That's the thing about bogeymen; they dissolve in the face of laughter. Hanif's particular brand of humour is razor-edged, and he found a victim worth his broadsword in General Zia-ul-Haq. A Case of Exploding Mangoes is ostensibly a literary thriller that offers an answer to who assassinated Zia and why, but the plot is just an excuse for Hanif to tear the erstwhile dictator to shreds. |
In his hands, General Zia becomes a hen-pecked, bowel-tormented man "marinating in his own paranoia", a bumbler desperately in need of the right satirist. Hanif's first novel isn't perfect by any means, but it is wickedly funny: Few authors would have the panache to send a dictator off to his death accompanied by a posse of tapeworms chomping their way through this guts.
The figure of the dictator casts a long shadow across 20th and 21st century fiction. Aside from Hanif, here's a brief look at other literary portrayals.
Salman Rushdie, Shame: Rushdie portrayed General Zia as Raza Hyder "" 'Razzoo, Razmatazz, Old Razor Guts' "" a warrior weighed down by the bags under his eyes, doomed to die in a dumbwaiter. Shame was banned in Pakistan; Hanif's Exploding Mangoes hasn't been banned there, but no printer will take it on.
Graham Greene, The Comedians: Greene was proud of the fact that this novel drew 'Papa Doc' Duvalier's wrath: "The only review I have ever received from a Chief of State," he noted. As the 'Baron' and his troops steer Haiti into barbarism, three men, the comedians of the title, struggle to find a way out: one preaches vegetarianism in a time of torture, one joins a shining insurgency doomed to failure, and one apathetically hones the art of survival.
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Ryszard Kapuscinski, The Shah of Shahs: Kapuscinski's non-fiction account of the overthrow of the last Shah of Iran is written with a blend of objective reportage and almost hallucinatory insight. The Shah is a towering figure, inspiring headlines that read, in mourning, 'He Has Left!' and, in celebration, 'He Has Returned!' For those who struggle to understand how a dictatorship can exist, flourish and survive, Kapuscinski provides an excellent insight into this most abusive of relationships: "Although dictatorship despises the people, it takes pains to win their recognition."
George Orwell, 1984: Orwell, more than any other writer, captured the essence of a functional dictatorship "" if it is efficient enough, you may not even need a dictator. All through 1984, we know that Big Brother is watching; but we have no idea who he is. His troops and his insignia are enough.
He is depicted as a man of about 45; the legends around him paint three to four decades of shining achievements in the Party; and yet, he remains offstage, unseen, enigmatic. Does Big Brother really exist? Perhaps, perhaps not; but for the dictatorship to work, it is necessary to believe in his existence.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The General In His Labyrinth: You could write a book on the number of dictators who appear in Latin American literature (Trujillo in Vargas Llosa's work, Gerardo Machado in Alejo Carpentier's Reasons of State), but if I had room for only one, it would have to be this.
Many in Latin America objected to Garcia Marquez' portrayal of Simon Bolivar, the Liberator, as an ageing man, solitary in his suffering, reflecting on the years of his dictatorship. But for Garcia Marquez, the nature of a dictatorship "" its relative benevolence "" does not change its essential tyranny.
For the reader, the experience of reading this book is disconcerting: you're drawn into sympathy with the dictator as he suffers betrayal, loss of faith and the small indignities of old age.
To be placed in the position of sympathiser and confidant makes collaborators of all of us; even those in free countries must experience the ambiguity one would feel towards one's own, personal dictator. If the larger-than-life figure of the dictator collapses in the face of laughter, then for those who seek to condemn dictatorship, it is sympathy that becomes an unsettling, destabilising force.