If a man is sitting in a chair in
the middle of a hall which is carpeted and there are three dozen people of both
genders and multiple ethnicities who are dancing around trying to tell him
their version of an event simultaneously, then I am that man and these people
belong to Marlon James’ “A Brief History of Seven Killings”. They are not
exiting the hall, some of them are taking a break to copulate, some are drawing
cutlasses and enacting a scene, a few are going to the windows drawing their
pistols and shooting someone on the road five floors down, some are sniffing
cocaine and some just stay back and stare at me from time to time demanding my
undivided attention. Everyone and everything lacks something, of which they are
not aware and there is something always left to tell you because either the
upbringing was such or this is too much fun. It transforms from almost magical
realism to the pace of Mario Puzo as you turn the pages. The metaphysical is
almost always in range without hinting it's reality. The people who have been
just shot on the road are climbing up the stairs and standing behind those who
have shot them, but it is not haunting because it is “A Brief History of Those
Seven Killings”. All the research that has gone into the novel is buried under
the trash hills of Jamaica. On those hills are loitering these characters who
are fully armed with machine guns, glocks and their immediate realities. So, one
is not going to find that the work is inspired by real events, and if one is
able to, it will be buried under the next round of excitement that comes with
every chapter or the next round of the trash truck. Read it if you don’t mind
Jamaican tongue. It will even take you to Brooklyn.
