There’s a very interesting short story in this week’s New Yorker, by a new Pakistani writer named Daniyal Mueenuddin. It’s about an electrician working on a large farm in rural Pakistan, more or less taking care of his business until something dramatic happens. I won’t say much about the dramatic thing that happens to Nawabdin (read the story), but here’s a teaser to give you a sense of the writing style:
The motorcycle increased his status, gave him weight, so that people began calling him Uncle and asking his opinion on world affairs, about which he knew absolutely nothing. He could now range farther, doing much wider business. Best of all, now he could spend every night with his wife, who early in the marriage had begged to live not in Nawab’s quarters in the village but with her family in Firoza, near the only girls’ school in the area. A long straight road ran from the canal headworks near Firoza all the way to the Indus, through the heart of the K. K. Harouni lands. The road ran on the bed of an old highway built when these lands lay within a princely state. Some hundred and fifty years ago, one of the princes had ridden that way, going to a wedding or a funeral in this remote district, felt hot, and ordered that rosewood trees be planted to shade the passersby. Within a few hours, he forgot that he had given the order, and in a few dozen years he in turn was forgotten, but these trees still stood, enormous now, some of them dead and looming without bark, white and leafless. (link)
Anyone want to discuss the story as a whole? Did you like Mueenuddin’s writing style? Do you think he does a good job capturing a poor electrician’s point of view? Do you think Nawabdin is a sympathetic character in the end? And finally, what is the story all about?
Incidentally, Mueenuddin also has another story online, at the literary magazine Zoetrope. It’s quite different from “Nawabdin Electrician”; I think it will be interesting to anyone who has been in a serious cross-cultural or interracial relationship. (I’m happy to discuss that story too.)
SPOILER ALERT If you have not read the story ,please don’t read this comment!
What delicious irony! Mueneddin succeeds in making Nawabdin a sympathetic character and succeeded in making me root for Nawabdin over the common thief, till I realized that Nawabdin himself is a thief (of electricity). I liked how the landscape was such an integral part of the story and rather liked Mueneddins evocative descriptions,bringing back hazy memories of dusty summers in the des
I found the glossing over of a woman who bore him 13 children a little much. I mean, her vertebrae were showing! I sensed a purpose in Daniyal’s rather plodding narration. Story, however, felt forced towards the end. I loved the line about a bird pecking.
I am little intrigued with the last 2 NYer stories-a previous one was about some white man finding redemption in Laos after something bad happends stateside.
I found the glossing over of a woman who bore him 13 children a little much. I mean, her vertebrae were showing!
I accepted this as a sign of Nawabdin’s own obliviousness. Though his job is to fix problems, it’s clear that he also creates them for himself, and his tinkering is far from effective. There’s no further comment on his wife’s thirteen children, because he himself has never stopped to ponder what life might be like from her perspective.
I sensed a purpose in Daniyal’s rather plodding narration. Story, however, felt forced towards the end.
Did you really feel it was plodding? I thought there were many light and entertaining touches…
. Which makes him a very uninteresting character. I believe the best characters in lit. are those who possess flaws and fumble trying to rationalize them or fix them.
I didn’t mean plodding as a necessarily bad thing, because the writer is trying to evoke some kind of rural pace. Yes, I would have loved more moments like the one where he compares the guys trips to those of a butterfly.
this is true. i remember one of the most intersting characters ive ever seen in a movie (i dont remember which one) was a muslim character that justified his f-cking some grl behind his wifes back with “I am a muslim. what i do is good. therefore this is good.”
rationalizing is a bit more intersting than fumbling (in my opinion)
Mueeneddin made the thief a sympathetic character in the end, because you realize the two are similar in their attempts to survive, one was just more clever: Nawabdin – the fittest.
I feel wierded out by my reaction to this story. After finishing it, I felt all the revulsion I’ve ever had for Pakistani society — a hierarchy of theives where the most successful are the least sympathetic. The writing wasn’t sparkly, like Roy or Rushdie, but it was almost like a mood-poem.
Did anyone else, pakistani or otherwise, have this feeling towards the story?
Anyway, I hope Daniyal writes a companion peice where the better elements of Desi-dom are highlighted . It’s not all clannish, obsequious, snobbish men with little compassion and great self-regard. I hope.
I feel wierded out by my reaction to this story. After finishing it, I felt all the revulsion I’ve ever had for Pakistani society — a hierarchy of theives where the most successful are the least sympathetic.
Ikram, I didn’t think it was that negative — for most of the story, Nawabdin comes across as someone whose theft is harmless. If anything, it is a sign of his resourcefulness — this is how you feed a family of fourteen on an electrician’s salary.
Where corruption is endemic, theft can’t really be called immoral.
I enjoyed the story. That is a VERY feudal part of Pakistan that the story is set in (Multan area), and that comes through very well.
Pretty harsh story, all-in-all. I agree with Amardeep that Nawabdin’s theft is of an entirely different category than that which he is a victim of–the latter is a crime against “natural law,” the former (just) a “regulatory” offense, and that in a rather unjust regulatory (i.e., property law) environment.
Thanks for the link to the Zoetrope story–that one is excellent–a lot better than the new yorker one, IMHO. Funny that “Americans went to the moon” shows up in both stories…. I knew a guy from Karachi at Yale who was very much like Sohail–maybe the story is not so fictional! Still touching, though….
