The Reluctant Fundamentalist

by Mohsin Hamid

EXCUSE ME, SIR, but may I be of assistance? Ah, I see I have alarmed you. Do not be frightened by my beard: I am a lover of America. I noticed that you were looking for something; more than looking, in fact you seemed to be on a mission, and since I am both a native of this city and a speaker of your language, I thought I might offer you my services.

No dialogue quotations Engaging beginning

You prefer that seat, with your back so close to the wall? Very well, although you will benefit less from the intermittent breeze, which, when it does blow, makes these warm afternoons more pleasant. And will you not remove your jacket? So formal! Now that is not typical of Americans,

Trying to make the American comfortable, to drop their guard Motive?

I was, I must admit, overly generous in my initial assumptions about the standard of the student body. They were almost all intelligent, and many were brilliant, but whereas I was one of only two Pakistanis in my entering class—two from a population of over a hundred million souls, mind you—the Americans faced much less daunting odds in the selection process. A thousand of your compatriots were enrolled, five hundred times as many, even though your country’s population was only twice that of mine. As a result, the non-Americans among us tended on average to do better than the Americans, and in my case I reached my senior year without having received a single B.

Establishing intellectual credibility

You seem worried. Do not be; this burly fellow is merely our waiter, and there is no need to reach under your jacket, I assume to grasp your wallet,

This line both establishes and relieves tension

“Changez?”

Narrator’s name

But we are not rich. The men and women—yes, the women, too—of my household are working people, professionals. And the half-century since my great-grandfather’s death has not been a prosperous one for professionals in Pakistan. Salaries have not risen in line with inflation, the rupee has declined steadily against the dollar, and those of us who once had substantial family estates have seen them divided and subdivided by each—larger—subsequent generation. So my grandfather could not afford what his father could, and my father could not afford what his father could, and when the time came to send me to college, the money simply was not there.

Very relatable

But status, as in any traditional, class-conscious society, declines more slowly than wealth.

Is this true in my case? We didn’t go to LCC but I did attend private catholic school

When I entered this state I felt unstoppable. Sufi mystics and Zen masters would, I suspect, understand the feeling. Possibly, ancient warriors did something similar before they went into battle, ritualistically accepting their impending death so they could function unencumbered by fear.

Truth.

Tell me, sir, have you left behind a love—male or female, I do not presume to know your preference, although the intensity of your gaze suggests the latter—in your homeland? Your shrug is inscrutable, but I will be more forthcoming.

This allows the reader to answer however they prefer It does not alienate anyone, straight gay or lonely

A more serious challenge would come from Chuck’s good—and similarly monosyllabically monikered—friend Mike, who, the next day, as we sat in a restaurant overhanging the lip of the shattered volcano that is the island of Santorini, casually extended his arm along the back of Erica’s chair and remained in that position, which surely became uncomfortable, for the better part of an hour. Erica made no sign that she wished him to remove his arm, but I drew some consolation from the fact that throughout the dinner she listened intently when I spoke, smiling from time to time and training her green eyes upon me. Afterwards, however, on the walk to our pension, she and Mike trailed behind the rest of us, and that night I found it difficult to sleep.

So relatable

I was, in four and a half years, never an American; I was immediately a New Yorker. What? My voice is rising? You are right; I tend to become sentimental when I think of that city. It still occupies a place of great fondness in my heart, which is quite something, I must say, given the circumstances under which, after only eight months of residence, I would later depart.

What a fantastic way to convey intensity

Often, during my stay in your country, such comparisons troubled me. In fact, they did more than trouble me: they made me resentful. Four thousand years ago, we, the people of the Indus River basin, had cities that were laid out on grids and boasted underground sewers, while the ancestors of those who would invade and colonize America were illiterate barbarians. Now our cities were largely unplanned, unsanitary affairs, and America had universities with individual endowments greater than our national budget for education. To be reminded of this vast disparity was, for me, to be ashamed.

But why do you recoil? Ah yes, this beggar is a particularly unfortunate fellow. One can only wonder what series of accidents could have left him so thoroughly disfigured. He draws close to you because you are a foreigner. Will you give him something? No? Very wise; one ought not to encourage beggars, and yes, you are right, it is far better to donate to charities that address the causes of poverty rather than to him, a creature who is merely its symptom. What am I doing? I am handing him a few rupees—misguidedly, of course, and out of habit. There, he offers us his prayers for our well-being; now he is on his way.

He encourages and justifies his audience’s selfishness while dismissing the selflessness and generosity he exhibits

Then he said, “You hungry?” “Yes,” I replied. “Good,” he said approvingly, and with that he tapped me on either shoulder with the blade of his hand—an odd, deliberate gesture—and led me back inside.

Interesting gesture/note

prosaic.

As a child, during such a time of load-shedding, I grabbed hold of one of these candles, tipped it over, and spilled molten wax on myself. In America, this would have been the start, in all likelihood, of a protracted bout of litigation with the manufacturer for using candle-wax with such a high, and unsafe, melting point; here, it resulted merely in an evening of crying and the rather faint, if oddly linear, scar you see today.

