I was expecting great things having read all the other rave reviews of Pankaj Mishra’s debut novel (or is it his 2nd after Butter Chicken in Ludhiana?). They seemed to promise it all- a wonderful story, beautiful insights into India and especially Benares (Varanasi), wonderful prose, enchating characters and, all in all, an ethereal read. Unfortunately, I was to be very disappointed. The story revolves around seven years in the life of our chief protagonist, Samar. It begins with his arrival in Benares and his subsequent friendship with a group of foreigners, most notably the middle-aged Miss West and a beautiful french woman, Catherine, with whom he immediately falls in love. Parallel to his life with these foreigners, Samar recounts to us, his experiences at the University of Benares and his uncomfortable camaraderie with Rajesh, who ends up making a rather interesting career choice. The book then moves on to his travels at the Aurobindo Ashram and the Dharamshala- a tibetan exile city. Much of the book revolves around Samar’s ineptitude to make decisions or to speak for himself rendering a lot of the book plotless. It is without plot in that, Samar seems to float through life without taking any particular direction. Mishra portrays Samar as a simple individual but his lack of interesting dialogue, which incidentally is particularly monosyllabic, makes Samar out to be a rather unsympathetic character. It’s difficult to relate to someone who, although able to form opinions, is so overawed by almost anything new around him. Samar’s inability to handle any situation is exceptionally frustrating and if he was a real person, well, I’d really rather not know him. But then again, tastes such as this are very subjective. Besides Samar though, none of the characters seem to have any real depth to them and Mishra fails to give them a strong point of view within this book. His characters seem almost stereotypical of westerners in India and the drawn out descriptions of an impoverished India have been hung out to dry by far too many authors now- Mishra included of course! Why do so many Indian authors always focus on India’s poverty when there is so much else going on in such a vast and beautiful country? It’s almost as if he is writing to satisfy western tastes that view post-colonial India as a country that breeds nothing but poverty and silly mysticism for the eccentrically rich. Nevertheless, what did make this book readable was the mood and tone that Mishra infused into the prose.
A beautiful mixture of longing and melancholy prevaded the length of the book and the languid simplicity of the prose overcame some of the shortcomings mentioned above. His own, almost autobiographical experiences and insights at the university (almost as he attended Allahabad and not Benares I think) library are rendered with wonderful clarity and poignancy and this is where Mishra convinces us of his reserves of depth of talent and thought. All in all, I was disappointed by this book. The prose might have been artistically crafted but the plot and the characters did not shine. I am convinced that Mishra has the talent to be a superb writer (he’s only just over 30 now) but what he needs is a dash of courage and a sprinkle of daring. With those added spices, there is no end to what he can achieve in the literary world.