Five Quick Questions with Deepak Unnikrishnan
Author of Temporary People
Welcome to Five Quick Questions, The Ribbon’s ongoing mini-interview project. We’ll send the same five questions to authors on their book tours, in advance of their readings at our store. Deepak Unnikrishnan reads at Literati on March 20th.
Q: What are you reading now? What books will you be taking with you on tour (other than your own?)
I’m reading Riad Sattouf’s The Arab of the Future 2 plus the Nikesh Shulka edited The Good Immigrant. I’ve got Zoe Lambert’s The War Tour and Dorthe Nors’ Karate Chop in my carry-on, plus Joy Williams’ 99 Stories of God. I take short stories with me on the road. I wanted to take a book about octopuses too but books add weight so had to leave that one behind.
Q: We might be quick to name some literary touchstones in describing Temporary People, but its prose stands singularly, breathtakingly apart from them in capturing the, as you say, complexity and nuance of the Gulf. Are there works of art or artistic practices outside of literature that have influenced your approach to fiction?
I wanted the language in the book to pop. Temporary People had to sound a certain way. I wanted to do things that mimicked what vocalists with range could do; stuff Bobby McFerrin, Jorane and Iva Bittova manage live. Or what Ron Carter or the Roma squeeze from instruments. I was also interested in tinkering with form, deeply moved by John Berger’s work in A Seventh Man, the power behind Sebastiao Salgado’s photographs in Workers. But I needed Temporary People to combine slapstick, the outrageous and the real. I say needed but I’m not sure why. I’ve been heavily influenced by the standup and wordplay of George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Chris Rock and Mitch Hedberg. I’ve also been a fan of the early comedies of Mohanlal, Sreenivasan, Jagathy Sreekumar, stalwarts of Malayalam cinema. But as I wrote the book, I kept thinking of Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Dekalog, because I remember being floored by the architecture of the series. I had a similar reaction after watching the first season of The Wire.
I am also a big fan of public art installations, and buildings with personality. I think one of the reasons I adore the Art Institute of Chicago is because I love how the museum is laid out. I feel as though I could slink away in peace there, an illusion of course, but that’s because the architect’s vision is in control. Then there’s the Chicago Picasso in the loop. I like it because I see children repurposing the artwork for their own pleasure, sliding down its sides. I wanted my work to provide a similar range of emotions: joy, surprise, and sure, shock. So yes, I do gravitate towards practices that engage me beyond standard writing fare. I’ve also always had a soft spot for artwork that’s often anonymous. Then there’s performance art, visual artists, dance! Pina Bausch, man! Or Storyboard P. I think better when I pay attention to practitioners of other disciplines disparate to mine.
Q: Regarding Temporary People, you write that “fiction has barely addressed the so-called guest workers of the Gulf, their histories, myths, their struggles and triumphs.” As a child of Indian immigrants to the UAE, barred from citizenship there, and now teaching at NYU Abu Dhabi, are you optimistic for a continuing literature if not of UAE foreign nationals, then of a continued reckoning with the realities of migrants and guest workers face in the Gulf? A literature of the voices unheard in regions of burgeoning globalization?
I’d take a look at some of the artists chosen to represent the UAE at the Venice Biennale this year. There are more than a few names on the participation roster, such as the artist Lantian Xie and the art critic Murtaza Vali, that pay homage to the country’s vibrant diaspora. And these artists will not only be found within the pavilion but also within the publication that will accompany the UAE’s participation. Full disclosure: I have work appearing in the pavilion’s written publication. But to address what’s been asked, there are also artists/writers from the UAE, people of the place whose names may not feature in the pavilion, but who will continue to make work of substance and relevance. I have two names in mind, the visual artist Raja’a Khalid and the writer/researcher Ahmad Makia. And there will certainly be others making their presence known in the future. So yes, I’m optimistic, but I need to emphasize that I also believe future narratives from the Khaleej (Gulf), those penned by migrants and/or their children, should be expected and required to evolve. In the eyes of the world, the migrant may never cease being a migrant, but personally, I’ve always felt it’s dangerous to confine the migrant into being only a specific kind of human being. May the stories come from different demographics and languages, as well as Emirati/Khaleeji writers/artists grappling with their own concerns. And perhaps, if I’m allowed to dream, may such stories no longer be called migrant narratives, simply narratives by artists from the Khaleej. There won’t be a dearth of stories. I have rarely feared that.
If we could conjure up any writer, living or dead, to join you in conversation after the reading, who would it be? And what would you ask them?
George Carlin & Nadine Gordimer. I’d ask them to talk to me about how they observed the world and the people within it. I’d also include Shel Silverstein, and if we can find them all, the men and women who thought up the Jataka Tales and the Panchatantra. Afterwards, off to my house. I’ll cook. Binyavanga Wainaina will be sent an invite. Bring Edward Said and Kamala Das, I’ll tell him.
What are you currently working on?
I’m trying to write something set in the States. But I take my time with things. The work needs to marinate, then allowed to breathe. I’m working on the marinade.
