Wednesday, October 15
Newsletter Einaudi
The White Tiger won the Man Booker Prize
The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga won the Man Booker Prize 2008.
Michael Portillo, chairman of the Prize jury, said:
"The courts have been faced with a difficult decision as the list of finalists contained very strong candidate. At the end of The White Tiger prevailed because the judges felt that the book was equally shocking and funny. The novel aims extraordinarily difficult to win and keep the reader's sympathy for a criminal matriculated. The book has the merit of addressing pressing social issues and significant global developments with astonishing humor. A novel of great merit literary. "
***
"A novel that keeps you attached to the last page, the pace of the narrative and writing essential."
Espresso
"A wonderful storyteller, who manages to make the details perfectly, without losing sight of all." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung
"Sharp, bitter, sardonic, annoying and terribly appetizing, a new very spicy samosas. The lucky few of the middle class would do well to read it, if only to get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat they think of them the other 700 million Indians. "
The Times of India
"The debut of the year."
The Sunday Times
***
Aravind Adiga The White Tiger
Translated by Norman Gobetti
Supercoralli
pp. 236, 19.00
• Born in a poor village in the interior of India, Balram Halwai, the White Tiger, has the opportunity to escape from the cage of misery when a wealthy landowner, hired him as a driver. Accompany the master on the way to an unstoppable corruption, a closer look at the unbridled luxury in which they live the rich, Balram free from any moral scruples and the transformed first into a murderer on the run and then a brilliant businessman.
Sitting at his desk, the entrepreneur Balram Halwai self-taught, said the White Tiger, writes letters to the seven sleek, ruthless Chinese prime minister who is preparing to visit India. Tells of its origins and its history: the story of a boy from a caste lower than a muddy village in the country (where 'any good news turns into bad news, and quickly ") comes New Delhi, where gleaming malls, sumptuous palaces and cars are polished by drivers in thin strips are combined with luxury brothels blond prostitutes from Eastern Europe. Here, in the new district of Gurgaon, Balram Halwai witnessing the progressive and relentless corruption of his master, he treats the mind and senses that how to escape from the cage of poverty exists: to commit murder, steal and create their own. Thanks to hard work, meals swallowed quickly, to a moral code dictated by production requirements, but also by applying the golden rules of business acquired from Mr. Ashok, her deceased former principal, the success was not long in coming. In the future we will see, maybe could invest part of their funds in a school for poor children in Bangalore, a school full of white tigers, you do not speak nor Gandhi, nor the 36 million Indian gods.
With his first novel, Aravind Adiga takes us behind the scenes in India today, the 'Shining India' of the new economy and advanced technologies, economic growth whirlwind of unbridled consumerism of the few, with toughness and sarcasm in describing the dark background, material and moral, from time to sparkle.
"compelling, angry and imbued with a grim humor, The White Tiger is an amazing journey through an India new. Aravind Adiga is a talent and agree to keep an eye on. "
Mohsin Hamid, author of The Reluctant Fundamentalist
Aravind Adiga was born in Madras in 1974. Having stayed in several countries - including Australia, Britain and the United States - currently lives in Mumbai. The White Tiger is his first novel.
L'inizio di La Tigre Bianca:
La prima notte
Per la scrivania di:
Sua Eccellenza Wen Jiabao,
Ufficio del Primo Ministro,
Pechino,
Capitale della Cina, Nazione Amante della Libertà
Dalla scrivania di:
«La Tigre Bianca»
Un Uomo Pensante
E un imprenditore
Residente nel centro mondiale della tecnologia
e dell'outsourcing
Electronics City Phase 1 (accanto a Hosur Main Road)
Bangalore, India.
Signor primo ministro,
Signore.
L'inglese non è la mia lingua, e neppure la sua, ma ci sono cose che possono essere dette solo in inglese. Pinky Madam, l'ex moglie del mio defunto ex datore di lavoro Mr Ashok, mi ha insegnato una di queste cose; e oggi alle 23.32, circa dieci minuti fa, quando l'annunciatrice su All India Radio ha dichiarato: - La prossima settimana il primo ministro Jiabao verrà a Bangalore, - I said that thing.
In fact, every time I say that one of you great men are visiting our country. Not that I've anything against great men. In my own way, sir, I consider myself one of you. But when I see our prime minister and his henchmen illustrious arriving at the airport aboard their black cars and down in front of a camera and make you and namaste How long will explain the moral and holy India, I must say that thing in English.
