Deepa Anappara's The Last of Earth: A Journey into Tibet's Forbidden Kingdom
With her ambitious and philosophical second novel, Deepa Anappara ventures into uncharted literary territory. Following her acclaimed 2020 debut Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line, which blended social satire with mystery in an Indian shantytown, Anappara now directs her narrative compass toward the remote mountains of mid-19th-century Tibet. This region, famously closed to European imperialists during that era, serves as the backdrop for a profound meditation on colonial exploration, cartography, and the transient nature of human existence.
Colonial Ambitions and Personal Quests
The novel opens with a powerful observation: "It's in the nature of white men to believe they own the world, that no door should be shut to them." British colonial forces systematically trained, coaxed, and bribed Indian agents to conduct surveying expeditions on their behalf, often venturing into the "Forbidden Kingdom of Tibet" in poorly concealed disguises. Meticulously researched and intricately plotted, this immersive historical fiction unfolds through alternating perspectives of two compelling protagonists.
Balram, an Indian schoolteacher turned surveyor-spy, serves as guide to an English captain clumsily disguised as a monk. Their mission: to become the first Europeans to personally chart the sacred Tsangpo River's course and discover where it meets the sea. Meanwhile, Katherine, of mixed Indian heritage, embarks on her own quest to become the first European woman to reach Lhasa and behold the Potala Palace, following her rejection from London's all-male Royal Geographical Society.
Perilous Journeys Through Unforgiving Terrain
Both characters undertake epic, dangerous odysseys through what Anappara describes as "a strange country whose terrain changed every few miles." Their paths inevitably converge in this unforgiving landscape where "at eighteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, here they were closer to gods than mortals, but this proximity to the divine had brought them no blessings, only burdens."
The narrative confronts readers with formidable obstacles: violent storms, elusive snow leopards, suspicious soldiers, meandering rivers, and the raw power of the elements. Yet these physical challenges prove secondary to the psychological and emotional tests that ultimately define their journeys. Hubris, obsession, doubt, power dynamics, guilt, and profound grief emerge as the true adversaries in their quests for glory and historical recognition.
Historical Reckoning and Narrative Innovation
Like the journeys it depicts, Anappara's narrative structure incorporates false starts, digressions, and revisions, echoing recent ambitious novels such as Janice Pariat's Everything the Light Touches and Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih's Funeral Nights. Throughout the novel, maps prove deceptive, historical records deviate from truth, and the natural world asserts its vibrant presence while death constantly looms.
A particularly striking passage observes: "The lines the captain drew on paper appeared to Balram to be no more than a child's scribbles on mud. If the earth shrugged, mountains would cleave, rivers would surge, seas would swallow cities and fields alike, and every map would be rendered incoherent."
Unearthing Colonial Legacy and Human Cost
The novel meticulously excavates what Anappara terms "our spooky, imperfect pasts," revealing how the colonial enterprise consumed entire communities and landscapes. Balram reflects on this brutal reality: "This was the way the world worked. The white man had a want and to sate it brown men gave up their lives. How many native men had died triangulating Hindustan for the Great Trigonometrical Survey? Balram didn't know because no book, no map, recorded their names or numbers."
Personal hauntings permeate both journeys. Balram hears voices of those left behind: his best friend Gyan, a fellow surveyor-spy rumored imprisoned in Tibet, and his own wife and children. Katherine's journey and journaling are both motivated and haunted by her sister Ethel's death. These intimate losses ground the expansive historical narrative in deeply human emotional terrain.
Renewing Historical Understanding
In the novel's later sections, Balram observes that "the river wasn't a blue spiral on a map but a living thing, a creature capable of renewal. It emptied itself into the sea and recast itself every few months." Through The Last of Earth, Anappara demonstrates that history itself functions similarly—not as fixed record but as living narrative that, when reinterpreted through a novelist's perspective, offers potential for renewal and fresh understanding.
Published by Oneworld, The Last of Earth represents a significant literary achievement that expands the boundaries of historical fiction while offering timely reflections on colonialism, exploration, and the stories we tell about our collective past.
