Repeated words, pronouns not clearly referring to one character or another, flabbily padded phrases, irritating tics of style (the use of the word all as in all longish hair), eruptions of verbosity (the indescribable sound that emanated from that swiftly engorging clot of people): there is so much distractingly bad writing in the first section of Neel Mukherjees new novel, its difficult to concentrate on what he is actually saying. As far as the plot goes, it seems to be something at once melodramatic and not all that surprising. An Indian father born in Calcutta but now working in the US takes his six-year-old son, who has been raised in America, to see the Taj Mahal and the nearby monuments at Fatehpur Sikri. Here, thanks to a bit offunny business with shadows and guides (Marabar Caves, anyone?), the son freaks out, and the father is forced to accept that he has become a tourist in his own country. <\/p>\n
Its not a good start, from a writer who has already been shortlisted for the Booker and the Costa and won the Encore prize for his second novel, The Lives of Others. But anyone tempted to abandon the book at this point should persevere. Although later pages are still liable to congestion and carelessness, they are much better written. Theyre also ambitiously and intelligently engaged with important themes several of which are treated explicitly (deracination, the inequalities of Indian society), and one of which emerges more subtly, through clever and well-handled plotting. <\/p>\n
At first glance the narratives of the five sections seem discrete, although all tending towards similar interests and conclusions. As scene follows scene, however, Mukherjee returns tocharacters and events that have previously appeared only in the background of each story, to flesh out their details. So, for instance, a horrible accident involving a construction worker who falls from the scaffolding of a new building, witnessed in passing by the father and son in the first section, links both to a later section in which we hear the story of the victims earlier life, and to the final section in which we read the unpunctuated monologue spoken immediately before his death. In the same way, a poverty-stricken man leading a dancing bear, who appears briefly beside the car window as the father and son return toDelhi, turns out to be the brother of the construction worker, and later gets most ofa whole section to himself. We hear about his family and their hardships, about the training of the bear, about their time on the road together, and about the ways in which their relationship allows and simultaneously denies a state of freedom. <\/p>\n
This linked structure emphasises the value of life as life, regardless of wealth and status and circumstance. But it also conveys a sense of inter-relatedness that allows Mukherjee to say something about how families and communities work in general, and about how Indian society functions in particular. His sharpest focus is on the way life carries characters like dice on the slot of a roulette machine and delivers [them] to destinations that [are] endlessly repeatable, each ever so slightly different from the other, all more or less the same. In this respect A State of Freedom touches on distinctly English-Victorian themes. And like the intricately woven novels of say Dickens, it has its foundation in the denunciation of injustice, and the valuing of compassion. <\/p>\n
In the second section, for instance, ason raised in India but now working in London stays with his parents in Mumbai, and becomes interested intheir cook, Renu, and another servant named Milly. As far as the parents are concerned, the significance of these two consists largely in how well or badly they do their work. But the son more liberal, more curious, and like several other characters in the book, very interested in food and its preparation inquires into their lives, and is eventually encouraged by Renu to visit her home village. When he does so, he receives a lesson in social awkwardness, and in the limits of his own capacity to imagine the lives of others, which picks up themes that are announced in Mukherjees opening pages. <\/p>\n
The sound of grief is audible everywhere, but it never drowns out the voices insisting on their right to thrive <\/p>\n
Much the same goes for the fourth section, in which were given the backstory of Milly, the other servant. Originally named Manglu and the daughter of a drunken father, she was raised in great poverty. She seeks to improve her lot by taking work as a servant away from her village: during her travels and travails, which Mukherjee describes with an impressive sense of actuality, she experiences various degrees of tolerance and intolerance, culminating in a life of more or less complete captivity from which she is eventually rescued. <\/p>\n
Millys childhood friend Soni, meanwhile, stays behind in the village and joins the local Maoist guerrillas, living in the woods and enduring her own form of hardship. When Milly hears news of her, her response contains questions that unite the two strands of the narrative, and resonate throughout the novel. What are the costs of leaving and staying at home? What are the limits of human resilience? Or as Milly herself says: How can movement from one place to another break you? Are you a terracotta doll, easily broken in transit? <\/p>\n
At a time when the manifold dramas of migration are centre stage, we often hear writers making the sound of lamentation. The sound of grief is audible everywhere in A Sense of Freedom, but itnever drowns out the voices insisting on their right to thrive. One of the most dynamic aspects of Mukherjees flawed but vital novel isthat even while facing up to unhappiness it continues toshow an affirming flame. <\/p>\n
Andrew Motions Silver: Return to Treasure Island is published by Vintage. A State of Freedom is published by Chatto. To order a copy for 12.74 (RRP 16.99) go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over 10, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of 1.99. <\/p>\n
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A State of Freedom by Neel Mukherjee review vital meditations on migration - The Guardian<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Repeated words, pronouns not clearly referring to one character or another, flabbily padded phrases, irritating tics of style (the use of the word all as in all longish hair), eruptions of verbosity (the indescribable sound that emanated from that swiftly engorging clot of people): there is so much distractingly bad writing in the first section of Neel Mukherjees new novel, its difficult to concentrate on what he is actually saying. Continue reading