Carol Jones’ The Concubine’s Child is a mysterious and haunting book. Stylistically it works through different mediums, leaping betwixt past and present, and beginning with a very haunting prelude.
On one level this novel is very Dickensian. A stark tale of social injustices, indagating into the sado-masochistic depths of the Chinese-Malay patriarch system of the 1930s - a mixture of cruel traditional customs simmering in the greedy stew of the capitalist game that is money. In the first chapters we see, and feel, the cruelty from the perspective of the victim, the young concubine: submissive because socially impotent, repressed and exploited not only by the patriarchs themselves, but by the even more perverse complicity of the elder women. A complicity which almost seems more sadistic than the motives of the males.
It is this female complicity with the male system that generates the psychological complexity of the novel, for it deals with a society that is so patriarchally strong that the toughest women have to be more patriarchal than the patriarchs in order to have any power themselves. In this society the gender you are born with makes you a master or a slave, and if you’re a woman-slave, you had better learn how to manipulate the pecking order if you are going to have any success: you can at least become a master-slave of other slaves.
Slavery is the worst kind of consumerism, that which allows human beings to be commodities that can be bought and used freely, and the concubine-wife we are presented with here is perhaps the lowest kind of commodity. Sold for her body like a prostitute, but sold also as one man’s possession, as a personal slave. But then, all this is perhaps a logical result of the system: a system in which culture is inextricably linked with power and money, in which “everything had a price”.
This Dickensian narrative is mirrored by a contemporary setting that slowly unwinds, swinging between England and Malaysia in this current decade. The haunting feel of the introduction comes back, and we gradually realize that this is the same story but seen from a preludial perspective - from where the story should have begun, but it’s more interesting that we find it here rather than its natural or more conventional place. Now the story comes from a detective-like uncovering of past events from the present.
Stylistically things are very different as well, as if Dickens has been replaced by Daphne du Maurier floating into Ian McKewan, but this adds to the interest as well.
Thematically, there is also a twist. From the point of view of the time/space shift, the patriarchal system of the opening act is no longer present and the slavery to the system has been abolished. Or has it? Carol Jones now raises the question about happiness. Are we happy? And if, like Immanuel Kant, we make the association between happiness and freedom, then the question also implies another question: Are we free?
And as she brings up that question she highlights another theme for us: identity, that seeps into the already established themes of family and the need for heritage. Within the narrative between these first two acts a conflicting duality is implied, between a perspective of responsibility to our family and our ancestral roots as a universal necessity and the perverse patriarchal phenomenon that this necessity flows from.
The narrative begins to work like the construction of a bridge, building from the past in one instance, or from the present in the other. In the present we have already met the concubine’s child as an elderly man; from the past we get the circumstances of his mother’s pregnancy and his birth. This section could be titled injustice, or rebellion. What does it mean to be born into a cruel, unjust world? A world that robs us of that we love ...
And there are ghosts. Perhaps The Concubine’s Child could be labelled a ghost story, there is certainly a good dose of magic realism in it: it is undoubtedly an intelligent approach to the genre. There is suspense, and the story rolls easily along. But it is not fast-food, more like a delicious meal: each morsel leaves you with a mouth-watering anticipation of what will come next.