Mavis and Tania

Late at night, at my regular café (this, too, now host to a desi barista), I’ve been flipping back and forth between short story master Mavis Gallant and Tania James’ Atlas of Unknowns. They’re both darkly witty satirists who craft gorgeous little bon-mots along the way. They’re also disciples of extreme zoom, getting at larger truths through a focus on the intimate.

And their tales are resolutely female-centric. I tend to prefer larger stories, but these two are highly entertaining, like more joyful Jhumpas. I haven’t read a second-genner with this skill since Tony D’Souza. 29-year-old James reminds me a bit of Nikita Lalwani (Gifted), whose writing is more infused with formless worry, or a less macro Zadie Smith.

In ‘The Chosen Husband,’ Gallant writes of an awkward suitor in a scene reminiscent of the courtship setpiece from Ravan & Eddie:

But then Louis began to cough and had to cover his mouth. He was in trouble with a caramel. The Carettes looked away, so that he could strangle unobserved. ‘How dark it is,’ said Berthe, to let him think he could not be seen… Louis still coughed, but weakly. He moved his fingers, like a child made to wave goodbye.

From Unknowns:

‘Is everyone treating you well?’ …

‘There was a rude beggar on the train,’ Anju ventures.

Miss Schimpf gives her a wincing smile. ‘Here, we say “disadvantaged.”‘

‘There was a disadvantaged beggar on the train.’

And:

Below these pictures, on a small white card: ‘ARTIST’S STATEMENT by Greg Pfeiffer. I am interested in the protean nature of identity, as expressed through a multiplicity of facial distortions rendered by Xeroxing my face…‘

‘Anju, I need you to do an artist’s statement,’ Miss Schimpf says. ‘… Maybe you could mention commercial art in India and its overlap with calendar art of Hindu religious iconography as depicted by Raja Ravi Varma.’ Noting Anju’s stricken expression, she adds, ‘Or just write your name.’