The White Tiger has won the 2008 Man Booker Prize. Described by chairman of judges Michael Portillo as ‘in many ways perfect’, the book has earned Indian first-time novelist Aravind Adiga international acclaim and a £50,000 pay cheque to boot. Whilst Portillo’s claim is probably slightly overblown, this is a good book, and an interesting choice given the West’s current preoccupation with the ‘emerging economies’, including India.

Just recently I have become aware of the growing fascination with foreign writers and novels. During this summer’‘s family holiday, a look in the holiday ‘book box’ uncovered a plethora of novels by foreign writers. Though my parents’ taste in books might not be a model for everyone else’s in the county, there does seem to be a thirst for writers from outside the UK. It seems this forms part of a greater fascination with India and China in particular. As seen during the Olympics and more recently the financial crisis, the West is increasingly looking to these emerging economies for some kind of inspiration. With this shift taking place in the political sphere, it’s no wonder it is also happening in the arts.

Following Adiga’s protagonist Balram Halwai – humble dedicated servant turned gutless entrepreneur – it’s easy to think he might be symbolic of Indian development more generally. As he moves up the ranks and acquires more money, the change in him becomes very interesting, which one particular incident in the book sumsup perfectly. Balram is shocked to overhear that mobile phones can ‘cause cancer in the brain and shrink your masculinity’. Whilst previously he was proud of his phone and used it as a pulling tool to get girls, he now throws it away, saying, ‘It hurts my business but my brain is too important’.

This kind of paranoia has been prevalent in the West for years, and Balram’s behaviour is arguably more indicative of ‘Westernisation’ than the use of mobile phones in the first place. The transformation of this poor Indian man is intriguing, but at the same time the novel is frustrating. At times, Adiga’s depiction of India seems a little crass. There must be something distinct and new about development in India rather than it simply being a carbon copy of the way things have developed in the West. Balram is a rather depressing example of this Westernised India – but perhaps that was Adiga’s point, and certainly it strikes a chord with the Western reader.

Politics aside, The White Tiger is a great read. It’s an-old fashioned thriller with good characters and an absorbing plot. One of the comments made widely about the book is that despite Balram basically being a nasty piece of work, the reader can still warm to him. Though I don’t agree entirely: there are times Balram feels simply one-dimensional. But Adiga writes with unashamed frankness, particularly about India’s gaping divide between rich and poor. He manages to be totally unsentimental about the whole business too, which is refreshing.

There can be a tendency for the ‘Indian novel’ to read more like a tourist guide, but Adiga doesn’t show even a hint of falling into this trap. This isn’t a magical or beautiful book, and it definitely doesn’t paint India in a particularly favourable light, but yet it still left me itching to see the country for myself, if for no other reason than to find out whether Adiga’s bleak portrayal really gets it right.