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Tomb of Sand
An eighty-year-old woman slips into a deep depression at the death of her husband, then resurfaces to gain a new lease on life. Her determination to fly in the face of convention – including striking up a friendship with a hijra (trans) woman – confuses her bohemian daughter, who is used to thinking of herself as the more 'modern' of the two.
At the older woman's insistence they travel back to Pakistan, simultaneously confronting the unresolved trauma of her teenage experiences of Partition, and re-evaluating what it means to be a mother, a daughter, a woman, a feminist.
Rather than respond to tragedy with seriousness, Geetanjali Shree's playful tone and exuberant wordplay results in a book that is engaging, funny, and utterly original, at the same time as being an urgent and timely protest against the destructive impact of borders and boundaries, whether between religions, countries, or genders.
At the older woman's insistence they travel back to Pakistan, simultaneously confronting the unresolved trauma of her teenage experiences of Partition, and re-evaluating what it means to be a mother, a daughter, a woman, a feminist.
Rather than respond to tragedy with seriousness, Geetanjali Shree's playful tone and exuberant wordplay results in a book that is engaging, funny, and utterly original, at the same time as being an urgent and timely protest against the destructive impact of borders and boundaries, whether between religions, countries, or genders.
739 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2018
About the author
Geetanjali Shree
19 books195 followersGeetanjali Shree गीताजंली क्ष्री (She was known as Geentanjali Pandey, and she took her mother's first name Shree as her last name) (born 1957) is a Hindi novelist and short story writer based in New Delhi, India. She is the author of several short stories and three novels. Mai was short listed for the Crossword Book Award in 2001. She has also written a critical work on Premchand.
Her first story, Bel Patra (1987) was published in the literary magazine Hans and was followed by a collection of short stories Anugoonj (1991)
The English translation of her novel Mai catapulted her into fame. The novel is about three generations of women and the men around them, in a North Indian middle-class family. Mai is translated into Serbian, Korean and German. It has been translated into English by Nita Kumar, who was awarded the Sahitya Akademi award for the translation. It has been also translated into Urdu by Bashir Unwan with preface by Intizar Hussain. Furthermore, it has been translated into other languages: into French by Annie Montaut, into German by Reinhold Schein...
Her second novel Hamara Shahar Us Baras set loosely after the incidents of Babri Masjid demolition.
Her first story, Bel Patra (1987) was published in the literary magazine Hans and was followed by a collection of short stories Anugoonj (1991)
The English translation of her novel Mai catapulted her into fame. The novel is about three generations of women and the men around them, in a North Indian middle-class family. Mai is translated into Serbian, Korean and German. It has been translated into English by Nita Kumar, who was awarded the Sahitya Akademi award for the translation. It has been also translated into Urdu by Bashir Unwan with preface by Intizar Hussain. Furthermore, it has been translated into other languages: into French by Annie Montaut, into German by Reinhold Schein...
Her second novel Hamara Shahar Us Baras set loosely after the incidents of Babri Masjid demolition.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 675 reviews
June 2, 2023
Tomb of Sand is Daisy Rockwell's translation of Geetanjali Shree's groundbreaking Ret Samadhi. Rockwell brilliantly captures the nonlinear sentences and clever wordplay in the (mostly) Hindi original. Rockwell explains in the translator’s note that the original itself is multilingual, packed with passages from Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi, Sanskrit, and indeed English, mirroring the ecosystem in which the novel is set. Others have noted how Shree’s original plays with the conventions of Hindi syntax and grammar in strikingly innovative ways, which is reflected in the translation but may be lost on English-only readers. The story itself is a bit of a slow burn, as we follow a recent widow from depression to a resurrection of sorts, living with her modern daughter, deepening a boundary defying friendship with a hijra person, and exploring more tangible boundaries as the work touches some of the wounds of partition. In its original context, the book is a rejoinder to the trajectory of current Indian politics, although that critique is subtle like everything else in this work. The story takes a bit of time to gain momentum - it takes the main character well over 100 pages to get out of bed - but once it gets chugging, it's an engaging and boundary defying read.
July 15, 2022
Oh well! It went exactly as I had expected. ☹
A long time back, I learnt that Booker winners aren’t my cup of tea. The only exception to all my Booker disappointments has been “The God of Small Things” by Arundhati Roy. As a result, when the Booker Prize is announced, most readers run in the direction of that book but I gallop in the opposite direction. So why did I pick this book up?
1. This book is the first ever Hindi-English translation to win the International Booker. Ergo, my duty to my country!
2. This book is the Hindi BOTM in the Facebook group I moderate. Ergo, my duty to my FB group!
Sigh! I wish I weren’t so dutiful.
If you like beautiful writing, poetic phrases, lyrical cadences, and/or onomatopoeic rhythms in language, this book is going to be a treat.
I like the above. But I also want my books to have a semblance of a plot. This book has one but it is visible in bits and pieces.
What you find instead of a plot is a meandering ramble. Tons of it. And then some more. The chapters jump from topic to topic like nobody’s business. There was no dominant ‘voice’ absorbing me into the narrative. With such haphazardly structured content and a strong disconnect with the characters, I was struggling to make sense where the writer was going with the whole thing. Only at the end do some parts tie themselves together. For a 600+ page book, that’s a looooonnnnnggggg wait. The wait was somewhat worth it but didn’t justify the efforts of slogging through the rest.
I did try to skip-read through the digressions, but realised that doing this was resulting in me prancing through page after page without taking anything in. The content is highly stream of-consciousness in its approach, a style that hardly ever clicks with me. The omniscient narration without any reasoning to explain it didn’t help matters.
Basically, the book feels like random articles and thoughts on various topics thrown together. There’s a line in the content that goes, "A tale has no need for a single stream. It is free to run, flow into rivers and lakes, into fresh new waters." This describes the tome perfectly. The tale here is so freeflowing that one feels swept away in the tsunami of words with no sense of where we are going. (There was one para towards the 25% mark with 1000+ words!)
The translation seems good. Daisy Rockwell has a knack of tying words together in such a way that they retain their beat despite being originally processed in a different language. However, I haven’t read the original, so I have no idea how faithful her work is to the Hindi version. But I enjoyed the nuances of her translation and I am sure the Hindi version will be a treat at least to the ears, considering the focus on the ‘dhwani’ of the language.
Only those who enjoy a book purely for its lyrical quality will appreciate this book. It was not my cup of tea. I love prose but mere prose with barely any plot never works for me. I read it, but nothing penetrated my heart. The ending just brought relief that I was finally done with it.
1.5 stars, mostly for the way the words were strung together. I would have rated it a 1 star were it not for the final section. Rounding up because phir bhi dil hai Hindustani.
Salaam, Namaste, Booker winners! Never again!
BTW, how come a 366 page book in Hindi translates to a 616 page tome in English? How much did you increase the font size and line spacing, oh international publishers?
———————————————
Connect with me through:
My Blog | The StoryGraph | Facebook | Twitter
A long time back, I learnt that Booker winners aren’t my cup of tea. The only exception to all my Booker disappointments has been “The God of Small Things” by Arundhati Roy. As a result, when the Booker Prize is announced, most readers run in the direction of that book but I gallop in the opposite direction. So why did I pick this book up?
1. This book is the first ever Hindi-English translation to win the International Booker. Ergo, my duty to my country!
2. This book is the Hindi BOTM in the Facebook group I moderate. Ergo, my duty to my FB group!
Sigh! I wish I weren’t so dutiful.
If you like beautiful writing, poetic phrases, lyrical cadences, and/or onomatopoeic rhythms in language, this book is going to be a treat.
I like the above. But I also want my books to have a semblance of a plot. This book has one but it is visible in bits and pieces.
What you find instead of a plot is a meandering ramble. Tons of it. And then some more. The chapters jump from topic to topic like nobody’s business. There was no dominant ‘voice’ absorbing me into the narrative. With such haphazardly structured content and a strong disconnect with the characters, I was struggling to make sense where the writer was going with the whole thing. Only at the end do some parts tie themselves together. For a 600+ page book, that’s a looooonnnnnggggg wait. The wait was somewhat worth it but didn’t justify the efforts of slogging through the rest.
I did try to skip-read through the digressions, but realised that doing this was resulting in me prancing through page after page without taking anything in. The content is highly stream of-consciousness in its approach, a style that hardly ever clicks with me. The omniscient narration without any reasoning to explain it didn’t help matters.
Basically, the book feels like random articles and thoughts on various topics thrown together. There’s a line in the content that goes, "A tale has no need for a single stream. It is free to run, flow into rivers and lakes, into fresh new waters." This describes the tome perfectly. The tale here is so freeflowing that one feels swept away in the tsunami of words with no sense of where we are going. (There was one para towards the 25% mark with 1000+ words!)
The translation seems good. Daisy Rockwell has a knack of tying words together in such a way that they retain their beat despite being originally processed in a different language. However, I haven’t read the original, so I have no idea how faithful her work is to the Hindi version. But I enjoyed the nuances of her translation and I am sure the Hindi version will be a treat at least to the ears, considering the focus on the ‘dhwani’ of the language.
Only those who enjoy a book purely for its lyrical quality will appreciate this book. It was not my cup of tea. I love prose but mere prose with barely any plot never works for me. I read it, but nothing penetrated my heart. The ending just brought relief that I was finally done with it.
1.5 stars, mostly for the way the words were strung together. I would have rated it a 1 star were it not for the final section. Rounding up because phir bhi dil hai Hindustani.
Salaam, Namaste, Booker winners! Never again!
BTW, how come a 366 page book in Hindi translates to a 616 page tome in English? How much did you increase the font size and line spacing, oh international publishers?
———————————————
Connect with me through:
My Blog | The StoryGraph | Facebook | Twitter
June 5, 2023
Winner of the 2022 International Booker Prize
Joint Winner of the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation 2022
A tale tells itself. It can be complete, but also incomplete, the way all tales are. This particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please. Once you've got women and a border, a story can write itself.
...
When a country divides, enmity jostles amity and visas and borders depend on the mood—be it slighted, delighted, even far-sighted. Or meditative. In a state of samadhi.
This completes my reading of the 13 International Booker's dozen books and a great way to finish off an excellent longlist.
Tomb of Sand is Daisy Rockwell's translation of Geetanjali Shree's 2018 novel रेत समाधि (Ret Samadhi) and published by Tilted Axis. Tilted Axis were founded to tilt the axis of world literature away from a Western and Anglo-centric view and their work has been rewarded with 3 books on this year's list, including this which perhaps best of all delivers their ongoing exploration into alternatives – to the hierarchisation of certain languages and forms, including forms of translation; to the monoculture of globalisation; to cultural, narrative, and visual stereotypes; to the commercialisation and celebrification of literature and literary translation.
Tomb of Sand is, despite its 700+ pages a pure pleasure to read (and I say this as a reader who prefers novellas) if a difficult book to summarise. It is a riotous and verbally dextrous exploration of borders, between countries, cultures and also genders, as well as an affirmative tale of ageing.
The novel opens with the main heroine, a 80 year old widow lying on what seems likely to be her deathbed, where she stays until page 190, but then she is re-energised, first escaping the house then in the novel's 2nd part moving out of her elder son's house and in with her unmarried and oh-so-modern daughter Beti, but with the mother daughter relationship turned on its head, as Amma's hijra friend Rosie gives her a new lease of life:
So translation can turn into an absolute catastrophe, where smile means knife, and eat is feed and you've arrived is why don't you leave and of course is oops, I'm trapped, and because, why not, and certainly means I'm done for and et cetera becomes infinity, and Amma transforms into childishness and Bedi into maturity.
The text is full of untranslated Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu and Sanskrit work as well as many unfootnoted references, but as Daisy Rockwell points out the original was similarly full of untranslated English and if the references are unfamiliar then one can always google them (albeit in a 700 page novel I wouldn't recommend doing that for each one). The novel itself contains - see below - a nice swipe at the Anglo-centric view of general knowledge, as well as references to the challenges of translation and Rockwell is to be commended for a work that manages to replace, but not replicate, the original wordplay with equally inventive English and is such a joy to read. As Rockwell told The Beacon:
One of the novel's many joys is the way, reminiscent of Isabel Waidner in the UK, that the novel treats animals (a crow plays a key role) and objects (Reebok trainers, a door that starts and ends the story) as equally worthy of carrying the story as the human characters, alongside the main narrator, whose identity is never disclosed, largely as they claim to play only a minor role in the tale.
The character of Rosie gives the novel one exploration of borders, those inter-sex, while the third part of the novel, 530 pages in, takes Amma and Bedi over another border into Pakistan, and the novel draws on the tradition, key in India but even when translated largely unknown in the West, of partition literature, such as A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There, Daisy Rockwell's translation of a novel by कृष्णा सोबती Krishna Sobti to whom Geetanjali Shree dedicates the novel.
The group of Partition writers has come to sit in a row, and every person has a name card at their place like at a formal banquet. Bhisham Sahni. Balwant Singh. Joginder Pal. Manto. Rahi Masoom Raza. Shaani. Intizar Hussain. Krishna Sobti. Khushwant Singh. Ramanand Sagar. Manzoor Ehtesham. Rajinder Singh Bedi.
Highly recommended and a brilliant choice for the International Booker.
Some favourite quotes
On borders:
Border, Ma says. Border? Do you know what a border is? What is a border? It's something that surrounds an existence, it is a person's perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, the embroidery around my shawl. The edges of the sky. The beds of flowers in this yard. The borders of fields. The parapet around this roof. A picture frame. Everything has a border. However, a border is not created to be removed. It is meant to illuminate both sides. You removed me. Should I leave? No. A border does not enclose, it opens out. It creates a shape - it adorns an edge. This side of the edging blossoms, as does that. Embroider the border with a shimmering vine. Stud it wth' precious stones. What is a border? It enhances a personality. It gives strength. It doesn't tear apart. A border increases recognition. Where two sides meet and both flourish. A border ornaments their meeting.
The characters - human, animal (a crow plays a key role) and inanimate:
All of these are characters in this story: the bug, the elephant, the compassion, the door, Ma, the cane, the bundle, Bade, Ben, the Reeboks that Bahu wore, and the rest of the gang, who will come up in due course. But wait, Reeboks? Why are you bringing up footwear?
There are those who say that long ago, the Reebok was a poisonous snake that went slithering about the southern portion of the continent known as America. It underwent a transformation when someone wrapped it around his feet in order to jump about with greater agility, and it is said that all the snake's bravado entered the person who wrapped his feet in its skin.
Challenging a Western-centric view of what is common knowledge:
Death comes to all. Even to birds. The chukar, whom most people would call a partridge, and which gourmands enjoy cooking and eating, died. The crow's heart broke. No one tells their tale, although other stories of ornithological friendships are famous the world over. Take just one example: the tale of the friendship between Garuda and the parrot. That tale is centuries old, and those in the world who are educated, and thus familiar with great ancient civilizations, are certainly familiar with that friendship, and those who are not, clear, wherever they may be, are absolute ignoramuses.
