Bookless in Baghdad

Shashi Tharoor

Reviewed by Ashini J. Desai

Reading Bookless in Baghdad (Arcade, 2005) is like walking with Shashi Tharoor through a library. It is as if each shelf calls to him to ponder the impact of that writer or reflect on his favorite books. Every chapter explores different aspects of what it means to be a writer, a reader, and a participant of literature.

The book is elegantly sectioned so the reader is not thrown from one type of essay to another. He begins his memoirs by introducing his interests and experiences with literature ranging from childhood to college, though it seems Tharoor wrestles with highlighting his experiences and achievements at St. Stephen College, while thumbing his nose at its elitism.

The section entitled "Reconsiderations" has essays presenting particular writers such as Pablo Neruda, John LeCarre, and Salman Rushdie. As an American, I was particularly appreciative of his chapter on P.G. Wodehouse. Finally, someone has bothered to explain the Indian audience's fascination with Mr. Wodehouse and what the rest of the world is missing! He dares to go against the grain by expressing his brutally honest opinion on esteemed authors such as V.S. Naipaul and R.K. Narayan. For Narayan, "When asked why he didn't write in an Indian language, Narayan replied that he did, for English was an Indian language. Ironically, though, much of Narayan's prose reads like translation." Ouch.

In "The Literary Life," Tharoor lifts the curtain and offers an intimate view to his motivations for writing The Great Indian Novel and Riot, and what exactly happened when he dabbled with the film industry with the cinematic adaptation of Show Business. Tharoor discusses each of these experiences with crisp humor, as if he's still surprised he's been published.

Tharoor is honest about juggling his writing with his career in international affairs. To explain the delays between his novels, he says, "with fiction, you not only need time, which I am always struggling to find, but you also need a space inside your head to create an alternative universe and to inhabit it so intimately that its reality infuses your awareness of the world."

If there should be one reason any author should assemble his or her memoirs, it would be the opportunity for the author to have a voice to challenge critics. He can reveal the abrasive criticisms and offer a genteel explanation. There is a particular snub at a woman who created her opinion of him by appearance. He remarks that she was "challenging the authenticity of the NRI... it does not pass her acid test of what is really, truly Indian. For her, my sin is not that I have traveled too far from roots, but that I haven't traveled far enough to please her." To lessen his own defensiveness, Tharoor gives examples of other writers, like Norman Mailer, who had stormed and demanded print space to combat negative reviews.

The title essay is based on his experience in Baghdad on a 1998 United Nations related trip. He describes a book souk where people sold valuable books to survive. The sad irony is that those that truly loved the books were the ones selling them, not reading them. He closes by focusing on a statue of Scheherazade, the legendary storyteller of Baghdad. While it was a beautiful statue, it lacked a plaque indicating its history. Like the nameless statue of Scheherazade, Tharoor mourns for the Iraqis who lose their names, words, and books.

His final essays describe the conflict of authenticity of identity imposed on writers of Indian descent. While discussion of this is common among South Asian writers, Tharoor explores this topic well. "One critic disparagingly declared that the acid test ought to be 'Could this have been written only by an Indian?... I would answer that my works could not only have been written only by an Indian but only by an Indian in English."

Taking that comment one step further, I'll say Bookless in Baghdad was personal enough to be written only by Tharoor.