Last month I finished reading the winner of the Man Booker Prize 2008: The White Tiger by the Mumbai-based writer Aravind Adiga. This is Aravind’s debut novel and it is quite a literary feat, I can tell you.
The protagonist of the novel is the very poor Balram, son of a rickshaw puller, who is taken out of school in order to help support his family. He faces a life of darkness and hard labour crushing coals and wiping tables. However, he manages to get a job as a chauffeur in the big city of Delhi and then goes on to seize his chance to start a new life in Bangalore.
The twist in this tiger’s tail is that we know from the very start that Balram is a murderer – a chatty and very entertaining one too – and the whole novel is written as a series of letters to the Chinese Prime Minister, who is planning a visit to Bangalore, and who, Balram decides, must be told the truth about India.
Balram reveals the corruption underneath the democratic face of India, the bribery, and how the servants of the rich in Delhi are left to rot in dirty basements. The genius of this book is that we feel great sympathy for the murderer Balram, who kills his master and flees to Bangalore to become a successful, rich businessman himself.
“In the old days there were one thousand castes and destinies in India,” says Balram. “These days there are two castes: Men with Big Bellies, and Men
with Small Bellies.”
A white tiger comes along only once in a generation – a rare creature, like Balram. However, a white tiger that is caught in a cage is not a happy one once he realizes that he is caged. And this is what the novel portrays: a country where roles and castes imprison the people who live there.
I warmly recommend this novel: it is shocking and entertaining (often hilarious) in equal parts. And the voice of our narrator (murderer) is cynical, amoral and – dare I say it? – endearing.















Here in the Stockholm region, the sun dips below the horizon for two or three hours, and the eerie white light of night turns a little duskier for a few hours. Then, the sun climbs up into the sky again and the birds start twittering (that’s the birdsong variety not the online one!) at about four o’clock.