A Passage to India by E.M. Forster, first published in 1924
Spoiler Alert: Plot Summary
A Passage to India explores what happens when worlds collide. It centers around the experiences of an Indian man and doctor, Dr. Aziz, his British friend Mr. Fielding, and two British women, Mrs. Moore and Miss Quested. Mrs. Moore has come to Chandrapore from England with Miss Adela Quested, who is considering getting together with Mrs. Moore's son, Mr. Ronny Heaslop. Mr. Heaslop is a local government official under Britain's colonial reign. Miss Quested and Mrs. Moore are anxious to taste the 'real India', but when Dr. Aziz takes them on a journey to the local Marabar Caves, the 'real India' (or maybe just the CRAZINESS IN THE AIR) gets to Miss Quested, and she accuses Dr. Aziz of attacking her in one of the caves.
Dr. Aziz is arrested immediately, and the Brits and Indians are stoked into a fervor and frenzy. Mr. Fielding is the only one to stand against his peers, attesting continuously to his friend Dr. Aziz's innocence. Mrs. Moore believes Adela has made everything up, but she won't say so publicly, and she dies on a return trip to England. Ultimately, in a bizarre twist, and after we are sure in several moments on our own with Miss Quested that this is the case, she admits that she made the whole thing up (or maybe she hallucinated it? It's quite unclear) WHEN SHE IS ON THE WITNESS STAND (drama much?).
Dr. Aziz is released, but of course this has completely poisoned his attitude toward the British, with whom Dr. Aziz and his friends had previously had a sort of tenuous-not-quite-almost-working relationship. Aziz begins to doubt Mr. Fielding's loyalty, especially when Mr. Fielding takes Adela Quested under his wing after her bizarre actions at the trial. Aziz and Fielding drift apart, and eventually Fielding returns to England. After a miscommunication, it seems Fielding has married Adela back in England, and Aziz is furious, feeling utterly betrayed. In the final scenes of the novel, Fielding returns to India, where Aziz discovers that Fielding has in fact married one of Mrs. Moore's younger children, Stella. This still feels like a betrayal as Fielding is still friendly with Heaslop and has married his sister, but they reach a fragile reconciliation just before Fielding returns home to England.
Spoiler Over: Continue Here
Dear blobbers,
Since so few people read my blob in a consecutive sort of way, I'm going to go ahead and blob on the next novel on the list. As I said in my last blob, it was trippy to read this book, a British white man's exploration of colonial rule in India, right after reading Lahiri's collection of stories centered on Indian experiences, but that's just the way the (random list of books selected) cookie crumbles!
I liked the writing of this book, and the questions it made me ask myself, but I can't say I enjoyed reading the second half of it, once Dr. Aziz was imprisoned. It was more like I went from a gentle read in the beginning to frantically reading to the end to see if things would be put right. But maybe that's exactly how I was supposed to experience it! Anyway, here are my thoughts, as usual in a bit of a hodge podge! I have a lot of thoughts, and Forster is a lovely writer, so buckle up and grab a cozy cuppa!
Chandrapore, a city of gardens: They rise from the gardens where ancient tanks nourish them, they burst out of stifling purlieus and unconsidered temples. Seeking light and air, and endowed with more strength than man or his works, they soar above the lower deposit to greet one another with branches and beckoning leaves, and to build a city for the birds. I loved this description of the city.
The whimsy of before - Like I said, the first half or third of the book has a playful, almost whimsical quality. Here are some of my favorite examples, many of which are foreshadowing for more darker moments ahead.
'Mr. Mahmoud Ali, how are you?''Thank you, Dr. Aziz, I am dying.'
'Dying before your dinner? Oh, poor Mahmoud Ali!'
'Hamidullah here is actually dead. He passed away just as you rode up on your bike.'
'Yes, that is so,' said the other. 'Imagine us both as addressing you from another and a happier world.'
'Does there happen to be such a thing as a hookah in that happier world of yours? lololol.
'Saying nothing?' He had as a matter of fact said, 'Damn Aziz' - words that the servant understood, but was too polite to repeat. One can tip too much as well as too little, indeed the coin that buys the exact truth has not yet been minted. hagh.
I thought this was funny, but then later it was not so much....
They were discussing as to whether or no it is possible to be friends with an Englishman.
'I give any Englishman two years, be he Turton or Burton. It is only the difference of a letter. And I give any Englishwoman six months. All are exactly alike. Do you not agree with me?'
