The best books to read after Joseph Conrad

This is a book that keeps on changing my life. I was bowled over the first time I read it because it completely transformed my understanding of global history. The multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multi-national history I’d been piecing together studying Conrad’s work suddenly all made sense in a different way.

Pramoedya’s novel shows how Conrad’s novels are really all about the anti-colonial revolution. I love the book for the way it introduces all the most important historical, political, social, sexual, and philosophical questions bound up with decolonization.

It's a deceptively simple read, but cocooned within the sentimental coming-of-age story of its first-person narrator, the European-educated Minke, is an increasingly historical account of colonial oppression, anti-colonial resistance, and worldwide revolution that completely overturns European assumptions about what constitutes “this earth of mankind.” 

I love the way this book moves between Scotland and Sudan, as told from the perspective of a devout Muslim woman working as a translator for a Scottish academic at Aberdeen University. The story itself is a work of translation and a highly original rewriting of the encounter between East and West, Islam and Christianity, English and Arabic.

All those binaries break down: the English, for example, is Scottish, and the way to pronounce Arabic turns on a difference between Arab-speaking regions so that in both speech and writing, the reader encounters subtleties of translation usually overlooked in the tiresome cliches about “West” and “East.”

I love teaching it to learn with my students the politics of translation. The book has my favorite rewriting of that famous map-pointing scene at the beginning of Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness”—Aboulela restores as Arabic names the blank spaces on the map of Africa.

I love this book for the poetic and multilingual effect in just about every line of writing. Although its explicit descriptions of bodily violence are visceral and challenging, there is something utterly compelling about the impossibility of disentangling literal from metaphorical descriptions.

I love the way the book revisits and also queers some of the themes of Maxine Hong Kingston’s A Woman Warrior (e.g., the story of immigration to the U.S., the woman warrior theme). Linguistically, it is even more complex than A Woman Warrior.

It combines American English and Chinese—sometimes breaking up the Roman letters with Chinese characters—and then subverts both English and Chinese through references to the indigenous Taiwanese language, Atayal.

I love this book for the epic story it tells of two Native American sisters kidnapped from their home and reunited after separate journeys. There’s something extraordinary about Silko's ability to craft a novel about the horrors of violence against Native Americans and make it a book of resilience and affirmation.

It may not have the heft of her other epic novel, Almanac of the Dead (which I also love), but whereas Almanac has no likable characters and many brutal stories, this one manages to have no unlikeable characters despite the underlying brutality of the stories it tells.

It is deceptively childlike in its focus on children and its inclusion of animal characters, although the animal-human relation is far from simplistic, forming part of its deep linguistic, cultural, and ecological world-changing perspective. 

I love this book for the way it brings together in one place (a graveyard) a panoply of different characters from different walks of South Asian life. I find Anjum (the third gender “hijra” character who begins the narrative) most compelling. Her marginal relation to all the various mainstream cultures sets a template for how storytelling works across cultures, languages, and political perspectives.

I also love a part of the book critics found puzzling–when the novel shifts to the perspective of the former intelligence officer. It’s reminiscent of Conrad’s The Secret Agent and Under Western Eyes, Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s A Grain of Wheat, or House of Glass, the final novel in the Buru quartet of novels by Pramoedya Ananta Toer.

Like those novels, it compels a reader to undergo radical shifts in political and cultural perspectives. It’s simultaneously a political novel, a thriller, several coming-of-age novels spliced together, and a story about ecological crisis.