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| Neural | Posted
on 05-Jun-04 12:53 AM
- Daniel Lak "Do countries have karma?ý a frustrated Nepali once asked me. ýIf they do, then weýve done something very bad.ý My friend was speaking after the notorious royal massacre of 2001, but he could have been referring to the apparent death throes of democracy here, a Maoist rebellion or the ever-worsening economy. Nepal, it seems, just canýt get a break. Good journalism is in short supply. Itýs too young, too subject to social and political pressure. So ke garne for clear insights into a place that remained off limits to outsiders until 1951? Thereýs the Internet of course, a masala of dodgy data as ever. With few exceptions, among them Ed Douglas and Charlie Pye-Smith, outsiders who write about Nepal turn out to be an odd grab bag of chancers, opportunists and Orientalists. This also seems to apply to many of the countryýs well-wishers in the world at large, of whom I am one. We are a funny lot, we foreigners who like it here. On the surface, itýs not hard to see why we love the place. Itýs physically gorgeous, fascinating and the people are rather friendly. Yet itýs hard to avoid the conclusion that we foreigners focus on the wrong things about Nepal, usually for all the wrong reasons. Just look at the books we produce. Take, for instance, the royal massacre. Kathmandu was jumping with journalists after 1 June 2001. All were intrigued by the most fascinating story of their careers. A few stayed on, hoping to write the definitive account of the massacre. So far, none of the books published about the massacre has added anything to what was presumed to be known immediately after the killingsýa love-crazed Crown Prince Dipendra did it. Now Iým pretty sure that he did, and I was as close as anyone to the massacre stories. But I canýt convince most Nepalis about this and a national conviction that the current king was somehow involved. But this disbelief in official explanations of the massacre fails to excite foreign writers about the event, save as a quaint feeling among superstitious locals. Whether itýs Neelesh Mishraýs End of the Line, Jonathan Gregsonýs Blood Against the Snows, or Love and Death in Kathmandu by Amy Willesee and John Whittaker, the conclusions drawn are the same, the sources, insights and anecdotes all similar. Dipendra loved Devyani. He was a weird guy, evidently dangerous to know. He had many guns. He made enemies at Eton and partied desperately hard. He cracked up and killed his family. Thatýs it. No attempt to examine other explanations, no credible off-the-record information, nothing beyond the norm. Mishraýs book, to do it justice, was prepared within two months of the killings, and can be excused for hasty conclusions and little real penetration into the Nepali psyche. Mishra is a fine journalist who uses his reporterýs skills to seek the most likely explanations. His writing is lively and he offers no less information than any of the other massacre books. By far the most awkwardly titled and disappointing is Blood Against the Snows. Much heralded as the Big Book on the royal killings, Jonathan Gregson got a $100,000 advance for his troubles, which adds to the shame of the final product. Iýve seldom read a more derivative account of the massacre. Gregsonýs sources are largely documents that tell their stories better than he does and it all begs the question, why, oh why, would you buy this book? Instead, buy or acquire the source materialýa pamphlet by Ludwig Stiller called Nepal: Growth of a Nation, the official government inquiry report, and the BBC Panorama documentary, Murder Most Royal. Love and Death in Kathmandu is by the Australian husband and wife team, Amy Willesee and Mark Whittaker. In this case, itýs hard not to judge a book by its cover. A lurid gold frame, a crass purple background, the title rendered in fake Devnagari script and a picture of Kali, it could easily win Bad Cover of the Year. Had these two writers produced something worthy, we might have forgiven the lurid packaging. But the writing lives up to the cover. It is adolescent and boastful, breathless and ultimately gives a shallow, derivative account. The authors insist on being jointly present. ýWeý are always going to see some individual with the goods on Dipendra, or ýweý are worried about security when ýweý drive to Gorkha. Of course, ýweý are married and have co-authored another book together but I respectfully suggest that ýweý the readers donýt give a damn about ýweý the writers unless weýre being enlightened and entertained. And weýre not. More on - http://www.nepalnews.com/ntimes/issue198/review.htm |