The Dark Hours of the Night by Salma, translated by GJV Prasad, is not just a novel — it is a mirror to the everyday lives of women bound by custom, duty, and silent suffering. Set in a small-town Muslim household in Tamil Nadu, the story revolves around Rabia, a young girl torn between her longing for education and freedom, and the suffocating demands of tradition.
Review
What makes the novel so compelling is its characters. Rabia is at the centre, but she is surrounded by a wide cast of women — mothers, sisters, cousins, neighbours — each carrying their own struggles, desires, and compromises. Some rebel in quiet ways, some surrender to their circumstances, while others become enforcers of the very rules that oppress them. Together, they reveal how complex and layered women’s lives are, never fitting neatly into the victim or heroine in Dark Hours of the Night.
What Works
- Strong portrayal of women’s inner lives and voices
The book doesn’t treat its female characters as one-dimensional victims. They have flaws, contradictions, and conflicting loyalties, which make them feel real. The narrator shows how even within patriarchy, women both suffer and resist in subtle, internal ways. - Authentic social context
The milieu — conservative family, expectations around marriage, social shame, restrictions on movement and education — is vividly realised. The novel shows how these social norms are enforced not just by men of authority but by neighbours, mothers, the community, and even other women. - Translation & prose
Prasad is praised for retaining the lyrical quality of Salma’s original Tamil and for the range of tone in different voice registers: domestic speech, whispered conversations, bursts of frustration. The translation conveys both the beauty and the raw edges. - Moral complexity, not simplistic judgments
While the patriarchy is clearly critiqued, the book does not reduce things to pure good vs evil. Some men are sympathetic, some women uphold the status quo, and there are consequences for defiance. The novel doesn’t sugar-coat or romanticise survival. - Universality
Though deeply rooted in a specific religious / regional context, themes of desire, shame, conflict between tradition and modernity, the ache of growing up female under restrictive norms — these feel broadly relevant.
What’s Less Strong / Possible Criticisms
- Pacing and structure
With a multiplicity of characters and interwoven stories, some readers might find parts slow or diffuse. Because so much time is spent on setting up familial and social detail, some plot threads may feel like they drag before reaching a payoff. (This is typical in character-heavy social novels.) - Emotional heaviness
The novel doesn’t shy away from harshness — betrayals, tragedies, the cost of defiance. For some readers, this realism is powerful, but for others, it may feel oppressive or emotionally exhausting. - Cultural specificity could feel alienating (for some readers)
While the detailed portrayal of conservative Muslim family life is illuminating, the customs, codes,and assumptions may feel distant or hard to relate to for readers unfamiliar with that milieu. That said, the translator’s work helps by making the cultural context accessible without diluting it. - Limited male perspective
The story is told from a female vantage point. This is mostly a strength, but some readers who want more balance (e.g. insight into what motivates specific male characters) may feel the male characters are less deeply probed.
Themes & Takeaways
- Patriarchy & agency: The core question is not just how women are constrained, but how they find small spaces of choice, resistance, or rebellion, even under severe restrictions. Rabia’s growth is part of that.
- Desire, love, shame: Sexuality and desire are not openly discussed in many similar novels; here, they are part of the tension. The shame around desire, gossip, rumour, and the price of stepping outside norms weighs heavily.
- Education/freedom vs family/tradition: Rabia’s longing for education, or the question of what a ‘good life’ means, vs the obligations imposed by family/community, are central.
- Hypocrisy, social policing: A strong critique of how moral standards are enforced unevenly, how men’s transgressions are more tolerated, and how women often bear the brunt of ‘honour’ and shame.
My Impression
Society itself plays an active role in the novel. It hovers like an invisible force, dictating what is acceptable, shaming those who step out of line, and policing women’s bodies, choices, and dreams. The painful truth Salma shows is that this control comes not just from men, but often from women who have internalised these norms. And yet, amidst this weight, there are flickers of resistance — small, everyday acts of courage that keep the spirit alive.
The translation by GJV Prasad beautifully preserves Salma’s lyrical yet raw style. The prose flows gently, even when the subject matter is heavy, pulling us into the atmosphere of the household and the world these women inhabit.
This isn’t an easy read — it’s intense, sometimes unsettling, and deeply emotional. But it is also unforgettable. For anyone who wants to understand the hidden struggles of women in conservative societies and the quiet strength they carry, this book is essential.
If I were to pick one caution, Dark Hours of the Night is not a light read. It’s not plot-thrilling in a page-turner way; its power comes more from character, detail, atmosphere, and emotional truth. If those are what you like, this would be a book to savour.
Who I’d Recommend It To
- Readers interested in feminist / gender studies, especially in South Asia.
- Those who like literary fiction with a rich milieu and character depth.
- People who don’t mind slow pacing and emotional weight.
If you prefer fast plots, less about the internal world, or lighter/optimistic stories, The Dark Hours of the Night might challenge you.
