Wednesday, September 20, 2006
A Review of T.C. Boyle's "The Inner Circle"
In a year in which I've been uncharacteristically prolific in terms of volume of books read, this novel is hitherto the finest of the bunch. TC Boyle's "The Inner Circle" is a beautiful story which exposes you to a whole gamut of emotions: joy, frustration, disappointment, enlightenment, and to a lesser extent, titillation. Having never heard of the author before ("ignoramus!" you cry - guilty as charged), I chose to read the book purely because of an enthusiastic review in The Economist. I was glad I did.
The story is narrated by John Milk, a handsome but socially awkward college undergraduate whose adult life has hitherto been fairly uninspired and directionless, both professionally and sexually. A chance encounter with a college professor, Alfred Kinsey ("Prok"), forever changes the course of Milk's life. When the two men meet, Prok is at the very beginning of an ambitious research project that would later revolutionise American attitudes to sex; he needs an extra pair of hands with which to share the burden of work. Milk, humbled at being given the opportunity to be part of such a momentous project, agrees to work for Prok (although tellingly, it never seems as if he is given a choice; to agree is almost expected). Initially the combination works well; it is only when Milk begins to develop and mature into adult that the problems begin.
As Milk begins to form meaningful relationships and undergoes his own personal sexual revolution, albeit orchestrated largely by Prok (Milk's first two partners are Prok and his wife), it becomes apparent that his mentor's views aren't always conducive to matrimonial harmony, even though they seem to make perfect rational sense on the surface. Perhaps notions of "love" and fidelity aren't as antiquated as they might seem. We are given insight into the complex relationship between Prok and Milk - one that is pseudo-paternal but also involves physical relations, even though it often seems as if Milk is not that way inclined. Subconsciously, Prok and Milk fulfil different needs in each other. In Milk, Prok finds a subservient auxiliary who will carry out orders with blind devotion and without question, including the servicing of his sexual whims. At a deeper level, he finds someone who is impressionable and malleable enough to be indoctrinated into his distinct worldview. In Prok, Milk finds a paternal figure who will give his life what is so badly needs: direction and approval.
This book's strengths are many; superb character development is perhaps its foremost. Milk, the narrator, variously evokes frustration, pity but ultimately sympathy from the reader. The portrayal of Prok as a deeply flawed genius is perhaps even more impressive. Prok is a man perfectly clear of his life's goal, and a tireless pursuant of his cause. He lives and breathes his work as if he were put on Earth for only one reason: to revolutionise the way Americans think about sex. However, he is also tyrannical, dictatorial and extremely inflexible - qualities that become increasingly apparent as the story unfolds. Other characters of note include Iris - Milk's wife - who, despite being in many ways a victim of Prok's consummation of her husband, proves the only character capable of standing up to him. In Mac, Prok's wife, we find a woman who is ostensibly a doormat: she is resigned to her husband's way of life and is ostensibly accepting of any indiscretion he fancies committing. In her quiet way, however, she retains the capacity for human emotion and we are never entirely convinced that she has entirely subscribed to her husband's worldview.
In a book that is supposed to be about sex, "The Inner Circle" is surprisingly fraught with emotion, perhaps just as physical relations and emotion are inextricably linked in real life. Boyle reminds us that the desire to be loved and jealousy are just as basic human instincts as is the carnal need to copulate. He does so without being remotely patronising or offensive, instead with a beautiful story that involves very ordinary human beings whose emotional capacities are stretched by one revolutionary but ultimately misguided man.
Gaurav Wadhwani
The story is narrated by John Milk, a handsome but socially awkward college undergraduate whose adult life has hitherto been fairly uninspired and directionless, both professionally and sexually. A chance encounter with a college professor, Alfred Kinsey ("Prok"), forever changes the course of Milk's life. When the two men meet, Prok is at the very beginning of an ambitious research project that would later revolutionise American attitudes to sex; he needs an extra pair of hands with which to share the burden of work. Milk, humbled at being given the opportunity to be part of such a momentous project, agrees to work for Prok (although tellingly, it never seems as if he is given a choice; to agree is almost expected). Initially the combination works well; it is only when Milk begins to develop and mature into adult that the problems begin.
