After a 6-book attempt to get on terms with P. D. James, Inspector Ghote came as welcome relief. A human being! A person involved with other people and not ashamed of it! A person with so many neighbours he doesn't have time to worry about "privacy" - that word that jumps up every 6 pages or so in James. A detective with a family and best of all, a detective with a heart!
Whew! It was like leaving a dreary UK autumn day for a Delhi spring. Yeah, could be too hot and crowded eventually, but at least you thaw out first.
There is more than a slight hint of over-the-top comedy about *The Perfect Murder*, with its deliberately ambiguous title, its definitely over-the-top rhyming-slang - Hindu? he's certainly not Cockney - rich man Arun Varde, and the sub-plot Case of the Stolen Rupee (yes, just one of them.) The link between the two cases is somewhat tenuous if finally vital, and the ongoing chaos at the Varde house also tends to the edge of credibility at times. On the other hand,the power of money and the presence of corruption in Bombay come as no surprise, and the portrait of Varde's elder son with his exaggerated English argot feels as if it shd. strike maliciously home in a setting of post-British India. Then, too, the lyric scene when the monsoon and the case finally break together can seem, on reflection, just a tad too Indian, so to speak - one of those loces classici, like the sacred cows and the "brightly-clad women" that you wd. expect in any superficial treatment - but at the time, it's wonderfully cathartic, for the reader and Inspector Ghote both.
Which leads to the only real difficulty about Inspector Ghote, at least for me: for the first 9 Inspector Ghote books, Keating had never actually BEEN to Bombay.
Sure, he handles the inflections of Indian English as if he was born to them, not over-exaggerating the flood of present participles, doing the wordiness nicely, sure, he adds in the odd Indian word - not sure if they are in Marathi or some other dialect, though Keating does know such exist - with the panache of an Amitav Ghosh. Sure, he has a convincing presentation up and down the strata of Bombay, from the street beggars to the magnificently miserly Minister's over-plush office, with a malicious side-look at "imported air-conditioning!" and such. And he treats all those strata with a democracy sadly lacking from P. D. James's apparently unconscious sieving of an English village into Those we know and Those We Only Know About.
All the same, Keating is NOT an Indian. Like Alexander McCall, who wrote a very nicely defensive preface to my edition of *The Perfect Murder*, he is from a colonizing culture taking the voice of a culture that has been colonized. And yes, we shd. all let bygones be bygones. But if Australia had been colonized by, say, the US, (not that we aren't culturally colonized already) and some US writer decided to do a novel Down Among the Oz-ites, for the edification of those Not Down Among Same, taking on the language and outlook and setting of these (implicitly inferior)Others, as if he/she belonged there, how wd. I feel?
Not too damn friendly, I seem to think.
Keating does a Real Good Job of Bombay. It's wickedly alive, it can be gently malicious, it's sloppy and vivid and Ghote himself is a treat. All the same, at times I had a sense of - exaggeration, for want of a better word, of stereotypic qualities, such as Indian volubility and "quaintness," especially in agitation - a sense, which might have been wholly in my own view, that the writer, like the earlier writers of Children's Lit, is silently looking over his characters' heads to the (white Western) reader, and maybe not even consciously, asking, Oh, look at these excitable Orientals! Ain't they quaint?
It may be wholly unjust. In the wake of Kipling, who probably lived further into India than any outsider who ever wrote about the country, yet still could not shake off that white view at times, it wd. be hard for Keating NOT to have slid into such a stance. The theoretical question of his taking on an Indian's voice, however, did leave me putting 4 instead of 5 stars on Inspector Ghote's first appearance. Despite what McCall Smith says, I don't think even great works of fiction can wholly override the questions of who wrote them, about whom, and when.
Otherwise, kudos. And whyinhell aren't all the Inspector Ghote books on Kindle instead a mere handful, and the rest only on Audiobooks? Certainly a chance missed there with this reader, publishers.