In Conversation with Kevin Jared Hosein
Kevin Jared Hosein | Trinidad and Tobago
I make this declaration: You will not read another book that caters to ALL your senses like Hungry Ghosts. Kevin Jared Hosein created a world with an Indo-Trini community that is struggling with poverty and trying to find a way out.
Racial tensions clash with a very personal tragedy for one family and Hosein’s characters are complex enough to make them relatable. The Trinidadian social hierarchy during the time of American occupation feels like a sweet spot in history.
Hungry Ghosts is immersive and wholesome and I’m happy to welcome Kevin in conversation. Below is our conversation.
LU: Thanks Kevin for your time. It’s been a whirlwind since your book launched! You’ve been longlisted for the Walter Scott Prize and the Dylan Thomas Prize and you’ve traveled to Bali, Australia and New Zealand. Congratulations on these achievements! How has this experience been for you?
Kevin: An honour and a privilege, to say the least. Even—dare I say—a dream come true. As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a novelist, even when I didn’t fully understand what novels were. I’m proud to have written and published this book while living on this island. Hungry Ghosts was a novel written on weekends—one that I knew I would publish but didn’t count on people to read. The prize considerations are a nice bonus—if it gets people to read the book and seek out more literature from the Caribbean, I’m all for it!
*Since this interview was conducted, Kevin won the 2024 Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction.
LU: Hungry Ghosts is set during a time that you call “the cusp of post-colonial”. Why did you decide on the 1940’s as the best setting for your book?
Kevin: Imagine being a teacher, brown-skinned, born and trained in Trinidad, fully accredited, spirit unbroken. Your first day—you step into the classroom. There’s a quiet disrespect and sense of dismissal from the students. They’re not accustomed to having a local teacher. They want their white teacher back—the one who was trained in the big country in the nice shoes. You try everything to earn their respect. It doesn’t work. So, you turn to fear. You whip the students; make them kneel on the dirt. They’re listening to you now. That’s how an elder I’d interviewed described one of his teachers and his school days. A perpetual struggle to respect each other as the British colony dwindled into whispers. I wanted that feeling of violent desperation throughout the novel.
LU: I found myself confused yet intrigued by Dalton Changoor and the role he represented. What or who was your inspiration for his character and what did you want him to represent?
Kevin: In real life, Dalton was based on a real-life figure who lived around my area—a Scotsman named Norman McLeod. He lived in a great house and spoke to statues and sympathized with Nazis. He willed his house to a little girl. The house is now no more. Nobody understood McLeod.
With Dalton, I wanted him to seem so greatly removed from his surroundings that he represented more of an idea than a human to anyone around him. In the story, there’s hints that he’s part of an arms trade, but other than that, it’s up to the imagination. He is indeed a metaphor for the bizarre brutality of a colonizer—he colonized Marlee, didn’t he? Made her dress and talk differently until she didn’t know who she was anymore. The important thing is that he had money and lots of it—and there were many willing to overlook his insanity to be on his good side.
LU: Hans and Shweta struggle with their sexual relationship and their inability to talk adds to the unraveling of their marriage. What made you want to address this situation during a time it was likely couples didn’t talk about difficult topics?
Kevin: We’re in Shweta’s head and memories a lot in this novel. We’re almost never in Hans’s mind. We never really know what’s going on with him—and I like to think that’s something that preoccupies Shweta. It’s not so much his inability to talk, but that he likes to take action. And those actions almost always disregard her: going to that store just before the thunderstorm; kicking away the rice balls Rookmin made for her; taking on the job for Marlee; loaning money to his brother to pay off gambling debts; ignoring when her foot is injured. Shweta had first loved him because he wanted to do things, to get things done. And she realized he could—just not for her.
LU: There’s a conversation between Hans and Robinson where he advises Hans to convert to Christianity, so life could be easier for him and his family. What is the general view of Hinduism in Trinidad in the 1940’s?
Kevin: Any religion that was not of the colonizer was looked down on—whether that be Hinduism, Shango, Spiritual Baptist. Even Robinson has a nightmarish memory of an Orisha funeral ritual. Hinduism was seen as alien by many. Boys walking the street wearing nothing but string around their waist; the high smell of their food; their songs, their language; that they devoted themselves to animals and effigies. The fact that it involved avatars and polytheism made it worse—those gods were demons to many. Back then, in some villages, a Hindu family moving in meant that property values would drop. They didn’t bring caste with them when they left India, but many of them certainly were like untouchables in Trinidadian society.
LU: You included a complex mix of circumstances that contribute to Hans’ estrangement from his family and his community in the Barracks. Did you have a complete vision for Hans when you began writing? How did his character develop for you?
Kevin: I had the vision of a man who wished so badly to be a hero to everybody, but only to become a villain to his own family. As if he had never really knew who he was. What happened to Hans’s mother has a lot to do with him—a lot more than what is said in the book. That she got so close to escaping the life in the barrack only to realize that there may be no other world out there for her. That’s a common thread in Hungry Ghosts. For Hans, I wanted to write about a man who had never lain on a mattress his entire life. Suddenly, he has access to one. And a beautiful lady, with money, and options of tea and coffee and biscuits and milk and wine. He goes from being a father to being the sneaky teenager very quickly.
LU: Rustam and Rudra are two peculiar characters who add so much intellectual perspective to Hungry Ghosts. Tell me how they unfolded during your writing process.
Kevin: The twins are first written as mythical creatures, almost. Imps or goblins rather than children. This is because this is how all of society views them—and likely how they viewed themselves. In fact, they likely have never known how children should be. Instead of tinkering with toys, they dissect birds and play with knives. When they join the other children at Dalton’s house, they’re shot at. The fact that they’re accepted by Krishna and Tarak means a lot more to them than they let on. I think reading audiences have a lot more sympathy towards the dogs than to these children—and that’s a deliberate decision when it came to writing the boys. LU: In the world you created in Hungry Ghosts, could it ever be possible for Hindus to advance in Trinidadian society?
Kevin: In real-life, Hindus have been fully integrated into Trinidadian society. We’ve had Hindu CEOs, artists, lawmakers, filmmakers, scientists, medical professionals, and Prime Ministers. There’s still discrimination in some circles but the world isn’t perfect. But the Hindu community is a strong, devoted one. The end of Hungry Ghosts isn’t a sad one for all characters. Some walk away from violence and poverty. Some go on to put their love, as wounded as it is, into other things. Some characters will become other characters. There’s evil in the world but once you’re alive, you can build and rebuild.
I encourage you to read Kevin’s novel Hungry Ghosts, the winner of the 2024 Walter Scott Prize for Historical Fiction.
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