~ Foreign, by Sonora Jha ~
The context of this novel contains many interesting elements: the protagonist is an Indian woman who after rejection by her son’s father, migrated to the US and had not been back to visit India or her family there for 14 years. Kabir, her 14 year old son, chooses to go to India to stay with his maternal grandparents. He then runs away to find his father, and our protagonist, Katya(yani), after all those years of rejecting India (which she repeatedly refers to as “That Country”), is forced to make a trip to India to find her child. Katya finds her son and his father in Dhanpur village, an area where farmer suicides have become rampant. Katya and Kabir soon join Ammar, Kabir’s father, in his involvement in the life of the village, particularly with the Andhale family, their hosts. How each copes given their different positionalities, and the politics of the situation, is the story this novel tells.
Although the context is undeniably fascinating and important, regretfully, the writing is labored and unlovely. Not only is the style rather weak, but many key details are also significantly lacking. There is far too much emphasis on Katya being a fierce, possessive, nearly neurotic mother, and far too little attention paid to fairly significant issues, such as how Katya reacts when she first returns to India after 14 years away. When Kabir first runs away, the novel has Katya interrogating her parents frantically by phone. But the novel does not appear to bother giving its readers any indication of how Katya may have been received by her parents after such a long absence from India, and it does not even mention any further communication between Katya and her parents once she arrives at Dhanpur, nor even between Kabir and his grandparents. Unfeasibly, the concerned grandparents in Mumbai simply vanish into thin air, play no part whatsoever, are not even given a second passing thought once they have played their part in the narrative device of Katya deciding to return to India, despite the fact they are supposedly a deeply concerned and close-knit family (who Skype their grandson once a month), and who Katya herself supposedly encouraged her son to get to know better.
Much of what transpires in the novel is also not particularly feasible. The blog by Kabir for example, which sounds so adult in perception and insight (except for a few forced, supposedly teen-slang phrases carefully scattered about). Katya’s acceptance into a village given her class, background, and foreign status, also seems suspiciously all too easy. Ammar’s sudden capitulation into a desire for family commitment is unimaginative and not particularly feasible either. The novel is somewhat unconvincing, but it is possible perhaps to read it as a stylized form of storytelling in order to hear the more important story of the difficulties faced by Maharashtrian farmers using Monsanto seeds, faced with subsequent crop failure, mortgaging of land, mounting debts, leading to eventual desperation and suicide.
One of the best elements of the novel is the depiction of the tender relationship between villagers Bajirao and Gayatribai Andhale. Their desire to give each other comfort and strength is remarkable, as is their closeness, mutual understanding, and deep mutual appreciation. Both show remarkable selflessness and fearlessness despite having so little in their lives and being so browbeaten by the entire system; these characters emerge as the most sympathetic in the novel. Certainly, neither Katya or Ammar are particularly likeable or even easy to identify with, nor even quite realistic, and come across as two-dimensional at best. Kabir is even less believable, as the perfect child, supposedly charmingly disingenuous, free-spirited and loving, while also wise, universally beloved, and of such discernment. Actually, the near-adulation of Kabir is somewhat off-putting, and does the novel a disservice. But then, it is just one more weakness in a fairly weak piece of fiction.
There is no doubt but that the political context is one which deserves attention, and Jha should be commended on placing her novel in a rural setting, which is unusual for the genre. However, despite the fairly autobiographical protagonist (author and protagonist, Jha and Katya, both moved to US for their doctoral degrees, were formerly journalists, became academics and then creative writers), the novel simply fails to convince, paints with too broad a brush for veracity, has too many either heroic or villainous characters, oversimplifies very complex situations and settings, and falls short of analysing Katya’s troubled relationship with India. Emotions and reactions depicted, especially those of Katya, are cliché, superficial, predictably stereotypical. Strangely, it is the portrayal of Bajirao which is far more sensitive, searching, and moving. His final letter to his daughters, whether realistic or otherwise, was loving and candid and extremely generous, whether or not the sentiments expressed and thus articulated are any more convincing than the rest of the novel.
In summary – great elements chosen for inclusion, very important issues raised, but let down by a writing style with little flair, unconvincing depictions, and many holes in the story.
Foreign, by Sonora Jha.Vintage Books, 2013.
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