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The Inn
A Washington DC based Pakistani origin doctor periodically escapes to a retreat in rural Virginia, comes across a variety of characters, and engages with and explores his own notions and stereotypes about race, ethnicity and class as well as of those whom he meets.
279 pages, Hardcover
Published January 1, 2021
7 people want to read
About the author
Maniza Naqvi
11 books24 followersManiza Naqvi is a novelist and short story writer. Born in Lahore, she lives mostly in the USA. Her four novels are Mass Transit, On Air, Stay With Me, and A Matter of Detail. She has also published a book of short stories: Sarajevo Saturdays. She writes fiction and essays as a Monday Columnist for 3Quarksdaily.com
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
October 14, 2023
Exploring Identity, Prejudice & Alienation in Maniza Naqvi’s powerful novel ‘The Inn’
From reluctant initial steps towards finding its own idiom as well as a politics that picks itself up and graduates from abject apologia to informed introspection to bold questioning, the Pakistani novel has taken important strides in desirable directions. Having assessed and reconciled to an appreciable extent their own identity while living on foreign shores Pakistani writers are now engaging much more self-assuredly with how the world - essentially the West that control trade, aid, and publishing - often chooses to define and stereotype us. Also, how such categorizing and judgmental behavior often hides behind veneers of noble intentions, political correctness, or old-fashioned duplicity. Finally, how all reveals the ignorance, insecurities, paradoxes, and at times, agendas, of those who categorize and judge. The Inn from Maniza Naqvi comes to us as an excellent representative of this advanced phase of political consciousness and contestation in Pakistani fiction. It’s a novel that meets necessary criteria of a good read but more importantly it provokes questions and provides insights that can only be offered by someone with nuanced multi-cultural sensitivity, which Naqvi fully possesses.
The protagonist is a Washington, DC based Pakistani origin doctor who escapes regularly to the pleasant Virginia countryside to take breaks from his routine. However, these are not mere mindless escapades and mercifully the gent thinks deeply and questions the world around him rather than holding forth on all things sundry based on rudimentary understanding of how societies, politics, and cultures work. Understandably, therefore, his response to stereotyping, mischaracterization, and casual racism isn’t sheepish and submissive. Instead, his encounters with a whole host of characters during his retreats give rise to engagements where he draws on his rich multicultural experiences and assessments to invigorate conversations that are vital to our times. Race, class, nationality, and background remain, as we know, extraordinarily important distinguishing as well as discriminating factors even as we propel towards the second quarter of the 21st century. Naqvi’s novel provides multiple instances of how good fiction can continue telling an engaging story whilst exploring multiple somber themes and issues that influence and impact millions of lives, mostly for the worse.
A vast and growing chasm in our society is based on language. Whereas our literary giants of the latter half of the previous century - Qurat-ul-Ain Haider, Faiz, Rashid, Faraz, Ashfaq Ahmad, Abdullah Hussain, Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, and so many others - were cosmopolitan as well as locally grounded, multi-lingual, well-versed in global literature and at ease with the civilizational and cultural spectrum - we face an unenviable situation. With exceptions, those writing in English approach local languages, literature and lore with the reticence and awkwardness of foreigners on a summer of cultural discovery, whereas those writing in Urdu and regional languages, again exceptions notwithstanding, hide their inadequacy in English and thereby weak exposure to global literature (our translation culture and output is not what it used to be) with insularity and resentment against writing in English. Both suffer not only in terms of losing out on much that would enhance their own growth and understanding to become better writers but also because they increasingly don’t talk to each other anymore.
Naqvi on the other hand - both due to her lineage from an august family of great literary and artistic high achievement and her own life-long passion for and commitment to books and writing - possesses the vast appreciation of and comfortable co-existence with eastern and western cultures to be able to convincingly create a multifarious character like the protagonist. Her own progression as a person and a writer - through her early novels to her later writing as well as her tremendous contributions to the Pakistani literary scene through successful initiatives such as the revival of the iconic Pioneer Book House in Karachi and the pioneering launch of e-publishing through The Little Book Company - is much on display in what is a highly well-crafted novel in terms of technique as well as thought. In books such as these it is easy to fall prey to becoming preachy and didactic or for the narrative voice to utterly overwhelm plot and characterization. But Naqvi is an adept practitioner and steers clear of these traps, even when her inherent intent is to write a book of ideas of our times. Like all good literature this can’t and shouldn’t be typecast as a Pakistani novel written by an expat. For indeed it ought to resonate with many across different nationalities and cultures who have been caught up in the tumultuous events and experiences of the past quarter of a century that have formulated global attitudes and policies. Especially when it comes to defining and ‘othering’ those who belong to different milieus. In that sense, some of the preoccupations, conversations and observations here reminded me of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s excellent ‘Americanah’ which though from a Nigerian perspective is again deeply universal in its relevance and outlook.
