A Suitable Boy- a final review

 

So, A Suitable Boy has concluded on our screens, which means it is time to attempt a retrospective. In a previous post I said that ‘novels are artificial constructs that tell a story in a choreographed way, in the end of the story seems inevitable and satisfactory once you reach it’. Episode one began with a wedding, at which Rupa Mehra declared her attention to get her younger daughter Lata to follow suit. Episode six ended with Lata’s wedding; inevitable, but was it satisfactory?

In bringing the book to the screen the novel’s complex interwoven storylines were always going to be simplified. In essence, three were retained, Lata’s adventures in love, her brother-in Law Maan’s glorious obsession with an older woman and his father’s political activity. The extended cast list was pruned and the four main families introduced with brief pen portraits. The test was, if you haven’t read the book, can you still follow the story?

I’d say the series passed the test. If, like me, you followed the Twitter thread during and after each episode, it was clear to see that viewers were emotionally invested in the story and the characters. Each suitor had cheerleaders online, as did handsome bad boy Maan.

For those like me who have read the book, the test was, can the show avoid outraging us with its changes and omissions? Again, I would say it succeeds. The characters who we don’t see, such as Firoz’s brother Imtiaz, are not really missed, and the plot changes are minor. For instance we see the three suitors meeting outside the house Lata is staying in, whereas in the book they all meet up at the cricket match, but the scene on the screen works really well.

What both the book and the show have in common is that they manage to make most characters likeable and show us their motivations. In general, the more Indian a character is the more we warm to them. Lata and Maan for instance favour traditional dress, whereas her brother Arun is very Europeanised and somehow less likeable. Firoz too has a great line in stylish Indian jackets. The devious Meenakshi looks great in her saris, which make her very decorative.

The older characters too are interesting. Mahesh Kapoor may be a typical heavy-handed father when we meet him but he is attempting a radical policy change that will adversely affect his friend, the Nawab Khan, by stripping him of land. Mahesh knows everything has a cost. The Nawab too, knows he will lose out but is trying to see the big picture and support the reform anyway.

This is, of course, a historical costume drama and we need to be wary of imposing or values and concerns on its protagonists. This is especially when it comes to Lata and her choices. At the book’s outset we meet a ‘modern’ young woman, at University, unsure whether marriage, her mother’s preferred option for her, is what she wants. Her romance with Kabir has a touch of the Romeo and Juliet’s about it, love across the divide, love over-riding all other concerns. But this doesn’t last and she avoids becoming a tragic heroine. Having experienced passion with Kabir she is self-aware enough to recognise that Amit does not make her feel like that, even though she enjoys his attention.

Which leaves Haresh. It is here that modern sensibilities can get in the way. Conditioned to disapprove the idea of arranged marriage, many of us will dismiss him as the safe choice Rupa wants Lata to marry. In addition, he is not cool, being literally buttoned up in his European clothes, and not eye candy in the way Kabir is (or Maan, for that matter). So Lata’s pivoting towards him in preference to her other suitors left some confused. But on the page and on the screen there were clear motivational reasons for her. Kabir displayed a jealous streak that put her off and Amit always seemed to be going through the motions, while Maan showed her the consequences of letting passion over-rule common sense. Finally, even though her mother wanted him to be the one, her brothers’ disapproval enabled her to position him as the rebellious choice.

What clinched it though was when he showed her that although he adored her, he was not prepared to be toyed with. His abrupt departure forced her to confront the fact that he mattered to her, and showed him in a different light. Lata senses that with Haresh it will be a marriage of equals with some-one who genuinely loves her. Other opinions are available, but as I say, in the context of 1952 her decision is explicable.

The story of Maan and Saeeda is the antithesis of Lata’s relatively demure adventures. It is a wild story of passion and transgression. The actors in these roles managed to convey their connection very well even as the viewer realises it can’t last. Saeeda does toy with Maan, (more so in the book) but she is vulnerable too. This is another relationship across the religious divide, as well as across the age divide and the respectable/disreputable one. Tabu is an established star, whilst Ishaan Kataar shows the potential to become one.