New York by night must be one of the greatest sights in the world.

I do, however, remember becoming annoyed at one point in the discussion. Erica’s father had asked me how things were back home, and I had replied that they were quite good, thank you, when he said, “Economy’s falling apart though, no? Corruption, dictatorship, the rich living like princes while everyone else suffers. Solid people, don’t get me wrong. I like Pakistanis. But the elite has raped that place well and good, right? And fundamentalism. You guys have got some serious problems with fundamentalism.” I felt myself bridle. There was nothing overtly objectionable in what he had said; indeed, his was a summary with some knowledge, much like the short news items on the front page of The Wall Street Journal, which I had recently begun to read. But his tone—with, if you will forgive me, its typically American undercurrent of condescension—struck a negative chord with me, and it was only out of politeness that I limited my response to “Yes, there are challenges, sir, but my family is there, and I can assure you it is not as bad as that.”

I’ve been this guy

I would offer you a whiskey to settle your nerves, if only I could. A Jack Daniels, eh? You smile; I have hit upon a spirit to which you are partial.

I like this line a lot

I thought about this. As I have already told you, I did not grow up in poverty. But I did grow up with a poor boy’s sense of longing, in my case not for what my family had never had, but for what we had had and lost.

The following evening was supposed to be our last in Manila. I was in my room, packing my things. I turned on the television and saw what at first I took to be a film. But as I continued to watch, I realized that it was not fiction but news. I stared as one—and then the other—of the twin towers of New York’s World Trade Center collapsed. And then I smiled. Yes, despicable as it may sound, my initial reaction was to be remarkably pleased.

Jim’s

I️ think Jim is the only one of his coworkers he refers to by his first name Jim and Erica are the only first names I️ can think of actually, even the main character has only been referred to as Changez Is this a sort of literary device? It kind of serves to establish familiarity and a closer bond. There is less emotional connection to the last named characters.

America was shifting from manufacturing to services, a huge shift, bigger than anything we’d ever seen.

They are currently experiencing an American shift, although of a different nature

“The economy’s an animal,” Jim continued. “It evolves. First it needed muscle. Now all the blood it could spare was rushing to its brain. That’s where I wanted to be. In finance. In the coordination business. And that’s where you are. You’re blood brought from some part of the body that the species doesn’t need anymore. The tailbone. Like me. We came from places that were wasting away.”

Power comes from becoming change.”

Truth

equanimity.

On those rare occasions when I did find myself confronted by such programming—in a bar, say, or at the entrance to the cable company’s offices—I was reminded of the film Terminator, but with the roles reversed so that the machines were cast as heroes.

It really was one-sided. The narrative that the US is the Sith and the terrorists are the Rebels could easily be written

Not for us the vegetarian recipes one finds across the border to the east, nor the sanitized, sterilized, processed meats so common in your homeland! Here we are not squeamish when it comes to facing the consequences of our desire.

Respectable

For we were not always burdened by debt, dependent on foreign aid and handouts; in the stories we tell of ourselves we were not the crazed and destitute radicals you see on your television channels but rather saints and poets and—yes—conquering kings. We built the Royal Mosque and the Shalimar Gardens in this city, and we built the Lahore Fort with its mighty walls and wide ramp for our battle-elephants. And we did these things when your country was still a collection of thirteen small colonies, gnawing away at the edge of a continent.

History is a source of national pride where current events is a source of national embarrassment

But once more I am raising my voice, and making you rather uncomfortable besides.

I️ love this as a way to convey intensity

So I shut them for her and asked, “Are you missing Chris?” She nodded, and I saw tears begin to force themselves between her lashes. “Then pretend,” I said, “pretend I am him.” I do not know why I said it; I felt overcome and it seemed, suddenly, a possible way forward. “What?” she said, but she did not open her eyes. “Pretend I am him,” I said again. And slowly, in darkness and in silence, we did.

Yikes

perhaps I was worried that I had acted selfishly and I sensed, even then, that I had done Erica some terrible harm.

My guess

It is impossible to tell, sir, given the gloom about us and the unexpressive cast of your face, but I suspect you are looking at me with a degree of revulsion;

Cementing the narrator as a flawed character in the eyes of the reader

But I hope your disgust has not banished your appetite, for I am summoning our waiter to take our order. Tonight, I can assure you, our meal will be anything but tasteless—and here he comes. Good man!

Giving the reader an opportunity to “digest” what he has just read and an avenue with which to continue “listening”

I could translate for you but perhaps it would be better if I selected a number of delicacies for us to share. You will grant me that honor? Thank you. There, it is done, and off he goes.

The reader has no control of the story but must be given the illusion that he/she willfully acquiesces control to the narrator

I was greeted at the door to Erica’s apartment by her mother, who ushered me into an antechamber—which featured, among its antique decorations, a bonsai tree and a harpsichord—and said, “I think we need to chat. Erica has told you about her history, yes?” I nodded. “Well,” she went on, “her condition has come back. It’s serious. What she needs right now is stability. No emotional upheavals, you get me? I can see you’re a nice young man. And I know she cares about you. But you have to understand that she’s a sick girl at the moment. She doesn’t need a boyfriend. She needs a friend.” She looked at me beseechingly. “I understand, madam,” I said. “I will do whatever you think best for her.” “Thank you,” she said. Then she smiled and added, “It’s easy to tell why she likes you.”

