The India of The White Tiger is not some exotic mystery which baffles and bedazzles the West. In one sense, it is not even addressed to Westerners. Rather, the character Munna, who later goes by Balram Halwai, the white tiger and eventually, a far more disturbing name, tells the story of his life and of India’s rich and poor through a series of comical letters to the a Chinese official visiting India. In another sense it mocks both cultures, with one foot in India and one foot out.

Balram is born to lead a dead-end life in The Darkness of destitute village described by the wealthy as a paradise of piety and family affection. For much of his life cannot see a way of getting out of it. He inevitably is taken out of school and eventually becomes a driver, virtual property of his master. Even his family’s water buffalo has a better position in the world than he does.

Balram’s India is filthy, corrupt and brutal. Every page is another description of the humiliation of servants by their masters and men lining up to defecate in Delhi. There is little sense of sensationalism except to mock a culture, a self and their prejudices. It all feels uncontrived – like an inverse love letter to someone who has disappointed you.

Aravind Adiga’s writing is fresh and the images both irreverent and potent. At one point he describes the vein on the water buffalo’s head as the size of a boy’s penis. At another he fiercely describes the roaches as they land on the outside of Balram’s mosquito net. The image is never forced. The result is a first novel, which is anything but half-baked.

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