A few years ago, I first read Jhumpa Lahiri’s beloved novel “The Namesake.” Having found it to be a very endearing exploration of cross-cultural identity, I became curious to read more by her. With this Short Stop series, I will be taking a close look at her debut short story collection “Interpreter of Maladies.” Having won The Pulitzer Prize, I am curious to see if she is able to convey in a matter of pages what made her novel so substantial. Will this be a work that captures the complexities of being from two lands, where you’re in search of a home on two continents? Over the next few entries, I hope to discover what has made her one of the most essential modern writers and discover more of what she has to say about the human experience.
For my third series of Short Stop, I flipped through a collection of anthologies that I’ve collected over the years and landed on “Interpreter of Maladies.” There has always been something that’s made me want to read more by Lahiri. Having tackled older authors whose work is decades old with William Faulkner and Alice Munro, I want to mix things up by looking at a perspective that is completely devoid of my own. Having enjoyed “The Namesake,” I knew that Lahiri was a good place to start. I am not well-versed in the Bengali American culture and figured this would be a good place to become immersed and find stories that go beyond the more conventional immigration tale that maybe doesn’t say a lot about the individual as a person.
Much like Faulkner and Munro, Lahiri’s choice to open with “A Temporary Matter” is one of those amazing openers that really gets you excited for what’s to come. What starts as a straightforward story of somebody’s electricity being turned off quickly becomes a greater study of how a miscarriage can tear a family apart. There’s a delicate stacking of events in such a way that a casual reader may not predict that something will crumble this fragile empire. In fact, the central act of sitting around a dinner table by candlelight and confessing secrets seems closer to cute than sinister. If you read it all as innocent, there’s a good chance that it seems like nothing is going on. And then, with one final page, it all turns on its head and becomes a devastating metaphor for a literal and metaphorical broken home. Lahiri leaves the reader with the question “Can it be fixed?” and honestly, the answer isn’t that simple.
The story centers around the couple Shoba and Shukumar who have a lot going on in their lives. For the sake of directness, I will start with the most temporary of matter that opens the story. As Shukumar leaves for an academic conference, he waves to his pregnant wife Shoba. Due to a series of events, Shoba has a miscarriage while he is away. It’s a debilitating enough moment for anyone, and one that Lahiri suggests may leave her unable to have another child. As later revelations may suggest, it could be an argument of fertility, personal desire, or simply not having a significant other. Shukumar leaves the conference early to be with her. While the central act is horrible, there’s still the belief that these are good people who just had a run of bad luck. When paired with a more consistent story, it comes across as ironic.
With that said, Shukumar comes across as a hard-working man who doesn’t really succeed at anything. It’s unclear why, but there’s the suggestion that he’s just not motivated enough. Given that he’s an Indian American immigrant, there could also be the suggestion of racism at play, though it’s never overtly stated. Instead, there is the sense that he’s a lovable loser. Meanwhile, Shoba is even more kind-hearted and willing to have dinner ready when he comes home. They are the conventional couple readying themselves for The American Dream. They will have a child and imagine a bright future. Again, it’s ironic then that this is paralleled with their electricity having to be turned off for several days.
This is done because of a powerline being knocked over in a snowstorm. Starting at 8 P.M. one night, they will be turning the power off so that they can work in safe conditions. While there’s initial concern about eating dinner in the dark, what comes to take place is a game of confessions in the dark.
There’s a lot that’s interesting about this exchange. For starters, there is the sense that they are not prepared for the moment. They complain about not having candles accessible, which could also allude to a lack of romanticism between them. There’s papers and objects being knocked off tables that also suggest that the place most designed for intimacy and connection has been cluttered with what each sees as more important work. Sure, this could all just be coincidental as Shukumar is an academic who always seems busy. Even then, this moment where they are powerless and have no distraction forces them to take in each other’s intellect, listening to voices and discovering truths about them.
To push the symbolism further, I think that the house itself can reflect an interiority that reflects the marriage itself. A house is a metaphor for what a good marriage should be. Building it on a good foundation is necessary. Even if it’s rented, there is a need to take care of it and make it beautiful. With the loss of a child, the upward momentum is crumbling. I also think that seeing electricity as the invisible force within the house that keeps it alive can symbolize the blood flow, the very essence of life. Without it, they have nothing but their interiority, which is where Lahiri leaves the characters. They are stuck in their own minds, at their most candid and willing to be vulnerable. Outside they see their neighbors, a loving couple, leave for a bookstore. That is what they want to present to the outside world: happiness. By the end, it can be argued how well they project that to each other.
