The Namesake

"The Namesake" is written by Jhumpa Lahiri, and I think she works literary magic crafting a tale about a single family. The parents were born in India and moved to Massachusetts. Their kids were born in the U.S. and never understood their parents' draw to Calcutta. Mixed in there are several love stories, a few heartbreaking losses, and many, many questions.

For whatever reason, I found myself, at times, empathizing with the main character. The way he views the world-- as a collection of places rich with memories, imbued with the past-- is how I see the world so often. When I go to a place, I remember the people I've been with there, the food I've eaten, the music I heard or things I experienced. Every place has a weight. Some of the weight is too heavy; some of the weight is just right. The movie theaters and classrooms and restaurants where I've shared time with people-- or spent time alone-- every place holds memories that inform my life, that let me know I have, at the very least, been around.

In the end, "The Namesake" left me a little unfulfilled. The last line does not have the power I was hoping it would have. But it does sort of remind me that life goes on-- that this story persists beyond the last page for the characters Lahiri so carefully constructed. And, so, I'm mostly okay with it. It's a story that feels real, a story that has been lived by millions of Indians (and immigrants) since our country was not our country. It is a story without which we do not exist as we are.

It is a story about Self, identity, family, love, place. It is a story about the known and unknown past, the wholly unknown future, and the brevity of the present. Beautifully written and hauntingly moving, "The Namesake" makes me pause, reflect, and, somehow, long for places past, present, and future.