History, Narrative, and Testimony in Amitav Ghosh's Fiction

Chitra Sankaran

• Publisher: SUNY Press
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9781438441801, 9781438441818
• eBook ISBN: 9781438441825
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Asian Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

This is the first collection of international scholarship on the fiction of Amitav Ghosh. Ghosh's work is read by a wide audience and is well regarded by general readers, critics, and scholars throughout the world. Born in India, Ghosh has lived in India, the United Kingdom, and the United States. His work spans genres from contemporary realism to historical fiction to science fiction, but has consistently dealt with the dislocations, violence, and meetings of peoples and cultures engendered by colonialism. The essays in this volume analyze Ghosh's novels in ways that yield new insights into concepts central to postcolonial and transnational studies, making important intertextual connections and foregrounding links to prevailing theoretical and speculative scholarship. The work's introduction argues that irony is central to Ghosh's vision and discusses the importance of the concepts of "testimony" and "history" to Ghosh's narratives. An invaluable interview with Amitav Ghosh discusses individual works and the author's overall philosophy.

1

Diasporic Predicaments

An Interview with Amitav Ghosh

CHITRA SANKARAN

CS: Your two recent novels The Glass Palace and The Hungry Tide have been seen as concerned with larger historical or global movements. They are often perceived as compelling explorations of some of the central problems and dilemmas surrounding both colonialism and globalization, concerned with ways individual predicaments and larger “Histories” get entangled. Would you agree? Did you write to expose these?

AG: I wrote it because it was the only way that I could write it, I suppose. In some ways I don't feel that these issues are distinct from the people. I mean the lives of, say, Dolly or Rajkumar and the rest of them in “the diaspora,” where they are so bound up with the events that are happening around them. History itself is … in a novel … not very interesting, except in as much as it forms the background of an individual's predicaments. So, for example, the character of Arjun is one that was very compelling to me from the start of the book and remains compelling to this day because the peculiar circumstance he finds himself in, the way in which he's formed, the way in which his history is enmeshed with the history of the families around him … all of those make him what he is, really.

CS: Actually, Arjun is a fascinating character because when he starts off, he's not at all self-analytical; he takes things at face value. But then he progresses to a point when he is actually, for the first time, asking questions that seem inevitable to his predicament at that point in time. I think that's a very good example of the way in which individual predicaments and history enmesh … entangle, because in Arjun's story you have the predicament of the Indian soldiers under the British Raj, in a manner of speaking. And that seems to me to be such an important question that has really never been asked seriously. What led you to ask that question in such a serious way in that novel?

AG: A number of reasons, you know. One of the reasons is that in some very important way, Arjun is like some of the people I went to school and college with, who were very bright, but also very un-self-conscious, you know … our brightness was often completely without self-awareness, in the sense of reflecting upon our place in the world, and I think that's something to do with a kind of colonial conditioning really. I'll just give you one example … this morning I went down to have breakfast. Here I am in a country [Singapore] which says everywhere that drug smugglers have the punishment of death. And this café was named after Ellenborough … you know Lord Ellenborough, who was an aggressive promoter of drug smuggling into China in the days of the opium trade. And you suddenly see there is a peculiar disconnect; an absolute lack of any kind of awareness or any kind of consciousness of how to make your place in the world, really. I think that is around us all the time—this kind of inability almost, to cope with our circumstances, our past. I suppose the seeds of Arjun's character were planted for me by many different people, including my father, who was in the Second World War. Usually, when he told his stories it was all about “we were soldiers,” but once or twice he would let slip things that suddenly made you realize what he had had to deal with. He was in Kohima, for example, during the war and he got into a fight with a South African who called him “nigger” or something. And you suddenly realize this was something that they were constantly coping with, this racial denigration. It's something which has incredible poignancy.

