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.
One of my favorite things about doing Short Stop is reaching the final entry. This is less because of relief, but because there’s some conclusive element. There’s something implicit in the framework that makes you realize the journey you’ve been on. I think of how William Faulkner ended “Collected Stories” with a short, poetic story of death; or Joan Didion’s “Slouching Towards Heaven” which commented on the complicated nature of being a Californian living in New York. Even if each work stands on its own, I believe there is something that the writer is sharing with the audience. With “The Third and Final Continent,” I personally believe that Lahiri’s arc is more predictable than a lot of writers, but at the same time, I think it drives home the greater point that “Interpreter of Maladies” has been trying to discuss.
From the very first page, the author has found fascination with one archetype: the immigrant. I am confident that a lot of perspectives that followed are somewhat autobiographical, reflecting the duality of being an Indian living in America. The fact that most of these characters also work in academia suggests something personal. There is a need to be seen as smart. The only way to thrive in their new country is to get an education that affords them a quality job. However, even as people find that success, there’s interiority in need of tending to. Lahiri shows the work and home life butting heads as much as cultural values, and it creates a perspective that is unique to her writing.
Even then, I don’t know that any of the previous stories resonate as much as “The Third and Final Continent.” While there’s a casual tone to the prior entries, I can’t help but feel like she wants to emphasize this one as holding some greater truth. When starting the story, something about the first-person perspective made me contemplate whether Lahiri intended this to be a story about herself. Before later details reveal that the protagonist is male, it’s easy to assume she’s speaking from experience.
The initial story is the most straightforward prose in the entire book. While there’s symbolism, it’s not the metaphysical nature of something like “This Blessed House.” Instead, it’s a journey from India to Europe and then to the east coast of The United States (the third continent). The journey is a laborious one. When he lands, he is forced to stay in a cheap shelter before coming across his final destination. Many writers would simply conclude this section in a few sentences, but Lahiri is interested in delving into every detail. There is a need to understand the displacement less because it’s interesting and more because it’s important.
Without knowing what it feels like to have many homes, the reader will not understand the importance of the second half. Having been across three continents now, the protagonist has traveled far from home. He has encountered so many people, including those just as wayward on their journey. For every building that he sleeps in, no place feels like home. There’s nobody that he can consider a friend. It becomes complicated to feel any enthusiasm for his future even if he’s got a good job lined up. Like most people throughout “Interpreter of Maladies,” there’s a need to feel connected to something greater.
It could be there in the setting. As the plane is landing, the pilot announces that President Nixon has declared today a holiday because Americans had landed on the moon. Together, everyone celebrates. It’s an unfathomable achievement. The potential to travel even further becomes central to how the protagonist sees the world. He may never make it to the moon, but the idea of moving from India to America is his own version of it. There was a time when, collectively, nobody would’ve expected him to find success overseas. Now that people are outside Earth’s orbit, who knows what other potential is out there.
Another thing that I think makes the moon imagery interesting is the idea of loneliness. Out in space, there are only a few men who have wandered the cosmos. It’s not exactly a social place. The parallels to how the protagonist feels become immediately clear. Even as they’re surrounded, they feel like they’re on a different planet.
It doesn’t help that the protagonist feels disconnected from people in his own life. Throughout the story, there are subsections about the people he knew personally. He thinks of how his parent died miserable, so ill and feeble that they were experiencing inhuman treatment. The lack of fondness is also there in the protagonist’s wife from India named Mala. They are less drawn together from personal attraction and more obligation. These people should be what makes him happy, and yet they only remind him of the distance. There is nothing to make him happy. If anything, it reminds him of how life seems ordained. Love isn’t that deep. He’ll die alone in a very uncomfortable condition. That is unless he gets out and does something with his career. There is motivation to put work first, even if it still makes him feel lonely.
