The Indian Clerk by David Leavitt is a fictionalised biography of the mathematicians G. H. Hardy and Srinivasa Ramanujan. It’s also the book that sparked the math theme on this blog the past week or so. Now that I’m done with it, I’ll probably be done with the theme as well. But who knows? :)

Hardy, a Cambridge based and very successful mathematician one day receives a letter by an unknown Indian called Ramanujan, who claims to have made important mathematical discoveries. Hardy is fascinated and he starts a correspondence with Ramanujan, which ultimately leads to him coming to England.

The story follows mostly Hardy, we hardly ever get an insight into what Ramanujan is thinking – he remains a mystery to the reader as much as he remained one to Hardy.

Things are complicated, by Ramanujan’s religion and his different culture, his sickness, World War I and the difficult situation at the Trinity college and, marginally, by Hardy’s homosexuality.

Leavitt manages to tell us a compelling story in clear and beautiful prose. He gives us mathematical details (don’t ask me about that, I could only tell you the gist of some of the theories, I’m far from understanding it all), without ever becoming to technical or boring for people, who are not mathematicians. His story is alive with people we have heard much about (Wittgenstein, Russell, D. H. Lawrence, …), but who actually become characters, maybe for the first time.

He touches on many subjects – cultural identity, gender, pacifism, maths, of course, relationships etc etc. – whithout becoming overbearing.

A fascinating read and definitely one I can recommend without hesitation.

Read a bit for yourself:

At Cambridge we were taught to view our lives as train journeys along appointed routes, station following upon station until at last we arrived at some glorious last stop, the end of the line which was really the beginning of things. From then on we would bask in a glow of rest and ease, of comfort institutionally sanctioned. Or so we thought. For in truth, how many ways there are to go off the rails! How frequently the timetable is changed, and the guards on strike! How easy it is to fall asleep and wake up only to discover that you have missed the station where you were supposed to change trains, or that you’ve been riding the wrong train all along! The worry it cost us… yet of course, all the worry is futile, because this is the cruelest secret of all: all the trains go to the same place.