A House for Mr Biswas

I bought this book many years back. Everyone in my family read it many years back. They raved about it and are even considering reading it again. But I did not touch it for a long time. I was introduced to V S Naipul many years back. My friend, who was also my house mate, bought the book 'India: A million mutinies now" as a gift for his fiancée. She stayed in Delhi and we lived in Bangalore. So, the book stayed with us for many months. I took the opportunity to read the book. I loved it. The book made me realize that an author could tell a story through a series of essays. When I think back, I wonder if I should have read the book that a guy was planning to gift to his fiancée. Will it not become an used book? But it seems that neither I nor he belonged to the romantic type. So both of us did not care. Many months later, he gifted the book to his fiancée. A few days later, she asked him for whom he had bought the book. Though unromantic by nature, he was sensible enough to realize that the question was a loaded one. Instead if responding to the question he asked "What do you mean?" She said "You bought the book for yourself, isn't it?" He said "No. I bought it for you." She said "What makes you think I read such books?" The poor girl had no interest in essays on lives of families spread across India. For that she thought she could read a newspaper. I think on that day she realized that she probably would not receive roses and gifts on Valentine's day.

Getting back to Naipul

After buying "The House of Mr.Biswas", I bought a few other books by V S Naipul. I read a couple of those books too but not this one. In meanwhile, I got to know that the book was not a happy one. Maybe that added to my lack of interest in reading it. Finally, one day a few months back, I started reading the book. The book is long and it took me many months to finish. The book is not a happy one. Though the book is a satire, at most times, I felt miserable reading it. Mr. Biswas is a miserable character. It was tough for me to not empathize with the protagonist of the book. The guy is a selfish cowardly brute. The story is recounted from his point of view and so he justifies everything he does and criticizes everyone else's actions. The issue is that when I read a book, I always become a part of the story. Unfortunately, in this case not only did I feel I was a part of the book but I also felt that I am Mr. Biswas. I did not like that. 

All this would make one feel that I hated reading the book. Nope! The book is brilliant. I don't think I have read anything like this. Its vivid and descriptive. The problem arises due to the fact that it is so well written that I was not able to differentiate reality from fiction while I read the book. It gave me a clear picture of Port of Spain, Hanuman house, the house on Sikkim street and all the locations that formed a part of the story. The picture might not be anything like how the author envisioned it but I don't care. If a movie is made on this book, I should not watch it as I don't think it will live upto the picture I have inside my head. This book proves that an author can get into the reader's head if he/she wants to. Scary!

I started writing this post, when I read a part of the book that deal with a deaths that occurs in one of the houses that Mr. Biswas stays in. The writing is hilarious. It shows, the contempt that Mr. Biswas holds for the other characters and is a general commentary on how people deal with death. Given below are the lines from the book.  

Then, in quick succession, a number of deaths occurred.

Sharma, son in law, who collected oranges and drove the children to school, slipped off a mossy orange branch one rainy morning and broke his neck. He died almost at once. The children did not go to school that day. Sharma’s widow tried to turn the holiday into a day of mourning. She sobbed and wailed and embraced everyone who went near her and asked for messages to be sent. Messages was sent and Sharma's relations turned up in the afternoon, non-descript people, not able, even in their sorrow, to drown the shyness. They put Sharma in a plain coffin and carried him to the graveyard, where the village had assembled to see the Hindu rites. Hari, in white jacket and beads, whined over the grave and sprinkled water over it with a mango leaf.

‘Same thing he did to my house’ said Biswas to Anand. (I found this line hilarious. Mr. Biswas moves into a small shack that he considers to be his. His wife and her family insists that Hari should conduct a pooja. Mr. Biswas does not like Hari and stands against this proposal. But they win and the pooja is conducted the same manner as the one he conducted for Sharma's death. A few days after the pooja Mr.Biswas had to give up the house and move away.) 

Sharma’s widow shrieked, fainted, revived, and tried to fling herself into the grave. The villagers watched with interest. Some of the knowing whispered about sutee.