Sanjay is a Bombay street child who scales the dizzying heights of the "Silver Castle," the Indian film world, to stand at the parapet of success. Unfortunately for Sanjay, he is required to jump. Told with Clive James's trademark dry wit, The Silver Castle is a tragicomic morality tale for our time. Part Candide, part Oliver Twist, part Huckleberry Finn, The Silver Castle defies its reader to remain aloof from the suffering of the world's swarming poor while it inspires laughter over the human condition generally. It is a novel of wonder despite its unrelenting realism— indeed, only wonderment is possible in the face of Sanjay's knack for survival and more than occasional good fortune. In his astonishing odyssey from the gutter to the soundstages and salons of Bollywood, Sanjay meets up with every variant of sinner and would-be savior, and along the way he trades on his "heart-breaking" physical beauty and canny lingual facility to grab at luck wherever it may be had—in the pocket of a tourist, as a guide for the Western news crews who regularly descend on Bombay to update their stock footage of grinding poverty, or in the bed of an older male protector or a past-her-prime cinema princess. Throughout, Sanjay's spirit is sustained by themovies, and by his first behind-the-scenes glimpse,as a young trespasser on the set of the Silver Castle, of the magical artifice of filmmaking.It is a true vision of an utterly false reality, the source of Sanjay's subsequent triumphs and of his ultimatemisfortune. But what happens to Sanjay in the end is not a singular event. As this deeply humane novelconvincingly argues, Sanjay's fate is the world's.Back Perhaps it would have been better for [Sanjay] if he had never seen the Silver Castle, never felt a guiding hand, never blinked at an unstained smile. Then he would not have missed these things. It is just possible, however, that the memory of his first visit to Long Ago sustained him. Imagination and energy are part of each other, and few of us, even though we live in circumstances far more favourable, would ever get to where we are going unless a picture of it, however inaccurate, was already in our minds. If we had to, we too would have to dodge the rain between rubbish dumps, on the long journey back to the taste of a cheese roll, the tang of sparkling water, trumpets that crackle and toe-nails stained with plums. We don't have to, but Sanjay did.
Much better than I was expecting, Clive James' seems to understand this world of Indian slums in Bombay in the early nineties pretty well. He is also up on all Indian cinema stars which always boggles my mind how intricate this world is. It does not shy away from the ugliness either. The extreme poverty, the filth, of the sidewalks and the body and the mind. Tiny bit of editorializing at the end kind of ruins it for me but overall this is a very engrossing read.
I had absolutely no business reading this book at the age I did. It probably had some long-lasting psychological effects that I have yet to figure out. But Sanjay seemed fun (until he grew up) and it was unlike anything I’d read before, so I was hooked. What can you do? I should’ve stopped about halfway through though. There are some things you can never take back.
I was blown away by this book. I bought it secondhand at a library sale. I had heard nothing about it or about the author, but, glancing through, this caught my eye: "Written down, Hindi looks like rows of little pots with lids and farm implements hanging from their handles, the lids and handles all joining up along the top, like a shelf. Gujarati looks like Hindi but without the shelf. ... Written Arabic looks like the rippled patterns of sand under clear water ... " so of course, I had to buy it, and was not disappointed. The hero, Sanjay, is a pavement child, who, by running away from home, becomes a street child, which is worse. At the age of seven he happens upon a Bollywood film studio. The first day he is indulged and petted. The second day he is tricked into screwing up the last take of the day, and is banished from 'the silver castle'. However, because of the title of the book, you realise that Bollywood movies will again be part of his life. His ignorance combined with his eagerness to learn eventually lead him to drown in all he doesn't know. He doesn't know the Taj Mahal, the Dardanelles, Tagore, Spielberg, Robert de Niro and so on and so on, even though he manages to learn so much, there is always so much more. Besides, English is indeed "a language insanely unfaithful to what is said." Because of who he is, a realist and an analyst, almost inevitably he becomes a rent boy, a gangster, a trickster. His ambition and drive however get him very far indeed.
This is a moving book about one of India's street people who stumbles by chance into part of Bollywood (the Indian film industry). The grim reality of poverty contrasts with the opulence of the life styles of the sometimes shallow famous. There are obvious comparisons to Hollywood, yet the extreme poverty of India shows other aspects of humanity. Talent, luck, glamour, starvation, hope, there's many challenges covered in a small novel. Ambition and drive is a powerful force, especially when contrasted with daily struggle for survival. In the high pressure fast paced sometimes superficial world of movies many have no idea what their power can do.
This book made me laugh but I felt I was crying inside. The setting is almost similar to Slumdog millionaire only it's not a happy ending. Highly recommend.