Book Review: 'The White Tiger' by Aravind Adiga

'The White Tiger' is Adiga's debut novel set in a modern but polarised India, written in first person as Balram Halwai, who is aptly described at the back of the book as 'servant, philosopher, entrepreneur, murderer'. The book has reached critical acclaim since its debut in 2008 and won the very significant Man Booker prize in the same year. It is the fourth debut novel ever to win the prize.

This review will by no means be a critical literary review. I hold no qualifications to criticise anything but my own subjective interpretation of this body of work. But perhaps that is what ultimately qualifies me to review it. I am its intended audience. And so it will be done with utmost bias. Objectivity is never a selling point for any art form, and it certainly shall not be present at all in the next few hundred words.

What first intrigued me about this book was not its contents, but its achievements. Winning the international (well, Commonwealth) Man Booker prize is no easy task and I admit, that is how it first caught my eye off the bookshelves. The author is the second youngest person at 33 to be awarded the prize and what more, for his debut novel. With that alone in mind I turned its pages eagerly, trying to isolate a single brilliant characteristic that must have brought it to global attention (as I do with most prize winning novels). I was both thrilled and disappointed by the last chapter.

'The White Tiger' has a clear, definite story to tell. This gives it an edge in its structure; the author knows exactly when and where to reveal bits of information that takes you up and down a roller-coaster ride of narrative. From Balram's precious and impoverished childhood to his days as a lower servant and his ascension to a higher servant, every phase of his life is built specifically to outline different messages and crescendoes to the climax of his journey in Delhi. For the most part, there is only character development for one person, the most important person, Balram himself, who from the first page is noticeably different from the majority of the book. We see him narrate with detail his own metamorphosis through the social and political changes in India, with great insight into the 'darkness' - the poor, marginalised lower caste devoid of rights. Yet, he breathes so much life into these people that you do not feel sorry for them. They live in their own world, on the same planet but in different realities. The story is all about the transcension from one world to the next and does so with satire, contrast and wit. Having been to India myself and to some of the locations in the book, I imagined these scenes with clarity and understood the truth behind its settings. But I could have never emphatised with it on my own and that is exactly what the novel puts you through.

The novel's quality lies in its use of realism to convey its message. It is real not in a microscopic sense but in a big picture this is how the world works for this person and that person. I imagine the piece would lose some of its value if it were read by anyone living in a similar situation in India, particularly the lower castes (if they could read) as its 'shock value' would be rendered redundant, though its message is strong. I will not say that all lives in India are different or the same, but the character documents the one less travelled and compares it almost excessively with its polar opposite, making as though there are only two sides to a war, trying to create diversity through differentiation. The book is on the verge of complexity, but it never strays away from the simple -simple truths, simple facts, simple people. This is probably what prevents it from a sense of timelessness, it is notable but it needs more weight.

One of the things that irritated me at first was its language and its form (Balram is writing letters to the Chinese Prime Minister). I understand that every story needs a platform to launch but this was somewhat unreal and detrimental to when he delves into the realness of his life. I had gotten past the fact that a seemingly uneducated man was writing a structured english letter to a foreign Prime Minister, where in canon, he must have only started really learning to write english in his late 20's. But Fiction is Fiction and if you don't notice, it will not bother you. The author is no Vladimir Nobokov but his writing style is consistent and easily decypherable. Simplicity becomes a metaphor in itself in context of the character and works well.

My main disappointments are in the lack of character development outside the narrator, the slightly condescending, simplistic tone and lack of creativity with the language. Its merits are in its well thought-out narrative structure, underlying political and social values and its honesty in presenting issues.

Overall, I can see why the novel has won the prize. It is well above droves of fiction but still missing a rounded quality that would help make it more memorable. I will not give it a number but it ranks above 'The Perks of being a Wallflower' but below 'Life of Pie'.