What an extraordinarily good read this book is.
And, rather puzzlingly, what an extraordinarily uneven book it is too.
I dislike crisiticising someone’s writing, because it is such an intensely personal thing, but this excellent book is so uneven in its writing that it could almost have been written by two people – one of them fluent and funny and spot-on descriptive, and the other making silly, sloppy grammatical mistakes.
Take the opening page of the novel, for example:
“How I wish this candle trips over…”
“…sitting on the front counter…”
And then, a couple of paragraphs later:
“All-powerful, all-pervasive sameness this, it drags me in even on my day off…”
See what I mean?
From poor grammar to stunning prose in just a few lines.
I think tighter editing might have done the trick, for I do not for a moment believe that a writer of the obvious calibre of Mr. Yadav would say things like ” I pretend not hearing her” or “a couple of boys touching twenties”.
For a while, I wondered whether the grammatical mistakes were not deliberate, putting poor English into the mouths of his Hindi speaking politicians.
But I fear it might just be sloppy editing
Right, now that’s off my chest, let me rave about a great contemporary Indian novel.
I have mentioned in other reviews, that although the circumstances of reading a novel should not necessarily influence one’s appreciation of the writing, the fact still remains that very often they do.
And so, reading a book like this, living in North India as I do, and with non-stop talk and coverage of the political shenanigans in the tumultuous, populous state of Uttar Pradesh, which goes to the polls in a few weeks – well, Mr. Yadav has painted us a vivid, all too imaginable scenario. Corruption, internecine fighting, rent-a-crowd, all the elements of North Indian politics are brilliantly reflected in this novel.
The struggle for the Chief Ministership of India’s largest state, the dream of eventually becoming Prime Minister, are the guiding forces of Dada’s life, and his entourage of feckless family, hangers-on, corrupt cops, venal politicians…oh, it is all too familiar and therefore totally believable.
The noise and chaos and dirt and scruffiness that characterises so much of small town north India is perfectly described. You can hear the incessant noise from that traffic jam – actually, sitting in Delhi as I write this, I really CAN hear the racket from the traffic outside, but you take my meaning.
Mr. Yadav writes powerfully and brings his cast of characters to life, from the interesting jeera packer himself with his lovely wife Jyoti, to the Pathan who dreams of riding off into the sunset on his Bullet, to the about-to-retire policeman, terrified of life outside the toadying, protective bubble of official cars and drivers and the saluting deference which he has come to love.
This is a fast-paced, good read, and never for once does it tip over into clichés. This is India “warts and all” and the ending is a cracker.
Excitingly, this is a brand new book, published in 2017 and since the year is just a week old, you don’t get much more contemporary than this.
Published by the energetic Fingreprint! (& I do so love that ! in their name).