Are You (Not) Enjoying?
A Review of Mira Sethi’s Collection of Short Stories, ‘Are you Enjoying?’
The title Are You Enjoying? is a clever hook—an elite, almost sarcastic way of asking, “Is your life falling apart?” Initially intriguing, it draws the reader in, but as the context behind the provocative title unfolds, its true meaning becomes apparent. Sethi’s collection of short stories begins with one of its stronger entries, Mini Apple. The title of the short story (and even the title of the book) seems to hint at wit, but by the end of the story, it feels neither funny nor particularly clever. The real charm though, lies in the character of Javed, a less-than-ideal hero, who, despite his flaws, captivates the reader. Javed is a journalist, actor, and divorced father living alone in a posh Islamabad neighborhood. As fate would have it, he crosses paths with Marianne, an American diplomat with a “yes we can” attitude. Javed’s character is painted as a classic bachelor—self-obsessed, spending his time replaying his media appearances. While this characterization is not entirely original, it works due to Javed’s convincing vanity.
Marianne, however, is a bit of a stereotype. She’s a bold, adventurous, but ultimately commitment-phobic gori. Her relationship with Javed begins as a casual friendship and gradually evolves into flirtation. The story explores the familiar gender tropes, with Javed experiencing the burdens of fleeting love while Marianne is only temporarily emotionally interested in him. Her abrupt departure echoes the non-committal nature of the relationship, leaving Javed to grapple with the depth of his emotions. Sethi cleverly contrasts Javed’s hopeful longing for love with Marianne’s fading interest, creating a poignant reversal of roles. And depending on how much you like or dislike patriarchy in Pakistan, you’re still bound to have a strong opinion on it. One of Sethi’s achievements in her story Mini Apple is the exploration of how love stirs attention away from Javed’s otherwise stagnating self focused life to then land on developing an American dream. Even if this dream ends abruptly.
Abrupt endings, a recurring feature throughout Sethi’s collection, are also evident in the second story, Breezy Blessings. Here, Mehak, a rising star in the acting world, is faced with a moral dilemma. As she prepares for her first leading role, she is pressured to shoot intimate scenes, which conflict with her personal conservative values. The story traces Mehak’s journey as she navigates professional ambition, societal expectations, and familial pressures. Despite her reservations, she agrees to film a scene where she kisses her co-star on the cheek. This act represents Mehak’s evolving sense of self and professional identity, even as it strains her relationship with her family. The tension escalates as the director pressures her to conform to his vision, ultimately cutting her scenes from the film in a fit of rage. The story ends on a cliffhanger, leaving the reader wondering whether Mehak will retaliate publicly, but we are left hanging without resolution.
Sethi seems to favor giving her heroines agency, allowing them to shape their own fates—whether they make wise or unwise decisions. Similarly, in the short story, A Life of Its Own Part One and Two, the protagonist is the wife of a powerful politician in Maujpur, but she is also the unseen force behind his success. Although she plays second fiddle to her husband in public, she secretly wields great power. As the story progresses, ZB’s rising confidence is supported by her family and peers, who encourage her to pursue her own ambitions. This evolving support network enables ZB to step into a leadership role, allowing her to fully realize her potential.
This theme of agency also appears in the titular story Are You Enjoying, where Soni, the young heroine, wrestles with the consequences of her affair with her married fitness trainer. While her decision is seen as reckless, the story explores the personal challenges Soni faces, especially in a society where relationships must conform to public norms. In a surprising twist, Soni’s partner leaves her, despite her having some level of freedom in the decision-making process. In this way, Sethi creates a world where, even when they don’t fully exercise it, her heroines still possess a degree of agency that many South Asian women often lack in real life regardless of how moral or immoral their path is.
In contrast, the male protagonists in Sethi’s stories are either noticeably unlikeable, underachievers, or even deviant in one case. This stark portrayal is evident in A Man for His Time, where Hafeez (the protagonist) struggles with the concept of masculinity. A young man from Karachi, Hafeez is forced to take on the role of protector for his sister and mother while continuing his university education. His character arc is about wrestling with a warped sense of masculinity that is prefaced with the absence of a stable father figure.
Hafeez’s association with extremist parties lends him an almost mature air, or so he believes. Perhaps he finds community and solidarity in this experience that fills an emotional chasm; however, it also makes him noticeably absolutist. Sethi portrays Hafeez’s flaws sharply, particularly when he wrongfully accuses his sister’s fiancé of cheating. This vengeful action spirals further, as he also falsely accuses him of blasphemy to avenge his sister’s honour. Sethi’s point here is clear, the misuse of blasphemy laws is a disastrous consequence of a polarised Pakistan.
It’s interesting how the portrayal of Hafeez is conspicuously dark, at least morally; it seems almost designed to offset (as a balancing act) so many other women characters appearing brighter, nuanced, and far more progressive. Sethi attempts to illustrate the rapidly growing number of educated, well rounded women in Pakistani society, and if there were ever a book that focuses on celebrating women as the better, more developed half, this just might be it. Readers looking for an optimistic narrative of women and a feminist POV will find just the right balance in this collection. Though perhaps one might argue there is much to be desired in the manner of craft and the resolution of character arcs, there is no doubt this book has a number of redeeming qualities. From the perspective that it stands as a possible cornerstone of feminist writing emerging from Pakistani literature, this collection is indeed recommended.
