Vikas Swarup is interested in narrative spectacle. His famous novel, Q & A, was adapted into the Oscar-winning film Slumdog Millionaire, which enthralled a primarily Western audience who had never seen the filth and grit of Mumbai slum life before. The film was a contested breakthrough; some Indians cynically gawked at the exoticised melodrama of it, while others felt profound pride for the recognition of Indians on a global stage. Regardless of where one falls on this spectrum, both the novel and film were highly entertaining. The Girl With The Seven Lives is Swarup’s highly-anticipated return to fiction after a decade, featuring many of the themes that propelled him to fame: bureaucratic corruption, the amoral bourgeoisie, and the systematically oppressed poor.
The novel’s timeline is split, following the present day—in which the protagonist, Devi, has been kidnapped by an unknown and bloodthirsty man—and her past lives, which she’s compelled to recount under gunpoint. Devi has wronged, robbed, and swindled countless people to survive, and they all return as vengeful ghosts, hidden behind the phone that a kidnapper uses to auction Devi off to the highest bidder. Revenge is a dish served to those with the deepest pockets.
Devi, for her part, is a “girl from the gutters” who answers to many names, varying across locations. The novel, which opens in Delhi, sees Devi travel up and down India, from languid Goa to Catholic Kerala. Tropes of a poverty-stricken upbringing abound: Devi’s “earliest memory is of dirt”, her father is an alcoholic, and her mother saintly and stoic. Her youngest brother, Sonu, was brutally killed by a speeding BMW, a private hospital that denied admittance, and a crooked cop who refused to register the family’s complaint.
Devi’s list of enemies, meanwhile, is limited to the rich and powerful. Her older brother—in a quest to avenge Sonu’s death—was unlawfully detained, tortured, and presumably killed. It’s a tragic opening that leaves Devi alone with an innate understanding of relentless cruelty. In light of the deaths around Devi, her many identities almost serve as hidden companions. She is never alone; she has her titular seven avatars.
The novel engages the reader with two simple questions: Will Devi escape? And how did she get here? Her capture is the catalyst for the episodic recount of her life and various identities: a series of extreme misfortune and incredible luck. At one moment, she is on the front page of a newspaper, bringing forth a wave of pity and opportunities. In the next, she’s bludgeoning a cop with a brick. This pattern forms the bulk of the novel, transforming Devi from naivety to rock-hard resilience.
The novel is at its best when the subject of its criticism turns meta, as when Devika, a wealthy woman who takes a self-serving interest in Devi, offers her the comforts of a home and full belly while mining her memories and experiences as “authentic” research to write a highly acclaimed novel. The chapter is, of course, titled “How to Write a Bestseller”. The vantage point of Swarup’s own meteoric rise to success adds nuance to the plot point, though this self-awareness could have come through more often.
Entertaining certainly, yet possibilities for any social critique—the world is structured against the poor, and upward mobility is actively denied by social institutions—are missed through the abundance of opportunities to Devi in her life and the infusion of luck into an otherwise hopeless situation. Though these twists of fate make for a compelling read, they undermine the severity of Devi’s situation. One can imagine the legacy of The Girl With The Seven Lives lies on both a bookshelf, and a star-studded miniseries.