A different version of Heaven…
What a strange, cool book! It takes place in a Indian slum called Heaven and tells the story of five teenage girls trying to find their place in the world. Oh god that sounds bland, when really this is the most poetic book I’ve read this year.
Well, poetic, yes, but sometimes I just liked the sound of the words strung together; it didn’t matter to me that the sentence doesn’t actually make sense.
Here’s a sample:
“Leela’s mornings are black eyes and battered limbs, bruised skin and broken bones. But mornings are also brides and grooms, gold and silk, fire and roses. Escape velocities mapped out like calculations on an astrologer’s chart.”
Oh what a fabulous paragraph! But wait a minute. I get the first two beauties, but I don’t get that last sentence—at all! Escape velocities escape me! So can a book have too much poetry, some of which is unintelligible? Let me head on over to the Complaint Board, where I can whine to my heart’s content.
Complaint Board
-Too much poetry? There’s so much imagery and so many metaphors, my brain was murmuring “overkill.” Maybe the author is just showing off, or maybe since this is her debut, she wants to make sure every sentence is memorable and pretty. I’m sure the author got an A in Creative Writing 101, which hints at the fact that there’s some author self-consciousness going on here (and some reader eye-rolling, too). Plus, I don’t know, my head got tired of trying to make sense of the abstract images; it wanted to hear people talk and see people do things.
-Who’s who? The beginning chapters describe the (many, maybe too many) characters, one by one. Character sketches, really, or poetic reports. I could see the author writing up character profiles while she was storyboarding her book, all very orderly. Since the characters weren’t talking and interacting yet, it was hard to keep track of who was who. All the characters are listed at the front of the book, with a sentence or two describing them. I had to refer back to that list too many times. It’s not supposed to be such hard work.
-I love verbs, I really do… The style of writing bugged me. A friend of mine took a writing course and the teacher insisted that everyone in the class write in a certain minimalist style. She claimed that the style, with emphasis on unadorned verbs and a stinginess of pronouns, is what sold books. I think the writer went to that workshop! I love verbs, I really do, but I got sick of them starting off so many sentences. Here are two samples (I get annoyed with the sound of these sentences even as I write them here):
“…Rukshana cuts herself peeling carrots. Forgets to go to the water pump, spills flour all over the floor. Leaves the iron on her trousers…”
“Rukshana nods. Tilts her head and watches.”
-In the middle of the book, I had a hissy fit. Seriously, who the hell is who here? This is torture! Do I have to keep reading?? Back to check out the list of characters at the front of the book. And back again. It doesn’t make any sense if you don’t know who’s who. Enough! I could just throw this sucker onto the floor and pull another more luscious book out of the pile. The fantasy of a DNF was satisfying. I don’t have to read this, I really don’t. I decided to give it maybe another half hour, and if I didn’t get pulled in, it would be Off with Its Head! Obviously, I did get pulled in, and I was finally able to figure out who was who. There were a couple of scenes that really grabbed me. There was one about a girl writing letters and finding a letter that will stick with me; would love to see it as a short story. I was so happy that I didn’t ditch the book!
-Narrator, tell me your name! I’m betting most people won’t have trouble with the narrative style, but I did. The narration switches between first-person plural and third-person omniscient. First-person plural means it’s “we” everywhere. I didn’t mind the switching, but the “we” part made me think the one narrating the story was another girl in the gang. Who is this mysterious girl who won’t tell me anything about herself or how she fits in? There are five girls, but does this mean that the extra girl narrator makes six? I know the “we” was supposed to signify the collective spirit of the group, but it didn’t work for me.
-Where’s the plot? Other than bulldozers coming to flatten their slum (and even that isn’t a consistent story), there isn’t a plot. There isn’t a climax, there isn’t much of an ending. There are all these little side stories—many of which would be great as short tales.
-Couldn’t get a visual. This is really strange, because the individual images are so vivid—but I just didn’t have a clear picture of the slum. I did keep seeing bulldozers because they are mentioned a million times, but I couldn’t picture the streets or the houses—or even the people.
Despite these umpteen items on my Complaint Board, I was blown away by the poetic language. I pulled out a bunch of quotes that I love to reread; they make my soul do a jig. The characters—once I could keep track of them all--were unique, complex, and intriguing. Among the gang, we have a transgender, a gay girl, a graffiti artist, and a blind girl.
This is a book about women and the power of community. About surviving amid chaos and without money or good shelter. The story is a little message-y, but it didn’t bother me because it’s a culture where women are so oppressed, it’s right to shine a light on their lives.
This book started off as strong 5 stars, then slowly turned into a 4 as things started bugging me (the two biggest problems being the unfocused plot and my pain in trying to figure out who was who). When I reached the middle and had my little hissy fit, I knew I had to deduct another point. So this isn’t a mediocre-ville 3 stars—it’s an off-the-beaten-path 3 stars. I like the idea of this book more than the experience of reading it.
My gripes probably won’t be your gripes, so I encourage you to check this one out if you like literary fiction. It’s definitely a different kind of book. Wow, this is the nicest I’ve ever been to a 3 star.
Thanks to Edelweiss for the advance copy.