Nitasha Kaul’s Residue (2014) is not a conventional novel of linear plot, but rather a tapestry of voices, ruptures and invisible ties. Set across Delhi, England and Berlin, the book follows the lives of two young Kashmiris—Leon Ali, a Muslim man, and Keya Raina, a Kashmiri Pandit woman—and their shared and separate journeys of exile, identity, memory and belonging.
In her debut novel Residue, London-based academic and writer Nitasha Kaul attempts something both intimate and political — to capture the fragments of exile, memory and identity through the intertwined stories of two Kashmiri characters who meet far from home.
The novel follows Leon Ali, a man born in Britain and raised in Delhi, who grows up haunted by the absence of his Kashmiri father, and Keya Raina, a Kashmiri Pandit woman whose family history is marked by displacement. Their paths cross in Berlin, a city still shadowed by its own divided past. Alongside them hovers the mysterious figure of Shula Farid, linking their personal searches with larger questions of belonging.
Kaul’s narrative is non-linear, shifting in time and voice. The prose moves between lyrical passages and sharp dialogue, creating an atmosphere of dislocation that mirrors her characters’ inner states. “Residue is about what is left behind,” Kaul has said in interviews, and the novel stays true to that title: memories, fragments and silences shape the characters as much as their lived experiences.
As a work of fiction, Residue is less about plot and more about mood. Its strength lies in empathy — every character is rendered with nuance, their inner journeys made relatable. Yet the same expansiveness sometimes leads to loose threads: subplots emerge but do not always resolve, leaving readers with questions rather than closure.
Still, the novel succeeds in evoking the ache of dislocation and the complexities of identity. The settings — Delhi’s ’90s middle-class lanes, Berlin’s streets, and remembered Kashmiri landscapes — are vividly sketched. For readers of diaspora literature, Kaul’s voice offers both recognition and freshness.
Residue may not satisfy those seeking a tightly woven storyline, but it resonates as a work of atmosphere and feeling. It asks what remains when families scatter, when homelands are lost, when memory is all that connects.
The novel’s title gives a clue: Residue is about what stays with us after loss—what cannot be erased, what shapes identity despite migration, despite absence. Kaul uses multiple perspectives, shifting timelines, interior monologues, and occasional experimental narrative devices to dramatize how characters negotiate their pasts, and how memory lives in what remains unsaid.
Reviewers have often praised the way Kaul captures diasporic pain with empathy. “Kaul seems to have achieved a deep position of sympathy for all her characters,” one critic observed, adding that their thoughts and personal journeys are “revelatory and poignant.” Yet, the praise is tempered by notes on pacing and narrative cohesion: the book’s many threads, red herrings and interwoven minor plots sometimes overwhelm; certain storylines begin with promise but do not resolve as fully as readers might expect.
In terms of prose and style, Residue is readable, often poetic. It avoids sentimentalism even when dealing with emotional weight. The places—Delhi in the ’90s, cities in Europe, fragmented memories of Kashmir—are well rendered, giving a sense of geography as much as a geography of feeling.
One of the novel’s core strengths is its exploration of identity as something that is neither fixed nor simple. Through Leon and Keya, Kaul raises questions: What does it mean to belong when you carry communities on either side of you? What does home mean when you have inherited exile? As Keya says: “If I wanted to understand their lives and gather their stories, I realised I’d have to imagine them from the inside.”
Still, Residue is not without shortfalls. Some readers may find its structure challenging—the non-linear shifts, the multiple perspectives, the unresolved subplots can feel like loose wires. For those who prefer tight, plot-driven narratives, these aspects may be distracting.
In sum, Residue is a substantive debut. It may not tie all threads neatly, yet its willingness to linger in uncertainty, to carry forward the residue of memory and loss, makes it powerful. For readers interested in displacement, in identity, in the afterlives of history, this novel offers not just a story, but a space to dwell in what remains.
