Anita Desai's The Artist of Disappearance

I've been reading and re-reading Anita Desai's trio of novellas, The Artist of Disappearance all summer and now into the fall. I've read them distractedly on a train, between tours while volunteering as docent at local historic homes, while waiting for my oil to be changed. I've never been able to read any of these novellas straight through, in one sitting. They are not exactly page-turners. But, strangely enough, they stick with you and I find myself thinking about them when I go out and walk or while sitting at a light.

They are all sad stories about creating and beauty. Coming as they do at the end of Desai's long and distinguished career as a writer, they have a special heft and poignancy.

Tonight's post is on the first story in the collection, The Museum of Final Journeys which features a nameless and unremarkable narrator, a petty and mean-spirited young man who has taken up a minor government post in the remotes of modern India. He is bored and lonely and his unhappiness gets spent on contempt for the poor locals whom he serves as judge and record keeper. His father and Uncles had regaled him with adventure stories of their own time as government officials in the provinces, but he finds his own experience to be something else entirely. Then, at the point of apathy, he hears of a mythic museum on one of the local plantations, and, shortly after, an elderly, obsequious man, whom the narrator describes as a "clerical creature," appears at his gate seeking help for a large, mysterious museum.

The clerical creature's request comes wrapped in a story that the official finds long. As his ancestors before him, the clerical creature (hereafter the clerk) has worked all of his life as the caretaker of a large plantation that has been falling apart over the years and now is nearly in ruins. At one point, in hopes of averting catastrophe, the master of the plantation married a rich, cultured young bride. They have a child together but the master dies shortly after the child is born.

The clerical creature assumed the responsibility for the young widow and for making sure the prized child, the heir, has everything. Yet, while the child grows, the estate continues to decline. Although money is hard to come by, the mother and the caretaker work to supply the needs and wants of the beloved child. Eventually, the child grows up, goes off to school in England, earns a degree in law. Everyone expects the beloved child will return and restore the glory of the estate. But, after returning for a short stint, he leaves his heartbroken mother and the caretaker behind and heads out for points unknown never to return.

Not that he doesn't think of home. Shortly after leaving, the son begins to send crates back home with all kinds of beautiful and exotic objects. He continues the practice for years, and the objects start to really accumulate.  Nobody quite knows what to make or do with these objects. Eventually, the mother and caretaker decide to build a museum to house them and the museum grows into a substantial and much talked about collection. At this point, the government official asks if he can see the collection and the caretaker tells him that nothing would make him happier. He has come to the official in hopes that he can enlist the power and wealth of the estate to preserve and secure the museum.

There is a lot of mystery surrounding the whole affair. The official can never quite determine what's happened to the son or the mother. Eventually, intrigued, the official agrees to visit the museum.

The museum proves to be worth the trip. It is truly an astounding collection of objects from every corner of the globe. The clerk takes the official through room after room of amazing objects; rooms filled with miniatures, rooms of kimonos and fans, rooms full of fine rugs, masks, footwear. The official marvels at it all, and asks "What kind of traveller had this been who desired and acquired the stuff of other people's lands and lives? Why did he?"

The official's amazement and curiosity soon turns to anxiety. It's all a bit overwhelming.The objects seem pitiful; full of craft and expression, they remain disquietingly mute. Outside their home and time, one would need to bring knowledge to get them to speak. And, each comes from a particular, distinct time and place. The collection seems less an assemblage of objects that communicate beauty and emotion and more a serious of things making impossible and insistent demands.

The official fears that if he takes on the challenge of preserving this collection, his life will be that of a grave-keeper. He notes "whole worlds were encrypted here and I looked to my guide for elucidation but he only gave a slight shrug as if to say: what does it matter? The young master collected them and that was what made them precious." The official realizes he's being enlisted in a futile effort to keep alive a memory.

We never do find out why the young master left never to return; it's not even clear whether the clerk, despite his long service and deep attachment to the family knows why he left to never return. Nor do we ever find out exactly how the mother explains her son's abandonment. We never know to what extent the objects come to take his place. It is a place that is never filled. We do learn that the mother has left the estate for good herself, leaving it and the museum in the hands of the caretaker. But, we don't know if this move was precipitated by resignation or simply by old age. Did the mother eventually realize that the objects can't cover the loss of her son? We do realize that the caretaker has not resigned himself to the son's having left. If he's not exactly expecting him home, he still can't give up on the idea. In a way, caring for the objects comes to replace caring for the son and family. But, he can't do it alone, and the official isn't interested in helping him in his quixotic quest.