Born and brought up in Karachi, studied in New York and Massachusetts, now living in London, “home” is a fluid concept for Kamila Shamsie. And “home” is what she explores in Home Fire (Bloomsbury India, Rs 599) that releases on August 15. Set in London, Amherst, Istanbul, Raqqa and Karachi, Shamsie’s seventh novel explores global terrorism and its repercussions on the home in the 21st century through a retelling of Antigone by Sophocles, which is thought to have been written in 441 BC. Can the warm, crackling fire burning at home counter the raging fire that wants to burn the house down?

t2 caught up with Shamsie over the phone, even as news came in that Home Fire had been longlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2017.

How does it feel to be on the Man Booker longlist?

It feels wonderful, particularly given how strong this year’s longlist is. In the weeks leading up to publication, you always wonder how a book is going to fare in the world. But getting onto the Man Booker longlist before the book is even out is the best gift a writer could ask for.
 
What does a nomination like this mean to an author?

Well, at one level, it simply feels very gratifying to be among the 13 in the longlist. But at a very practical level, it means you know that your book is going to receive a certain level of attention and people are more likely to buy and read it. And, of course, that’s what all writers most want.

What inspired Home Fire — your ‘biggest, boldest novel till date’?

It’s actually quite small in size (272 pages) but I hope it’s big in other ways. It was luck that kind of led me to this. Jatinder Verma, who owns Tara Arts, a theatre company in London, asked to meet as he wanted me to write a play for him. When I told him that I could not write plays, he suggested I adapt a classic like Antigone by Sophocles and set it in an Asian family. I hadn’t read it since college, so I went online and skimmed through the plot summary and started to see how it could be a novel based in contemporary London. Certain stories from the papers about young British men and women going off to Syria and the government wanting to strip them of their citizenship were in my mind.

Did you have any scepticism about the subject?

Well, it’s a fascinating subject and it’s been in the headlines, so there was no scepticism. What I wondered was how I would do it as it was a large subject and that has been the same question that I have asked myself with regard to the last few novels that I had written. I suppose I enjoy the challenge of it. If it isn’t a little bit terrifying and I feel incapable of doing it, I feel less interested in it.

What kind of research and time went into this book?

I did not have to do a lot of research for this one as I have been living in London for 10 years now. But there was one particular neighbourhood where I have based the family — it’s called Preston Road — and I wanted to know more about it. I had a friend who lived there and so I spent a couple of afternoons going around with her. Home Fire actually took less time compared to the other novels. The first draft was ready in about five-six months as compared to a year that I generally take, as I already had Antigone as the source text.

But the content on Syria did take a bit of research as contrary to what people think, the Islamic State (IS) did not only use violence as propaganda to lure young Britishers. There were engineers and doctors who were leaving Britain and going to Syria as IS used the ideas of well-planned cities, hospitals, buildings, zoos and ideas like fishing in the river, brotherhood and community. They (the British youth) were not going there to kill and that was the story I was more interested in.

In the novel, you have presented relevant issues of terrorism, politics, religion, youth and social media. Yet it is a retelling of an ancient tragedy. Wasn’t putting that in context difficult?

It was surprising how easily I was able to see how to do that! When I began the novel, I thought Antigone would be the skeleton but as I was writing, it became the marrow within the bones. But I knew that I would have to go off and do things on my own. I wanted it to work as a novel, which has different demands. The figures in the play are more archetypal and I had to draw them out as characters with backgrounds and relationships. But at no point did I feel that the play was holding me back. It was actually of great help. The only problem was that as I was reaching the end, I did not want it to end horribly. But then when you’re retelling a Greek tragedy, there’s no saving everyone.

You tell the story from six perspectives through their individual sections in the novel. Whose perspective are you most sympathetic to?

If I had to choose, I would say my sympathies lie with Isma, the elder sister, partly because she was the first section I wrote and because she had the hardest time of them all. The one that I enjoyed writing the most was Karamat Lone. I had a lot of fun with him.
 
Do you believe that ‘love’ — familial or romantic — has to adhere to the changing times?

No. It’s one thing you get when you read the Greek tragedies or any ancient text that what has changed is the pressure upon love, the demands being made of love and the ways in which it is difficult to love in certain circumstances. The emotion stays consistent but the world finds ways to make that love problematic.
 
 

What does “Home Fire” mean?

The novel, on one side, is very much about familial closeness and love, but there’s another side that is much darker, violent. So ‘Home Fire’ has a dual meaning... it could mean the fire burning at home to welcome you back when it’s cold outside, it could also mean that your home is on fire.

You grew up in Karachi during the time of General Zia ul-Haq. Tell us about your childhood....

I was born right before the rule of Muhammad Zia ul-Haq... I was four when he came to power. It was a very significant and dark period in Pakistan’s history but my childhood was quite sheltered and happy. I had my sister, parents and a pet dog and I went to a school I liked. Most of my time was spent reading novels. There were only about a couple of bookshops with limited selections but I was fortunate to have the British Council Library, where I spent a lot of time. My family would often come to London for our summer holidays and it was a great place to buy a lot of books. Maybe because there were not that many books in circulation, I reread the same books a lot.  

With both your mother, Muneeza Shamsie, and grandmother, Jahanara Habibullah, having written books, was there any pressure on you to write as well?

As a child, when you see your parents doing something, it always becomes a possibility. Children of doctors are more likely to want to become doctors. As she was a writer, my mother really made an effort to keep up with what was being published in the English language. She had many close friends in London and whenever they came, she would ask them to get books or order books from London, and was also subscribing to Granta magazine. So I was lucky that whatever was not available in the market, my mother was getting through other sources.

But there was never any pressure. Writing books is the only thing I have ever wanted to do. Apparently I was nine when I told my parents that I wanted to be a writer, and started writing what I thought was a novel when I was 11. I was lucky when I went to Hamilton College in New York as there was a wonderful poet called Agha Shahid Ali who was teaching there and he was a big influence. My grandmother wrote her memoirs much later, so I never considered her to be a writer when I was growing up.

What is the meaning of ‘home’ for Kamila Shamsie, who grew up in Karachi, studied in New York and Massachusetts and now lives in London?

I am comfortable with the idea of home being quite a fluid concept, which you carry around with you wherever you go. So London is home, it’s where I have been living for 10 years. My closest friends are here, it’s where I have my place with my books and my paintings on the wall. But Karachi is also home because my family and my old life are there. Other places like Massachusetts felt like home when I lived there briefly. Now, it’s just a place that I have a lot of affection for. London and Karachi are both home to me in different ways. I suppose the difference is that Karachi is the home that I chose to leave and London is the home I have chosen to live in.

Anannya Sarkar
The Man Booker shortlist of six will be announced on September13 and the winner on October 17.