The premise of this book was immediately interesting: lesbian Sri Lankan-American woman is married to a gay Indian-American man so both can keep their sexuality a secret, while dating on the side. It’s an entertaining story and makes for quick reading, but unfortunately it comes across as immature, at times problematic. The narrator, Lucky, spends the book feeling stuck in a lousy situation, but as she refuses to assert herself toward people who treat her terribly, while being terrible toward people who help and support her, I was increasingly less sympathetic.

Lucky (Lakshmi) is a 27-year-old freelance artist who, as the book opens, moves back in temporarily with her divorced mother to help care for her ailing grandmother. Living nearby is Nisha, an old flame from high school, who reaches out to reconnect with and cling to Lucky even as she’s entering her own arranged marriage. Lucky struggles with the conflict between her mother’s expectations and her own desire to present as butch, her feelings for Nisha and Nisha’s insistence on going forward with the wedding.

Unfortunately, for reasons that are never really explored, Lucky seems almost incapable of standing up for herself to the people she cares about, and thus spends most of the book feeling hemmed in and at the mercy of others. She’s doing her mom a favor by agreeing to stay and take care of her grandma free of charge while her mother works, yet passively submits to her mom’s controlling behavior and constant beratement for her appearance and choices. This despite the fact that there’s no apparent reason for Lucky to put up with this: She was born and raised in the U.S., where it’s 2012. She’s college-educated, financially independent and has her own home. She’s abandoned her parents’ Hindu faith. She feels no attachment to the local Sri Lankan community and secretly drinks her way through community events, while feeling at home in gay bars and among female rugby players. Why did Lucky take her mom’s side in the divorce (which left her mother an outcast herself in the immigrant community) when her mom treats her so badly? Why doesn’t she draw boundaries or distance herself when she isn’t getting anything she values out of the charade?

It’s the same story with Nisha, who reappears in Lucky’s life after eight years of virtual silence and yet feels entitled to demand friendship, sex, and emotional support, while engaged in an exhausting cycle of pulling Lucky close only to push her away. Lucky passively submits to this behavior too. But at the same time, she takes shameless advantage throughout the book of another woman who’s telegraphing her interest in Lucky with a neon sign: sleeping platonically in the woman’s bed, dragging her (and using her car for) a last-minute 30-hour road trip, etc.

Meanwhile, her complete disregard for the feelings or wellbeing of her husband turns – while the book doesn't seem to see it as a problem, let’s not beat around the bush here – into actual abuse at times. Here’s one scene between them, where Lucky is upset because her grandmother, who has been pushing her to have a baby, is in the hospital (it’s worth mentioning that her husband is a greeting card editor):

Kris sits down on the edge of the bed. “She’s going to be okay.”

I try to breathe out the concrete that’s filling me up.

“I’m sick of you being sick,” Kris says, so quietly that I can barely hear him. “Get well soon.”

I sit up and with all my strength, I push him down onto the bed and pin his arms above his head. I want to punch him, see the trickle of blood from his nose, feel my fist on his cheek. His skin would give way and then his muscles, ripping through, crack and shatter. I wrap one hand around his throat. I push my thumb and index finger into his arteries. He swallows. I push harder. His breathing slows.

WTF. And then there’s another incident, where he objects to spending their savings helping out with her grandmother’s hospital bills, and she responds with, “You don’t make these decisions. I could apply for a divorce. . . . And you’ll have to go back to India. How does that sound?” And then at the end, we’re clearly supposed to root for Lucky’s “empowering” choice to

 

divorce him . . . meaning, apparently, that his being uprooted to another continent is irrelevant beside her empowerment. She doesn’t even think about that part. The generous reader in me wants to suggest that the author forgot Lucky’s previous threat and wrote the end under the assumption that Kris had a green card (as is only sensible after four years of marriage).

(spoiler show)

 

But either way she shows an appalling lack of regard for a friend who supported her through the most difficult times in her life.

Unfortunately, I get the sense that this book is written with the assumption that because Lucky has all of these axes of oppression – woman, South Asian, lesbian – that she has the moral right to do whatever she wants, that she doesn’t have to consider others’ feelings. She shows a lack of empathy for others in general; perhaps we’re supposed to gather that so much suppression of her true self has left her incapable of caring for either herself or others. But then there are passages like this, about her art:

Only the pixie’s skin is colored so far – a dark almond that clashes sharply with the still-white background. The young man who ordered the drawing didn’t specify a skin color, but I know he meant for her to be pale. It’s my policy to default brown skin when the commissioner doesn’t specify.

Which seems like it belongs on a social justice blog, because it’s a clever commentary on the way American culture assumes white as a default. But I don’t buy it as a successful business plan, because you don’t build up the sort of following we’re told Lucky has by doing things you know your customers don’t want because they haven’t specified otherwise, to make an ideological point.

