Amitav Ghosh’s new novel Ghost‑Eye arrives at a moment when its message feels less like fiction and more like prophecy. The acclaimed Indian writer has long been a powerful voice on climate change, and his latest book — which weaves themes of reincarnation and time into a narrative about planetary fragility — doubles as a sharp indictment of political hypocrisy and a warning about the erosion of public freedoms. For readers and citizens alike, Ghosh’s words demand attention: not only for their literary merit, but for the urgent ethical questions they raise.
Ghost‑Eye: a novel that looks outward as much as inward
At the heart of Ghost‑Eye is an idea that echoes throughout Ghosh’s work: that our current political and economic systems have pushed us into an era of accelerating ecological collapse. The “ghost eye” evokes a vision of awareness — the capacity to see what most prefer to ignore. Through layered storytelling and a speculative lens, Ghosh makes abstract crises feel immediate and human, mapping how extraction, short‑term profiteering and denial coalesce into a single, dangerous trajectory.
Political greenwashing: dangerous comfort, costly consequences
One of Ghosh’s most forceful claims is that much of modern political rhetoric about climate action is performative. Policies are adorned with green language, pledges and photo‑ops, but the underlying activities — resource extraction, fossil fuel expansion, and economic incentives that favor short‑term returns — continue unabated. Ghosh calls this out as a central betrayal: the language of sustainability becomes a mask that allows destructive practices to persist.
This “greenwashing” has consequences beyond public relations. It diffuses urgency, misleads citizens about the scale of transformation required, and softens accountability. Ghosh’s critique is therefore both moral and civic: rhetoric cannot substitute for systemic change.
Freedom of speech under pressure
Ghosh’s alarm extends beyond environmental policy to the broader public sphere. He argues that in many countries we are witnessing a tightening of the space for dissent — a chilling effect on free expression that makes it harder to debate, expose and contest harmful policies. Whether through legal restrictions, surveillance, or coercive social dynamics, the repression of speech undermines democratic capacity to respond to crises.
From Ghosh’s perspective, the two trends — ecological degradation and shrinking civil liberties — are linked. A less free public sphere produces fewer checks on power and fewer spaces where uncomfortable truths can be spoken and acted upon.
Younger generations and the question of responsibility
Ghosh articulates a generational worry that will resonate widely: the sense that today’s young people will one day ask a blunt question to their elders — “What did you do while the world burned?” This framing reframes climate action as a moral ledger, not merely an administrative challenge. It confronts readers with a question of legacy: how will future generations judge the choices we make now?
Ghosh observes that anger and despair are rising on both sides of the political spectrum. Without a credible path forward, those emotions can morph into polarization rather than constructive change, which in turn deepens inertia.
What does literature offer in this moment?
Ghosh’s approach reminds us that literature has a unique capacity to shift perception. It articulates complexities and moral ambiguities that policy papers and campaign slogans often flatten. Fiction can make the invisible visible by giving readers an imaginative experience of consequences — the social and emotional realities that accompany ecological breakdown. Authors like Ghosh shape public imagination, and that cultural work is crucial when policy and science alone are not enough to motivate broad transformations.
What readers can take from Ghost‑Eye
Ghosh’s novel is not a manual of solutions; it is a provocation. It asks readers to lift their gaze beyond convenience and to insist on coherence between words and actions. For those of us following environmental debates, the book offers several practical reminders:
When books become summons
Ghost‑Eye functions as a summons: literature calling citizens to ethical clarity. Ghosh’s vision is fierce but clear‑eyed. He refuses to compartmentalise human experience and ecological reality — insisting instead that politics, culture, and everyday life are braided together. For Princess‑Daisy readers who combine concern for wellbeing, style, and community, his message is stark: cultural voice matters; so does collective will. The novel invites us to see, speak and act with that perspective in mind.
Ghosh’s closing thought — imagining future children asking what we did while the world turned — is not a riddle to avoid. It is an invitation to answer with integrity.
