Thoughts on Kamila Shamsie's Burnt Shadows

Whenever an author weaves a novel around historic events such as the Nagasaki bombing, Partition and 9/11, you would expect two things. One, a poignant tale of love in times of strife and conflict follows suit or two, the magnitude of these events is so overpowering that you almost forget the real story. Burnt Shadows does live up to the first expectation but Kamila Shamsie ensures that the magnitude of conflicts doesn’t eclipse this multi-cultural saga.

The book begins with Hiroko losing her fiancé Konrad Weiss to the Nagasaki bombings. Picking up the pieces of her life (along with bird-shaped burns on her back), she travels to Delhi and meets Konrad’s relatives James and Elizabeth Burton with whom she develops a long-lasting relationship. Here, she also encounters Sajjad, the servant of the house who doubles as her Urdu teacher. The year is 1947 and Partition forces Sajjad to migrate. The Hiroko-Sajjad saga travels to Istanbul and culminates in Karachi where their son, Raza Konrad Ashraf, is born and drawn to the Afghan Mujahideen. Meanwhile, unable to bear the India-Pakistan arms race, Hiroko moves to the United States — the same country responsible for shedding “white light” in Nagasaki. And just when Hiroko thought all would be well, the occurrence of 9/11 makes Kim, the Burtons’ daughter, suspicious of Muslims.

Burnt Shadows is a compelling read; one that makes you think about religion, ethnicity and their roles in times of conflict. But that doesn’t mean the novel is preachy. Far from it. Yes, the conversations between characters can be termed as deep, but that only works to the novel’s advantage. And like any work of literature, Shamsie’s Burnt Shadows has its share of fringe characters. Kim, the Burtons’ daughter, is Hiroko’s aide as she ages in New York. There’s Abdullah, Raza’s comrade-in-arms and an irreverent observer of life. His sharp one-liners —“Vegetables can cross the border without paperwork, so you must become a vegetable” — and transformation to a New York cabbie are the subtle strokes on Shamsie’s canvas. How the re-christened Harry (Henry) Burton survives as a CIA operative is another captivating element of the book.

But the real star (and heart) of this book is Hiroko, whose dominating presence in the first half reduces everything else — even the canvas — as a minor player in a major story. Indeed, her trials and tribulations through half a century of conflict is poignant and moving, which is why her presence in the second half is so dearly missed. It’s almost as if Shamsie has deliberately created a vacuum in an attempt to focus on the post 9/11 scenario.

Burnt Shadows is also a book filled with poignant moments. Most notable is the one where Hiroko tears her blouse to show Sajjad the ‘burnt shadows’, explaining why she would ‘never marry’. And instead of being repulsed, Sajjad remarks ‘Don’t you know everything about you is beautiful?’

Another highlight of Burnt Shadows is its narrative tool — using multi-generation stories to tackle contemporary themes. It’s a tough task, considering there are more than one stories to tell. Yet, Shamsie, who peppers the book with Urdu poetry and pre-partition Old Delhi references, pulls it off with remarkable ease that you forget the scale of her canvas. Her latest work is one of those post-9/11 novels which will be a permanent fixture on bookshelves. Comparisons may be drawn to Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake but that would only undermine the brilliance of Burnt Shadows. While Lahiri’s work was a story about a family, Burnt Shadows is the tale of millions who constantly seek answers to an identity born out of conflicts. Every part of this four-part tome asks tough questions: Will ethnicity and race constantly hold identity to hostage? How many lands will one have to travel to find the ‘real’ person? And, most importantly, will burnt shadows be the only sign to remind us of a past? Perhaps another multi-generation novel is the answer. In the meantime, enjoy Burnt Shadows

(You can also catch the book review here)