Customer Reviews

The House of Blue Mangoes: A Novel

5 star:		(11)
4 star:		(11)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(8)
1 star:		(3)

 

 

The House of Blue Mangoes is a rarity as rare as the blue mangoes in the book. Let me explain. In the last many years most of the Indian novels I've read have been written by Indians living abroad which robs them of a certain authentic feel. This novel felt authentic alright. I could smell, taste, experience the colours, food and vibrancy of India. In brief it tells the story of a South Indian family, the Dorais who are mired in a period of immense change and turbulance. What I found especially admirable about the book was the way in which the author seamlessly (by and large, there were a couple of sections where it could've been done better) melds the family story with the great historical events of the early twentieth century in India; the struggle for independence, caste wars, world wars etc. The characters are well developed...my favourites were Solomon and Aaron Dorai, although I did like Charity and Father Ashworth as well. The book taught me a lot about India while simultaneously keeping me absolutely hooked through a gripping story.

I wanted this book to be as fascinating as the first hundred pages. Certainly all of the elements are present: the family patriarchy, feuding neighbors, an entrenched caste system in precarious balance.

Three generations of Dorais act out this familial drama, male characters predominant, from Solomon Dorai to his sons Aaron and Daniel, and Daniel's son Kammel. In each generation, at least one son is banished to make his way among strangers. In Daniel's case, because he could not fight to preserve the family's honor, and was sent away with the women and children before the battle that cost the lives of many important Dorai men. Much later, Daniel returns to accept his birthright. But later, Daniel's own son willingly leaves, unable to make peace within the family hierarchy. Yet all roads lead to the Dorai compound, where relatives live together in common purpose, keeping the land intact. In a tribute to Solomon, who first had the dream, Daniel names the enclave The House of Blue Mangoes. Years later, as David lies dying, Kamman returns to assume the role of his father's successor, with the same purpose, the continuation of the family name and property. There is plentiful material to fuel the plot, particularly the political unrest prior to the Partition in 1947.

There is no question that the British trampled the land and the people, Her Majesty's representatives bloated with their own importance and dreams of Empire. But Davidar's characters are difficult to understand, seeming cutouts before the vast panoply of social change, who only parrot historical facts, often with little interest. I wanted a sense of the people themselves, their passions, dreams and fears, not an explanation like a school primer. For example, Daniel becomes a physician, trained by a charitable benefactor to help the poor and indigent; he passes the clinic on to Daniel. But Daniel makes his fortune on patent medicines and moves back to his home village to establish the family colony, never looking back. Then Kammal, Daniel's son, works on a tea plantation after marrying an inappropriate woman chosen in a romantic stupor, she part Indian, part English. On the English run plantation, Kammal's wife is never accepted, but he toady's to his bosses, believing himself part of their society. In fact, he is their pawn. Kannan deals with his self-concept and particular circumstances in an almost simple-minded fashion. He has no substance, obsequious and self-effacing.

I have enjoyed many finely written Indian novels, among them The God of Small Things and A Fine Balance, and Cracking India, and love to immerse myself in this country and its history. Unfortunately, House of Blue Mangoes does not meet this standard. Davidar writes such muddled sentences as: "Michael drove very carefully, but the road was a familiar one, and there was no other vehicle about, so they made good progress." Yet the first chapter begins: "...as the lonely violence of dawn sweeps across the sky", with vivid imagery. Perhaps the story just got away from him, but in the final third of the novel the wooden dialog of the British literally put me into a stupor, bludgeoned by idiotic conversations. Because of Davidar's descriptive and poetic abilities, I believe this author has the talent to write about what he knows so well. All the stories and history are locked within him, perhaps more approachable on a smaller scale or more intimate characterization.

This book was a gift from a friend whose judgment I respect. I tell myself that he must have recommended it because he only read Part 1. Indeed, this book's first 100 or so pages are terrific stuff, well written, descriptive, exciting, dramatic passages about caste hatred at the end of the 19th century in the south of India. I thought I had a great book on my hands: good characters, good descriptions, good action, and lots of interest. But then I went on to Part 2 and it's as if the world had spun around 180 degrees. The writing became turgid, dull, forced, absurd, uninteresting, and even pointless in many places. I ran out of energy to go on, but forced myself forward, hoping for the fireworks that started the whole thing off, only to be sorely disappointed. At Part 3, I admit I simply skimmed through to the end because I knew the author was taking the "plot" to the next generation of characters and, frankly, I didn't care much about the author's characterless, flat parodies of people anymore. I blame the publisher for not more firmly editing the material and for not giving the author constructive criticism and firm direction. But there are few good editors, just as there are precious few good writers out there. I think Davidar has a gift, but it needs direction. I hope he finds it.

As the other reviewers have described, this is a family saga like The Glass Palace or A Suitable Boy. It does an excellent job of setting the family story within the historical context of colonialism and nationalism.

For me, however, the beauty of The House of Blue Mangoes is in capturing the texture of the deep South, an area that is much neglected in Indian literature. Mr. Davidar's evocation of the food, the vegetation and landscape, and the people of Thirunelveli and Kanya Kumari is a valuable addition to Indian literature. I must admit to a certain prejudice in that I served in the Peace Corps near Nagercoil many years ago.

Family sagas are the form of fiction I like the most so I was expecting a lot from this novel and I'm glad it didn't let me down. I was happily engrossed in the travails (and occasional joys) of the Dorai family for several days. This is not to say this is a depressing book, on the contrary you come away from it feeling pretty good, not least because the author writes wonderfully well.

