Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri

Jhumpa Lahiri writes about Indian-Americans. It's a fact. And a lot of critics (as well as one audience member at her Strand reading two weeks ago) take issue with it. Such a lovely writer...why restrict herself to a small subset of people and circumstances? But what they all seem to overlook is that she uses Bengalis in the way Faulkner uses residents of Yoknapatawpha County--the repetition of geography and particular ethnic themes building a very specific sense of space. That's a big part of why her latest collection of stories, Unaccustomed Earth, is her best work yet.

I loved Interpreter of Maladies and enjoyed The Namesake, and wasn't sure how Unaccustomed Earth would stack up. But as I read, I found myself feeling reluctant to put it down, even though I dreaded finishing the book. Rather than being a rehash of old stories (after all, why mess with a Pulitzer-winning formula?), every story built upon the base. Having already broached the themes of Indian emigration and arranged marriages in the earlier books, Lahiri's free now to reflect on the deeper mechanics of relationships.

In a way, Lahiri moves her previous characters into a post-immigration era. Her new set of characters is almost all second-generation Indian-Americans, with parents who've long since assimilated into Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, etc. One of the most common threads of the book is the transference of anxiety from the parents to the children, who worry not about fitting in with Americans, but with their parents. White spouses, American food, and zero interest in Calcutta-based customs--those are the rebellions. But the rejections of heritage, no matter how small, cause the various protagonists to second-guess their lives, their lovers, and their own legacies. Nearly all of the relationships in the book are marked by this anxiety, tinged with a deeper melancholy than Lahiri's other stuff.

Perhaps the biggest difference in this book --and the most evidence of a maturing perspective--is the examination of marriage. Maybe it's because Lahiri is now married herself and has kids, but she seems especially interested in the ongoing conversation and evolution between two people who've committed to one another. One story features a couple attending the wedding of the husband's old friend/infatuation. Lahiri doesn't take the expected route, the "he still has feelings for the ex" one. Instead, she looks at the protagonist's complex feelings about his wife in general. There's no artificial choice between the old love and the current one.

The book's centerpiece is a trio of stories about Hema and Kaushik, whose lives cross several times. The first story is Hema recalling how Kaushik and his family, friends of her parents, came to stay with them for a month when the kids were teenagers. Hema uses the second person, clearly talking to Kaushik, saying the kind of intimate things you can't tell someone when he's sitting on the couch a foot away from you. The next story is Kashiuk's, and although Hema isn't actually present at all, it's his turn to use the private "you." Their final story, third person, details the most significant intersection of their lives. He's an itinerant photojournalist, and she's a professor about to give in and marry an arranged husband. This was by far my favorite story in the book. "Going Ashore" is such a perfect meeting of plot development, realism, and lush language that it has an extra sparkle. The last few paragraphs actually made me tear up because they were so unexpected--definitely not a common occurrence for me ever, but especially not when reading.

I'm not sure any contemporary writer conveys the love/loss duality like Jhumpa Lahiri does. And if she wants to keep doing it with Bengali characters who live in Boston, fine by me. I'll line up every time and hand over my money.

So much of the writing is beautiful, but there were some standouts:

"These women, with their rich, loose tangles of hair, their sunglasses concealing no wrinkles, were younger than Hema, but she felt inexperienced in their company, innocent of the responsibilities of rearing children and running a household. She had grown used to this feeling over the years with Julian--her position as the other woman, which had felt so sophisticated when their affair began, was actually a holding pen that kept her from growing up. She had denied herself the pleasure of openly sharing a life with the person she loved."

"And wasn't it terrible, how much he looked forward to those moments, so much so that sometimes even a ride by himself on the subway was the best part of the day? Wasn't it terrible that after all the work one put into finding a person to spend one's life with...that solitude was what one relished most, the only thing that, even in fleeting, diminished doses, kept one sane?"

"Kaushik never fully trusted the places he'd lived, never turned to them for refuge. From childhood, he realized now, he was always happiest to be outside, away from the private detritus of life."