An epic Romeo and Juliet for the 21st century.” You’d think these words – the very first lines of the blurb on the back cover – would have served as a fair warning. And yet I ignored the inkling that foretold a trite storyline and a predictable ending, having faith in the several shining recommendations I’d received, and picked up The Obscure Logic of the Heart regardless.
The novel certainly didn’t disappoint. My expectations, that is. Needless to say, when my room is inspected later this week, someone isn’t going to be happy about the massive dent in my wall that’s resulted from the amount of times I’ve thrown this book against it.
Anil is a privileged and spoiled budding architect whose career is propelled by his father’s wealth and influence. Lina is a physically blessed and presumably intelligent (I say ‘presumably’ because we’re never given any evidence of her perpetually lauded intellect) picture of female submission that falls in love with Anil in their final year at University. But most notably he is a Sikh and she is a Muslim, and this provides the central conflict of this ‘epic’ – as the blurb so aptly calls it – of forbidden love: her parents, devout followers of Islam, do not approve of the match. By forcing her to choose between her family and the man she loves, Basil uses Lina to explore the notion of forbidden love whilst also expanding the theme of immigration and cross-cultural relationships. But the ‘star-cross’d lovers’ forge on, maintaining a surreptitious relationship through correspondence across continents, choosing love over notions of duty despite Lina’s consternation arising from her own religious beliefs – because they’re quite plainly destined for each other.
Priya Basil, however, fails to adhere to one of the most fundamental rules of creative writing in this respect: ‘show, don’t tell.’ The pair’s chemistry and inevitability as a couple are never felt; we are simply expected to believe they exist because we’re told it’s so. (Of course, it’s a well-known fact, as Anil keenly observes whilst remembering their first meeting, that if someone’s name spelt backwards is the same as yours, you’re meant to be together). Defying this notion is the fact that throughout the novel they don’t even seem to like each other; both are consistently stubborn and unwilling to make compromises for the relationship to run smoothly. This repeatedly results in heated arguments, which rather than adding heat and pace to the narrative makes the central raltionship appear inconsistent. Indeed, I would question the nature of why both choose to remain in each others company at all, both confirming and subverting the nature of love at first sight. This it seems, is the true strngth of Basil’s authorial voice; in weaving together the complexity of the political and the personal world she both redeems and reaffirms her skill as a writer. This means that whilst we may not agree with her characters their is no denying the tenacity of her craftsmanship.
As the novel concludes, it appears to redeem itself of its shortcomings; not seeming as though these obviously unsuited individuals will end up together after all. But a surprise twist at the end ruined everything, breaking boundaries not through literary merit but to an extent which truly inspires fear at the cost of repairing my wall. Conclusively, should this novel be picked up, wear a hard hat to avoid the damage you may inflict.
Marziah Rashid