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The Henna Artist by Alka Joshi

REVIEW

After escaping an abusive husband of an arranged marriage, Lakshmi has curated a niche life as a henna artist and herbalist, carefully balancing her needs with the desires of her wealthy, high caste clients. Until…her ex-husband brings to her a sister Lakshmi didn’t know existed, along with the information that both of their parents are dead. A sister who can topple her meticulously constructed life, simply by being her naive, adventurous self. Joshi has created a picture of a precarious position within society that is specific to someone who provides a service that’s both decorative and healing, desired for its aesthetics and cultural significance. Although accepted into higher society, Lakshmi is still considered a servant to the most influential of her clients, and thereby afforded no protection against her sister’s impetuous actions. Not only has the author provided a compelling tale, but she has included a glossary of hindi words and a history of henna artistry. I was fortunate to receive a digital copy of this beautiful novel from the publisher Mira Books through NetGalley.

EXCERPT

Prologue

September 1955

Ajar, State of Uttar Pradesh, India

Her feet step lightly on the hard earth, calloused soles insensible to the tiny pebbles and caked mud along the riverbank. On her head she balances a mutki, the same earthenware jug she uses to carry water from the well every day. Today, instead of water, the girl is carrying everything she owns: a second petticoat and blouse, her mother’s wedding sari, The Tales of Krishna her father used to read to her—the pages fabric-soft from years of handling—and the letter that arrived from Jaipur earlier this morning.

When she hears the voices of the village women in the distance, the girl hesitates. The gossip-eaters are chatting, telling stories, laughing, as they wash saris, vests, petticoats and dhotis. But when they spot her, she knows they will stop to stare or spit at the ground, imploring God to protect them from the Bad Luck Girl. She reminds herself of the letter, safe inside the mutki, and thinks: Let them. It will be the last time.

Yesterday, the women were haranguing the Headman: why is the Bad Luck Girl still living in the schoolteacher’s hut when we need it for the new schoolmaster? Afraid to make a sound for fear they would come inside and pull her out by her hair, the girl had remained perfectly still within the four mud walls. There was no one to protect her now. Last week, her mother’s body had been burned along with the bones of other dead animals, the funeral pyre of the poor. Her father, the former schoolteacher, had abandoned them six months ago, and, shortly after, he drowned in a shallow pool of water along the riverbank, so drunk he likely hadn’t felt the sting of death.

Every day for the past week, the girl had lay in wait on the outskirts of the village for the postman, who cycled in sporadically from the neighboring village. This morning, as soon as she spotted him, she darted out from her hiding place, startling him, and asked if there were any letters for her family. He had frowned and bit his cheek, his rheumy eyes considering her through his thick glasses. She could tell he felt sorry for her, but he was also peeved—she was asking for something only the Headman should receive. But she held his gaze without blinking. When he finally handed over the thick onionskin envelope addressed to her parents, he did so hastily, avoiding her eyes and pedaling away as quickly as he could.

Now, standing tall, her shoulders back, she strolls past the women at the riverbank. They glare at her. She can feel her heart flutter wildly in her breast, but she passes, straight as sugar cane, mutki on her head, as if she is going to the farmers well, two miles farther from the village, the only well she is allowed to use.

The gossip-eaters no longer whisper but shout to one another: There goes the Bad Luck Girl! The year she was born, locusts ate the wheat! Her older sister deserted her husband, never to be seen again! Shameless! That same year her mother went blind! And her father turned to drink! Disgraceful! Even the girl’s coloring is suspect. Only Angreji-walli have blue eyes. Does she even belong to us? To this village?

The girl has often wondered about this older sister they talk about. The one whose face she sees only as a shadow in her dreams, whose existence her parents have never acknowledged. The gossip-eaters say she left the village thirteen years ago. Why? Where did she go? How did she escape a place where the gossip-eaters watch your every move? Did she leave in the dead of night when the cows and goats were asleep? They say she stole money, but no one in the village has any money. How did she feed herself? Some say she dressed as a man so she wouldn’t be stopped on the road. Others say she ran off with a circus boy and was living as a nautch girl, dancing in the Pleasure District miles away in Agra.

Three days ago, old man Munchi with the game leg—her only friend in the village—warned her that if she didn’t vacate her hut, the Headman would insist she marry a widowed farmer or demand she leave the village.

“There is nothing here for you now,” Munchiji had said. But how could she leave—a thirteen-year-old orphan girl with no family or money?

Munchiji said, “Have courage, bheti.” He told her where to find her brother-in-law, the husband her older sister had abandoned all those years ago, in a nearby village. Perhaps he could help her find her sister.

