Set in a suburban America, Avni Doshi’s new novel centres around an unnamed protagonist who thinks her world and her sense of self are stable. She knows herself and all that is to come in her life. She’s followed the pre-determined path of being a wife and a mother. She believes she has a marriage that is forever and a house that is safe. Hers is an identity that has already been carved in stone – or so she thinks.
However, First House starts with the ending of her marriage, something she did not see coming despite clear issues. This ending also marks the beginning of something the protagonist could never have imagined: her unravelling.
In astrology, the first house is the sign of self, the centre of one’s identity. This is where we begin the journey to finding our place in the world, where we belong, and who we really are. It is in the first house that we meet Doshi’s unnamed protagonist, herself a practising astrologist.
When her husband decides to leave her, suddenly she must start all over again and carve a new life. With this comes the discovery of a new identity and persona. But she has to fall apart first to find who she really can be.
The second part of the novel is a reckoning with who she was, and what she has become. She is folded back into her Indian parent’s lives once again, and back into the family home. Here she realises that this first house, the house where she was born and grew up, shaped her immeasurably.
What really is a marriage? This is a question that haunts her. Is it the marriage of her parents? Is it her father’s indifference to her mother, and her mother’s insecurities and feelings of emptiness?
There is a familiarity in her descriptions of the way marriages become an obligation in certain cultures, where secrets roam silent in the chasm between a couple, where people stay together forever because they are expected to, and where love does not exist in the ravines of loneliness.
In such marriages so many children, much like Doshi’s protagonist, grow up with a vision of married life where love does not matter, believing they do not need to love in order to stay married. These children grow up not even understanding love.
Here “marriage is a solution” and intimacy is merely “living alongside another body”. When home lives do not offer safety, these children grow up looking to be rescued, seeking safety at any cost, and “in exchange for any sacrifice”.
Carving a new life
And, finally in part three of the book, we see the embryo of a new identity emerging.
There are many books about divorce, about the liberation and freedom of separation, about marriage as an anti-feminist establishment. But there are very few good books about the unravelling of a marriage and the disintegration of a mind; this is one of them.
Penguin
First House is about a woman who believed it was forever, who was given this “dream” and held fast to it. This is a woman who did not learn how to trust her own instincts or know her own desires. And even when she did, she pushed them away, buried them somewhere where they wouldn’t prod her or remind her of their existence.
She is a mother who loves her children, but did not want to have children. A wife who wants to stay married but is increasingly irritated by her husband, and imagines him dead or absent so she can be alone. But despite this, she chooses to stay married, and to have children, to continue the pretences of the roles she so despises.
These are the paradoxes that make this novel so potent: a fever-dream interspersed with myths and legends, with stories of cicadas who mate and die, of the way we somehow manage to decimate the very core of our own identity. There is a suffocation in the words, enveloping the reader like the putrid fragrance of a summer evening, when the heat becomes unbearable and the skin too clammy to touch.
Doshi’s writing is visceral and haunting, with a paradoxical weightiness in message and lightness in delivery. This is a story of finding love, desire and connection with our own selves. It is also the story of a woman who has to go mad and retreat into a yellow wallpapered room to discover that she is most comfortable with the burdens of her own body and mind – even when she was forced to dismiss and abandon the cry of her own longing for herself. This short book is intense but makes for engrossing reading.
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