A Review of Megha Majumdar's A Guardian and a Thief

 

A Review of Megha Majumdar's A Guardian and a Thief

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I wanted to write this review immediately after finishing Megha Majumdar's A Guardian and a Thief, before the details of the plot faded and the exhilaration of having read a genuine page-turner wore off.

The novel's plot is not built on labyrinthine twists. Instead, it moves in a remarkably straightforward manner, sustained by the author's skill in tying up loose ends until the very last page. Every seemingly incidental detail eventually finds its place in the larger design.

The story follows Ma, her father Dadu, and her two-year-old daughter Misti, who are preparing to leave Kolkata for Michigan, where Ma's husband works as a scientist. Their plans are shattered when a thief breaks into their home and steals their passports. Recovering the documents becomes the novel's central pursuit, drawing the characters into an exhausting sequence of bureaucratic and personal ordeals.

Running alongside this is another thread. Kolkata is gripped by famine, and Ma, who manages a non-profit shelter, secretly steals food to feed her starving child. The thief, Boomba, witnesses this act and uses it to blackmail her. His demands gradually escalate until he attempts to occupy Ma's house after she leaves for the United States. The novel culminates in a violent confrontation in which Ma falls to a blow dealt by Boomba's father.

The first aspect of the novel that challenged my understanding was its temporal setting. A famine in Kolkata—or Bengal more generally—belongs, for most readers, to history. Yet the novel is filled with CCTV cameras, mobile phones, social media, and solar panels. The contradiction puzzled me throughout my reading. Only after finishing the novel did I notice the jacket copy, which describes the story as being set in "a near-future Kolkata beset by flooding and famine." It is a clever narrative choice, though also a demanding one. The reader must grant the author the freedom to define the story's fourth dimension—the time in which it unfolds.

One endorsement on the back cover praises the novel for having "no villain." That strikes me as an overstatement. Boomba is certainly not portrayed as an innately evil man. His theft, blackmail, kidnapping, and attempted squatting are shown as the desperate acts of someone trapped by circumstance. Likewise, Ma steals food because her two-year-old daughter is starving. The novel repeatedly places its characters in situations where desperation pushes them beyond accepted moral boundaries. In such circumstances, easy ethical judgments become difficult.

Yet the narrative itself seems to benefit from a more conventional device. However morally complex the characters may be, it ultimately channels the conflict through a single identifiable antagonist. The climax, in that sense, owes something to the familiar logic of popular cinema: moral ambiguity gives way to a recognisable villain around whom the final confrontation can be organised.

I also sensed a stereotype underlying the novel. The family's desperate quest for a climate visa to the United States echoes a familiar third-world aspiration, while the novel simultaneously presents America as increasingly unwilling to admit climate migrants. Since the story is set in the near future, the implication is striking: Kolkata remains a city devastated by hunger and climate catastrophe, whereas the United States continues to represent security and opportunity. One may reasonably ask whether this reflects an unexamined acceptance of a familiar hierarchy between the developed and developing worlds—perhaps even a lingering inferiority complex.

A comparable stereotype appears in the depiction of the police. Although the officers are shown to be kind to little Misti—offering her a Good Day biscuit, for instance—the broader portrayal remains recognisably conventional.

What impressed me most, however, was Majumdar's precision as a storyteller. While reading the novel, I was repeatedly reminded of Chekhov's Gun. A window left slightly ajar in one chapter later enables the thief to enter the house. Similar narrative seeds are planted throughout the novel, each blooming naturally in later chapters. Nothing important appears arbitrary.

The pacing is relentless. The novel reads almost like a detective thriller, carrying the reader forward with such momentum that there is scarcely any opportunity to pause and anticipate where the story might go next. If I have one reservation, it concerns the episode involving the peddler of forged documents. At that point, I expected the narrative to branch into a more substantial subplot. Instead, the story ends soon afterwards, making that episode feel somewhat underdeveloped. Perhaps it serves merely as a realistic detour in the protagonists' ordeal; perhaps the author chose to conclude the novel quickly to keep it within its compact length of about 200 pages.

Despite these reservations, A Guardian and a Thief is an absorbing novel. Its greatest strength lies not in ingenious plot twists but in the assurance with which every narrative thread is gathered together. It is a fast, compelling, and emotionally engaging read that keeps the pages turning while leaving the reader with questions that linger long after the story has ended.

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By

Ananta Narayan Nanda

Bhubaneswar, 27-06-2026

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