This paragraph eschews the rule that mandates a line break for back-and-forth dialogue and it looks and reads better than it would if it hadn’t. It gives it more of a feel of a flowing conversation, it doesn’t seem broken up. Need to emulate this.

But what is that? Ah, your unusual telephone, beeping a demand for your attention. No, sir, I do not mind in the least; please proceed to key in your reply. It occurs to me that you have been contacted with the precision of an old church bell tower, by which I mean precisely on the hour—perhaps the company is checking up on you? No, you need not answer.

Very observant

What did he look like, you ask? Well, sir, he. . . . But how odd! I cannot now recall the man’s particulars, his age, say, or his build; to be honest,

Giving a specific description of an American could potentially alienate an American reader that fits that description. Interesting and smart move.

matters; I am, after all, telling you a history, and in history, as I suspect you—an American—will agree, it is the thrust of one’s narrative that counts, not the accuracy of one’s details.

Lmao that’s a dig True though

WILL THEY provide us with cutlery, you ask? I am certain, sir, that a fork can be found for you, but allow me to suggest that the time has now come for us to dirty our hands. We have, after all, spent some hours in each other’s company already; surely you can no longer feel the need to hold back. There is great satisfaction to be had in touching one’s prey; indeed, millennia of evolution ensure that manipulating our meals with our skin heightens our sense of taste—and our appetite, for that matter! I see you need no further convincing; your fingers are tearing the flesh of that kebab with considerable determination.

I️ think this paragraph is foreshadowing a dark turn in his story. Cutlery is a product of civilization and the story is soon to devolve to savagery.

It is remarkable, given its physical insignificance—it is only a hairstyle, after all—the impact a beard worn by a man of my complexion has on your fellow countrymen. More than once, traveling on the subway—where I had always had the feeling of seamlessly blending in—I was subjected to verbal abuse by complete strangers, and at Underwood Samson I seemed to become overnight a subject of whispers and stares. Wainwright tried to offer me some friendly advice. “Look, man,” he said, “I don’t know what’s up with the beard, but I don’t think it’s making you Mister Popular around here.” “They are common where I come from,” I told him. “Jerk chicken is common where I come from,” he replied, “but I don’t smear it all over my face. You need to be careful. This whole corporate collegiality veneer only goes so deep. Believe me.”

Turning point: he grows a beard and refuses to shave it Shaving is also a product of civilization. Russia once labeled beards a sign of savagery and taxed them by the inch. Ties in with the lack of cutlery thing from earlier

But I observe that you, sir, have stopped eating. Can it be that you are full? Very well, I will not insist; I will, however, order us some dessert, a little rice pudding with sliced almonds and cardamom, the perfect sweetener for an evening such as ours, which is taking a turn towards the grimmer side. Such dishes may not normally be to your taste, but I would encourage you to have, at the very least, a tiny bite. After all, one reads that the soldiers of your country are sent to battle with chocolate in their rations, so the prospect of sugaring your tongue before undertaking even the bloodiest of tasks cannot be entirely alien to you.

This confirms my earlier suspicions and expands upon them

and behind the bar was a convex mirror, which Neruda had employed to convince his guests that they were drunk.

Lol

A good vice president was one who got things done, no matter what, and to appeal for assistance prematurely would be to undermine one’s superior’s confidence in one’s abilities.

Juan-Bautista wore a hat and carried a walking stick, and he ambled at a pace so slow that it would likely have been illegal for him to cross at an intersection in New York.

Lmao

“Does it trouble you,” he inquired, “to make your living by disrupting the lives of others?” “We just value,” I replied. “We do not decide whether to buy or to sell, or indeed what happens to a company after we have valued it.”

He has become the US. He does economically what the US does with warfare

But your expression, sir, tells me that you think something is amiss. Did this conversation really happen, you ask? For that matter, did this so-called Juan-Bautista even exist? I assure you, sir: you can trust me. I am not in the habit of inventing untruths! And moreover, even if I were, there is no reason why this incident would be more likely to be false than any of the others I have related to you. Come, come, I believe we have passed through too much together to begin to raise questions of this nature at so late a stage.

This moment does seem too poetic to be true. He assures the reader that the experience is valid

I was a modern-day janissary, a servant of the American empire at a time when it was invading a country with a kinship to mine and was perhaps even colluding to ensure that my own country faced the threat of war.

I must admit, Jim’s words gave me pause. I had great admiration for him; he had always stood by me, and now I proposed to betray him. By the time my replacement could be dispatched and brought up to speed, it was probable that the deadline for our valuation would be missed. Jim had sent me as an act of faith and generosity; my repayment would be a slap in the face and all the more impudent for coming at a time of financial weakness for the firm.

Don’t do it!

All I knew was that my days of focusing on fundamentals were done.

The US are the fundamentalists. Money is fundamental instead of religion