A novel of color and growth
This is not Guyana-born Sharon Maas's first published novel, although I suspect some, if not most, of this was written before the publication of her well-received Of Marriageable Age. Yes, she could have used a great editor here, somebody to whisper in her ear that the novel will gain strength by what is left out.
Consequently this reads like the first novel of a gifted novelist put before the public without benefit of the sort of judicious trimming that lends focus to a work of art.
The setting is Guyana and India, the central character Rita Maraj, whom we meet as a child, a girl at once black and Indian whose language is English, a girl fascinated with life--all of life--ants and horses, tadpoles and dogs, a girl who is a bit "quirky," as she terms herself, a girl who hates remembering dates and doing numbers, but a girl who loves words with the passion of a lexicographer, a girl who can tell a tale like Scheherazade.
This girl could be Sharon Maas herself who has a gift for story and for character; indeed one is compelled to associate Maas's heroine with Maas because knowing only the two from Guyana, one knows no others. And besides the life that Maas depicts growing up in Georgetown is so enthrallingly vivid that it had to be lived.
There is a child-like simplicity to the narrative that I found attractive, a kind of fairytale quality that pits the innocence and goodness of Rita against the world. This is especially accentuated in her relationship with her stepmother, Marilyn, whose shallow personality and unrelenting stupidity are matched only by half sister Isabelle's unmitigated self-absorption.
Certainly Maas is not neutral about her heroine. She has given Rita the integrity that her father, her stepmother, and her half sister lack. Even more, we know that in Rita's soul there is a sense of something more important than the bourgeois values that so dominate the lives of those around her.
Not far into the novel Maas breaks away from Rita and takes us to India where we meet a boy named Kamal who lives in a palace protected from the ugliness of the world by his all-controlling grandmother, Rani, a corpulent woman whose hand moves throughout the day with slow deliberateness from food trays placed around her to her mouth. In Kamal one is reminded of Siddhartha, and indeed the little boy longs to leave the palace, and one day manages to sneak out, and indeed sees some of the same deplorable sights that long ago opened the Buddha's eyes.
Of course Kamal and Rita must meet. But Maas, who loves to tell a story and build and build upon that story toward a culmination, returns after a few chapters to Rita. (Part II, which is about Kamal is only 56 of the 485 pages.) We watch her grow into a teenager and then into a young woman, and we learn the source of her inner strength. It comes from her maternal grandmother, Granny, a venerable woman who lives up river, a woman who sees reflected in the black river not only the stars but the wisdom of the ages, a woman who tells Rita, "Mixed up blood is fine. Mixed up religion, no."
She also gives Rita some diamonds (yes, there is a lot of a woman's fantasy life imbedded in the novel, but Maas does not give in to the easy illusions associated with that genre) and tells her, "Be like this creek. When it is still and its surface unbroken it reflects the truth...and you will know your way." One wonders whether Granny is more Zen or Taoist, but one knows it doesn't matter.
I would like to have seen more complexity in the men. We know Ronnie Maraj, Rita's father only slightly as one who acquiesces all too agreeably to Marilyn's demands. We see his love for others, for his daughters and for Marilyn even, yet there is much of the man that is missing. I was also a little disconcerted at how Maas abruptly kills off some of her creations as though somehow dissatisfied with them. Caroline is a case in point, like a painting began and then set aside, and then painted over with someone new.
This an epic-like read of people and places exotic and different, but curiously so like our own. I could almost say that Rita Maraj reminds me of a girl I went to school with. I can certainly say that her concerns at Number Seven, Georgetown, Guyana are little different from those experienced by girls growing up in, say, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I could even say that Rita exchanges pelicans for peacocks.
--Dennis Littrell, author of the mystery novel, “Teddy and Teri”