The novel on translation:
Translation isn't easy. If you think you need only take two sips of English to be able to translate, and that you'll understand Bihari Satsai simply because you heard Braj as a child, you are sadly mistaken. Translation is a tricky business—tedhi kheer—trickier and twistier than our little jalebis can handle. Stories contain meanings that aren't always apparent. In an academic translation you get exhausted trying to find the right technical language• In literature, them are moods and vibrations.
From Daisy Rockwell's afterword:
What is a translator to do with a text that is focused on its own linguicity (not a real word, I know)? I have striven throughout my translation to recreate the text as an English dhwani of Hindi, seeking out wordplays, echoes, etymologies, and coinages that feel Hindi-esque. I have also included many fragments of poetry, prayer, prose, and songs in the original language, alongside their English renderings, and even the occasional fragment of the original that was too good to leave behind.
Translator interview:
from https://www.news9live.com/art-culture...
Author interviews:
from https://www.hindustantimes.com/lifest...
from https://www.news9live.com/art-culture...
Joint Winner of the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation 2022
A tale tells itself. It can be complete, but also incomplete, the way all tales are. This particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please. Once you've got women and a border, a story can write itself.
...
When a country divides, enmity jostles amity and visas and borders depend on the mood—be it slighted, delighted, even far-sighted. Or meditative. In a state of samadhi.
This completes my reading of the 13 International Booker's dozen books and a great way to finish off an excellent longlist.
Tomb of Sand is Daisy Rockwell's translation of Geetanjali Shree's 2018 novel रेत समाधि (Ret Samadhi) and published by Tilted Axis. Tilted Axis were founded to tilt the axis of world literature away from a Western and Anglo-centric view and their work has been rewarded with 3 books on this year's list, including this which perhaps best of all delivers their ongoing exploration into alternatives – to the hierarchisation of certain languages and forms, including forms of translation; to the monoculture of globalisation; to cultural, narrative, and visual stereotypes; to the commercialisation and celebrification of literature and literary translation.
Tomb of Sand is, despite its 700+ pages a pure pleasure to read (and I say this as a reader who prefers novellas) if a difficult book to summarise. It is a riotous and verbally dextrous exploration of borders, between countries, cultures and also genders, as well as an affirmative tale of ageing.
The novel opens with the main heroine, a 80 year old widow lying on what seems likely to be her deathbed, where she stays until page 190, but then she is re-energised, first escaping the house then in the novel's 2nd part moving out of her elder son's house and in with her unmarried and oh-so-modern daughter Beti, but with the mother daughter relationship turned on its head, as Amma's hijra friend Rosie gives her a new lease of life:
So translation can turn into an absolute catastrophe, where smile means knife, and eat is feed and you've arrived is why don't you leave and of course is oops, I'm trapped, and because, why not, and certainly means I'm done for and et cetera becomes infinity, and Amma transforms into childishness and Bedi into maturity.
The text is full of untranslated Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu and Sanskrit work as well as many unfootnoted references, but as Daisy Rockwell points out the original was similarly full of untranslated English and if the references are unfamiliar then one can always google them (albeit in a 700 page novel I wouldn't recommend doing that for each one). The novel itself contains - see below - a nice swipe at the Anglo-centric view of general knowledge, as well as references to the challenges of translation and Rockwell is to be commended for a work that manages to replace, but not replicate, the original wordplay with equally inventive English and is such a joy to read. As Rockwell told The Beacon:
One should not view a translation as an imperfect representation of a superior and unattainable original. Read translations as original works and you will be much happier. People always obsess about what is lost in translation. It has become a cliché. Of course, things are lost in translation! But is that bad? They might not have even been good things. And much is gained in translation. A translation is an interpretation, a refraction, a reworking, and as such it contains something old, but also contains something new.
One of the novel's many joys is the way, reminiscent of Isabel Waidner in the UK, that the novel treats animals (a crow plays a key role) and objects (Reebok trainers, a door that starts and ends the story) as equally worthy of carrying the story as the human characters, alongside the main narrator, whose identity is never disclosed, largely as they claim to play only a minor role in the tale.
The character of Rosie gives the novel one exploration of borders, those inter-sex, while the third part of the novel, 530 pages in, takes Amma and Bedi over another border into Pakistan, and the novel draws on the tradition, key in India but even when translated largely unknown in the West, of partition literature, such as A Gujarat Here, a Gujarat There, Daisy Rockwell's translation of a novel by कृष्णा सोबती Krishna Sobti to whom Geetanjali Shree dedicates the novel.
The group of Partition writers has come to sit in a row, and every person has a name card at their place like at a formal banquet. Bhisham Sahni. Balwant Singh. Joginder Pal. Manto. Rahi Masoom Raza. Shaani. Intizar Hussain. Krishna Sobti. Khushwant Singh. Ramanand Sagar. Manzoor Ehtesham. Rajinder Singh Bedi.
Highly recommended and a brilliant choice for the International Booker.
Some favourite quotes
On borders:
Border, Ma says. Border? Do you know what a border is? What is a border? It's something that surrounds an existence, it is a person's perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, the embroidery around my shawl. The edges of the sky. The beds of flowers in this yard. The borders of fields. The parapet around this roof. A picture frame. Everything has a border. However, a border is not created to be removed. It is meant to illuminate both sides. You removed me. Should I leave? No. A border does not enclose, it opens out. It creates a shape - it adorns an edge. This side of the edging blossoms, as does that. Embroider the border with a shimmering vine. Stud it wth' precious stones. What is a border? It enhances a personality. It gives strength. It doesn't tear apart. A border increases recognition. Where two sides meet and both flourish. A border ornaments their meeting.
The characters - human, animal (a crow plays a key role) and inanimate:
All of these are characters in this story: the bug, the elephant, the compassion, the door, Ma, the cane, the bundle, Bade, Ben, the Reeboks that Bahu wore, and the rest of the gang, who will come up in due course. But wait, Reeboks? Why are you bringing up footwear?
There are those who say that long ago, the Reebok was a poisonous snake that went slithering about the southern portion of the continent known as America. It underwent a transformation when someone wrapped it around his feet in order to jump about with greater agility, and it is said that all the snake's bravado entered the person who wrapped his feet in its skin.
Challenging a Western-centric view of what is common knowledge:
Death comes to all. Even to birds. The chukar, whom most people would call a partridge, and which gourmands enjoy cooking and eating, died. The crow's heart broke. No one tells their tale, although other stories of ornithological friendships are famous the world over. Take just one example: the tale of the friendship between Garuda and the parrot. That tale is centuries old, and those in the world who are educated, and thus familiar with great ancient civilizations, are certainly familiar with that friendship, and those who are not, clear, wherever they may be, are absolute ignoramuses.
The novel on translation:
Translation isn't easy. If you think you need only take two sips of English to be able to translate, and that you'll understand Bihari Satsai simply because you heard Braj as a child, you are sadly mistaken. Translation is a tricky business—tedhi kheer—trickier and twistier than our little jalebis can handle. Stories contain meanings that aren't always apparent. In an academic translation you get exhausted trying to find the right technical language• In literature, them are moods and vibrations.
From Daisy Rockwell's afterword:
What is a translator to do with a text that is focused on its own linguicity (not a real word, I know)? I have striven throughout my translation to recreate the text as an English dhwani of Hindi, seeking out wordplays, echoes, etymologies, and coinages that feel Hindi-esque. I have also included many fragments of poetry, prayer, prose, and songs in the original language, alongside their English renderings, and even the occasional fragment of the original that was too good to leave behind.
Translator interview:
For a translator, context is everything. This is why I have no faith that machine translation will ever replace human translators, at least in the field of literary translation. Translators have to know absolutely everything about the environment of a story. They have to be able to envision a setting in 3-D, they must know the history and nuances of words, they need to be able to pick up on literary and cultural allusions.
from https://www.news9live.com/art-culture...
Author interviews:
‘Why must a book be easy to read? Often language is treated as just the carrier of ideas, of the story. For me, language has its own presence and independent personality.
from https://www.hindustantimes.com/lifest...
Ret Samadhi developed the mood of freedom as it went along, and that became its direction — the elation of crossing borders. That is what it began to do and kept on doing in its unfolding. At various levels — the characters, the craft, the species, the story, what have you, were all rejecting borders and hopping across. Asserting the right to be free and exuberant, enjoying the amalgam of variety in the world.
...
The novel took me along fun terrain and difficult terrain too and many voices told me the story/stories, including birds, animals and inanimate objects like doors. I revelled in their clamour and grieved at the painful follies of man (like the Partition).
from https://www.news9live.com/art-culture...
August 21, 2022
“A border is not created to be removed. It is meant to illuminate both sides. You removed me. Should I leave? No.
Fools! If you cut a border through a heart, you don’t call it a border, you call it a wound.
Asses! A border stops nothing. It is a bridge between two connected parts.”
Very unlike anything I’ve read before. So grateful it was translated. 🔆
*update: i haven’t been able to get this book off my mind and i’ve been looking forward to re-reading it since i closed her so i decided she’s a favorite ✨
Fools! If you cut a border through a heart, you don’t call it a border, you call it a wound.
Asses! A border stops nothing. It is a bridge between two connected parts.”
Very unlike anything I’ve read before. So grateful it was translated. 🔆
*update: i haven’t been able to get this book off my mind and i’ve been looking forward to re-reading it since i closed her so i decided she’s a favorite ✨
Want to read
May 26, 2022Winner of the Booker Prize International 2022
Obviously the winner had to be one of the 2 shortlisted books I haven’t got to read. No worries, I already own the novel and I am planning to start it next week.
Obviously the winner had to be one of the 2 shortlisted books I haven’t got to read. No worries, I already own the novel and I am planning to start it next week.
July 30, 2022
After the demise of her husband, an octogenarian takes to her bed and turns her back( literally and figuratively) on the family, preferring to spend time staring at a wall hoping to slip through the cracks and disappear. The appeals and cajoling of her son, daughter-in-law, daughter and grandchildren fall on deaf ears.
“She had grown tired of breathing for them, feeling their feelings, bearing their desires, carrying their animosities.”
But Ma eventually comes around and disappears with an old statue of Buddha, resurfaces and promptly goes to live with her daughter, Beti, a successful independent woman who defied societal norms and has lived life on her own terms. Roles are reversed and Beti becomes responsible for taking care of her mother who seems to have found a new lease on life and enjoys the carefree lifestyle her daughter’s home allows and the friendship of Rosie Bua, her hijra friend, who frequents Beti’s home without restriction or censure. A shocking turn of events leads to Ma’s stubborn decision to travel across the border. Beti is compelled to embark on this trip with her mother and what follows is a series of revelations about her mother’s life that transcends borders and countries and while past and present are merged the author paints a poignant picture of how the definition of home can change over time and how despite the number of doors, thresholds and borders one may cross in a lifetime, at each point in our journey we leave a part of our heart and soul behind.
“What is forgetting, have you any idea? Think about it. The things that happen, do they happen on purpose or in forgetfulness? The things that happened, were they accomplished by thinkers, or by those who ceased to think? Forgetting is dying. I’m not dead. I’d buried everything from my past in the sand. Today I’ve returned to that sand.”
The author uses a combination of narrative formats and plot devices including the omniscient third-person narrative, first-person (almost) stream of consciousness, anthropomorphism, satire and magical realism. The writing is descriptive, poetic and touches upon a range of themes - family dynamics, the evolving societal structure and gender roles, ageism and intergenerational trauma and forced migration – a lot is going on in this novel and the author attempts a light-hearted approach while delving into serious and often traumatic events in the history of the nation and the partition of India, forced migration and the utter devastation that followed.
Tomb of Sand stretches over 735 pages ( Ret Samadhi=366 pages in Hindi on my Kindle) and is divided into three segments. To be honest it was sheer willpower that helped me plod through Part I and most of Part 2 of the narrative (almost 480 pages). The shifting narrative and somewhat haphazard structure, the overly descriptive writing (I found the translation too literal in some parts) and detail in some parts were exhausting! There was no coherent purpose for what was transpiring in the story. Only in the third segment do we get an idea of what the story is supposed to be about. The third part was sheer brilliance and somewhat redeemed the novel for me as all the threads of Ma’s life come together and we finally make sense of everything that came before. Even though I was not blown away by the novel in its totality, it did evoke nostalgia and inspire introspection. Some of the passages were beautifully penned, the imagery was stunning (especially in the third segment of the novel) and the author’s heartfelt and poignant portrayal of the mother-daughter dynamic throughout the novel makes for some heart-touching moments. I loved the numerous literary references strewn throughout the narrative and the homage to works of Partition literature.
I appreciated the Translator’s Note at the end of the novel where Daisy Rockwell expresses her admiration for the Hindi language and the rhythm and imagery of the original text. I respect the hard work that went into translating Ret Samadhi and the efforts to stay true to the original, given the plethora of style and tone that Geetanjali Shree has used throughout the novel. I am immensely proud of the fact that an Indian author won the International Booker Prize (2022) for a novel originally written in Hindi and it pains me to not be able to give it a higher rating as a reader.
“She had grown tired of breathing for them, feeling their feelings, bearing their desires, carrying their animosities.”
But Ma eventually comes around and disappears with an old statue of Buddha, resurfaces and promptly goes to live with her daughter, Beti, a successful independent woman who defied societal norms and has lived life on her own terms. Roles are reversed and Beti becomes responsible for taking care of her mother who seems to have found a new lease on life and enjoys the carefree lifestyle her daughter’s home allows and the friendship of Rosie Bua, her hijra friend, who frequents Beti’s home without restriction or censure. A shocking turn of events leads to Ma’s stubborn decision to travel across the border. Beti is compelled to embark on this trip with her mother and what follows is a series of revelations about her mother’s life that transcends borders and countries and while past and present are merged the author paints a poignant picture of how the definition of home can change over time and how despite the number of doors, thresholds and borders one may cross in a lifetime, at each point in our journey we leave a part of our heart and soul behind.
“What is forgetting, have you any idea? Think about it. The things that happen, do they happen on purpose or in forgetfulness? The things that happened, were they accomplished by thinkers, or by those who ceased to think? Forgetting is dying. I’m not dead. I’d buried everything from my past in the sand. Today I’ve returned to that sand.”
The author uses a combination of narrative formats and plot devices including the omniscient third-person narrative, first-person (almost) stream of consciousness, anthropomorphism, satire and magical realism. The writing is descriptive, poetic and touches upon a range of themes - family dynamics, the evolving societal structure and gender roles, ageism and intergenerational trauma and forced migration – a lot is going on in this novel and the author attempts a light-hearted approach while delving into serious and often traumatic events in the history of the nation and the partition of India, forced migration and the utter devastation that followed.
Tomb of Sand stretches over 735 pages ( Ret Samadhi=366 pages in Hindi on my Kindle) and is divided into three segments. To be honest it was sheer willpower that helped me plod through Part I and most of Part 2 of the narrative (almost 480 pages). The shifting narrative and somewhat haphazard structure, the overly descriptive writing (I found the translation too literal in some parts) and detail in some parts were exhausting! There was no coherent purpose for what was transpiring in the story. Only in the third segment do we get an idea of what the story is supposed to be about. The third part was sheer brilliance and somewhat redeemed the novel for me as all the threads of Ma’s life come together and we finally make sense of everything that came before. Even though I was not blown away by the novel in its totality, it did evoke nostalgia and inspire introspection. Some of the passages were beautifully penned, the imagery was stunning (especially in the third segment of the novel) and the author’s heartfelt and poignant portrayal of the mother-daughter dynamic throughout the novel makes for some heart-touching moments. I loved the numerous literary references strewn throughout the narrative and the homage to works of Partition literature.
