Book review: 'Leave the World Behind' by Rumaan Alam

Rumaan Alam's novel, “Leave the World Behind” is a literary feat, filled with social and political commentaries on the divisiveness of modern American society.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Since the start of lockdown, the concept of “home” has assumed many different meanings. From transforming our bedrooms into fitness centres to sharing the dining table as a workspace with flatmates, the lines between the living room and the office, the kitchen and the pub, have all but blurred. But perhaps the greatest change is the idea that homes have become a sort of bunker; a protective barrier from the outside world. While before lockdown, weekends were for entertaining friends, the mere thought of welcoming guests into our house now is akin to breaking the law. Our front doors now mark the last frontier between the safety of the indoors and the growing danger that exists outside. It is this last point that Rumaan Alam explores in his newest and eerily timely novel, “Leave the World Behind”. Playing on these mounting fears - that ring true now more than ever - what happens when two complete strangers show up at your door in the dead of night, pleading for a place to stay? In a crisis, are we the Good Samaritans we so desperately want to be, or does our primal instinct to survive supersede the needs of others?

Fleeing the bustling crowds and suffocating heat of New York City, white, middle-class couple Clay and Amanda, and their two children Archie and Rose, head for the idyllic and remote grounds of Long Island, for a one-week, end-of-summer holiday. Upon arriving at the Airbnb, the luxurious, fully-furnished house is strikingly incongruent with the untouched vastness of the surrounding forests which appear to go on for miles. The sleek grey marble kitchen, en-suite bathrooms and shimmering aquamarine waters of the adjoining pool and hot tub allow the family to indulge in the fantasy of living like the New York elite, even if just for a few days. Kicking off their shoes, stocking the fridge, and firing up the barbecue for grilled burgers, the family’s cramped city apartment is all but a distant memory. The initial awkwardness of living in someone else’s home is dispelled within minutes. 

But like so many other literary thrillers, something immediately seems off. Despite the illusion of spending “quality” time together, each family member is burdened with nagging distractions that whisk them away from the reverie that is their holiday. Newly-turned 13-year-old Rose longs to be reunited with her friend Hazel. Hormonal Archie, desperate to ditch boyhood and enter adulthood, grapples with adolescent preoccupations. Amanda tags her phone like another limb, unable to forget about work obligations. Clay, the patriarch, struggles with deep-seated insecurities that threaten to disrupt his steadfast exterior. And when the haze of a post-dinner slumber is interrupted by a knock at the door in the middle of the night, the already wilting harmony that holds the family together is shattered. Baseball bat in hand, Clay opens the door to find two strangers, G.H. and Ruth, who bring news of the unthinkable: New York City is experiencing a mass blackout. The internet is down. News channels are inoperative. And the phone lines are unserviceable. G.H. and Ruth also claim to be the owners of the house.

Thus begins Alam’s chilling, uncomfortable and wildly bewildering novel whose ambitious approach to post-apocalyptic fiction effectively subverts genre conventions. Though the circumstances surrounding the events outside of the Airbnb remain murky at best (is it a nuclear disaster? a terrorist attack?), the issues that Alam raises in his novel are in full clarity. The first being race and class. Along with her fixation with city postcodes and material possessions, Amanda’s implicit racial prejudices are explored from the onset of the novel. This is particularly evident when the author describes her shock that a black couple could afford a house of this grandeur. The owners, G.H. and Ruth, are relegated to the dimly lit living space in the basement while Clay and Amanda enjoy the king size bed and white-tiled bath of the master bedroom. The unrelenting tension between the six strangers is masterfully crafted by Alam who builds a palpable sense of unease that is uncomfortably realistic. That Ruth is the one cleaning up the guests’ dirty dishes while Clay and Amanda tuck into the owners’ alcohol, reinforces the taut dynamic between the two couples whose conversations are littered with polite offerings, imbued with hints of passive aggression.

So much of Alam’s book concerns itself with what isn’t said, rather than what is. The afterthoughts of a heated discussion. The nagging retorts that are never spoken. One of the characters utters, “the quiet is so noisy”. This couldn’t be more true. Alam’s use of an omniscient narrator allows the reader to inhabit the thoughts of each character, further adding to the tension that suffuses the setting. As a reader, we recognise that Amanda’s altruism is just a facade to hide her growing skepticism of the owners. We understand that Ruth’s sentiments teeter between sympathy and resentment towards the strangers in her home. But the initial absurdity of six strangers living in the same house that see-saws between awkward and comedic, soon develops into a truly unnerving and claustrophobic novel that explores the debilitating effects of facing the unknown. Much like the characters in the book, the reader experiences an unsettling - and at times, frustrating - sense of confusion and disorientation. The inexplicable herds of deer that appear in the yard. A piercing, unidentifiable noise that shatters the windows. And most obviously, questions surrounding the cause of the sudden blackout that has affected the Eastern United States. With no access to the internet or telephone lines, the uncertainty that plagues the novel is crippling.

It is arguably this last point that acts as the crux of Alam’s novel. Our dependence on modern technology has grown so quickly that perhaps, we are beyond capable of understanding how reliant we are on it. From knowing the exact whereabouts of our friends, and navigating foreign roads using GPS to medical equipment that keeps us breathing, Alam explores the enormous hold technology has over us as a society. For Amanda, a news alert from the New Yorker app is a better confirmation of the state of the world than a person’s first-hand account of it. 

To call “Leave the World Behind” an archetypal post-apocalyptic thriller would arguably be a misnomer. Unlike other books from the genre that fixate on the laboured journey of survivors scavenging for food amidst zombie outbreaks or nuclear fallout, Alam’s novel is eerily uneventful. The luxury of the big house in its secluded neighbourhood creates a false impression of security that as a reader, we sense is bound to end. The biggest scares of “Leave the World Behind” don’t concern themselves with abandoned cities or rabid predators but rather with what could be out there. Alam’s novel is perhaps overly ambitious and at times, the narrative appears saturated with political and social commentaries that never seem to fully develop. Yet it is through his use of ambiguity that Alam lets our imagination run wild, creating a disquieting story whose resemblance to the times we live in now makes it even more of a disturbing read.