Compared with their tumult the pursuit of Tasneem by Firoz seems positively 18^th century. Which is just as well, as they are in fact brother and sister. When this gets tangled up with the Maan/Saeeda story tragedy ensues.

It is all the more tragic because as the book implies, and the show more explicitly shows, the relationship between Maan and Firoz is almost a romantic one, certainly an Achilles/Patroclus or Alexander/Hephaistion one (an intense friendship with a physical undercurrent). Seen in this light, Firoz saving his friend in court is no surprise. This is an example of the book, and the show, being more than just chocolate book pretty. There are also examples of disreputable behaviour, the attempted seduction of Lata by a friend’s father being one, and the implied seduction of her brother by an older female friend of the family being another, along with Meenakshi dallying with her husband’s best friend.

These provide shade and depth to what could otherwise be a bit Mills & Boon. But what also makes this show worth watching are the performances. Tanya Maliktala as Lata has an on-screen presence that compels you to watch her. She is not a ‘hot chick’, but far more interesting as a result, and with an intensity that makes her attraction to her suitors believable.

The show has an almost impossible tightrope to walk in terms of avoiding Indian clichés and not offending modern sensibilities, but generally does so well. As a White British male tuning in through love of the book I was concerned that those with Indian heritage might be upset with it, but the Twitter thread showed a lot of love from the Indian community, which was re-assuring. Because although it tells its story through Indian imagery and sensibility, ultimately, its main themes are common human concerns that transcend settings to appeal to us all.

One criticism remains: IT WAS TOO SHORT! It deserved at least twelve hours of television to do it justice. 

A pre-digital Infographic (Hadrian's Wall)

 

 

 

In 1972, on holiday in the Lake District, my parents took my sister and I on an excursion to see Hadrian’s Wall. We visited Vindolanda, where I bought this Information Booklet. Somehow, I have retained it through every house move, as a memento of that visit. It was shown to my own children after I dragged them to see the wall on the way back from the Scottish Islands in 2015; I thought then how well done it was. It has seen the light of day again during the unpacking of the last few boxes from our last move in 2017, leading me to think about infographics, something we think of as a digital tool. This is definitely pre-digital.

I think it has worn well. It is elegantly designed, using the fold-out format to accommodate the long stretch of the wall. Around the wall itself are a series of pictures and text boxes (a reminder that most Word functions are simply digital versions of long-established practices, including cut and paste!) that convey a lot of information in a succinct form. I was eleven years old when I bought it and it worked for me then. It still works now; as well as providing information it is aesthetically pleasing. The subtle use of red and green and highlighters is effective and the images are well chosen to show objects that have been found by archaeologists. I like the combination of drawings of finds and diagrams.

If some-one wanted to produce a digital version they do worse than start with this, then adding hyperlinks through the pictures and at different points along the wall to take the viewer to more detailed explanations and/or videos of the locations.

This is now something of an artefact; a relic of a pre-digital era, a personal reminder for me of my past, which can nonetheless still do the job it was made for. Whoever created this should be proud of their handiwork, whoever you are, you did a great job.

It is also a reminder that Infographics has a long and distinguished history and is not simply a product of the digital age. If you want to engage people, images are important, and keeping text short can be important too. Blending the two together effectively is not always as easy as it looks. One great example is the Sunday Times Complete History of the World, another great artefact that uses this technique to perfection. This is the two page spread about Byzantium: 

 So, the next time you see something like this, think about the work that goes into it and the history behind the format. 

A review of the TV version of 'A Suitable Boy' by Vikram Seth.

 

A Suitable Boy for TV- a half-term report

We’ve now had three episodes of a Suitable Boy on Sunday evenings, as adapted by Andrew Davis. So how does it measure up? Of course, you first have to decide what you are measuring against. To compare with the book seems fairly pointless; they are two different products. They say a picture points a thousand words, these televisual pictures are having to cover fourteen hundred pages and nineteen chapters, a task that is beyond six one hour episodes. So let’s discuss Andrew Davis’ show on its own merits; as television.

