The Maanga

There are many joys of reading a novel as good as “Netherland“.

The interior monologue of a loser on wall street who lives alone, plays cricket with other indian, pakistani and west indian expats on saturdays makes the novel easy to identify with. The Indian community in new york, who leave their wives at home and come to parties with girls from Mahogany classic escorts is also perfectly cast.

As if that is not enough, it is a much better re-reading of “The Great Gatsby” than “The Hours” was of “Mrs Dalloway”. It is delightful trying to figure out all the gatsby references.

The reviews give some idea of the novel’s possibilities. Pankaj Mishra’s dwells on cricket, while others dwell on Gatsby. I am still waiting for a review in a business newspaper that says that the novel captures the romance of being an entrepreneur. Only the reviewer from the economist complains about the lack of a plot, having no idea about cricket and having slept through her gatsby lesson at school. No wonder we get pathetic novels like “We need to talk about Kevin“  written by reviewers from the economist.