Commendably ambitious, but this young Pakistani author has bitten off more than he can chew.
A dysfunctional family mirrors a dysfunctional nation in Sethi’s unfocused debut.
The novel ends where it begins, with Zaki Shirazi arriving in Lahore, Pakistan, for the wedding of his cousin Samar Api some years after 9/11. Now a college student in Massachusetts, Zaki grew up with Samar, who was his closest childhood companion. They lived in his grandmother’s house in Lahore. Daadi, a forceful old woman, agreed with her younger sister Chhoti, Samar’s mother, that the little girl was better off in the city than in the repressive, conservative village of Chhoti’s old-fashioned husband. As for Zaki, “I had been given to Daadi as compensation for the death of her son,” he tells us. His father, a Pakistani air force pilot, died in a flying accident before his birth, and his mother is a devoted journalist but a negligent parent. We seem to be headed for a coming-of-age story about Zaki, or perhaps Samar, but their narratives have many gaps, and a big chunk of the novel concerns Zaki’s mother, who also lives on sufferance in Daadi’s house. Zakia—her husband wanted the boy named after her—is the most interesting character. A progressive, cutting-edge reporter focusing on the subjugation of women (the novel’s half-buried theme), she’s a supporter of Benazir Bhutto but becomes disillusioned when Bhutto achieves power. Sethi’s unenlightening references to the volatile world of Pakistan’s politics—hardly more sophisticated than, “today democracy, tomorrow martial law”—are jarringly juxtaposed with the soap-opera story of a teenage confidante who steals Samar’s boyfriend. Zaki performs acts of vandalism to get his mother’s attention; Samar is punished for her alleged loose living and returned to her father’s feudal homeland. But Sethi muffles the drama inherent in his characters’ troubled lives: Samar’s exile is reported after the fact, and when Zaki is involved in the school fight of his life, the circumstances are as murky as the author’s prose.
Commendably ambitious, but this young Pakistani author has bitten off more than he can chew.Pub Date: June 1, 2009
ISBN: 978-1-59448-875-7
Page Count: 432
Publisher: Riverhead
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 1, 2009
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.
The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.
Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.
Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985
ISBN: 038549081X
Page Count: -
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985
SEEN & HEARD
BOOK TO SCREEN
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.
Written with quiet dignity that builds to a climax of tragic force, this book about the dissolution of an African tribe, its traditions, and values, represents a welcome departure from the familiar "Me, white brother" genre.
Written by a Nigerian African trained in missionary schools, this novel tells quietly the story of a brave man, Okonkwo, whose life has absolute validity in terms of his culture, and who exercises his prerogative as a warrior, father, and husband with unflinching single mindedness. But into the complex Nigerian village filters the teachings of strangers, teachings so alien to the tribe, that resistance is impossible. One must distinguish a force to be able to oppose it, and to most, the talk of Christian salvation is no more than the babbling of incoherent children. Still, with his guns and persistence, the white man, amoeba-like, gradually absorbs the native culture and in despair, Okonkwo, unable to withstand the corrosion of what he, alone, understands to be the life force of his people, hangs himself. In the formlessness of the dying culture, it is the missionary who takes note of the event, reminding himself to give Okonkwo's gesture a line or two in his work, The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.
This book sings with the terrible silence of dead civilizations in which once there was valor.Pub Date: Jan. 23, 1958
ISBN: 0385474547
Page Count: 207
Publisher: McDowell, Obolensky
Review Posted Online: April 23, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1958
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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