Review: The Centre by Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi
Shortlisted for the 2024 Nota Bene Prize, The Centre follows a budding young translator to a mysterious language centre where fluency comes at a chilling cost. Darkly comic and satirical, Siddiqi's debut novel is a boundary-pushing novel on friendship, appropriation and the commodity of language.
Anisa Ellahi dreams of being a translator of 'great works of literature,' but instead mostly spends her days subtitling Bollywood movies, living off her parents' generous allowance, and discussing the 'underside of life' with her best friend, Naima.
Anisa's mediocre white boyfriend, Adam, only adds to her growing sense of inadequacy with his savant-level aptitude for languages, successfully leveraging his expansive knowledge into an enviable career. But when Adam learns to speak Urdu with native fluency practically overnight, Anisa forces him to reveal his secret.
Adam begrudgingly tells Anisa about the Centre, an elite, invite-only program that guarantees near-instant fluency in any language. Skeptical but intrigued, Anisa enrolls-stripped of her belongings and contact with the outside world and emerges ten days later fluent in German. As Anisa enmeshes herself further within the Centre, seduced by all that it's made possible, she soon realizes the true cost of its services.
By turns dark, funny, and surreal, and with twists page-turning and shocking, The Centre takes the reader on a journey through Karachi, London, and New Delhi, interrogating the sticky politics of language, translation, and appropriation with biting specificity, and ultimately asking: what is success really worth?
REVIEWED BY SIAN DENNIS
Language is one of humanity’s most profound gifts. It’s more than a tool for communication; language embodies our identity, connects us to culture, and acts as a vessel for creative expression. Language shapes how we perceive and interact with the world. Language is more than words - it is an art form that reflects who we are.
But what happens when language becomes a commodity? Does it lose its inherent beauty? How does it change when it is accessible to the masses? Carved into a product and transformed into something to be bought and sold for personal gain. Time is scarce, and we seek shortcuts, seduced by the promise of embracing mastery using only a fraction of our already stretched resources. But, as we chase these quick fixes, do we stop to question the actual cost of acquiring knowledge so effortlessly? What do we sacrifice for the promise of ascension, and at what moral cost? These are just a few of the sticky issues Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi tackles in her searing debut novel, The Centre.
Anisa, a Pakistani translator living in London, spends her days subtitling Bollywood films. She yearns for more, seeking broader meaning and an opportunity to fulfil her professional ambitions. It isn’t long before her multi-linguist boyfriend, Adam, introduces her to the Centre, an elusive and exclusive invite-only programme that promises fluency in any language in just 10 days — for a staggering £20,000. Discovering the Centre becomes a pivotal moment in Anisa's life, evolving into a borderline obsession. At first, she is captivated by the linguistic possibilities suddenly within reach; then, she is mesmerised by the Centre’s shrewd supervisor, Shiba. But, as she navigates the programme’s bizarre practices - from living in silence to spending hours in isolation - it isn’t long before disturbing truths about the Centre’s services and innovative teaching techniques begin to surface. What follows is a morally ambiguous journey through the complexities of language, translation, commodification, and virtuosity that soon descends into the ultimate nightmare.
The Centre skillfully blends realism and speculative fiction, leaving a lasting impression long after the reader has finished it. Siddiqi draws from her own experiences to shape Anisa into a fully realised, authentic character - one who grows increasingly relatable as the story unfolds. Anisa’s profound yearning for fluency serves as a poignant reflection of the wider migrant experience, highlighting the universal desire to fully assimilate into a new culture - whether in the United Kingdom or Pakistan, in her case. Yet, even as she strives for this connection, she wrestles with the unsettling feeling that true belonging remains just out of reach. Siddiqi uses Anisa’s journey to reflect the struggle many migrants experience in a world that often views them as perpetual outsiders. Whether in Karachi, New Delhi, or London, Anisa expresses feelings of displacement, capturing the transient, in-between existence of others who straddle multiple cultures. Feeling untethered, Anisa’s pursuit of fluency and linguistic expertise mirrors her discernible need to be seen, accepted, and understood.
In addition to the themes of language and identity, Siddiqi portrays the complexities of romantic and platonic relationships. For example, the dynamic between Anisa and her best friend, Naima, exemplifies unadulterated sisterhood. And it is a pure joy to read. Although romance has a role in the novel, it takes a back seat, a refreshing departure from the norm, where romantic relationships often dominate contemporary fiction. Siddiqi instead highlights the emotional intricacies of female friendships as the emotional backbone of the story, offering solidarity and challenge in a way that Anisa’s romantic relationships do not.
With this in mind, it is unsurprising Anisa experiences a tectonic shift when Naima unexpectedly enters an amorous relationship. Anisa's world is shaken - not by jealousy but by the abrupt change in their once unbreakable bond and the fear that Naima begins to mould herself to fit a man's expectations. Anisa is gripped by a deep sense of foreboding, a looming isolation that begins to overshadow everything else, as she struggles to reconcile this new distance between them. Her fear of losing Naima to the all-consuming nature of romantic love is palpable and deeply relatable, tapping into a universal tension many readers will recognise.
The mystery surrounding the Centre adds to the novel’s tensity. The Centre is shrouded in ambiguity - how it operates and who controls it - creating a lingering sense of unease. This slow-burn suspense keeps readers on edge, heightening a feeling of discomfort until the shocking truth about the Centre’s origin and purpose emerges. These revelations push both characters and readers into morally grey territory, presenting complex ethical dilemmas that force individuals to confront and evaluate their own complicity. It challenges each person to struggle with uncomfortable honesty and accept the role they might be willing to play if this dystopian reality did, in fact, become real.
Comparatively, fans of speculative fiction like Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro will find The Centre an enthralling read. Yet Siddiqi’s novel is uniquely her own. She raises profound questions about what it means to suddenly gain power and privilege while balancing the cost of one's humanity following that pursuit. Siddiqi tackles issues of post-colonial identity, migration, and cultural exchange in a timely and deeply personal manner, making the novel a compelling read for those interested in fiction that intelligently critiques contemporary social issues.
As a debut novelist, Siddiqi showcases remarkable command over form and subject, effortlessly weaving complex themes throughout the narrative in a way that makes the book relatable. Whether addressing womanhood, the need to belong, or the challenges of migration, she cultivates a story as intimate as it is thought-provoking, inviting readers to engage with a breadth of real-world experiences. Siddiqi’s ability to effortlessly blend speculative fiction with sharp social critique distinguishes her as a bold voice that demands attention - and one to watch closely.
The Centre is more than just a story about language and translation. It’s a journey through the fractious reality of personal and political stakes in seeking fluency in a world where knowledge is currency, privilege is power, connection is strength, and sisterhood is everything.