Next week will be His Excellency to come to visit us, right? Usually these things over All India Radio is reliable.
was a joke, sir.
Ah!
is why I call her directly if you are really in Bangalore. Because if so, I have something important to say. You see, the lady on the radio said: - Mr. Jiabao is on a mission: he intends to find out the truth about Bangalore.
I froze the blood. If anyone knows the truth about Bangalore, it's me.
Then the announcer said: - Mr. Jiabao will meet some Indian entrepreneurs and hear the story of their success from their lips.
So said two or three things. Apparently, sir, you Chinese are from every point of view, far ahead of us, except che non avete imprenditori. Mentre la nostra nazione, per quanto carente d'acqua potabile, elettricità, fognature, trasporti pubblici, senso dell'igiene, disciplina, cortesia o puntualità, ha imprenditori. Migliaia e migliaia di imprenditori. Soprattutto in campo tecnologico. E questi imprenditori - imprenditori come me - hanno messo in piedi tutte queste società di outsourcing che attualmente fanno andare avanti l'America.
Lei spera di scoprire come trasformare un po' di cinesi in imprenditori, è questa la ragione della sua visita. La cosa mi è piaciuta. Poi però mi è venuto in mente che, in ottemperanza al protocollo internazionale, il primo ministro e il ministro degli esteri del mio paese the welcome at the airport with garlands, statues of Gandhi in sandalwood and a brochure full of information about past, present and future of India.
It was then that I had to say one thing in English, sir. Loud and clear.
It was 23:37. Five minutes ago.
I do not curse and swear. I am a man of action and change. I instantly decided to dictate a letter for her.
To begin, let me express my deep admiration for the ancient Chinese nation.
I read a book about your history, exciting stories exotic East, a book found in a stall nei giorni in cui cercavo qualche illuminazione rovistando nel mercatino domenicale dei libri usati a Delhi. Quel libro parlava più che altro dei pirati e dell'oro di Hong Kong, ma conteneva anche qualche utile informazione generale: diceva che voi cinesi siete grandi amanti della libertà e dell'autodeterminazione individuale. Gli inglesi hanno cercato di rendervi loro servi, ma voi non gliel'avete permesso. Io questo lo ammiro, signor primo ministro.
Vede, anch'io un tempo sono stato un servo.
Solo tre nazioni non si sono mai lasciate governare dagli stranieri: Cina, Afghanistan e Abissinia. E sono le uniche tre nazioni che ammiro.
In segno del mio rispetto per l'amore of freedom shown by the Chinese people, and also the awareness that the future of the world is entrusted to the yellow and brown now that our former masters, the white, are falling into the abyss of sodomy, drug addiction and abuse of mobile , I offer for free the truth about Bangalore.
telling the story of my life.
You see, when you arrive in Bangalore and stops at a red light, gets closer and some kid who knocks on the glass, waving a pirate copy of a book of American business, carefully wrapped in cellophane and with titles like:
TEN SECRETS FOR SUCCESS IN BUSINESS!
or
BECOME ENTREPRENEUR IN SEVEN DAYS!
not throw away your money with these American books. They are so out.
The future is me.
In terms of formal education are perhaps a bit 'lacking. I never finished school, to be honest. Who cares! I have not read many books but I read all that matters. I know by heart the works of the four greatest poets of all time: Rumi, Iqbal, Mirza Ghalib and fourth I can not remember the name. Back in the ranks of the self-taught entrepreneurs.
and are the best, believe me.
When he heard the story of how I came to Bangalore and became one of the most successful businessmen of the city (though probably one of the least known), will know everything there is to know about how entrepreneurship is born, matures and is cultivated in this glorious twenty-first century humanity.
Or rather, humanity yellow and brown.
you and me.
scratch away at midnight, Mr. Jiabao. The appropriate time for a chat.
I'm up all night, Your Excellency. And in my office than fifteen square feet there is no other. Just me and a chandelier above me, although the chandelier has a personality. It is a huge object, pieno di pezzetti di vetro a forma di diamante, come quelli che si vedono nei film degli anni Settanta. Anche se di notte a Bangalore fa abbastanza fresco, ho sistemato sopra il lampadario un minuscolo ventilatore - cinque pale a retina. Così, quando il ventilatore gira, le piccole pale scompongono la luce del lampadario facendola sfarfallare in tutta la stanza. Esattamente come le stroboscopiche nelle discoteche alla moda di Bangalore.
