Book review: Interpreter of Maladies: Stories by Jhumpa Lahiri.

Summary

interpreter of maladies is a book collection of nine short stories by American author Jhumpa Lahiri published in 1999. It won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the Hemingway Foundation/PEN Award in 2000 and has sold over 15 million copies worldwide. It was also chosen as The New Yorker's Best Debut of the Year and is on Oprah Winfrey's Top Ten Book List.

The stories are about the lives of Indians and Indian Americans who are caught between their roots and the "New World".

My review

This superb collection of short stories is a perfect work to discover Jhumpa Lahiri's writing. It is actually the second one I read and is my favorite.
It deals with such themes as gender equality, traditions vs modernity, family ties, immigration in a most profound way.
Inspired by the author's own experience, these texts remind us that exile is no light matter, even when it is "chosen". In such areas as cultural practices, religion, rituals, relationships, behaviors, moral codes and principles, visions of the world, even clothes, foods and recipes (a very strong anchorage as we can see) and, of course, language, you have to adapt with -- no matter what you gain -- a sensation of loss. New identities are forced to emerge.

Longing and homesickness, but also curiosity, discoveries, and new achievements are bound to transform people even if they try to remain within their community and cling to their former self and way of life.

Jhumpa Lahiri uses a sensitive, subtle style to show her empathy. Her soft voice will not be forgotten anytime soon. A must read!

Excerpt (from the short story entitled interpeter of maladies)

“I work in a doctor’s office.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I am not a doctor. I work with one. As an interpreter.”

“What does a doctor need an interpreter for?”

“He has a number of Gujarati patients. My father was Gujarati, but many people do not

speak Gujarati in this area, including the doctor. And so the doctor asked me to work in

his office, interpreting what the patients say.”

“Interesting. I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Mr. Das said.

Mr. Kapasi shrugged. “It is a job like any other.”

“But so romantic,” Mrs. Das said dreamily, breaking her extended silence. She lifted her

pinkish brown sunglasses and arranged them on top of her head like a tiara. For the first

time, her eyes met Mr. Kapasi’s in the rearview mirror: pale, a bit small, their gaze fixed

but drowsy.

Mr. Das craned to look at her. “What’s so romantic about it?”

“I don’t know. Something.” She shrugged, knitting her brows together for an instant.

“Would you like a piece of gum, Mr. Kapasi?” she asked brightly. She reached into her

straw bag and handed him a small square wrapped in green-and-white-striped paper.

As soon as Mr. Kapasi put the gum in his mouth a thick sweet liquid burst onto his

tongue.

“Tellus more about your job, Mr. Kapasi,” Mrs. Das said.

“What would you like to know, madame?”

“I don’t know,” again she shrugged, munching on some puffed rice and licking the

mustard oil from the corners of her mouth. “Tellus a typical situation.” She settled back

in her seat, her head tilted in a patch of sun, and closed her eyes. “I want to picture

what happens.”

“Very well. The other day a man came in with a pain in his throat.”

“Did he smoke cigarettes?”

“No. It was very curious. He complained that he felt as if there were long pieces of straw

stuck in his throat. When I told the doctor he was able to prescribe the proper

medication.”

“That’s so neat.”

“Yes,” Mr. Kapasi agreed after some hesitation.

“So these patients are totally dependent on you,” Mrs. Das said. She spoke slowly, as if

she were thinking aloud. “In a way, more dependent on you than the doctor.”