There are some books that you dive straight into and others that you never really have the impetus to read. And then, sometimes you encounter that rare piece that you hold onto until the time is right. I picked up Flood of Fire as soon as soon as it released; I had waited eagerly for the last of the Ibis trilogy for a long time. Yet this book sat on my shelf for the longest time – two whole years. Every time I looked at the book sitting idle on my mahogany book shelf, I had the strangest feeling. It was as if the book told me to wait, that I was simply not ready for it…
I am glad that I waited because I doubt that I would have been able to experience then what I have today after reading Flood of Fire. If you have read any Ghosh at all, you would know that he is a fascinating writer. His writings have a depth that is unparalleled; his stories are expansive and magnificent. Moreover, the first two books of the Ibis trilogy – Sea of Poppies and River of Smoke are both elaborate and enthralling. Ghosh ambitiously spans across India, Mauritius and China through the trilogy giving his readers the taste of the mostly forgotten past of the British Opium trade. So of course, Flood of Fire had to be rich in history and magnanimous in scale – this was surely expected of a writer like Ghosh.
However, with Flood of Fire, Ghosh goes beyond. He throws you into this chaotic opiate haze where different and diverse worlds collide. The novel begins in India and culminates in China; immersing the readers into the conflicting worlds of its many characters caught in the flux of history. Ghosh’s narrative floats tenderly on the cusp of historical time – oscillating like the schooners in the novel – Anahita, Redruth and the ever-elusive Ibis; between pain and glory, the past and the present. The narrative captures the trial and tribulations of an era looking to recreate their own personal histories in a place where nothing is stable.
Ghosh’s fascination with the deceptiveness of stability is seen in much of his novels – be it the crumbling societies of The Glass Palace, the constant ebb and flow of the rivers in The Hungry Tide, or the struggle for freedom that brings together disparate characters in the Ibis trilogy. There is an element of in-betweenness – a playful uncertainty – that helms his narratives. It is, perhaps, Ghosh’s deep interest in the subaltern that deluges any semblance of stability in his work; luring his readers into the narratives of the forgotten past.
It is needless to mention that the Ibis trilogy is driven by the impulse to recount the lost narratives leading up to the First Opium War. And undoubtedly, Ghosh is one of the finest historical fiction writers of the 21st century. However, Ghosh’s trilogy offers a whole lot more than what meets the eye. It is a testament of human struggle against the hideous clutches of monopoly capitalism blanketed under dreamy globalisation. Ghosh depicts that while the opium trade enabled characters like Zachary Reid – the son of an American slave – to gain power and privilege, it was at the cost of suffering of millions.
Opium figures as the central metaphor that binds the three novels together – a symbol of escapist euphoria as well as of misappropriated power. Ghosh’s narrative uses the dreamlike opium haze to numb the trauma of displacement in the novel – a “pain-free void” as he calls it. He uses the opiate daze to denote the murky linkages between opium trade and the colonial Empire. Colonialism is manifested through the intoxicating spell of opium under which an era of escapists, dreamers as well as mercenaries withered away.
