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3.72 AVERAGE
3.72 AVERAGE
A quick and easily readable book. The protagonist tells his bi-cultural story to an unnamed stranger at a teahouse in Lahore. The issues of bi-culturalism and the difficulties that are inherent are described in an easy, conversational manner. I was taken in by Changez's story and manner of speaking. The tension builds as he lets you in on his honest feelings and the book ends with questions that must be faced.
dark
emotional
mysterious
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
dark
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Had trouble putting this down - an evocative and thought provoking view of American exceptionalism and the relationship of America to the world as told through a highly personal story.
This book was a bit of a disappointment. The anti-American sentiments expressed by the main character were not very original or interesting. I also did not like the format of the story.
reflective
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
This was such a fast and gripping read!! I felt like it had a good balance of social commentary while still maintaining an engaging plot.
Presented in the first person throughout, this “conversation” with an anonymous American in Lahore depicts Changez, a highly educated and successful Pakistani who becomes disillusioned and hostile to America following the 9/11 attacks. The speed and extent of his change in views is rapid, and this stretches plausibility. It is also not clear where his beliefs come from which so quickly replace those beliefs or principles which allowed him to work in the American financial sector in the first place. Nevertheless a very clever and attractive read, which has a strong “voice”.
Been meaning to read this since it was shortlisted for The Booker a few years ago and I wasn't disappointed. A novella - beautifully written and an interesting insight into the dilemma experienced by Muslims living and working in the US around the period of 9/11.
A very good read. This sits on my top shelf of my home library, where my favorites sit. I love the way the narrative is told. It's like you're sitting down and the main character, Changez, and he's having a conversation with you. As a result, throughout the book, there are little asides from him which give you details as to the kind of person the main character is speaking to--the kind of person we, the readers are being implicated as. This book is a brilliant commentary on the nature of the massive shift in treatment towards middle-eastern and west-Asian individuals (and anyone who looks like them) after 9/11 in the US. It discusses the animosity towards the main character from white Americans and the lack of complete acceptance from his lover. It discusses his role in corporate America, how his job shapes him and informs him. The development through Changez character even as he himself is telling the story is so marked and powerful--from someone who really believes in the power of American business and making money, to someone who sees corporate America as predatory and cruel. And the twist at the ending is very well executed. Hamid only pulls punches at first in his criticism so he can make them sharper and more powerful later in the book. The main plot and the frame story are masterfully executed, you can see the care that went into it. And it's not a slow read, either. It's very engaging and snappy, so tightly woven in many respects.
I'm not a big fan of the (sort of?) romance piece of the plot in this book, though. Trigger warning: there's a point in it where consent isn't clearly disclosed. Is it violent? Not really. Is is problematic and unsettling? Yes. I mean, Erica literally cries at one point and Changez, to my recollection, doesn't even acknowledge her crying. It was both weird narratively and made me feel a bit uncomfortable. Is it problematic that this is still one of my favorite books? Maybe. I enjoyed the book dispite that particular scene, not because of it. It was just. Weird. And it doesn't do the characters justice, in my opinion, to leave it so vague, to not address the possible trauma of the situation. And I say this as a survivor. It doesn't help that her name is Erica, she's kind of enigmatic, a lacking a little depth, and if you just put A-M in front... it could be that she's being used as more of a symbol, and that's not generally a trope I appreciate. Women are not symbols, they are people and deserve to be represented as such. We live in different times from when this was published, and these are still things I wouldn't feel comfortable ignoring in a review.
