Why Aravind Adiga disappeared from the literary horizon (almost as quickly as he appeared)? A critical assessment
Aravind Adiga burst onto the literary scene in 2008 with The White Tiger, a scathing indictment of India’s class struggle, winning the Booker Prize and establishing him as a bold new voice in postcolonial literature. His debut was celebrated for its dark humour, unflinching social critique, and subversive narrative style, drawing comparisons to literary giants like Naipaul and Orwell. Yet, despite the initial acclaim, Adiga’s subsequent works have failed to replicate the same cultural impact, leading to a noticeable decline in his literary prominence. This essay critically examines Adiga’s oeuvre, analysing the strengths of his early work, the diminishing returns of his later novels, and the possible reasons behind his fading relevance in contemporary literature.
The Triumph of The White Tiger (2008): A Literary Landmark
Adiga’s The White Tiger was a literary phenomenon, not just for its Booker win but for its audacious narrative voice and unapologetic portrayal of India’s economic disparities. The novel follows Balram Halwai, a chauffeur who murders his employer and reinvents himself as an entrepreneur, embodying the brutal opportunism required to escape poverty. Adiga’s prose is razor-sharp, blending satire with moral ambiguity, and his protagonist’s confessional, almost conspiratorial tone makes for an electrifying read.
Critics lauded the novel’s unromanticised depiction of globalisation’s underbelly, contrasting sharply with the then-dominant narratives of “India Shining.” Adiga’s influences—Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, Ellison’s Invisible Man, and the bleak realism of Mulk Raj Anand—are evident, yet his voice remains distinct. The novel’s success lay in its ability to be both a gripping thriller and a searing social commentary, a balance few Indian writers had struck so effectively since Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things (1997).
The Post-Booker Trajectory: Diminishing Returns?
After The White Tiger, Adiga’s subsequent works—Between the Assassinations (2009), Last Man in Tower (2011), Selection Day (2016), and Amnesty (2020)—have been met with lukewarm reception. While each book retains his characteristic social critique, it lacks his debut’s incendiary power and narrative urgency.
1. Between the Assassinations (2009): A Patchwork of Vignettes
Positioned as a prequel of sorts to The White Tiger, this collection of interconnected stories set in the fictional town of Kittur attempts to capture India’s socio-political fractures. While some vignettes are compelling (such as the tale of a communist rickshaw-puller or a corrupt journalist), the book suffers from uneven pacing and a lack of cohesion. Unlike Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance (1995), which weaves multiple narratives into a devastating whole, Adiga’s stories feel fragmented, more like discarded drafts than a unified work.
2. Last Man in Tower (2011): A Promising but Flawed Follow-Up
This novel, centred on a Mumbai housing society’s ruthless redevelopment schemes, could potentially be Adiga’s Middlemarch—a microcosm of urban greed. The protagonist, Masterji, an ageing teacher resisting demolition, is a tragic figure, but the novel’s moralising tone lacks the subversive wit of The White Tiger. Where Balram was a cunning antihero, Masterji is merely a victim, making the narrative feel more predictable. The novel’s critique of neoliberal urbanisation is relevant but has been explored with greater depth in works like Katherine Boo’s Behind the Beautiful Forevers (2012).
3. Selection Day (2016): A Misstep into Underdeveloped Themes
Adiga’s foray into cricket fiction—a genre with a rich tradition in Indian literature—should have been compelling. Instead, Selection Day feels oddly detached, and its protagonist, Manju, never achieves the psychological depth of Balram. The novel’s exploration of sports corruption and parental pressure is timely but lacks the visceral impact of his earlier work. Compared to Chetan Bhagat’s The 3 Mistakes of My Life (2008), which, despite its populist style, captures cricket mania more vividly, Adiga’s treatment seems oddly clinical.
4. Amnesty (2020): A Return to Form or Further Decline?
His latest novel, about an undocumented Sri Lankan migrant in Sydney, revisits themes of systemic oppression. While the premise is strong, the execution falters—protagonist Danny’s internal monologue feels repetitive, and the political commentary lacks nuance. The novel’s reception was tepid, with critics noting that Adiga’s once-incisive prose had grown formulaic.
Why Has Adiga’s Star Faded?
Several factors explain Adiga’s decline in literary prominence:
1. The Burden of the Booker Prize
Winning the Booker with a debut is both a blessing and a curse. While it guarantees initial attention, it also sets impossibly high expectations. Adiga’s later works, though competent, have not matched The White Tiger’s explosive originality. Similar fates befell DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little) and Yann Martel (Life of Pi)—writers whose debuts overshadowed their subsequent careers.