I appreciated the Translator’s Note at the end of the novel where Daisy Rockwell expresses her admiration for the Hindi language and the rhythm and imagery of the original text. I respect the hard work that went into translating Ret Samadhi and the efforts to stay true to the original, given the plethora of style and tone that Geetanjali Shree has used throughout the novel. I am immensely proud of the fact that an Indian author won the International Booker Prize (2022) for a novel originally written in Hindi and it pains me to not be able to give it a higher rating as a reader.
June 1, 2022
Now Winner of the International Booker Prize 2022
I can see why this novel won the International Booker, although it's not my kind of literature: We meet an 80-year-old woman (extra points for having an old woman as a protagonist, see Moon Tiger!) who recently lost her husband, falls into a depression for the first 200 pages, then gathers new strength, and proceeds to cross borders - between countries, ages, religions, genders. She becomes child-like again, reverses roles with her concerned daughter, and befriends a hijra, plus the partition between India and Pakistan plays a great role and gives the text further political and historical dimensions - as the afterword by translator Daisy Rockwell explains, the "partition novel" is an important genre in Indian literature, and one we in the West are mostly unaware of.
Daisy Rockwell clearly deserves all the recognition, as the book celebrates the Hindi language with witty remarks, wordplay, reliance on sound, sentences in Punjabi, Urdu, Sanskrit and (also in the original) English - this translation is clearly stellar. The whole text has a very particular vibe, also when it comes to the composition and length of the sentences, the musings, the humor, the irony.
I found the length slightly daring and I generally struggle with meandering texts, so this is a case of it's not you, it's me - my personal winner was A New Name: Septology VI-VII, but as Frank Wynne put it, comparing the books on the shortlist isn't comparing apples with oranges, it's comparing apples with washing machines: They are just so different, and we all can't shake our personal preferences (and I love experimental Norwegian musings mixed with Latin, apparently :-)).
So more power to this year's judges, to Geetanjali Shree and Daisy Rockwell for choosing this certainly worthy winner. You can listen to me chat with jury chair Frank Wynne here.
I can see why this novel won the International Booker, although it's not my kind of literature: We meet an 80-year-old woman (extra points for having an old woman as a protagonist, see Moon Tiger!) who recently lost her husband, falls into a depression for the first 200 pages, then gathers new strength, and proceeds to cross borders - between countries, ages, religions, genders. She becomes child-like again, reverses roles with her concerned daughter, and befriends a hijra, plus the partition between India and Pakistan plays a great role and gives the text further political and historical dimensions - as the afterword by translator Daisy Rockwell explains, the "partition novel" is an important genre in Indian literature, and one we in the West are mostly unaware of.
Daisy Rockwell clearly deserves all the recognition, as the book celebrates the Hindi language with witty remarks, wordplay, reliance on sound, sentences in Punjabi, Urdu, Sanskrit and (also in the original) English - this translation is clearly stellar. The whole text has a very particular vibe, also when it comes to the composition and length of the sentences, the musings, the humor, the irony.
I found the length slightly daring and I generally struggle with meandering texts, so this is a case of it's not you, it's me - my personal winner was A New Name: Septology VI-VII, but as Frank Wynne put it, comparing the books on the shortlist isn't comparing apples with oranges, it's comparing apples with washing machines: They are just so different, and we all can't shake our personal preferences (and I love experimental Norwegian musings mixed with Latin, apparently :-)).
So more power to this year's judges, to Geetanjali Shree and Daisy Rockwell for choosing this certainly worthy winner. You can listen to me chat with jury chair Frank Wynne here.
December 7, 2023
Initial reaction:
It is a verbal fireworks of a novel. Effortless reflections on language, words’ meaning, reimagining of the concepts such as boarders, old age and storytelling, all with humour, freshness and wonderful colours. And a moving love story at the end.
Huge respect to the translator of this.
Review
I hope by all the theorising that follows I would not put off anyone from reading the book. It is a warm, humorous and moving novel and a pleasure to read. But below in more details what I found remarkable to add to this:
Language
If in a few years someone would ask what I remember about this novel, I would likely to say - its language. I would say it was fresh and it was free to roam. This freedom is palpable on every page - the author plays with the words’ music, and their meaning. The structure of the narrative seems to be driven by free associations from people to ideas, from ideas to stories nested within the text, to things and back to people again. There are no preconceptions who can and cannot be a character, a narrator or even how long these personages are supposed to stay in the book. And all of this seems so effortless as if the pages are full of air. In fact in my copy there is a lot of empty space left between the individual chapters. And, I think it might be a deliberate choice.
Even the syntax is fresh:
The mark - or spot- which could be a bug, has appeared on the wall, and its legs - whisper-thin shadows- are digging a tunnel through the brick and mortar. Heat shines from its eyes and emanates faintly from the tunnel, and the meaning of emanates here is the way steam rises gently, and just the faintest trace of a low breath can hang suspended from it.
I do not recall seeing such playful use of punctuation in English writing: dash, comma and hyphen - in one sentence. It is also remarkable how the author creates and image with the explanation for the“emanates”.
The writing in each page of more than 700 pages this novel seems effortless. This made me think was it just spontaneous or so masterfully controlled? After finishing the novel and straightway re-reading the first chapter, I would think it was the latter. The author managed to condense in the first chapter the whole novel, but in away that one would probably not get until reading the whole thing. Such subtle craft to manage to control such a sprawling work in such a way that this practically seamless and weightless is even bigger achievement.
A maximalist novel by a woman?
Relatively recently, I’ve come across an umbrella term for a certain type of a lengthy novel - a “maximalist” novel. I think, the term is predominantly used in America. Sometimes, but not always it is a synonym with “systems” novel. I suspect it was created to describe the works by Gaddis, Pynchon, Foster-Wallace but also it might be applied to Perec or Bolano, for example. I could argue that Tristan Shady, Moby Dick or even Magic Mountain and Middlemarch might qualify under the definition below. Stefano Ercolino who wrote a book The Maximalist Novel: From Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow to Roberto Bolano's 2666 has identified the following among key features of these books: encyclopedism, exuberance, polyphony (and related to this - a multitude of characters), narratorial omniscience, imagination *, ethical commitment, hybrid realism and, as result - length.
It is easy to guess that I admire this sub-genre, not only for its complexity. I would summarise it in a simpler way - each of these books create a fictional self-sufficient universe. There is a chaos within which the reader starts seeing patterns forming between ideas, knowledge, people and things. It is like inhabiting a big collective consciousness.
Is "The Tomb of Sand" maximalist novel in this sense? I think so. It is not only a maximalist novel, it is the one with an octogenarian lady as a main character! I do not know many women who write this type of work. It might be just my ignorance of course. But in the 20th century I know only of Marguerite Young’s Miss MacIntosh, My Darling. So to read such a novel written by a woman from South East Asia is a real treat. There is also a difference - this work does not take itself as seriously as some other maximalist novels. Even philosophic commentary and the discourses such as feminism are presented with is a lot of self-deprecating humour:
“But where is Ma ji? She was just here. A feminist soul might say that she wasn’t there before, either, hadn’t been for years, taking care of the house and children she was a wandering show whose self was, in reality missing. But a philosopher might get entangled in questions like who is real and who is the shadow, and has anyone ever known that? Can separate authentic life mot exist in every shade? Wittgenstein once said, I am happy to live at the foot of a mountain without ever aspiring to climb to the peak. But Ma’s children were not Wittgenstein the they would about quietly and wait, nor were they aforementioned feminists that they would say was missing before. Their belief was that Ma was physically here up till now, and since she’s no longer to be found in her bed, she’s gone missing.”
That it is not to say that this novel lacks profundity. On the contrary - it manages to deal with difficult, sometimes tragic subject matter, but it does it in its unique way. The author also enriches the text with vibrant storytelling based on the millenniums-old local oral tradition.
And the characters - there are a lot of them as in other maximalist novels. But not all of them are human:
“All of these are characters in this story: the bug, the elephant, the compassion, the door, Ma, the cane, the bundle, Bade, Beti, the Reeboks that Bahu wore…”
The one of the most lovable characters is a craw. It has also reminded me Pond in this aspect and the general admirable philosophical idea that any object possess a bit of a sentience.
In terms of the formal structure, the Tomb of Sands consists of three parts. Each of this part has its own logic and its own distinctive pace, like changing tempo in a longer piece of music. But it is definitely the case when these parts belong to a single whole bigger than a sum of its parts. Interestingly, after finishing the book, I’ve looked back at the titles of each part and put them together. That gave me an additional “bulb” moment. Coincidentally, I was reading a piece fiction by Murnane where he mentioned that a title “ought to come from deep inside the piece; should have several meanings, and the reader should not learn these meanings almost until the whole of the piece has been read”. That was exactly the case with me with the titles of the parts, but also with the title of the book as whole. I am still thinking about the meaning of “The Tomb of Sand” (“Ret Samadhi” in the original) in relation to the novel.
It looks like in the 21th century more women have started writing maximalist novels. Olga Tokarzhuk’s The Books of Jacob and but also Lucy’s Lucy Ellman’s Ducks, Newburyport come to mind. They bring in the lightness of touch, humour and female perspective into this sub-genre that used to be considered too cerebral or even boring by some readers before.
Phenomena
In this novel, the author is interested to examine certain phenomena of our experience. Inevitably, we define them in a language. For example, she asks what is customs, understanding, literature, a family or a story. And she provides us with a few paragraphs of mini-essay as an answer. But she is not simply inquires about the meanings. She reinvent them. She shows that the “definitions” we accept directly affect the way we live. And we should not take them for granted. It is indeed in our power to redefine meanings through language or at least to stop and think what a word actually might mean and why. Another writer from quite a different culture who was interested in this type of phenomenology was Milan Kundera. It might sound very strange to compare them. And one might come up with a lot of caveats for such a comparison. But when I did, I had this uncanny feeling that they do converse and complement each other:
Border
Shree: “Do you know what a border is? What is a border? It’s something that surrounds an existence, it is a personal perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, beds of flowers in this yard. A picture frame. Everything has a border…It is meant to illuminate both sides. …A border does not enclose, it opens out. It creates shape. It adorns the edge. This side of the edging blossoms, as does that…. What is a border? It enhances a personality. It gives strength. It does not tear apart. A border increases recognition. Where two sides meet and both flourish…”
Kundera: "It takes so little, so infinitely little, for a person to cross the border beyond which everything loses meaning: love, convictions, faith, history. Human life—and herein lies its secret—takes place in the immediate proximity of that border, even in direct contact with it; it is not miles away, but a fraction of an inch" (The Book of Laughter and Forgetting).
Forgetting:
Shree: “That’s how forgetting works. You can forget whatever you wish to. Even that you had wished to forget. A border is drawn all-around that memory and no method remains to reach it any longer, provided that you don’t stagger across. On purpose or not. And even if you do stagger, that initial memory doesn’t remain, it’s a reinvented memory.“
Kundera: “Before it becomes a political issue, the will to forget is an anthropological one: man has always harbored the desire to rewrite his own biography, to change the past, to wipe out tracks, both his own and others'. The will to forget is very different from a simple temptation to deceive…Forgetting: absolute injustice and absolute solace at the same time.” (Unbearable lightness of being).
One could go deeper to understand why such different writers from different time and place pick up the same words to reflect on and come up with such a complementary views. It is a question worth thinking about.
Border and the need to redefine it as something unifying as opposed to something separating is the key gravitational point of “The Tomb of Sand”. The book deals with many dimensions of this phenomenon. In 1947 Indian continent has been partitioned between what is now India and Pakistan. This new physical border has resulted in a tragedy, displacement and death of the millions. This is still a wound for many people on both sides. The tragedy gave rise to the whole body of so-called Partition literature. This novel can be considered as a part of it. It also refers to other older texts, the powerful works that are classics now. There is wonderful, phantasmagorical chapter where the authors and some characters from these texts become minor characters in this novel. It is an inspiration and a potential reading list for people like me.
However, apart from the meaning of the border in a historical context, the novel points on the other dimension. Bound by her culture, tradition, her native language one inevitably “create a border in her mind” around certain concepts, meanings or even values. It is important to be aware that it is just a certain framing. This framing is affected by the context we are in. And what this novel is very good at - it takes some of those concepts one by one and tries to look at it a fresh. And often it works - the book “loosens the borders with which we frame the world”**.
Translation.
I need to mention once more my admiration for the translator of this book, Daisy Rockwell. Roberto Calasso, once said: The mark of a good translation is not its fluency but rather all those unusual and original formulations that the translator has been bold enough to preserve and defend.” I believe Daisy has done all of that and more. She managed to convey the vibrancy of the language, the verbal play, the syntax and even the multilingual aspect of the original work.
She has also made a brilliant, very apt artwork for the cover of the Indian edition which I’ve selected for this review.
And now:
“The crux of the matter is that those who haven’t cared to read this far are advised not to read ahead either. But for those who relish colours and paths, why should they stop? Like musical notes that go several directions in a single rage. Such pleasure, such pain in them. Another raga meanders to join the first. The new line makes one sway, so that the first becomes a sweet memory. Echoes and reverberations of melodies cross every border. Melodies change, music remains. Death comes, life goes on. A story is created, changes, flows. Free. From this side to that.”
————————
*He used the term “paranoid imagination” - I certainly think that imagination does not to have the paranoid one, so I extended his definition a bit
**The quote belongs to someone I’ve read on-line talking about this book. But I cannot now find.
Additional info:
Prominent South Asian writers referred in the novel. I believe it would be a part of my future reading list. I've read Manto before and his short stories are breathtaking in its realism and language. All of them have been translated into English from a number of South Asian languages:
Krishna Sobti
Bhisham Sahni,
Intizar Hussain,
Khushwant Singh
Nirmal Verma
Saadat Hasan Manto
A painter -Bhupen Khakkar. The passage from the book I admired:
"…there was a painter, Bhupen Khakkar. He told stories with brush…He knew that a story cannot be locked into a box, or a canvas, or a gaze. So he never tried. On the contrary, he always left a small window, an empty space, so the story could move on at will and take another path if it so desired. Because stories never end. They jump through windows and cracks…or create them by shaking, causing the earth to quake"
I’ve looked up his paintings and they did not disappoint. He has had an exhibition in Tate Modern, London in 2016. Here is fascinating essay about him by Amit Chaudhuri:
https://www.theguardian.com/artanddes...
More Quotes from "The Tomb of Sand":
Every part of the body has a border. So does heart. A border surrounds heart. A border but it also binds it to the other parts. It doesn’t wrench the heart from the rest. Fools! If you cut border through heart, you don’t call it a border, you call it a wound…
Sometimes when we read literature as literature, we realise that stories and tales and lore don’t always seek to blend themselves with the world. Sometimes they march to their own blend. They don’t have to be contemporary or complementary or congruent or connubial which the real world. Literature has a scent, a soupçon, a je ne sais quoi, all its own.