Poetry: They listened delighted, for they took the public view of poetry, not the private which obtains in England. It never bored them to hear words, words; they breathed them with the cool night air, never stopping to analyse; the name of the poet, Hafiz, Hali, Iqbal, was sufficient guarantee. India - a hundred Indias - whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one and their own, and they regained their departed greatness by hearing its departure lamented, they felt young again because reminded that youth must fly. This was such a beautiful moment.
What makes an exile an exile? It was the Anthem of the Army of Occupation. It reminded every member of the club that he or she was British and in exile. I thought it was odd that the Brits called themselves 'exiles', when in fact they were essentially colonial overlords. But I guess most of the time colonists don't refer to themselves directly as 'colonial overlords'. ;) Interesting how it gives them a kind of victim mentality in their head, when in fact, they're wresting control of an entire country away from its own people.
On being obligated to name race: Ronny was ruffled. From his mother's description he had thought the doctor might be young Muggins from over the Ganges, and had brought out all the comradely emotions. What a mix-up! Why hadn't she indicated by the tone of her voice that she was talking about an Indian? This was a great moment. Ronny is mad that his mother told him a story (about Aziz) and didn't immediately clarify that he was Indian. It reminded me of several times I've referenced in this blob how POC writers are often expected to name the race of their characters explicitly and immediately, yet so many readers (esp. white readers) assume whiteness unless otherwise stated.
Home is not where you hang your hat
'You never used to judge people like this at home.'
'India isn't home', he retorted, rather rudely. Ooh, this was such an interesting exchange between Ronny and his mother. I liked that Forster created British people who were trying to essential not be 'the worst', but who were still flawed and still on a journey that felt reasonable. Ronny is not on a journey, but his mother is.
I already hated Ronny, and then... Ronny had repressed his mother when she enquired after his viola; a viola was almost a demerit, and certainly not the sort of instrument one mentioned in public. RUDE! Obviously violas are THE BOMB.COM. My sister is an excellent violist, in case you didn't know, as is one of my very best friends, and they also sit closest to the cello section so obviously there's a kind of kinship.
On posing as gods
'We're not out here for the purpose of behaving pleasantly!'
'What do you mean?'
'What I say. We're out here to do justice and keep the peace. Them's my sentiments. India isn't a drawing-room.'
'Your sentiments are those of a god,' she said quietly, but it was his manner rather than his sentiments that annoyed her.
Trying to recover his temper, he said, 'India likes gods.'
'And Englishmen like posing as gods.' OOh, this was another great exchange between Ronny and his mom.
Mangoes, mangoes! Juicy juicy mangoes!
'Visitors like you are too rare.'
'They are indeed,' said Professor Godbole. 'Such affability is seldom seen. But what can we offer to detain them?'
'Mangoes, mangoes.' haghaghahgha. I loved this line.
A robin. A swallow. A crow!
'Do you know what the name of that green bird up above us is?' she asked, putting her shoulder rather nearer to his.
'Bee-eater.'
'Oh no, Ronny, it has red bars on its wings.'
'Parrot,' he hazarded.
'Good gracious no.'
The bird in question dived into the dome of the tree. It was of no importance, yet they would have liked to identify it, it would somehow have solaced their hearts. I loved this exchange, even though Ronny and Adela were a very weird couple during the times that they were on. As a bird lover, I love that they were bonding over trying to name the species, and how it pulled them into a kind of reverie together.
Did your hands brush against each other in a garden?
Ronny's face grew dim - an event that always increased her esteem for his character. Her hand touched his, owing to a jolt, and one of the thrills so frequent in the animal kingdom passed between them, and announced that all their difficulties were only a lovers' quarrel. Each was too proud to increase the pressure, but neither withdrew it, and a spurious unity descended on them, as local and temporary as the gleam that inhabits a firefly. It would vanish in a moment, perhaps to reappear, but the darkness is alone durable. And the night that encircled them, absolute as it seemed, was itself only a spurious unity, being modified by gleams of day that leaked up round the edges of the earth, and by the stars. Again, not shipping Ronela (or Adenny?) but this was a wonderfully beautiful moment.
What about love?
'What about love?'...Not to love the man one's going to marry! Not to find it out until this moment! Not even to have asked oneself the question until now. Perhaps part of Adela's bizarre accusations of Aziz stems from her own existential crisis. These are the questions she's asking herself in the cave just before things go down.
Guests, or prisoners?
