The Reluctant Fundamentalist - Take 1 - Few (no?) spoilers

I thought The Reluctant Fundamentalist was a brilliant, beautifully written, and engaging novel about individual and collective identities and narratives. I finished it over a week ago and have been meaning to post every night, but have always been too tired. I am forcing myself to do it tonight, thus my thoughts are somewhat choppy. I try not to give away any *major* spoilers in this post.

On the narrative style:

Hamid weaves together stories of the past with dialogue taking place in the present between Changez and an American visitor, set mostly in passing afternoon and evening in a street side café in Lahore, Pakistan. Initially I thought I would find this manner of telling the story to be distracting, but without really noticing it I quickly became used to it and found that it, in itself, advanced a number of H’s themes. It was an effective vehicle for telling this story – a manifestation of many of the themes of the story itself (past/present, American/foreign, storytelling/truths).

On the story of the individual/story of the collective consciousness:

Hamid tells the story of an individual – an international student who works hard in college and lands a sought after job at a high paying business firm, he falls in love with an American student and forms a relationship with her after they both move to New York, he struggles in the wake of September 11 – at the same time he tells a much bigger story about collective identity in the aftermath of the tragedy. This could have turned out incredibly cheesy, but I thought Hamid told a beautiful story of both the individual and the collective at the same time; his artfully crafted story about Changez allows him to explore a variety of present and urgent themes that have emerged in the early days of this century.

On the themes:

Hamid deals with some pretty huge questions: Who are we? Where are we going? What do we want? What are we afraid of? He tackles individual identity/collective identity, fears/hopes, American/foreign, past/present, storytelling/narrative, personal connections/communication.

It’s postmodern, with a post-terrorism twist. It’s interesting to see how these events – terrorist attacks and Iraq war – are starting to play out (be explored? be exploited?) in different forms of media today.

Below are some of my favorite passages:

On Changez's dialogue: it’s so distinguished and clever, and sometimes witty.

Suffice it to say that in relationship to the contemporary female icons of your country, she belonged more to the camp of Paltrow than to that of Spears. (22)

On beautiful language: I loved some of the passages about Erica – Hamid’s prose is like gliding clouds or the ocean. He needs few words to completely describe complexities of Erica’s inner goings on.

Often, as we stood or sat in the midst of an impeccably turned-out crown, I would observe that she was utterly detached, lost in a world of her own. Her eyes were turned inward, and remarks made by her companions would register only indirectly, on her face like the shadows of gliding clouds across the surface of a lake. ….. But I had come to suspect that hers were not merely the lapses of the absent-minded; no, she was struggling against a current that pulled her within herself, and her smile contained the fear that she might slip into her own depths, where she would be trapped, unable to breathe. (86)

On who we are, as defined by ourselves and others:

For we were not always burdened by debt, dependent on foreign aid and handouts; in the stories we tell of ourselves we were not the crazed and destitute radicals you see on your television channels but rather saints and poets and—yes—conquering kings. (101)

On past and present, and who we are:

There was something undeniable retro about the flags and uniforms, about generals addressing cameras in war rooms and newspaper headlines featuring words such as duty and honor. I had always thought of America as a nation that looked forward; for the first time I was struck by its determination to look back. (115)

On hopes/dreams/certainty:

What your fellow countrymen longed for was unclear to me—a time of unquestioned dominance? Of safety? Of moral certainty? I did not know—but that they were scrambling to don the costumes of another era was apparent. I felt treacherous for wondering whether that era was fictitious, and whether—if it could indeed be animated—it contained a part written for someone like me. (115)

On certainty/knowing/past/present:

Our creed was one which valued above all else maximum productivity, and such a creed was for me, doubly reassuring because it was quantifiable—and hence knowable—in a period of great uncertainty, and because it remained utterly convinced of the possibility of progress while others longed for a sort of classical period that had come and gone, if it had ever existed at all. (116)

On histories/stories/narratives/truth:

But surely it is the gist that matters; I am, after all, telling you a history, and in history, as I suspect you—an American—will agree, it is the thrust of one’s narrative that counts, not the accuracy of one’s details. (118)