But this is the world, it never lets up. The world is in dire need of literature because literature is a source of hope and life. So the world finds a way to dissolve into literature via harum-scarum hidden-open paths. It quietly ends up soaked in the stuff. It tiptoes into literature
Customs fit memory. So that no one remembers what had happened, they may not even know, but the heart feels fear thereafter, century after century… The customs carries on even when the rational has ended… Machismo is hidden in the layers of nearly every custom, and its repulsiveness makes it not less macho… Joyousness grew fearful, the dance collapsed, happiness faded and from this mixture the next generation was born, which does not know the reason for the mixture but has already acquired its nature.
Each person is a reflection of their own time, but also separate from it. A mirror has many angles and bends and corners, so many unthinkable, one has no idea whose reflection one sees and how it came to appear there; if you don’t know how to look at it crooked, you’ll never guess. In the silver of a mirror shines a sliver of time, and it a snap of the fingers there’s another snippet, another wrinkle, another baggy bit. The twisty-turns cradle of the glass it also time. Very speed is also time, even if it’s swinging swaying slipping spinning soaring swimming, and women: what to say of them? They die daily but live on in books…
It is a verbal fireworks of a novel. Effortless reflections on language, words’ meaning, reimagining of the concepts such as boarders, old age and storytelling, all with humour, freshness and wonderful colours. And a moving love story at the end.
Huge respect to the translator of this.
Review
I hope by all the theorising that follows I would not put off anyone from reading the book. It is a warm, humorous and moving novel and a pleasure to read. But below in more details what I found remarkable to add to this:
Language
If in a few years someone would ask what I remember about this novel, I would likely to say - its language. I would say it was fresh and it was free to roam. This freedom is palpable on every page - the author plays with the words’ music, and their meaning. The structure of the narrative seems to be driven by free associations from people to ideas, from ideas to stories nested within the text, to things and back to people again. There are no preconceptions who can and cannot be a character, a narrator or even how long these personages are supposed to stay in the book. And all of this seems so effortless as if the pages are full of air. In fact in my copy there is a lot of empty space left between the individual chapters. And, I think it might be a deliberate choice.
Even the syntax is fresh:
The mark - or spot- which could be a bug, has appeared on the wall, and its legs - whisper-thin shadows- are digging a tunnel through the brick and mortar. Heat shines from its eyes and emanates faintly from the tunnel, and the meaning of emanates here is the way steam rises gently, and just the faintest trace of a low breath can hang suspended from it.
I do not recall seeing such playful use of punctuation in English writing: dash, comma and hyphen - in one sentence. It is also remarkable how the author creates and image with the explanation for the“emanates”.
The writing in each page of more than 700 pages this novel seems effortless. This made me think was it just spontaneous or so masterfully controlled? After finishing the novel and straightway re-reading the first chapter, I would think it was the latter. The author managed to condense in the first chapter the whole novel, but in away that one would probably not get until reading the whole thing. Such subtle craft to manage to control such a sprawling work in such a way that this practically seamless and weightless is even bigger achievement.
A maximalist novel by a woman?
Relatively recently, I’ve come across an umbrella term for a certain type of a lengthy novel - a “maximalist” novel. I think, the term is predominantly used in America. Sometimes, but not always it is a synonym with “systems” novel. I suspect it was created to describe the works by Gaddis, Pynchon, Foster-Wallace but also it might be applied to Perec or Bolano, for example. I could argue that Tristan Shady, Moby Dick or even Magic Mountain and Middlemarch might qualify under the definition below. Stefano Ercolino who wrote a book The Maximalist Novel: From Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow to Roberto Bolano's 2666 has identified the following among key features of these books: encyclopedism, exuberance, polyphony (and related to this - a multitude of characters), narratorial omniscience, imagination *, ethical commitment, hybrid realism and, as result - length.
It is easy to guess that I admire this sub-genre, not only for its complexity. I would summarise it in a simpler way - each of these books create a fictional self-sufficient universe. There is a chaos within which the reader starts seeing patterns forming between ideas, knowledge, people and things. It is like inhabiting a big collective consciousness.
Is "The Tomb of Sand" maximalist novel in this sense? I think so. It is not only a maximalist novel, it is the one with an octogenarian lady as a main character! I do not know many women who write this type of work. It might be just my ignorance of course. But in the 20th century I know only of Marguerite Young’s Miss MacIntosh, My Darling. So to read such a novel written by a woman from South East Asia is a real treat. There is also a difference - this work does not take itself as seriously as some other maximalist novels. Even philosophic commentary and the discourses such as feminism are presented with is a lot of self-deprecating humour:
“But where is Ma ji? She was just here. A feminist soul might say that she wasn’t there before, either, hadn’t been for years, taking care of the house and children she was a wandering show whose self was, in reality missing. But a philosopher might get entangled in questions like who is real and who is the shadow, and has anyone ever known that? Can separate authentic life mot exist in every shade? Wittgenstein once said, I am happy to live at the foot of a mountain without ever aspiring to climb to the peak. But Ma’s children were not Wittgenstein the they would about quietly and wait, nor were they aforementioned feminists that they would say was missing before. Their belief was that Ma was physically here up till now, and since she’s no longer to be found in her bed, she’s gone missing.”
That it is not to say that this novel lacks profundity. On the contrary - it manages to deal with difficult, sometimes tragic subject matter, but it does it in its unique way. The author also enriches the text with vibrant storytelling based on the millenniums-old local oral tradition.
And the characters - there are a lot of them as in other maximalist novels. But not all of them are human:
“All of these are characters in this story: the bug, the elephant, the compassion, the door, Ma, the cane, the bundle, Bade, Beti, the Reeboks that Bahu wore…”
The one of the most lovable characters is a craw. It has also reminded me Pond in this aspect and the general admirable philosophical idea that any object possess a bit of a sentience.
In terms of the formal structure, the Tomb of Sands consists of three parts. Each of this part has its own logic and its own distinctive pace, like changing tempo in a longer piece of music. But it is definitely the case when these parts belong to a single whole bigger than a sum of its parts. Interestingly, after finishing the book, I’ve looked back at the titles of each part and put them together. That gave me an additional “bulb” moment. Coincidentally, I was reading a piece fiction by Murnane where he mentioned that a title “ought to come from deep inside the piece; should have several meanings, and the reader should not learn these meanings almost until the whole of the piece has been read”. That was exactly the case with me with the titles of the parts, but also with the title of the book as whole. I am still thinking about the meaning of “The Tomb of Sand” (“Ret Samadhi” in the original) in relation to the novel.
It looks like in the 21th century more women have started writing maximalist novels. Olga Tokarzhuk’s The Books of Jacob and but also Lucy’s Lucy Ellman’s Ducks, Newburyport come to mind. They bring in the lightness of touch, humour and female perspective into this sub-genre that used to be considered too cerebral or even boring by some readers before.
Phenomena
In this novel, the author is interested to examine certain phenomena of our experience. Inevitably, we define them in a language. For example, she asks what is customs, understanding, literature, a family or a story. And she provides us with a few paragraphs of mini-essay as an answer. But she is not simply inquires about the meanings. She reinvent them. She shows that the “definitions” we accept directly affect the way we live. And we should not take them for granted. It is indeed in our power to redefine meanings through language or at least to stop and think what a word actually might mean and why. Another writer from quite a different culture who was interested in this type of phenomenology was Milan Kundera. It might sound very strange to compare them. And one might come up with a lot of caveats for such a comparison. But when I did, I had this uncanny feeling that they do converse and complement each other:
Border
Shree: “Do you know what a border is? What is a border? It’s something that surrounds an existence, it is a personal perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, beds of flowers in this yard. A picture frame. Everything has a border…It is meant to illuminate both sides. …A border does not enclose, it opens out. It creates shape. It adorns the edge. This side of the edging blossoms, as does that…. What is a border? It enhances a personality. It gives strength. It does not tear apart. A border increases recognition. Where two sides meet and both flourish…”
Kundera: "It takes so little, so infinitely little, for a person to cross the border beyond which everything loses meaning: love, convictions, faith, history. Human life—and herein lies its secret—takes place in the immediate proximity of that border, even in direct contact with it; it is not miles away, but a fraction of an inch" (The Book of Laughter and Forgetting).
Forgetting:
Shree: “That’s how forgetting works. You can forget whatever you wish to. Even that you had wished to forget. A border is drawn all-around that memory and no method remains to reach it any longer, provided that you don’t stagger across. On purpose or not. And even if you do stagger, that initial memory doesn’t remain, it’s a reinvented memory.“
Kundera: “Before it becomes a political issue, the will to forget is an anthropological one: man has always harbored the desire to rewrite his own biography, to change the past, to wipe out tracks, both his own and others'. The will to forget is very different from a simple temptation to deceive…Forgetting: absolute injustice and absolute solace at the same time.” (Unbearable lightness of being).
One could go deeper to understand why such different writers from different time and place pick up the same words to reflect on and come up with such a complementary views. It is a question worth thinking about.
Border and the need to redefine it as something unifying as opposed to something separating is the key gravitational point of “The Tomb of Sand”. The book deals with many dimensions of this phenomenon. In 1947 Indian continent has been partitioned between what is now India and Pakistan. This new physical border has resulted in a tragedy, displacement and death of the millions. This is still a wound for many people on both sides. The tragedy gave rise to the whole body of so-called Partition literature. This novel can be considered as a part of it. It also refers to other older texts, the powerful works that are classics now. There is wonderful, phantasmagorical chapter where the authors and some characters from these texts become minor characters in this novel. It is an inspiration and a potential reading list for people like me.
However, apart from the meaning of the border in a historical context, the novel points on the other dimension. Bound by her culture, tradition, her native language one inevitably “create a border in her mind” around certain concepts, meanings or even values. It is important to be aware that it is just a certain framing. This framing is affected by the context we are in. And what this novel is very good at - it takes some of those concepts one by one and tries to look at it a fresh. And often it works - the book “loosens the borders with which we frame the world”**.
Translation.
I need to mention once more my admiration for the translator of this book, Daisy Rockwell. Roberto Calasso, once said: The mark of a good translation is not its fluency but rather all those unusual and original formulations that the translator has been bold enough to preserve and defend.” I believe Daisy has done all of that and more. She managed to convey the vibrancy of the language, the verbal play, the syntax and even the multilingual aspect of the original work.
She has also made a brilliant, very apt artwork for the cover of the Indian edition which I’ve selected for this review.
And now:
“The crux of the matter is that those who haven’t cared to read this far are advised not to read ahead either. But for those who relish colours and paths, why should they stop? Like musical notes that go several directions in a single rage. Such pleasure, such pain in them. Another raga meanders to join the first. The new line makes one sway, so that the first becomes a sweet memory. Echoes and reverberations of melodies cross every border. Melodies change, music remains. Death comes, life goes on. A story is created, changes, flows. Free. From this side to that.”
————————
*He used the term “paranoid imagination” - I certainly think that imagination does not to have the paranoid one, so I extended his definition a bit
**The quote belongs to someone I’ve read on-line talking about this book. But I cannot now find.
Additional info:
Prominent South Asian writers referred in the novel. I believe it would be a part of my future reading list. I've read Manto before and his short stories are breathtaking in its realism and language. All of them have been translated into English from a number of South Asian languages:
Krishna Sobti
Bhisham Sahni,
Intizar Hussain,
Khushwant Singh
Nirmal Verma
Saadat Hasan Manto
A painter -Bhupen Khakkar. The passage from the book I admired:
"…there was a painter, Bhupen Khakkar. He told stories with brush…He knew that a story cannot be locked into a box, or a canvas, or a gaze. So he never tried. On the contrary, he always left a small window, an empty space, so the story could move on at will and take another path if it so desired. Because stories never end. They jump through windows and cracks…or create them by shaking, causing the earth to quake"
I’ve looked up his paintings and they did not disappoint. He has had an exhibition in Tate Modern, London in 2016. Here is fascinating essay about him by Amit Chaudhuri:
https://www.theguardian.com/artanddes...
More Quotes from "The Tomb of Sand":
Every part of the body has a border. So does heart. A border surrounds heart. A border but it also binds it to the other parts. It doesn’t wrench the heart from the rest. Fools! If you cut border through heart, you don’t call it a border, you call it a wound…
Sometimes when we read literature as literature, we realise that stories and tales and lore don’t always seek to blend themselves with the world. Sometimes they march to their own blend. They don’t have to be contemporary or complementary or congruent or connubial which the real world. Literature has a scent, a soupçon, a je ne sais quoi, all its own.
But this is the world, it never lets up. The world is in dire need of literature because literature is a source of hope and life. So the world finds a way to dissolve into literature via harum-scarum hidden-open paths. It quietly ends up soaked in the stuff. It tiptoes into literature
Customs fit memory. So that no one remembers what had happened, they may not even know, but the heart feels fear thereafter, century after century… The customs carries on even when the rational has ended… Machismo is hidden in the layers of nearly every custom, and its repulsiveness makes it not less macho… Joyousness grew fearful, the dance collapsed, happiness faded and from this mixture the next generation was born, which does not know the reason for the mixture but has already acquired its nature.
Each person is a reflection of their own time, but also separate from it. A mirror has many angles and bends and corners, so many unthinkable, one has no idea whose reflection one sees and how it came to appear there; if you don’t know how to look at it crooked, you’ll never guess. In the silver of a mirror shines a sliver of time, and it a snap of the fingers there’s another snippet, another wrinkle, another baggy bit. The twisty-turns cradle of the glass it also time. Very speed is also time, even if it’s swinging swaying slipping spinning soaring swimming, and women: what to say of them? They die daily but live on in books…
April 17, 2023
The crux of the matter is that those who haven’t cared to read this far are advised not to read ahead either.
(this quote is from the 92% point of a 700 page book)
Part seven stars, part three stars, we’ll call it a day with five.
I laughed, I snorted and chuckled. I was bored, I was melancholy. I was very confused. I was delighted. I laughed. I felt my mind expand, contract. This book is definitely not for everyone, and it’s much too long. But in its chaotic, digressive, intimate, expansionist glory, it’s one of the most invigorating reading experiences I’ve had this year.
Most of all its digressive. You have to wade through a good 500 pages to find the plot (it’s there, and it’s even dramatic!) But in the meantime you get:
Yet these days the search for his missing laughter had infiltrated even that. This was a big problem, because where was he going to find something worth laughing about at work? He tried the joy of laughter in the company car, but the driver’s jaw dropped and his eyes popped out in astonishment and Serious Son’s laughter was nipped in the bud. The driver’s Michael Jackson uniform, and his Wow, oh shit, the consumerist culture of the street, the sun sobbing quietly amid the pollution, the ill-mannered city that lay beneath, discoloured by dust, rust, and bird shit, the obscene malls, everything for sale, even water, the little girl tapping on his window was selling it, she’s doing this instead of studying and she’s dressed in rags, performing a filmi number between the cars; educated girls crossing the street, their clothing shrunk smaller than their minds, and any random guy you address, in whatever Indian language, answers in English, and in bad English at that, even the Hindi spelling on the signboards is wrong, and as for spellings of English words, the less said the better. By the time he’s got to the office, Serious Son’s mood has soured but his face still longs to laugh.