2. Repetition of Themes Without Evolution
Adiga’s central theme—the brutal cost of upward mobility—remains compelling, but his approach has not evolved. Unlike Arundhati Roy, who expanded into nonfiction and activist writing, or Salman Rushdie, who constantly reinvents his style, Adiga’s narratives have grown predictable. His later protagonists (Masterji, Manju, and Danny) lack Balram’s magnetic amorality, making their struggles less compelling.
3. The Changing Landscape of Indian Writing in English
The 2010s saw the rise of new voices—Neel Mukherjee (The Lives of Others), Anuradha Roy (Sleeping on Jupiter), and Megha Majumdar (A Burning)—who brought fresh perspectives to Indian fiction. Once groundbreaking, Adiga’s brand of social realism now feels less distinctive in a market saturated with similar narratives.
4. Critical vs. Popular Reception
While critics still respect Adiga’s craft, his later novels have not resonated with readers as deeply. The White Tiger was adapted into a Netflix film (2021). Still, its cultural footprint pales compared to Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy or even more commercial works like The Palace of Illusions. Adiga’s refusal to cater to mainstream tastes may have limited his reach.
Well, an intriguing comparison – Aravind Adiga and Amitav Ghosh
Amitav Ghosh’s literary trajectory stands in stark contrast to Aravind Adiga’s stagnation, precisely because Ghosh has never allowed himself to be confined by the expectations set by his early successes, instead constantly reinventing his narrative form, thematic preoccupations, and stylistic registers with each new work. From the sprawling historical epic The Shadow Lines (1988), which redefined postcolonial memory and displacement, to the ecological urgency of The Hungry Tide (2004), and later, the ambitious, genre-defying Ibis Trilogy (2008-2015), which wove together maritime history, colonial resistance, and linguistic hybridity, Ghosh has demonstrated an extraordinary capacity for intellectual and creative evolution. His recent foray into climate fiction with Gun Island (2019) and the non-fictional The Great Derangement (2016) further cements his reputation as a writer unafraid to confront the most pressing crises of our time, blending rigorous research with mythic storytelling. Unlike Adiga, who, after The White Tiger, remained tethered to variations of the same underdog-against-the-system template—whether in Last Man in Tower (gentrification), Selection Day (cricket and corruption), or Amnesty (migrant struggles)—Ghosh refuses repetition, instead treating each novel as an opportunity to dismantle and reconstruct his craft. Where Adiga’s later protagonists feel like diluted echoes of Balram Halwai, Ghosh’s characters—be it the opium-addicted Deeti, the linguistically gifted Zachary, or the haunted Kanai Dutt—are distinct, each serving as vessels for entirely new explorations of power, identity, and history. This relentless formal and thematic experimentation ensures that Ghosh’s work remains vital, engaging with literary traditions and the evolving crises of the Anthropocene. At the same time, Adiga’s narratives, though sharp in their critique, have grown increasingly predictable, their impact dulled by their refusal to deviate from a proven formula. Ghosh’s genius lies in his ability to make the past and future feel urgently present. At the same time, Adiga, despite his early brilliance, remains trapped in the same socio-economic allegory, unable or unwilling to transcend it. The result is that Ghosh’s oeuvre feels like an expanding universe, each book a new constellation of ideas. In contrast, Adiga’s has shrunk into a cycle of diminishing returns, a cautionary tale about the perils of creative stasis in a literary landscape that rewards reinvention.
Conclusion: A Writer of Moment, Not of Legacy?
Aravind Adiga remains an important, if inconsistent, voice in contemporary literature. The White Tiger is a modern classic, a novel that matched ferocity and captured the zeitgeist of a rapidly globalising India. Yet, his inability to surpass or even equal that achievement in subsequent works has relegated him to the status of a “one-hit wonder” in the eyes of many readers.
This is not to say that Adiga is a failed writer—far from it. His intelligence, moral urgency, and command of prose remain intact. But unless he reinvents his narrative approach or tackles new thematic ground, he risks being remembered primarily for his explosive debut rather than a sustained body of work. For now, Adiga stands as a cautionary tale—a writer who illuminated the dark corners of society with a single brilliant flash but has since struggled to keep the flame alive.
Interested to learn more about Adiga? And also Ghosh? Read the following articles:
Aravind Adiga (A detailed critical biography)
Amitav Ghosh (A detailed critical biography)
Amit Mishra for The Last Critic
