I assume you've read February’s
book club pick, The Shadow of the
Crescent Moon, the swift and suspenseful debut novel by Fatima Bhutto, so
I'm not going to give a detailed plot summary. If you need one see here to find an outline from
the UK publisher, Viking.
I thought this novel wore lightly
its challenging nature - but challenging
it is. How could it not be, since it’s
set in one of the world’s most challenging hotspots?
On the evidence of this novel,
Pakistan’s tribal areas appear to be a place where everyone speaks the “secret language of us versus us” – as Sikandar
puts it to himself, when he is confronted by the Talibs. Until I read this
episode, I thought life in the tribal areas was driven either by adherence to,
or by resistance to, a Medieval understanding of Islam. But I seem to have got that wrong. Here is Bhutto, when Mina has accused a Talib of being unjust: “They can be accused of being violent, of being rash,
of anything but injustice. They have
built their war around the battle of the just against the unjust. People
misunderstand them; they assume it’s a war against unbelievers, against
disbelief. That has nothing to do with it. Their war was always about justice.
They bear its mantle and they drape themselves in its banner.”
Really? Sure, the Talibs might think they are fighting for justice, but how
can that be divorced from their religious beliefs? I don’t know – one thing this book reinforced
for me was my own ignorance of the political situation in Pakistan. There were many other nuances that I failed
fully to understand, particularly around the people of Mir Ali’s bitter and entrenched
loathing of the state, and their thoughts about Afghanistan.
Still, that’s my fault, not
Bhutto’s – she was not writing a political textbook, but a novel. So what about
her characters? They too seemed to speak
the secret language of us versus us, to distressing end, but with no clear-cut goodies and baddies, just differing degrees of complexity, compromise, and ability to negotiate between the demands of the self, and the demands of family and community. I thought Bhutto
managed to balance the sympathies very evenly between Aman Erum, Samarra and
Hayat. Likewise between Mina and
Sikandar – I thought the portrait of Mina, a woman who had retreated into her
own language, or else into the universal language of grief, incomprehensible to
those not bereaved, was moving without being heartstrings-tugging.
But that’s quite enough of what
I thought. What did others think?
Rong Rong (蓉蓉) from Singapore said this:
The Shadow of the Crescent Moon was an enjoyable read, primarily because it
gave me an insight into everyday life in Pakistan. Fatima Bhutto is Pakistani,
and this authenticity shone through in her writing. I admire the fact that she
did not shy away from including Urdu and tribal phrases, as these enabled me to
gain a greater understanding of relevant South Asian culture.
From a literary point of view, I liked the
concept of following the journeys of three brothers, and the fact that the
whole novel took place over the course of a single morning. However, I thought that
the ending was slightly disappointing.
I agree about the pace – the
tight timeframe was one of the most compelling aspects of this novel – and also
about the use of terms in local languages. I’ll come to my thoughts on the ending in a
minute.
Fred from Deux Sevres in
France – and who knew Asian Books Blog has readers in France? Bonjour to
Fred and anybody else in his neck of the woods – Fred said:
A
well-written and compelling book, drawing the reader into a painful and
isolated way of life: "No one prays
together, travels in pairs or eats out in groups. It is how they live
now, alone." Says one of the main
characters, Aman Erum, summing up the fear of the community, a fear which leaps
out of the pages.
The breakdown in family and other relationships
is starkly and simply drawn. The depiction of the internecine fighting between the Shias and the Sunnis shows the sheer
terror of being hated by other Muslims when you yourself are one, albeit of a
different sect.
Love
and betrayal on a small scale and a large stage are at the heart of this very
disturbing but very readable book, which I highly recommend, though I thought
the ending tailed off.
I received both Rong Rong’s and
Fred’s comments before I’d finished the book, so I was put on the alert for something that might explain the apparently hanging ending I hadn’t yet
reached. I think I found it in the folk
tale of the king and the diamonds, the one Hayat remembers when he is about to
kiss goodbye to Samarra, when he wishes he could be a fakir, suspended indefinitely, the one Inayat had told him in his childhood: “Inayat
did not finish the tale, did not end the folk legend with the rest of the
story, which saw the fakir throw himself off the mountain into the river below
it, where he was savaged by the very fish that had fattened themselves on his
alms of grain. Inayat did not end the legend with its message of revenge.”
March’s Pick: The Song of King Gesar
The Song of King Gesar is one
of the world's great epics, as significant in Tibet as the Ramayana
and Mahabarata in India.
Set partly in ancient Tibet,
where evil spirits meddle in the lives of humans, and partly in the modern day,
The Song of King Gesar, by Alai (阿来), tells of two
lives inextricably entwined. Gesar, the youngest and bravest of the gods, has been sent down to the human world to defeat the demons that plague the lives
of ordinary people. Jigmed is a young shepherd, who is visited by dreams of
Gesar, of gods and of ancient battles while he sleeps. So begins an epic
journey for both of them. Gesar will become the warrior-king of Ling, and will
unite the nation of Tibet under his reign. Jigmed will learn to see his
troubled country with new eyes, and, as the storyteller chosen by the gods, he must
face his own destiny.
Alai was born in 1959 in the Sichuan province of Rgyalrong, of Tibetan descent. As well as critically
acclaimed collections of poetry, short stories and essays, he has written a
number of novels, including Red Poppies: A Novel of Tibet.
Howard Goldblatt is the
translator of Mo Yan (莫言). Together, he and Sylvia Li-chun Lin have rendered many
contemporary Chinese-language novels into English.
The Song of King Gesar should
be widely available in Asia in hardback, priced in local currencies. It is also
available as an eBook, available from on-line bookstores, and from the UK
publisher, Canongate.
Discussion of The Song of King Gesar will be posted on Sunday, March 30, so do please get in touch with your comments by then.
Both The Shadow of the Crescent Moon and
The Song of King Gesar are eligible for the ABB book
of the Lunar Year in the Year of the Horse. See the post of Jan 30 2014 for
details. If you would like to vote for either title please do so by
posting a comment, or contacting asianbooksblog@gmail.com.
New and Notable: Pioneer Girl
Although you might have trouble
finding print editions in Asia, I thought it was worth mentioning
Pioneer Girl, by Bich Minh Nguyen, which
is available as an eBook, through on-line bookstores and Penguin US.
Bich Minh Nguyen is the
Vietnamese-American author of Stealing
Buddha’s Dinner.
Pioneer Girl is a tale of mothers and daughters, lingering
family secrets, and physical and metaphorical frontiers.
Jobless
with a PhD, Lee Lien returns home to her Chicago suburb from grad school, only
to find herself contending with issues she’s evaded since college. But when her
brother disappears, he leaves behind an object from their mother’s Vietnam past: a gold-leaf brooch, abandoned by an
American reporter in Saigon back in 1965, that might be an heirloom belonging
to Laura Ingalls Wilder, the author of the Little House on the Prairie books, classics of American children's literature.
As Lee investigates the history of the brooch,
she unearths more than expected - a trail of clues and enticements that lead her
from the dusty stacks of library archives to hilarious prairie life
reenactments and ultimately to San Francisco, where her findings will transform
strangers’ lives as well as her own.
A literary mystery, Pioneer Girl is also the deeply
moving tale of a second-generation Vietnamese daughter, the parents she
struggles to honour, the missing brother she is expected to bring home - even as
her discoveries yield dramatic insights that will free her to live her own life
to its full potential.