Quite apart from being a seasoned international social protection and development professional, writer, publisher, and bookseller, over the years Naqvi has also played the commendable roles of an astute commentator on and champion of Pakistani fiction in English. Her own highly informed sense of where it is headed and what it has gained and what it now aspires to, appears to have influenced her decision to write this unusual book, so different from past attempts at appreciating the Pakistani emigrant experience. Also, so much bolder. The desi protagonist is no longer just being questioned but is now the questioner, who doesn’t shy away from asking probing and uncomfortable questions. That it offers a rich tapestry of cultural, historical, and literary references - reflecting Naqvi’s keen observation and careful reflection - make both the narrative as well as the protagonist highly compelling. Prejudice and alienation remain two of the biggest banes of humankind even after all these millennia. The Inn is a highly intelligent and lyrical exploration of these themes and tells a story that all serious readers of literature ought to read.
Osama Siddique is a legal scholar and policy reform advisor. He is the author of the historical novel Snuffing Out the Moon which has also been translated into Urdu as Chand ko Gul Karen to Hum Janen.
(This Review appeared in The Friday Times on August 2, 2022. Available at https://www.thefridaytimes.com/2022/0... )
From reluctant initial steps towards finding its own idiom as well as a politics that picks itself up and graduates from abject apologia to informed introspection to bold questioning, the Pakistani novel has taken important strides in desirable directions. Having assessed and reconciled to an appreciable extent their own identity while living on foreign shores Pakistani writers are now engaging much more self-assuredly with how the world - essentially the West that control trade, aid, and publishing - often chooses to define and stereotype us. Also, how such categorizing and judgmental behavior often hides behind veneers of noble intentions, political correctness, or old-fashioned duplicity. Finally, how all reveals the ignorance, insecurities, paradoxes, and at times, agendas, of those who categorize and judge. The Inn from Maniza Naqvi comes to us as an excellent representative of this advanced phase of political consciousness and contestation in Pakistani fiction. It’s a novel that meets necessary criteria of a good read but more importantly it provokes questions and provides insights that can only be offered by someone with nuanced multi-cultural sensitivity, which Naqvi fully possesses.
The protagonist is a Washington, DC based Pakistani origin doctor who escapes regularly to the pleasant Virginia countryside to take breaks from his routine. However, these are not mere mindless escapades and mercifully the gent thinks deeply and questions the world around him rather than holding forth on all things sundry based on rudimentary understanding of how societies, politics, and cultures work. Understandably, therefore, his response to stereotyping, mischaracterization, and casual racism isn’t sheepish and submissive. Instead, his encounters with a whole host of characters during his retreats give rise to engagements where he draws on his rich multicultural experiences and assessments to invigorate conversations that are vital to our times. Race, class, nationality, and background remain, as we know, extraordinarily important distinguishing as well as discriminating factors even as we propel towards the second quarter of the 21st century. Naqvi’s novel provides multiple instances of how good fiction can continue telling an engaging story whilst exploring multiple somber themes and issues that influence and impact millions of lives, mostly for the worse.
A vast and growing chasm in our society is based on language. Whereas our literary giants of the latter half of the previous century - Qurat-ul-Ain Haider, Faiz, Rashid, Faraz, Ashfaq Ahmad, Abdullah Hussain, Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, and so many others - were cosmopolitan as well as locally grounded, multi-lingual, well-versed in global literature and at ease with the civilizational and cultural spectrum - we face an unenviable situation. With exceptions, those writing in English approach local languages, literature and lore with the reticence and awkwardness of foreigners on a summer of cultural discovery, whereas those writing in Urdu and regional languages, again exceptions notwithstanding, hide their inadequacy in English and thereby weak exposure to global literature (our translation culture and output is not what it used to be) with insularity and resentment against writing in English. Both suffer not only in terms of losing out on much that would enhance their own growth and understanding to become better writers but also because they increasingly don’t talk to each other anymore.
