Mohsin Hamid first gained global notice for his 2007 novel The Reluctant Fundamentalist, which became a best-seller, was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, and won numerous smaller awards for the Pakistani author. His 2017 novel Exit West has been nearly as acclaimed, making the shortlists for the Booker Prize and the National Book Critics Circle’s Fiction award, and even earning a nod from Barack Obama as one of the best books he read in 2017. Working with just a hint of magical realism, Hamid gives us a clear-eyed look at the refugee crisis from the perspective of a young couple, Saeed and Nadia, who fall in love in their unnamed, war-torn country (resembling Afghanistan), and manage to escape through a portal, only to find themselves transient through various stops where refugees are less than welcome.
The only gimmick Hamid employs in the book is the doors, these magic portals that appear and allow people to slip through them and emerge somewhere completely different in the world, at least until authorities find the door and attempt to block it. This allows Hamid to focus on the problems refugees face of resistance from native populations, of the obstacles they face toward assimilation, and of the strain the displacement puts on relationships, while skipping the just as real problems of getting out of the original country and, perhaps, dying en route to somewhere else. The horrors of migrants packed on to tiny, un-seaworthy vessels, or crammed in the back of overheated trucks, are legitimate, but including that part of the refugee experience might overwhelm the parts of the story Hamid wants to tell – the way wars or famines create populations of homeless refugees searching for little more than a safe place to live and work, much as they may have had before the crisis hit.
Although the primary hook in Exit West is the magic of the doors, which boil down the leave/stay decision to one of money and family, the strongest element of Hamid’s narrative is the tapestry of mundane details of the itinerants’ lives once the social contract of their home city begins to dissolve. There’s a run on a local bank, and in the throngs of people crushing to get to their money, men grope women in the crowd, including Nadia, knowing well that there will be no repercussions, an early sign that without that social contract people will behave like animals. Refugees grasp at what might, to us, seem trivial details that reinforce their humanity – a warm meal, an actual shower, possession of items we take for granted.
At each destination, Hamid presents a different vision of the refugee crisis, none more potent than his version of London, where a military attempt to remove migrant squatters fails, and a new partnership between the natives and the refugees emerges, not merely a détente but an attempt to create a better life for everyone. These are interspersed with brief scenes of other people who pass through doors in search of safety, freedom, or merely something different, presenting the doors as metaphor rather than merely as a plot device to skip over the brutal conditions of migration.
The displacement takes a toll on Nadia and Saeed as well; neither character is the same by the time their journey ends, at least for now, in California. Nadia is also the more interesting and well-developed of the two characters, both at the start of the novel and by the time the two have evolved over the course of the book. The power of Exit West, however, is that the theme applies to any characters forced by circumstance to leave everything behind and step through the first door that appears – without any idea where they’ll end up.
Next up: I just started N.K. Jemisin’s The Stone Sky, the final book in her Broken Earth trilogy that began with The Fifth Season.