As Milk begins to form meaningful relationships and undergoes his own personal sexual revolution, albeit orchestrated largely by Prok (Milk's first two partners are Prok and his wife), it becomes apparent that his mentor's views aren't always conducive to matrimonial harmony, even though they seem to make perfect rational sense on the surface. Perhaps notions of "love" and fidelity aren't as antiquated as they might seem. We are given insight into the complex relationship between Prok and Milk - one that is pseudo-paternal but also involves physical relations, even though it often seems as if Milk is not that way inclined. Subconsciously, Prok and Milk fulfil different needs in each other. In Milk, Prok finds a subservient auxiliary who will carry out orders with blind devotion and without question, including the servicing of his sexual whims. At a deeper level, he finds someone who is impressionable and malleable enough to be indoctrinated into his distinct worldview. In Prok, Milk finds a paternal figure who will give his life what is so badly needs: direction and approval.
This book's strengths are many; superb character development is perhaps its foremost. Milk, the narrator, variously evokes frustration, pity but ultimately sympathy from the reader. The portrayal of Prok as a deeply flawed genius is perhaps even more impressive. Prok is a man perfectly clear of his life's goal, and a tireless pursuant of his cause. He lives and breathes his work as if he were put on Earth for only one reason: to revolutionise the way Americans think about sex. However, he is also tyrannical, dictatorial and extremely inflexible - qualities that become increasingly apparent as the story unfolds. Other characters of note include Iris - Milk's wife - who, despite being in many ways a victim of Prok's consummation of her husband, proves the only character capable of standing up to him. In Mac, Prok's wife, we find a woman who is ostensibly a doormat: she is resigned to her husband's way of life and is ostensibly accepting of any indiscretion he fancies committing. In her quiet way, however, she retains the capacity for human emotion and we are never entirely convinced that she has entirely subscribed to her husband's worldview.
In a book that is supposed to be about sex, "The Inner Circle" is surprisingly fraught with emotion, perhaps just as physical relations and emotion are inextricably linked in real life. Boyle reminds us that the desire to be loved and jealousy are just as basic human instincts as is the carnal need to copulate. He does so without being remotely patronising or offensive, instead with a beautiful story that involves very ordinary human beings whose emotional capacities are stretched by one revolutionary but ultimately misguided man.
Gaurav Wadhwani
Monday, August 21, 2006
'Shantaram' by Gregory David Roberts: A flawed but magical masterpiece
With the paperback version amassing 936 pages, Shantaram immediately brings one word to mind: excess. In truth, Gregory David Roberts delivers a highly readable fugitive account of his life after prison. Arriving on his own in Mumbai following his escape in the early 80's, Roberts is a man who has left behind everything that’s dear to him. In the years that follow, he lives an experience that, much like his adopted city, is congested and crammed with incident and adventure. Whilst learning Hindi and Marathi, he (amongst other things) unintentionally becomes a slum doctor, finds himself inducted into the Indian underworld, returns to a tortuous existence in an Indian prison, acts in Bollywood, and engages in military battle in Afghanistan- suffice to say, no ordinary existence by anyone’s standards.
Such a vivid array of events provides rich material for Roberts to steer us through the novel, but it is the large and diverse pool of multi-ethnic figures in Mumbai that flesh out his character. The eclectic melange of these personalities and the depiction of the varying contributions they make to Lin’s emotional, physical and mental evolution are one of the most impressive aspects of the book. Whether it is the relaxed philosophical musings of homosexual Frenchman Didier, the cheerful confidence of Vikram Patel or the combative macho of Iranian hardman Abdullah Taheri, Roberts portrays each of the plethora of individualities with well-appreciated vivacity. It is clear that many of these characters are used as outlets to illustrate the writer’s personal reflections on the vagaries of life, which are for the most part hugely insightful and stimulating. Juxtaposed to the gradual development of characters is Lin’s blossoming love and endearment towards India, which grows by the day.
The friendships and relationships which Roberts builds helps him to quickly discover the rigours and wonders of Mumbai. The irritating yet loveable street guide Prabaker (who christens Roberts as ‘Lin,’ short for ‘Linbaba’) is the first major character introduced, and the source of many of the humorous moments in the novel. It is the identities of Karla and Khader, however, that most permit the reader to dissect and analyse Lin, the former performing the customary literary role of love obsession. Khaderbhai is the mafia leader who eventually integrates Lin within his underworld network of black market activities and develops into a father figure for the Australian. Both probably evoke the most intense extremity of emotions for the protagonist out of anyone or anything in the novel, with the lone exception being Lin’s passion for the sights, sounds, people and geography of Mumbai.