(all this about a character we’re told doesn’t feature in the story).
This book is the polar opposite of Western storytelling conventions.
To give a final example, Sid’s wife (who won’t enter this story because she’s not a character in it), at some point in the future... (I’m still giggling about this)
Marvellous beings, stories. Preserved in death and in stone. In endless trances that evolved into tombs, surviving from one lifetime to another. The tombs turn to stone, then liquefy, then evaporate into steam and shimmer up, rendering you idolatrous with their silence. …
… The gardener has no permission here to artificially shape the garden, forming a boundary hedge; measuring here, pruning there, perfectly precise, standing like a scrap of an army under a flag of false pride: We’ve got this garden surrounded! This is a story garden, here, a different light and sunlight rain lover murderer beast bird pigeon fly look sky.
And it’s erudite. There are references to all kinds of things I recognized (i.e. Shakespeare) and many many more things I didn’t. I’ve never been to India. I don’t know anything. You maybe don’t need to know anything. You’ll connect with the style or you won’t.
Well, it would be a good idea to know about Partition. From translator Daisy Rockwell’s afterword:
a note on Partition literature: the traumatic events surrounding the 1947 Partition of India and Pakistan have led to an entire literary genre, on a scale similar to that of Holocaust literature…. It is an enduring shame and a major lacuna in Western publishing that virtually all of these classic works do in fact exist in excellent English translations, but almost none have ever been published outside of South Asia.
The heroine is an octogenarian woman who, after spending at least a hundred pages depressed in bed (in prose that is not depressing), rouses herself and begins to live again. I’ve tagged my review to the Indian edition of this book, whose cover strikes me as much more representative of the feel of it. It’s bad enough that it’s 700 pages. It’s bad enough that it’s called Tomb of Sand (a justified title but hardly representative of the tone). This is a spry, intellectually playful work about an old lady on a mysterious mission.
A few more highlights, because I think it’s a book that has to speak for itself.
There’s a lovely moment of reversal: a middle aged daughter finds herself sharing a bed with her elderly mother, and the mother disrupts her sleep like a baby:
And so it happened, that at every movement of Ma, the already-awake Beti grew ever more so. She feared she might fall asleep and sprawl towards Ma; accidentally knock into her with a hand or foot, waking her up, so she kept sliding closer to the edge of the bed. And sleeping Ma kept seeking out Beti’s presence, sliding right after her and sticking to her, as Beti lay holding her breath.
In the coming nights, Beti would lie scrunched up on the edge of the bed, teetering along the side slats, Ma’s head on her arms, the rest of Ma’s body taking up the entire bed. If Beti slid any further, her hands and feet would hang off the edge.
In case you thought Tolstoy had the last word on families, there’s this:
Anything we say about the Mahabharata could also be said about families: they contain all that exists in the world, and whatever they don’t contain doesn’t exist. Not even in the imagination of a poet. That is, the gone-astray terrorist, the hot-headed leftist, the female and the feminist, the everythingist and the opti-pessimist, all in the family. Or in the Mahabharata; whichever you prefer.
It’s Partition literature of a curious kind. It starts in a present that never mentions Pakistan. It carries on that way, and then late in the day, it goes roaring back. And we get this.
Fools! If you cut a border through a heart, you don’t call it a border, you call it a wound….Ma drew a line with her cane and began to move from this side to that side.
It reminded me of Olga Tokarczuk’s Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, in which the protagonist likes crossing borders “because I remember a time when it was not possible to do so.” And this book, like Tokarczuk’s are perhaps from final dispatches from generations that, though they did not live through the war/partition, knew people who did.
But let’s leave things on a lighter, non-tomby note. This did what the best world literature does, pulled me out of my various comfort zones: linguistic, geographical, formal (meaning my ideas about how literature is put together) exploded them all, and yet I felt very at home throughout.
Mangoes? Bade’s wife took up the thread at mangoes. This was everyone’s hobby horse. All things in the world on one side, mangoes by themselves on the other. The mango contains multitudes.
(this quote is from the 92% point of a 700 page book)
Part seven stars, part three stars, we’ll call it a day with five.
I laughed, I snorted and chuckled. I was bored, I was melancholy. I was very confused. I was delighted. I laughed. I felt my mind expand, contract. This book is definitely not for everyone, and it’s much too long. But in its chaotic, digressive, intimate, expansionist glory, it’s one of the most invigorating reading experiences I’ve had this year.
Most of all its digressive. You have to wade through a good 500 pages to find the plot (it’s there, and it’s even dramatic!) But in the meantime you get:
Yet these days the search for his missing laughter had infiltrated even that. This was a big problem, because where was he going to find something worth laughing about at work? He tried the joy of laughter in the company car, but the driver’s jaw dropped and his eyes popped out in astonishment and Serious Son’s laughter was nipped in the bud. The driver’s Michael Jackson uniform, and his Wow, oh shit, the consumerist culture of the street, the sun sobbing quietly amid the pollution, the ill-mannered city that lay beneath, discoloured by dust, rust, and bird shit, the obscene malls, everything for sale, even water, the little girl tapping on his window was selling it, she’s doing this instead of studying and she’s dressed in rags, performing a filmi number between the cars; educated girls crossing the street, their clothing shrunk smaller than their minds, and any random guy you address, in whatever Indian language, answers in English, and in bad English at that, even the Hindi spelling on the signboards is wrong, and as for spellings of English words, the less said the better. By the time he’s got to the office, Serious Son’s mood has soured but his face still longs to laugh.
(all this about a character we’re told doesn’t feature in the story).
This book is the polar opposite of Western storytelling conventions.
To give a final example, Sid’s wife (who won’t enter this story because she’s not a character in it), at some point in the future... (I’m still giggling about this)
Marvellous beings, stories. Preserved in death and in stone. In endless trances that evolved into tombs, surviving from one lifetime to another. The tombs turn to stone, then liquefy, then evaporate into steam and shimmer up, rendering you idolatrous with their silence. …
… The gardener has no permission here to artificially shape the garden, forming a boundary hedge; measuring here, pruning there, perfectly precise, standing like a scrap of an army under a flag of false pride: We’ve got this garden surrounded! This is a story garden, here, a different light and sunlight rain lover murderer beast bird pigeon fly look sky.
And it’s erudite. There are references to all kinds of things I recognized (i.e. Shakespeare) and many many more things I didn’t. I’ve never been to India. I don’t know anything. You maybe don’t need to know anything. You’ll connect with the style or you won’t.
Well, it would be a good idea to know about Partition. From translator Daisy Rockwell’s afterword:
a note on Partition literature: the traumatic events surrounding the 1947 Partition of India and Pakistan have led to an entire literary genre, on a scale similar to that of Holocaust literature…. It is an enduring shame and a major lacuna in Western publishing that virtually all of these classic works do in fact exist in excellent English translations, but almost none have ever been published outside of South Asia.
The heroine is an octogenarian woman who, after spending at least a hundred pages depressed in bed (in prose that is not depressing), rouses herself and begins to live again. I’ve tagged my review to the Indian edition of this book, whose cover strikes me as much more representative of the feel of it. It’s bad enough that it’s 700 pages. It’s bad enough that it’s called Tomb of Sand (a justified title but hardly representative of the tone). This is a spry, intellectually playful work about an old lady on a mysterious mission.
A few more highlights, because I think it’s a book that has to speak for itself.
There’s a lovely moment of reversal: a middle aged daughter finds herself sharing a bed with her elderly mother, and the mother disrupts her sleep like a baby:
And so it happened, that at every movement of Ma, the already-awake Beti grew ever more so. She feared she might fall asleep and sprawl towards Ma; accidentally knock into her with a hand or foot, waking her up, so she kept sliding closer to the edge of the bed. And sleeping Ma kept seeking out Beti’s presence, sliding right after her and sticking to her, as Beti lay holding her breath.
In the coming nights, Beti would lie scrunched up on the edge of the bed, teetering along the side slats, Ma’s head on her arms, the rest of Ma’s body taking up the entire bed. If Beti slid any further, her hands and feet would hang off the edge.
In case you thought Tolstoy had the last word on families, there’s this:
Anything we say about the Mahabharata could also be said about families: they contain all that exists in the world, and whatever they don’t contain doesn’t exist. Not even in the imagination of a poet. That is, the gone-astray terrorist, the hot-headed leftist, the female and the feminist, the everythingist and the opti-pessimist, all in the family. Or in the Mahabharata; whichever you prefer.
It’s Partition literature of a curious kind. It starts in a present that never mentions Pakistan. It carries on that way, and then late in the day, it goes roaring back. And we get this.
Fools! If you cut a border through a heart, you don’t call it a border, you call it a wound….Ma drew a line with her cane and began to move from this side to that side.
It reminded me of Olga Tokarczuk’s Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, in which the protagonist likes crossing borders “because I remember a time when it was not possible to do so.” And this book, like Tokarczuk’s are perhaps from final dispatches from generations that, though they did not live through the war/partition, knew people who did.
But let’s leave things on a lighter, non-tomby note. This did what the best world literature does, pulled me out of my various comfort zones: linguistic, geographical, formal (meaning my ideas about how literature is put together) exploded them all, and yet I felt very at home throughout.
Mangoes? Bade’s wife took up the thread at mangoes. This was everyone’s hobby horse. All things in the world on one side, mangoes by themselves on the other. The mango contains multitudes.
June 2, 2022
I have a natural affinity towards novels centred around older women. So it was wonderful immersing myself in Geetanjali Shree's International Booker Prize winning 730-page tale “Tomb of Sand” which revolves around an 80 year old woman who is determined to follow her desires and show that her life isn't over yet. It's remarked that “At eighty, Ma had turned selfish.” She's variously referred to as Ma, Amma, Mata-ji and Baji as this is a story which flits between many different perspectives. Even though she's the central protagonist, Ma has physically turned away from both the reader and everyone in her family for the first 175 pages of the novel. She's grieving for her lost husband and chooses not to converse with others anymore but people flock to her when they come to believe that her cane decorated with butterflies has magical properties. Much to her family's consternation, she launches out on her own before settling in at her daughter's home and embarking on a quest to visit her homeland that is now known as Pakistan. In the process, she revisits her painful childhood which was disrupted by Partition.
This is a book packed with a lot of detail which fully evokes the lives of this family as well as the sensory experience of Indian life.
Read my full review of Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree at LonesomeReader
This is a book packed with a lot of detail which fully evokes the lives of this family as well as the sensory experience of Indian life.
Read my full review of Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree at LonesomeReader
December 13, 2022
Winner of the International Booker prize 2022
This is the second-longest book on the Booker International list, and quite a heavy object to hold, but it is a remarkably easy read for such a big book, partly because it has a lot of chapters, and they all start at the top of an odd numbered page. Some of the shorter chapters are only a sentence or two, others run to twenty pages or so.
I might have found it harder had I attempted to understand all of the borrowed words from Hindi and other Indian and Pakistani languages, but that is very much in the spirit of the multilingual and playfully written original, for which great credit goes to Daisy Rockwell's translation. It is a very enjoyable read, whose deeper elements may be difficult to spot until the second half gets into full swing, with its exploration of the lasting memories and traumas of partition.
The first part of the story seems to meander a little, but serves as an introduction to the extended family at the heart of the story, and particularly the octogenarian widow who is the main protagonist. At the start of the book she is bedridden and still grieving for her husband, but she her spirits are revived by her relationship with the younger "hijra" Rosie, and her independently minded daughter Beti whose flat she moves into.
.
As with several books on the women's prize list some of the narration (and light relief) focuses on the observations of sentient animals, this time birds, mostly crows.
A fine book, and another potential winner on a very strong longlist.
This is the second-longest book on the Booker International list, and quite a heavy object to hold, but it is a remarkably easy read for such a big book, partly because it has a lot of chapters, and they all start at the top of an odd numbered page. Some of the shorter chapters are only a sentence or two, others run to twenty pages or so.
I might have found it harder had I attempted to understand all of the borrowed words from Hindi and other Indian and Pakistani languages, but that is very much in the spirit of the multilingual and playfully written original, for which great credit goes to Daisy Rockwell's translation. It is a very enjoyable read, whose deeper elements may be difficult to spot until the second half gets into full swing, with its exploration of the lasting memories and traumas of partition.
The first part of the story seems to meander a little, but serves as an introduction to the extended family at the heart of the story, and particularly the octogenarian widow who is the main protagonist. At the start of the book she is bedridden and still grieving for her husband, but she her spirits are revived by her relationship with the younger "hijra" Rosie, and her independently minded daughter Beti whose flat she moves into.
.
As with several books on the women's prize list some of the narration (and light relief) focuses on the observations of sentient animals, this time birds, mostly crows.
A fine book, and another potential winner on a very strong longlist.
October 29, 2021
I find it almost impossible to rate this book. The writing is beautiful, some of the sentences were so stunning, they almost leave you breathless and some of the observations were simply astute. However, and that is the big thing here, I am not quite sure what I read. I loved the book, but as soon as I put it aside, I was like: no idea what is happening, what the story is etc. So is it a 4 star read because I loved the language or a 3 star read because I have no idea how I would tell anyone about this book.
May 31, 2022
Booker Winner 2022. A moment of silence for the axed trees and to be axed trees.
The Indian version of the print has lots of empty pages and half filled pages.
Tomb of Sand - Geetanjali Shree - Translated by Daisy Rockwell.
Rating - 2/5 [Did not finish]
Disclaimer - Its an expensive book.. Buy only after reading 30 pages of this book. Do not go buy, thinking its Booker shortlist (so it shall be good) and other marketing gimmicks.
As per the description the book happens to be about an 80 year old woman who slips into depression and re-surfaces with exuberance. Such exuberance that, she befriends a transgender person, wishes to travel to Pakistan to recollect days of partition or re-live her younger days I am not sure.
I read only 375 pages and have to give up.
Firstly, let me confess, the book is definitely not what it is described. Second, depression as per my encounters with people happens to be a bit more serious affair, but over here in this book, the 80 year old woman who's sleeping on the bed, turns towards the wall, offering her back to people and the world and refuses to talk nor eat nor meet people. Wondered is this depression or sadness?
Upto the 375 pages I read, it was all about the old woman, her hour by hour accounts of her dressing up, waking up, her kids, her grand kids one in India one in Australia, her public servant son Bade, who retires, his army of helpers then Beti, who happens to be a free soul and her lover.
I feel it was only rambling, ranting, small talk and nothing else.
There was absolutely no plot, let alone going to Pakistan, it might turn up around the 600 page mark.
But who has that patience, when loads of other beautiful books are waiting, why should I be hooked to this one?
This book put me into reading slump not once but two times, and this time I decided to abandon the same.
This book has been overhyped owing to the booker shortlist and lots of marketing on instagram via influencers. I have nothing against the author who has put in effort to translate the book, but it just isn't for me.
Now, I have decided to abandon the book, I feel so so relieved, I no more have to bear the brunt of reading this book.
Cheers,
PS - Edits - made one for updating booker winner and other highlighting.