Naqvi on the other hand - both due to her lineage from an august family of great literary and artistic high achievement and her own life-long passion for and commitment to books and writing - possesses the vast appreciation of and comfortable co-existence with eastern and western cultures to be able to convincingly create a multifarious character like the protagonist. Her own progression as a person and a writer - through her early novels to her later writing as well as her tremendous contributions to the Pakistani literary scene through successful initiatives such as the revival of the iconic Pioneer Book House in Karachi and the pioneering launch of e-publishing through The Little Book Company - is much on display in what is a highly well-crafted novel in terms of technique as well as thought. In books such as these it is easy to fall prey to becoming preachy and didactic or for the narrative voice to utterly overwhelm plot and characterization. But Naqvi is an adept practitioner and steers clear of these traps, even when her inherent intent is to write a book of ideas of our times. Like all good literature this can’t and shouldn’t be typecast as a Pakistani novel written by an expat. For indeed it ought to resonate with many across different nationalities and cultures who have been caught up in the tumultuous events and experiences of the past quarter of a century that have formulated global attitudes and policies. Especially when it comes to defining and ‘othering’ those who belong to different milieus. In that sense, some of the preoccupations, conversations and observations here reminded me of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s excellent ‘Americanah’ which though from a Nigerian perspective is again deeply universal in its relevance and outlook.
Quite apart from being a seasoned international social protection and development professional, writer, publisher, and bookseller, over the years Naqvi has also played the commendable roles of an astute commentator on and champion of Pakistani fiction in English. Her own highly informed sense of where it is headed and what it has gained and what it now aspires to, appears to have influenced her decision to write this unusual book, so different from past attempts at appreciating the Pakistani emigrant experience. Also, so much bolder. The desi protagonist is no longer just being questioned but is now the questioner, who doesn’t shy away from asking probing and uncomfortable questions. That it offers a rich tapestry of cultural, historical, and literary references - reflecting Naqvi’s keen observation and careful reflection - make both the narrative as well as the protagonist highly compelling. Prejudice and alienation remain two of the biggest banes of humankind even after all these millennia. The Inn is a highly intelligent and lyrical exploration of these themes and tells a story that all serious readers of literature ought to read.
Osama Siddique is a legal scholar and policy reform advisor. He is the author of the historical novel Snuffing Out the Moon which has also been translated into Urdu as Chand ko Gul Karen to Hum Janen.
(This Review appeared in The Friday Times on August 2, 2022. Available at https://www.thefridaytimes.com/2022/0... )
April 17, 2023
Some stories find their strength not in plot, but in characters. Instead of events propelling things forward, it is the reactions and feelings to events that take centre stage. Maniza Naqvi’s The Inn is such a novel; it takes immense pleasure in taking the slowly simmering inadequacies and resentments that exist under the skin of all humans, and bringing them to a boil with the slow, careful craft of a master storyteller.
At its surface, The Inn is a contemporary novel, one meant for our times. It takes into account the history of the past few decades—the destruction of New York’s World Trade Centre, the 2005 earthquake in Pakistan, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the crisis in Sudan—and connects these events to its central characters, so that each moment feels personal to the few around whom the novel revolves.
And yet there is a greater stake involved, where the conversation is not just about the resultant death or misery, but about how the characters felt, or reacted, or were involved in their own flawed ways with each of these moments in time. That is where the novel’s actual strength lies.
Our protagonist Salman—casually Americanised to the shorter, non-desi Sal—is the Pakistani immigrant through whose eyes we watch the tale unfurl. Moving from a small village in Punjab to hallowed hospital corridors in Washington, DC, Sal spends his days in a dark room as a radiologist, delivering—sometimes good, but mostly bad—news to worried patients.
Overburdened with the wretchedness of being the frequent bearer of bad news and unable to keep his empathy in check, Sal finds himself in the Virginia countryside, invited there by a nurse friend who wants Sal to relax. But Sal is unable to gel with the friend’s family and so books a room at a nearby inn.
Sylvia and Billy, the retired couple running the inn, are the counterpoint to Sal’s anxiety over his identity, his sense of belonging and his inability to find peace. Having spent time in multiple countries as aid workers, the couple just narrowly misses being a cliché, despite their white saviour complex being out in full force throughout the entirety of the novel.
