Happy. Unhappy. Happy enough.

However Far Away
by Rajinderpal S. Pal

Toronto: House of Anansi, 2024

$24.99 / 9781487012540

Reviewed by Jessica Poon

*

The debut novel by Rajinderpal S. Pal (Pulse), However Far Away is a precise, pensive book that features an epigraph from Anna Burns’ Milkman: “‘It’s not about being happy,’ he said, ‘which was, and still is, the saddest remark I’ve ever heard.’” Perhaps Don Draper of Mad Men was on to something when he said, “What is happiness? It’s a moment before you need more happiness.” The novel features a playlist and the first song listed is “Lovesong” by The Cure, which doubtless inspired the title of the novel.

By all accounts, Devinder Gill, a loving father and well-liked instructor at UBC, appears happily married with two children. His nephew, Ranjit, is getting married. Ranjit has invited his beloved art instructor, Emily, to the wedding. Complicating things, however, is that Emily happens to be Devinder’s first love. Devinder used to tell Emily he would always waits for her, but when Emily spends several years back home in Belfast looking after her mother, their future seems more precarious than assured; they grow apart. To the surprise of his family, Devinder volunteers himself to an arranged marriage to Kuldip. 

When Emily eventually returns to Vancouver, Devinder and Emily rekindle their relationship, only this time, in the context of an extramarital affair. Kuldip is painfully aware that her husband is being unfaithful with his first love. What’s less clear, is what, if anything, she’ll do about it. If this all sounds like a soap opera, rest assured, However Far Away is an understated, nuanced portrait of complicated relationships. The entire novel consists of one long wedding and flashbacks. BlackBerrys are prominent, which suggests a 2010-ish timeline for the present-day wedding.

The flashbacks include Devinder’s parents’ deaths, which result in him being adopted by his fabulously wealthy Aunt Deepa and Uncle Monty, who maintains a baronial status in the face of his declining health. Devinder is never treated like a substandard son; his cousins become his brothers. Though Devinder is the centre of this novel, the women who share him, are more compelling, perhaps because they are able to see Devinder more accurately, but also more tenderly, than he can. 

There’s also a subplot with Iqbal, a longtime friend of Devinder’s. Iqbal introduced Devinder to all kinds of music, but Iqbal has been estranged from his family for over two decades. He’s homeless, easily recognized in a blue windbreaker, has dentures, and would love to attend Ranjit’s wedding, though his attendance would be a scandal. The vast discrepancy between Iqbal and Devinder’s lifestyles is an interesting, uncomfortable dynamic, though an under-explored one that takes the backseat to an increasingly fraught marriage. 

Emily’s passion for painting is complementary to Devinder’s love of literature. Kuldip, though, is glad to have escaped her adoptive family, grateful that Devinder isn’t a monster, and loves her children more than anything else, but if she has artistic inclinations beyond interior design and matriarchal competence, we don’t hear about them. Kuldip’s sister-in-law, her closest confidante, refuses to hear a word about Devinder’s infidelity. Kuldip notes that, “No one in this family wanted to scratch the veneer of perfection that cocooned them; reputation and status were far more important than truth.” With ambivalence, Kuldip goes along with this veneer of perfection, but it’s clearly straining her. 

Emily is depicted as free-spirited artist, ready to dive into the ocean (literally), and Kuldip is predominantly portrayed as a flawless mother. Combined, they both represent different definitions of home to Devinder. Emily and Kuldip are more than these conveniently demarcated roles, of course, but emphasizing their occupations is an effective way to demonstrate how Devinder likely views the two most important women in his life. Is it an affair if the two people are so incredibly different? (It is). Does it make compartmentalization that much easier? (Probably). 

There are intimations that Emily—the only white character of prominence in a predominantly South Asian cast—might not have fit into the family dynamic, but these are only glimmers. On some level, Emily’s attendance at the wedding offers her a taste of the life she might have had with Devinder, whereas for Kuldip, Emily’s attendance is both the epitome and the opposite of propriety. Emily belongs there; Emily doesn’t belong there—these are both true at the same time. As an honorary-ish member, Emily finally meets Uncle Monty, who improbably chooses her to confide his lifelong secrets. The veneer of the family’s outward perfection proves easy to disassemble. 

Emily often thinks of a blue vase she bought from Istanbul, which now sits in the Gill household, probably holding flowers chosen by Kuldip. I wondered if a utopian polyamory, agreed upon by all parties, would be the solution. But, perhaps, solutions are farcically neat, with their implication of an everlasting jubilance of silk sheets and spreadsheets. 

By the end of the novel, the epigraph from Milkman proves to be impeccably chosen—it is not, and has never been about, being happy. 

*

Originally from East Vancouver, Jessica Poon is a writer, former line cook, and pianist of dubious merit who recently returned to BC after completing a MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Guelph. [Editor’s note: Jessica Poon has reviewed books by Keziah Weir, Amber Cowie, Robyn Harding, Roz Nay, Anne Fleming, Miriam Lacroix, Taslim Burkowicz, Sam Wiebe, Amy Mattes, Louis Druehl, Sheung-King, Loghan Paylor, Lisa Moore (ed.), Sandra Kelly, Robyn Harding, Ian and Will Ferguson, Christine Lai, Logan Macnair, Jen Sookfong Lee, J.M. Miro (Steven Price), Bri Beaudoin, Tetsuro Shigematsu, Katie Welch, Megan Gail Coles, and Ayesha Chaudhry for BCR]

*

The British Columbia Review

Interim Editors, 2023-25: Trevor Marc Hughes (non-fiction), Brett Josef Grubisic (fiction and poetry)
Publisher: Richard Mackie

Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an online book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, Maria Tippett, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.

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