I'm not a big fan of the (sort of?) romance piece of the plot in this book, though. Trigger warning: there's a point in it where consent isn't clearly disclosed. Is it violent? Not really. Is is problematic and unsettling? Yes. I mean, Erica literally cries at one point and Changez, to my recollection, doesn't even acknowledge her crying. It was both weird narratively and made me feel a bit uncomfortable. Is it problematic that this is still one of my favorite books? Maybe. I enjoyed the book dispite that particular scene, not because of it. It was just. Weird. And it doesn't do the characters justice, in my opinion, to leave it so vague, to not address the possible trauma of the situation. And I say this as a survivor. It doesn't help that her name is Erica, she's kind of enigmatic, a lacking a little depth, and if you just put A-M in front... it could be that she's being used as more of a symbol, and that's not generally a trope I appreciate. Women are not symbols, they are people and deserve to be represented as such. We live in different times from when this was published, and these are still things I wouldn't feel comfortable ignoring in a review.
This was the Lehigh class of 2016's summer reading book that was supposed to be read before orientation. My mom bought it for me and several times asked me to read it, but that was before I read things and well after the point in my life where I took pleasure in completing optional schoolwork.
During my freshman orientation seminar, my small group had one discussion centered around the book. There was someone from the English department (or some department that wasn't engineering and contained faculty who could analyze a book reasonable well) as well as an upperclassman who joined our group to further facilitate discussion. The discussion was meaningless to me--I just wanted to know where the party was on that crucial second night of college. Luckily, the upperclassman, who, it turned out, most certainly didn't read the book, was in a cool fraternity. I went to a fun party that night.
During the last day of orientation, the author of this book spoke to the entire freshman class. The was somewhat monumental, or so we were told because my class would never again be assembled in its entirety until graduation. That said, we did lose a few good men along the way.
I was impressed by the author's diction and command over the English language as he answered questions from overzealous valedictorians and other people who really wished they got into Princeton. I was so impressed, in fact, that I almost asked him a question myself. Though I never seriously considered reading the book.
Nearly five years later, I found myself in my childhood home and not wanting to read a Wall Street non-fiction book or Atlas Shrugged. I like books now and still enjoy a raucous party. The fraternity that I partied with that August night has long been kicked off campus. I found the Reluctant Fundamentalist and figured I could finish it before bed.
The perspective, diction, and delivery used in the book are equally smooth, charming, yet intellectual. This reminded me of the well dressed Pakistani who spoke to my freshman class many years ago. What many would consider the main theme--being a tan-skinned Muslim immediately after 9/11--wasn't particularly well done. The book just wasn't long enough or written in a way that gave this issue the importance that my alma mater's decision makers probably thought it did.
Instead, the two other themes in this book that deeply engaged me were two that were much more relevant to my own life. For one, the concept of working for an "elite" firm that the general public has no idea exists but is often criticized as something that creates little actual value and destabilizes certain aspects of the economy is something that I can relate to. I have worked in high-frequency trading, which some would peg as a futuristic analog to a boutique financial services firm.
As the book culminates, the author, who was once a top performer at his firm, mentally checks out and eventually leaves a project in South America, thus getting fired. The mental checkout, top performer or not, objectively high-stress job or imagined, is a topic that I have never seen explored quite so well in a novel. I have seen friends or acquaintances from college burn out, usually because they are able to find a therapeutic soothing by dedicating so many hours to vocation while not taking the time to heal peripheral sources of stress or pain. This becomes unbearable over time, which is what happened to Changez in the novel. However, as a rising freshman, I would have more closely related to the main character's name reminding me of a Tupac song than this phenomenon.
The other part that I enjoyed was the main character's relationship with a beautiful girl who experienced trauma in that her previous boyfriend who she was in love with had died. The previous relationship was revealed early in the novel, and this fact slowly gave way to a seemingly perfect love story. However, the girl remained deeply mentally troubled despite having an objectively perfect life. I hope I'm not getting too personal here, but there were many parallels between the girl in the story and a girl I dated in the past. A boyfriend having died not being a part of that story. The way that the author wrote about the character's infatuation with this girl and the way the relationship unfolded--there is absolutely no way that Mohsin Hamid hasn't experienced a similar sequence of events. The overlap was uncanny, eerie even. My story didn't have as miserable as an ending and I feel it's necessary to state that "the scene" in no way resembles anything I've ever experienced, but I'm still reeling over what I read. The man has a gift for writing.
