Kozhikode-based writer sets debut novel in a Kerala village, and at the cusp of new tech and old values

Saharu Nusaiba Kannanari’s prose is clear, precise, and engaging, with striking similes. He writes, for example, of a “hill of wet black umbrellas like a pile of dead fruit bats” or a husband “boring and innocuous like Doordarshan”. (Images via Westland Books)

Humankind will prevail, said William Faulkner in his Nobel acceptance speech, because it has “a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance”. An author’s duty, he went on, is to write about such qualities to remind us of courage, honour, and hope.

Several writers have adopted this as their own credo, and have been influenced by Faulkner in many other ways. They’ve created complex characters, unearthed skeletons in closets, and explored moral ambiguities within intricate structures. A case in point is Graham Swift’s 1996 Booker-winning novel, Last Orders.

Critics were quick to point out its similarities to Faulkner's As I Lay Dying: both novels employ multiple narrators and revolve around the themes of death and family secrets in a rural setting. Many felt that the resemblances were too glaring, but the consensus seemed to be that it was a deliberate homage which didn’t step over the line between influence and originality.

In his debut novel with the Marquez-like title of Chronicle of an Hour and a Half, Saharu Nusaiba Kannanari also owes a debt to Faulkner, something he acknowledges by using a quote from As I Lay Dying as an epigraph. Kannanari’s well-etched version of Yoknapatawpha County is a small Kerala village in the shadow of the Western Ghats with a main bazaar and a nearby mosque, surrounded by cashew plantations, granite quarries and paddy fields. It is a time of torrential, almost Biblical rain, and as with some of Faulkner’s work, the weather reflects emotional turmoil as well as powerlessness against external forces.

This is the environment in which the grim events of the novel take place. Kannanari uses the limited time period indicated in the title as a pebble dropped into a pond, tracing its arc before the splash and following the ensuing ripples. These are snapshots of lives in a community trapped in the fault line between outdated notions of honour and instant methods of communication. When such tectonic plates collide, the mentality of the mob takes over.

Chronicle of An Hour and a Half proceeds through the voices of more than a dozen narrators who comprise a cross-section of the town. Among the intertwined perspectives are those of the local mosque’s imam, a teacher, and other residents in their capacities as parents, students, children, husbands, and wives.

The most significant are those of Nabeesumma, mother of five grown sons, who has to augment her income by tailoring, rolling bidis, mopping floors and the like; and Reyhana, trapped in a stifling marriage and drawn into an affair with one of Nabeesumma’s sons, many years younger than her. When news of this dangerous liaison begins to circulate, it leads to a whirlwind of speculation and gossip. The town’s mood becomes “vitriolic with violent opinions”, which lead to tragic outcomes.

The other narrators are more than choric figures. Many are endowed with specific motivations, be they titillation, misogyny, shame, or an adherence to conservative attitudes. Almost all receive or send messages on WhatsApp, which is painted here as a malign actor that intensifies sentiments and provides vicarious satisfaction by emphasising some aspects at the expense of others. The non-linear, fragmented structure can even be seen as mirroring an exchange of messages and forwards on social media, amplifying a sense of chaos.

The author takes care to not lay all his narrative cards on the table at one go – which is why the profusion of voices can make the novel initially disorienting. As the accounts progress, however, the characters and relationships click pleasingly into place. It should be pointed out, though, that at times, the voices don’t sound differentiated enough, and at others, they sound incongruously eloquent. In one passage, for instance, Reyhana speaks of the valley as “an undulation of hills, palm country, verdant in the pre-monsoon showers of a late April”.

Nevertheless, Kannanari’s prose is not as convoluted as Faulkner’s can be. It is clear, precise, and engaging, with striking similes. He writes, for example, of a “hill of wet black umbrellas like a pile of dead fruit bats” or a husband “boring and innocuous like Doordarshan”. These are accompanied by other evocative turns of phrase, such as when a character is described as having a face “that left me tactless with longing”.

Chronicle of an Hour and a Half, then, is a short yet powerful novel that portrays what happens when a shift in productive forces, represented here by technology, collides with a society clinging to the past. It highlights the disastrous consequences, particularly when communication channels are used as weapons wielded with malice. Something to keep in mind when you come across forwarded messages and images on social media platforms.