“That is art’s biggest tragedy. We can imagine god, god’s enemies, ideologies to fight over, but we can’t tell a single story of which we are not the centre. That is the root of all the world’s problems, my friend. But you cannot put yourself in someone else’s shoes until you remove your own.”
This is how a character in Shubhangi Swarup’s critically acclaimed novel Latitudes of Longing laments the myopic vision of art today. In many ways, the novel, comprising of four stories with overlapping characters, aims to move beyond this human-centrism. It is about humans and mountains, ghosts and fossils, rivers and valleys, the sun and the moon, and memories and dreams. In an interview with The Wire, Swarup talked about her vision, the seven-year-long journey she undertook for the book, and the role that art must play in bridging the gap between humans and nature. Excerpts:
Your very first book was shortlisted for the prestigious JCB Prize for Literature and has received a great amount of love. Congratulations. Tell us about your journey of writing the book. How did the idea germinate in your mind?
The idea for the book came to me from my travels and stories of my mother. My mother was born in the Andamans and often told me stories about how the mountains and seas co-existed there and the different creatures of the land. I have grown up in Bombay in an urban and privileged setting, and hearing these stories filled me up with curiosity.
I also love travelling. I remember once I was in Ladakh and I came across marine fossils. My first reaction was of disbelief, but as it dawned upon me how everything in nature is interconnected, I had an epiphany. The journey soon went on from disbelief to curiosity to falling in love with nature, and I knew I had to write about it.
During the journey, I also read Amitav Ghosh’s The Great Derangement and it became sort of a manifesto for me and gave me the courage to take the final step to write the book.
The book consists of four stories, each set in a different geographical setting. In each of the stories, nature occupies a centre stage and is a character of its own. What was your motivation for doing so?
I wanted to tell stories of nature and bring in different perspectives through a grander narrative, so I weaved characters out of the elemental forces and natural history. But this was tougher than it seems. It is somehow considered experimental to give nature the centre stage it deserves, when that is one of the biggest truths of our lives.
The current conventions of storytelling can be quite stifling – artificially plotted, severely restrictive by their formulae. I wanted to move away from them.
Also read: They Helped the Forest Grow. But in the Face of Climate Change, They’re Helpless.
You said folk tales are closer to the truth and you have used several similar elements in your novel, such as prophecies, memories and ghosts. Do you think reality is artificially and individualistically constructed?
Many critics have classified Latitude of Longing as ‘magic realism’, and I have a problem with it. If we see stories around nature as being something magical, then it highlights how disconnected we have become from nature, to see it as magical instead of real. The seeming magic in my novel is inspired by natural history and real details that I chanced upon in my research.
I start with the ghost of a goat, proceeding to ghosts of extinct creatures, and eventually the ghost of an extinct ocean (the Tethys). I have tried to tell the ocean’s story, both as an element (water), and a geographical form (ocean). In the valley section, she takes on the human form of an earthquake refugee. This, to me is the power of fiction. It allows me to see stories from the perspective of long-lost fossils, the trees, geckos, even oceans.
Sadly, most of our contemporary mainstream literature is devoid of the writing I aspire towards. So I read a wide range of translations of folk tales from various languages. In these stories, death is seen as a point of transformation. There’s always a certain awe towards the universe.
During your travels, did you come across alternative visions of life and nature?
Having traversed many parts along the tectonic plate, I came across a worldview in which nature is fundamental. For instance, even while interviewing ex political prisoners in Yangon, their belief in spiritual aspects of life and death came to the fore. Throughout my journey, I came across the view that only when we accept our own fallibility and impermanence in the world, will we be in harmony with our place in the ecosystem.
I still remember when I was in Nepal, right after the earthquake, I saw no resentment against nature. A man told me “Jab tak patthar hain, hum hain (Till the stones exist, we do).”
The recent killing of an American man by the Sentinelese tribe has shown us that the relation between humans and nature still hasn’t been fully comprehended. Do you think literature can help us improve this?
For lack of a better comparison, humankind to me seems to be that obnoxious person at a party who’s so full of themselves, they keep repeating stories of their own glories and achievements. We often talk of evolution in terms of just humankind, not the entire ecosystem!
The tiny palm-sized fossil of an ammonite found in Nepal is older than the entire Himalayan range. So why must art stick to just the peaks and their conquerors? Art of any kind can take us where science stops and allow us to play with possibilities and imagine alternative futures. Art can help us articulate a vision.
Also read: It’s Time to Talk About the Mental Health Effects of Climate Change
I believe that if one cannot imagine a better future, it will never become a possibility. Our vision of the future is so human-centric right now. It revolves around hybrid cars and virtual reality and AI. Only when we start to look at the story and not just moments, and tell the story of Earth instead of just us, will we move forward towards coexistence.
Lastly, in an age where a climate change denier is perhaps the most powerful individual in the world, how do you think we can bring conversations about nature into the spotlight?
Nature doesn’t recognise political borders. Yet, the generations before us have been so occupied by this schizophrenic view of the world, that our politics prevent us from coming together to save species and forests.
The current response of our governments reminds me of Nero playing his flute while Rome burned. Each and every one of us has a crucial role to play. As a writer, I use my stories to expand the reader’s horizon to include Earth’s history, to make forces of nature as intimate as any other character one cares for in the book. This is the task I give myself, and my question to you is: what is yours?
Shruti Sonal is a freelance journalist and a poet. Find her on Instagram and Twitter @shruti_writes.