The other great contemporary Indian English writer of the novel of place is, of course, V.S. Naipaul. In A Way in the World, he wove fiction and fact into such a finely meshed texture that you felt yourself discovering history itself in the telling, seeing the patterns of human development between the lines. And his non-fiction is a genre in itself, an uniquely Naipaulean form that dares to boldly go where no novelist has gone before, and no simple travel-writer would dare venture.
Tivolem, a novel set in a fictional village in Goa, ventures boldly into this sub-genre, the novel of place. The novel is set in the course of the year 1933 in the fictional village of Tivolem, Goa. Europe is filled with growing political unrest, a young upstart named Hitler is starting his unexpected rise to power, Goa is still a Portuguese colony, Gandhi is gaining popularity and influence "over there" in mainland India, and the locals couldn't care less about what's happening in the outside world. The story opens with the arrival of the central character, 35-year-old Marie-Santana, who has come back penniless and parentless from Mozambique after 23 years to care for her ageing grandmother and find her feet again.
Through her eyes, we see Goa/Tivolem in elegantly sketched descriptive passages that flow easily into the simple narrative style. From her first encounter with the boatman who rows against the tide on the river Mandovi to the descriptions of the architecture, food, smells, flora and fauna, language and people, Rangel-Ribeiro never strikes a false note. These are his people, this is his land, and he knows them well.
The novel's plot centers around Marie-Santana and three other locals also returning home after long absences: Simon, a violinist; Senhor Eusebio, with Gulf-acquired wealth; and a mysteriously flamboyant hunter from East Africa. Not very much actually happens through the course of the novel, at least not in the wide, sprawling saga sense of the word. This is no sweeping tale of over-hyped emotions. Rangel-Ribeiro's skill lies in quietly detailing the everyday life of the Tivolem locals, the familiar characters that anyone with any Goan blood will recognise and warm to instantly: Dona Esmeralda, the proud age-ing prima donna who maintains her poise and dignity even in difficult financial times. Dona Elena, the gossipy, nosy village tattler. Martin aka Mottu, Marie-Santana's childhood suitor. Tendulkar and the other elderly intellectuals who gather together once a week to discuss political news from abroad and other affairs of global import. And most endearing of all, the compulsive thief Lazarinh, whose mischievous exploits enliven the narrative from time to time.
Rangel-Ribeiro's Tivolem comes alive with fine detail. There isn't much drama here; in fact, there's almost a clinical simplicity to the whole book. Marie-Santana's past haunts her, yet even its dark spectre doesn't overshadow her discovery of her enduring love for her homeland. And in a gently nurtured, molasses-slow romantic relationship, she finds the future to balance that traumatic past. Others deal with lesser problems: leaking roofs, stolen bicycles or cows, worry over the political situation in Europe...none of the real-life emotional heat and passion of contemporary Goa here. That clearly isn't the author's intention. This isolationist atmosphere is deliberate and quite effective. He's chosen to tell a simple tale of a simple time and in that he's succeeded. A nice, pleasant read to lull you on a hammock beneath soughing palms and a gentle sea breeze. If only Goa itself were still this simple and beautiful.
In the introduction to Ferry Crossing: Short Stories From Goa (Penguin India, Rs 250, 268 pages), editor Manohar Shetty protests fiercely against the image of Goa as merely a tourist resort, and promises that this collection of short stories will help correct that image. He succeeds only to a certain extent.
This quibble aside, this is an important and pleasurable collection. The stories, from Konkani, Marathi, Portuguese and English, are almost all enjoyable. The only complaint one might have is that including two chapters from Victor Rangel-Ribeiro's concurrently published novel Tivolem in this book is both partisan and unnecessary. Similarly, the exclusion of some other distinguished Goan writers such as Nisha da Cunha is glaringly inexplicable. And while Shetty protests heatedly against the perception of Goa as a tourist haven, he fails to provide us with any kind of overview of Goan literature. This book is more notable for what it fails to achieve than what it actually does.
