4 stars - Brings to life the history of 20th century India and into the time of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi's declaration of the authoritarian Emergency in 1975, told through the lives of an interwoven set of characters. The story is emotionally compelling; details and scenes are vividly described; the characters feel genuinely alive in all their ideals and failings, contradictions and disappointments. I learned a lot about Indian history.
Sonali, a young woman who has been fired from her job as a government administrator, tells the story, but her life and her firing are only part of a much larger panorama. The main character is Rose, an Englishwoman, whose experiences are conveyed alongside those of her husband, Raj, who is an Indian businessman and already married to another woman with whom he has a young son. Several additional main characters enter the tale, all of whom are given nearly equal prominence.
Because there are so many principal figures, and because the story frequently jumps from the present to various moments in the past and then to the present again, and because the relationships of the characters to one another frequently change, it was very difficult for me to keep track of who was being written about, and at what point in their lives situations occurred. The effect of all the shifts was somewhat frustrating but also dreamlike, as if the reader is floating through time tethered only to Sonali's (or the writer's) stream of consciousness.
At one point, I wrote a note that the book is like a matrix containing several novels, each told partially but with striking details and strong empathy for the characters. The end of Rose's complex relationship with her husband, for example, is told in a series of powerful but too brief scenes.
The complexity of the story is made more challenging by the somewhat garbled syntax in many of Sahgal's sentences. References to who is speaking, or about whom, seem to me very often misplaced or missing. Transitions from one person to another sometimes occur quickly within paragraphs. Because I felt so strongly drawn through the story, I eventually learned to skip over confusing attributions and other details in anticipation of arrival at the next clarifying or surprising moment.
For me, the syntactical confusion added to the kaleidoscopic and multi-layered quality of the book. It was like trying to read a labyrinth or a palimpsest. Incidents current and historic seemed to occur side by side; all characters seemed to live simultaneously. Is this an intent of the writer or is it a matter of inadequate copy-editing? My assumption is that the writer intended to tell a certain story in a certain way. Despite the difficulties, I felt it was up to me to meet the writer at least halfway.
A scene late in the book, where elderly Rose is thinking about her life, possibly indicates that the multi-layered effect is no accident (and shows the empathy Sahgal has for her character):
There must be a reason why we are born, why we live, she mused, and it is peculiar not to know it even yet, though smaller questions have got answered. The song from the revival of the old musical they had seen in London on their last visit together came back to her. "Why was I born? Why am I living? What do I get? What am I giving?" All questions, but one question seemed to answer another, as perhaps the songwriter meant it to, and if so, there was no more than that to understand. She sat very still and after a while she could hear the stillness. Time passing, she had called the seashell sound of which silences are composed when she was a child. Now she knew time didn't pass. It was present, all of it, all the time.
The final chapters alternate between two main story threads, both hinting at a relentless and inhumane cruelty seeming to always simmer in the book's background, as an aspect of India's complex culture, that flares up with awful violence from time to time. Such a flare-up is shown in the brutal policies of the Emergency declaration in one of the story threads. The other thread shows it in government corruption and personal malfeasance, but also in traditions of male dominance that include the killing of women. The once accepted but now banned ritual killing of widows (sati, or suttee), by burning them alive, takes a very different form at the close of Sahgal's affecting and memorable book, bringing this story of India to a devastating end.
Perhaps it is the voice of the author near the book's close when Sonali advises a servant to not speak about the terrible event that has happened. "Say nothing," I said firmly, never surer of my advice. As against justice for the dead which could never be done, there was no need to imperil the employment and security of the living. Such a statement from idealistic Sonali seems to allow her to make a terrible peace with the very pattern of violence that her narrative exposes. Is it the author's final bitter commentary about the price of survival?
But the story continues for a few more pages, with new possibilities for Sonali, and for India.