Part of the reason why the book is so extensive is quite simply because Lin’s encounters inspire him to contemplate almost every feature of life that is imbued in the human experience:- love, hate, suffering, contentment, despair, hope, bitterness, forgiveness, envy, friendship- indeed, this is one of the most appealing properties of Shantaram, as the book contains a point of relation for absolutely any reader, no matter how knowledgeable he/she may be in dealing with any of these inevitabilities of being. The comprehensiveness and intelligence with which such issues are tackled lend Shantaram an all-encompassing universality that is a hallmark of great literature.
Lin’s life seems to contain more intriguing episodes than several people combined are ever forced to confront. There is no doubt that throughout most of the 5 broad parts of the book, Shantaram is a wonderfully compelling read. It is not without its tepid passages, however; the wartime Mujahedeen account, coming three-quarters of the way through the book, is rather lengthy and repetitive. It is worth observing though that whilst not as attractive as other stages, this period does carry underestimated significance to the novel as Roberts uses it to tie together many of the its loose strands.
It is difficult to approach the criticism of Shantaram, as it occupies a fuzzy area in terms of what it attempts to accomplish. It is neither billed as a concrete memoir nor as an autobiography, but an ‘extraordinary true story.’ Having thoroughly enjoyed the novel and undertaken research as to Roberts’ present activities, I was disappointed and felt almost betrayed to discover that while the events dealt with in the novel are real, several of the characters with which the reader develops an affinity are in fact fictional. However, this is perhaps a tribute to the quality of Roberts’ writing in that he contrives to make such characters seem so indisputably authentic.
More importantly, the most problematic area of the novel with regards to character seems to be with Lin himself. Shantaram (meaning ‘man of peace’) is the name given to him when he lives in Prabaker’s village, yet it is noticeable that despite it being the name of the book, he is scarcely referred as Shantaram throughout the story. When bestowed the name, Lin waxes lyrical about how it is the mark of a new beginning, which sets the tone for a tale of redemption. Many of the monologues described earlier are defined by the review of Lin’s struggle to develop his ‘good’ self in order to eradicate his ‘evil’ past. However, he proceeds to one point slip into a habit of heroin addiction, and his attempted justifications for his illegal dealings increase throughout the novel in line with his accumulating integration into Khader’s mafia network. By the end, Lin still maintains his black market connections and perseveres with underworld activities. One struggles to see why the book is called Shantaram when the proposed transformation of Gregory David Roberts to Lin to Shantaram does not appear to fully transpire. While it may be viewed as a pedantic and unimportant point, it is troublesome when one assesses the indeterminate message Roberts is trying to transmit- is it acceptable to routinely engage in violence and morally inept operations if one is conscious of the fact that he is doing so and that it isn’t right? Is it acceptable if you used to be even more of a criminal disposition, but have improved as a person since? Is it acceptable under any circumstances? On the one hand, one can forgive Roberts for being ambiguous because after all, he's only relaying his life story. On the other hand, given that there is a fictional element to the novel, it demands a more searching type of analysis. So then how fictitious is Shantaram? Therein lies the difficulty of critiquing the book.
The excess previously referred to embodies the gift and curse of Shantaram. The deftness and wealth of detail with which Roberts unveils his emotions- and with which personalities and appearances are scrutinized- leaves the reader no option but to be hauled into involvement with his world, and makes his dramatic, exotic and frequently brutal experiences seem extraordinarily immediate and real. The literary profusion that generates these effects is geared by his florid and extravagant prose, which is colourfully expressive, but often borders on the ridiculous- the most notable instances being the sex scenes. It is hard to go through one chapter without the text seeping into soul-searching monologues, many of them infused with gut-wrenching despair, exile being the predominant theme of the book. One also can’t help but feel that certain events are sensationalised, and unnecessarily embellished by the linguistic tendencies of the author. Every time Roberts gets himself into a physical altercation, he emerges victorious, on a few occasions without surrendering so much as a modicum of control.