“Why can’t I stay with you?”she had asked.

“It would not be proper,”the old manreplied gently. He made his living painting images on the skeletons of peepal leaves.To console her, he’d given her a painting. Angry, she’d almost thrown it back at him until she saw that the image was of Lord Krishna, feeding a mango to his consort Radha, her namesake. It was the most beautiful gift she had ever received.

Radha slows as she approaches the village threshing ground. Four yoked bulls walk in circles around a large flat stone, grinding wheat. Prem, who cares for the bulls, is sitting with his back against the hut, asleep. Quietly, she hurries past him to the narrow path that leads to Ganesh-ji’s temple. The shrine has a slender opening and, inside, a statue of Lord Ganesh. Gifts are arranged around the Elephant God’s feet: a young coconut, marigolds, a small pot of ghee, slices of mango. A cone of sandalwood incense releases a languid curl of smoke.

The girl lays Munchiji’s painting of Krishna in front of Ganesh-ji, the Remover of All Obstacles, and begs him to remove the curse of The Bad Luck Girl.

By the time she reaches her brother-in-law’s village ten miles to the West, it is late afternoon and the sun has moved closer to the horizon. She is sweating through her cotton blouse. Her feet and ankles are dusty; her mouth dry.

She is cautious, entering the village. She crouches in shrubs and hides behind trees. She knows an alone girl will not be treated kindly. She searches for a man who looks like the one Munchiji described.

She sees him. There. Squatting under the banyan tree, facing her. Her brother-in-law.

He has thick, oily, coal-black hair. A long, bumpy scar snakes from his bottom lip to his chin. He is not young but neither is he old. His bush-shirt is spotted with curry and his dhoti is stained with dust.

Then she notices the woman squatting in the dirt in front of the man. She is supporting her elbow with one hand, her forearm dangling at an unnatural angle. Her head is completely covered with her pallu, and she is talking to the man in a quiet whisper. Radha watches, wondering if her brother-in-law has taken another wife.

She picks up a small stone and throws it at him. She misses. The second time, she hits him in the thigh, but he merely flicks his hand, as if swatting away an insect. He is listening intently to the woman. Radha throws more pebbles, managing to hit him several times. At last, he lifts his head and looks around him.

Radha steps into the clearing so he can see her.

His eyes widen, as if he is looking at a ghost. He says, “Lakshmi?”

Excerpted from The Henna Artist by Alka Joshi, Copyright © 2020 by Alka Joshi. Published by MIRA Books.

Photo by Garry Bailey

BIO

Alka Joshi is a graduate of Stanford University and received her M.F.A. from the California College of the Arts. She has worked as an advertising copywriter, a marketing consultant, and an illustrator. Alka was born in India, in the state of Rajasthan. Her family came to the United States when she was nine, and she now lives on California’s Monterey Peninsula with her husband and two misbehaving pups. The Henna Artist is her first novel. Visit her website and blog at thehennaartist.com

SOCIAL MEDIA

Author Website: https://thehennaartist.com/

Facebook: @alkajoshi2019

Instagram: @thealkajoshi

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18257842.Alka_Joshi

PURCHASE

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The Kill Club by Wendy Heard

A product of her decisions within a harsh justice system, Jazz does her best to protect her little brother Joaquin from his adopted (her foster) mother’s irresponsible religious response to his diabetes. Approached by a vigilante via phone, she resists at first, but gives in to the exchange of murders, though her first two attempts are thwarted, and she is then targeted. That the killings are obvious murders belie the idea that there’s an elaborate secret killing machination in place, especially since it does not seem to include an effective contingency plan. I received a digital copy from the publisher Mira Books through NetGalley, my request based on my appreciation for her previous book Hunting Annabelle, which I found brilliant.

Mike Chen—Sci-Fi Author

Mike Chen writes science fiction with feelings. His debut novel Here and Now and Then was part of Bookbub’s Best Science Fiction of 2019 and the Goodreads Choice Awards shortlist. His upcoming book A Beginning at the End (January 14, 2020 from Mira/HarperCollins) has received multiple starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly, Library Journal, and more. Mike also covers geek culture for outlets such as Tor.com, StarTrek.com, and more, and posts many photos of his dog on social media. Follow him on Twitter/Instagram @mikechenwriter.

Tell me about your writing process: schedule, environment, inspirations, magic tricks, etc.