In tutta Bangalore, questo è l'unico spazio di quindici metri quadri dotato di lampadario! Ma è pur sempre un buco nel muro, e io ci passo tutta la notte.
La maledizione dell'imprenditore: badare agli affari ventiquattr'ore su ventiquattro.
Now I'm going to turn the Mini Fan, so as to swirl the light of the chandelier in the room.
I am relaxed, sir, and I hope the same for her.
So let us begin.
But first, sir, the phrase in English that I learned from Pinky Madam, my former wife of the late former employer Mr Ashok is:
What a fucking joke.
*
Now, in principle, do not watch Hindi movies anymore, but when I looked at them again before the film or black screen flashed the number 786 - to Muslims is a magic number that represents their god - or you could see the image of a woman in white sari with a waterfall at the foot of the gold sovereign, namely the Hindu goddess Lakshmi.
is an ancient and venerable custom of the people of my country, the stories begin addressing a prayer to a Supreme Power.
Perhaps, Your Excellency, I should I start kissing some god's ass.
But what god's ass? There is plenty of choice.
You see, Muslims have one god.
Christians have three gods.
And we Hindus we have 36 million.
Per un totale di 36 000 004 culi divini fra cui scegliere.
Ora, secondo alcune persone, e non solo comunisti come lei ma uomini pensanti di tutti i partiti politici, non molti di questi dei esistono davvero. Secondo alcuni non ne esiste nessuno. Soltanto noialtri e l'oceano di tenebre che ci circonda. Io non sono né un filosofo né un poeta, come posso conoscere la verità? È vero che tutti questi dei non sembrano darsi granché da fare - più o meno come i nostri politici - eppure anno dopo anno continuano a vincere le elezioni per i loro troni celesti. Il che non significa che io non li rispetti, signor primo ministro! Non permetta a quest'idea blasfema di far breccia nella sua testa gialla. Nei paesi come il I should keep a foot in both camps: the Indian businessman at the same time be honest and corrupt, cynical and devoted, smart and sincere.
So I close my eyes, clasping her hands in a reverent namaste, and I pray the gods to shine light on my dark story.
Have patience, Mr. Jiabao. This may take some time.
How long would she kiss 36,000,004 asses?
*
There.
I opened my eyes.
23:52. It's time to start.
warning compulsory, as written on cigarette packets, before leaving.
One day, while I carried around Pinky Madam, and my former employer Mr Ashok in their Honda City, Mr. Ashok put his hand on my shoulder and said: - Pull -. I did as I had said and he leaned forward, so close that I could smell his aftershave, that day, a delicious fruity fragrance, with his habitual courtesy and told me: - Balram, I have to ask you a few questions.
- Yes, sir, - I said.
- Balram, - Mr. Ashok asked me, - how many planets there are in heaven?
I answered as best I could.
- Balram, who was the first Prime Minister of India?
Then: - Balram, what is the difference between a Hindu and a Muslim?
Then: - What is the name of our continent?
Finally returned to sit back and asked Pinky Madam: - Did you hear how he responded?
- He was joking? - She asked, and the heart began to beat faster, as every time she said something.
- No. You really believe that they are the right answers.
Pinky Madam chuckled at those words: but the face of him that I saw reflected in the rearview mirror, was serious.
- The fact is that probably did not go to school more diΣ two or three years. He can read and write, but does not understand what he reads. It is half-baked. Believe me, this country is full of people like him. And these characters - and he pointed with his finger - we entrust our glorious parliamentary democracy. This is the true tragedy of our country.
sighed.
- Okay, Balram, return the bike.
That night in my bed in the shelter of the fly, I thought about his words. He was right, signoreΣ I liked how he talked to me, but he was right.
Autobiography of an Indian half-baked, that's how it should be titled the story of my life.
