WRITING

I have always enjoyed writing – not just prose, but also (semi-)academic articles and reviews of books. Here you will find a collection of such pieces: reviews, argumentative essays, news. Feel free to PM me any feedback you may have, or post any opinions below (whether you agree or not!).

AMERICANAH AND FEMINISM

Okay, it took me far too long, but I’ve finally picked up (and finished) Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah. Hmm.

How did I feel about it? I’m not sure. It was definitely an enjoyable read. I swallowed it within a week. And yes, I am suddenly posting a blog post as a result of Ifemelu’s blog in the novel. So I suppose it was inspiring. On the other hand, I expected some kind of revelation. I guess it’s because I’ve heard vague references to her works as feminist works. And in the back of my mind, I had a little voice repeating something that my godmother told me: “You know, these ‘new feminists’ are now criticising Chimamanda Adichie”. The problem is that I don’t know why, and I don’t know who the ‘new feminists’ are (in this particular context), let alone who the ‘old feminists’ are supposed to be. What I do know is that the definition of feminism is always changing. Back in the day, feminism meant embracing one’s motherly instinct and going out to care for people because, as a woman, one was supposed to be more gentle and caring. Today, that seems slightly outdated.

So what is feminism today? And what does this mean for Americanah? I’m not here to give you any answers: I don’t have them.

To me personally, feminism means being who you are outside of the social pressure of being “womanly” (or “manly”, or whatever), acting as you would not because you feel it fits a particular social profile, but because you want to. To me it means not necessarily loving shopping, gossiping or the like, but also not avoiding those things merely to reject the stereotype. It means expecting others to open a door for you, but also opening doors for others, and it means if you are standing on a bus full of people, no one needs to get up to give you their seat unless you are standing there with crutches. “Ladies first” becomes irrelevant (why should anyone wait for you, just on the grounds of your not having a penis), and “grow a pair” is offensive, because it implies both that men need to act in a particular way to be manly, and that women aren’t courageous.

“There were people thrice her size on the Trenton platform and she looked admiringly at one of them, a woman in a very short skirt. She thought nothing of slender legs shown off in miniskirts--it was safe and easy, after all, to display legs of which the world approved--but the fat woman's act was about the quiet conviction that one shared only with oneself, a sense of rightness that others failed to see.” 

Back to Americanah: spoilers ahead. 

For now, let’s just focus on Ifemelu. What strikes me is that the protagonist’s life seems to revolve around the men in it. Her friends are from their circles; her life in America is built upon the opportunity given her by one of her partners. But one could argue that she doesn’t let this tie her down; she still takes her own decisions. It is her blog that she ends up with, not the job she got through Curt. And she doesn’t stay in America miserable because of a boy either. Although, I was a little frustrated by how her decision to return seemed to be steered by an image of her high school sweetheart. Is this the problem? That the women aspire to nothing more than marriage to or affairs with wealthy men? Or is this perhaps exactly the feminist message, that women are pushed around and suffer at the hands of men? Does Ifemelu’s rejection of Obinze represent the feminist cause? Or is it her straightforward, honest and

independent manner? But then again, isn't she presented as an exception to her gender? What about how men are depicted in relation to the women in this novel? The novel doesn’t put all men in a box as dominating patriarchs. Instead, it seems to show all individuals as products of a patriarchal system from which it is difficult to escape or in which people struggle to conform to societal pressures and norms. What does this portray about the implied author’s stance on feminism?

I haven’t really come up with decisive  answers to all these questions. I think that on the whole, I would agree that it is a feminist book. I came across this article, which presents a nice perspective of Obinze which I had not thought of before. Before I make up my mind, though, I think I will look into Adichie’s other novels to see what the hype is all about!

Posted in July 2017

REVIEW: ROHINTON MISTRY'S A FINE BALANCE

"A masterpiece of illumination and grace. Like all great fiction, it transforms our understanding of life."

The Guardian

"This is a work of genius. I cannot begin to review it without saying so. It should be read by everyone who loves books, win every prize, make its author a millionaire."

Literary Review

These are the words that can be found on the back cover of Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance. Unfortunately, to the unsuspecting, ignorant and optimistic reader, they may be somewhat misleading. These reviews evoke a sense of eagerness and expectation in an audience (at least in me) who is excited to pick up an uplifting tale about coming out of turmoil and despair a stronger person. 

Thus, it is natural for a reader such as myself to be taken by surprise when no such happy ending appears. Day after day, in fact, generation after generation, the characters of this novel are forced to face the unthinkable torture of a brutal caste system and an unjust, class-ridden society. A Fine Balance discusses the histories of four protagonists who find themselves thrown together in 1970 Bombay. The tailors, Ishvar and Om, are villagers who have suffered an unfair share of brutality for coming from a lower caste: their families are murdered and they are denied the happiness that they seek in the city. Night after night, they are forced to struggle through the grip of poverty in search of a better life. Dina Dalal hires the tailors in the hopes that they will help her attain an income. After she becomes widowed and begins to lose her sight, she cannot earn a living in any other way. She too has had her share of struggle, with a burdensome childhood at the hands of her unpredict-able brother. Maneck, a student from a pri-

vileged background, provides Dina with additional income, as he needs a place to stay in the city. Maneck looks upon the struggles of the others with much sympathy, but seems, as a result of his com-fortable upbringing, to find dealing with the university bullies (who are nastier and deadlier than the average high school bully) particularly challenging.

“But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.” 

It is through Mistry's captivating language and style that one becomes familiar with these characters. The skilled author plays with his power by constantly setting the relatable characters further back. It is perhaps because of this that I completed the 614 pages feeling hurt and angry, claiming I wanted no part in recommending the book further, boldly stating that such a macabre tale had no place in my precious library. In the course of the book, I was content for a mere 20 pages. 

   Once I had calmed down, I decided to do some more research and view the book in a less superficial manner. As a literature student, I know that entertainment is not always the goal of the author. What defines a good book is not always based on how warm and fuzzy a story makes you feel. It is especially in postcolonial literatures that one comes to view literature as a powerful cultural tool, or even as a weapon. With this in mind, Mistry's novel suddenly gains a new level of significance. 

   One of my first thoughts surrounding the author and the events that occur in this novel was "who would come up with such a horrible idea". Upon doing a bit of research, I realised that Mistry didn't at all "come up" with these ideas. These events were real, not some figment of a disturbed imagination. Mistry was simply retelling an uncomfortable reality which people prefer not to think about. It is indeed true that there were 40'000 textile workers living in slums in Bombay in the 1970s (Indian Express, June 12, 1978 in Rao 1990). Attempts at improving housing for  the poor were largely unsuccessful, and many of the new houses simply 

ended up in the hands of the middle class (Rao, 47). It is also true that political players would attempt to gain these slum dweller's confidence to attain votes in national elections (Rao, 242), much like when Ishvar and Om miss work because they are forced to watch their Prime Minister speak. Furthermore, it was common and acceptable to demolish slums and evict inhabitants without compensation in the early 70s, a sad truth which Om and Ishvar are forced to deal with as well (de Wit, Ch 2.4). Thus, in portraying 1970 India in such a clear, uncesored manner, the fiction becomes a truthful account of the lives of the "little people", an aspect that the broader sense of history tends to obscure. By drawing the audience close to the characters, the pain becomes personal for readers of any background. One is made to feel small and helpless. What started out as amazement that an author could write something so cruel turns into shock that life can be so harsh. And that is what makes me unwillingly have to admit that, although A Fine Balance is not a "nice" book, it is definitely "good" literature. 

Posted in September 2016