Review: A Line in the Sand by A Mohit

An involving story of discovery and the transformative power of ancestry, A Line in the Sand by A. Mohit unravels the complexity of the Bangladeshi diaspora through the lens of one curious seeker.

When Irene Sebastian returns to her home country of Bangladesh, she does so as a “bigtime officer” for Starlink as they seek a new partnership to provide telecommunications for the beleaguered country. Being treated like royalty is a pleasant perk, but she doesn’t expect to begin a profound and identity-shaking journey into the past. With the assistance of her honorary brother Ishan, she probes into the mysterious circumstances of her own adoption, finally seeking answers to questions that have plagued her since the passing of her adoptive mother.

Shedding the tradition of linear storytelling, this patchwork narrative slowly builds a complete picture of a nontraditional family. The present-day plotline is buttressed by long-form exposition and flashbacks to Irene’s childhood, as well as backstory of her biological and adopted parents, and a nuanced narrative analysis of Bangladeshi politics and modern history. Uplifting the “nameless victims of human cruelty” by sharing just one of their humbly heroic lives, the author makes it clear where he stands on the contemporary issues of inequality, and the destiny of marginalized and oppressed people.

The story also highlights the unfortunate nature of bad luck, exploring how tragedy can befall anyone, plunging them from the pinnacle of success to the fatal edge of desperation, which cuts against the Western idea of hyper-individualism and the view of poverty as a personal failing. Irene initially takes a hard stance on the issue – “In the USA, you are what you are because of merit. It’s only the worthless who talk about discrimination there…” – but the awakening of her empathy and compassion shows her to be anything but a meritocratic zealot, and this examination of an undeniable truth of the human experience is something that would benefit Western readers in particular.

The timely nature of this novel also can’t be ignored – Bangladesh is navigating a social and cultural upheaval since the relatively subtle military coup of 2024, spurred on by massive student-led protests. Bangladesh is currently a setting that feels ripe to explore the perennial theme of reckoning with one’s place in society and the broader world, which is handled here with both power and delicacy. Mohit offers a refreshingly candid and vulnerable account of being a witness to suffering, from commentary on survivor’s guilt and “saviorism” to shameful resentment and philosophical dilemmas pitting the many against the few.

On the technical side of the prose, there are issues with consistency and believability; some passages are richly descriptive, while others lean on idiomatic phrases, repetitive vocabulary, and a pattern of repeating the same thought or emotion. The dialogue is also fairly stilted, particularly in the case of Irene and Ishan, as well as some early interactions between Ripon and Nilima. In terms of storytelling suspense, readers can likely see the end-of-story revelation coming regarding Irene’s birth parents, and while the final pieces of the story wrap up the novel nicely, the conclusion seems somewhat anticlimactic and less cathartic than one would expect.

In general, a final editorial sweep to naturalize and tighten the language would strengthen the novel, bringing this admirable and inspiring story into sharper focus, but the novel tells a vital and moving story of the immigrant experience, which is especially important in the current moment.