Despite these observations, Shantaram is an enlightening and truly exhilarating novel. Roberts manages to lure the reader into his adventure extremely early, and very rarely throughout the course of the whole piece does his storytelling disappoint. The undeniable thrill, pace and allure of his tale overshadows some of the criticism that his writing might suffer from. Aside from this, there is the quite fascinating perspective and comment on India that proves stingingly accurate and wholly incisive for both those who are respectively familiar and uninformed about the country. The writer’s philosophical perceptions ensure that it is hard for anyone not to extract something supremely meaningful from this book. Aided by the lucidity and animated vigour of his expression, Roberts has written a thought-provoking and exceptionally enjoyable epic, and leaves his readers richer for the experience.
With the paperback version amassing 936 pages, Shantaram immediately brings one word to mind: excess. In truth, Gregory David Roberts delivers a highly readable fugitive account of his life after prison. Arriving on his own in Mumbai following his escape in the early 80's, Roberts is a man who has left behind everything that’s dear to him. In the years that follow, he lives an experience that, much like his adopted city, is congested and crammed with incident and adventure. Whilst learning Hindi and Marathi, he (amongst other things) unintentionally becomes a slum doctor, finds himself inducted into the Indian underworld, returns to a tortuous existence in an Indian prison, acts in Bollywood, and engages in military battle in Afghanistan- suffice to say, no ordinary existence by anyone’s standards.
Such a vivid array of events provides rich material for Roberts to steer us through the novel, but it is the large and diverse pool of multi-ethnic figures in Mumbai that flesh out his character. The eclectic melange of these personalities and the depiction of the varying contributions they make to Lin’s emotional, physical and mental evolution are one of the most impressive aspects of the book. Whether it is the relaxed philosophical musings of homosexual Frenchman Didier, the cheerful confidence of Vikram Patel or the combative macho of Iranian hardman Abdullah Taheri, Roberts portrays each of the plethora of individualities with well-appreciated vivacity. It is clear that many of these characters are used as outlets to illustrate the writer’s personal reflections on the vagaries of life, which are for the most part hugely insightful and stimulating. Juxtaposed to the gradual development of characters is Lin’s blossoming love and endearment towards India, which grows by the day.
The friendships and relationships which Roberts builds helps him to quickly discover the rigours and wonders of Mumbai. The irritating yet loveable street guide Prabaker (who christens Roberts as ‘Lin,’ short for ‘Linbaba’) is the first major character introduced, and the source of many of the humorous moments in the novel. It is the identities of Karla and Khader, however, that most permit the reader to dissect and analyse Lin, the former performing the customary literary role of love obsession. Khaderbhai is the mafia leader who eventually integrates Lin within his underworld network of black market activities and develops into a father figure for the Australian. Both probably evoke the most intense extremity of emotions for the protagonist out of anyone or anything in the novel, with the lone exception being Lin’s passion for the sights, sounds, people and geography of Mumbai.
Part of the reason why the book is so extensive is quite simply because Lin’s encounters inspire him to contemplate almost every feature of life that is imbued in the human experience:- love, hate, suffering, contentment, despair, hope, bitterness, forgiveness, envy, friendship- indeed, this is one of the most appealing properties of Shantaram, as the book contains a point of relation for absolutely any reader, no matter how knowledgeable he/she may be in dealing with any of these inevitabilities of being. The comprehensiveness and intelligence with which such issues are tackled lend Shantaram an all-encompassing universality that is a hallmark of great literature.
Lin’s life seems to contain more intriguing episodes than several people combined are ever forced to confront. There is no doubt that throughout most of the 5 broad parts of the book, Shantaram is a wonderfully compelling read. It is not without its tepid passages, however; the wartime Mujahedeen account, coming three-quarters of the way through the book, is rather lengthy and repetitive. It is worth observing though that whilst not as attractive as other stages, this period does carry underestimated significance to the novel as Roberts uses it to tie together many of the its loose strands.
