Official Review: Of Marriageable Age by Sharon Maas
Posted: 25 Mar 2014, 03:02
[Following is the official OnlineBookClub.org review of "Of Marriageable Age" by Sharon Maas.]
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Of Marriageable Age is a breathtakingly beautiful book.
It begins in Tamil Nadu in 1947, from the perspective of a four year old boy called Paul (later “Nat”), who until the story's beginning, has lived in a poor orphanage ("the place with all the children") run by Christian nuns. The second chapter switches to five year old Saroj, growing up in British Guiana in 1956; and the third chapter revolves around the little girl Savitri, growing up in Madras in 1921. Each chapter skips between these three characters, Nat, Saroj and Savitri, and continues to thread together their lives as they grow up against the backdrop of political upheaval, social change, and racial tensions in different parts of the globe.
This book is very difficult to put down. The themes running through the novel are extremely poignant and touching. Each character's conflict, though unique, illustrates the struggles of the weak against the powerful--across decades, generations and continents. Each protagonist also has to rationalize the direction of their own ego (or “thought-body”) with that of their soul (or “the silence”); and the books connecting thread, as the title suggests, is the struggle that Indian women have had to face for generations, when they become “of marriageable age.”
As the story progresses, weaving together each character’s individual story arc, and adding shades and touches to the background and foreground of the other two characters’ stories, you start to see where the three stories come together--and become one.The book is written honestly and vividly—plucking at your heartstrings; creating a sense of mystery and yet giving you enough information to be able to play along and string together the clues.
Many books contain descriptions of lovely scenes; but in Of Marriageable Age, you can not only see and smell and taste the villages of Madras in 1920’s India, or hear the rhythms of 1960’s British Guiana, or grow cross-eyed in muggy, foggy London during the heat of the ‘age of free love’—you can genuinely feel the pulse of each city growing alive through every page.
If the places are enriched and alive, it’s nothing to the people—each voice is distinct, clear, and sounds endearingly authentic and multi-dimensional—from the English lady, or “memsahib’s” paradox of condescension and humanity towards Savitri, to the seemingly villainous and racist “Baba”, obsessed with upholding the purity of his caste and trying to force his views on his daughter Saroj. When Nat and Saroj grow up, their mistakes and confusion as they fumble through life are depicted with honesty, and though they are protagonists, they are presented as real people. As a reader, you can sense the inner turmoil of each character; their best side and their worst side—as they grow to change and adapt with a world transforming around them.
Rich and dripping with symbolism, the stories are inspiring, touching, and poignantly written. Each struggle, from each decade and region, is distinct and yet intertwined—and feels true to each new chapter of history. Children and people who, for ages, were forced to succumb to the orders of their families or society, (like Saroj and Savitri); learn to brave through the first stages of rebellion—and conversely, children who are born to relative freedom, and who are able to do as they please, like Nat, —learn how to accept their responsibilities.
Throughout most of the story, I genuinely felt like giving the author a standing ovation. But the only downside of this novel is that it carries on for too long. When it reached near the end, I felt as though it could have done without the last two hundred or so pages. (There are 608 pages). Though this book weaves three separate stories, the main character is clearly Savitri (story arc A)—she is the philosophy, the ideas, and the humanity behind the novel. The other two: Nat (story arc B) and Saroj (story arc C), are beautiful supplements to story arc A, but the fact is that they are secondary. When the main thrust of story arc A is resolved and explained (and weaved with B and C), a new set of conflicts are introduced for stories B and C (as well as more questions that open up regarding A)—and this causes the story to lose its symmetry and rhythm, as it focuses only on one character’s experience. Though it contains surprising twists and turns, the traction and magic are lost near the end; and the unnecessary resolution to the unnecessary new conflict is a little too convenient.
Aside from the extra bits at the end, I loved the book, and lost sleep because I couldn’t put it down, and had to keep reading; it is so captivating and interesting. Beautifully written, wonderfully researched, and extremely touching--I would recommend it to everyone, and would say it is a very obvious 4 out of 4.
