April 2012

‘Sea of Poppies’ is the first book in Amitav Ghosh’s ‘Ibis Trilogy.’ In this historical novel, set in 1838, Ghosh tells the intertwined story of Indians, Europeans, and Americans, all affected by the opium trade. First, there’s Deeti, who manages to farm a few acres, mostly dedicated to opium poppies, while her husband, an addict, works at the processing plant a few miles away. Then there’s Paulette Lambert, the orphaned daughter of a French botanist, and Jodu, the orphaned son of Paulette’s wet-nurse and nanny. Paulette is taken in by the Burnhams, wealthy shippers and shipowners, but yearns to escape their restricted life. And there’s the Raja of Raskhali, whose estates have caught Burnham’s eye.

Ghosh brings them all together on the sailing ship Ibis, and their complicated and sometimes interrelated routes to the ship comprise the novel. The Ibis has come from Baltimore, and is on its way back, via the island of Mauritius. Jodu is taken on as a crewman on the Ibis, under the orders of Zachary Reid, a mixed-race crewman who has risen to the position of second mate. The cruel first mate, Mr. Crowle, has it in for both of them, and there are some gripping and frightening passages in which he lets them know it. Deeti and her husband are among a group of girmitiyas, migrants on their way to Mauritius as indentured workers. Since Hindus who cross the ‘Black Water’ lost caste, the reader can imagine the hardships of life at home that might induce an Indian to migrate. Of course, Ghosh also relates some of the promises made to them as well.

Getting them all to the Ibis allows Ghosh to explore issues of caste, both English and Hindu. The English ranks are very clear to the English themselves, as well as to others like Paulette who come in contact with them, and Zachary, who may have something to hide. All Westerners look the same to the Indians. Ghosh also illustrates the devastating effect of the opium trade on Indian farmers — the action takes place just before the start of the Opium Wars. There are also love, and lust, opium, greed, and chicanery, financial and other types.

A great deal of the book is written in dialect; it took some time to become accustomed to it. The book includes a chrestomathy, whose second definition, per The Free Dictionary, is “an anthology used in studying a language.” I referred to it quite a bit, especially at first. Oh, and Ghosh also doesn’t use quotation marks, but in his skilled hands, I didn’t even notice until I was more than 150 pages into the book.

Are you excited about this book? The sequel in a projected trilogy, called “River of Smoke”? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics for people who hate numbers here.

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“Alice in Bed” is one of Cathleen Schine’s early novels, having been published originally in 1983, and reissued in 2012 after the success of Schine’s 2010 novel “The Three Weissmans of Westport.” “Alice in Bed” tells the story of Alice, a college student who is, for some reason, unable to move her legs without pain, and is hospitalized while doctors search for a cause or, at least, a cure. Halfway through the book, Alice moves to a rehab center, where she realizes that there are people a lot worse off than she is.

Alice is a lively young woman, and clearly does not like being cooped up in the hospital. But when her friends, family, and lovers come to see her in the hospital, she’s spritely all the same. She fights with the nurses and doctors, particularly about pain medication and its timing. She has inappropriate sex. She reminisces about an old boyfriend, whose mother comes for a visit. She writes letters to a friend who is in a psychiatric hospital, and possibly also worse off than she is. And life goes on around her – during Alice’s year in the hospital, her parents separate and divorce.

Part of the charm of the book is its regular reminders of Life Before – not life before Alice’s illness, life before the electronic age. The TV remote is wired to the TV (which is tiny, black and white, and fastened to the ceiling high above Alice’s bed). Telephones are wired and have rotary dials; no one has cell phones. People write actual letters, and mail is delivered to patients in the hospital. Patients don’t have computers or Internet access; visitors bring books and plants. (I guess we still bring flowers.) Patients didn’t control their pain medication through pumps; they gritted their teeth and waited for pills or shots. It was also the days before managed care, and Alice stays in the hospital for months; even after the move to rehab she returns once or twice to the hospital.

In his blurb, John Updike (yes! Updike blurbed the book) calls the book a caricature. But maybe it’s more of a metaphor? There are some references to “The Magic Mountain,” which Alice struggles with and gives up on, so it’s probably not a metaphor for life. Any other ideas? Let us know what you think in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics for people who hate numbers here.

Photo via Amazon.com