Skip to main content

Celestial Bodies: Review


Book Review

“Do you love me, Mayya?” Abdallah asks his wife. “She was startled.... She said nothing and then she laughed. She laughed out loud, and the tone of it irritated me.” Mayya thinks that such words as love belong to TV shows. In real life, no one talks about love. Abdallah remembers that on their wedding day Mayya had not laughed. She did not even smile.
Mayya didn’t want to marry Abdallah. Ali was her man. Ali had returned from London though without securing a diploma. The diploma didn’t matter really, London mattered. Mayya wanted to escape from her village and go and live in the city of Muscat. Ali was a symbol of that aspiration. Eventually she names her daughter London. She will have her London one way or another in spite of the fact that she belongs to a patriarchal Islamic system.
Most of the characters of Jokha Alharthi’s novel, Celestial Bodies, which won the Man Booker International Prize 2019, belong to rural Oman. Love is their quintessential longing. What does love mean especially in rigidly traditional, patriarchal system? The novel explores that theme primarily.
“What do you really know about love?” London will ask her mother one day. What does anyone know about love, in fact, especially in a system that keeps them all suppressed with all sorts of regulations and traditions? The novel seeks to probe love and its role through the experiences of three women as well as quite many other lesser characters. The three women are Mayya and her sisters, Asma and Khawla.
While Mayya surrenders to her fate silently as a dutiful wife who bears children for her husband and sleeps away blissfully when the children don’t require her attention, her sisters have their own discontents. Asma marries Khalid, a self-obsessed artist who decides the circle within which his wife can move. Khawla waits seemingly endlessly for her cousin who had gone to Canada as a boy for studying and does not return. Finally he has to return because he is a total failure there. She marries him. But he was only interested in the money he got from the marriage. He has his own girlfriend in Canada to whom he returns. He visits Khawla annually, however, and gives her a child during each visit. Having borne 14 children dutifully, Khawla confronts the absurdity of such a life and seeks divorce.
The novel spans over almost a century and hence there are a lot more characters, too many for a short novel of 243 pages. The author has experimented with a new narrative technique with Abdallah narrating every alternative chapter while the other chapters are dedicated to the other characters by an omniscient third-person narrator. The technique makes the novel a little difficult to understand initially because the onus for putting together varied and apparently disjointed pieces of information given in different chapters falls entirely on the reader.
Even the minor characters are interesting, however. Najiya who is also known as Qamar (Moon) is a beautiful young Bedouin woman with great aplomb. In a society that is controlled entirely by the men, she chooses her man, chooses to seduce him and even use him as she pleases. “Azzan will be mine,” she says, “but I won’t be his. He’ll come to me when I want him, and he’ll go away when I say so.” Azzan, the father of the three girls mentioned above, bites the bait.
Ankabuta belongs to a previous generation and she is a slave woman whose daring gets her imprisoned. She is kept in a cell which is visited twice each day: once in the day for feeding her and once in the night by her husband who ties her limbs to the bedposts and gags her mouth with his turban cloth before raping her.
“What do you really know about love?” London’s question echoes throughout the novel. London will grow up, become a doctor and fall in love with a young man of her choice breaking the traditional shackles. But will she succeed in discovering real love?
The novel has a lot more to offer in an exceptionally sleek volume. The Booker has drawn the attention of a lot of readers to the novel. The novel deserves to be read too not only to get clear glimpses into the society of Oman but also to understand how the patriarchal system evolved in that country. 


Comments

  1. Good review of an apparently interesting book.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's the first time I read an Omani novel. Quite a different world.

      Delete
  2. I must read this book. Seems to be an interesting one. I am specially fond of women’s lives in Asia

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Indian Knowledge Systems

Shashi Tharoor wrote a massive book back in 2018 to explore the paradoxes that constitute the man called Narendra Modi. Paradoxes dominate present Indian politics. One of them is what’s called the Indian Knowledge Systems (IKS). What constitute the paradox here are two parallel realities: one genuinely valuable, and the other deeply regressive. The contributions of Aryabhata and Brahmagupta to mathematics, Panini to linguistics, Vedanta to philosophy, and Ayurveda to medicine are genuine traditions that may deserve due attention. But there’s a hijacked version of IKS which is a hilariously, if not villainously, political project. Much of what is now packaged as IKS in government documents, school curricula, and propaganda includes mythological claims treated as historical facts, pseudoscience (e.g., Ravana’s Pushpaka Vimana as a real aircraft or Ganesha’s trunk as a product of plastic surgery), astrology replacing astronomy, ritualism replacing reasoning, attempts to invent the r...

The Ugly Duckling

Source: Acting Company A. A. Milne’s one-act play, The Ugly Duckling , acquired a classical status because of the hearty humour used to present a profound theme. The King and the Queen are worried because their daughter Camilla is too ugly to get a suitor. In spite of all the devious strategies employed by the King and his Chancellor, the princess remained unmarried. Camilla was blessed with a unique beauty by her two godmothers but no one could see any beauty in her physical appearance. She has an exquisitely beautiful character. What use is character? The King asks. The play is an answer to that question. Character plays the most crucial role in our moral science books and traditional rhetoric, religious scriptures and homilies. When it comes to practical life, we look for other things such as wealth, social rank, physical looks, and so on. As the King says in this play, “If a girl is beautiful, it is easy to assume that she has, tucked away inside her, an equally beauti...

Waiting for the Mahatma

Book Review I read this book purely by chance. R K Narayan is not a writer whom I would choose for any reason whatever. He is too simple, simplistic. I was at school on Saturday last and I suddenly found myself without anything to do though I was on duty. Some duties are like that: like a traffic policeman’s duty on a road without any traffic! So I went up to the school library and picked up a book which looked clean. It happened to be Waiting for the Mahatma by R K Narayan. A small book of 200 pages which I almost finished reading on the same day. The novel was originally published in 1955, written probably as a tribute to Mahatma Gandhi and India’s struggle for independence. The edition that I read is a later reprint by Penguin Classics. Twenty-year-old Sriram is the protagonist though Gandhi towers above everybody else in the novel just as he did in India of the independence-struggle years. Sriram who lives with his grandmother inherits significant wealth when he turns 20. Hi...

The Lights of December

The crib of a nearby parish [a few years back] December was the happiest month of my childhood. Christmas was the ostensible reason, though I wasn’t any more religious than the boys of my neighbourhood. Christmas brought an air of festivity to our home which was otherwise as gloomy as an orthodox Catholic household could be in the late 1960s. We lived in a village whose nights were lit up only by kerosene lamps, until electricity arrived in 1972 or so. Darkness suffused the agrarian landscapes for most part of the nights. Frogs would croak in the sprawling paddy fields and crickets would chirp rather eerily in the bushes outside the bedroom which was shared by us four brothers. Owls whistled occasionally, and screeched more frequently, in the darkness that spread endlessly. December lit up the darkness, though infinitesimally, with a star or two outside homes. December was the light of my childhood. Christmas was the happiest festival of the period. As soon as school closed for the...