A Love Story Nonetheless
With summer upon us, more and more friends are asking me for book recommendations. While recommending and sharing books is one of my favorite activities, unfortunately, these friends are asking for the light, fun beach reads and though I have realized I have more of those on my lists than I originally thought, those books aren’t really my style. It’s not that I like death and darkness, it’s just that I like intrigue and that tends to go hand-in-hand with darkness. So, while I really want to recommend the last book I finished, Honor by Thrity Umrigar, I recommend romcoms instead. However, when winter rolls around and you’re looking more for a story to immerse yourself in rather than a story to pick up between dips in the pool, Honor is a good one.
It follows the story of a journalist, Smita, who was born in Mumbai but moved to America at 14. The author is quick to acknowledge that this move was fast-paced and based more on the need for safety and well-being for Smita’s family than on an actual desire to leave India. The reasons for her family’s quick departure aren’t revealed until much later in the story, but it is made clear that Smita is torn between longing for her homeland and aching from a hurt she experienced there. While the main storyline actually revolves around Smita’s role in covering the story of conflict created by a Hindu-Muslim marriage and the resulting crime involved, it is the parallel storyline of learning to love her home again that kept me turning the page.
Only once have I moved because I had to (although I’m sure 18-year-old Bailey would tell you otherwise). When I moved back from being abroad, it was a choice that was made for my safety and well-being and not because I wanted to leave. So, when I came back I was stuck in a place of not wanting to be here and not being able to be there and that is a hard feeling to explain–especially to people who have never experienced it before, including myself. And this is why, once again, I find myself in awe (and by that I mean, extremely jealous) of an author who can take what I’m feeling and express it in a way I would never have thought of. Thrity Umrigar did an excellent job of juxtaposing the main character’s heart’s natural love for India with her fear and anger over the experiences she had there that resulted in her move. Not only did she put words to this paradox but she did it in a most ingenious way–making India seem like its own character in Smita’s story.
As the novel intertwines Smita’s work life as a journalist and her personal life, the reader is introduced to lots of characters, with their own host of things that they bring to the development of the plot and, ultimately, the main character. The other important characters are a friend who desperately wants her to love India again and a group of men so deeply rooted in the traditions of their religion that they can’t see the hurt their actions have caused. It is through the portrayal of these characters that the reader begins to more fully understand the conflict between Smita and India.
The friend, Mohan, who, in an impromptu decision, becomes Smita’s traveling companion for the remainder of the story, has put India on such a high pedestal that Smita questions his ability to see its flaws. While the group of men, who she interviews as the main suspects in the case she is covering, are so attached to traditions rooted in the time when India was a religiously divided nation that she questions their ability to embrace the India of today. It is in this space between the aggressive positivity and the deep negativity, that Smita finds herself desperately grasping for a middle ground. When she stops and thinks about the India of her childhood and the India of today, she finds herself weighing the pros and cons–on one hand, the delicious food and aggressive heat are reminders of the most wonderful parts of her childhood, and on the other, the story that she is following often reminds her a little too much of the reason her family had to leave.
As the story continues, Smita begins to see the cracks in both sides of the argument. When Mohan begins to see the pain that is possible, even in his beloved India, and Smita finds (very minor) redemption in the main suspects, she realizes that trying to categorize her feelings toward India was hindering her from actually experiencing it. India itself was not entirely the good or the bad experiences, and by blaming India for the hurt she experienced, she was not making space for healing. In blaming India for the pain rather than the men who caused it, she prevented herself from recognizing its beauty. It wasn’t until she was able to acknowledge India as its own entity, that she was able to work towards becoming friends with it.
As the story comes to an end, so does her need to make sense of the characters in it, including India. She begins to recognize why her family faced the hardships they did and how the events of her childhood, and this case, are not all-encompassing of India itself–and she realized that just as you learn to love people, you can also relearn to love a place.
While Smita and I have vastly different stories, there are emotions within them that are eerily parallel. I moved back to the US and began categorizing everything as good or bad. But, ultimately, that only prevented healing. The place I left, while broken and flawed as any other, was not what hurt me and closing myself off to it only ended up hurting more. It is its own character in my story and, as with all of the other characters, healing can only begin when there is understanding. Understanding can only come when there is recognition of that juxtaposition between brokenness and beauty. People are not perfect, places are not perfect, but there is growth and hope and beauty in all of them.
Honor is a story of pain, hurt and injustice. It is a representation of how far this world has come and how far we have to go. It is also a story of hope. A reminder that beauty can come out of tragedy. In the end, it is a love story. Maybe not a beach-read love story but a love story nonetheless.