The title of this book may ring bells with some people who haven’t read it, as it was made into a British BBC drama series in 1993. More importantly, in UK terms, it won the Whitbread Prize for Best Novel in 1990. Hanif Kureishi (HK from now on) is probably better known for his 2 excellent films, My Beautiful Launderette, and Sammy and Rosie Get Laid. Well, I think so anyway, because I’ve seen them, and I didn’t see The Buddha of Suburbia. Subjective stuff, I know, but what the heck, it’s Thursday, an anniversary of sorts for me as coincidentally it’s the day I was born on.
This is HKs’ debut novel, and it is sublime, well worthy of winning prizes, which is why I mustered up the energy to try and write about it. It’s the sort of book that should be thrust upon people, I’m going to buy all my relatives a copy for Christmas. Mm, maybe not, it cost £6.99. Definite school syllabus stuff though as it covers so many social issues in a humorous, sartorial and self-deprecating fashion that is rare in contemporary fiction. Only it’s not really contemporary, as the story runs from about 1971 through to the arrival of Ma Thatcher at No 10 (1979, for you young ‘uns). However, it felt contemporary to me, as HK makes you feel like you’re there. The central character of the tale is Karim Amir, Creamy to his friends, a 17 year-old Englishman (Though not proud of it), who has an Indian father, Haroon, and an English mother, Margaret. Karim, it is reasonable to assume from the story, is fairly vanilla coloured, as he goes to the Den to watch Millwall occasionally and returns alive. This is an important part of the story as Karim struggles with his origins when philosophical circumstances force him to, not often though, as he is delightfully slovenly of both thought and action, except in his thirst for useless knowledge. His father, who is from a wealthy Indian family, is also a useless article, as he always had servants in India, and now works as a lowly, incompetent civil servant. All this changes though, as Haroons’ bit on the side, Eva, exploits his talent for expounding Eastern Philosophy as part of her master plan to propel them from the dull suburbs - I never quite figured out which dull suburbs, but maybe you aren’t supposed to know – into arty-farty London society, which HK then proceeds to take great delight in poking fun at. This ranges from having sly and not so sly pops at the temperamental luvvies, through to ragging the politico types such as Terry, the Communist actor whom Karim repeatedly tries to seduce purely for the amusement of seeing him squirm. Karim has one asset to counter his idle nature, charm. He loves sex, with either boys or girls, ranging from Charlie, Eva’s soon-to-be pop star son, to Jamila. Haroon catches Karim with his hands on Charlie’s assets, and approves not, “A bumbanger! My own son – How did it transpire?” Karim, in his usual fashion, just blackmails his Father into leaving him alone. Casual sex partner Jamila is the daughter of Anwar, Haroons best friend, and his wife, Princess Jeeta, who run a grocery store. Being a devotee of women’s rights and the daughter of a Muslim make for one of the books major conflicts, but she has sex regularly with Karim in toilets, building sites, or wherever the opportunity rises. That’s not to say this book is all about sex though, although there’s plenty of it, right up to Karim getting roped into a foursome. Racism also rears it’s ugly head, but HK turns it upside down, at least from a white, British perspective, with Haroon and Anwar frequently disparaging their hated Pakistani cousins. Jamila responds to racism with violence, whilst Karim uses his more cunning skills and has sex with his tormentors’ daughters. Karim is completely self-centred and self-obsessed, and almost unashamedly, so it’s a wonder that he’s so damned likeable, but he is, and is the hero of the book rather than the anti-hero, which is a testament to HKs skill as a writer. Most writers just couldn’t carry off making a character so devious, deviant, horny, lazy and unrepentant without the reader feeling loathing, but with young Creamy this just doesn’t happen.
Characterisation is one of the keys to both the plot, and the book itself. Creamy goes on to become a character actor, which introduces some extremely amusing situations ranging from brawls to orgies, and HK spends about 2 pages wittily describing each character, and equally important something of their background and tastes, as they are introduced, which really gives the reader a feeling that they are involved. Changez is a fantastic character and alone is worthy of reading the book, he’s probably my favourite, but to say more about him would reveal too much. Suffice to say he ends up being called “The Dildo Killer” Haroon, or Harry as he likes to known in his attempts at anglicising himself, is the Buddha of the title, and his philandering and philosophising are bad examples from which Creamy takes a lead, he also disrupts the lives of Jean and Ted, his wife’s sibling and in-law, with his strange utterances, which we don’t really hear much of, just the fallout from them. Ted and Jean are the real suburbanites here, and are lampooned by HK in a fashion that is subtle enough to ensure that if their contemporaries read the book, they would probably fail to notice the irony of it all. I’ve tried to convey the flavour of this book without giving too much of the plot away, but I guess it’s one of those novels it’s just too hard to do justice. Get it from your library, buy it, borrow it, or anything. This is a book not to be missed. As a parting comment, here’s one of the cover quotes “It is a wonderful novel. I doubt I will read a funnier one, or one with more heart, this year, possibly this decade” Angela Carter, Guardian. Maybe a bit over effusive, but she’s not far off the mark.