One would imagine that historical fiction about mathematicians would be exciting. But it really isn’t. “The Indian Clerk” by David Leavitt is not a bad book. It just could have used a mischievous space-monkey or a diabolical panda-bear. Failing that, some suspense would have sufficed.
It tells the true story of the mathematician, Ramanujan, who took the mathematical world by storm in the early part of the last century. Almost totally uneducated and completely East Indian, this fellow’s presence in Edwardian England was as unlikely as his genius. He also claimed that a Goddess told him his maths. It was a strange case.
The bulk of “The Indian Clerk” is related through the eyes and voice of G.H. Hardy, the brilliant English mathematician, who brought Ramanujan to Cambridge. This is a wise but — I think– a problematic decision.
When I read a biography, I want the facts. When I read an autobiography, I want the lies. But, when I read historical fiction, I want to know what it feels like to have a coffee with great men. At this, Leavitt succeeds. His characters are full-bodied, complex and believable. Aside from Ramanujan, we easily look into them.
Yet, because everyone else is so nakedly clear, Ramanujan, who remains ambiguous to the end, becomes unsympathetic. As a character, he feels a bit like a brown, math-performing prop. This is something like how he was treated as a man and how he is treated as legend. I had hoped for more. I wanted to be inside his head and Leavitt never opened the door.
Mr. Leavitt possesses an understated and elegant command of the English language; his writing is simple, clear and beautiful. But his prose, as good as it is, lacks forward thrust.
It’s difficult to write well and to write a page-turner. People usually pick one or the other. Just as I would like to see more quality in my page-turners, I’d also like to see more page-turning in my quality. I’ve never felt them to be mutually exclusive.
This book is ambitious. It’s well written. But it’s dull.
2.5 Rambos out of 5
