Global village rebel

Published on Saturday 29 May 2004 02:45

WITH HARI KUNZRU, THE STORY starts out being about cash. About the £1.25 million two-book deal that made him the envy of every tyro novelist in the land, that pushed him into the limelight and far, far away from his days as a poorly-paid freelance journalist.

The house which he’s just bought in London’s East End, and to which he welcomes me, apologising for the pots of paint, scattered pieces of art and piles of boxes within, is part of that first story: the young writer making his mark, the great new literary hope of multi-racial Britain.

But that story only lasts for a while: as long, perhaps, as people remember his debut novel, The Impressionist, a picaresque tale of an Anglo-Indian boy constantly swapping identities, which forced its way onto a string of shortlists for literary awards. Now that his second book, Transmission, is out, the story changes. It’s no longer about breakthrough, but about depth of talent. Has Kunzru got what it takes, or were we just dazzled by a one-off, seduced by all the hype?

A witty and moving satire on the emptiness and difficulties caused by globalisation, it is the story of Indian computer programmer, Arjun Mehta, who travels to the US, then writes a devastating virus after being fired from his job. Those affected by it include the vapid, hollow agency director, Guy Swift, master speaker of corporate gobbledegook, as well as the lonely Bollywood superstar Leela Zahir. The backdrop is global, the writing impressive and the imagination remarkable. Arjun’s injured third world innocence is a neat counterpoint to Swift’s western deceitfulness. A huckster in an expensive suit, Swift spouts the kind of positive presentation platitudes that Kunzru insists have completely taken over the world of British corporate communications.

Kunzru has an excellent sense of place, and the book is at its best as it traces Arjun’s descent from energetic optimism to bewildered dislocation, as the job promised to him turns out to be an enormous swindle. This part of the novel is clearly different territory from that of The Impressionist, more in line with Kunzru’s former job as editor of the technology magazine, Wired.

"I think each book creates a new audience," he explains. "People who liked the ‘Merchant Ivoriness’ of the first book aren’t necessarily going to be into reading this. And that’s what The Impressionist was about: a response to a slightly fake version of India that I’d grown up with in Essex [where his father, a surgeon from Kashmiri, and English mother raised Kunzru]. That was pretty much the major source of images on television, that nostalgic sepia image. There’s a hokeyness to The Impressionist that’s very deliberate, there’s a fakeness to it, it’s a book about books. This book doesn’t have that response; it’s a straighter attempt to talk about the condition of people under a globalised world."

So what prompted the choice? "Well ...I had an image in my head of a guy walking down the side of the road in California," he says, by way of inspiration, referring to a particularly poignant moment in the book. "I’ve done that, I’ve been the non-driver. I travelled around the States with a backpack as a youth.

"Everyone has a car; even the size of the blocks is car-designed, the entire space automobile-dictated. If you’re suddenly a pedestrian in that space, it’s incredibly hostile!"

Kunzru spent six weeks driving from Seattle down to the Mexican border researching material for Transmission. He would spot homeless men with shopping trolleys and headsets walking by the side of the Interstate. "You realise these guys are travelling hundreds of miles, on foot, over a period of weeks or months, migrating with these trolleys of stuff. Their version of California is so utterly different."

Writing with "the fresh eyes of the immigrant" seems very much Kunzru’s style, and partly because of that he is able to shed a clear light on the emptiness of corporate culture and the awful standardisation of so much modern life. He has become known as a spokesperson on racial and diversity issues, as well as cheerleader for groups such as the Guantanamo Human Rights Commission and writers’ organisation International PEN . Last year Kunzru very publicly turned down the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize because of its sponsorship by the Mail on Sunday, whose editorial policies he accused of poisoning race relations in Britain.

His public profile is now higher, but Kunzru claims his life hasn’t changed much. He has more or less the same friends, the same East End stomping grounds and claims to "be pretty much sociable. I don’t require meditative concentration 24 hours a day." His close friend and fellow novelist, James Flint, author of Habitus and the forthcoming Book of Ash, says: "He’s become more confident and self-assured. I think success has removed any hesitancy. And he’s much better dressed."

Kunzru also still contributes to the social justice/technology magazine MUTE, set up by arts school colleagues and he has some tentative links to the broad anti-capitalist network. Some people did resent his success, though. "I’m published by a corporate publisher and have access to the mainstream media. For God’s sake, I write things for the Daily Telegraph sometimes!" he says.

Our e-mails, too, seem to be shared between his increasingly exotic transatlantic locations. The money must have had some transforming effect. "I travel a lot," he explains, rather simply. "There’s a sense of control over your own destiny, you’ve stripped your life down to the things you can carry."

He has a partner, the artist Francis Upritchard, whose Smoking Mummy was shortlisted for last year’s Beck’s Futures prize, and to whom his new novel is dedicated. He is reluctant to discuss her, though is happy to talk about issues during his Essex past -"I got the hell out at 18, although there is a part of me that will always be wearing white slip-on shoes" (he laughs, raucously) - as well as the politics of the Kashmir valley.

"We’re the Hindus who have now almost all been displaced from Kashmir and on the right of our community there’s a narrative that says ‘bloody Muslims have kicked us out of our country and India must get it back’. But there’s another part to do with Hindus and Muslims very happily co-existing. It’s one of the sad parts of the last 20 years, the completion of a process of polarisation."

Kunzru currently fends off media offers of columns and articles, claiming: "I don’t want it to pollute my writing", although he is shortly to host a BBC4 show on Islamic art. He is also preparing to write his third book. "I’m reading a lot of political material from the early Seventies. I’m interested in a story about somebody who hitches his colours to the mast of revolution in that time. I’m interested in what made people want to change things, political things, and why that feels very distant now."

For now, his life goes on: "I still go on marches sometimes… I ran away from the cops down the Mall once or twice," he laughs. "My main interest, though, is trying to imagine another world, another set of possibilities. That’s what I’ll continue to do."

• Nick Ryan is author of Homeland: Into a World of Hate (Mainstream) and creative producer of the recent BBC TV drama England Expects.