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A review by khoonsurat
The House of Hidden Mothers by Meera Syal
3.0
Always a treat to read Syal. She is phenomenal with coming up with effortless and original turns of phrases, with evocative imagery that borders on poetic. Reading her books is like eating a rich dessert where every flavor is complex but doesn't weigh you down from the cholesterol.
I loved the nuance she brought to surrogacy, how it's a terrible exploitative structure but sometimes, also the only way out, the larger link to violence against women. The insta-love angle between Toby and Mala was hard to buy, especially when the description for Mala verged on exoticizing her. Mala wasn't a regular character with her own shortcomings; she was the overplayed underdog trope, worthy of redemption in every way (smart, fertile, beautiful). I mean, you can give a village-woman a way out waisay bhi. I don't understand the need to make them earn it by emphasizing all the lost potential, like people only exist to serve the needs of society, structures, others wanting to consume their services, etc. It's okay to let her have shortcomings so she's a whole person, instead of a perfect chef, producer, waghaira waghaira. She was this bright sharp bird and I got tired of the lack of depth very quickly.
Mala was constantly sold as this Gully-Boy story of overcoming adversity by sheer brilliance and wits alone, which feels like an over-compensation. 'Hey, don't you dare pity this character! You can't! See how smart she is? See how beautiful? She's very emphatically NOT. A. VICTIM. Look, the subaltern speak and every word from her mouth is wisdom because she's just that genius.' Being a victim doesn't make a character weaker or less impressive. Them breaking down is not a source of shame. For this reason, Shyama came out on top. She had massive flaws (in denial, stubborn, alienating her daughter by refusing to listen, trying to run away from her mistakes instead of confronting them) but she grew from them, instead of having no flaws and no growth.
Another thing that made me uncomfortable was the weird patriotism in the second half of the novel, with the idea that the UK is some haven of equality that will allow Mala unprecedented freedom. I'm sorry, what? Tara's little speech about mixing and creativity was laughable because you only need to read testimonies from Dalit Indians to find out that Indian communities segregate them and avoid them just as much as they do back home. The power dynamics may be easier to avoid by dispersing but they don't go away. Young 'liberal' Indians are only new versions of their parents, reproducing a new form of casteism.
I appreciate the nuance Syal brought to the table about the nature of diasporas and their complicated relationship with the country of origin. It's true that they're not a monolith that enjoys massive class privilege over every single person still living back home, true that the local bourgeoisie can (and does) exploit the working class in the diaspora, but that doesn't absolve the UK of its crimes in turning up the casteism, in robbing the subcontinent and forcing migrants to flee to the core for opportunities. The diaspora thrives IN SPITE of the host country, not because of its laws.
Still at a loss about the purpose Toby served in the story. He was some white weirdo who was obsessed with the sexualized science of reproduction and Indian women and felt deeply insecure about a woman out-earning him. Did I miss the story challenging that fragile masculinity? Because I don't remember catching that. It also devalues Mala, because if Toby has a problem with strong women and he's attracted to Mala, what does that say about Mala? Speaking of which, I know this is probably an age thing and I won't understand until I'm older but the description of wanting a child was so strangely obsessive and outdated. The gender roles being described in the process were so backward; this wasn't just a couple wanting a child together but a third-person narrator sighing fondly about how our anatomy apparently makes us all animals. I know it makes us hormonal but there's a big difference between insinuating that and glorifying men acting like apes about reproduction. That doesn't put women on a pedestal and give them some weird power (like the book so desperately wants us to believe as a form of empowerment). It's just a thing they do, at great damage to themselves. Women are not valuable for what they do but for who they are.
Useful for the nuance it brings to what are otherwise statistics, about the relationship of the diaspora to the home but fell short of developing that nuance as though it was afraid about asking the really daring questions. It often fell into tired tropes with many characters but less with Shyama (and Priya, another interesting character who deserved more attention). Some stories try too hard to raise their underdog characters and that just yields a new stereotype, who is limited (but in new ways).
I loved the nuance she brought to surrogacy, how it's a terrible exploitative structure but sometimes, also the only way out, the larger link to violence against women.
Mala was constantly sold as this Gully-Boy story of overcoming adversity by sheer brilliance and wits alone, which feels like an over-compensation. 'Hey, don't you dare pity this character! You can't! See how smart she is? See how beautiful? She's very emphatically NOT. A. VICTIM. Look, the subaltern speak and every word from her mouth is wisdom because she's just that genius.' Being a victim doesn't make a character weaker or less impressive. Them breaking down is not a source of shame. For this reason, Shyama came out on top. She had massive flaws (in denial, stubborn, alienating her daughter by refusing to listen, trying to run away from her mistakes instead of confronting them) but she grew from them, instead of having no flaws and no growth.
Another thing that made me uncomfortable was the weird patriotism in the second half of the novel, with the idea that the UK is some haven of equality that will allow Mala unprecedented freedom. I'm sorry, what? Tara's little speech about mixing and creativity was laughable because you only need to read testimonies from Dalit Indians to find out that Indian communities segregate them and avoid them just as much as they do back home. The power dynamics may be easier to avoid by dispersing but they don't go away. Young 'liberal' Indians are only new versions of their parents, reproducing a new form of casteism.
I appreciate the nuance Syal brought to the table about the nature of diasporas and their complicated relationship with the country of origin. It's true that they're not a monolith that enjoys massive class privilege over every single person still living back home, true that the local bourgeoisie can (and does) exploit the working class in the diaspora, but that doesn't absolve the UK of its crimes in turning up the casteism, in robbing the subcontinent and forcing migrants to flee to the core for opportunities. The diaspora thrives IN SPITE of the host country, not because of its laws.
Still at a loss about the purpose Toby served in the story. He was some white weirdo who was obsessed with the sexualized science of reproduction and Indian women and felt deeply insecure about a woman out-earning him. Did I miss the story challenging that fragile masculinity? Because I don't remember catching that.
Useful for the nuance it brings to what are otherwise statistics, about the relationship of the diaspora to the home but fell short of developing that nuance as though it was afraid about asking the really daring questions. It often fell into tired tropes with many characters but less with Shyama (and Priya, another interesting character who deserved more attention). Some stories try too hard to raise their underdog characters and that just yields a new stereotype, who is limited (but in new ways).