He would prefer to give breakfast to all four; still, guests must do as they wish, or they become prisoners. I love this line so much. 'Guests must do as they wish, or they become prisoners'. So fantastic.
Mrs. Moore & Mr. Fielding - They knew one another very little, and felt rather awkward at being drawn together by an Indian. The racial problem can take subtle forms. In their case it had induced a sort of jealousy, a mutual suspicion. He tried to goad her enthusiasm; she scarcely spoke. Forster wrote really poignantly about race, and race relations, in a way that I haven't seen a lot of white authors do. he also centered dual protagonists in Dr. Aziz and Mr. Fielding, which allowed him to not otherize the Indian experience, but also not to lay claim to it as his own, which I thought was really artfully done.
Why can't our besties be besties?
Loving them both, he expected them to love each other. They didn't want to. I love this line. It's so true! Sometimes we bring our favorite people together and assume they'll love each other because we love them both, but sometimes it just isn't so!
Sheeple sheeple sheeple
He was still after facts, though the herd had decided on emotion. Nothing enraged Anglo-India more than the lantern of reason if it is exhibited for one moment after its extinction is decreed. I can't imagine Forster was all that popular in England after publishing this, since his stance is pretty clear, and he's fairly vicious about the Brits. This made me like Forster all the more.
Using the n-word
I've never seen the n-word used to describe non-Black people, so it was a surprise to see it pop up several times in this work in relation to the Indians. Such vitriol and hate in the word.
The hexus
The evil was propagating in every direction, it seemed to have an existence of its own, apart from anything that was done or said by individuals. This was so poignantly done, the idea that the evil was just growing and festering without direction or leadership, per se, and it reminded me of the hexus in Fern Gully.
Palestine - Her friends kept up their spirits by demanding holocausts of natives, but she was too worried and weak to do that. There were several moments after the Brits were supposedly attacked via Adela that reminded me of Israel and Palestine in this moment. It felt like the British response was deeply out of proportion with the 'alleged' crime, and while there are of course also Israeli hostages of Hamas, there are times where the response from Israel has felt not so far off from 'demanding holocausts of natives'.
The last throes of friendship
This is the final scene between Aziz and Fielding, during which they are, very dramatically, both on horseback.
'Clear out, you fellows, double quick, I say. We may hate one another, but we hate you most. If I don't make you go, Ahmed will, Karim will, if it's fifty-five hundred years we shall get rid of you, yes, we shall drive every blasted Englishman into the sea, and then' - he rode against him furiously - 'and then', he concluded, half kissing him, 'you and I shall be friends.'
'Why can't we be friends now?' said the other, holding him affectionately. It's what I want. It's what you want.'
But the horses didn't want it - they swerved apart; the earth didn't want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single file; the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House, that came into view as they issued from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn't want it, they said in their hundred voices, 'No, not yet', and the sky said, 'No, not there.' Such an eloquent conclusion. Aziz's sentiments also reminded me of RRR (so named for its actors, but also translated in the English version as Rise-Roar-Revolt), a fantastic period drama by S. S. Rajamouli, who co-wrote the film with V. Vijayendra Prasad. I watched it last year because watched as many Oscar-nominated films as possible, and the song "Naatu Naatu" from RRR was nominated (and won!) the Oscar for best original song. It's a rather long film by American standards (3 h 7 m) but I high recommend!
Terms New to Me (this is just a smattering, as there were many)
chuprassi (alt. chaprassi) - an official messenger : functionary, overseer, servant, porter, bearer.
howdah - (in South Asia) a seat for riding on the back of an elephant or camel, typically with a canopy and accommodating two or more people.
izzat - honor, reputation, or prestige.
nautch - (in South Asia) a traditional dance performed by professional dancing girls.
pan (probably paan) - an Indian after-dinner treat that consists of a betel leaf filled with chopped betel (areca) nut (Areca catechu) and slaked lime
purdah - the practice among women in certain Muslim and Hindu societies of living in a separate room or behind a curtain, or of dressing in all-enveloping clothes, in order to stay out of the sight of men or strangers. In looking back at The Home and The World, by Rabindranath Tagore, I see he was essentially describing purdah, though I can't recall if he called it that specifically. I liked that later, Fielding and Aziz discussed their pasts, and when Aziz showed Fielding a picture of his (deceased) wife, it was a very big deal because it was, in essence, lifting a purdah for Fielding. Here's his response:
He looked back at his own life. What a poor crop of secrets it had produced! There were things in it that he had shown to no one, but they were so uninteresting, it wasn't worth while lifting a purdah on their account. What would you reveal to someone to share vulnerability? Where would you lift purdahs looking back at your life?
