Midnight at Malabar House by Vaseem Khan: A review

In Midnight at Malabar House, we visit India in 1949 after partition. The separation of the sub-continent into two countries, India and Pakistan, precipitated mass movements of people as Muslims tended to move toward the territory of Pakistan, and Hindus and Sikhs sought to settle in India. The upheaval caused conflict and cost countless lives on both sides. Even after the partition was accomplished, India continued to be riven by religious friction and strife. Into these turbulent times in a new country, Persis Wadia stepped as the first (and until then only) female police officer. As such, she had to deal with prejudice and navigate the personal and political resentment of colleagues and superiors.

Parsee Inspector Wadia is based at Malabar House in Bombay which is where the police hierarchy places its misfits and those whose careers have gone awry for some reason. She has only been on the job for a few months and is still learning her way around. She is both idealistic and determined and she has a considerable amount of anger stirring inside her in response to the inequities of society. Her boss, Superintendent of Police Roshan Seth, tries in his own way to support her while at the same time wishing that she would just go away, go home, find a man, and start producing children. In this last wish, he has an ally in Persis' Aunt Nussie. She has a candidate in mind for Persis' potential marriage partner, but Persis is uncooperative. Getting married would mean that she would have to leave the police and she's not about to do that.

Persis lives with her father in the apartment above the bookstore that the father owns. He is still grieving the death, several months prior, of his beloved wife, Sanaz. The circumstances of her death are a bit of a mystery at first.

Persis is on duty at Malabar House when a call comes in from the aide of an important British diplomat named Sir James Herriot. Sir James was hosting a New Year's Eve party at his residence while dressed as Mephistopheles. But now his dead body has been discovered. He has been murdered and is seated at his desk but his trousers are missing. Persis has a very big case and perhaps a scandal on her hands. She quickly learns that Herriot was not really the upstanding citizen that he was portrayed to be and there seems to be no lack of potential suspects. But how to untangle the lies from uncooperative witnesses and finally get at the truth of what happened? Who really had the strongest motive for wanting Sir James dead? In searching for the answers to those questions, Persis has an ally in British criminologist Archimedes 'Archie' Blackfinch and there are hints that this alliance could become more than just professional.

This book, while fiction, is firmly based on actual Indian history during its chaotic transformation. Gandhi, the architect of the new country, is dead having been shot in 1948 by a militant Hindu nationalist. The politicians left to carry on struggle to achieve the unity that is needed. To do so they have to clear away the detritus left by British colonial history in India and Pakistan. The effects of that struggle filter all the way down to local police procedures and the work of Parsee Inspector Persis Wadia. This was quite an interesting look at this fraught period but one must admit that the execution of the plot left a bit to be desired. The writing seemed curiously without passion. The story was simply told as one might give a weather report. In other words, it was flat and featureless. Still, I did like the character of Persis and I liked the concept. There's quite a lot to build on there.

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

Search This Blog