The Sunday night 'rules'

This is of course Sunday evening at nine o’clock television, which dictates several things. If there is to be violence, it is kept within bounds, the same goes for sex. As a costume drama it has more boxes to tick; visual spectacle, sumptuous locations and stunning clothes. The story is allowed to unfold within these parameters. A Suitable Boy has a simple enough main story, but the book includes many side plots. To adapt such a book, the trick is be judicious in what to include and what to leave out, unlike the author, Vikram Seth, who tells the reader he has endeavoured to include everything.

In the main, the show does this well, keeping the number of introduced characters under control and never letting the incidental stuff overrule the prime plot trajectory, which is to find a husband for Lata Mehra. Many of them are first seen at her sister Savita’s wedding, a good opportunity to present pen portaits of each of them. The most engaging is Maan Kapoor, the son of a politician and brother to Savita’s new husband. A young man who has so far avoided any form of responsibility, Maan is about to fall fathoms deep for the enigmatic singer and courtesan Saeeda Bai, who definitely comes under the heading of unsuitable, rather like Lata’s first choice, the handsome Kabir, who labours under the major drawback of belonging to the wrong religious group.

A Suitable Boy also has a few tiger pits to negotiate in the form of previous representations of India, from The Jewel in the Crown to the good Karma Hospital. The former portrayed the British Raj whilst the latter purports to show the present day. Boy is neither, being set shortly after Independence, which allows it to depict Indian society without too much recourse to the British point of view. It does this very well, with an all Indian cast and a subtle switching between English and Indian language. I think it manages to immerse the viewer in that society in all its richness, so that we accept its mores and the constraints the characters operate under. For instance, though Lata strives to be independent, her independence has its limits; she has to allow her mother the last word, because this is India in 1951, we accept that.

Incidental pleasures

The pleasures of this show are often to be found in the deft way it can paint a picture in a short scene, such as the one that shows us Meenakshi, the wife of Lata’s brother, enjoying the intimate attentions of his best friend. Her flightiness is appealing and you can’t help but see that being married to Arun might well drive her to seek out his polar opposite, the reckless and flamboyant Billy Irani. In a different vein, The frequent religious observances of Maan’s mother provide us with an insight into her essential nature and her constant anxieties hint at the still fragile state of post-partition Indian society.

For me the best thing that Davis has managed to retain from the book is the saturation of society in music and poetry. Saeeda Bai might sell her body but people admire her for her ability to take them somewhere else when she sings, and literature and poetry are never far from the lips of some-one. Another bonus is the frequent mention of snacks and food in general; again, true to the book.

After three episodes we have been introduced to all three of Lata’s suitors, who each have their strong points and drawbacks, as does Lata herself. She is not conventionally attractive, not a Bollywood beauty. Her appeal is based on personality, her independent spirit, her enjoyment of attention that is in conflict with her fear of committing and getting it wrong. All this makes her a heroine to warm to. At this point the viewer would be wise not to pick a winner from the three candidates for her hand, mainly because Lata is still undecided.

Summary

Having said all I have about its good points, I realise that it may be insufficiently racy for some, or not political enough for others. Most, although not all, of its characters are solidly Middle-class, but it is no bad thing to be reminded that India has such a group as well as its lower caste poor. It is ultimately a story about family and relationships and does not deserve to be castigated for not tackling contentious issues in sufficient depth.

I feel it needs to pick up a gear before the end, although there are plenty of exciting plot points to come. I would encourage viewers to stick with it, but also to try the book afterwards, which will give you far more detail.  If nothing else, enjoying the chemistry between Saeeda and Maan and cheering him on as he is forced to grow up is reason enough to watch.  I look forward to reviewing it again after the last episode has aired.

