John remains in a state of bewilderment and frustration throughout the book. Grief-stricken he may be, but he is also angry, immature and self-absorbed, and frankly, one begins to resent spending so much time with him. His decision-making takes place as if he were underwater (dreams, rivers and seas — as in the title — are recurring leitmotifs); but apart from a few scattered experiments in fragmented stream-of-consciousness, the writing is not sufficiently audacious to take us convincingly inside his head.
Throughout, in fact, Parks’s writing is flat, when the unusual subject matter calls for something more: a sense of risk, perhaps, or just a tighter edit. It is hard to escape the feeling as you read that the difficulty you have concentrating mirrors similar difficulties on the writer’s part, as if Parks were one of those skilled portrait-painters who botch the parts of the body that fail to interest them, or seem too hard.
The points of view of other characters are adopted with increasing frequency as the novel progresses. Helen, in particular, plays a major part, as does Paul, an American writer intent on penning James’s biography. He is rebuffed at first, but develops an interesting and eventually intimate relationship with Helen. He is pushy and callow but well-intentioned and far from charmless, and his interactions with her — she is ironic and blunt but emotionally hungry — make for the novel’s best moments.
The potential for sexual and emotional complication is increased by the late arrival of John’s girlfriend, an actress in England who comes to India and gets involved with the biographer (the whole thing begins to feel like nude Twister). There are also several Indians who knew James and worked with him on his increasingly eccentric projects and who want various obscure things from John and Helen.
So what begins as a novel of ideas finally collapses into a stew of inchoate emotion. One has a sense of elaborately concocted links and serendipities, but I must say to me it all felt confoundingly arbitrary.
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