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A review by tim_ohearn
The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
4.0
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.