Neither night nor day by Edited by Rakhshanda Jalil

Short-story anthologies are exciting because they are often like a literary version of bhelpuri – there’s a new flavour and texture with every second bite, with every new story. Neither Night Nor Day, a collection of 13 short stories by Pakistani women writers, is truly a good, variegated read. It is funny, lyrical and, in parts, a bit choppy as well.

Almost like fluid photographs, the stories capture the everyday poetry of women’s lives. Narratives spring from different cities, ghettoes, villages, and from different strata of society. The styles are exciting and diverse as well, with everything from a fable to a lyrical piece on waiting for death, and a ghost story thrown in.

One of the indisputable gems of the collection is Zahida Hina’s She Who Went Looking for Butterflies. A woman activist sentenced to death faces her final moments with an air of such lyricism and dignity that you are left feeling both bereft and enchanted. Neither Night Nor Day by Sabyn Javeri-Jillani is another nugget, which looks at the fractured sense of identity felt by an urban, liberated Pakistani woman in England. She is trapped between the conservative forms of Islam that she sees around her and chafes at, and the longing she feels for things that remind her of home.

Kiran Bashir Ahmad’s Plans in Pink is interesting as it traces the lives of Karachi’s Catholics, and a mother and daughter’s furtive plans for escape. Muneeza Shamsie’s That Heathen Air is a carefully-wrought story about marriages where women’s opinions don’t count at all.

Accompanying the variety, however, is a certain choppiness as well. Some stories, though delightfully crafted (like The Job Application by Nayyara Rahman) seem abrupt and a bit forced in their resolutions. This is perhaps also true of stories like The Wedding of Sundri by Bina Shah and A Brief Acquaintance by Maniza Naqvi. Despite being beautifully written, they seem to hurtle towards a pre-determined, rather inorganic end.

Five Queen’s Street by Sorayya Khan and Sehba Sarwar’s A Sandstone Past engage with history, bringing in the bitterness, beauty and sorrow of an older Karachi. The Tongue by Nikhat Hassan and The Breast by Soniah Kamal, while being very different in style, carry with them a quietly angry note that laments suffering and injustice.

The stories in this collection succeed because they rise above the confines of space or gender. You don’t have to be Pakistani to feel anger at injustice, or, for that matter, be a woman to feel the small joys and pains described in the stories here.

Harper Collins
(Anita Vachharajani © Timeout)