 

 

 

The Secret Commonwealth- a review

The Secret Commonwealth

 

'Young people don't believe in the Secret Commonwealth, Brabandt said. It's all chemistry and measuring things as far as they're concerned.They got an explanation for everything. and they're all wrong'

Introduction

The Secret Commonwealth is the fifth book set in Philip Pullman’s multiverse and the second in a trilogy entitled ‘The Book of Dust’. The first of these, ‘La Belle Sauvage’ dealt with events prior to the original trilogy.Lyra Silvertongue, the heroine of the ‘His Dark Materials books is an infant and the action happens around her.  By contrast, The Secret Commonwealth is a sequel to ‘His Dark Materials’ that presents us with Lyra as a young woman who is now an Oxford undergraduate.  

In many ways too it is a direct sequel to ‘La Belle Sauvage’. It deals with characters first encountered in that book and the motivation of the characters opposed to Lyra and her friends stems from the events chronicled in it just as much as those in ‘The Amber Spyglass’.

An adult Lyra is going to inhabit a very different book to its predecessors, a fact which is key to understanding it. Whilst the child Lyra was an elemental spirit driven by the black and white certainties of childhood, the Lyra of this book is more nuanced, complex even. She is also very uncertain of herself as the story commences. We quickly find that the student Lyra has been influenced by her study reading, in particular by a novel and a text book, away from imagination and towards rationality and logic. By contrast Pantalaimon, her daemon (the visible manifestation of her soul that people in her world share their lives with), retains the outlook they shared in her youth. The two of them have become estranged, so much so that Pan leaves her; but not before he has embroiled her in a murder case.

A genre discussion

Which brings us to the question of genre. This book straddles, indeed defies genres. There are elements of the film noirs typified by Humphrey Bogart, or the thrillers of writers like Alastair Maclean, or books like Graham Greene’s the Third Man (it has many of the spy genre staples such as coded messages between spies and a secret department in Whitehall), whilst the cover speaks to us of the graphic art from between the wars. It is also a coming of age novel with links to the fantasy genre and a vehicle for philosophical discussion. At the same time it delights in offering homage to a completely different reference point; the Indiana Jones films. I offer in evidence a History Professor who can handle himself in a fight and travels the world getting embroiled in quixotic adventures, local fixers who provide assistance to our hero and shadowy villains up to no good, with a good dose of action and excitement.  

Yet overlaying all this (or do I mean underlying?) are some very deliberate contemporary references. As Lyra travels across Europe to the Middle East she encounters boatloads of refugees on the Mediterranean, whilst the growing authoritarian grip of the Magisterium in Europe echoes current concerns of the resurgence of the right and the dangers of a return to Fascism. The book also explores attitudes to minorities and the way scarce resources (in this case a mysterious rose oil) can cause conflict, being waged by what seem like first cousins to Muslim extremists in our world but influenced behind the scenes by multi-national companies.

Wider Themes

As if all this wasn’t complex enough Pullman adds two more layers of theming. The first concerns the element in the original stories that they are most famous for; the visible daemons. From Northern Lights onwards every human we meet is accompanied by a Daemon, a visible incarnation of their soul. Usually of the opposite gender, your daemon is an aspect of you, but one you can touch and talk to, your conscience or your inner voice. In Northern Lights Lyra and Pantalaimon are nearly forcibly severed from each other; in The Amber Spyglass they voluntarily separate to allow Lyra to fulfil her quest, but they remain a partnership, a symbiotic pairing.

In this Book the author takes all the readers certainties and strips them away. First it is revealed that Lyra and her daemon have become more like separate entities, and soon they are parted. Then Lyra, who sets out to find Pan, discovers that there are other people in the world who are living without their daemons, whilst later still she discovers a black market trade in daemons where desperate poor people sell their daemons to dealers who sell them on to those who have lost theirs.