I and a thousand others like me are cooked in the middle because we were not allowed to finish school. Apriteci the skull with a flashlight look inside and find a monstrous jumble of ideas, notions of history and mathematics remained in his mind (believe me, no one remembers what he has studied better than a child taken away too early from school), the sentences policy read in the newspapers during interminable waits in this or that office, triangles and pyramids seen on the pages torn from old books of geometry that every bar of this country uses to wrap snacks, fragments of All India Radio news bulletins, things that fall for it in the mind like lizards from the ceiling in half an hour before falling asleep - all these ideas, half formed and half digested and half correct, mix with other ideas in our head cook in half, and in this promiscuous breed, generating other ideas formed in the middle, then we have to live with whom and on which we come to rely on.
The story of my upbringing is the story of how one man makes a half-baked.
But be careful, Mr. Prime Minister! After twelve years of school and three college educated people dress up, are hired by major companies and the rest of my life taking orders from other men.
The clay of which Entrepreneurs are made is half-baked.
*
To provide essential data about me - origin, height, weight, known sexual deviations, etc.. - There is nothing better than that manifesto. What the police.
I defined as a lesser-known entrepreneurs in Bangalore, but it is not entirely correct. About three years ago when I bought national notoriety for a short time following a business move that I made a poster with my face appeared in every post office, railway station and the police of this country. At the time a sacco di persone videro la mia faccia e il mio nome. Non possiedo una copia dell'originale cartaceo, però l'ho scannerizzato sul mio Macintosh portatile argentato - l'ho comprato online da un centro commerciale di Singapore e funziona che è una favola - e se ha un secondo di pazienza, accendo il computer, visualizzo il manifesto e leggo direttamente da lì...
Ma prima una parola sul manifesto originale. Lo vidi in una stazione ferroviaria a Hyderabad, nel periodo in cui viaggiavo senza bagagli, eccetto una borsa rossa molto pesante, e stavo andando da Delhi a Bangalore. L'originale l'ho tenuto qui in quest'ufficio, nel cassetto della scrivania, per più di un anno. Un giorno ho sorpreso il ragazzo delle pulizie che frugava fra la mia roba. Per poco non l'ha trovato. Non sono un uomo sentimentale, Mr Jiabao, un imprenditore non può permetterselo. Perciò l'ho buttato via, ma prima mi sono fatto insegnare a usare lo scanner - e lei sa che noi indiani sguazziamo nella tecnologia come pesci nell'acqua. C'è voluta un'ora, forse due. Io sono un uomo d'azione, signore. Eccolo qui, sullo schermo di fronte a me:
RICHIESTA DI COLLABORAZIONE NELLA RICERCA DI PERSONA SCOMPARSA
Si informa la cittadinanza che l'uomo nella fotografia, Balram Halwai alias MUNNA figlio del conducente di risciò Vikram Halwai, è ricercato per accertamenti. Età: fra i 25 e i 35 anni. Carnagione: nerastra. Faccia: oval. Height: about 1 meter and 65. Constitution: minutes and skinny.
Be ', is not exactly so, sir. The figure for the "blackish face" is still valid - even though I've half a mind to try one of those skin whitening creams recently launched so that Indian men can look a bit 'more Western - but the rest, alas , is completely misleading. In Bangalore life is good: food to satiety, beer, nightclubs, so what can I say? 'Minute' and 'skinny'! Now I'm in better shape. "Grease" and "potbellied" would be more accurate.
but passed, we do not have any night. Better explain the data immediately following: Balram Halwai alias Munna
...
You see, the first day of school the teacher was put in line in front of the chair all the children, one by one, to write down the names on the register. When I told him my name, he looked at me wide-eyed:
- Munna? But it is not a name.
He was right: it just means "boy."
- I have no other, sir, - I said.
was true. I had never been given a name.
- not your mother gave you a name?
- is very ill, sir. Is always bed and spitting blood. Do not have time to give me a name.
- And your father?
- He's a rickshaw driver, sir. He also has no time.
- Do not have a grandmother? Some aunt? O uncle?
- Even they do not have time.
The teacher turned away and spat, a splash of red paan on the floor of the classroom. He ran his tongue over his lips.
- Be ', then it seems it's up to me -. He ran a hand through his hair and said: - We'll call you ... Ram. Wait, there's already a Ram in this class? Better to avoid confusion. We Balram. You know that's true, who was Balram?
- No, sir.
- was the helper of the god Krishna. You know my name I?
- No, sir.
Rise. - Krishna.
that day when I got home I told my father that the teacher had given me a new name. He shrugged. - If you like him, so we'll call you.
And from that moment I was Balram. Following the course I took a third name. But we'll get there.
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