The Indian version of the print has lots of empty pages and half filled pages.
Tomb of Sand - Geetanjali Shree - Translated by Daisy Rockwell.
Rating - 2/5 [Did not finish]
Disclaimer - Its an expensive book.. Buy only after reading 30 pages of this book. Do not go buy, thinking its Booker shortlist (so it shall be good) and other marketing gimmicks.
As per the description the book happens to be about an 80 year old woman who slips into depression and re-surfaces with exuberance. Such exuberance that, she befriends a transgender person, wishes to travel to Pakistan to recollect days of partition or re-live her younger days I am not sure.
I read only 375 pages and have to give up.
Firstly, let me confess, the book is definitely not what it is described. Second, depression as per my encounters with people happens to be a bit more serious affair, but over here in this book, the 80 year old woman who's sleeping on the bed, turns towards the wall, offering her back to people and the world and refuses to talk nor eat nor meet people. Wondered is this depression or sadness?
Upto the 375 pages I read, it was all about the old woman, her hour by hour accounts of her dressing up, waking up, her kids, her grand kids one in India one in Australia, her public servant son Bade, who retires, his army of helpers then Beti, who happens to be a free soul and her lover.
I feel it was only rambling, ranting, small talk and nothing else.
There was absolutely no plot, let alone going to Pakistan, it might turn up around the 600 page mark.
But who has that patience, when loads of other beautiful books are waiting, why should I be hooked to this one?
This book put me into reading slump not once but two times, and this time I decided to abandon the same.
This book has been overhyped owing to the booker shortlist and lots of marketing on instagram via influencers. I have nothing against the author who has put in effort to translate the book, but it just isn't for me.
Now, I have decided to abandon the book, I feel so so relieved, I no more have to bear the brunt of reading this book.
Cheers,
PS - Edits - made one for updating booker winner and other highlighting.
April 25, 2022
Unfortunately Iwas unable to finish this book. I perserved to 300 pages but could go no further. The concept of the novel was promising with an elderly grandmother slipping into a severe depression after her husbands death but suddenly resurfaces with a zeal to betray her Indian conventions.
However some reviews I have read say the book is original funny and engaging. Original it maybe but witty and engaging it is not - in fact I found it overwritten whereby too many words are used to describe any given situation to the extent it became boring and thus lost the interesting concept of the novel
This isanother novel I have read which has been nominated for the International Booker prize which is disappointing
However some reviews I have read say the book is original funny and engaging. Original it maybe but witty and engaging it is not - in fact I found it overwritten whereby too many words are used to describe any given situation to the extent it became boring and thus lost the interesting concept of the novel
This isanother novel I have read which has been nominated for the International Booker prize which is disappointing
May 14, 2023
4.25 stars
"A tale tells itself. It can be complete, but also incomplete, the way all tales are. This particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please. Once you've got women and a border, a story can write itself."
“You’ll never understand that the tales of our deaths are the tales of our passionate living.”
This won the International Booker in 2022, a hefty novel of over 700 pages. It covers a variety of themes and elements. The story is told from a variety of perspectives and centres on an eighty year old grandmother whose husband has just died. There are elements of magic realism (a magical cane) with talking birds, but there are also political elements with reflections on identity and borders. It is in some respects a partition novel.
Shree is a sharp observer of women’s lives and has a few things to say about Indian men. There is a playfulness here, a sort of comedy of manners, but it is essentially serious as well. There is lots of wordplay going on and the translation seems to me to be a good one. It also has a tendency to meander a little, but the language is certainly creative:
“But there is wind and rain, and the puff of no that flies up between them and takes the form of a snippet. A scrap, that flutters and flaps and flit-flit-flitters and swirls about the branch into a ribbon of desire that wind and rain unite to bind there. Each time they tie another knot. One more knot. A no, not. A know not. A knew knot. A new knot. A new desire. New. Nyoo. Becoming. The new refusal of no. Flutter, flitter, flap flap flap.”
The working out of the tension between the personal and political is one of the strengths as is the character of Rosie the hijra. The tale of an older woman who suddenly decides to do something for herself to the consternation of her family. There are some good passages about food, not to mention fashion and saris.
“Understanding has become a much eroded, much abused word, to the point that its sense has come to mean to establish meaning, when its real sense is to displace meaning. To give you such a shock you see lightning. And that shock is so clear pointed wounding shiny sharp, and earth and sky get swept into that and between them, the sea, flowing like conversation, to make sense of each other, to keep trying, without coming to an end.”
The heart of the book is in the past, in partition, in borders, between countries, people, religion, genders, age and indeed people.
“A world without borders is world where everyone can find, make and belong at home,”
A point we seem to be losing sight of. There is a lot to this tale and it’s well worth the effort.
“But the sum total of the thing is this: life is life and death is death, and what is dead is dead, and gone is gone, and busy is busy. The gist being that if great beings and treasures and memories depart, never to return, what happens to ordinary everyday items? Nothing.”
"A tale tells itself. It can be complete, but also incomplete, the way all tales are. This particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please. Once you've got women and a border, a story can write itself."
“You’ll never understand that the tales of our deaths are the tales of our passionate living.”
This won the International Booker in 2022, a hefty novel of over 700 pages. It covers a variety of themes and elements. The story is told from a variety of perspectives and centres on an eighty year old grandmother whose husband has just died. There are elements of magic realism (a magical cane) with talking birds, but there are also political elements with reflections on identity and borders. It is in some respects a partition novel.
Shree is a sharp observer of women’s lives and has a few things to say about Indian men. There is a playfulness here, a sort of comedy of manners, but it is essentially serious as well. There is lots of wordplay going on and the translation seems to me to be a good one. It also has a tendency to meander a little, but the language is certainly creative:
“But there is wind and rain, and the puff of no that flies up between them and takes the form of a snippet. A scrap, that flutters and flaps and flit-flit-flitters and swirls about the branch into a ribbon of desire that wind and rain unite to bind there. Each time they tie another knot. One more knot. A no, not. A know not. A knew knot. A new knot. A new desire. New. Nyoo. Becoming. The new refusal of no. Flutter, flitter, flap flap flap.”
The working out of the tension between the personal and political is one of the strengths as is the character of Rosie the hijra. The tale of an older woman who suddenly decides to do something for herself to the consternation of her family. There are some good passages about food, not to mention fashion and saris.
“Understanding has become a much eroded, much abused word, to the point that its sense has come to mean to establish meaning, when its real sense is to displace meaning. To give you such a shock you see lightning. And that shock is so clear pointed wounding shiny sharp, and earth and sky get swept into that and between them, the sea, flowing like conversation, to make sense of each other, to keep trying, without coming to an end.”
The heart of the book is in the past, in partition, in borders, between countries, people, religion, genders, age and indeed people.
“A world without borders is world where everyone can find, make and belong at home,”
A point we seem to be losing sight of. There is a lot to this tale and it’s well worth the effort.
“But the sum total of the thing is this: life is life and death is death, and what is dead is dead, and gone is gone, and busy is busy. The gist being that if great beings and treasures and memories depart, never to return, what happens to ordinary everyday items? Nothing.”
September 21, 2022
They embraced because the lovers hugged, they cursed partitions because the lovers had to ask forgiveness, sorry, two countries were created, promises were broken, separate homes were built.
The blurb is utterly misleading. It implies there’s a resemblance of a plot in this one. And there isn't. Well, almost. For the most part there's a meandering chaos, that sometimes felt uncontrolled. On the other hand there was almost contempt towards the reader, this book doesn’t care if you’re entertained or not, it’s doing its own things and you as a reader can clock out whenever you wish. And I respect that.
This novel is a sprawling enormous beast that is mainly interested with borders (Partition literature this is). And she's interested in the all kinds of borders, storytelling and womanhood. Borders between a parent and a child, female and male in hijra, and masculinity and femininity in general, young and old, individual and the whole family/society, traditional patriarchal and progressive independence, and, of course, India and Pakistan.
But she proposed that border should not be a separator, border can be a bridge, where different meets and in its fusion produces beauty. And that love often transcends borders.
This is not a travel book as a blurb makes you think. Mostly all the "action" takes place in two rooms for the most of the novel. And the travel from the blurb starts on page 550.
I was sporadically interested, other times painfully bored (the middle part, yikes). Let’s just say that if at any point while reading, if I came home and discovered that a raccoon burglarized my home and took my copy of the book, I would've just shrugged.
And yet, in the end, I realize that I treasured the reading experience, this book weaves its own magic. It was maybe not enjoyable per se, but definitely enthralling. Magic of the long book I suppose. Or maybe it was that ending.
May 26, 2022
"A tale tells itself. It can be complete, but also incomplete, the way all tales are. This particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please. Once you've got women and a border, a story can write itself. Even women on their own are enough. Women are stories in themselves, full of stirrings and whisperings that float on the wind, that bend with each blade of grass."
Right off the bat, I must praise Tomb of Sand's dazzling linguistic virtuousity, Shree's stunning felicity for language. The prose is luminous, it's maximalist and sumptuous in a way that takes over the reader but does not overpower them. It is a credit here to Daisy Rockwell's brilliance as a translator. I have perused parts of the original Hindi—I'm in the camp that feels it is translated too much, haha—and she has done a marvelous job of recreating its artful wordplay in English. I can easily say this is the most stimulating novel I have read in a while that's both poignant and entertaining.
The story begins by informing us about the ending and Ma's forthcoming death, signaling its unconventional narrative structure early, one where inanimate objects like doors and shoes or animals like crows and partridges get equal agency alongside humans and are the stars of their own chapters. It is a book obsessed with borders—man and woman, life and death, India and Pakistan—and the ways to cross them, perhaps even transcend them. At its core, it's a book about the vagaries of age and the onrush of buried memories. A modern masterpiece, plural and polyphonic, it merits a win.
P. S. I feel that I should point out that the novel uses queer trauma as a plot device to advance the protagonist's narrative arc even though the queer character themselves are interestingly written with appreciable complexity and depth. I will also take this opportunity to say the novel lives with digressions, it meanders and gets lost, goes on thinly connected tangents, and can get "boring" at times. None of that should be a dealbreaker because there is a method to the madness and Shree is exercising subtle control over all the elements of her story in a way that is not easily discernible.
November 15, 2022
4.5 stars
In an interview in the April 2022 issue of Hans magazine, Geetanjali Shree states* that she has "never started writing anything or created any works of art with an image of its contents and contours already in mind." Instead, she lets such ideas come to her in the process of writing, for "stories are not just those which describe exteriorities and events, they are also maps of the interior...if you begin them knowing what directions they must take to, it creates a sort of artificial style, a boundary that I do not wish my work to be circumscribed by."
On the first page of her novel, Tomb of Sand, she writes:
In Laurence Sterne’s Tristram Shandy the eponymous character isn’t even born until the 3rd volume, so what if Amma here does not get off her bed until the 200-page mark? Shree’s narration, like Sterne’s, is not driven by plot alone, unfolding just like the life of her octogenarian protagonist: through digressions, observations, points of confusion, moments of clarity, and deep thought; through reliance on silence and experiences from the past. It is a novel that consistently challenges the conventions of the Western novel—and why shouldn’t it, written as it was in Hindi and rooted in a long-overlooked school of modern Indian writing, and writers?
Translated to English by Daisy Rockwell, Tomb of Sand is told in over 700 pages against रेत समाधि's 370—the excess is the bulk and burden of rendering it in a different tongue. As Shree herself writes in the novel,
The result is a text that works as a translation from, say, the French, would—it is multi-dimensional, and punctuated by “many fragments of poetry, prayer, prose, and songs in the original language, alongside their English renderings, and even the occasional fragment of the original that was too good to leave behind.” This is no less than an artistic practice, and helps retain the polyphony of the original while resisting the flattening of the text that a lot of translations in the Anglophone world—and especially in Britain—suffer from. Finally, this allows the translation to escape being bound by the (sometimes necessary) comparisons with the original, and be appreciated for the way it adds its own to Shree's story. And from where I stand, in admiration, those extra 350-odd pages are well worth reading.
In fact, for a book of such physical and emotional bulk, Tomb of Sand is a surprisingly easy read—and this ease exists alongside its complexity, its musicality, and its wealth of musings, rather than for a lack of them. Though born from a burst of spontaneous scribbling and the image of an old lady lying still (or so Shree says in the same interview quoted from above), it is a novel well-crafted, leaning towards metafiction to point out this fact (and if you're familiar with South Asian literature, you would know that metafiction is a very common traditional storytelling device herein). Further, the book serves as an excellent critique of bourgeoise pretentions (of the west, of the east, and of youth) both directly and in more subtle ways, with its ability to talk about partition violence one moment, and about passing wind the next. Humour, profundity, politics, and beauty all enrich the worth of this book as the winner of this year's International Man Booker Prize. The fact that a Hindi novel has thus managed to cross borders and reach audiences abroad is commendable, but perhaps even more noteworthy is how its very writing attempts to bring South Asian literatures to justice by first acknowledging itself as both tribute and tributary to them, and calling for them to be recognised and reclaimed.
This book is a real achievement—I hope people, on whatever side of whichever border***, continue to take note of it.
________________________
* do excuse my poor translation, it is nowhere near as masterful as Rockwell's despite my having spoken and translated from Hindi to English all my life—proof that literary translation is a real, time-honed, deliberate skill!
**The novel features one major trans character named Rosie, who is friends with Amma, and happens to be one of the border-crossings that Shree's narrative-poetics are hinged upon. Though some believe the book instrumentalises queer trauma as a means to further the plot, one shouldn't forget that this is a novel at least in part about systemic traumas: this includes partition trauma, queer trauma, and queer trauma during the partition—one of the most overlooked of them all.
*** Excerpt about borders:
In an interview in the April 2022 issue of Hans magazine, Geetanjali Shree states* that she has "never started writing anything or created any works of art with an image of its contents and contours already in mind." Instead, she lets such ideas come to her in the process of writing, for "stories are not just those which describe exteriorities and events, they are also maps of the interior...if you begin them knowing what directions they must take to, it creates a sort of artificial style, a boundary that I do not wish my work to be circumscribed by."
On the first page of her novel, Tomb of Sand, she writes:
"A tale tells itself. It can be complete, but also incomplete, the way all tales are. This particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please. Once you've got women and a border, a story can write itself."Once you've got women and a border, a story writes itself. Once a story begins writing itself, taking on form; it can trouble and transcend these same borders, these same women: it becomes something bigger than them. Like the force of water, perhaps, or of the spirit, flowing between languages, ages, genders**, norms, and families, and even countries severed by a painful past and separated by the most militarised zone in the world. This is exactly what Tomb of Sand does: it breathes life into an 80-year-old woman steeped in a deep depression after the death of her husband, and follows her across her various border-crossings. Sometimes it follows those, like Beti (daughter) and Badi (eldest son) who follow her too, and sometimes it follows its own trains of thought. And so it goes, meditative and meandering, page by page over a terrain of undulating reality that could be taken for mundane—until it isn’t.