Overall, then, this isn’t a book I would recommend, even without getting into issues other reviewers have mentioned, such as the scatteredness of the plot, and the fact that despite the title, Lucky’s marriage is underexplored. Some reviewers seem inclined to be generous because it’s a South Asian LGBT book and there aren’t a lot of those – but I have read others, including one set in Sri Lanka. Hopefully someone else will write a better one.

For this month's Indies Unlimited Reading Challenge, I'm reading a book from another culture than my own. I've chosen a book that I have been meaning to get around to reading for several years: Tell a Thousand Lies by Rasana Atreya.

The book is set in rural India, where a grandmother has taken on the task of raising three sisters: Malli, the eldest; and fraternal twins Lata and Pullamma. In this traditional village, the most a girl can hope for is a good marriage, and these girls have no dowry. But it's worse for Pullamma, as her skin is darker than the other girls', and she grows up hearing -- and internalizing the message -- that her future is hopeless. But then, a local strongman sees a political angle. He pays the village soothsayer to claim that Pullamma is a goddess reborn, and suddenly the girl is the center of a lot of unwanted attention. Eventually, she escapes -- but the corrupt politician still has his hooks in Pullamma and her family, and her life will be ruined many times over before she has an opportunity to triumph.

Atreya champions the rights of Indian women in this book. Pullamma's twin sister Lata wants nothing more than to get an education and become a doctor -- which her traditional grandmother considers to be madness. And too, the whole book is quite a send-up of the idea that women should only aspire to make a good match, and then be obedient wives -- nothing more than that.

My only quibble is that the plot gets quite melodramatic -- very much like a soap opera, with one horrible thing after another happening to Pullamma, her husband, and Lata. I've only seen one or two Bollywood movies, but the plot here is very much like one of those.

If you like Bollywood flicks, I'd highly recommend Tell a Thousand Lies.

3.5 star read

I had not yet come across a book of really high standards from a naive author. I congratulate Rasana to have come up with a story so touching, yet imaginative plot.

The story of the book rests in rural India where a girl child is said to be burdensome. Things become even harder when the family has no steady income, and no male to support them. Adversity brightens when they become a toy of orthotics, superstitions and, filthy politics. While the dark sky has tinkling stars, the family has the true supporter in their dark times.

The book is well classified into small, quick-read chapters. The language is simple. Although names, and few sentences are in Tamil (i guess!), still reader doesn't find any lacunae in the story. If asked, I would like to classify my review as -- Story - 3.5/5, Linguistics - 4.5/5, Reader's gripping - 4/5.

Looking forward to more work from Rasana Atreya.

The author gave me a copy in exchange for a review.People like to think that both racism and sexism are dead, but many of us know that this isn't true. While it might be correct to say that Mrs Bennett in modern England might not be as husband hungry for her daughters, she wouldn't turn up her nose at what's on offer either. In some places, the -isms are more underground, more subtle (Friends takes place in all white NYC, the black man always dies first, and the female scientist is dressed in heels with a mini-skirt. BTW, where did she get that matching vibrator?). Yet, in other parts of the world, even those we see as developed, it is more direct. Last week, for example, there was a mix-up at a maternially ward in India. A couple were first told that they had a boy, and then were later told that, in fact, they had a girl. Even when a blood test ruled them out as parents of the boy, the couple refused the girl and demanded a DNA test because who wants a daughter.I found myself thinking of that story several times as I read this book. Pullamanna is the middle child of three girls, all raised by their grandmother who is Mrs Bennett mad to get them good husbands. A difficult prospect considering the family's lack of money, but at least a possibility for two of the girls, the two who are light skinned and beautiful. It's a bit more tricky for Pullamanna who is dark, too dark. Too make things worse, Pullamanna's twin Lata wants an education, and well all know education isn't for girls, even girls who are too dark, because the only bad husband is no husband.What's a grandmother to do?Then, to make matters worse, Pullamanna becomes a goddess. Maybe.What then follows in this Pride and Prejudice/ "Cinderella" story is Pullamanna's attempt to find herself and her place in the world. This quest is hard because of the -isms that surrond her, that sometimes she succumbs to as she battles against them, and because of the powerful politician who takes an interest in her family. Atreya looks at culture and how it effects family and oneself. Her characters aren't flat and while the story may take place in a culture of isms, the writer has a large cast of characters that ran the gamut. It isn't a heavy hand moralistic story either, though in some ways it reminds me of a Bollywood movie (and I mean this in a good way).I debated over whether to give this excellent first novel three or four stars. While Pullamanna and her family are well drawn and believable, I found myself wanting a bit more detail in terms of character growth and the change in relationships. It isn't that the changes do not work, they do, they just a bit more showing and less telling. Once the ground seems to shift too suddenly. Yet despite this somewhat minor flaw, I found myself engrossed in the story. In fact, I was so engrossed that I read snatches when the bus I was on stopped at lights. I know it doesn't sound like much, but I get sick when I read if a bus or car is moving. I can't even look at maps when a car is going. Yet, I kept my Kindle out and read this book during light pauses. That's worth a four star rating.I fully intend to read the other books Rasana Atreya is sure too write.