pukka (informal British) - genuine; of or appropriate to high or respectable society; excellent.
topi - When worn by itself, the taqiyah can be any color. However, particularly in Arab countries, when worn under the keffiyeh headscarf, they are kept in a traditional white. Some Muslims wrap a turban around the cap, called an ʿimamah in Arabic, which is often done by Shia and Sunni Muslims. In the United States and Britain, taqiyas are usually referred to as "kufis". "Topi" is a type of taqiyah cap that is worn in Pakistan, Bangladesh, India, and other regions of South Asia. Many different types of topi caps include the Sindhi cap, worn in Sindh, and the crochet topi that is often worn at Muslim prayer services. The topi cap is often worn with shalwar kameez, which is the national costume of Pakistan. (from Wikipedia)
Lines I Liked
- She watched the moon, whose radiance stained with primrose the purple of the surrounding sky. In England the moon had seemed dead and alien; here she was caught in the shawl of night together with earth and all the other stars.
- What does unhappiness matter when we are are all unhappy together? Reminded me of both the opening of Anna K and a Proust line about only being unhappy for a day at a time.
- India had developed sides of his character that she had never admired. Such a great line.
- When English and Indians were both present, he grew self-conscious, because he did not know to whom he belonged. For a little he was vexed by opposite currents in his blood, then they blended, and he belonged to no one but himself. This was such an incredible moment when a group disbanded and a servant sorted out his identity before moving along with his day.
- On twittered the Sunday bells; the East had returned to the East via the suburbs of England, and had become ridiculous during the detour.
- The heat had leapt forward in the last hour, the street was deserted as if a catastrophe had cleaned off humanity during the inconclusive talk. Again, this is such a visually stunning line.
- Astonishing even from the rise of the civil station, here the Marabar were gods to whom earth is a ghost. The Marabar are the caves where Aziz takes the women on a tour.
- It was early in morning, for the day, as the hot weather advanced, swelled like a monster at both ends, and left less and less room for the movements of mortals. STUNNING.
- Men try to be harmonious all the year round, and the results are occasionally disastrous. lololol this is in reference to the fact that many animals hibernate, or just take a portion of the year to rest up, be a little salty if they want, and how humans are perhaps the worse off for not doing so.
Referents and Reverberations
This line, about a benevolent Indian called the Nawab Bahadur - 'Despite my advanced years, I am learning to drive', he said. 'Man can learn everything if he will but try.' reminded me of Mrs. Sen from The Interpreter of Maladies, and how in different worlds, different types of cars, different timescapes, they were struggling with the same thing.
This line: Were there worlds beyond which they could never touch, or did all that is possible enter their consciousness? reminded me of this line, from Proust, Volume V, The Captive: "But are there perhaps other worlds more real than the waking world?"
This line: Every third servant is a spy. reminded me of my blob title for To Kill a Mockingbird - Every third Merriweather is morbid.
This line: Life never gives us what we want at the moment that we consider appropriate. Adventures do occur, but not punctually. reminded me of The Hobbit, and this part of that post:
Gandalf is responsible for getting Bilbo involved with the adventure (of course; Gandalf is always involved in the "I have an ulterior motive but it's in everyone's best interest" kind of mind games) and Bilbo is having NONE of it at the beginning. "We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!" He's almost gotten Gandalf to leave and he says, "Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you. Not today."
[But sneaky Gandalf puts a mark on his door that says BURGLAR LIVES HERE LOOKING FOR AN ADVENTURE (okay, I looked it up and it's actually "Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable reward" - close enough!) - only some compact, runish form of that phrase - and the adventure comes looking for Bilbo anyway.] No punctuality from adventures! Make you late for dinner!
Mrs. Moore, Adela, Mr. Fielding
'I like mysteries but I rather dislike muddles,' said Mrs. Moore.
'A mystery is a muddle.'
'Oh, do you think so, Mr. Fielding?' I loved this exchange.
To shout is useless, because a Marabar cave can hear no sound but its own. Creepy!
Perhaps life is a mystery, not a muddle; they could not tell. Well blobbers, I'll leave you, then! I'm going to start a hygge cozy winter book bingo next, I think, so there may be a delay before I return for my next entry! In the mean time, keep safe, keep warm, and keep cozy! And keep reading!