It is difficult to approach the criticism of Shantaram, as it occupies a fuzzy area in terms of what it attempts to accomplish. It is neither billed as a concrete memoir nor as an autobiography, but an ‘extraordinary true story.’ Having thoroughly enjoyed the novel and undertaken research as to Roberts’ present activities, I was disappointed and felt almost betrayed to discover that while the events dealt with in the novel are real, several of the characters with which the reader develops an affinity are in fact fictional. However, this is perhaps a tribute to the quality of Roberts’ writing in that he contrives to make such characters seem so indisputably authentic.
More importantly, the most problematic area of the novel with regards to character seems to be with Lin himself. Shantaram (meaning ‘man of peace’) is the name given to him when he lives in Prabaker’s village, yet it is noticeable that despite it being the name of the book, he is scarcely referred as Shantaram throughout the story. When bestowed the name, Lin waxes lyrical about how it is the mark of a new beginning, which sets the tone for a tale of redemption. Many of the monologues described earlier are defined by the review of Lin’s struggle to develop his ‘good’ self in order to eradicate his ‘evil’ past. However, he proceeds to one point slip into a habit of heroin addiction, and his attempted justifications for his illegal dealings increase throughout the novel in line with his accumulating integration into Khader’s mafia network. By the end, Lin still maintains his black market connections and perseveres with underworld activities. One struggles to see why the book is called Shantaram when the proposed transformation of Gregory David Roberts to Lin to Shantaram does not appear to fully transpire. While it may be viewed as a pedantic and unimportant point, it is troublesome when one assesses the indeterminate message Roberts is trying to transmit- is it acceptable to routinely engage in violence and morally inept operations if one is conscious of the fact that he is doing so and that it isn’t right? Is it acceptable if you used to be even more of a criminal disposition, but have improved as a person since? Is it acceptable under any circumstances? On the one hand, one can forgive Roberts for being ambiguous because after all, he's only relaying his life story. On the other hand, given that there is a fictional element to the novel, it demands a more searching type of analysis. So then how fictitious is Shantaram? Therein lies the difficulty of critiquing the book.
The excess previously referred to embodies the gift and curse of Shantaram. The deftness and wealth of detail with which Roberts unveils his emotions- and with which personalities and appearances are scrutinized- leaves the reader no option but to be hauled into involvement with his world, and makes his dramatic, exotic and frequently brutal experiences seem extraordinarily immediate and real. The literary profusion that generates these effects is geared by his florid and extravagant prose, which is colourfully expressive, but often borders on the ridiculous- the most notable instances being the sex scenes. It is hard to go through one chapter without the text seeping into soul-searching monologues, many of them infused with gut-wrenching despair, exile being the predominant theme of the book. One also can’t help but feel that certain events are sensationalised, and unnecessarily embellished by the linguistic tendencies of the author. Every time Roberts gets himself into a physical altercation, he emerges victorious, on a few occasions without surrendering so much as a modicum of control.
Despite these observations, Shantaram is an enlightening and truly exhilarating novel. Roberts manages to lure the reader into his adventure extremely early, and very rarely throughout the course of the whole piece does his storytelling disappoint. The undeniable thrill, pace and allure of his tale overshadows some of the criticism that his writing might suffer from. Aside from this, there is the quite fascinating perspective and comment on India that proves stingingly accurate and wholly incisive for both those who are respectively familiar and uninformed about the country. The writer’s philosophical perceptions ensure that it is hard for anyone not to extract something supremely meaningful from this book. Aided by the lucidity and animated vigour of his expression, Roberts has written a thought-provoking and exceptionally enjoyable epic, and leaves his readers richer for the experience.
Friday, July 21, 2006
A Review of Gautam Malkani's "Londonstani"
Gautam Malkani's much-hyped debut novel "Londonstani" was a must-read for me for more than the usual reasons. As an acquaintance of his, I was keen to discover just what it was that caused the guy to look perpetually stressed out whenever I met him. I also wanted to find out more about his highly-regarded university dissertation, which I never got the chance to read because it was always doing the rounds among interested parties. Finally, the fact that he is a precociously talented journalist who has shot up the ranks at the FT also provided a compelling reason to get stuck in (no doubt the publishing houses took note of this too). It was against this backdrop that I ordered "Londonstani" almost as soon as it became available online, not knowing what to expect in terms of content but imagining it would be something well-researched and thorough at the very least, given the time that had lapsed between the dissertation and the publication of his novel.