I chuckled at one of the observation in the “Our lady of Paris” – “…He’s very gentle – I don’t mean Americans are gentle, they are not. But its easier to be gentle in a place where there’s order”.
I think I liked the style in “Our lady Paris” [and also the picture of the lady on top of the books :)] slightly better than “Nawabdin electrician”. The two stories seem to weave around two different socio-economic class of people. Co-incidentally this week I have been reading a similar themed article in National geograpic about Pakistan’s attempt at straddling two worlds.
I think I liked the style in “Our lady Paris” [and also the picture of the lady on top of the books :)] slightly better than “Nawabdin electrician”.
Yes — it might be that “Our Lady of Paris” is closer to the author’s own personal life experiences in certain ways (he’s also a Yale grad… who practiced law in the U.S. for some years before returning to Pakistan to manage his family’s large estate…). It’s easier to be really convincing when you write about what you know.
Some useful context
It is not exactly a compliment that the story is more poignant than the characters. The irony embedded in the story is that crime, petty or not, is a relative term. Stealing electricity and tricking one’s employer for the greater good of supporting a family of 15 is what a good man must do. On the other hand, stealing somebody’s motorbike, the victim’s livelihood, is crime. Although not eactly an original theme, either in literature or in movies, the relativity of crime in a poor society is still a thought provoking premise and does make the story good literature. Where the story falls short is in its one-dimensional, angst-free, and totally unaware characterization of Nawabdin. To the extent the irony of the theme fails to breathe more complexity, and irony, and hence life into the central character, I consider the work less creative and more didactic, and great literature is never that.
The writing, if it should even be judged separately when critiquing literature, is full of promise of better things to come from a new writer. With a style that is quite minimalistic and mercifully lean on adjectives and metaphors, Daniyal still manages to paint interesting pictures, as in “No tea, no tea” pompousness of Nawabdin when he walks into a pump room, the “unsurpassed fertility” describing his wife and “people asking him about world affairs, about which he knew nothing” just because he now had a motorcycle.
4 NEALE: “Which makes him a very uninteresting character. I believe the best characters in lit. are those who possess flaws and fumble trying to rationalize them or fix them.”
Great literature is ultimately about characters. Great stories are not merely told but enacted, and enacted through the thoughts and actions of people. It is as true of Shakespearean tragedy as it is of a summer flick. We can all write poignant, thought provoking essays. How many can write stories?
Sorry, Amardeep, for turning this into a book report, but the post was interesting and I was feeling a little literary today.
Our Lady of Paris made my heart crack a little bit. Lovely writing.
Sorry, Amardeep, for turning this into a book report, but the post was interesting and I was feeling a little literary today.
Floridian, Not at all — I appreciated your thoughts on the story.
The word I would use to describe his writing would be careful, perhaps even a little hesitant. The piece about the electrician toiled a bit for me. I suppose I am assuming the writer has better ability to delve into the skin of the privileged, explaining upper-crust thoughts and sequence better. There is a comfort zone there. An understanding that I did not see in The New Yorker piece, which almost makes an unconscious (or perhaps intentional) attempt to explain the psyche of the poor to those not. Thought: Maybe if a writer acknowledges that he or she can sometimes only observe the poor through prose and not be them, a lot more can be done, unless I am mistaken, and imagination for some does allow enough empathy to make the narration more real and less buckled. A little help of genius would be worthwhile too. Although it might just be that a writer’s concern for a subject may force a story out even though the writer may not be the best person to tell it. A need to document then outlives everything else perhaps.
Amardeep, That said, look at Jhumpa Lahiri’s arc. So many of the good stories in IOM were set in India. Namesake, on the other hand – I did not like as much.
Our Lady of Paris was so riveting. I liked the line where Sohail’s mother tells Helen she isn’t into superficial things enough to survive in Karachi. Haven’t read the New Yorker story yet. I agree with Deep–his style of writing is very careful, and though it does seem to work for this story, I could see how it might get tedious. For now, I’m interested and would like to keep reading.
amardeep i liked the story. great characterisation, location of story, and narrative style. i did not think it was plodding at all. did i like nawabdin? i think so. he loves his wife, in a manner, and she is nice to him, which says a lot. he loves his daughters, cares about them, his children and family dear to him, he is happy toiling for them. he is enterprising, certainly not lazy, nothing much deters him, he is a positive man, pretty happy with his life.
the story fulfills the expectation – that the character must move in some way. nawabdin is pissed at the robber, refuses him forgiveness, and feels no remorse. until the very end, for a very small moment, when he thinks about the man’s words. “And then he didn’t.” there the story pivots back to an unexamined life.
the robber is revealed as well when he whispers “It’s not true.”
the dialog at the very end between the 2 men was a little contrived i thought. it could have been better. but it worked.
i would love to know your opinion.
Amardeep, thanks for the introduction to Mueenuddin (I’m a bit behind on my New Yorkers). Having recently read Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist, I can’t help but consider the way that the two writers tackle their characters’ American girlfriends. In both cases we’re invited to feel an initial touch of sympathy with the girlfriend (as in, “my how difficult it must be to understand this complicated young S. Asian”), and still, in both cases it seems like the final verdict is “these American girls can’t handle the burden/weight of a foreign culture.” I did appreciate that we get a more detailed look at Helen’s psyche than in Hamid’s book, but somehow it makes me feel that perhaps in reality in many cases of failed cross-cultural relationships it’s the S. Asian man in the relationship that can’t handle it.