It could also be seen as the womb. Having recently lost a child, they are in a very internal position, recoiling from a bad pregnancy. Their marriage is gestating from what little life is left. Like the electricity/blood metaphor, it can be argued that it symbolizes a dead marriage. Even then, that’s getting too far ahead. Before it brings everything together with a phenomenal last-page revelation, I want to discuss the brilliance of Lahiri’s indirect language. It may not seem like Shukumar is revealing anything at all but give it time and you’ll begin to see his true colors.
The first secret is probably the least offensive on the surface. He is said to have cheated on a major exam in college. He spied on the neighbor’s work and wrote it down. This may raise some red flags, but isn’t likely to define a bad marriage. However, it does begin to ask the question of who Shukumar is. As someone who exists within academia, and not very well, the question is ultimately why he wants to be there. He clearly was never good at it. There is a sense that he’s lying to himself about his career which can bring a whole host of questions around his happiness. However, it also can pose a greater question in hindsight of what his ethics are. In a moment where he’s called upon to be most honest, he cheated. The work is not reflective of his own, and yet he keeps moving forward. Is there any way that he’s been dishonest with Shoba that is not being discussed?
Again, this can come across as something so mundane at first. Still, given that he was at an academic conference the day of the miscarriage, one has to wonder how honest he’s being about it. Maybe he really was just there for networking, but he could be cheating in other ways. The connections continue with his second reveal with a magazine. He claims to rip out a picture of a woman that he kept hidden. What started as pleasure slowly turned to disgust. It’s here that somebody might consider that something’s up. Of course, that is all dependent on how one sees ogling within a marriage. To those who are more liberal, the idea of fantasizing about attractive people you’ll never meet is more accepted. However, it does suggest in its own indirectness something greater about Shukumar. On the surface, it’s a cute and harmless truth. However, when paired with the ethical cheating of his previous revelation, the pattern of dishonesty starts to surface.
In what many could perceive as the final truth, he talks about returning a sweater. This goes according to plan until he decides to get drunk. It’s the most alarming of the three. Still, there’s reason to doubt that Shukumar is that terrible of a person because of how well he’s hidden himself in this darkness. He’s doing everything for the sake of a stable marriage. With the power gone, there’s nothing to keep them motivated. The reader can assume many things, let alone that Shukumar was having an affair while at the academic conference. His disloyalty was always there, but the fact he never left for long suggests that he’s just another husband doing work to better the family.
And yet, right as everything begins to appear like things will work out, Shukumar can’t help but reveal the most painful of truths. Whereas the indirectness hides what’s insidious, the final statement is as clear as day. They return to the story of their marriage. It’s clear that he’s unhappy with her. Otherwise he wouldn’t bring up the final gut punch that finishes the text.
It’s one thing that he wasn’t there at the moment of the miscarriage. It’s a bit dubious, but it feels like a tragic coincidence. Even then, there’s the agreement that it’s a shameful and traumatic moment that they don’t wish to discuss. Bringing it up already suggests discomfort. However, there is a need to really turn the knife. Shukumar digs deeper. When offered to hold the baby while Shoba was incapacitated, he decided to. This in itself is suggested as acceptable, but then he says the most uncomfortable truth of all. By describing the baby as a boy with black hair, he’s breaking their trust. There was an agreement that they didn’t want to know. By having that reality, there is a permanence that can haunt Shoba for the rest of her life. Given that it’s suggested she might not have another child, this one shot at a stable home failing is too much.
“A Temporary Matter” is one of the great openers of a short story collection that makes me envious as a writer. Every part of the story has some symbolism or indirectness that forces you to stop and ponder what Lahiri is saying at that moment. It’s unclear if Shukumar really is a philanderer or if he’s hiding an affair. Does the powerline falling in the snowstorm symbolize something greater in their lives? Maybe this is all the byproduct of a man traumatized by his dead child. Whatever it is, there’s no clarity as to whether the marriage will last much longer. It’s the type of story that can go in a whole host of directions, and I love that it does so without existing in too vague of a space.
This is the type of story that makes me eager to really dig in and find more revelations from Lahiri. I love that this is a story of parallels that don’t need more than a blackout to convey its complicated themes. Every page is so rich and entertaining. Whereas I started initially confused by the placement of details, I end believing that there’s no better order for things to be. Everything is where it should be, waiting to be interpreted. I’m sure there’s even more that I missed. Even then, I’m left in awe of what can be achieved in a matter of pages. A full marriage can be shown without stating the obvious. It makes you hopeful of the potential that is likely to follow.
Coming Up Next: “When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine”
Comments
Post a Comment