In Laurence Sterne’s Tristram Shandy the eponymous character isn’t even born until the 3rd volume, so what if Amma here does not get off her bed until the 200-page mark? Shree’s narration, like Sterne’s, is not driven by plot alone, unfolding just like the life of her octogenarian protagonist: through digressions, observations, points of confusion, moments of clarity, and deep thought; through reliance on silence and experiences from the past. It is a novel that consistently challenges the conventions of the Western novel—and why shouldn’t it, written as it was in Hindi and rooted in a long-overlooked school of modern Indian writing, and writers?
Translated to English by Daisy Rockwell, Tomb of Sand is told in over 700 pages against रेत समाधि's 370—the excess is the bulk and burden of rendering it in a different tongue. As Shree herself writes in the novel,
“Translation isn't easy. If you think you need only take two sips of English to be able to translate, and that you'll understand Bihari Satsai simply because you heard Braj as a child, you are sadly mistaken. Translation is a tricky business—tedhi kheer—trickier and twistier than our little jalebis can handle. Stories contain meanings that aren't always apparent. In an academic translation you get exhausted trying to find the right technical language. In literature, there are moods and vibrations.”Yet, Rockwell’s translation here is as silken a kheer I’ve ever tasted. I decided to start reading it at the same time as my partner sat down with the original, and comparing the writing line-by-line shows how utterly, compellingly faithful Tomb of Sand remains to it—its tenor and cadences have been lovingly retained, as have its very particular mode of wordplay and the many ensuing linguistic idiosyncrasies; even the idiom दिमाग का दही हो गया has been translated directly as “their minds turned to curd” when the easy thing to do would’ve been to replace it with a phrase Western readers are familiar with.
The result is a text that works as a translation from, say, the French, would—it is multi-dimensional, and punctuated by “many fragments of poetry, prayer, prose, and songs in the original language, alongside their English renderings, and even the occasional fragment of the original that was too good to leave behind.” This is no less than an artistic practice, and helps retain the polyphony of the original while resisting the flattening of the text that a lot of translations in the Anglophone world—and especially in Britain—suffer from. Finally, this allows the translation to escape being bound by the (sometimes necessary) comparisons with the original, and be appreciated for the way it adds its own to Shree's story. And from where I stand, in admiration, those extra 350-odd pages are well worth reading.
In fact, for a book of such physical and emotional bulk, Tomb of Sand is a surprisingly easy read—and this ease exists alongside its complexity, its musicality, and its wealth of musings, rather than for a lack of them. Though born from a burst of spontaneous scribbling and the image of an old lady lying still (or so Shree says in the same interview quoted from above), it is a novel well-crafted, leaning towards metafiction to point out this fact (and if you're familiar with South Asian literature, you would know that metafiction is a very common traditional storytelling device herein). Further, the book serves as an excellent critique of bourgeoise pretentions (of the west, of the east, and of youth) both directly and in more subtle ways, with its ability to talk about partition violence one moment, and about passing wind the next. Humour, profundity, politics, and beauty all enrich the worth of this book as the winner of this year's International Man Booker Prize. The fact that a Hindi novel has thus managed to cross borders and reach audiences abroad is commendable, but perhaps even more noteworthy is how its very writing attempts to bring South Asian literatures to justice by first acknowledging itself as both tribute and tributary to them, and calling for them to be recognised and reclaimed.
This book is a real achievement—I hope people, on whatever side of whichever border***, continue to take note of it.
________________________
* do excuse my poor translation, it is nowhere near as masterful as Rockwell's despite my having spoken and translated from Hindi to English all my life—proof that literary translation is a real, time-honed, deliberate skill!
**The novel features one major trans character named Rosie, who is friends with Amma, and happens to be one of the border-crossings that Shree's narrative-poetics are hinged upon. Though some believe the book instrumentalises queer trauma as a means to further the plot, one shouldn't forget that this is a novel at least in part about systemic traumas: this includes partition trauma, queer trauma, and queer trauma during the partition—one of the most overlooked of them all.
*** Excerpt about borders:
"Border, Ma says. Border? Do you know what a border is? What is a border? It's something that surrounds an existence, it is a person's perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, the embroidery around my shawl. The edges of the sky. The beds of flowers in this yard. The borders of fields. The parapet around this roof. A picture frame. Everything has a border. However, a border is not created to be removed. It is meant to illuminate both sides. You removed me. Should I leave? No. A border does not enclose, it opens out. It creates a shape. It adorns an edge. This side of the edging blossoms, as does that. Embroider the border with a shimmering vine. Stud it with precious stones. What is a border? It enhances a personality. It gives strength. It doesn't tear apart. A border increases recognition. Where two sides meet and both flourish. A border ornaments their meeting. Every part of the body has a border. So does the heart. A border surrounds it but it also binds it to the other parts. It doesn't wrench the heart from the rest. Fools! If you cut a border through a heart, you don't call it a border, you call it a wound. If you lock a heart inside a border, the heart will break.
August 19, 2023
A fresh, powerful journey into the lives of one unforgettable mother daughter duo, and the grand new life they embark on after tragedy. Delightfully playful on the surface but with a profoundly moving core, Tomb of Sand follows Ma as she sets on a series of adventures after a deep depression from the loss of her husband. From a new wardrobe to a deep friendship with a Hijra to a journey into Pakistan, Ma’s new life is an awe-inspiring one. Alongside her is Beti, Ma’s feminist daughter who questions her own ideals and outlooks as she witnesses her mother’s transformation. Tomb of Sand tackles a variety of topics including the Partition, lgbtq issues, and contemporary feminism, as well as environmentalism, philosophy, and religion. It is a joyous encouragement that it is never too late to start over, life is a journey from beginning to end, with so many extraordinary stops along the way. It is one of many sorrows, but many lessons, and many joys. A heartfelt, endearing saga that offers many valuable discussions.
May 30, 2022
This is one of the worst novels I've read this year. I'm shocked by its unanimous adoration and its recent Booker International win, but I also do understand it. The book is playful, referential, idiosyncratic, and wholly and confidently committed to its style. And Daisy Rockwell succeeds in translating a work that seems hell-bent on being untranslatable. It just annoyed me. The voice is child-like in a manner I found consistently cloying. I've never read a 700+ page novel that could've been edited down so much to its benefit. This could literally be 250 pages and have all the good chunks remaining. I started reading it a month or two ago, read part one, thought I was losing my mind at how obnoxious it all was, and then read parts two and three over the last two days because of the Booker International win. Wild. The only positive to me is that I hope this moment will bring greater interest in Indian fiction not written originally in English. I am also probably going to look out for Daisy Rockwell's other work, because she is such a clear talent. But damn. This book is horrendous.
June 9, 2022
Brava, Geetanjali Shree! And another brava for Daisy Rockwell, for an amazing translation!
full post here:
https://www.readingavidly.com/2022/06...
It was the first paragraph that sold me on this story, which is highly unusual but it's what happened. Here the author reveals that "this particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please," but even more to the point, that
"The story's path unfurls, not knowing where it will stop, tacking to the right and left, twisting and turning, allowing anything and everything to join in the narration. It will emerge from within a volcano, swelling silently as the past boils forth into the present, bringing steam, embers and smoke."
I sat back, reread at that initial paragraph and guessed right away that I had here in my hands something completely and refreshingly different. Evidently I wasn't alone -- at the website for the International Booker Prize, the blurb for this book states that the author's "light touch and exuberant wordplay ensures that Tomb of Sand remains constantly playful -- and utterly original." And while the word "playful" fits, this novel takes a rather serious and surprising turn in its last section, making this book a most welcome addition to the world of Partition literature, described as having
"helped generations to make sense of a period in the history that is quite difficult to fathom in its entirety."
Tomb of Sand is, as translator Daisy Rockwell notes in her "Translator's Note,"
"a tale woven of many threads, encompassing modern urban life, ancient history, folklore, feminism, global warming, Buddhism and much more."
It is also hands down one of the best books of my reading year so far and sadly, I would not have known about it except that it was longlisted for the International Booker Prize which it would go on to win, deservedly so in my opinion. I can honestly say I've never read anything quite like it.
An older, eighty-year old woman (known mainly as Ma) who is a mother, grandmother and now a widow, becomes seriously depressed at the death of her husband and decides that she will not be getting up. Wrapping herself in a quilt, she remains in her room in her son's Bade's house, with her "back to the world, as though dead" ignoring the rest of the family's pleas for her to get up. She had, it seems,
"grown tired of breathing for them, feeling their feelings, bearing their desires, carrying their animosities. She was tired of all of them and she wanted to glide into the wall with a tremor ..."
Things begin to change though first with the arrival of a cane brought by one of Bade's children, known as Overseas Son, a CEO of the overseas branch of the company for whom he works. At first, his grandmother remained unimpressed; but one day her other grandson Sid comes in to her room and sees sees her holding the cane "at a ninety-degree angle, eyes closed, still as a statue, looking every inch an otherworldly idol." On the verge of laughing at this sight, Sid hears his grandmother declare "I am the Wishing Tree," which, while she continues to remain in bed, has the effect of bringing into the house a host of people hoping that she'll grant their wishes. It isn't too long afterwards that "poof, she'd disappeared into thin air," and this is where the story truly takes off, as she is sought and found and returns not to her son's house, but to that of her daughter Beti. It isn't long until Beti notices the reversal in their roles wherein "Beti became the mother and made Ma the daughter," and while Ma's presence tends to upset Beti's independent lifestyle, Beti also sees that it's a good arrangement. As she notes, "When Ma came to my home she began to dream new dreams."
It is a gorgeous book, not only brilliantly written by its author but also brilliantly and skillfully translated by Daisy Rockwell, who says in her "Translator's Notes" that "to the translator, Tomb of Sand is a love letter to the Hindi language." Noting that the author is fluent in English, she also says that Shree chose to write in her "mother tongue," relishing the "sound of words, and how they echo one another, frequently showcasing their dhwani," described as "an echo, a vibration a resonance." It can be
"deliberate and playful, as in double entrendre and punning, an accidental mishmash of sameness, or a mythical reverberation."
Admittedly I didn't get all of the references and spent much time with my tablet on my lap while reading, but really, it just didn't matter to me -- I absolutely loved this book. It is a great example of what a writer can do not just with story but also with language and storytelling; above all it is a book about borders, physical and otherwise. "A Border," as Ma says to a group of men in Pakistan, "is for crossing" and it is just a joy to read about how many borders this woman refuses to be confined or defined by as she comes into her own. As the back-cover blurb notes, it is a "timely protest against the destructive impact of borders and boundaries, whether between religions, countries, or genders." There is so much happening in this book that makes it pretty impossible to encompass in a brief post, but it is rare that I find something like this novel which, despite the tragedies here, is so very life affirming in so many different ways. If you need the quick story fix you won't find it here; I'd recommend it to those readers who are willing to take a chance on something very different than the norm. I feel so lucky having made my way through these pages; it's a novel I will never, ever forget.
a quick BTW: I've recently read that Tomb of Sand will be available in the US as of 2023, but I bought my copies (yes, I made an error and ended up with two) from Tilted Axis Press and having forgotten I'd done that, I turned to Waterstones in the UK. I'm beyond happy I bought my book when I did.
full post here:
https://www.readingavidly.com/2022/06...
It was the first paragraph that sold me on this story, which is highly unusual but it's what happened. Here the author reveals that "this particular tale has a border and women who come and go as they please," but even more to the point, that
"The story's path unfurls, not knowing where it will stop, tacking to the right and left, twisting and turning, allowing anything and everything to join in the narration. It will emerge from within a volcano, swelling silently as the past boils forth into the present, bringing steam, embers and smoke."
I sat back, reread at that initial paragraph and guessed right away that I had here in my hands something completely and refreshingly different. Evidently I wasn't alone -- at the website for the International Booker Prize, the blurb for this book states that the author's "light touch and exuberant wordplay ensures that Tomb of Sand remains constantly playful -- and utterly original." And while the word "playful" fits, this novel takes a rather serious and surprising turn in its last section, making this book a most welcome addition to the world of Partition literature, described as having
"helped generations to make sense of a period in the history that is quite difficult to fathom in its entirety."
Tomb of Sand is, as translator Daisy Rockwell notes in her "Translator's Note,"
"a tale woven of many threads, encompassing modern urban life, ancient history, folklore, feminism, global warming, Buddhism and much more."
It is also hands down one of the best books of my reading year so far and sadly, I would not have known about it except that it was longlisted for the International Booker Prize which it would go on to win, deservedly so in my opinion. I can honestly say I've never read anything quite like it.
An older, eighty-year old woman (known mainly as Ma) who is a mother, grandmother and now a widow, becomes seriously depressed at the death of her husband and decides that she will not be getting up. Wrapping herself in a quilt, she remains in her room in her son's Bade's house, with her "back to the world, as though dead" ignoring the rest of the family's pleas for her to get up. She had, it seems,
"grown tired of breathing for them, feeling their feelings, bearing their desires, carrying their animosities. She was tired of all of them and she wanted to glide into the wall with a tremor ..."
Things begin to change though first with the arrival of a cane brought by one of Bade's children, known as Overseas Son, a CEO of the overseas branch of the company for whom he works. At first, his grandmother remained unimpressed; but one day her other grandson Sid comes in to her room and sees sees her holding the cane "at a ninety-degree angle, eyes closed, still as a statue, looking every inch an otherworldly idol." On the verge of laughing at this sight, Sid hears his grandmother declare "I am the Wishing Tree," which, while she continues to remain in bed, has the effect of bringing into the house a host of people hoping that she'll grant their wishes. It isn't too long afterwards that "poof, she'd disappeared into thin air," and this is where the story truly takes off, as she is sought and found and returns not to her son's house, but to that of her daughter Beti. It isn't long until Beti notices the reversal in their roles wherein "Beti became the mother and made Ma the daughter," and while Ma's presence tends to upset Beti's independent lifestyle, Beti also sees that it's a good arrangement. As she notes, "When Ma came to my home she began to dream new dreams."
It is a gorgeous book, not only brilliantly written by its author but also brilliantly and skillfully translated by Daisy Rockwell, who says in her "Translator's Notes" that "to the translator, Tomb of Sand is a love letter to the Hindi language." Noting that the author is fluent in English, she also says that Shree chose to write in her "mother tongue," relishing the "sound of words, and how they echo one another, frequently showcasing their dhwani," described as "an echo, a vibration a resonance." It can be
"deliberate and playful, as in double entrendre and punning, an accidental mishmash of sameness, or a mythical reverberation."
Admittedly I didn't get all of the references and spent much time with my tablet on my lap while reading, but really, it just didn't matter to me -- I absolutely loved this book. It is a great example of what a writer can do not just with story but also with language and storytelling; above all it is a book about borders, physical and otherwise. "A Border," as Ma says to a group of men in Pakistan, "is for crossing" and it is just a joy to read about how many borders this woman refuses to be confined or defined by as she comes into her own. As the back-cover blurb notes, it is a "timely protest against the destructive impact of borders and boundaries, whether between religions, countries, or genders." There is so much happening in this book that makes it pretty impossible to encompass in a brief post, but it is rare that I find something like this novel which, despite the tragedies here, is so very life affirming in so many different ways. If you need the quick story fix you won't find it here; I'd recommend it to those readers who are willing to take a chance on something very different than the norm. I feel so lucky having made my way through these pages; it's a novel I will never, ever forget.
a quick BTW: I've recently read that Tomb of Sand will be available in the US as of 2023, but I bought my copies (yes, I made an error and ended up with two) from Tilted Axis Press and having forgotten I'd done that, I turned to Waterstones in the UK. I'm beyond happy I bought my book when I did.