In the past two decades there have been some wonderful novels written by Indian authors, but none of them were based/set against the background of Tamil Nadu's history. Vikram Seth's tome, "A Suitable Boy," was set against the backdrop of Delhi and Uttar Pradesh, while Arundati Roy's "God of Small Things," was set in Kerala.

Publisher turned writer David Davidar's book "The House of Blue Mangoes," nicely fills that lacuna. Davidar deftly weaves South history and culture into the narrative that is set in the fictional town of Chevathar located in the southern most tip of India.

The novel chronicles the tragedies and triumphs of the powerful Dorai family: Solomon, Daniel, Aaron and Kannan. The panoramic story begins in the close of the 19th century and ends in 1947 when Indian became independent.

Davidar's skill as a storyteller is evident and the novel makes for an absorbing read. Also his interest and keen eye for research is reflected in this historical novel.

Mr Davidar thought he was writing the great Indian novel. Unfortunately, what came out at the end was a schoolboy effort, characterized by Raj cliches, prose that sounds like it is translated, and occasional paragraphs containing personal views on India and Indians which dont mesh with the main text at all. I am glad I borrowed this free of cost from the library and did not waste my money - though I did waste my time reading it. All I can say is that it would make good reading on a long flight - at least the story has tempo and keeps you mildly entertained.

"The House of Blue Mangoes" has been hyped as a sensational debut by David Davidar, the CEO of Penguin Publishing in India. The book traces the lives of three generations of Dorais as they try to find their place in the world. Solomon Dorai, the patriarch of the family, must strive hard to keep his town, Chevathar, from erupting into violence as a result of caste disputes. Ultimately, Solomon falls victim to this very evil. Of Solomons two sons, Aaron is a hothead whose primary claim to fame is the successful clearing ( in high-jump) of a massive well in Chevathar. The other son, Daniel, is much more worldly-wise and takes care of his family after a successful stint as "vaidyan" (doctor). Daniels son, Kannan, chooses to move away from Chevathar and seek his fortunes in the white mans (read occupiers, the British) tea estates. We see changes that afflict the Dorai clan -- assimilation into foreign cultures and even a "love" marriage in this generation. Finally we learn that even if your average Dorai strays far from Chevathar, he magically hears the call and always comes back "home". Yawn!

The biggest problem with Blue Mangoes is that the story is so mediocre. In a recent interview, Mr. Davidar mentioned how he wanted to write about all his childhood memories played out in South India. I wish he had stuck to that agenda and written a wonderful memoir of sorts. Instead, what he has done is tried to create a filler story around all his memories. And that is always a dangerous game to play. Whats worse, Davidar has tried to create a "saga" which means he throws everything but the kitchen sink in. Youve got caste, caste, and more caste. Youve got dowry, youve got oppressive husbands, subservient wives, man-eating tigers, the works. Davidar tries hard to create a panoramic effect but in the end, the book rambles too much. He needs a better editor. Another hindrance that many readers might find annoying is Davidars generous use of Tamil words with no translation or lexicon included.

The one saving grace of "House of Blue Mangoes" is that it is a masaledar, spicy read. It would make a good beach book. But I would borrow my copy from the library. Spend your money on better books.

As an Indian from the south of my country currently living in the Bay Area I've often bemoaned the lack of good literature on my part of the world. David Davidar remedies that and how! For his novel does for India in general and South India in particular what few novels do -- create a rich, beautifully layered world that the reader can sink into for days on end and emerge as if from a dream. I won't bother to repeat the plot as other reviewers have done that. Suffice it for me to say that THE HOUSE OF BLUE MANGOES is a compelling blend of family drama and history which will reward anyone who chooses to pick it up. I'm sorry to sound like the author's blurb writer but when books move me, I tend to try and spread my enthusiasm for them as much as I can!

The House of Blue Mangoes - Neelam Illum - is a tale written on a large canvas spanning three generations of the Dorai family. The scale of this tale is magnificent and immense in its spread and reach across centuries and cultures. History and its constant mutatory effect on the socio-political aspect of Indian society, forms the backdrop against which the lives of the characters in this novel are played out.
The book is about three generations of the Dorais and spans the latter nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Their story is thus deeply intertwined with that of the tumultuous political fabric of the times, set as it is in the last few decades of imperial rule in India. Solomon, Daniel and Kannan, are the three successive Dorais and though Davidar has fleshed out all three characters well, this book is Daniel's book, and it is in the telling of Daniel's tale that Davidar comes into his own.
After meandering down `clever' alleyways for the first fifty or so pages when the narration seems interminably boring and a tad preachy (Father Ashworth!), Davidar settles down to doing what he intended to do - tell a story. And once the realization seems to have hit him, there's no stopping the pace of this book. Most debut forays into fiction have the weary pall of yet another `wannabe clever' book. This one though seems to have missed that and like its chief protagonist, Daniel, who lives life divorced from any aspect of it that does not involve him and that he cannot control, this book tells a story divorced largely of unnecessary frills(excluding bits like the tea ceremony and the search for the mangoes)and, is for the large part, neither preachy nor does it make judgment or provoke much such.
This book affords no appreciations of style or language or poetry of prose; it tells a story, that's it. Moments in the lives of the characters of the book that one would think would require some deliberation; moments to stop, ponder, and reflect upon, are sadly dealt with in a very superfluous fashion. And that catches the reader by surprise. Instances like chapter 56 on the mangoes (the casual way in which the Chevathar Neelam is adjudged the finest by Daniel after a rather tedious telling of the scouring of the countryside of the land for its competitor, is left curiously and anti climatically undone) and the return of Daniel to Chevathar are some such. The pace of the book is largely sustained and makes for an engrossing read.