This book kept popping up on so many Instagram pages I follow that I had to check out what it was about. I discovered that the book was the memoir (sort of) of a forensic surgeon from Kerala. Given that it was one of my favourite genres, forensic crime, and was based in Kerala, with which I share a kind of umbilical connection, I pre-ordered the book, something I rarely do.
What I liked:
I really liked the cover of the book, which I think is quite smart and well designed by Gavin Morris.
I haven’t read much crime fiction based in India so it was interesting to read about crime in India, especially local hacks used by criminals, such as using ‘patuvalli’ to replicate bruise marks on the skin (p.54). I also really appreciated legal and procedural information like the bit about the law in India regarding exhumation (p.43). Some of the forensic methods outlined were also interesting.
This was also a practical illustration in the meaning of representation. To see my surname and similar ones, to see the names of places I have heard my parents discuss, even if in a discussion of crime and criminals, was nice.
This is not a linear memoir so it has a flavour of a cherished elder narrating ‘I remember that time…’ kind of stories. This feeling, I felt, was particularly reinforced by the little asides in the narrative that told us where Dr Umadathan’s colleagues were now.
What I disliked:
I was disappointed by the translation, which was almost literal in places and made for awkward phrasing in English. And it started really early on in the book: ‘As Dr Thangavelu waved the green flag for my desire to teach, my father had to agree.’ I could almost hear the Malayalam ‘pacha kodi’ in my head, which is not a bad thing, but imagine a non-Malayali or an English speaker coming to this. I think a translation should render the English version more natural. ‘Dr Thangavelu signalled his support for my desire to teach. Father had no choice but to agree.’ Or something to that effect.
I think a fluid translation can only draw in more readers. To this day, my favourite Indian translation is probably Cobalt Blue by Sachin Kundalkar, translated by Jerry Pinto. One is left in no doubt that the setting is Pune of a certain period, that the family is a typical Maharashtrian one, but the ambience and the dialogue is rendered in a beautiful English that merits re-reads. I did not find that here. And I do not know if the translation affected the tone, but on the whole, given the subject matter, I found this a dry work, even soporific at times, only occasionally alleviated by the strange particulars of a case that drew one in.
As a copy editor, another thing I was deeply, deeply disappointed by was the editing on this. So many typos, so many grammar mistakes: ‘When I become principal, I was able to provide’ (p.42). These are little things that now show up in MS Word as grammar errors. That these were not corrected is so sad. And then things like ‘I think they trusted my findings because not once during their agitations they accused me of any malpractice’ (p.20) which would have been so much better as ‘I think they trusted my findings because not once during their agitations did they accuse me of any malpractice.’
Overall, I had many expectations of this book but it didn’t quite deliver. It is quite obvious, though, that Dr Umadathan was a skilled forensic surgeon who took a real interest in his work and thought not in a vacuum, but with social and cultural context (although I might not always agree with his views).