What’s in a name? Families try to protect it as though it is worth more than all their ancestor’s tombstones, especially in Asian countries where because of this, families often favour boys instead of girls as they are the only ones privileged to carry the name to the next generation. For some, a name is just a name. It is something of a utility, remnants of sentimental value from the parents, so that it would guide the name-bearer to model themselves after the name he or she is bestowed. The Namesake is an exploration of rootlessness, and the conflict it creates for the diaspora. Gogol is American-born, second gen Indian American named after the Nikolai Gogol, a Russian author from way back. We know already that his identity is going to be a bit of a mess.
The two sides of Gogol Ganguli (Geez that’s a lot of Gs)
The book is two generations of the Ganguli family, from the departure from their roots in India, to some form of stability living in American suburbs. Gogol Ganguli was born in America while pending for his name sent in a letter by his maternal grandmother -a name that never came. Gogol in fact, is his father’s favourite author, because at some point, the book literally did save his life. Unfortunately, we seldom ever choose our names, and Gogol struggles with his for a long time, as neither his first name and surname fit in with the American way of living.
His parents did provide him a second name however — Nikhil, which he adopted when he was in college almost as an alter ego, a braver and better version of Gogol Ganguli, the one who kisses girls, drink and just have a carefree attitude on life. We follow Gogol through his adolescence past his yuppie stage to become a somewhat passable architect. It is a typical story of a migrant trying to fit, adapting to his new culture here, and still barely clinging to his parents culture there. The two forces are sometimes complementary, but often in conflict.
The waywardness of rootlessness
I should be able to relate to Gogol Ganguli, being a first gen migrant to Australia, and struggling to adapt here and there, sometime deliberately losing my identity and at latter times trying to regain it wholesale. Gogol was American born though, with parents who were also increasingly distancing themselves from their Bengali heritage without their deliberation. Funnily enough, diasporas often cluster and in no time, the Gangulis find others like them who have left India and making do in the states, adopting each other as families to the point that their children are “cousins” to each other.
The question of the name is a profound one when we look into this clash of culture in a personal level. What is more personal than your name? Gogol, though named after the famous Russian author (who I never read), has some similarities. Nikolai Gogol was reticent, and others looked at him as an anomaly. But in general, Gogol is not like Gogol at all — we can argue that somehow, he did fit in. It was only after some time that he was comfortable in his own skin that he was willing to read the book that his father bequeathed him — the short stories of Gogol, a book which he only stumbled upon.
The novel often contrasts Gogol’s family and the American life — the eccentric hippy landlord who turn out to be culturally insensitive, befriending the Gangulis superficially, Maxine’s parents who live in an equivalent of a mansion in Manhattan — even allowing Gogol to show affection to their daughter and make love under their roof. This is something unfathomable in Indian families when you bring a girl home (a non-Indian girl at that) and omitting affection in the parent’s presence. Gogol himself do not ever see his parents show physical affection to one another, but there is an unquestionable dependence to one another that may be a stronger bond than the typical American family. Like the quote below, there is a weird intimacy in the wife calling the husband by his surname but not his first.
The lyricism in the mundane
Lahiri writes beautifully:
“She has adopted his surname but refuses, for propriety’s sake, to utter his first. It’s not the type of thing that Bengali wives do. Like a kiss or caress in a Hindi movie, a husband’s name is something intimate and therefore unspoken, cleverly patched over.”
It is at times a lyrical novel, which describes the mundane. Gogol’s story is no different than any stories of the diaspora. And while the prose was able to make the novel enjoyable enough to read, it is not something that will astound you.
Maybe it’s just me. I’ve read a few novels written by first or second generation migrants, and they speak of similar themes — not belonging, the struggle with new cultures, social awkwardness, awkward sexual experiences. These novels are well written, but I couldn’t name one that really stood out. They all give the same feels. So maybe I’m asking for too much. In truth, nothing much happened in the novel, and maybe this is what left feeling just a little bit meh.
