I finished the last available Jhumpa Lahiri book Wednesday. It is a short story collection titled "Interpreter of Maladies." Like her other short story collection, An Unaccustomed Earth, and her novel, The Namesake, Interpreter of Maladies focuses on the lives of Bengalis, primarily, as well as Indians. Every story centers on a single relationship: man and wife, man and landlady, impoverished old woman and her community (x2). The stories are short and well-written, in Lahiri's typical laid-back, easy style, but the storylines seemed tired and overdone. Two stories about old, unmarried women neglected by their communities? Seems a little redundant.
Unlike "An Unaccustomed Earth", which featured a variety of stories in a variety of locations, "Interpreter of Maladies" seemed to spend copious amounts of time in dirty hallways or on lonely benches. The stories lacked the spark of culture clashes, and it failed to deliver a certain amount of modernity. The stories felt old, I think.
Still, this read, though, for me, a bit banal, comparatively speaking, is a light and pleasurable read. I did not devour it voraciously, as I did the first two books, but I enjoyed it nonetheless (just over time).
On tap: I really do not know. I have a small pile of books gathering beside my bed. Perhaps I will read "And Then There Were None" by Agatha Christie. This would fulfill a promise I made to a student, and I do love a good mystery.
Happy reading!
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