Burnt Sugar

Avni Doshi’s debut novel, Burnt Sugar (published in India as Girl in White Cotton), is a compelling and often unsettling exploration of the complex and toxic relationship between a mother and daughter in modern-day India. Shortlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize, the novel is set primarily against this backdrop.

The narrative unfolds through the eyes of Antara, a struggling artist, as she grapples with her mother Tara’s encroaching memory loss—possibly early-onset Alzheimer’s or dementia. Tara’s newfound vulnerability forces Antara into the role of caregiver, a position that stands in stark contrast to Tara’s neglectful and often selfish parenting during Antara’s childhood. The novel frequently uses flashbacks to reveal the traumatic and unconventional upbringing Antara endured.

In her youth, Tara was a rebellious and free-spirited woman. She abandoned her arranged marriage and moved to an ashram, becoming involved with a spiritual leader known as “Baba.” During this period, young Antara was largely neglected, often cared for by an older American devotee named Kali Mata. Tara even engaged in acts like begging to spite her affluent parents and spent years pursuing a homeless artist, all with Antara in tow. These past choices left Antara with deep resentment and a profound sense of abandonment.

A central theme of the novel is the unreliable nature of memory and truth, particularly as Tara’s memories fade and Antara recounts her childhood experiences. The opening line, “I would be lying if I said my mother’s misery has never given me pleasure,” immediately establishes the caustic and complicated dynamic between them. Antara’s narrative is sharply witty but laced with bitterness, leading readers to question the objectivity of her recollections and the full extent of Tara’s memory loss.

Beyond the mother-daughter bond, the book delves into themes of identity, betrayal, and the cyclical nature of generational trauma. The narrative also touches on societal expectations of women and mothers in India, contrasting Tara’s desire for individuality with Antara’s more conventional married life and eventual motherhood. Antara’s journey forces her to confront her past and seek a way to reconcile with a woman who never truly cared for her, making Burnt Sugar a profound and often uncomfortable exploration of love, resentment, and the enduring impact of childhood experiences.

Antara’s narrative, marked by caustic wit and visceral observations, forces the reader to constantly question the reliability of her account. Is she a victim of her mother’s narcissism, or is her own bitterness distorting the truth? Doshi masterfully employs this ambiguity, particularly through her depictions of Tara’s memory loss—suggesting at times it may be a performance for attention. The novel’s prose is noted for its sensory sharpness, describing bodies, bodily fluids, and decay with an unflinching gaze that challenges the sanitized image of maternal care.

Critically acclaimed for its “visceral” and “savage” beauty, Burnt Sugar has been praised for its refusal to offer easy resolutions or likeable characters. Instead, it offers a raw, honest portrayal of how the wounds of the past fester in the present. Doshi’s debut stands as a bold interrogation of the “sacred” mother-daughter bond, revealing the potential for cruelty that lies within our closest relationships.