In the end I didnt just read "Londonstani", I devoured it. From the very first page, the book is delivered at a frantic pace; turning the pages fast enough to keep up with the storyline becomes a challenge in itself. The lives of the four young men central to the book - Hardjit, Amit, Ravi and Jas - may be macabre, misogynistic and vexatious; but they are never dull. Galvanised by their confrontational but compelling leader Hardjit, and by their desire for material success, the group's taste for hedonism informs their daily lives. Survival in the urban jungle is about marking out territory, brutalising competitors, and doing whatever it takes to get bread (and a little bit extra) on the table. What distinguishes these men from Brooklyn mafiosi is that they are nineteen-years old, have A-Level retakes to sit and are forever under the all-seeing eyes of their pushy parents. Throw into the mix a twisted sense of familial and religious duty and you have a group dynamic where its okay to carry out an illegal mobile phone racket while being served pakoras by Hardjit's mum; to gawp at a beautiful girl but then admonish yourself when you realise she isn't your creed; to turn up to fights late because you're buying pantyliners for your mum. Confused? Mr Ashwood, their former teacher, certainly likes to depict them this way, but in many ways, the crew are fully attuned to the inherent complexities of their lives. Studying politics wont get them anywhere; illegal phone racketeering, on the other hand, brings the instant reward of hard cash: the only legitimate songsheet in a world that dances to the tune of bling-bling economics.
All in all, "Londonstani" speaks about many things: the emergence of an aggressive masculinity in young adults as a reaction against their submissive fathers; the folly of acting in concert with individuals whose fundamental views you disagree with; the danger of acting on personal belief when it runs against a powerful group dynamic. These are not unfamiliar themes; what makes the book so penetrative, however, is the tools it uses to present and dissect them. For probably the first time in popular contemporary literature, we are given an insight into these themes as they apply in Asian rudeboy culture. To capture this, Malkani writes in a unique prose that combines Asian slang, Black slang, text message language and Punjabi. Though this is surprising initially, the reader gets used to it very quickly, and, in terms of linguistic accuracy, it is spot-on. Scatalogy is necessary only because it is reflective of reality.
The writing is not without fault, however. At times, one senses the author succumbing to his own frustration at choosing to write entirely within the confines of urban slang. Writing in vernacular means that Malkani is not given the chance to wax lyrical in the manner that a talented journalist such as him undoubtedly can. As a result, some of his extended dialogues (or should I say monologues) start to feel contrived, for example Mr Ashwood's discussions on politics and Sanjay's on "bling bling" economics. If you're trying to get through to disaffected nineteen year olds, you try to talk to them in their own language, not with verbose diatribe. And in infusing so much economics into the novel, one cant help but think that Malkani is using his book as a canvas on which to indulge his own passion for the subject!
These criticisms accounted for, it is the novel's sublime verve that is perhaps its greatest asset. It is what elevates the book into the realms of "excellent first effort" rather than "good effort". And it is sustained even though the novel deals with undoubtedly dark, sometimes depressing themes. This energy emanates from three things: Malkani's comic talent, evident in some hilarious dialogue throughout the book; his ability to set up his story at an electricfying tempo; and finally from happier aspects of the plot - sharp upturns in the otherwise rapidly descending gradient that represents Jas's fortunes. For example, when Jas gets a girlfriend and Arun stands up to his mum, the reader delights. Both have tragic consequences, in the same way as perhaps the lives of these youths are spiralling forever downwards - but fleeting moments of happiness make them worth living.
The novel's shocking twist is its piece de la resistance, but not its sine qua non. Nonetheless, I'd be lying if I denied that it made me scan the book again see if there were any blatant clues I missed out on.
It is a courageous man who not only chooses to write his very first novel in urban patois, but to tackle themes as difficult and in as original a manner as the ones on show here. Malkani pulls it all off very well. "Londonstani" is truely a bravura effort in the same way his dissertation probably struck his tutors as - original yet coruscating.
