Was thinking of grabbing a copy of Andiga’s Booker prize winning “The White Tiger,” but have been a bit put off by some of the criticism I’ve seen. The Irish Times’ Eileen Battersby lives up to her name:
It is impossible to justify the Man Booker selection of this average, observation-driven tale over quality fiction such as Nadeem Aslam’s The Wasted Vigil, one of the finest – and most eloquent – novels published in recent years.
In comparison with it, and with Damon Galgut’s underrated The Impostor, The White Tiger appears a trite and opportunistic study of human rottenness as a way of survival. At very best, for all its confidence and Adiga’s obvious flair never mind his daring socio-political agenda, it is merely a clever cartoon for grown-ups.
That alone wouldn’t put me off it, but then came across this from Sanjay Subrahmanyam in the London Review of Books:
The novel has its share of anger at the injustices of the new, globalised India, and it’s good to hear this among the growing chorus of celebratory voices. But its central character comes across as a cardboard cut-out. The paradox is that for many of this novel’s readers, this lack of verisimilitude will not matter because for them India is and will remain an exotic place. This book adds another brick to the patronising edifice it wants to tear down.
Yikes. Anyone want to weigh in? Meantime, I proceed apace with Flanner and look forward to 2666, though not with trepidation given how little time I have to read these days.