I spent a lot of time talking with Colonel Dhillon who was in the INA, who was one of the first people to join the INA. And he came from a family which had, for three generations, been in the British-Indian Army. He came from one of the traditional British-Indian Army families and I was talking to him about what made him rebel. If the British had been as successful as they had always been in the past, they would not have asked themselves these questions. It was defeat on the field of battle which made them stop and ask. But I think it's a very, very, interesting dramatic predicament. And for me that was what interested me, it was the human and the dramatic. It's not that I have a position on it as such, it's the human and the dramatic aspect of it which gripped me. And you know another person who faced that predicament was Mangal Pandey. I haven't seen the film but I think it's very interesting that Amir Khan and Ketan Mehta have explored that predicament, because that is essentially the predicament of contemporary India as well. To this day we are constantly being manipulated by colonial powers and ex-colonial powers. As people who have been colonized for three hundred years, to feel our way into any kind of responsible presence in the world is a very difficult thing, and a historical self-awareness is one of the most important aspects of it

CS: One can see the kind of unease you have with these kinds of colonial power structures that seem to be a continuing presence. It is common knowledge that in 2001 you withdrew The Glass Palace from the Commonwealth Writers' Prize and in your open letter to the prize's organizers you expressed unease with the term “commonwealth”—a term that you felt orients contemporary writers around old colonial power structures. Is this because you feel that these colonial power structures are old and hence need to be dismissed or do you fear and worry that they still have a lot of credibility and clout in the modern world, and hence that you need to guard against them, be vigilant so people don't slip into their old passive ways?

AG: See one thing that has been very clear to me is that since the end of the Cold War there has been a real and massive revival in imperialist ideology, and it has reached an apex with the Iraq War. Immediately after the Second World War, people realized the extent of the disaster that colonialism had brought upon the world. Because really, the First and the Second World Wars in that sense were imperial wars; they were fought over imperialism, imperial policies and so on. Fifty years after the Second World War, people have come to forget and there's a kind of whitewashing of colonialism. I'm very aware of it, living in America, where really this ideology has an almost childish grip upon people. Almost childishly, Americans embrace this idea of a new empire. I've been warning about this since 1997. I wrote small articles in The Nation warning that this thing is coming about and really with the Iraq War you saw it coming into full fruition. I must say here, I really value Arundhati's interventions on this as well, because she has been someone who has really taken on this issue where most people are fighting shy of it. I must say that I'm really shocked by the way that so many prominent Indian intellectuals have actually just shut their mouths on this. None of them have responded to Niall Ferguson's book.¹ In private they'll tell you what they think of it. But none of them have publicly come out. It's strange! These are the intellectuals who should be tackling this stuff at a historical level in their writings. But they haven't. In that sense, I would say “I” in a small way, and Arundhati in a much bigger way, have really been among the few who've been trying to find some way of critiquing this sort of revival of imperialism. I was telling Homi, Partha Chatterji, and others, “why don't you respond?” but it's as if they're above the fray. Because it's not just this “New Empire” book, it's a whole slew of stuff coming out of Britain right now. They're trying to repaint themselves into some kind of crusader role. British intellectuals have been absolutely at the heart of this attack upon Iraq. So yes, I am very, very, aware of this revival of imperial ideology and so on. Today we really see the fruits of this. In 2001, when I rejected this Commonwealth Prize, it wasn't still so clear, even though one could see the rudiments of it. At that time, really, what was much more on my mind, in a very basic sense, was really just this issue of self-consciousness and truthfulness.

