The Other Hand is a lovely book, but reviewing it is not necessarily an easy proposition. The back-cover blurb is deliberately enigmatic:

We don’t want to tell you what happens in this book. It is a truly special story and we don’t want to spoil it.

Very intriguing, and it had the desired effect on me – but if you have come looking for a review you probably want something more than such teasing, so I shall try and give you some insights without spoiling what makes this such an enjoyable book.

Perhaps it’s the essential subject matter which made the blurb writers decide to be coy: asylum seekers fleeing persecution, and the way they are treated when they arrive in the UK, are not comfortable subjects; what they are fleeing from may be even less palatable. Chris Cleave, in talking about the inspiration behind the book, has described the Immigration Detention Centre where he did some casual labour as a concentration camp, and he is on a bit of a mission to get us to think about the what it really means to take people who are fleeing for their lives and imprison them, for anything up to several years. The citations and references at the end of the book speak of a topic thoroughly researched, which should make it harder for people to dismiss the details Cleave provides as mere fiction.

At its heart, The Other Hand is a take of cultural collision – a meeting between representatives of middle-class, middle-England suburbia, and an isolated Nigerian tribe, calamitously affected by the extraction of oil in their area. It centres around an encounter on a beach in Nigeria, but finds most of its expression in the experiences of one woman, who calls herself Little Bee, in the UK, first in detention and then seeking out the family that she first encountered back in her home country.

Cleave’s characterisation is wonderful: Little Bee is a great creation, funny, warm and insightful, a classic narrator. Despite seeing things that no-one should ever have to see, she remains true to the spirit of her original way of life, and she is an essential cipher for us to gain a perspective on the absurdities, cruelties and underlying selfishness of our own modern existence. Her insights in to our culture, the inevitable misunderstandings and mishaps, are handled with great sensitivity and Cleave avoids making her the butt of the joke. The imaginary monologues she attributes to the Queen, as shown on our currency, are good fun, and when she visualises recounting her experiences to a group of her peers back home, they remind us of all the things we take for granted. As with Alexander McCall Smith, you really feel that Cleave has captured some of the essence of African thought and speech, without ever being patronising.

The British contingent of characters perhaps suffer slightly in the contrast, though that is not to say they are not well drawn. Sarah, the archetypal career woman, embodies many of the compromises that we accept in the name of our chosen lifestyles, and as a character, and a narrative voice, she is convincing. If I had to be critical, I would say the men in her life, who do not get a chance to speak for themselves, are somewhat less three dimensional; however, her son, Charlie, is pure comedy gold. Four years old, Charlie will only answer to the name Batman, and spends his time fighting the baddies, real and imagined, and looking after the goodies. Funny as he is, like Little Bee he is also a chance for us to see modern life through the eyes of a simpler soul.

Here’s some typical Charlie (sorry, Batman):

I wondered what Batman would say. What he said was, Someone done a poo in my costume, Mummy.

“Did a poo, Charlie.”

“Yes. A big big poo.”

“Oh Batman. Have you really done a poo in your suit?”

Batman shook his head. His bat ears quivered. Beneath the mask an expression of great cunning settled upon the visible part of his face.

“It wasn’t me that done the poo. It was the Puffin.”

(The italics were his).

Cleave has chosen a lot of issues to reflect on in The Other Hand, but to his credit this never happens at the expense of the story – and it’s a great story, a special story. It made me laugh, and it may well make many readers cry. Highly recommended.

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