gerhard's review
5.0
What a magnificent novel, intimate and yet epic, related with such a clarity and a compassion for its broad cast of characters that the reader feels transported from the ruins of the World Trade Centre in 9/11 New York to Bamiyan in Afghanistan, where the Taliban army destroyed the Buddha statues.
In the ‘Acknowledgements’, Jameson Currier talks about the seed of The Third Buddha being sown as “the desire to recast and retell the story of the Good Samaritan during a time of crisis and within a clash of religions and cultures”. He adds: “I also knew I wanted it to represent what it meant to be an articulate gay activist and citizen of the world.”
Interestingly, Currier refers to Spinoza, which immediately reminded me of another recent gay novel about gay activism and citizenship, Samuel R. Delany’s Through The Valley of the Nest of Spiders, which also refers extensively to Spinoza’s idea of living a good life.
What I found fascinating about The Third Buddha is how Currier contextualises his gay characters in a fully realised global setting, where the fact of them being ‘gay’ is just another sociopolitical element, rather than being an end in itself.
In this age of liberation and openness, it might seem astonishing to have a character like Pup’s brother bemoaning the fact that there is no instruction manual on being gay, let alone a gay citizen of the world. All the gay characters in The Third Buddha struggle with personal and social/family problems impacted by them being gay, especially the cross-cultural couples like Jim and Ari.
Even in New York, where you would think it is much easier to define yourself as being gay and to develop an appropriate identity for yourself, Currier shows ordinary gay people struggling with failed (or failing) relationships, or navigating increasingly complex relationships burdened by the expectations of family and society (and the expectations of gay culture itself, which is portrayed as being out of touch with the lived reality of many gay people in other parts of the world, particularly in homophobic societies like Afghanistan and Pakistan).
If this sounds dry and academic, do not let me put you off reading The Third Buddha, which is like a gay novel that is firmly out of the literary closet. It is immensely readable and hugely affecting. The dual narrative switches between a journalist searching for his cameraman partner after an accident separates them in Afghanistan, and a young brother searching for his lost sibling in New York when he disappears after 9/11. There is enough history and cultural information woven in to make both New York and Afghanistan come alive, with a range of extremely well drawn characters, even the smaller roles.
This is a huge novel, yet it feels curiously intimate. All the characters are deeply flawed, and their separate journeys of discovery are heartbreaking to endure … and yet this is not a depressing novel by any means. The final message is one of love, hope and tolerance, of finding oneself, and staying true to who you are when you do, no matter what.
Sometimes one makes such an emotional connection with a book, because you feel there is a truth at its heart that speaks to you directly. You know instinctively that such a book will become a part of your literary history, adding an indelible something to the person you are. This book is one of mine.
In the ‘Acknowledgements’, Jameson Currier talks about the seed of The Third Buddha being sown as “the desire to recast and retell the story of the Good Samaritan during a time of crisis and within a clash of religions and cultures”. He adds: “I also knew I wanted it to represent what it meant to be an articulate gay activist and citizen of the world.”
Interestingly, Currier refers to Spinoza, which immediately reminded me of another recent gay novel about gay activism and citizenship, Samuel R. Delany’s Through The Valley of the Nest of Spiders, which also refers extensively to Spinoza’s idea of living a good life.
What I found fascinating about The Third Buddha is how Currier contextualises his gay characters in a fully realised global setting, where the fact of them being ‘gay’ is just another sociopolitical element, rather than being an end in itself.
In this age of liberation and openness, it might seem astonishing to have a character like Pup’s brother bemoaning the fact that there is no instruction manual on being gay, let alone a gay citizen of the world. All the gay characters in The Third Buddha struggle with personal and social/family problems impacted by them being gay, especially the cross-cultural couples like Jim and Ari.
Even in New York, where you would think it is much easier to define yourself as being gay and to develop an appropriate identity for yourself, Currier shows ordinary gay people struggling with failed (or failing) relationships, or navigating increasingly complex relationships burdened by the expectations of family and society (and the expectations of gay culture itself, which is portrayed as being out of touch with the lived reality of many gay people in other parts of the world, particularly in homophobic societies like Afghanistan and Pakistan).
If this sounds dry and academic, do not let me put you off reading The Third Buddha, which is like a gay novel that is firmly out of the literary closet. It is immensely readable and hugely affecting. The dual narrative switches between a journalist searching for his cameraman partner after an accident separates them in Afghanistan, and a young brother searching for his lost sibling in New York when he disappears after 9/11. There is enough history and cultural information woven in to make both New York and Afghanistan come alive, with a range of extremely well drawn characters, even the smaller roles.
This is a huge novel, yet it feels curiously intimate. All the characters are deeply flawed, and their separate journeys of discovery are heartbreaking to endure … and yet this is not a depressing novel by any means. The final message is one of love, hope and tolerance, of finding oneself, and staying true to who you are when you do, no matter what.
Sometimes one makes such an emotional connection with a book, because you feel there is a truth at its heart that speaks to you directly. You know instinctively that such a book will become a part of your literary history, adding an indelible something to the person you are. This book is one of mine.
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