Caught in the gap between two cultures, and falling

At first glance, “Maps for Lost Lovers,” the second novel by the Pakistani - born writer Nadeem Aslam, appears to be a familiar story of exile, cultural identity and assimilation. In recent years, these themes have been dissected by young writers such as Monica Ali, Hari Kunzru and Jhumpa Lahiri -- each of whom has written about displaced South Asians, either in England or America. Upheaval, loneliness and a longing for community are all essential elements of these stories, along with a struggle to reconcile tradition with modern life. Yet Aslam adds another, darker layer to his story: a raw and brutal violence that offers no redemption.

Aslam, from all indications, is an obsessive writer. He worked more than a decade to complete the follow-up to his award-winning debut, “Season of the Rainbirds.” He writes in longhand and reportedly dedicated four years to creating 100-page biographies of the main characters who would inhabit “Maps for Lost Lovers.” That attentiveness to detail, and immersion in the emotional lives of his creations, is evident throughout this novel. And Aslam, who now resides in London, is not afraid to delve into controversial issues such as cultural stereotyping and the fears born of racism, or the often didactic and judgmental aspects of religious faith.

The novel is set in an unnamed northern town in England, populated mostly by working-class Muslims, who commonly refer to their adopted town as Dasht-e-Tanhaii (translated, the Wilderness of Solitude or the Desert of Loneliness). Aslam jump-starts his story with a dramatic event, as the entire community gossips about the disappearance (and apparent murder) of Jugnu and his lover Chanda, who lived together “in sin” and were reviled by many for violating moral and religious values. Jugnu’s brother Shamas and his wife, Kaukab, anxiously await news of their fates. As the story unravels over four seasons and through evocative chapter headings (“A Breakfast of Butterfly Eggs”), Aslam reveals what happened to Jugnu and Chanda, and retraces the events leading up to their vanishing.

Chanda’s own brothers are arrested and charged with murder, further complicating the wounds of grief for family members left behind. Upon learning of the arrests, Shamas is overcome with nausea and shock: “The mind rejects the idea and the body joins in so that the stomach goes into convulsions as though it too has been administered a poisonous substance that must be vomited out,” Aslam writes.

Though the murders of Shamas’ brother and his brother’s lover are the focal point of the book, there are other, smaller incidences of betrayal and cruelty that convey the tumult of this close-knit community. Aslam imbues even the most minor encounter with metaphor and deeper meaning. Weather figures prominently, as in the novel’s jewel-like opening passage: “Shamas stands in the open door and watches the earth, the magnet that it is, pulling snowflakes out of the sky towards itself. With their deliberate, almost-impaired pace, they fall like feathers sinking in water.”

Although the pull of the old world is strong for certain characters, for others its absence is a relief. To Shamas, an intellectual, Pakistan is “a poor country, a harsh and disastrously unjust land, its history a book full of sad stories, and life is a trial if not a punishment for most of the people born there.”

Yet for the devout Kaukab, the pull of her home country is too much to bear, along with the fact that her children seem to have adopted Western values all too readily -- a direct insult to her, she believes.

All the characters in “Maps for Lost Lovers” suffer from a sense of estrangement. Those who attempt to adapt to Western ways seem to suffer as much as those who don’t. By the end, the novel’s epigraph, from Octavio Paz, is even more poignant: “A human being is never what he is but the self he seeks.”

In certain parts, the author loses his way, succumbing to none-too-subtle anti-fundamentalist rants. His own politics register loud and clear, particularly his disdain for the restrictions on the lives of Islamic women. (That would be fine, were it not for the sometimes stilted dialogue.) Even so, Aslam manages an impressive feat: His prose is stylistically dazzling, full of poetic, richly descriptive and tender passages. Language doesn’t trump substance, however. His characters’ inner lives are explored in-depth, flaws and all. Their loneliness and despair are instantly recognizable, resulting in a novel as affecting as it is provocative.

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Carmela Ciuraru is a regular contributor to Book Review.

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Maps for Lost Lovers

A Novel

Nadeem Aslam

Alfred A. Knopf: 384 pp., $25