It is only through a careful unveiling of their humanity that Naqvi manages to make them into fully rounded individuals, with past lives and intricacies that go beyond the formulaic limitations of their professions and interests.
Sylvia and Billy welcome Sal to their inn, at first reluctantly, and then with a degree of warmth and understanding, but their relationship with him has a strain that eventually explodes, in a manner that the author presents as seemingly inevitable.
Can we ever look past who we are and truly understand another? This seems to be the question the author set out to answer in her careful exploration of Sal’s laconic days spent at the inn, interacting with the other guests: Adrian, a man from Sylvia and Billy’s past and Maribeth, the next door neighbour.
These people bring their own issues, their own complicated histories and their biased understanding of the world into Sal’s life, who tries to circumnavigate them as best as he can. Is he flawed himself? The other characters certainly seem to think so, in conversations that revolve around identity, politics, culture and history.
Sal’s understanding of the world, his obsession with the so-called ‘war on terror’ and his irritation that the others at the Inn never seem to take it seriously enough, provides much of the friction and drives the plot towards its tumultuous conclusion.
Naqvi takes her time exploring this dichotomy between what matters to people. Sal’s marriage to a very young girl back home, and his subsequent divorce, don’t create as big a ripple as does the fact that she’s his cousin. That he decides to leave his young son with his wife, and not fight for him, is a bigger shock to the couple who—by that point—treat Sal like a family member.
This distinction between what his culture permits and what Sylvia and Billy believe to be right, is jarring to Sal, who responds with awkwardness and gloom, unable to explain to this newfound family that what they believe does not necessarily translate into an undeniable truth in his own reality. This distinction is mellow at first, but grows increasingly stronger as the story progresses, culminating in a clash of expressions that seeks to reiterate what the author has been trying to point out all along.
Immigration gets a nod—inevitable, given how assiduously the concept of identity and belonging is threaded throughout the narrative. Sal’s persistent memories of the village in his homeland, coupled with worry for the son he left behind, serve to heighten his feelings of alienation, further reinforcing his belief that no one cares about the drone attacks on Pakistani soil as much as he does.
As Sal’s frustration mounts, so does his friends’ irritation with what they see as his rage, his inability to relax, his insistence that only he understands pain. At numerous instances, they try to convince him to see the Inn as a temporary place of belonging, to see Virginia as an island of relaxation, or to find pleasure in the quiet peacefulness of the American countryside. Juxtaposing the Inn’s importance in Sal’s life to his mounting sense of unease in America is masterfully done, and a tactic that the author employs to the maximum.
Strewn through the pages is an abundance of nature. The setting is important and Naqvi pays careful attention to detailing the scenery. A variety of trees—birch, maple, dogwood, elm, mulberry, oak and sycamore—put in appearances. These are accompanied by poison ivy and wild grass, weeds and the creatures that sneak among them. Animals of all types lurk around, native species described in all their spectacular glory.
In some places, the story feels slow and meandering, purposeless but not irritatingly so. The occasionally sluggish, intermittent dialogue takes its sweet time to reach a point of purpose. The first half has a sort of lazy, desultory feel, redolent of languid summer days when there’s not much to do. In the second half, the pace accelerates as emotions long held in check bubble to the surface.
A very careful exploration of the outer atmosphere, as well as the rich inner lives of her characters, The Inn by Naqvi is a novel worth reading a second time.
***
This review was originally published in Books and Authors on 27 February, 2022.
***
I review Pakistani Fiction, and talk about Pakistani fiction, and want to talk to people who like to talk about fiction (Pakistani and otherwise, take your pick.) To read more reviews or just contact me so you can talk about books, check out my Blog or follow me on Twitter!
At its surface, The Inn is a contemporary novel, one meant for our times. It takes into account the history of the past few decades—the destruction of New York’s World Trade Centre, the 2005 earthquake in Pakistan, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the crisis in Sudan—and connects these events to its central characters, so that each moment feels personal to the few around whom the novel revolves.
And yet there is a greater stake involved, where the conversation is not just about the resultant death or misery, but about how the characters felt, or reacted, or were involved in their own flawed ways with each of these moments in time. That is where the novel’s actual strength lies.
Our protagonist Salman—casually Americanised to the shorter, non-desi Sal—is the Pakistani immigrant through whose eyes we watch the tale unfurl. Moving from a small village in Punjab to hallowed hospital corridors in Washington, DC, Sal spends his days in a dark room as a radiologist, delivering—sometimes good, but mostly bad—news to worried patients.
