BD is a good tool to have to deal with the world. So far I have only developed a split-personality. I hope to evolve.
It is one of the most fraudulent type. Most of such authors, who wrote in this line, have won so many literary accolades that they may look almost unassailable. But they are fast becoming out-dated, as a more literate world has become more discerning in the matters of literature and art. It is slowly realizing that they have lost touch with matters totally, in their efforts to write about the things they had no first-hand idea about. And then live up to the burden of their accomplishments, so celebrated in their adopted world. Mostly because they apologized very profoundly in their work, on its behalf. But, notably, they are being taken very skeptically by the academia–with its new found consciousness of the world–of it, nowadays; while they continue to be celebrated in their original countries, which they often deal with very severely–to the extent that they almost appear disowning it.
The most celebrated writing by immigrants in English is about rubbishing the former colonies in every manner. And present them as if they were always meant to be colonized. Preferably by the British, as it was of a superior kind of colonialism than–say Spanish or Dutch.It must have been hard for these writers to disown their own culture to the extent that they begin to be liked by the far advanced ones–in terms of science and technology. Their blindness to their new adopted world, to which they have tried to belong so rigorously, mostly in their writing, betrays how limited a vision they had for the literary matters.
It is revealing when one reads the work of an Indian writer, who tries to write about his adopted city like London, instead of the one where he was born. This borrowed sensitivity, from the classical literature in English, by someone like Charles Dickens, begins to read like a parody. Unlike the language of science, the language of art is not same across the cultures. Had they put the same efforts in defining even a rural countryside they had known, they might have created a better literature.
This was about the first generation immigrant writers.
About the second generation ones, or their next generation: one has little idea about the country from where their parents immigrated or the ones where they were born and lived. The later might be because they inherited the xenophobia of their parents to the extent that they were unable to look closely around at the culture which was so different than their own. For the instinct to preserve their own culture is the most strong among the immigrants.
There are very few who have written about their new countries entirely bereft of an idea of their origin. May be in the coming days we will have that, when a generation appears which has been fully naturalized in their new countries. The little literature which is available so far, from this generation, is mostly a lament about the hardship and racial discrimination they and their parents suffered, in the process of naturalization over the generations. If someone will break this limitation is not sure, for the racial feelings are so deeply entrenched that two or three generations are not enough to bridge them. More so, when the world seems to have taken a step back, when it is said to have taken a step ahead. As the voices against immigration are becoming ever more strident, as the world looks as if it is failing.
So, the literature too seem to be fulfilling its limited intended purpose, like most other things. Its failure to change the world hauntingly resounds–as manifested by most of the defeatist type of it being celebrated the most. Something full of ambition is absent.
His work was like faking emotions, to calm or create the anxieties of the society about it. Just like a woman faking an orgasm, to manipulate her man.
It seems more words are useless. The world has enough of them.
Probably we have so much around that even if all the reading people try to make a conscious effort at finish them reading together, they might not succeed. It is so while people are reading several times more the number of words each day, than they used to say a decade back.
Still people have not given up producing words or reading them.
May be the importance of the words the readers look for has been accentuated by the absence of them.
Good writers will always be in demand.
Bad ones can not hide behind their words for ever.