If you want to read good literature in English nowadays, go to those of the former British colonies that won their freedom in the twentieth century. Nobody else is writing anything of interest in English these days. (Except Zadie Smith who is a rare and strange exception.)
The worst course I ever took on contemporary literature in English was the one on American post-modernism. Cormack McCarthy, Thomas Pynchon, Don DeLillo, John Barth – I thought I would die of boredom, together with 11 supremely bored classmates and a constantly yawning professor. British and American writers should not venture into the post-modern because it is not their thing. (Except Zadie Smith who is a rare and strange exception.)
The best course I ever took on contemporary literature in English was called “Empire Writes Back.” It featured really amazing writers from all of the former colonies, and especially from the Subcontinent. India and Pakistan rule English literature today, which -aside from Zadie Smith – is the only thing that keeps English literature alive.
One of the most interesting writers who publish fiction in English today is Mohsin Hamid. I discovered him through his wonderful novel The Reluctant Fundamentalist (see my reviews here and here) Now he has published another great book titled How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia.
Hamid has an amazing talent for constructing a narrative. When his novel was first delivered to me, I decided to leave it aside for when the semester ends and I am less busy. So I was only going to take a glance on the first paragraph to see what the book was like. That was my downfall because one cannot possibly put the book aside after reading the following:
Look, unless you’re writing one, a self-help book is an oxymoron. You read a self-help book so someone who isn’t yourself can help you, that someone being the author. This is true of the whole self-help genre. It’s true of how-to books, for example. And it’s true of personal improvement books too. Some might even say it’s true of religion books. But some others might say that those who say that should be pinned to the ground and bled dry with the slow slice of a blade across their throats. So it’s wisest simply to note a divergence of views on that subcategory and move swiftly on.
How was I supposed to stop reading after this? Of course, I forgot about my grading and the syllabus for next semester and lost myself in the book.
Unlike British and American post-modernists whose constipated attempts at formal experimentation always make their novels clunky and indigestible, Mohsin Hamid’s writing style is elegant and beautiful. You can feel that it comes naturally to him, unlike to the British and American post-modernists whose writing is so tortured and forced as to cause me to feel vicarious shame for people who try so desperately to massage themselves into the kind of writing that does not suit them. (Except Zadie Smith who is a rare and strange exception.)
If you want to acquaint yourself with a beautiful, enjoyable and profound post-modern novel, I recommend Mohsin Hamid’s How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia. It is not one of those meaningless post-modern pieces of writing. To the contrary, Hamid’s novel offers one valuable insight after another:
In the history of the evolution of the family, you and the millions of other migrants like you represent an ongoing proliferation of the nuclear. It is an explosive transformation, the supportive, stifling, stabilizing bonds of extended relationships weakening and giving way, leaving in their wake insecurity, anxiety, productivity, and potential.
I am experiencing exactly what the author is describing, and he is so right that it scares me. Just this single little quote could give us material for a fascinating debate on the transformation of extended patriarchal clans into nuclear families.
One question that I kept asking myself as I was reading Hamid’s novel was how come a male author from Lahore, Pakistan can write a novel without a trace of sexism when no Latin American writer I have ever encountered, whether male or female, has yet managed anything of the kind. (If you have encountered one, please let me know in the comments.) The love story Hamid offers in his novel is so free of any taint of sexism that, for the first time in a long while, I enjoyed a fictional love story without once wincing in disgust. By the end of the novel, I was so touched that I was crying, and my tears were forming a little pool on the table. This is doubly surprising, given that I’m pregnant and, as a result, my emotional range is depleted.
In short, read Mohsin Hamid, people. He is definitely one of the best contemporary writers in the world. I have no doubt that this novel will be turned into a movie, but please don’t watch it. The best part of Hamid’s work is his beautiful writing. Without it, this will be nothing of interest.