Taxi Driver

It’s always good to see South Asian-American novelists branching out from the immigrant-identity theme, so I was pleased to come across Yosha Gunasekara’s The Midnight Taxi, which promised something a little different.

In this debut novel, Siriwathi Perera is a New York cabbie. As a woman, she is an unusual demographic for a yellow-cab driver, since most of them are men. Her age too sets her apart: most NY cabbies are in their 40s, while she is 28. As a Sri Lankan, she is somewhat less unusual: over 90% of New York’s cabbies are foreign-born men.

On the evening at the beginning of the novel, Siri’s first fare is a woman lawyer, brown like her, but much more elegantly dressed, who turns out to be Sri Lankan. The two women bond, which is lucky because Siri’s next fare, a man, mysteriously dies inside her closed cab, and Siri is charged with his murder. This is certainly a time when it helps to have a lawyer friend.

Siri is terrified of the police, and has no faith that they would ever help a brown woman.

I remember the sheer fear that coursed through my body every time an officer approached my car. Would a sudden movement make the officer skittish and draw his weapon?

Her treatment upon arrest does not encourage any more faith in the police or the legal system. The only hope is Amaya, the lawyer, who believes in Siri’s innocence, takes on the case, and starts looking for the real murderer.

The third member of the amateur investigative trio is Alex, Siri’s best friend from school, who is conveniently rich, has time and money enough to drop everything to help, and as a finance tycoon, has access to financial data.

A classic closed-door mystery with an immigrant twist, set in New York. So far so good, even if the writing is a bit predictable.

Siri has devoted Sri Lankan parents, who want the best for her while constantly criticizing her choices.

My parents are not happy I’ve chosen this life. It’s a constant barrage of them telling me it’s too dangerous, too hard, and that I should be settling down. Twenty-eight is apparently the start of almost certain spinsterhood.

Later in the book, it turns out she was admitted to Stanford, but could not attend for financial reasons (no scholarships?), and family events made her take over her father’s taxi driving.

Unfortunately, the writing does not improve.

I can feel my heart beating out of my chest like someone has just handed me a steaming bowl of chicken curry.

[..] her lips contorted into a pained position, her face filled with empathy.

It is also repetitive. Siri is relentlessly insecure about her appearance, and infinitely self-conscious about it.

My curly hair is even more unruly than normal, and dark circles have formed around my eyes.

[Amaya] looks put together in a way I never could

all the little things I couldn’t have cared less about — like my split ends and my chewed-up nail beds — come into sharp focus

I look disheveled (which is putting it politely)

In contrast, Amaya is always beautiful and elegant. The author is a Sri Lankan lawyer in New York, just like Amaya. Hmmm.

The plot is chaotic, to say the least, and lurches from event to event with a host of minor characters who are only too obligingly informative, and any number of silly contrivances. It became obvious about halfway through the book who the main villain must be, just by that character’s ever-presence, growing anxiety and nervousness as more information emerges. Siri, who says she is bad at math, is able to instantly look at a balance sheet and conclude that money is missing from a company’s ledgers. A CEO invites the investigators into his office, where the backpack of the murdered man sits in plain sight, conveniently with his initials on it.

So this is not a book to read for the sake of the plot.

There is plenty of social commentary about immigrant life interspersed between the plot events, and it is a solidly liberal commentary about men, the Sri Lankan community, the police and legal system stacked against the brown and black immigrants, and so on.

Dudes hate to be corrected, especially by women.

There is some rather predictable immigrant angst.

Emigrating from a country for a better life feels like an abandonment of every part of my culture. [..] In NYC, even though immigrants seem to be on every corner, I still feel different.

Apu from The Simpsons was the only South Asian I saw on TV for years. To find out he was voiced by a white dude was infuriating.

Given that Siri finds it annoying when people assume she is Indian, and that the book makes some pointed comments about cultural differences in South Asia, it is a pity that it contains cultural errors as well.

Most people assume that because Sri Lanka is so close to India, the food must be similar. [..] In Indian cooking, rice and naan are common. Poori [..] or roti [..] are also the norm. In Sri Lankan cooking [..] my personal favorites are hoppers [..]; pittu [..] and string hoppers.

Hoppers, pittu and string hoppers are also found in India, specifically in Tamil Nadu and Kerala, the two states closest to Sri Lanka.

The Sri Lankan mother, Ammi, is sweet, but uses out-of-character language.

We just wanted to protect you. And I doubled down after your brother got sick. [..] I’d be damned if we lost you too.

Needless to say, the crack team of amateurs succeeds by sheer perseverance, flashes of brilliance, and some luck.

Altogether, a bit disappointing.

---