Review: A blend of humour, romance and thought-provoking ideas
Rating: 4 out of 5
Date: 04 10, 2014
This is going to be long, because this book has really made me think; which is saying something, because it was barely a hundred pages long. It's a good book, if you're South Asian, you will find it inspiring, strong and relatable. If not, it will provide a frank and non-exoticized look at a culture that is subjected to all kinds of stereotyping. Not to mention, it's quirky, cute and you'll have fun reading it.All right, grievances first: I thought the book was too short, I would have liked more development of the characters, I'd have given them a little more time to fall for each other, and even more time to stay 'fallen' until the conflicts arose. Here’s hoping Ahmed's next book is longer. At the risk of sounding nit-picky, the book could have been edited better: spelling mistakes, a few awkward constructions, words like wry, languorous, elegant repeated far too often for my taste.Now to the goods, and there were so many. It's common knowledge that I don't like the kind of formulaic romance that is churned out with astonishing regularity today. Anyway, I have read at least a few love stories and the one thing that's consistently bothered me about a typical read of the genre is that there's little else but sizzling romance. That is not the case with Natasha Ahmed's Butterfly Season. The story is honest, and while you can predict the way it’ll turn, you’re still invested in the journey.The conflict of the book is well tackled. Sex before marriage being a taboo, letting your family decide whom you end up with, having kids being your sole focus, not getting a choice in the most basic decisions of your life – these are not uncommon even today here in India and I have no doubt the prejudice exists in the rest of South Asia, Pakistan, the Middle East. But the book does something I didn't expect from the author’s initial e-mail, it never sounds preachy, nor like a rebellious angst filled complaint. Hell, you find Rumi passionately defending Karachi till the very end, if that doesn't sound fair, I don’t know what will.The author gives a scenario, an example: a typical desi Pakistani girl from a fairly conservative family falls for a considerably open minded and experienced Pakistani man settled in London. After dating for a while, she has to decide whether she would sleep with him, and she surprises herself with her choice. When the time comes to define the relationship, she finds herself parroting everything that’s been hammered into her growing up, lessons of right and wrong. These are philosophies which sound reasonable enough until actually put to test. Is she orthodox and irrational, or does he really not have good ‘values’ only because he wants to take their relationship a step further than she’s used to? You’d be surprised by how many people I know would side with Rumi's family, and there’d be a considerable lot that’d say, “It is wrong that it’s a taboo, but why do something you know your society is not going to like!?” The people who care about you would never adjust for you. That is just out of the question.Then, surprisingly, the book delves even deeper into the issue. Rumi doesn't want to sever ties with her family; she loves her kid sister, even though Juveria's is being unfair. She tries to make it work until circumstances turn to the very worst and making a choice becomes inevitable, no matter the consequences. And while the premise of this may sound ridiculous to the westerners or the more liberal people here, a “So what? Big deal!” kind of issue, the story isn't only about these taboos. It’s about finding yourself, learning to love yourself and accepting people for what they are. It’s about not meddling in others' lives or considering it your right, about being less skeptical of change and finding the strength to be different, and if need be, facing the challenges it might bring up. Geography only changes the type of problem, not the crux.The book has character. It's about two people who get along really well and fall in love. And we read about more than just her fluttering heart and his firm hands or something. Ahmed plays out Ahad and Rumi's conversations for you, from their families and jobs to their tastes in music, books. They feel like real people instead of stock characters. And they feel modern, not in the sense of unorthodox (that would kind of beat the purpose of the book) but in that there is little melodrama. A fight feels like a fight, not a whole production.But the thing I love the most about this book is the atmosphere. The writing feels alive with a love for the characters' roots. I like the little mentions of culture in the book, the bits of Urdu (there is a compact glossary at the end of the book) and even the very English English - like when Ahad says his Cockney accent and the inevitable dropping of h’s and t’s made his mother teach him Urdu. I like all the pop culture references - be it the Junoon-Vital Signs debate or the bad Corleone impression. And I love the song that Ahmed has, for the most part, based the title on. The butterfly motifs in the song and the fluttering butterflies in Rumi's stomach as she fell in love fit wonderfully together as the title of the book.Finally, Butterfly Season is the author's debut book and for a first effort, it is lovely.