This book took me on a journey to India. At the start I had no great expectations. I was drawn to the book by the title and the picture on the front caught my eye. Even the text style drew me in. It called to me to pick it up and after reading the summary on the jacket cover, I was happy to pay my money and take the book home. It was a risk, but the story line sounded interesting to me. The next day, my book group posted a challenge to read a book set in a country of one of the New Seven Wonders of the World. So, I read this book.
The story line revolves around Alexandre Lautens, a French man, writing a book about an Indian language called Telugu and a young woman named Anjali Adivis. Anjali is the oldest daughter of a wealthy land owner in Waltair. Alexandre has been invited to stay with the Adivis family while he is studying the language. Their story takes place beginning in October of 1911. After a long train ride across India from Bombay, he arrives and meets the family. He settles into the family routine, devotes himself to writing every morning and evening and engages with family members to validate the meanings of the words he is trying to define.
The Adivis family are preparing for a wedding for the youngest daughter of the house, Anjali’s sister, Mohini. Normally, the older sister would be wed first, but Anjali has no prospects due to a disfigurement suffered in child hood. Alexandre observes the activities surrounding the younger sister, and notes how Anjali seems to be unhappy and left out of the planning by her harried parents. The day of the marriage draws near and Alexandre makes a terrible mistake by taking Anjali out of the house on what he deems a harmless excursion. The repercussions are huge, and he is asked to leave after the wedding ceremony.
Alexandre finds lodging with an Englishman named Anthony Davidson and his Indian mistress, Madhuri, where he spends the Christmas holidays. He receives a letter from Anjali’s grandmother, Kanakadurga. After reading the letter, and finding out that Anjali was no longer at her Father’s house, Alexandre decides to go back to France before the New Year.
After Lautens goes back to France, he receives letters from Anjali, which he does not answer. After she left her father’s house, she went to live with a famous Indian poet and political activist, Sarojini Naidu. She becomes involved in the Home Rule movement, along with Naidu and spends the rest of her life working to free India from English rule.
Obviously, this is a brief, brief summary of the main story of the book.
The last third of the book is mostly about Anjali, but also captures events in Alexandre’s life. It was a little disjointed at times. The story seemed a little chopped up. Too much time passing was shown in small chapters, as highlights almost. It was still absorbing and kept me reading and interested.
Anjali’s pain was beautifully documented:
“Inside she was dying. Inside there was rotting flesh inside her living flesh, death eating her from the inside out, killing her in the world’s slowest-ever murder, those thoughts that came to her mind, that she could not be loved, that she could be neither missed nor noticed, that she figured into the life of the world no more than the dirt on the road filled her heart and she believed them. She was addictively attached to the sorrow in her heart, thinking these things to feel the pain that reminded her she was living. She felt the death inside her bloom the moment her father exiled her, but in truth the death entered her at the moment love did. She who had not been made for love. Only through loving and losing was this despair made possible, and it clouded each minute of her day, all the colors in the world were bleached out. “
The story was well written, and I enjoyed reading it. I liked reading the Indian names for things and learning a little about some of the culture and food and how people lived. The disparity between the rich and the poor, was indicated in one of the small comments on Indian life:
“To Alenxndre’s view, to be rich in India was unrivaled by what it was to be rich in Europe. How wealth here was a buffer against all the cruelties, all the vulgarities of life. Every peasant had his price. Servants watched children. They cooked, cleaned, minded the horses, fed and washed the family pets, tended the gardens, washed the clothes, brought tea, summoned cars and coaches, shopped for vegetables and meat and fish and sweets and fruit; there seemed in India no task of daily life not able to be delegated to some servant for a small price.
For a new author and first novel, I think the language and well written story was wonderful and definitely worth reading.