I think writing as we do in English, we have to be very, very careful of the historical burden that English places upon us, because, within English, there is a constant tendency to whitewash the past, in language in the first instance. So, for example, the occupation of Burma is never called the occupation or the brutalization of Burma. In English sources it's always called “pacification.” Just as today, in Iraq, the Americans call the occupation “peace making,” pacification … but it's not. It's an open war of aggression. And you know, while I was writing, I had to struggle with these words … I had to struggle because there's such a weight the English language places upon you to accept these words—to call “pacification,” what they call “pacification,” rather than to call it occupation, the name that it deserves. I realize that even for someone like me, who's so aware of this history, it is still a struggle. It's against that background that you're presented with an entity like “The Commonwealth.” Look at what this term means, “Commonwealth.” Until the 1960s, this term was reserved for white British settlers. Then deciding to expand the term, they allowed in some of the black countries and they essentially tried to put a whitewash upon the entire past. Let that be as it may, The Commonwealth is a political grouping and political groupings serve their purpose; India has participated in it and that's fine by me—I don't care about that. But when such a grouping wants to make an intervention in the field of culture, we must be very aware of what they're doing. And when you have them using this term like “The Commonwealth,” what is it? It's just a euphemism. I believe it's very important for us to not accept these euphemisms as facts of life.

During the Second World War, the Japanese called their empire in Southeast Asia—after this incredibly damaging and violent campaign in Southeast Asia—they called this entire region “The Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere,” as I'm sure you're aware. Now, if someone came to me and said would you accept “The Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere Prize,” would I accept? Of course I wouldn't! Why should I accept something, which is just a euphemism for some incredible violence that was done to the world that is now seeking to whitewash itself? So I felt I couldn't in conscience accept this prize…. You know, I feel, aesthetically, do I want my book, which is about the lives of people who were resisting empire in various ways—do I want it to be stuck with this Commonwealth Prize label on the cover? And I decided, “no, I can't live with that. I don't want it.” And so I withdrew.

CS: You mention about how you're very aware of the historical baggage that comes with the English language and that is something that has been in the minds of a lot of linguists as well, who have been working on English as a world language. Of course, we all know your multilingual background and the fact that you have always talked about how you would, one day, want to perhaps write a book in Bengali. You mention this is something that is still on your agenda. If you do write in Bengali, would you translate it into English yourself?

AG: [laughs] You know, to be honest, I thought one of the ways in which I would start maybe writing in Bengali is by translating The Hungry Tide into Bengali. I did make a start on it and then I realized maybe it was not for me to do, because it's very hard to revisit your own work in a very intimate way because you're always tempted to rewrite. But I am working closely with a translator now who's actually translating The Hungry Tide, and that is, as it were, easing me back into Bengali. I am going to write an article in Bengali quite soon. I feel very grateful for the fact that I do have access to this other language and therefore access to another way of looking at the world. Because, it was while writing The Glass Palace that I became aware of the differences. For example, the life of Rashbehari Bose as seen from a British perspective and from a Bengali perspective; the lives of these INA² people seen from those two perspectives, it's all very different and a part of it is, of course, nationalist propaganda, but part of it is something else. In Bengali, even when people are castigating the INA, there's a recognition of the seriousness of the dilemma. Even Gandhi never rejected Subhash Bose. Unlike Nehru, who did … even though Nehru later took on the defense of the INA, he initially reacted against Subhash Bose. But Gandhi knew, because Gandhi, I think, understood the sort of dilemma that Subhash Bose confronted. I feel very grateful that I have this sort of double perspective upon my world and our world. As I grow older, I feel more and more that I want to be able to hold on to that perspective and preserve some aspect of it.

CS: You talked about the double perspective … I think that brings in the very important issue of translation … transculturation. There is this idea about not just linguistic translation, but cultural translation that you're talking about, and translation as a performative means of cultural communication. Do you believe in the ultimate translatability of languages and cultures? Do you think there's always some measure of incommensurability or untranslatability which gets in the way of actually communicating ideas that's intrinsic to one community or culture into another culture or into another language, which you can never supersede?

