| Book review: Queen of Dreams by Tanya Kam |
| Delicious. This is the word that comes to mind as I attempt to sum up my feelings about Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's Queen of Dreams (2004). The novel, set in contemporary Berkeley, immerses the reader in the life of Rakhi, an aspiring painter of East Indian ancestry. While it's difficult to summarize the storyline with any precision, I think that the core of the narrative revolves around relationships. As Rakhi struggles to come to terms with her deceased dream-teller mother, her ex-husband, who still loves her, and her alcoholic father, she must also confront muddled truths about her own East Indian and American heritage. Perhaps one of the most intriguing characters in this novel is Rakhi's recently departed mother. Gifted with the ability to dream other people's futures, Rakhi's mother charitably used this power to better people's lives, often going out of her way to warn strangers of impending problems. This apparent blessing, however, also estranges her from her daughter and husband in nuanced ways. As part of a redemptive process, both Rakhi and her father must work together at decoding her dream journals; in this manner they also begin to repair a relationship weakened by alcohol abuse. Divakaruni delicately seasons her novel with elements of East Indian culture -- from mention of mouth-watering singaras and pakoras, kurma and "real" cha -- to silk saris and the cavernous hideaways of dream-tellers. This, however, is not an East Indian novel, but one that blends together East Indian and American cultures, vocabularies, and influences. Divakaruni's text takes place in Berkeley, California, one of the most liberal, ethnically diverse places in the United States. And yet, in one of the most jarring scenes that takes place in the aftermath of 9/11, the reader is asked to question what and who is truly American during times of crisis. The division between American and/or "foreign" identity can also be traced in through Rakhi, who admires and emulates her East Indian heritage (sometimes inauthentically), and her best friend, Belle, who tries to assimilate into "hip" mainstream American culture (but sometimes exaggerates it as well). As Divakaruni writes, "They've stayed up nights talking about how Rakhi sometimes feels too American, how Belle would love to shed the last vestiges of her desi-ness" (17). With complexity, Divakaruni shows how Rakhi eagerly attempts to recover an exotic homeland that she does not fully understand. This exemplifies the process by which Salman Rushdie, famed writer and critic, observes that writers, exiles, and immigrants mentally return to an ancestral homeland as a source of inspiration in their lives. However, Rushdie notes also that "our physical alienation from India almost inevitably means that we will not be capable of reclaiming the very thing that was lost; that we will, in short, create fictions, not actual cities or villages, but invisible ones, imaginary homelands, Indias of the mind." As outlined by Rushdie, the vision of "Indianness" that Rakhi attempts to project in her fashion, art, and café is a creation, one inspired by her mother's stories and her own visions of India. By incorporating the concept of a (re)imagined ancestral homeland, author Divakaruni also manages to predict and deflect criticism from naysayers who would like to claim that her writing is not authentic enough when her vision of East Indian culture does not match theirs. Divakaruni's writing is contradictory: her style manages to be both languorous and suspenseful. The language of the novel itself is as richly textured, as spellbinding as the tangled dreams that Rakhi's mother unweaves. Strangely enough, a significant part of the plot involves the emergence of a Java, a monolithic coffee house akin to Starbucks that threatens the existence of the eclectic Chai House owned by Rakhi and Belle. The clash between the capitalistic juggernaut and the small café is painted in mythic proportions which require a certain suspension of disbelief. The manager of Java represents a super villain -- an evil, witchlike entity -- and The Chai House is her designated victim. Who will win the battle of good over evil? Who is the man in white, and does he emit positive and negative energy? What is the work of a dreamteller? Why do Rakhi's parents really sleep in separate beds? Why is Rakhi's mother distant from her own family? I admit that I am a greedy reader, and I devoured this book in one long, satisfying night. These questions, which drove me to consume the text in such eager mouthfuls, were often interwoven in intricate ways. Because the conclusion of the novel did not always yield simple answers to the often-interrelated questions, Queen of Dreams managed to capture some of the miraculous uncertainty of life. If I have one criticism, it is that the Berkeley that Divakaruni paints is not the Berkeley I remember from the six years that I lived there, my memory refreshed by regular visits to my sister to this day. Yes, the names are familiar -- People's Park, Shattuck Avenue, Zellerbach Auditorium, Sproul Hall, "old hippies with guitars and bandana-necked dogs; earnest students in Birkenstocks handing out Earth Day flyers; people queued up at the burrito stall; evangelists, fervently sweaty in black, describing with relish the torments of hell that await unbelievers ..." (77). It's difficult for me to pinpoint the source of my unease, but I sometimes felt like Divakaruni tried too hard in her portrayal of Berkeley; there was too much namedropping and not enough mystique. Little clichés -- like how Rakhi's mother calls Berkeley "Berserkley" (83) -- felt overstated because they didn't capture Berkeley in a manner that rang true to me. Part of Divakaruni's gift is her ability to paint the familiar in terms that are altered, but recognizable, calling attention to the magic of the everyday. The Berkeley I read felt more like the stereotype of Berkeley than the place itself. It is possible, however, that Divakaruni's written reincarnation of Berkeley felt predictable simply because I am a feisty reader, and I am too well-acquainted with the city to feel the mystery that a reader more unfamiliar with the Bay Area might experience. In all, Queen of Dreams is a tasty literary accomplishment, rich with insights regarding family strife and identity politics in a post 9/11 world. I was fully satiated by the conclusion of the novel, and I wager that those who enjoyed The Arranged Marriage (1996), Mistress of Spices (1998), and Sister of My Heart (2000) will surely relish Chitra Divakaruni's latest addition to the banquet of literary delights. |
| Divakaruni, Chitra Banerjee. Queen of Dreams. New York: Anchor Books, 2004. |
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