LITERATURE: Up Next – The Namesake

Thrilled that I finally got back into reading stories longer than flash fiction, and flush with success on Conrad’s short Heart of Darkness, I looked through my bookcases to find something that would be entertaining and fairly easy reading.

I’ve been wanting to read this novel by Jhumpa Lahiri for a while. It’s one of many “must-reads” that are not really listed as classics because they’re too recent. It’s a New York Times Bestseller, and a winner of the Pulitzer Prize, so I’ve every reason to believe that I’m likely just reading a classic years before its time.

The writing is simple yet lovely. The story, very human and real. Ashima and Ashoke are a young Bengali couple who have married and moved to America, living in Boston. Ashima is young and intelligent, grateful that her arranged marriage at least provided her with a man who was not too much older than her. As the story opens, Ashima is just going into the first labor stages. We are backtracked to discover her history and that of Ashoke and discover a bit more about them that establishes their characters and reveals some inner fears that lead up to the focus of this story, choosing the name of their newborn son.

We learn that when Ashoke was young, he was involved in a very serious train wreck that left him in rehabilitation for a long time. We also find that he is a lover of books, and at the time of the accident, he was reading his favorite story, “The Overcoat,” by Gogol. A man whom he’d conversed with had died in the wreck as had many others. The trauma haunts him for a long time, into his adult life. With the birth of his son, the name takes on a different meaning as the young couple must come up with a name for the baby before he’s allowed to be released.

The writing is fine, delicate without being flowery, and Lahiri distributes much information in an entertaining and interesting manner. One of my favorite passages is this, when Ashoke first holds his son:

Being rescued from that shattered train had been the first miracle of his life. But here, now, reposing in his arms, weighing next to nothing but changing everything, is the second. (p. 24)