This is the third novel of Hari Kunzru that I have read. However, I did not read them in chronological order. I first read Transmission a couple of years ago, and this was about the ups and downs of an Indian worker here in the United States who due to some obsession of his, created a virus that plagued the whole word, while working for Google. The second book I read, which was Kunzru’s third novel, is My Revolutions, and this was about a group of young English people who were rebelling against the English society. The Impressionist on the other hand was Kunzru’s debut novel. And since I liked the other two novels that he wrote so far, I figured it wouldn’t hurt reading this one as well.Somehow, I feel ambivalent with this novel. This is like a sweet and sour experience. As is the case with modern English literature, there is a dry witty humor to this one. But somehow, I had the feeling that it failed to deliver the goods.The story revolves around a half-English, half-Indian child, who is the illegitimate son of an English explorer, and an Indian girl who happened to be both hiding in a cave during a flood. They had sex, but unfortunately, the English explorer died afterward due to the floodwaters. The Indian girl was then married to some Indian guy, and the boy was thought to be their child, but there was a servant who exposed the whole scheme and revealed the boy to be a bastard.That set off the boy’s adventures. The boy went to a hijra house, and was first groomed to be a male prostitute for English colonialists. Then, he became the servant of a missionary couple and their mission. He learned to blend in, he learned to disguise his Indianness, and when the right time came, he was able to steal the identity of one drunk boy on his way to England, and because of that, he morphed into a new character. This continued on until the very end of the book, where his newest character was on Saharan camel rider, complete with tattoos and a turban.Now what do I not like about this book? Well, I had the impression that it attempted to be a frame narrative. This reminded me of Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses, where each chapter was basically a story of its own, and then the whole novel is built up by combining each of these smaller stories. The Impressionist seems to be like this as well, except that it seems half-baked. Yes, Kunzru goes into detail about the history of the character’s first adoptive father, and how he was struck with Spanish influenza even though he had a rather peculiar fear of germs. Kunzru also went into detail with respect to the history of Elspeth Macfarlane, the adoptive mother that the character had, while in India in a Christian mission. There are these tangents but they seem to be not too short, and not too long as well. It felt like it was there but of no particular purpose. It does add background to the story, but if that was the purpose, then it was a little prolonged.The thing that was great about the novel however, was the use of the anti-hero as a plot element. The main character wasn’t someone that the reader could easily sympathize with. After all, he was stealing people’s identities and doing malefactive things with them. However, this trick works, as can be attested by the series of novels beginning with The Talented Mr. Ripley. In The Impressionist, the anti-hero isn’t so violent as Mr. Ripley, in the sense that he doesn’t commit murder left and right, but instead, it seems that he was just in the right location at the right time.So overall, I still think that I am glad that I read this novel. I just cannot totally be upfront and recommend it with no question. I would give it 3.5 stars out of 5, and would only recommend it if one is indeed a big fan of British literature.
An incredibly detailed, background-heavy tale about a mixed-race boy born in India at the turn of the 20th century, “The Impressionist” is Hari Kunzru’s reverse take on Rudyard Kipling’s “Kim”. Pran Nath’s privileged life is abruptly brought to an end when a servant reveals his true origins; his father, far from the affluent Indian money-lender who has brought him up, was in fact a deceased English traveller whose path crossed that of Pran’s long-dead mother some 15 years previously. Cast unceremoniously into the street, Pran is forced to survive in any way he can, whilst attempting to discover who he is and where he rightfully belongs.Covering a wide range of locations, from Agra to London, Bombay to the British countryside, “The Impressionist” is a deliciously rich taste of early 20th century life and all the contradictions it embodied. Pran swings from high-caste Indian boy, through street dweller to middle-class Englishman, each incarnation no more comfortable or less wrought with difficulties than the last. With remarkable ease, one story blends into the next, Pran’s transformations unquestionably believable. Kunzru’s talent is at its most effective when describing the new surroundings in which Pran finds himself, as well as managing to inspire sympathy and understanding in the reader for a boy who is not at all likeable, superficially or otherwise.Some points are rammed home with somewhat less subtlety than is perhaps intended; those who are inflicted with the disease named religion come off rather badly, as does anyone in a position of power. In fact, most of the characters are essentially unpleasant, or at least enormously flawed, although Kunrzru does his best to get us on their sides with a plethora of background information for certain cherry-picked individuals. It is these sub-plots which make up the real heart of the novel.Skin colour is, of course, vital to the piece, but in itself doesn’t form the crux of the story, with Kunzru providing representatives of the good, the bad and the ugly from every race throughout Pran’s meandering journey. Instead, it is the more abstract concept of fitting in, placement and acceptability which drives the story forwards. Even this, though explored to its furthest regions, is never quite brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Some characters, like Paul Goertler the Jew, are voluntary outsiders; others find themselves deliberately shunned or accidentally sidelined due to circumstance or accident. Despite this, the reader still wonders: is it necessary for everybody to be an impressionist in order to find their place in society? Or is this inescapably purgatorial existence solely the lot of Pran and his fellow mixed-race orphans?“The Impressionist” gives us a fascinating insight into the colour-coded world of the first quarter of the 20th century. It details the understandably fraught relationship between England and India, and the romanticised attitudes held towards each other from both sides. Kunzru's simultaneous love and exasperation for both India and Britain is tangible and it is this passion and honesty which lays such a solid foundation for what is ultimately a collection of individual yet well-linked, beautifully detailed stories.
What do You think about The Impressionist (2015)?
The first novel by Hari Kunzru. Set in 1920s India of the days of the British Empire, an Indian child is born with a very pale skin. A very versatile being, Pran Nath is able to appear as an Indian or a European. At first revered, regarded as the son of an Indian lawyer, but then thrown out of his wealthy home when his actual parentage is discovered. He becomes a female impersonator in a brothel, is next taken up by a demented Scottish missionary until he makes his escape. Pran Nath takes a voyage of discovery from the streets of Agra and the red light district of Bombay via the stolen passport of an Englishman, ending up at Oxford University.There is a lot crammed into the pages of this novel, maybe too much, it doesn't work as well as it might for that reason. There is satire, parody, comedy, he falls in love with an English girl, she takes him for a blue blooded Englishman, and for that reason leaves him for someone who appeared to her to be more interesting, unaware of his origins or race.Worth reading despite the almost overwhelming amount of information Kunzru gives us.
—Janet Trossell
I picked this one up because I liked his other book, My Revolutions so much. This is a completely different, almost fantastical, wide ranging novelthat follows a "half caste" Indian-British boy in the period after WWI. The boy goes from a pampered life to being thrown out of his families' home to the streets of Bombay, reinvents himself as an Englishman (with the passport of a murdered Brit.) From there, he goes to England, studies at Oxford, and ends up in West Africa on an anthropology expedition.Kunzru pokes fun at obvious targets like the Colonial Brits in India, the excesses of Indian princes, anthropologists looking for noble savages. He's funny and the book's well written. Nonetheless, I didn't find the book super compelling. It was worth reading though.
—Billy
This proved to be an exceptional novel to read while waiting at an Immagration office. Such a strange place, much like Old Trafford, the offices are unmistakingly dream factories. It would be unpleasant to wake most of the occupants. A friend from England raved over this novel and while I enjoyed such, it didn't sweep me away in a gale. It does make one ponder about those souls waiting in silence in bureaucratic queues. The veils of identity are quick and fungible. The consequences are a different narrative.
—Jonfaith
