Perhaps one of the more useful services a reviewer can provide for a potential reader of this book is to delineate how to approach it. Aamer Hussein’s The Swan’s Wife is a collection of 10 relatively brief short stories, some written originally in English, others translated from Urdu. The stories are not unconnected, however; four of them (‘The Swan’s Wife,’ ‘The Man from Beni Mora,’ ‘Nine Postcards and Nine Notes’ and ‘Love and the Seasons’) refer to a character common to all these tales.

Umair Omar, who makes appearances in the stories at various stages of his life, can easily be regarded as an alter ego of Hussein himself. On reading the entire book, one realises that the mature Umair is an academic by profession; his more youthful representation reflects his social experiences as a sensitive, but comparatively carefree, student. At times, such as in ‘The Man from Beni Mora’, he comes across as a detached observer, alternately curious and sympathetic to the doomed love story of its central figures, Rubina and Ghazali. ‘Nine Postcards and Nine Notes’ is quite literally exactly what its title claims it to be: a set of writings jotted down by Umair while sojourning in Spain. The two stories that act as symbolic ‘bookends’ for most of the others — the first and the ninth — dwell on Umair’s yearning for romance as a young man, his friendship with his closest male friend Fabi, and his identity issues in Britain stemming from his Pakistani ethnicity.

The reader’s patience will inevitably be rewarded by a deeper appreciation of Umair’s character and sensitivity, that implicitly inform the general authorial tone of Hussein’s stories, regardless of whether they are specifically about Umair or not. Hussein incorporates this structural bracketing on the micro level as well as the macro one. ‘Nine Postcards and Nine Notes’ is enclosed on either end by two very brief tales quite effectively translated from Urdu by Carole Smith, titled ‘Knotted Tongue 1’ and ‘Knotted Tongue 2.’ Both of the latter pieces are about female friends of the narrator, who have died. The stories attempt to give the women a voice, so that their tongues may be loosened and the reader can be made aware of the depth of their affection for the narrator. Gently feminist, the stories’ female protagonists are named Shams and Zohra — the names connote the Urdu words for the Sun and Venus respectively. On an astrological level, the former heavenly body relates to success, the latter to love. This tiny fact enables us to keep in mind that no matter how good a translation is, something vital is often lost during the process. Regardless of this point, as well as their brevity, the tales reflect the even-handed and engrossing tone of the author as clearly as do the other stories.

Yet while Hussein’s tone may be even-handed, testifying to both the maturity of his writing as well as his wise decision not to obtrude on the machinations of his characters, he freely experiments with narrative structure throughout in a manner that ranges from the conventional to the avant-garde. My favourite story, ‘Two Old Friends on a Stormy Afternoon,’ is one of the more classically written ones, and has nothing to do with Umair. It depicts a long and delightfully ironic conversation on a stormy afternoon between a retired colonel and doctor. Both are somewhat jaded by life, but by no means by each other, and their affection transcends the inevitable weariness brought on by the passage of years. The tale depicts Hussein at the peak of his powers; he exerts considerable command over the creation of an authenticity of environment as well as of character. Regardless of whether he is writing about long-suffering housewives seeking domestic help, young lovers obsessing fruitlessly about each other, or angst-ridden men coming of age, Hussein’s control over character development remains as subtly sophisticated as that of other notable South Asian novelists, such as the inimitable Rohinton Mistry.

Special mention must be made of the author’s heavy reliance on fables; these infuse the first story, ‘The Swan’s Wife,’ with much of its magic. The final story, ‘Ahmar and Ambara,’ is an old-fashioned fable in its entirety, about princes, princesses, jealous sisters, and enchanted objects. Placed outside of the space and time which invariably constrain the other stories (indeed beyond the final ‘bookend’ itself) this tale differs from traditional fables in that Hussein leaves us with a semi-finished and tantalising ending. His ability to tease the reader makes his writing particularly memorable; one remembers and retains minor details long after the general gist of the writing has been forgotten. Visual images are important to Hussein; one of his pieces, ‘The Tree at the Limit’, is almost wholly about art.

Hussein’s work moves us not simply because it blends cultures, but also because it blends aesthetic tropes and narrative structures. The reader has to work to appreciate the value of what he proffers, but in aggregate the book is truly worthy of an intensive perusal.

The reviewer is Assistant Professor of Social Sciences and Liberal Arts at the Institute of Business Administration.

Courtney Gillette | 2 June 2012 | Lambda Literary

Aamer Hussein
He describes himself as a Karachi born Londoner, has recently published his fifth story collection Insomnia, reviews books for The Independent and the Times Literary Supplement and is contributing editor the literary journals Wasafiri.