AG: I'm not a theoretician so I can't think of it theoretically. But I think all this stuff that people are always saying, “oh so much lost in translation,” I think to myself, “who needs to hear that!” I mean what's the point of people saying that? I just don't understand what the point is of saying it; we all know it. When I speak in English, how do I know that you are understanding what I am saying? Is it really possible for one human being to understand another human being? Obviously we interact with each other through a surface of words which is always deceptive. So what's the difference? There is always some sort of a patina which prevents, as it were, perfect communication. But that should be a given. It should be a starting point. I think every time you hear people say this is untranslatable or this can't be translated you should just say “can't it? Or does it just mean you're not doing your job?” If it's difficult to translate, then find a way! Language allows you infinite possibilities; you just have to try a little harder. I think incommunicability is one of those constraints which should be taken for granted and which should lead you … like meter in poetry, it should push you … push you harder.

CS: Yet it's a predicament that you've very explicitly expounded on, for instance, in your The Imam and the Indian, where, when you were staying in Egypt and doing some fieldwork in the village of Nashawy, you talked about how you experienced this strange incident where you were asked to talk about cremation and you mention about how you couldn't find an Arabic equivalent for the word cremation and you said “burn,” and of course, that brought in a whole different set of connotations for the Imam. I thought this episode was very interesting since it shows the kind of predicament, which, as you rightly point out, can happen within a language, not necessarily across languages or cultural barriers.

AG: People often point to that particular instance and say to me here you're pointing to the incommunicability of languages but that was not my intention at all. What I was pointing to was the inadequacy of my knowledge of Arabic! Because, if I had known Arabic better, even today, I would be able to find a locution around it. I would find a better locution or I would find some other locution. It was because then I didn't know Arabic very well. So that's what I was pointing to. I was pointing to my own imperfect knowledge of Arabic.

CS: I found the ending of the essay rather moving—your ideas about how both of you—the Imam and you, when you were actually disputing about the differences in culture and ideological perspectives, you said it was very sad that in a way you were actually negotiating from a position that was ultimately relative to the West … that both your civilizations were being judged on the basis of how far or how close they were to Western notions of civilization, which basically evolved around armament, war, and ammunition. I felt that was a very central irony that is very remarkable and obvious there. Again, it goes back to this whole idea of imperialism and colonial power structures that refuse to be dismantled. That's an idea that seems to really preoccupy you. It comes through in so many different ways and in different novels. Even in your first science fiction / fantasy effort, The Calcutta Chromosomes, there's this incredible effort to subvert the power structure. It's very amusing and deeply ironic that an Indian sweeper woman ultimately seems to have the British scientist, the male scientist under her scrutiny. She seems to be the one who's judging them and finding them wanting. I thought it was a brilliant stroke and very ironic. How did you hit upon this idea? Of course you mention that the idea originated from reading Ronald Ross's memoirs, ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Chronological Bioprofile
• Introduction: Beyond Borders and Boundaries
• 1. Diasporic Predicaments: An Interview with Amitav Ghosh
• 2. Unlikely Encounters: Fiction and Scientific Discourse in the Novels of Amitav Ghosh
• 3. The Glass Palace: Reconnecting Two Diasporas
• 4. Resignifying “Coolie”: Amitav Ghosh's The Glass Palace
• 5. The Girmitiyas' Journey in Amitav Ghosh's Sea of Poppies
• 6. Shadows and Mysteries: Illusions of Imagined Communities in Amitav Ghosh's The Shadow Lines
• 7. Amitav Ghosh's “Imagined Communities”: The Hungry Tide as a Possible “Other” World
• 8. Sharing Landscapes and Mindscapes: Ethics and Aesthetics in Amitav Ghosh's The Calcutta Chromosome
• 9. Language and Ethics in The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh
• 10. Ghosh, Language, and The Hungry Tide
• 11. Intertexuality in Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide
• 12. “Dwelling in Travel”: In An Antique Land and the Making of a Resisting Post-Colonial History
• 13. The Calcutta Chromosome: A Novel of Fevers, Delirium and Discovery—A Tour de Force Transcending Genres
• 14. Inner Circles and the Voice of the Shuttle: Native Forms and Narrative Structure in Amitav Ghosh's The Circle of Reason
• List of Contributors