This is not a read for the faint of heart.
James Levine's debut novel, The Blue Notebook, is a brief but searing look into the world of Batuk, a girl in India who was sold into prostitution by her family at the age of 9. She's managed to acquire a blue notebook and a pencil, and in between "making sweet-cake" sessions, she writes about her life, how she ended up on Common Street in Mumbai, about the other prostitutes and the people, or "bakers," who visit them. It is, not surprisingly, a life full of degradation and violence, but from Batuk's determined point of view, it's also a life that has hope and occasionally even happiness. She has reimagined her surroundings as a place of beauty, herself as a queen destined for immortality.
That train of thought is disrupted halfway through the book when she's taken to be a private mistress to a bitter, immature, conniving young man named Iftikhar. Her surroundings become luxurious--but her life becomes even more dangerous, as Iftikhar's always-present anger rises to frighteningly volatile levels.
Author Levine aims a spotlight at a highly difficult and uncomfortable topic, and all of the U.S. proceeds will be donated to the International Centers for Missing and Exploited Children. As horrific as the sex trade and violence are (and they are detailed fully), it's appalling to consider that this book no doubt is heavily rooted in truth, and in fact things are probably even worse than he shows them to be. As a public service, the reader will end up being educated and mournful, hopefully to the point of making a donation aside from the purchase of the book.
But does it work as a novel? Yes and no. The first half is the best--Levine gives Batuk a magical voice, full of self-denial and lyrical hope: "You see, I lie on a bed of everlasting youth, and those who lie with me taste youth. It is not a bed of eternal life, fo rmy life will only be eternal when I die."
And yet, even though Batuk is clearly bright, the sheer precociousness of her observations begins to take a toll after a while. She's almost too bright, too articulate, for a child who was sold into prostitution at the age of 9. The book flutters between past and present tense, which could be realistic for a child writing a journal, but it jars the overall narrative, and at times is simply unrealistic. The heavily detailed scenes of sex and violence start to feel voyeuristic at points, and a scene where Batuk becomes aroused when being bathed by a servant is questionable at best.
Levine is a strong writer, and this is a strong debut. Clearly he's not afraid to tackle difficult topics. Would I recommend this book? Yes--depending on the reader. And I would definitely keep an eye out for a subsequent novel.
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