In this opiate-veiled book, Thayil introduces readers to
the seedy underbelly of Bombay. It begins in the 1970's and transitions with
surreality into modern-day Mumbai--which has lost not only its tradition and
identity, but also it's name. The story follows several memorable characters,
all of whom fight addiction in one form or another. Addictions range from
opiates to violence to sex to adulation. The most memorable character IMO is
Dimple, a pipe-wallah, a prostitute, and an addict. Dimple's character is
rather horrifying to the unjaded Westerner because she was abandoned by her
mother and sold into prostitution as a child. At the age of 9, she was
castrated and her penis was removed, which apparently makes her into a
deliciously seedy prostitute (in the eyes of creepy men who make me shudder).
When we are introduced to her, she is a little older, and is suffering some of the ill
affects of her surgery--including addiction to opium, which was originally
given to her as a narcotic for her pain. We watch Dimple as she changes from a
beautiful young woman to a sickly and shriveled middle-aged woman.
Perhaps I'm reading too much in to the story (I think it would be
clearer after a second reading, which it's not going to get), but I think
Dimple was meant to represent India. When we met Dimple, she was young and
beautiful, as was the young India. She had been docked and gelded, yes, but she
was beautiful, intelligent, and had potential if ONLY she could get out of her
rut. Perhaps this is meant to imply that the Westerners had "docked and
gelded" India (by their colonization and then partitioning of the land),
but that she still had potential. She was still beautiful. But time passed, and
the slow-and-easy opium life in the "best opium den in Bombay...maybe even
India," was forcibly supplanted by frightening hallucinatory
"cheap" chemical-laced heroin. During this time, Dimple became
increasingly sick. Likewise, India itself was getting sicker from the negative
influences of modernization. As time passed, Dimple's name changed, as did
Bombay's, and their identities were lost in the harsh new world.
This book was allegorically very deep, and I'm sure that a second,
third, and fourth reading would teach me something new every time. But,
unfortunately, once was enough for me. I don't regret reading the book...it
will stay with me forever. But the violence, sex, drugs, and sickening human
condition described was enough for me the first time around. Don't get me
wrong, all of these negative issues were handled with graceful tact. But it was
still difficult for me to read.
Now, a note on the narration: I imagine this book was a very
difficult one to read aloud. Robertson chose to represent surreal quality
behind the veil with an airy tone of detachment. This detachment makes the
narration less-than-enticing. However, this is not the narrator's fault, but an
issue with the book itself. I think a tone of detachment was probably quite
appropriate in this situation. Just be warned...if you're picky about
narrations, then this book may be better read silently. :) On the other hand,
if you're reasonably tolerant, like I am, then you should be able to delve into
the story with no problems. Robertson's tone of detachment didn't distract from
the story, once I got used to it and understood the purpose. I was happily able
to engross myself in the flow. AND a nice? thing about the audiobook is that I
apparently missed a 6-paged sentence. I didn't even notice it. ;)
