For a change, I’m going to review a book that hasn’t been read by the bookclub I go to, the only reason being that it’s a relatively slow read. “Maps for Lost Lovers” by Nadeem Aslam is the story of events and people in a Pakistani community in England. But it’s a much deeper, multi-faceted, and lyrical work than a cursory reading of the back cover would indicate.
The first chapter of the book details a murder, and who’s been arrested for that murder. This murder is the starting point for an examination of the life that people in the community lead, and what drives many of the children to leave the community. The ties to Pakistan, the influence of the clerics, the inhumanity of many of the customs, are all examined in a sensitive but unflinching manner. This makes the descriptions of these customs and laws and what they lead to even more horrifying; this novel shows the effects on people who are trying to do their best to cope with the effects of a system that values men greatly and women very little, that has extremely strict rules on behaviour, and that encourages “honour” killings. The main character, Shamas, is well-meaning but weak, his wife Kaukab so pious and naive she wreaks havoc on the family She is a sympathetic character despite her actions, her thoughts and hopes and fears pictured as she slowly comes to the realisation that not all the cleric advises her to do is necessarily correct. When reading about Kaukab, I couldn’t help but think of the women in Palestine who are interviewed on television and say how happy they are their sons have become suicide bombers and how they wish they had more sons to become suicide bombers. It gave me a little more idea how someone could go down that path.
The reviews on Amazon vary wildly from those who highly recommend it to those who find the portrayal of the culture and people racist and stereotypicalb. I don’t know enough about Pakistani culture to know how truthful the portrayal of much of it is. One item struck me as odd so I did a bit of research — one of the characters, Suraya, was divorced by her husband, who later regretted it and wished to remarry, but they couldn’t remarry until she had married and divorced someone else. This turns out to be true, although the information I found made it sound like the divorce procedure itself isn’t quite as easy as portrayed in the book, and that reconciliation is encouraged. So, a little exaggeration there for the purposes of the story, and it’s likely that such exaggeration happens in other places in the book as well. That being said, “honour” killings do take place, and women who are depressed over arranged marriages are sometimes subjected to exorcisms to get rid of the djinni the clerics claim have possessed them.
I have seen a little of Pakistani culture — I knew a woman in Australia who was married to a Pakistani. She came from Afghanistan and it was an arranged marriage that her parents wanted to get her out of Afghanistan (this was during the Taliban regime). The previous wife had been divorced as she bore the husband no children. I watched the video of the marriage — I have seldom seen anyone look as scared as this poor woman did, being told to marry someone she first met on the day of the wedding and move to a country she knew nothing of, where she knew no-one and didn’t speak the language. For her it worked out well (apart from having the mother-in-law living with them) since the husband was kind, she was lucky enough to bear him sons quickly enough (after having four children in not very many years the doctors forbade any more), and eventually her sister married her husband’s brother and they also moved to the same district in Sydney. She got lucky; I doubt that the first wife found life as good.
Although the main interest of the book is the portrayal of an unforgiving culture and the clashes it has with Western styles of living, it does speak to problems that any immigrant faces when in a new country, that of trying to save what is precious and worthwhile from the culture and beliefs you were brought up in, and folding that into the culture you live in. This book is full of regrets, people who thought they were only going to live in England for a short time and miss the flowers and trees of Pakistan, people who bring their prejudices with them and hate that they can’t force other people to do what they want them to, people who no longer have anywhere to live where they truly feel “at home”. And the generation clash (exacerbated by the culture clash) of parents doing what they think is best for their children, where the children disagree. Don’t read it when you’re feeling down.
Maps for a Lost Generation
Reading this book for me was like eating a bowl of ‘gulaab jaamans’* after a two day fast; sinfully pleasurable, drowning in sheera, oozing forth warmth and sticky sweetness, intensely gratifying in its every mouthful; but at the same time exhausting and devastating in its after effects.
Seriously speaking, from what I understand, it took Nadeem Aslam more than eleven years to bring this story to life; and it shows. Every sentence, every word in this novel bears witness to the painstaking effort that he has put into writing this literal work of art. I can’t recall of any emerging modern day English author of Pakistani origin who has produced a work of fiction of this quality before.
‘Maps for Lost Lovers’ attempts to take a close look at the lives, beliefs and ideas etched in the minds of the Pakistani immigrant community in the UK. It brings together a cast of powerful, thought provoking, but ultimately doomed characters, who, through their well intentioned but misguided beliefs and actions end up destroying not only their own lives, but also the lives of those nearest and dearest to them. From the ultra orthodox Kaukab to the gentle Shamas to the damned Suraya, Nadeem Aslam has gone to great lengths to develop and capture the nuances and subtleties of his creations, whose lonely souls, trapped in internal conflict, seem to drift in eternal exile through the ruthless Dasht-e-Tanhai, The Desert of Loneliness (physically an immigrant town situated somewhere in the bleak English midlands). While the main theme of the story revolves around an honour killing, the book attempts to explore several other complex issues including racism, religion, fidelity, sex and of course isolation.
The author’s rich, lush and poetic style of writing makes this a must read. Nadeem’s inspiration appears to stem from the deep personal turmoil, confusion and ultimately rebellion that he must have experienced growing up as part of a conservative lower middle class Pakistani émigré family in the UK. This personal experience, mixed with a style of writing influenced heavily by Eastern/ Persian poetry and prose, make for a beautiful, but tragic read. Through this book I believe Nadeem voices the perspective of, and expresses the confusion and social persecution suffered by, the lost generation of British born children of Pakistani labour class immigrants of the 1970’s. Torn between the conflicting ideals of the world they were growing up in and the time warped moralities imposed by their isolated families, the children of this generation have had the misfortune of experiencing a massive identity crisis, which even today is making its uneasy presence felt across the UK, and in some ways across the world.
I would gladly have given this book five stars had it not been for the relentless attack that Nadeem launches on Pakistani immigrants and Islam. The persistent Pakistani and Islam bashing is not only detracting from the main story, but also at times quite exaggerated and factually incorrect (I have never before heard of people exhaling thrice to ward off the devil, or reciting religious verses before ejaculating). Such extreme mind sets are very much the exception rather than the norm, contrary to what has been portrayed in the book. The writer’s personal bias is far too evident, and adds a hint of immaturity to a work that is otherwise captivating, and at times haunting, in its exquisite detail and beauty. Nadeem also employs an overwhelming amount of metaphor as a part of his expression. Some may find this to be integral and indispensable to the whole ‘feel’ of the novel, while others may find it nauseating (I fortunately am amongst the first group).
In any case, I would recommend ‘Maps for Lost Lovers’ to all who may be interested in reading it, and especially to the Pakistani community living in both Britain and in Pakistan itself; there is a need to address the social and psychological issues explored in its theme, and the resolution of these issues can only originate from within the community. It is also refreshing to discover that in this commercialized, disposable, ‘to go’ world there are still people dedicated so utterly, completely and passionately to their chosen vocation. I would strongly encourage Pakistanis and all else to support talented and dedicated individuals like Nadeem Aslam by going out and buying a copy of ‘Maps for Lost Lovers’ at their first ‘instante’.
* If you haven’t eaten these, you haven’t been born yet
I haven’t read the book but thought It might be interesting. Thanks for the review.
Fan of Don Lapre