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Pico
Iyer is known as a travel writer, but he travels into the shadow
lines of the mind as much as into the strange and wonderful places
he writes about.
Literally
bridging the gap between the east and the west, Pico divides his
time between an adopted home in Japan and his hometown of Santa
Barbara in California. At the heart of Iyer's writing is the quest
for the self and the metamorphosis it is prone to experience with
changes in time and place.
In
Sun after Dark, a collection of writings, Pico explores the parallel
worlds we live in, and the strange encounters that ensue when the
two worlds collide. 'A Gathering Around a Perplexity' is one such
encounter, where Iyer and the singer Leonard Cohen meet at a Zen
retreat in the hills of Southern California to do some soul searching.
The
chasm between the old and the new is evident in 'On the Ropebridge.'
Pico revisits the magical land of Tibet to find Lhasa transformed
into a city "that looks like an Eastern Las Vegas." The
opening up to the outside world that began so tentatively in 1985
has ushered in an era of unbridled consumerism, complete with high
rise buildings and department stores. However, the old Tibet refuses
to die and Iyer comes upon a monk in a traditional monastery steeped
in prayer, oblivious to changes on the wordly level. Tibet, he concludes,
is a state of mind.
Thinking about those of us who live within multiple cultures,
he says that we live "in two domains at once, and if we move
too much to the side of either one, we run the risk of falling over
the ropebridge and getting picked up and carried away by the rapids
below."
Pico
is a writer who deals with complexity in simple prose. In 'A Foreigner
at Home,' he centres on the theme of alienation and belonging in
the works of Kazuo Ishiguro. Christopher Banks, a character in Ishiguro's
novel, When we were Orphans, is a Britisher born in Shangai, a newcomer
to the land of his ancestors. In the manner in which Banks negotiates
his life in London, Iyer sees a reflection of Ishiguro's own state
of being: the child who moved from his native land of Japan to England
with his parents 40 years ago is still in many ways an outsider.
Pico Iyer's own parents migrated from India to the United
States. So here we have a writer with a migrant background illustrating
the anxiety of dislocation through the mannerisms of a character
created by another such writer. Wheels within wheels, but carried
off with rare panache.
Travel, in the tradition of Iyer, has no connotations of
hedonism. While he is alive to the wonders of Angkor Wat, he is
equally aware of the desperate poverty of the children who beg for
a living around the ruins, of the "broken men" playing
stringed instruments there, of the dark spirits that haunt every
temple along with its apsaras or attendant angels.
'Nightwalking' is a story about jetlag that works on different
levels. On one level is the extreme sleeplessness and fatigue that
goes along with it, on another the way it sets the writer free to
explore a different state of being. Awake all night, Iyer prowls
the streets of strange cities. In a state between dream and wakefulness,
he decides to celebrate "the dissolution of self" that
accompanies jet travel. This is perhaps the aim of the inveterate
traveller: "to walk through that archway of lights and become
a different person."
A visit to Bali ('In the Dark') takes Iyer away completely
from the familiar world to a place where magic is more than a metaphor.
"You go into the dark," he says, "to get away from
what you know, and if you go far enough, you realise, suddenly,
that you'll never really make it back into the light."
The voyage is, however, described in more than metaphorical
terms by Iyer. Sights, smells, the way the light falls, all are
brought alive by an unfailing turn of phrase. If you happen to be
an armchair traveller with dreams of taking flight in more ways
than one, read Pico Iyer. It's the next best thing to getting there.
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