Taslima Nasrin

Listen. This book is a tough hang. It is FILLED with abuse — physical, sexual, structural. And its main function is just shining a light on that abuse. So there isn't a lot of analysis or redemption or anything to allow you to put some distance between yourself and the abuse on the page.

The light needs to be shown. The title, Meyebela, is a word coined by Nasrin to draw attention to the fact that in Bengali, there is no word for a girl's experience of childhood. That erasure is the center show more of the book. Nasrin's upbringing was patriarchal in the extreme. Her mother has no rights before her father. As children, she and her siblings have no rights not just before their parents, but any adult, even anyone older than they are. So when Nasrin experiences sexual abuse at the hands of two different uncles, it is not just who would she tell, but why would she tell? Of course her uncles could do what they like.

But the hierarchies aren't just within families. The class system is incredibly abusive as well, and religious tension and calls for revolution provide opportunities for abuse and violence. (The period of her girlhood coincides with both Bangladesh's struggle for independence and the 1975 coup.)

I struggled with this book. At one point I threw a whole tantrum in a private chat about how I should stop reading it, but couldn't quite decide to. I was frustrated with the non-linear structure, because certain events felt like they should have informed others, but it was often impossible to tell what happened when. I was frustrated with a lack of processing — at a certain point Nasrin herself becomes an abuser, and there is one tiny moment where she indicates some shame. but otherwise her actions are just narrated as is. Also, later in life Nasrin becomes both a doctor and a respected author, but when the book ends, she is still a teenager, and there is no clear path how she got there from here.

At the same time, it did feel like an important read. And Nasrin's straightforward narration is hard to argue with. but you will still see reviewers trying to do so. I think it allowed me to draw my own conclusions. show less

Nasrin is a contraversial figure, being accused by some of Islamophobia, while being held up by others as a heroine in the battle against communalism.She lives in exile in India and many of her books (though not Lajja) are banned in Bangladesh.

Lajja (subtitled as 'Shame') is the story of ten days in the lives of a Hindu family caught up in the communal violence that swept the Indian sub-continent following the destruction of the Babri Manjid, a Muslim mosque, by Hindu fundamentalists in show more India. In the predominantly Muslim Bangladesh there were reprisal attacks against Hindus, which forced many to flee to India. The family of Sudhamoy and his son Suranjan are secular atheists, refusing to see themselves as being 'Hindu', and refusing to leave their home country. In the days following the destruction of the Bari Masjid, their lives become precarious, as roaming gangs of Muslims attack Hindu homes and businesses, and attack Hindu women. The events force the family to re-evaluate their identities, and question whether they should indeed take sides in the communal debate.

Unfortunately, despite the undoubtedly fascinating subject, this was a really tough book to like. The prose was wooden and the characters a little thin. The writing is overly didactic, which lead to horribly unrealistic dialogue. Characters frequently produced long lists of communal atrocities, listing names, dates and places. Nobody talks like that. In addition, narin occassionally abandoned her prose form altogether, and actually listed atrocities using bullet points. Fine in a text book, a pain in a novel. The narrative, such as it was, largely involved Suranjan wandering around the riot torn streets having political discussions with the people he met. It was all very laboured and made the suspension of disbelief very difficult.It was a shame, because the subject matter and its effects deserve a good examination in literature, but, for me at least, this wasn't it. show less

Whatever this book may be as a sociopolitical statement, it makes a remarkably poor novel. I basically skimmed through it after 50 pages or so. All the characters talked like newspapers. The story should have been suspenseful, especially after Maya's abduction, but I couldn't bring myself to care about either the fate of the Dutta family or the Hindu/Muslim problem at large. Frankly, I was bored stiff by this book. Maybe I am just not the right audience.

This book describes the impact of religious intolerance and the persecution of minorities through the experiences of the (nominally Hindu) Dutta family in Bangladesh. The main focus of the story traces the life of the family through 13 days following the destruction of the Babri Masjid mosque in India by Hindu fundamentalists and the anti-Hindu violence which takes place in response in Bangladesh. Inter-weaved with this narrative are memories from the lives of the four main characters which show more describe individual and communal humiliations and give perspective on the movement away from a secular Bangladesh after independence in 1974 towards a state whose official religion is Islam,.

I have mixed feelings about this book hence only 3 stars. I was previously only vaguely aware of the events it describes and found it informative and at times powerful. After tragedy strikes the family, the different ways the family members respond is movingly portrayed. I however have reservations over the clumsy writing style which does make me wonder about the quality of the translation. More frustrating was the way the author often uses minor characters to present documentary information on cases of abuse and destruction in a didactic manner. These become extremely repetitive and are often just long lists of unfamiliar names and places (this is a problem more specific to a non-Bangladeshi reader) which continually interrupt the narrative. While I can see why the author has taken this approach, a greater focus on specific examples with more context and background would have been more effective to this reader. (Or the use of an appendix.) There are also a few examples where some of the statistics given seem to be contradictory although this may be the haphazard way they are sometimes presented.

One obviously cannot underestimate the bravery of the author in writing this book and her emotional honesty and empathy is striking. I have reservations about the execution but at the same time believe it is well worth reading to anybody with even only a passing interest in South Asia. show less