Overburdened with the wretchedness of being the frequent bearer of bad news and unable to keep his empathy in check, Sal finds himself in the Virginia countryside, invited there by a nurse friend who wants Sal to relax. But Sal is unable to gel with the friend’s family and so books a room at a nearby inn.
Sylvia and Billy, the retired couple running the inn, are the counterpoint to Sal’s anxiety over his identity, his sense of belonging and his inability to find peace. Having spent time in multiple countries as aid workers, the couple just narrowly misses being a cliché, despite their white saviour complex being out in full force throughout the entirety of the novel.
It is only through a careful unveiling of their humanity that Naqvi manages to make them into fully rounded individuals, with past lives and intricacies that go beyond the formulaic limitations of their professions and interests.
Sylvia and Billy welcome Sal to their inn, at first reluctantly, and then with a degree of warmth and understanding, but their relationship with him has a strain that eventually explodes, in a manner that the author presents as seemingly inevitable.
Can we ever look past who we are and truly understand another? This seems to be the question the author set out to answer in her careful exploration of Sal’s laconic days spent at the inn, interacting with the other guests: Adrian, a man from Sylvia and Billy’s past and Maribeth, the next door neighbour.
These people bring their own issues, their own complicated histories and their biased understanding of the world into Sal’s life, who tries to circumnavigate them as best as he can. Is he flawed himself? The other characters certainly seem to think so, in conversations that revolve around identity, politics, culture and history.
Sal’s understanding of the world, his obsession with the so-called ‘war on terror’ and his irritation that the others at the Inn never seem to take it seriously enough, provides much of the friction and drives the plot towards its tumultuous conclusion.
Naqvi takes her time exploring this dichotomy between what matters to people. Sal’s marriage to a very young girl back home, and his subsequent divorce, don’t create as big a ripple as does the fact that she’s his cousin. That he decides to leave his young son with his wife, and not fight for him, is a bigger shock to the couple who—by that point—treat Sal like a family member.
This distinction between what his culture permits and what Sylvia and Billy believe to be right, is jarring to Sal, who responds with awkwardness and gloom, unable to explain to this newfound family that what they believe does not necessarily translate into an undeniable truth in his own reality. This distinction is mellow at first, but grows increasingly stronger as the story progresses, culminating in a clash of expressions that seeks to reiterate what the author has been trying to point out all along.
Immigration gets a nod—inevitable, given how assiduously the concept of identity and belonging is threaded throughout the narrative. Sal’s persistent memories of the village in his homeland, coupled with worry for the son he left behind, serve to heighten his feelings of alienation, further reinforcing his belief that no one cares about the drone attacks on Pakistani soil as much as he does.
As Sal’s frustration mounts, so does his friends’ irritation with what they see as his rage, his inability to relax, his insistence that only he understands pain. At numerous instances, they try to convince him to see the Inn as a temporary place of belonging, to see Virginia as an island of relaxation, or to find pleasure in the quiet peacefulness of the American countryside. Juxtaposing the Inn’s importance in Sal’s life to his mounting sense of unease in America is masterfully done, and a tactic that the author employs to the maximum.
Strewn through the pages is an abundance of nature. The setting is important and Naqvi pays careful attention to detailing the scenery. A variety of trees—birch, maple, dogwood, elm, mulberry, oak and sycamore—put in appearances. These are accompanied by poison ivy and wild grass, weeds and the creatures that sneak among them. Animals of all types lurk around, native species described in all their spectacular glory.
In some places, the story feels slow and meandering, purposeless but not irritatingly so. The occasionally sluggish, intermittent dialogue takes its sweet time to reach a point of purpose. The first half has a sort of lazy, desultory feel, redolent of languid summer days when there’s not much to do. In the second half, the pace accelerates as emotions long held in check bubble to the surface.
A very careful exploration of the outer atmosphere, as well as the rich inner lives of her characters, The Inn by Naqvi is a novel worth reading a second time.
***
This review was originally published in Books and Authors on 27 February, 2022.
***
I review Pakistani Fiction, and talk about Pakistani fiction, and want to talk to people who like to talk about fiction (Pakistani and otherwise, take your pick.) To read more reviews or just contact me so you can talk about books, check out my Blog or follow me on Twitter!
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