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 of 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.
Misdirection is one of the greatest tools that Lahiri has used throughout all of these stories. Just when it feels like we’re at the most intimate center of truth, something is revealed that upsets our trust. It was there in “A Real Durwan” where the reader comes to believe that a kindhearted old woman couldn’t be perceived as a criminal but, due to age and social status, becomes the scapegoat. It’s the brilliance that grows the more that one dives deeper into every paragraph, finding innocuous stories revealing some greater truths. For “Sexy,” it feels like the author has pushed this idea even further, finding ways that people can be drawn to unnatural things. It’s a story of affairs, though not all of them involve humanities. Some of them are simply divisions of cultural identity.
So, what does “Sexy” mean? It’s a phrase repeated a few times throughout the text and one that comes across as initially empowering. The reader probably has their own idea about that word. Given that Miranda is a woman, it’s easy to assume certain things around accentuating the body and pouring makeup onto the face in a way that creates desire. Sexy is an alluring term, but what does it mean here? Given that Miranda’s having an affair with Dev, it’s easy to see it as seductive and maybe even passionate, but nothing theoretically erotic happens over the nearly 30 pages. At most, it’s a desire for something that is never achieved.
In the closing pages, the answer is finally revealed to Miranda. Having bought a cocktail dress that she thinks an escort would wear, she seems set on fulfilling a certain façade. However, there’s something self-conscious when she is told that to be sexy is to lose control over oneself. Here it becomes a subjective term, more for the admirer than the subject of admiration. For all the reader knows, Dev is using the term less out of sincerity and as easy flattery. After all, Miranda isn’t often called sexy. This novelty carries her far, making her feel adult and mature. It’s a simple way that language can seduce.
But why does this term matter in this story? Lahiri plays on the preconceived notions, creating certain expectations for audiences. Even the early pages suggest that something steamy is about to happen but all that goes down is a round of gossip, allowing for the most kneejerk of emotions. As an outsider, Laxmi’s story to Miranda about her cousin’s husband is engaging. The idea of him being freed from the constraints of societal norms is delectable. He’s allowed to expand the potential for his happiness. Laxmi’s story isn’t all that concerned with the wife, and this is an early suggestion that women in affairs are less able to feel “free.” While men can have affairs because of crisis, they don’t necessarily need to be told they’re sexy. They just need to walk out the front door.
For Miranda, it’s a complicated web that ties into a lot of her identity. When Laxmi’s story ends, Miranda shares hers. Because of how the story is structured, there was a part of me that thought she was an escort, or someone being used to fulfill other people’s fantasies. It’s maybe just the placement alongside Laxmi’s tale, but it reveals how it feels that women’s roles in affairs can seem contractual, codependent on the financial wealth of their male counterparts. They have the ability to take them places and access worlds that are cut off from women. That in itself creates an alluring component. Men don’t need to be sexy. They just need to open their wallet.
But to stop here is to not get a full appreciation of Lahiri’s intention. Dev is Bengali, which Miranda assumed was a religion. This cultural misunderstanding becomes clear when it’s revealed that she’s an Indian American who has little connection to her identity. She has given into the mysteries that come with American consumerist culture. It swallows her authenticity whole, leaving behind someone who is more attracted to wealth and status over core values.
One of the most telling scenes of “Sexy” comes during the couple’s initial meeting. Lahiri makes sure to not make it a conventional romance of glancing across rooms. Instead, it feels more like a Sears Catalog ad. Before the reader meets Dev, Miranda walks through rows of people hocking beauty products. Perfume is sprayed on her. The make-up counter gets a few sentences to describe the precise way to apply cream to one’s face. There’s so much in the beauty standards that could reference being a woman, but it’s also the sense of hiding blemishes, doing everything to approach a standard that, as Dev would say, is sexy. By the time they meet, it hardly feels authentic. They have consumed the market whole, intoxicated by an American Dream that isn’t actually there.
I should say that I don’t believe that Lahiri is actively discriminating against the beauty industry, though it feels like perfect symbolism for how the divides between Miranda and Dev appear immediately. The salespeople, presumably white, provide answers for how she is supposed to look. If she gets money, she too can look sexy. Who doesn’t want to feel empowered?
The debate can be had about how much Dev actually loves Miranda, but there’s still a sense that she is infatuated with him. Upon being told that she’s sexy, she buys a cocktail dress thinking that it’ll make her look even more attractive. He is less interested in that, preferring to see her long legs and take in other parts of her beauty. Much like the larger framing device, gossip is the most attractive part of the relationship. He wants to know about the men she dated. There’s no desire to know who Miranda is. The few details that are revealed include her youth knowing The Dixits, which in itself reflects how few people she has known from her own culture.
Because of this, she feels isolated. Suddenly this affair is about more than one thing. It’s not about a woman feeling free. It’s not about feeling empowered. Dev’s lack of interest in her may display confidence in himself while also showing disinterest in helping her through an identity crisis. He is, after all, from India. He knows this world firsthand. There’s nothing he needs to learn through this intimacy. Miranda’s trapped in a world that doesn’t fully recognize her, so she uses Dev as a chance to compensate. She tries to learn Bengali and embrace the culture. If she can do that, she can form her own independence. Is that what she’s really attracted to?
Returning to the eventual revelation, the greater point of studying this affair is not to suggest that Dev is cruel or that he’s somehow distant. While a lack of emotional closeness remains an issue, it’s also one that exists within every fiber of Miranda’s being. She needed make-up to appear sexy. She needed Dev to access a joy that was missing in her life. She needs identity to feel whole. Before the story, she could just be another woman shackled, unable to move around the world. It’s a commentary on how much can be removed for a woman who is somewhere that makes her feel displaced. Suddenly the most mundane of affairs can feel exciting and she can see beyond the artifice that America has given her to compensate. Then again, is The American Dream a thing worth striving for if it’s a removal of oneself?
That’s why the way that sexy is framed is fascinating. Everything in this story by that definition is sexy. The only issue is that the person who is sexy ends up not feeling empowered. They are under the control of various masters. Their codependence has a hypnotic effect that blurs everything together. When one can step back, they may feel disillusioned. But it couldn’t be all bad, right? Miranda at least got a taste of culture that she can grow and learn from. The issue is would it be there without Dev motivating her? She’ll have nobody to really share it with. Maybe Laxmi, but even then it’s unclear how intimate they are as friends. The efforts to endure are very important, but not being able to practice rituals only muddies the water.
The final question ultimately becomes whether it’s a good thing to be sexy. Everyone wants to be attractive and have good health. They want to feel empowered in the world. However, one must wonder whether chasing the approval of others is necessary. As someone who is exploring dual identities, Lahiri does an excellent job of showing how Indian women especially struggle to feel connected to a greater identity. Given that this is a story presented through gossip, it can be a sign of feeling disconnected enough from oneself to focus all their attention on other people’s problems. Maybe it’s a distraction from a greater conflict. There could be some deeper projection going on, or even misdirection. What is truly going on?
By having gossip be the central device, the characters have evolved from sexy to having control over their own narrative. Even if there’s still room to change, they’re beginning to shape how others see their lives. Suddenly Dev is not in control or Laxmi’s cousin. These women are able to shape how the world is seen. It may be flawed, but it helps to comment on the various ways that one can begin to become empowered. Maybe the gossip is empty and meaningless, but it seems doubtful. Maybe Miranda will grow and become more connected with her identity. Only time will truly tell.
Comments
Post a Comment