Well, I have a day job and a feisty 5-year-old daughter, so my writing process is basically whenever I can around that. I write a lot on my phone (and I read a lot of ebooks on my phone) because Google Docs allows for anywhere/anytime access. This works in whatever block of time is available, so if I’m waiting at a doctor’s appointment, I can edit a short section, and if I’m in bed, I can draft for 30 minutes or so. At some point, I imagine I’ll have a little more structure to my schedule, but I think it’ll have to wait until my daughter is a little older and doesn’t want my company anymore! As for actual process, I just need quiet (only video game soundtracks or instrumentals if I have music), though someday I’d love to have a dedicated home office just for writing.

Walk me through your publishing process from “final” draft to final product, including who does what when, and marketing that you do as the author.

It’s pretty standard. There’s the editorial process with my editor; then the marketing/publicity side gets involved. I do a lot of freelance writing for geek and pop culture media (e.g. Tor.com, StarTrek.com, TheMarySue.com) so I’m always game if I need to write an essay or something specifically for publicity purposes, but it’s generally out of my control; I just nod and smile when asked to write something or show up to an event.

A few steps back from that, I find that I’m not one of those writers who can sell with just a sample chapter and an outline. Writing a full novel from that is far too daunting, but you don’t want to sink too much time and energy into a manuscript that won’t go anywhere. For my second contract, I’ve found a good happy medium to be writing a fairly polished first half and a detailed synopsis for editorial acquisition. That way I get a good sense of character and world but I haven’t worked through the time necessary for a full manuscript. And if/when they buy it, I’m in a good starting point to finish it off because so much of the groundwork is already done.

Talk about your support system online and IRL, especially your biggest cheerleaders.

My agent Eric Smith is my biggest industry cheerleader. He’s probably the biggest cheerleader in publishing, honestly. He cheers everyone on, which is always good to have in those moments of self-doubt (there are many). He’s also very editorial, which I appreciate in an agent. He lets me bounce ideas off of him and provides early critique reads, even for projects he’s not involved with. Oh, and he lets me know when there are good sales on video games, which is very important!

My wife and non-writer friends are all very supportive but the logistics of this industry are so unique and weird that it’s hard for them to empathize with the specific minutia of it all. I think for all writers, it’s really important to get peers whom you can vent to in private, and I am lucky that I have those. There are too many to name, and I’m afraid I’d probably accidentally leave someone out, but if you follow me on Twitter, you’ll see me interacting with a lot of them—cheering each other on but also talking about geeky stuff like Star Trek and video games.

How does life influence your writing and vice versa?

Well, I realized the other day that many of the relationships and characters I’ve written about are lifted unknowingly from personal experience. There are moments when you draw on that intentionally, like a scene that looks like the coffee shop you like or the character that tells a joke that your spouse did. And then there’s the realization that a shade of a character is totally someone you know. I think every writer deals with that, so everyday life certainly influences my writing. I think it’s impossible not to.

From a conscious perspective, a friend told me a few weeks back that my writing was “hopepunk,” which is a term I recently discovered. A lot of my worldbuilding choices and character demographics stem from crafting a world that I want to see. As creators, we have a choice to bring some level of normalization into the real world via exposure in our imaginary world—I think that’s very vital. Even if a story isn’t overtly political, the messages imbued in it are inherently charged with a political point of view.

What do you love most about your creativity?

I remember the first creative writing class I took at UC Davis. I’d already done some journalism at that point in my life, but I felt this strange sense of freedom creating a fictional world. That creativity was unlike anything I’d ever felt, and I ran with it. My teacher told me to keep writing at the end of that class, and obviously I did.

That teacher, by the way, is named Wendy Sheanin and she’s an executive at Simon & Schuster. She’s the first person I sent an advance copy of my debut.

Connect with Mike:

www.mikechenbooks.com

www.twitter.com/mikechenwriter

www.instagram.com/mikechenwriter

Here and Now and Then by Mike Chen

A time travel criminal shot Kin’s Temporal Corruption Bureau retrieval beacon, stranding him in 1996. In the two decades it took his colleagues from 2142 to find him, he built a life with a wife and daughter. Regulations force him back to the future, where he’s been missing for only weeks from his work and his fiancee. His inexplicable disappearance, and her mother’s death, sends his daughter spiraling downward. He breaches protocol, reaching out to her digitally, endangering both. Chen brilliantly maintains time travel integrity, with its possibilities and limitations, placing his main character in an organization enforcing law throughout time, with strict safety policies for agents preventing him from aiding his daughter. This is a family drama that just happens to have a time travel element—a well-written, speculative suspense novel. I was fortunate to receive a digital copy from the publisher Mira Books through NetGalley.