In Neel Mukherjee’s latest novel, one character contemplates whether a human being is simply an interval between decision making. Titled ‘Choice’, the book is composed of three interlinked narratives, each centres around a protagonist faced with an ethical predicament. Mukherjee posits that the decision is not always about right and wrong, but it often revolves around choosing the lesser evil.
Mukherjee’s writings often intertwine socially aware storylines. His first book, ‘A Life Apart’ (2010), combined a partly autobiographical narrative set in Calcutta and Oxford with a tale of Bengal during the stormy dawn of the 20th century. His novel ‘The Lives of Others’ (2014), which was shortlisted for The Man Booker, chronicled numerous family members during India’s political upheaval in the 1960s. He wrote ‘A State of Freedom'(2017) inspired by VS Naipaul’s ‘In a Free State’ (1971), comprised of five interconnected stories addressing societal stagnation.
In ‘Choice’, Mukherjee further explores one of his core themes: how inequality stifles personal freedom. The opening section of the novel portrays an editor, Ayush, wrestling with the moral challenges of employment at a sprawling global publishing firm, particularly their new diversity-focused imprint. Emotional strain builds as he gradually drifts from his reasonable economist partner, Luke, and exposes their twin five-year-olds to explicit videos illustrating animal abuse. His obsessive-compulsive disorder and depressive symptoms peak, culminating in a decisive moment.
The subsequent section of the novel presents a narrative by an author represented by Ayush, M.N Opie, who prefers to maintain anonymity and neutrality regarding gender. Opie crafts a tale about an academic, Emily, who happens to witness a hit-and-run accident while using a ride-sharing platform. Instead of notifying the authorities, she empathises with the driver, Salim, an undocumented immigrant from Eritrea who was covering for his brother, Karim, currently on dialysis.
In the wake of an accident, Emily struggles to focus on her work, feebly trying to piece together Salim’s journey, segments of which are interspersed throughout the narrative. Regrettably, the refugee ordeal and the accompanying guilt of the white population in “Choice” is not portrayed as effectively as in “Go, Went, Gone” (2017), Jenny Erpenbeck’s acclaimed story of an elderly academic who establishes friendship with African refugees in Berlin.
The third and most compelling segment of “Choice” narrates a story told by one of Luke’s co-workers, an economist working in development. In order to surmount poverty, a cow is gifted to Sabita, a woman in West Bengal; a strategy that ends in disaster for a small fraction of the beneficiaries.
Mukherjee has expressed his reluctance to be classified as an “Indian author”, and the connotations that accompany it, in an interview with Hanya Yanagihara. His portrayal of Indian characters outshines that of liberal westerners, and the implications of micro-lending are more intriguing than detailing academic jargon or Emily’s supermarket purchases: pine nuts, carrots, a 1.5-litre bottle of Persil Non Bio wash, and candied orange peel.
Mukherjee has asserted that novel narrative structures are seen as a territory of the ‘White Guys’ and that no one anticipates such experimentation in his literature. Nonetheless, his claim of narrative-linking being unique may not hold true, with acclaimed samples from diverse authors such as Junot Diaz, Elizabeth Strout, Brandon Taylor, Bryan Washington, Bernardine Evaristo, Carmen Maria Machado, and Jonathan Escoffery.
Despite addressing significant themes, “Choice” relies excessively on its characters to vocally declare social perspectives. Ayush expresses concerns about a specific type of racism embodied in white liberal inclusivity along with its constant requirement for validation and how advancements in behavioural economics are exploited to drain workers and undermine the labour force.
The division of the world into two categories is speculated by Emily – individuals with lofty dreams, who may often sacrifice themselves to create a transformation, sometimes wreaking havoc in their vicinity, and those who persevere with a dogged determination, gradually pushing away at their monumental challenges until they achieve their goals, without the self-destruction or disruption of global balance.
Emily’s author friend, Rohan, acts as an ethical contrast, expressing shock at her decision not to disclose the accident or her generous aid to Karim to sustain his family. He criticises her when he scrutinises her ongoing work for culturally misappropriating Salim’s narrative. I, personally, have faith in the creativity of writers to empathetically envision others’ lives. Emily desired to perceive, envisage, every single aspect – starting from the diet in the shepherds’ shack in the middle of Sahara Desert, the precise responsibilities involved in shepherding, how much income he averaged per day begging on the Italian streets, what mode he and his associates employed to escape the Eritrean underground jail.
I feel the same way, Emily. Regrettably, Choice leaves us yearning for more.