In the end I didnt just read "Londonstani", I devoured it. From the very first page, the book is delivered at a frantic pace; turning the pages fast enough to keep up with the storyline becomes a challenge in itself. The lives of the four young men central to the book - Hardjit, Amit, Ravi and Jas - may be macabre, misogynistic and vexatious; but they are never dull. Galvanised by their confrontational but compelling leader Hardjit, and by their desire for material success, the group's taste for hedonism informs their daily lives. Survival in the urban jungle is about marking out territory, brutalising competitors, and doing whatever it takes to get bread (and a little bit extra) on the table. What distinguishes these men from Brooklyn mafiosi is that they are nineteen-years old, have A-Level retakes to sit and are forever under the all-seeing eyes of their pushy parents. Throw into the mix a twisted sense of familial and religious duty and you have a group dynamic where its okay to carry out an illegal mobile phone racket while being served pakoras by Hardjit's mum; to gawp at a beautiful girl but then admonish yourself when you realise she isn't your creed; to turn up to fights late because you're buying pantyliners for your mum. Confused? Mr Ashwood, their former teacher, certainly likes to depict them this way, but in many ways, the crew are fully attuned to the inherent complexities of their lives. Studying politics wont get them anywhere; illegal phone racketeering, on the other hand, brings the instant reward of hard cash: the only legitimate songsheet in a world that dances to the tune of bling-bling economics.
All in all, "Londonstani" speaks about many things: the emergence of an aggressive masculinity in young adults as a reaction against their submissive fathers; the folly of acting in concert with individuals whose fundamental views you disagree with; the danger of acting on personal belief when it runs against a powerful group dynamic. These are not unfamiliar themes; what makes the book so penetrative, however, is the tools it uses to present and dissect them. For probably the first time in popular contemporary literature, we are given an insight into these themes as they apply in Asian rudeboy culture. To capture this, Malkani writes in a unique prose that combines Asian slang, Black slang, text message language and Punjabi. Though this is surprising initially, the reader gets used to it very quickly, and, in terms of linguistic accuracy, it is spot-on. Scatalogy is necessary only because it is reflective of reality.
The writing is not without fault, however. At times, one senses the author succumbing to his own frustration at choosing to write entirely within the confines of urban slang. Writing in vernacular means that Malkani is not given the chance to wax lyrical in the manner that a talented journalist such as him undoubtedly can. As a result, some of his extended dialogues (or should I say monologues) start to feel contrived, for example Mr Ashwood's discussions on politics and Sanjay's on "bling bling" economics. If you're trying to get through to disaffected nineteen year olds, you try to talk to them in their own language, not with verbose diatribe. And in infusing so much economics into the novel, one cant help but think that Malkani is using his book as a canvas on which to indulge his own passion for the subject!
These criticisms accounted for, it is the novel's sublime verve that is perhaps its greatest asset. It is what elevates the book into the realms of "excellent first effort" rather than "good effort". And it is sustained even though the novel deals with undoubtedly dark, sometimes depressing themes. This energy emanates from three things: Malkani's comic talent, evident in some hilarious dialogue throughout the book; his ability to set up his story at an electricfying tempo; and finally from happier aspects of the plot - sharp upturns in the otherwise rapidly descending gradient that represents Jas's fortunes. For example, when Jas gets a girlfriend and Arun stands up to his mum, the reader delights. Both have tragic consequences, in the same way as perhaps the lives of these youths are spiralling forever downwards - but fleeting moments of happiness make them worth living.
The novel's shocking twist is its piece de la resistance, but not its sine qua non. Nonetheless, I'd be lying if I denied that it made me scan the book again see if there were any blatant clues I missed out on.
It is a courageous man who not only chooses to write his very first novel in urban patois, but to tackle themes as difficult and in as original a manner as the ones on show here. Malkani pulls it all off very well. "Londonstani" is truely a bravura effort in the same way his dissertation probably struck his tutors as - original yet coruscating.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Launch of Gaulav Express
The brainchild of two of London's finest young writers, the Gaulav Express was born in the 1990s and served as a medium by which two young boys, passionate about writing, could express themselves freely in an otherwise harsh, forbidding world. The Gaulav was shrouded in much secrecy in its nascent years; it was shared only between the two learned authors, who would comment on each other's musings and revel in each other's wit. Several years later, G&L return to the writing scene with greater insight, perspicacity and lingual dexterity than ever before. They now propose to use this blog to share their insights on popular culture (film, theatre, books), sporting events and for general social commentary. To the readers, I can only say enjoy - and dont forget to post comments freely!
