The trouble with reading a tragic novel based on actual historical episodes is that you cannot put the book down with a wistful smile. Knowing that the tragedies and injustices spoken about have actually been inflicted pinches you deep inside, and keeps on doing so long after you’ve turned the last page.
Amitav Ghosh’s River of Smoke, the absolutely brilliant second book in the Ibis trilogy, continues to explore the world unleashed by opium, grown by Indians — against their will — and traded with, or rather inflicted upon, the Chinese by the British. The story here begins with Mauritius and grows to its full pace in China — Canton, or fanqui-town, as the trading hub was then known.
There are three most remarkable things about the book, which make it a bibliophile’s delight. One: perhaps no other literary work offers characters so diverse — from the Raja-turned-fugitive-turned-munshi Neel; the British botanist cum plant-trader Fitcher; the spirited French-cum-Bengali plant-lover, Paulette; the Gujarati-Parsi opium trader with a conscience, Seth Bahram Modi; the American who fights a lone battle, Charles King; the elusive and powerful Lynchong aka Ah-Fey, the illegitimately born Edward Chinnery aka Robin — an “effeminate” man with artistic talents… the list is as diverse and mind-boggling as the pot-pourri of languages they converse in. For someone who has read the first book, the language isn’t so baffling, perhaps because you have become familiar with the characters and their idiosyncracies. And even the new ones do not seem to be strangers; you just flow along and grasp words that aren’t even remotely familiar.
The second distinguishing feature is the detailed, spell-binding descriptions of scenes of action and each object located within that frame. The immense research that has been poured into the book swamps the reader, but not in a tedious, scholarly way. Rather, you will be treated to vivid word paintings of the flowers of Canton, the ships moored there, the ‘Hongs’ where the foreign traders resided and worked, the Maidan all abuzz with activity, the Pearl River Nursery, the wilderness of the island that was Hong Kong…image after image floats before you and you are transported to the land of trade, smuggling, opium, and contrastingly, flowers, paintings and love. Of course, not to be forgotten is the appearance of Napoleon Bonaparte! Two of the principal characters actually get to meet the general, and the interaction, with Bonaparte’s curiosities and reflections on China, is one of the best episodes in the book.
Finally, the third unique thing is the complete absence of the author. In most books based on issues affecting society, you can sense the author’s invisible presence, through sentences reflecting ideology and little telltale details. Here, however, the author is like the puppeteer whose hands control the action, but the story and the characters are so captivating that you forget there is a hand holding those strings. All reflections are conveyed through the actors, not through the narrative.
The last line of the novel, spoken by Neel, aptly conveys the cruelty of history and the tragic destruction of the liveliest of trade hubs after the opium war: “The picture cost more than I could afford, he said, but I bought it anyway. I realised that if it were not for those paintings no one would believe that such a place had ever existed.”
Amitav Ghosh’s River of Smoke, the absolutely brilliant second book in the Ibis trilogy, continues to explore the world unleashed by opium, grown by Indians — against their will — and traded with, or rather inflicted upon, the Chinese by the British. The story here begins with Mauritius and grows to its full pace in China — Canton, or fanqui-town, as the trading hub was then known.
There are three most remarkable things about the book, which make it a bibliophile’s delight. One: perhaps no other literary work offers characters so diverse — from the Raja-turned-fugitive-turned-munshi Neel; the British botanist cum plant-trader Fitcher; the spirited French-cum-Bengali plant-lover, Paulette; the Gujarati-Parsi opium trader with a conscience, Seth Bahram Modi; the American who fights a lone battle, Charles King; the elusive and powerful Lynchong aka Ah-Fey, the illegitimately born Edward Chinnery aka Robin — an “effeminate” man with artistic talents… the list is as diverse and mind-boggling as the pot-pourri of languages they converse in. For someone who has read the first book, the language isn’t so baffling, perhaps because you have become familiar with the characters and their idiosyncracies. And even the new ones do not seem to be strangers; you just flow along and grasp words that aren’t even remotely familiar.
The second distinguishing feature is the detailed, spell-binding descriptions of scenes of action and each object located within that frame. The immense research that has been poured into the book swamps the reader, but not in a tedious, scholarly way. Rather, you will be treated to vivid word paintings of the flowers of Canton, the ships moored there, the ‘Hongs’ where the foreign traders resided and worked, the Maidan all abuzz with activity, the Pearl River Nursery, the wilderness of the island that was Hong Kong…image after image floats before you and you are transported to the land of trade, smuggling, opium, and contrastingly, flowers, paintings and love. Of course, not to be forgotten is the appearance of Napoleon Bonaparte! Two of the principal characters actually get to meet the general, and the interaction, with Bonaparte’s curiosities and reflections on China, is one of the best episodes in the book.
Finally, the third unique thing is the complete absence of the author. In most books based on issues affecting society, you can sense the author’s invisible presence, through sentences reflecting ideology and little telltale details. Here, however, the author is like the puppeteer whose hands control the action, but the story and the characters are so captivating that you forget there is a hand holding those strings. All reflections are conveyed through the actors, not through the narrative.
The last line of the novel, spoken by Neel, aptly conveys the cruelty of history and the tragic destruction of the liveliest of trade hubs after the opium war: “The picture cost more than I could afford, he said, but I bought it anyway. I realised that if it were not for those paintings no one would believe that such a place had ever existed.”
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