But there is one other person on this “planet” that consumes his attention. His landlady is an old woman who sits on a bench. Throughout the story, she repeats the same routine in an attempt to bond with him. She mentions that there’s an American flag on the moon. When the protagonist responds, she is never satisfied with a simple response. She wants him to say “Splendid!” While it first comes across as this awkward forcefulness, it quickly becomes an inside joke that they bond over. The landlady is one of the few people that the protagonist connects with because she is actively excited about his presence. Lahiri reflects how somewhere amid his own discomfort is a greater joy. He just needs to push through it. The guard needs to be let down so that he can live in the moment and just embrace something as silly as entertaining an old woman.
Even as he continues to work and achieve his personal dreams, Lahiri is more interested in their relationship. Every day he walks by that bench and says “splendid.” She smiles in response and it’s that little bit to keep everything upbeat. Even with “The Third and Final Continent” being one of the longer entries, there’s something so immediate about the text. It doesn’t feel like anything significant happens, but every stray observation explains why he is enamored with this landlady. It goes beyond the fact that she’s giving him permanent residence. It’s there in the idea that there’s a flag on the moon. He has traveled outside his own orbit and found a new home that welcomes him.
Some truths slowly emerge as the story concludes. The most noteworthy is that the flag didn’t actually stay on the moon. After taking pictures, it was suggested that they took it home with them. Does that remove the value of their endeavor? No. However, it may disillusion those who see the moon as a greater symbol of adventure. After all, the astronauts returned home. Will the protagonist do the same and experience another world that he feels isolated in? It has more to offer him as far as community, but he’s not going to get the job he wants. He’s going to live in squalor, and maybe experience misery that keeps him from appreciating the world around him.
At its core, that is what Lahiri has been curious about throughout these stories. The ultimate question is “Why do we leave?” The answer isn’t out of a disinterest in their homeland, but a desire to explore a world beyond their own. There is a need to enjoy life and make the most of it. The scariness can be overwhelming, but sometimes life is worth those risks. Some could read the plane trips as his own journey in a shuttle being transported to different continents/planets with different worldviews. By putting it in the first person, there’s the recognition that this is something personal and insular. It’s the only opportunity to explore this on a deeper level. We understand the protagonist’s emotions better because Lahiri gives us access. This isn’t to say that the other characters are closed off, but something about the first person is immediately more open and the perfect way to drive home the autobiographical nature of these stories. Even if this is not her story, it’s hard not to see it as something personal.
The ultimate arc comes back to the landlady. Whereas she entered the story midway and seemed a bit out of place, she became the emotional crux. As mentioned, the protagonist focuses on a lot of people and places throughout the story. However, there’s only one that means anything to him in the end. It’s the bench that the landlady sat on. For every place in America that could mean something, it was the most minimal of sites. Even as he contemplates whether telling her that there’s no flag on the moon is a good idea, he realizes why this all matters. She is the first person he has formed an attachment for. Her passing hurts because it’s the first time he’s recognized compassion in America. There may be some elsewhere, but the first is always the most meaningful.
Whereas I had assumed that the story would use “the final continent” in its title to be a reference to some afterlife, its actual use is more inspiring. This story doesn’t end with death but more optimism for the future. If the protagonist got to America after traveling three continents, then he imagines that his child could travel to the moon and beyond. The goalpost keeps getting moved on to what can be achieved in one’s life. The hope for larger aspirations is a beautiful way to end the entire anthology. If the idea is to make things easier for the next generation, then Lahiri has tenderly captured the sacrifice made to get her to this composition.
With that, this series is over. There’s a good chance that I will cover her next anthology at a later date. For now, I want to keep mixing things up and explore something else. Lahiri’s work has a uniqueness that I am glad to have explored. It gives a new appreciation of what it means to be an Indian American who is struggling to feel connected to a greater purpose. While nobody is identical, they share the same aspirations. Some are merely trying to survive while others are attempting to recover a part of themselves. To open with a story about a man looking for love in a fruitless relationship reflects just how devious the prose could be. Some details are hidden and others are more explicit. Together, they paint the complexities of life. It’s not just about career. It’s about the self and wanting it to matter. Lahiri understood that very well and gave it an interesting enough spin.
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