There is so much to admire about Corona, not least of which is its heroine - Razia, a rebellious South Asian American girl who eschews her culture's regressions in favour of making her own blundering errors which, however transgressive, are her mistakes to make and her life to live. Razia is a compelling narrator because she never picks a side that does not celebrate or further her own unique life, and there is something to be said about her lack of overbearing judgement.
However, and this is important, one wishes the book had a rooted sense of purpose. The novel reads like a collection of interconnected short stories, a la Sandra Cisneros' The House on Mango Street. It begins in a manner, where young and adult Razia assume control alternatively, allowing us glimpses into her life as a young girl growing in the eponymous suburb of Corona in a conservative Pakistani family, and her vagabond writerly experiences as an adult. So far, so good. The crude smackness of her broke, hippie lifestyle countered with the wide-eyed consumability of her childhood allows the reader to fill in the gaps - to understand how young, religious Razia came to be the woman who was excommunicated from her family. While you're just getting into this structure, the novel becomes fascinated with dedicating story after story to Razia's relationship with Ravi, an affair she has in her 30s that leaves her with a broken heart. Clearly, Razia's story isn't for one book to cover, but one wishes there was congruency in the arrangement - something for the stories to lead to. We come to understand that these are snippets from Razia's life, and that is all we've been allowed to learn of, for now.
Having said that, Rehman, the poet, is stark in the pages of Corona. The writing is minimalist and flows with the easy course of a spoken word poem in motion. The stories about Basement Bhangra are beaming with the quixotic language suited to the South Asian narrative (however I wouldn't dare to call Raghav a desi George Michael, not close, not even). In fact that entire section reads straight out a Gurinder Chadha script, and that's always a good thing.
While Rehman has choice opinions about Razia's childhood and community, she also reserves a great deal of empathy for these people, perhaps borrowing from her own experience. These, she presents, with heart, candor and easy intimacy. Rehman leaves us with a book that is easy to finish in one sitting, but we seek more surely of Razia's life, and her rebellion.