. The families of those killed on Bloody Sunday have had to wait for more than three decades to see their claims vindicated.

That's why I half-agree with Amartya. Half, because I do believe that the hypothetical contract entered by state and people ought not to be severed. A body of laws and the means to enforce them are necessary not just to safeguard democratic principles, but also to avoid an abrupt descent into chaos. However, when this system of moral codes does not work, or works only for a selected group, we need, then, to look closer to people's behaviour and their demands. It's one of the ways of reversing powerlessness, giving people the freedom (even if it's relative) they ask for, strengthening justice and acting fairly.

Pandora's World Cup Box

Madame Tussauds moment of the tournament so far: French coach Raymond Domenech in the game between his team and Mexico. Pandora had to pinch herself several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming and that the beleaguered manager was not the latest wax addition to the aforementioned museum. But no, everytime the camera zoomed in on him, there was the same 'Je ne sais pas quoi faire' expression on his stony, immobile face. It was only when Nicolas Anelka buzzed past him shouting out: 'Eppur si muove' that Domenech came out of his stupor, but by then it was too late. France had lost. Pandora believes that as she writes this post Raymond's measures are being taken so that he can take his place alongside the likes of Shrek and Tony Blair (please, insert your own joke here).

Eagle hats, feathered serpents and faces covered in green and white paint. And that's just the Mexican fans. Really, who needs Milan and New York when we have the World Cup, Pandora asks? Rumours that catwalks from London to Paris will emulate the once-every-four-years tournament and look to stage their shows in a similar way are not unfounded. South Africa 2010 has set the bar really high for the fashion world (and that includes the Bavaria brigade, who would have thought that orange was such a fun colour?). No wonder Lady Gaga is nowhere to be seen. Upstaged doesn't even begin to explain it.

Best fans of the tournament so far? Not the loud Brazilians, Portuguese and Argentinians, goalfest notwithstanding. Or the crafty Dutch. No, the best supporters this cup has seen, ipho (that means In Pandora's Humble Opinion), are the Bafana Bafana brigade. Rain or shine, hot or cold, the South Africans have come out en masse to cheer on every team. Even if they have set the uncomfortable record of being the first host nation not to have qualified for the last sixteen. Pandora cannot have been the only one who heard vuvuzelas being blown in unison as the Mexicans scored the equaliser in the opening game against the Safa team. And no, the horns were not coloured green and white. The South African football fans remind me of the drunkard one meets at a dinner party and who's so jolly and inebriated with happiness that he won't leave you alone until you see the scar from his hernia operation. Likewise, the cacophony of cheers and vuvuzelas around stadia is impartial. Which goes to show how mighty the English fans' boos were when they showed their disgust at their national team after the disappointing goalless draw with Algeria. To shout down one vuvuzela is impressive, to overpower a whole symphony orchestra of lepatatas is Herculean.

Pandora's good luck sees no signs of abating. Accidentally (well, these things happen), she was Cced into a recent message from the Queen to Fabio Capello: 'One has already had one's seat booked. I'll be playing midfield on Sunday'.

Memo to Norah Jones re today's clip: that's how you sing the blues, dear. Thanks and have a nice week.

© 2010



Next Post: 'The Inheritance of Loss' (Review), to be published on Tuesday 29th June at 11:59pm (GMT)