This is a moving work and this is an important work. I see the potential for mass appeal but, frankly, I think it's misguided to mandate that swaths of people read this book with the hopes that they'll become more tolerant and understanding of Muslims. There are too many loose ends, a baffling ending, and tangential themes that detract from what I'm not even completely sure was intended to be the main point of the book.
During my freshman orientation seminar, my small group had one discussion centered around the book. There was someone from the English department (or some department that wasn't engineering and contained faculty who could analyze a book reasonable well) as well as an upperclassman who joined our group to further facilitate discussion. The discussion was meaningless to me--I just wanted to know where the party was on that crucial second night of college. Luckily, the upperclassman, who, it turned out, most certainly didn't read the book, was in a cool fraternity. I went to a fun party that night.
During the last day of orientation, the author of this book spoke to the entire freshman class. The was somewhat monumental, or so we were told because my class would never again be assembled in its entirety until graduation. That said, we did lose a few good men along the way.
I was impressed by the author's diction and command over the English language as he answered questions from overzealous valedictorians and other people who really wished they got into Princeton. I was so impressed, in fact, that I almost asked him a question myself. Though I never seriously considered reading the book.
Nearly five years later, I found myself in my childhood home and not wanting to read a Wall Street non-fiction book or Atlas Shrugged. I like books now and still enjoy a raucous party. The fraternity that I partied with that August night has long been kicked off campus. I found the Reluctant Fundamentalist and figured I could finish it before bed.
The perspective, diction, and delivery used in the book are equally smooth, charming, yet intellectual. This reminded me of the well dressed Pakistani who spoke to my freshman class many years ago. What many would consider the main theme--being a tan-skinned Muslim immediately after 9/11--wasn't particularly well done. The book just wasn't long enough or written in a way that gave this issue the importance that my alma mater's decision makers probably thought it did.
Instead, the two other themes in this book that deeply engaged me were two that were much more relevant to my own life. For one, the concept of working for an "elite" firm that the general public has no idea exists but is often criticized as something that creates little actual value and destabilizes certain aspects of the economy is something that I can relate to. I have worked in high-frequency trading, which some would peg as a futuristic analog to a boutique financial services firm.
As the book culminates, the author, who was once a top performer at his firm, mentally checks out and eventually leaves a project in South America, thus getting fired. The mental checkout, top performer or not, objectively high-stress job or imagined, is a topic that I have never seen explored quite so well in a novel. I have seen friends or acquaintances from college burn out, usually because they are able to find a therapeutic soothing by dedicating so many hours to vocation while not taking the time to heal peripheral sources of stress or pain. This becomes unbearable over time, which is what happened to Changez in the novel. However, as a rising freshman, I would have more closely related to the main character's name reminding me of a Tupac song than this phenomenon.
The other part that I enjoyed was the main character's relationship with a beautiful girl who experienced trauma in that her previous boyfriend who she was in love with had died. The previous relationship was revealed early in the novel, and this fact slowly gave way to a seemingly perfect love story. However, the girl remained deeply mentally troubled despite having an objectively perfect life. I hope I'm not getting too personal here, but there were many parallels between the girl in the story and a girl I dated in the past. A boyfriend having died not being a part of that story. The way that the author wrote about the character's infatuation with this girl and the way the relationship unfolded--there is absolutely no way that Mohsin Hamid hasn't experienced a similar sequence of events. The overlap was uncanny, eerie even. My story didn't have as miserable as an ending and I feel it's necessary to state that "the scene" in no way resembles anything I've ever experienced, but I'm still reeling over what I read. The man has a gift for writing.
This is a moving work and this is an important work. I see the potential for mass appeal but, frankly, I think it's misguided to mandate that swaths of people read this book with the hopes that they'll become more tolerant and understanding of Muslims. There are too many loose ends, a baffling ending, and tangential themes that detract from what I'm not even completely sure was intended to be the main point of the book.