FICTION: Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh, John Murray, 471pp, £18.99This Man Booker-shortlisted tale is the first of a planned trilogy that charts the horror and adventure of the opium trade
THE POPPY, that most cheerful-looking of flowers, brightens up the landscape with its sudden red, yet what a sinister history it has gathered to its black heart.
Indian writer Amitav Ghosh has taken the facts and the horrors and placed them at the centre of this good-natured, rollicking adventure set largely aboard the good ship Ibis. Yet for all the energy and the dramatic geographical sweep, it does begin quietly enough, with a woman in a small Indian village feeling concerned about the lateness of her poppy crop.
Most of her neighbours are equally worried; their livelihoods depend on this flower. Not that the poppies are going to sell as cut flowers, no, the interest in the poppy rests in its by-product - opium.
The anxious woman Deeti is also a troubled wife, her husband is an invalid and he works in the local British-owned opium factory. He is also an addict. Ghosh has absorbed a massive amount of history, such as a rare 1865 text, Account of an Opium Factory, written by JWS MacArthur, an overseer in such a factory, and has made it all come vividly to life in an improvisational historical novel - one which has flashes of Pirates of the Caribbean, albeit without any dominant personality to match the eccentric allure of Captain Jack Sparrow.
There are no surreal special effects and none of Rushdie's smug cleverness either. Ghosh has assembled a cast of well-drawn, almost uniformly likeable characters - each in his or her respective hurry. The stage is north India and the Bay of Bengal in 1838; the British are preparing to attack the Chinese ports, the outcome of which will explode into the first opium war.
Tensions are rife between the rich and the poor, the nasty outsiders and the struggling natives. As usual the women must contend with the weight of tradition. And tradition in Sea of Poppies, which features on this year's Man Booker prize shortlist, is presented as viciously masculine. Women are family property and little more than brood mares with no rights, and even less dignity. Deeti is the wife of the addict who soon dies, and she having sent their young daughter away to safety, flees for her own life. We soon learn that her husband, hopeless addict that he was, is incapable of fathering children, so the young Deeti had been secretly drugged and impregnated by none other than her dastardly brother-in-law.
Deeti is unusual; she has striking grey eyes, spirit and difficulty in holding her tongue. In time, having teamed up with a quiet giant, she emerges as one of the driving forces of the narrative, along with Zachary, an American sailor, Neel the cruelly betrayed, fallen plantation owner and Paulette, like Deeti, another wayward heroine of sorts who speaks heavily accented Franco-English and was raised in the Calcutta Botanic Garden by a Bengali wet nurse.
Ghosh has set out to write an historical novel, the first in a trilogy - and this is important as it certainly has an impact on his approach to characterisation. These are characters with whom his readers are likely to be involved with for quite a while - so don't expect every question to be answered, every story to be told. But for all the history, it does not read as a period piece. The characters hail from too many races - there are snatches of various languages and dialects as well as a range of social classes - for there to be any consistency of language. It is too fast moving for that. Not hasty, just fast moving. For all the tragedy it is light- hearted, almost comic. What is going on?
Throughout this first instalment there is a feeling of a large structure being carefully eased into place as all the while Ghosh is probably offering prayers of intercession to Charles Dickens, the king who could, and did, break all the rules. Violent acts, racial tensions, old-style gender issues, politics and historical detail have all been tossed, though not heaved, into the chaotic pot.
Among Ghosh's Booker rivals is Britain's Philip Hensher, an interesting writer who also looked to 19th century fiction devices for a previous work, his historical novel The Mulberry Empire (2002). In common with Sea of Poppies, Hensher also brought a light touch to a book that suggested even more research and is a stronger work. Both of these novels are good examples of how contemporary writers can look to traditional narratives without faltering into dry pastiche.
Yet, ultimately, throughout Ghosh's highly enjoyable tale, it is impossible to dispel the feeling that his characters are present day actors caught up in an epic in the making, perhaps even still in the planning stage. In fairness to Ghosh he succeeds in evoking the horrors of the period, the sickening cruelty without descending into heavy polemic. Still, it is difficult to read exchanges such as the following without smiling:
"Here, Mr Doughty suddenly joined in: 'The trouble, you know, is that Johnny Chinaman thinks he can return to the good old days, before he got his taste for opium. But there's no going back - just won't hoga.
"'Going back?' said Neel in surprise. 'But China's hunger for opium dates back to antiquity does it not?'" (Note Ghosh's lapse into a documentary style here)
"'Antiquity?' scoffed Mr Doughty. 'Why, even when I first went out to Canton, as a lad, there was just a trickle of opium going in. Damned hard-headed gudda is Johnny Long-tail. I can tell you, it wasn't easy to get him to take to opium. No sir - to give credit where it's due, you would have to say that the yen for opium would still be limited to their twice-born if not for the perseverance of English and American merchants. It's happened almost within living memory - for which we owe a sincere vote of thanks to the likes of Mr Burnham.'"
Mr Burnham is the corrupt British merchant who succeeds in grabbing the estate of the bankrupt estate owner, Neel, the son of the much respected and splendidly named late Raja Ram Rattan Halder of Raskhali whose goodness is still remembered.
Such flashes of continuity strengthen the narrative. Having been tried in court, Neel must endure the judge's pompous summing up: ". . . I ask you, Neel Rattan Halder, to reflect that if an offence such as yours merits punishment in an ordinary man, then how much more loudly does it call for reproof when the person who commits it is one in affluent circumstances, a man in the first rank of native society, whose sole intention is to increase his wealth at the expense of his fellows? How is society to judge a forger who is also a man of education . . .. How dark an aspect does the conduct of such a man assume when for the sake of some petty increase to his coffers, he commits a crime that may bring ruin to his own kinsmen, dependents and inferiors? . . .."
Needless to say Neel has been cheated and ruined by the corrupt British merchant. Neel's subsequent experiences as a lowly prisoner are vividly recounted by Ghosh.
Life in the stinking hold of the Ibis is also graphically described. Heaving pools of vomit and urine wash across the living areas. Fever and disease cut through the passenger and prisoner. Bodies are buried at sea. Of course the reader will recall William Golding's wonderful seafaring trilogy which triumphed through its telling in a voice that never missed a nuance, an all-seeing eye that recorded every gesture. Each of the three instalments Rites of Passage (1980), Close Quarters (1987) and Fire Down Below (1989) were self-contained and brilliantly cohesive as a trio. Golding masters the claustrophobia in a way that is as yet eluding Ghosh. Rites of Passage won the 1980 Booker Prize and the subsequent instalments were every bit as good.
There is no disputing that Ghosh tells his story with gusto and has made his opening volume sing loud. Also this is his best work since his precocious debut The Circle of Reason in 1986, after which his style acquired more gravitas and less life. Still, with Sea of Poppies, for all its appeal, it is difficult to shake off the feeling that this is another would-be Disney franchise in the making and for that, long shots and a big, catchy film score are invaluable. Even at this early stage, with one enjoyable if far from memorable volume completed, Ghosh needs to conjoure a defining presence, he needs a captain Jack Sparrow.
In the character of the young octoroon from Baltimore, Zachary the determined sailor, already a convincing voice, Ghosh may yet fill that role.
Eileen Battersby is Literary Correspondent of The Irish Times
