February 15, 2009

Reviewed By Mahvesh Murad
 

Daniyal Mueenuddin’s impressive debut, In Other Rooms, Other Wonders is a collection of short stories linked to one another via the family estates of a Punjabi landlord and retired civil servant. A young girl takes on the role of an older, richer relative’s mistress without consideration for the consequences; a maid trades sexual favours for a better lifestyle; a village electrician has to defend himself against an assailant to protect his life and livelihood; while a young woman marries for love and cheats on her husband in boredom.

Each story holds its own, and adds to the strength and texture of the next. The same characters appear and reappear in different contexts and questions linger from one story to the other as the author examines the ways that all humans are inexplicably interconnected, whether they want to be or not. Each story is well written, evocative and even tragically poetic at times.

The prose is precise and often also elegiac. Mueenuddin is crisp and clear with the mis en scene, with details enough to create a rich, multi-textured fabric for each story but never tending towards the self indulgent as far as the prose is concerned. The thing to remember, however, is that while In Other Rooms, Other Wonders does paint a clear picture of feudal Pakistan and its peripheries, it does just that.

There are the landlords and their families with their decadent lifestyles and then there are those who work for them, who live off their lands with their poverty and simplicity.

Of course, Mueenuddin is drawing from his own personal experiences and writing about what he knows best. His stories are well written and authentic but limited in scope.

All the inspiration and information in these stories comes from the author’s own life, his family and friends, all of whom encompass a small percentage of Pakistani society. Many older members of Lahore’s elite will be able to isolate their peers as the source material for the wealthier characters.

In one story the central figure of K.K. Harouni is said to be writing a set of memoirs ‘cautiously titled Perhaps This Happened’. And perhaps all of this did happen — to the author, to his family and to the people who live on his farm. In any case, many of the characters are very familiar — you may not know them but you definitely know a lot of people just like them. And this familiarity is what breeds a sense of comfort for a Pakistani reader — keeping in mind, of course, that comfort is not necessarily a good thing.

 

The inspiration and information in these stories comes from the author’s own life, his family and friends, all of whom encompass a small percentage of Pakistani society. Many older members of Lahore’s elite will be able to isolate their peers as the source material for the wealthier characters.

 

The author might be shedding light on a certain lifestyle existent in Pakistan for his western audience, but many of his local readers may search for the novelty in these stories.

At times the characters appear somewhat flat, stereotypical even. The rich are all very rich, with little to do but practice the fine art of ennui. Sometimes, as in the case of the 30-something Islamabad wild child Lily, their boredom leads them to irrevocable actions that affect their marriages and lives. And sometimes, as with the wealthy retiree K.K. Harouni, their boredom leads them to change and possibly ruin the life of a young person not as fortunate as them.

Those less fortunate are generally despairing, desperate and greedy for the wealth of their employers. Besides the fairly contended (albeit somewhat ambitious) character Nawabdin electrician of the eponymous first story and the old man in the last story A Spoiled Man, most of the poorer characters are unhappy with their lot and end up devastated by the end of the story. Even those who appear content are stealing from their employers, cutting corners where they can and taking advantage of those weaker than them.

Whether it be the manager who sells the landlord’s property to his own family at a nominal rate, or the poor relative who finds herself the mistress of a much older ‘uncle’ and starts to stash away as much as she can while the going is good.

On occasion, there seems to be a touch of the ivory tower in Mueenuddin’s position — after all, he is a highly educated man who comes from a very affluent background and has only observed poverty from a secure vantage point. Can a man who has never needed to worry about his next meal ever truly understand real hunger?

However, it must be said that the writer is skilled at switching between the voices of various characters, especially when his narrative switches gender. He takes on the female voice (and to a great extent, the female gaze) very smoothly and very well, whether it is of a woman who lives in wealth, or one living (and dying) in poverty. But more so than the male characters, it appears that the women are tangled up in ropes of thick desires, webs of intrigue and ambitions galore. Whether rich or poor they all end up sad, embittered and alone.

While Mueenudin’s writing is crisp and clear, the mood is often bleak and depressing. This is due to the characters who are so heavily flawed that they can never dream of a happy ending. They may seem content for a while, but the dénouement of each story inevitably brings the reader a picture of discontent, despair and sadness. And while this may be harsh reality and it may be high drama, it leaves one wishing for a little lightness and a little joy.