June 10, 2022
DNF at 10%
Couldn't make sense of such abstract narration. Don't have patience to pursue.
Couldn't make sense of such abstract narration. Don't have patience to pursue.
April 26, 2022
I have no idea where to start with Tomb of Sand.I stayed up late reading it, I got up early to read it, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about it.
Oooh that’d be a good clickbait quote, but I’m being serious. This book has had me questioning how printed words can do this.
Sand of Tomb begins with a mother who is ill in bed. She’s mentally ill from a cloud of depression and/or grief (because how can one separate these things?). This is a real slow burner, with her only emerging from bed 200 pages in. Fear not though, it’s a big boy at 700 pages and despite a potential lack of movement, you will not get bored.
As well as utter loss, this book explores borders and relations between Pakistan and Israel, family ties, gender expression, the reverse roles of parents and children that come with ageing, religion, traumatic childhood. My brain is genuinely a blur because there’s SO much within these pages.
The plot it pretty amazing, but to me what makes this book spectacular is it’s language. The fact that this book is translated fiction is insane, and both Geetanjali Shree and Daisy Rockwell are stupidly talented. The narration of this book makes it feel like a story. “But it is a story?” you say, while I scratch my head because how can I articulate this magic. Remember sitting down, legs crossed and being read a story by a wise owl? This is how the book is. If you watched Jackanory, this is the vibe.
We break off the story multiple times to say things like “there’s also another son, but he’s not relevant at the moment” or “didn’t I tell you that was important?”. Additionally, there’s a very wise crow who apparently has a main voice in this book, a fairytale about how Reebok shoes were snakes and the most gorgeous prose on windows and doors.
If you like Ali Smith, you’ll love this. If you like the confusion, yep. If you want a straight forward beach read, absolutely avoid. It’s long and it’s hard but !!!! IT IS A WORK OF ART !!! and I’m genuinely in a state of confusion over this paPER WITH WORDS ON THAT HAS THIS CONTROL OVER ME. So so thankful that @thebookerprizes shone a light on this beauty.
*mic drop*
*gabby faints*
Oooh that’d be a good clickbait quote, but I’m being serious. This book has had me questioning how printed words can do this.
Sand of Tomb begins with a mother who is ill in bed. She’s mentally ill from a cloud of depression and/or grief (because how can one separate these things?). This is a real slow burner, with her only emerging from bed 200 pages in. Fear not though, it’s a big boy at 700 pages and despite a potential lack of movement, you will not get bored.
As well as utter loss, this book explores borders and relations between Pakistan and Israel, family ties, gender expression, the reverse roles of parents and children that come with ageing, religion, traumatic childhood. My brain is genuinely a blur because there’s SO much within these pages.
The plot it pretty amazing, but to me what makes this book spectacular is it’s language. The fact that this book is translated fiction is insane, and both Geetanjali Shree and Daisy Rockwell are stupidly talented. The narration of this book makes it feel like a story. “But it is a story?” you say, while I scratch my head because how can I articulate this magic. Remember sitting down, legs crossed and being read a story by a wise owl? This is how the book is. If you watched Jackanory, this is the vibe.
We break off the story multiple times to say things like “there’s also another son, but he’s not relevant at the moment” or “didn’t I tell you that was important?”. Additionally, there’s a very wise crow who apparently has a main voice in this book, a fairytale about how Reebok shoes were snakes and the most gorgeous prose on windows and doors.
If you like Ali Smith, you’ll love this. If you like the confusion, yep. If you want a straight forward beach read, absolutely avoid. It’s long and it’s hard but !!!! IT IS A WORK OF ART !!! and I’m genuinely in a state of confusion over this paPER WITH WORDS ON THAT HAS THIS CONTROL OVER ME. So so thankful that @thebookerprizes shone a light on this beauty.
*mic drop*
*gabby faints*
March 29, 2023
Set in northern India, Ma, an octogenarian woman, becomes depressed and retreats to her bed after the death of her husband. She initially lives with her oldest son, Bade, who is close to retirement. She then goes missing, and when she is found, she moves in with her nonconformist daughter, Beti. Ma becomes more active and receives visitors. Eventually Ma and Beti travel to Pakistan, where Ma had grown up in pre-partition days.
This simple summary does not provide a sense of the many threads in this novel. There is little in the way of action, and Ma spends the first quarter of the book in bed, but the dynamic writing style gives the reader a sense of many cultural aspects of Indian family life. Other characters flit in and out of the narrative including Ma’s daughter-in-law and two grandsons. The writing is lively and lyrical, often digressing from the main storyline. These digressions can be informative, fun, or puzzling. It contains several magical realist touches, including the voices of crows and an enchanted cane.
Ma has been in the restricted role for women her whole life and once she gets out of bed, she decides not to play the traditional expected role that society has defined. Her daughter is somewhat surprised at her mother’s new friend. It is a story of breaking through boundaries. Ma appears to “find herself” at a later stage of life and finally claims her freedom of self-expression.
This novel (in its English translation from the original Hindi) is long and discursive. It is not a traditional story, which is fitting considering its primary theme. It will require a reader who can patiently follow the creative diversions. Anyone who admires wordplay will likely be amazed by the poetic prose. I cannot quite call it a favorite, but I will be looking for more translated works from this author.
This simple summary does not provide a sense of the many threads in this novel. There is little in the way of action, and Ma spends the first quarter of the book in bed, but the dynamic writing style gives the reader a sense of many cultural aspects of Indian family life. Other characters flit in and out of the narrative including Ma’s daughter-in-law and two grandsons. The writing is lively and lyrical, often digressing from the main storyline. These digressions can be informative, fun, or puzzling. It contains several magical realist touches, including the voices of crows and an enchanted cane.
Ma has been in the restricted role for women her whole life and once she gets out of bed, she decides not to play the traditional expected role that society has defined. Her daughter is somewhat surprised at her mother’s new friend. It is a story of breaking through boundaries. Ma appears to “find herself” at a later stage of life and finally claims her freedom of self-expression.
This novel (in its English translation from the original Hindi) is long and discursive. It is not a traditional story, which is fitting considering its primary theme. It will require a reader who can patiently follow the creative diversions. Anyone who admires wordplay will likely be amazed by the poetic prose. I cannot quite call it a favorite, but I will be looking for more translated works from this author.
April 16, 2022
This took some time to get going, but once it does, it’s a work of art. Expect a mish mash of themes and genres. It explores themes of gender, class (caste), separation, partition, identity, grief. It’s a slow burn, so don’t expect to be bombarded with tons of plot. It’s a marvel to witness the various ways the author chooses to tell this story. All to say, this novel is not one set thing, and because of that fact, this story always kept me on my toes.
December 15, 2023
This novel is alive! With its lyrical, playful, exuberant and multilayered prose, it flows and unfurls, combining different narrative styles, mainly stream of consciousness, satire and magical realism. The reader is confronted with themes such as borders between countries, new and old, young and old, male and female, individual and collective, mother and daughter, noise and silence. And the nature of the border itself.
There are multiple narrators and characters, not only humans: sometimes inanimate objects such as doors and shoes or animals such as crows and partridges come forth and have their say.
The author adds historical and cultural dimensions to this novel, challenging various points of view and conventions, which makes the reader question our human nature and the current order of this world. If they pay attention, this novel has an ability to pull the reader out of their comfort zone. And maybe even inspire.
I have to admit I didn’t know much about the history of India or Pakistan, so it was through this novel that I learnt about Partition and its many ongoing struggles. There are many historical, cultural and geographical references about India and Pakistan as well as South Asian writers and artists. Sometimes the words are left in their original language (Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi, Sanskrit), but they feel important and google is my friend. Of course I can only imagine how wonderful this novel must be in its original language, so I’m truly grateful for this outstanding translation.
Usually I’m a slow reader, but I finished this 700+ page novel in a few days. I can't say it's particularly enjoyable to read or there is a good plot, and yet, I guess it’s been some time since I’ve read such refreshing prose. I feel there is a paradox of completely incomplete and completely incomplete akin to Roberto Bolaño’s 2666.
A unique reading experience indeed.
The Bindu Composition by SH Raza, whose artwork is mentioned in this novel.
What is a border? It's something that surrounds an existence, it is a person's perimeter. No matter how large, no matter how small. The edge of a handkerchief, the border of a tablecloth, the embroidery around my shawl. The edges of the sky. The beds of flowers in this yard. The borders of fields. The parapet around this roof. A picture frame. Everything has a border. However, a border is not created to be removed. It is meant to illuminate both sides (...) It enhances a personality. It gives strength. It doesn't tear apart. A border increases recognition. Where two sides meet and both flourish.
There are multiple narrators and characters, not only humans: sometimes inanimate objects such as doors and shoes or animals such as crows and partridges come forth and have their say.
The author adds historical and cultural dimensions to this novel, challenging various points of view and conventions, which makes the reader question our human nature and the current order of this world. If they pay attention, this novel has an ability to pull the reader out of their comfort zone. And maybe even inspire.
Echoes and reverberations of melodies cross every border. Melodies change, music remains. Death comes, life goes on. A story is created, changes, flows. Free. From this side to that.
I have to admit I didn’t know much about the history of India or Pakistan, so it was through this novel that I learnt about Partition and its many ongoing struggles. There are many historical, cultural and geographical references about India and Pakistan as well as South Asian writers and artists. Sometimes the words are left in their original language (Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi, Sanskrit), but they feel important and google is my friend. Of course I can only imagine how wonderful this novel must be in its original language, so I’m truly grateful for this outstanding translation.
Usually I’m a slow reader, but I finished this 700+ page novel in a few days. I can't say it's particularly enjoyable to read or there is a good plot, and yet, I guess it’s been some time since I’ve read such refreshing prose. I feel there is a paradox of completely incomplete and completely incomplete akin to Roberto Bolaño’s 2666.
Stories and tales are dreams that create meaning as they move along.
A unique reading experience indeed.
The Bindu Composition by SH Raza, whose artwork is mentioned in this novel.
February 16, 2023
Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree, translated by Daisy Rockwell, is a haunting and immersive novel that delves into the complexities of human relationships and the lingering influence of the past. The nonlinear narrative structure adds to the atmospheric quality of the novel, drawing readers into the inner worlds of the well-drawn and complex characters.
The author's attention to sensory details and inner thoughts creates a sense of nostalgia and longing that resonates with readers long after they finish the book. While primarily focused on the personal struggles of the characters, the novel also explores broader social and political themes without detracting from the intimate story.
Daisy Rockwell's translation captures the beauty and subtlety of the original text, making this a must-read for anyone looking for a thought-provoking and insightful literary experience.
Read the detailed review here - Books Charming
The author's attention to sensory details and inner thoughts creates a sense of nostalgia and longing that resonates with readers long after they finish the book. While primarily focused on the personal struggles of the characters, the novel also explores broader social and political themes without detracting from the intimate story.
Daisy Rockwell's translation captures the beauty and subtlety of the original text, making this a must-read for anyone looking for a thought-provoking and insightful literary experience.
Read the detailed review here - Books Charming
August 25, 2022
Jeez, how to pin down something that takes pride in being undefinable in its pages? I think going in knowing the voice is along the lines of playful, satirical, and that most of it is not concerned with the concrete, but operates on the symbolic and meta levels predominantly—would be a really helpful litmus test. It also is non-western centric and unconcerned with form and structure that is typical; rather it follows an oral tradition that makes it a bit of a chimaera, and often quite slippery.
It centres an old woman and has 3 very distinct parts. There is a plot, but there are a lot of digressions and it is not motivated by plot. It is somewhat character driven, but uses each to sketch social constructs around - well, pretty much everything. Borders and transitions in life are most predominate. Gender roles, familial expectations, how obligations are foisted into certain parties. All of which then again center the old woman protagonist as her story unfolds.
Particularly biting, in terms of questioning how society functions, the purpose of art and said social constructs, and how those play a role in dictating how a story is told and what information is “valid” when crafting one. It pretty much spits in the face of all conventions, and then demonstrates through practice how fun and meaningful it can be to transgress and infringe in liminal spaces; even if it comes with at a really high cost. I don’t I understood everything, since it has quite a bit of cultural touchstones and references you need to google, but even from what I was able to grip onto, I found it excellent. I don’t typically like satirical voices and this vacillated for me because the tone does change quite often. I think I’d have loved it even more if I was on board with the narrator’s personality.
Plus, I read this with a group and it was incredibly - incredibly - helpful to do so. I would have missed out on a lot more impactful symbolism, I’ve no doubt. So, I can see why it’s slightly polarizing. It is undoubtedly a fantastic book though. The question is whether it will be to your taste or not, imo.
It centres an old woman and has 3 very distinct parts. There is a plot, but there are a lot of digressions and it is not motivated by plot. It is somewhat character driven, but uses each to sketch social constructs around - well, pretty much everything. Borders and transitions in life are most predominate. Gender roles, familial expectations, how obligations are foisted into certain parties. All of which then again center the old woman protagonist as her story unfolds.
Particularly biting, in terms of questioning how society functions, the purpose of art and said social constructs, and how those play a role in dictating how a story is told and what information is “valid” when crafting one. It pretty much spits in the face of all conventions, and then demonstrates through practice how fun and meaningful it can be to transgress and infringe in liminal spaces; even if it comes with at a really high cost. I don’t I understood everything, since it has quite a bit of cultural touchstones and references you need to google, but even from what I was able to grip onto, I found it excellent. I don’t typically like satirical voices and this vacillated for me because the tone does change quite often. I think I’d have loved it even more if I was on board with the narrator’s personality.
Plus, I read this with a group and it was incredibly - incredibly - helpful to do so. I would have missed out on a lot more impactful symbolism, I’ve no doubt. So, I can see why it’s slightly polarizing. It is undoubtedly a fantastic book though. The question is whether it will be to your taste or not, imo.
May 28, 2022
This is a hard one to rate. The writing is a mixture of poetic stream-of-consciousness and magic realism, with plenty of (untranslated) references in Hindi and to Indian and Pakistani culture. There is very little of a story in the first 400 pages or so (the most exciting event being that grandma goes on a walk and gets lost) and this gets mostly obscured by the language that just keeps moving about like a raga. There is more plot and less linguistic distraction in the last 150 pages, but by then I got numbed by the language already.
In short, the language is at first fascinating, but cannot support 567 pages without a strong plot.
Update 27 May 2022: it won the International Booker Prize. Congratulations to both the author and the translator!
In short, the language is at first fascinating, but cannot support 567 pages without a strong plot.
Update 27 May 2022: it won the International Booker Prize. Congratulations to both the author and the translator!
July 6, 2022
Why is it that Booker winning books are so overrated? This one was terrible. I got through 35% of the book, gave it every kind of benefit of doubt, but the story simply didn't take off. Abandoned it and am happy to have done so.
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