Demob Happy

A fine book

8/10

Rohinton Mistry is an unusual voice in contemporary literature. His compassion for his characters is evident throughout his writing, going to great lengths to create tangible, likeable subjects. Whereas many other recent booker-shortlisted authors have either tried to radically play with narrative form (David Mitchell) or are ostentatious in the style of their prose (John Banville), Mistry is an invisible presence in his novels. Although he is primarily addressing the bigger picture of 1970s India under the tyrannical ‘Emergency’ powers imposed by Indira Ghandi, the story is told very much on the human scale. Despite some of the horrors depicted in ‘A Fine Balance’, Mistry does not pummel the reader with them, and the comic side of the tragedy is never far away. The lightness of touch should not be confused with flippancy, but a taste for revealing the absurd in what was everyday life for many Indians at the time and indeed now. From the monstrosity of forced sterilisation to unbelievably brutal caste violence, the author prefers modest clarity in description, allowing room for the reader’s mind to do the rest. As one character observes of another: “his sentences poured out like perfect seams, holding the garment of his story together without drawing attention to the stitches”. This metaphor of tailoring is central in the book; the sewing together of disparate pieces to make something beautiful, greater than a sum of its parts. There is something of Dickens in this allegorical framework, and the life and humour brought to the poor and destitute.

‘A Fine Balance’ begins with the unlikely union of four people from different ends of the class spectrum, and spends the first half of the book looking back into their lives. By the time the principle narrative begins, we have very tangible characters, flesh and blood in a way that many authors today are not interested in developing. All the characters are for different reasons bereft of their families, and come together as a surrogate family out of necessity: first financial and then emotional. As with Mistry’s (also excellent) ‘Family Matters’, the family becomes the canvas onto which he can express strong political convictions, without being overtly preachy. Also similar to that book, we are drawn into the characters’ successes but anxious with the sense that tragedy may be around the corner, that the rug will be once again pulled out from under our feet. “Everything ends badly,” is a mantra repeated by a number of characters, but despite the tragedies love endures - just - to the final pages. Despite everything, Mistry - ex-patriated in India - seems to have a little faith in his home country. A profoundly moving novel, easily the equal of Vikram Seth’s ‘A Suitable Boy’. If you like this, try ‘Family Matters’ as well, and read William Dalrymple’s ‘City of Djinns’ for insight into the historical context.