***
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It begins in Tamil Nadu in 1947, from the perspective of a four year old boy called Paul (later “Nat”), who until the story's beginning, has lived in a poor orphanage ("the place with all the children") run by Christian nuns. The second chapter switches to five year old Saroj, growing up in British Guiana in 1956; and the third chapter revolves around the little girl Savitri, growing up in Madras in 1921. Each chapter skips between these three characters, Nat, Saroj and Savitri, and continues to thread together their lives as they grow up against the backdrop of political upheaval, social change, and racial tensions in different parts of the globe.
This book is very difficult to put down. The themes running through the novel are extremely poignant and touching. Each character's conflict, though unique, illustrates the struggles of the weak against the powerful--across decades, generations and continents. Each protagonist also has to rationalize the direction of their own ego (or “thought-body”) with that of their soul (or “the silence”); and the books connecting thread, as the title suggests, is the struggle that Indian women have had to face for generations, when they become “of marriageable age.”
As the story progresses, weaving together each character’s individual story arc, and adding shades and touches to the background and foreground of the other two characters’ stories, you start to see where the three stories come together--and become one.The book is written honestly and vividly—plucking at your heartstrings; creating a sense of mystery and yet giving you enough information to be able to play along and string together the clues.
Many books contain descriptions of lovely scenes; but in Of Marriageable Age, you can not only see and smell and taste the villages of Madras in 1920’s India, or hear the rhythms of 1960’s British Guiana, or grow cross-eyed in muggy, foggy London during the heat of the ‘age of free love’—you can genuinely feel the pulse of each city growing alive through every page.
If the places are enriched and alive, it’s nothing to the people—each voice is distinct, clear, and sounds endearingly authentic and multi-dimensional—from the English lady, or “memsahib’s” paradox of condescension and humanity towards Savitri, to the seemingly villainous and racist “Baba”, obsessed with upholding the purity of his caste and trying to force his views on his daughter Saroj. When Nat and Saroj grow up, their mistakes and confusion as they fumble through life are depicted with honesty, and though they are protagonists, they are presented as real people. As a reader, you can sense the inner turmoil of each character; their best side and their worst side—as they grow to change and adapt with a world transforming around them.
Rich and dripping with symbolism, the stories are inspiring, touching, and poignantly written. Each struggle, from each decade and region, is distinct and yet intertwined—and feels true to each new chapter of history. Children and people who, for ages, were forced to succumb to the orders of their families or society, (like Saroj and Savitri); learn to brave through the first stages of rebellion—and conversely, children who are born to relative freedom, and who are able to do as they please, like Nat, —learn how to accept their responsibilities.
Throughout most of the story, I genuinely felt like giving the author a standing ovation. But the only downside of this novel is that it carries on for too long. When it reached near the end, I felt as though it could have done without the last two hundred or so pages. (There are 608 pages). Though this book weaves three separate stories, the main character is clearly Savitri (story arc A)—she is the philosophy, the ideas, and the humanity behind the novel. The other two: Nat (story arc B) and Saroj (story arc C), are beautiful supplements to story arc A, but the fact is that they are secondary. When the main thrust of story arc A is resolved and explained (and weaved with B and C), a new set of conflicts are introduced for stories B and C (as well as more questions that open up regarding A)—and this causes the story to lose its symmetry and rhythm, as it focuses only on one character’s experience. Though it contains surprising twists and turns, the traction and magic are lost near the end; and the unnecessary resolution to the unnecessary new conflict is a little too convenient.
Aside from the extra bits at the end, I loved the book, and lost sleep because I couldn’t put it down, and had to keep reading; it is so captivating and interesting. Beautifully written, wonderfully researched, and extremely touching--I would recommend it to everyone, and would say it is a very obvious 4 out of 4.
***
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