For me the fun of writing is in the creation of a character, so taking someone I know and ‘plonking’ him in a book, is like being a chef and using one of those instant mixes.

Kamila Shamsie, possibly one of Pakistan’s youngest published authors and shortlisted for international awards, holds forth on her new novel, the politics of writing and the blurring of lines between literary and commercial fiction

Kamila Shamsie is as prolific as they come. At 28, she has already authored three novels and is writing her fourth. If that weren’t achievement enough, she has been shortlisted for the John Llewellyn Rhys/Mail On Sunday prize and been awarded a special prize for literature by the prime minister of Pakistan. And the final feather – inclusion in the Orange Futures, a list of 21 writers to watch out for in the 21st century, an off-shoot of the Orange Prize for Fiction – Britain’s most prestigious literary accolade for a single novel. All this comes packaged in a geniality and humility that is refreshing for someone so young and accomplished. Perhaps, Shamsie has had time to get used to her accomplishments. At 11, she authored her first 40-pager which, at that age, qualifies as a novel. This was about dog heaven – an elegy to the death of beloved dogs co-authored with a like-minded, canine-loving buddy. While the buddy is now tackling New York’s financial world, Shamsie has been writing ever since.

Luckily for her, having a mother who dabbled in literary pursuits – Muneeza Shamsie is a writer and reviewer of books – helped her realise her passion for becoming a writer. Not many a Pakistani parent, even in this age of romancing the South Asian novel/novelist, would appreciate being told that their child nurtures literary ambitions. But, hers were delighted and off she went to Hamilton College and then to Amherst at the University of Massachusetts in the US to pursue a master’s degree in creative writing.

Shamsie currently divides her time between teaching assignments in the US, literary socialising and rejuvenation in London and writing stints in Karachi. While all three are home in different ways, she affirms that her heart lies in her writing.

“It does make a difference, having someone in your family who is doing a similar sort of thing. My mother is a writer. She does a lot of literary book reviews and she’s edited a couple of anthologies. It also means that I grew up surrounded by books and talk of books. So, when you say you want to be a writer, it is not considered a completely alien thing. I think, for most people I know here, if they said this to their parents, they would be regarded with aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

“All of us who grow up with a certain degree of privilege, are sheltered.” That’s a basic fact; there’s no escaping it. We do live in our enclaves of security, security being a relative term because to many the lives we lead here don’t seem very sheltered. But, compared to the rest of Karachi, of course, it’s hugely sheltered.

“I don’t know where this stereotype, that writers tend to be loners, comes from.” I’ve actually never met those writers. Most that I know, are hugely sociable people. I couldn’t be out 24 hours a day with my friends. I’d always need a certain amount of time at home to read or do whatever.

“I was about nine years old, when I first said that this is what I want to do.” At nine, it would be a lie to say writing was my burning passion – reading was my burning passion. But, since the age of 11, I’ve been working on something or the other to the point that I don’t remember what it is not to write. I think I was about 15 or 16 when I finally thought, ‘I have to do this.’

“I think Peter Pan was the first fictitious love of my life.” Growing up, the influences on me were Enid Blyton, Hardy Boys – that sort of stuff. Fairly average fare. I would read anything I could get my hands on. But I think reading Meatless Days when it came out – I was about 15 or 16 – was a big thing. Here was a Pakistani book. It was about things that were intimately familiar to me. It was a huge moment. Midnight’s Children, a few years earlier, had also been significant because I remember thinking, I’m not reading about some other place. It’s set in Mumbai but there are some Karachi sections and Mumbai itself is so familiar. What’s important are those sort of moments, when you don’t just feel this is something familiar but also that you can write about the place you grew up in and somehow that’s okay.

When I was writing at the age of 11 or 12, the locations never sounded like Karachi. There were places with green fields where you would wander around freely. And those were the books I was reading. They weren’t set in Karachi, they weren’t about our lives. So when you first read books that mirror your own experiences, it’s very exciting.

“How would I feel about sharing a top 10 best-seller slot with a Grisham or an Archer?” I’d be very happy to be in the top 10 slot; I don’t care who I’m sharing it with! Are the lines between literary and commercial fiction blurring? Well, publishers do still talk about commercial fiction as a separate entity to literary fiction. But obviously you’d want your literary fiction to sell. So, you have something like say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, which has sold millions and millions of copies or White Teeth, which has sold tons. It’s literary fiction but it’s commercial and it gets marketed as more serious fiction perhaps. But the marketing strategy is decided pretty early on – whether it’s going to be a best-seller or a serious prizewinner.

“The fact is that Indian fiction is so much huger than Pakistani fiction.” There’s not really a competition, we’re not in the same stratosphere. But when we meet, we meet as individuals, one on one. There are problems though, when Pakistani writers fall under the umbrella of Indian writers. And all Pakistani writers I know, including myself, do not. It’s not that we dislike Indian writers but, when Indian writers ask why we have a problem being lumped together, we feel like it’s the Partition argument coming back. So, at that little level, you might see disagreement.

“People demand to be put in your books!” They usually get upset when you don’t, particularly in Pakistan. But for me the fun of writing is in the creation of a character, so taking someone I know and ‘plonking’ him in a book, is like being a chef and using one of those instant mixes.

“I’m writing another novel set in Karachi…” This one has elements of mystery. There’s a woman whose mother disappeared 14 years ago and she was a political activist. It’s her trying to piece together what happened to her mother and her own relationship with her. It’s set in 2002, but it also goes back to her mother’s history of activism in the ’80s.

“It’s hard for me to write about Pakistan without politics coming in.” Politics seems so much a part of the fabric of what’s going on. There are some countries in the world, where what is going on politically, is somehow separate from your life. I don’t think here we have that illusion – that politics is separate from living, even though a lot of my characters go blithely about their own lives. I am very interested in what’s going on at the political level and I suppose that sometimes works its way into my writing.