“What exists, exists so that it can be lost and become precious.” – Leisel Mueller
I found both Chetna Maroo’s debut novel, Western Lane, and Tan Twan Eng’s novel The Gift of Rain via the Longlist for the Booker Prize. While Eng’s was nominated in 2007 (when it was his debut), Maroo’s novel is from 2023 – and the differences between the two do not end at their year of publication. Maroo’s slim novel is spare where Eng’s novel is more epic in nature. In Western Lane we experience the real time grief of young Gopi and her family, comprised of her mother (who has recently died) and her father, who is at a loss for what to do with his three daughters. Their grief is laid out in the beginning of the novel and dealt with linearly. While The Gift of Rain also hints at the grief of is main character, a half-Chinese, half-English elderly man living in Penang, the story unfolds in flashbacks and a story narrated to a mysterious stranger who turns out to be intimately connected to his past. Despite their differences, these novels followed a similar-to-me thread of exploring the impact of grief, whether in small moments or across decades.
Let’s start with Western Lane. As the cover might suggest, the characters in this novel DO play a lot of squash, but luckily for me, you don’t actually have to know much about squash to relate to the novel. Gopi is the youngest of three daughters, and after their mother dies their father is rather lost in his own grief. His brother and his wife, unable to have children of their own, have offered to take a child to help to raise, since they worry that Gopi’s father will be unable to provide enough structure for his daughters. It’s a little vague what the aunt’s fears are, but we know these are girls so most likely it’s related to pregnancy. Gopi’s father feels that squash will provide the appropriate discipline for his daughters, and so they begin to train regularly at Western Lane, a sort of YMCA-like place with a swimming pool, squash courts, and a bar.
As Gopi and her sisters train, it becomes clear that Gopi is talented, and so over time their father’s efforts shift to be focused on her training alone. Western Lane, or at least the bar portion, is managed by a single mother and her son, Ged, a teenager who begins to occasionally play squash with Gopi. Gopi’s feelings towards Ged are complicated because he is white and her family is Indian-British.
The tone of the novel is spare. Throughout, we are treated to Gopi’s succinct observations, which are often both subtle and touching. Her feelings about Ged, and her sisters, are often opaque because Gopi herself does not truly know how to interpret what she is feeling. As a reader, this could get frustrating – the talent of the writer is clear, and yet there were entire pages that left me feeling as though I couldn’t quite grasp her meaning, and I was unsure if that was intentional or simply a lack of context.
Gopi’s feelings about grief, especially her exploration of her feelings about mother, felt more clear to me. Gopi’s mother’s first language was Gujrati, and she did not communicate easily in her daughter’s first language, English. Despite the communication barriers, it is obvious how loved she was. The theme of silence as a mode of communication was important for this novel.
This was a decent first novel – I don’t have to like characters to like a book, but I did enjoy spending time in Gopi’s world, which helped. It’s a short novel, which makes the investment an easier choice (if you don’t enjoy it, you won’t be there long). It was full of quiet love, which is always worth finding, on and off the page.
For what it’s worth, the cover on the paperback I checked out from the library didn’t match the stock photo I found – instead, mine had a picture of a tree, with a deep golden / yellow / green color scheme. We’re truly not going to judge a book by it’s cover here, but I do prefer the red / butterflies after reading the novel.
This book is an investment in time. I’m not sure what’s become of my reading stamina, but books over 400 pages intimidate me more in my older age. Maybe it was the growing stack of books in my TBR pile, but as I started I was a bit afraid I’d struggle to connect with this one. The reviews of this novel were consistently glowing – and I think maybe if I had read this one in 2007 I wonder if the experience would have been different for me?
The basics: I loved the writing, which was simple and yet able to paint a specific picture consistently. This was another big-hearted story, full of characters who may have been flawed but consistently showed love for one another. For all of that, however, I did feel that the saga of Philip Arminius Khoo-Hutton was tricky for me to connect with. This was a book where I could recognize the beauty of the craft, but did not personally connect with the magic of the novel in the same way.
The novel has a time jump – in the initial time (late 90s I believe) we are introduced to Philip as an older man, living alone in his family’s estate house in Penang. He is visited by a Japanese woman, also elderly, and soon we learn that she has an intimate connection with someone who was important to Philip’s past – his sensei Endo-san. This connection frames the story and gives us a reason to delve into Philip’s past.
The second primary storyline is Philip’s coming of age. We learn that Philip is the sole surviving member of his family. His father was an English business man with a strong sense of loyalty. Philip was the product of his second marriage to a Chinese woman, who died when Philip was very young. He grew up in a household with his three older step siblings, and as the only non-white member of his family he often felt excluded in ways he had trouble naming as a child.
In his teens, his family takes a trip to England and he decides to remain in Malaysia. This is just before the start of World War II, when tensions between cultures were at an all-time high. In a place like Penang, where multiple cultures (especially Asian cultures, including Chinese, Japanese and Indian, but also a variety of European cultures attempting to colonize the area) were tightly woven together. Philip had some Chinese friends, but Japanese people were generally regarded as dangerous and evil. And yet, his father elected to rent the island on their property to a Japanese man, Endo-san.
Philip and Endo-san meet, and develop a relationship that defies boundaries. Endo-san is a mentor, a teacher, and also a harbinger of doom for Philip. As the world edges towards war, Philip confronts his own heritage, and faces his own understanding of his place in his family.
The story grows tragic, but like Maroo’s Western Lane it doesn’t simply end with the tragedy. For both of these novels, there is so much discovery in grief. Whether the story ends with a young girl moving towards an unknown future, or an elderly man reflecting on unknown nuances in the life already lived, both novels highlight the way the human spirit is ever in motion.