This all very unsettling for the reader, as it is for Lyra, who is already grappling with the proposition from one of her favourite writers that daemons are no more than figments of people’s imaginations, a self-created psychological prop. There are echoes here, although I doubt it is consciously intended by Mr Pullman, of the way J.K. Rowling makes her readers re-evaluate Professor Dumbledore in books six and seven. She is able reveal a more complex Dumbledore at this point because Harry, her hero, has become old enough to realise that things don’t have the simple explanations you accept as a child. In this book the adult Lyra is undergoing a similar process.

The second over-arching theme is the battle, not between good and evil, but between scientific rationality and the world of the imagination. Pitted against the logic and reductionism of the modern authors who have seduced Lyra is the Secret Commonwealth of the book’s title, the hidden world of sprites, ghosts, spectres and nature spirits. The book sees Lyra gradually move from one side to the other, in the process re-discovering the imagination Pan accuses her of losing. It is fairly clear which side Philip Pullman is on; I am reminded of the views of J.R.R. Tolkien. In more than one essay he talked about the human need for imagination as well as science, stating a preference for trees over lamp-posts and preferring to see the Moon as a mysterious influencer of men’s lives rather than as a lump of rock. In the Lord of the Rings the characters who prefer science are the bad guys; Saruman who is described as having a mind of cogs and wheels and Sauron who undertakes genetic experiments to produce the orcs.

As a child Lyra was able to read her Alethiometer, a device for revealing truth and information, instinctively. As a grown-up she can no longer do this. Instead she has to learn to open her mind to hints from the Secret Commonwealth, to trust to instinct. In this way she can be guided on her quest to find Pan. In an intriguing twist, she is being stalked through an Alethiometer by one of the bad guys who has learned to read it instinctively. They can sense each other through their instruments. If that sounds familiar, it is- Kylo Ren and Ray in the recent Star Wars offerings can sense each other through the force. Again, I doubt this influenced Mr Pullman’s writing, but it is an intriguing congruence of an idea that clearly appeals to us.

The elephant in the room

When discussing genre I missed one out- Romance. This book could also be filed under Romance, but this brings us to its most problematic issue. The Indiana Jones style character, Malcolm Polstead, was one of the two young people who rescued Lyra as a baby. When she was a moody teenager (no doubt going through a Goth phase) he was an (unsuccessful) personal tutor to her. Now they meet again and she begins to realise how involved he has been in her life. For his part, Malcolm admits to himself something that is blindingly obvious to colleagues and friends, he is in love with her. As it stands at this point, with her twenty and him having reached his thirties, it is not an outrageous proposition. But it is made clear that he has had these feelings a long time, since she was in her mid-teens, which throws it into a different light.

In the light of #metoo, this is a red flag for many readers that throws their enjoyment of the book into question. We are clearly told early on that a previous relationship with a good-looking gypsy boy had a physical element (her virginity is long gone, is the message), which establishes she is ready for a relationship. Mr Pullmans problem here is that he is a middle-aged male writing about a man having feelings for an under-age girl. We all know such things happen and it’s not as if Malcolm acted on it at the time, but it still leaves a bad taste in the reader’s mouth. My problem here is that I share Mr Pullman’s age and gender; if they disqualify him from writing about it then I probably should be wary of commenting on it. But speaking as a man with daughters it definitely spoiled the book for me, together with a scene at the end of the story which describes a sexual assault and its aftermath. I, and other reviewers, are not suggesting such things should never be written about. But this book is the fifth in a series that started out life in the children’s section, which makes it much more likely that it will be read by children. The ones who started out with Northern Lights twenty-five years ago are now in their thirties. But the precocious reader who has devoured ‘His Dark Materials after seeing it on Television could well be under ten years old.

It is this which makes this book so problematic for me. It is a shame, because the world it inhabits is so rich and interesting, and the ideas explored so pertinent to the human condition, that it makes for compelling reading. As I read the closing scene I still wanted to know what will happen in the final instalment. But I know I would not have wanted the child sat in a chair in my house reading Northern lights back in the 1990’s to have picked up this book afterwards. It is a rare example of Mr Pullman striking a discordant note. But I guess you should read the book and decide for yourself.