When I Hit You: Or, A Portraits of the Writer as a Young Woman by Meena Kandasamy
It is a book that has roused many responses in me, not always good. In the beginning, just after reading a few pages, I made up my mind about the writer. It is terrible when one's negative thoughts about the writer come true. This book for me is more like an essay than a novel. In the beginning, it reads like as if the author has read too much theory. There is nothing wrong with reading theories, but one hardly writes a good novel by using too much of it unless one is Zadie Smith.
T he author writes about her painful, abusive marriage. However, it seems that she sees male oppression and dominance everywhere, even before her husband appears on the scene. Being a sharp girl, all this must have poisoned her mind. It is important to know things, to be aware of them, but one should not let the negative impinge one's consciousness so completely, no matter how bad the real life might be.
The book reads too raw, she is too fierce. Almost no men, no women are portrayed sympathetically; her own parents are shown in negatively except toward the end where she thanks them for supporting her, but before that she only shows them as stereotypical Indian parents with the kind of disdain that the privileged have toward the marginalized, that the superior West toward the rest.
The book also gives the impression that all Indians are stuck in bad marriages as if marriage is some sort of 'burkha' that a ruthless man put on a woman. It produces a certain kind of narrative that subsumes all 'difference'– other potentialities, other lived realities. Personally, I have seen countless women in India, poor, uneducated, intelligent, and independent in their own ways; and a majority of people living ordinary, happy married lives, but this does not mean that I deny the viciousness of patriarchy that damages both men and women and privileges men monumentally in India.
In fact, the space that Meena inhabits, the words she deploys, the way she sees life, the way she is, are the very markers that put her on equal terms with her husband. She is not a subaltern woman, she is the woman who fights back. She has every resource, advantage that makes man and a man in India. She has an access to that space like her husband.
Despite this, it is sad to see how her husband demeans and shames her body. He accuses her of using her 'cunt' to get writing assignments. Elsewhere in the book, Meena herself ( or the wife in the book), in her haste to be critical of men, speaks in similar terms to describe women who work with men without conflicts. Here, we see how in one situation, she is at the receiving end of the narrative that gnaws her very person; but in another context, she herself deploys (has that access) the same narrative on others (read women), seemingly less privileged and socially inferior to her.
In terms of language, in the first half of the book, I found some trite expression, for instance, “we ate in silence.” On many occasions, while reading her, I even knew the words that might appear next. Each time that happened, I cringed. However, I must add that the second half of the book is brilliant, her language feels real, heartfelt and forceful. Toward the end of the book, she writes about men and herself in an excellent prose; the poet in her comes out with full force. Reading these last pages, I understood her better, I made my peace with those parts of the book that I found contentious.
In other words, whereas the first half of the book has conflicting elements, too many accusations, too much anger, therefore, I was listening less, I was arguing more with her. The narrative seems to shame and demonize, the 'oppressor'– whatever, whoever that is. However, in the second half, this voice seems real as it comes from the depth of experience, not clouded by righteousness, and its impetus is on healing and claiming inner strength.
T he author writes about her painful, abusive marriage. However, it seems that she sees male oppression and dominance everywhere, even before her husband appears on the scene. Being a sharp girl, all this must have poisoned her mind. It is important to know things, to be aware of them, but one should not let the negative impinge one's consciousness so completely, no matter how bad the real life might be.
The book reads too raw, she is too fierce. Almost no men, no women are portrayed sympathetically; her own parents are shown in negatively except toward the end where she thanks them for supporting her, but before that she only shows them as stereotypical Indian parents with the kind of disdain that the privileged have toward the marginalized, that the superior West toward the rest.
The book also gives the impression that all Indians are stuck in bad marriages as if marriage is some sort of 'burkha' that a ruthless man put on a woman. It produces a certain kind of narrative that subsumes all 'difference'– other potentialities, other lived realities. Personally, I have seen countless women in India, poor, uneducated, intelligent, and independent in their own ways; and a majority of people living ordinary, happy married lives, but this does not mean that I deny the viciousness of patriarchy that damages both men and women and privileges men monumentally in India.
In fact, the space that Meena inhabits, the words she deploys, the way she sees life, the way she is, are the very markers that put her on equal terms with her husband. She is not a subaltern woman, she is the woman who fights back. She has every resource, advantage that makes man and a man in India. She has an access to that space like her husband.
Despite this, it is sad to see how her husband demeans and shames her body. He accuses her of using her 'cunt' to get writing assignments. Elsewhere in the book, Meena herself ( or the wife in the book), in her haste to be critical of men, speaks in similar terms to describe women who work with men without conflicts. Here, we see how in one situation, she is at the receiving end of the narrative that gnaws her very person; but in another context, she herself deploys (has that access) the same narrative on others (read women), seemingly less privileged and socially inferior to her.
In terms of language, in the first half of the book, I found some trite expression, for instance, “we ate in silence.” On many occasions, while reading her, I even knew the words that might appear next. Each time that happened, I cringed. However, I must add that the second half of the book is brilliant, her language feels real, heartfelt and forceful. Toward the end of the book, she writes about men and herself in an excellent prose; the poet in her comes out with full force. Reading these last pages, I understood her better, I made my peace with those parts of the book that I found contentious.
In other words, whereas the first half of the book has conflicting elements, too many accusations, too much anger, therefore, I was listening less, I was arguing more with her. The narrative seems to shame and demonize, the 'oppressor'– whatever, whoever that is. However, in the second half, this voice seems real as it comes from the depth of experience, not clouded by righteousness, and its impetus is on healing and claiming inner strength.
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