What Studying Literature in Two Countries Taught Me About Cultural Perspectives

When I first read Toni Morrison’s Beloved in India, it was introduced as a groundbreaking exploration of memory, trauma, and the haunting legacy of slavery. It was a powerful text, steeped in historical context and rich with cultural meaning. Years later, in a classroom in Edinburgh, I encountered the same novel, but the conversation shifted to its global resonance and its ability to challenge readers to confront uncomfortable truths about history, identity, and survival.

It was the same text, but the experience of reading it felt radically different—proof that literature doesn’t exist in a vacuum. The ways we interpret and engage with stories are shaped as much by cultural frameworks as by the words on the page. Studying literature in two countries taught me how these frameworks influence not only what we read but how we read. This journey, filled with contrasts and connections, reshaped my understanding of cultural perspectives and revealed new layers of empathy, interpretation, and insight.

The Evolution of Interpretation

In India, literature classes were deeply rooted in historical and political contexts. The works we studied were approached as reflections of the social and cultural fabric of their times. Discussions often revolved around understanding how a story engaged with issues of identity, colonialism, caste, or nationalism. The value was in contextualising the text—seeing it as a product of its environment, where every sentence bore the imprint of its cultural origin.

Take To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, for example. In India, we approached it not just as a family drama but as a reflection of the societal changes following World War I, viewed through the lens of British colonial influence on global consciousness. While Woolf’s modernist techniques, such as stream of consciousness and fragmented time, were appreciated, the focus in Indian classrooms was on the psychological depth of her characters, particularly in relation to the role of women and the family structure. Discussions often centred around Woolf’s portrayal of gender dynamics, identity, and the constraints of societal expectations, which resonated with the ongoing conversations about gender roles and modernity in post-colonial India. For us, the novel became a space to explore how the intricacies of personal lives were shaped by broader social forces, connecting Woolf’s narrative to the struggles for gender equality and identity in our own cultural context.

In contrast, studying Mrs Dalloway at the University of Edinburgh provided a different lens through which to view Woolf’s work, one more attuned to the modernist exploration of individual consciousness and the psychological fragmentation of post-World War I society. The focus in Edinburgh was less on societal or colonial context and more on Woolf’s innovative narrative techniques—such as her manipulation of time and memory—and the deeper exploration of the individual’s inner life. While we still examined Woolf’s feminist themes, the discussions were framed within the context of modernism, emphasizing the psychological and existential aspects of her characters. It was fascinating to see how the novel’s depiction of trauma, time, and personal identity spoke to a broader, more universal understanding of human experience, where the societal context took a step back in favour of a deeper exploration of the self.

This shift in perspective was eye-opening. It challenged me to move beyond a single “correct” interpretation of a text and embrace the multiplicity of meanings it could hold. It was as if I were learning to read with new eyes, trained to see the story not just as an artefact of its culture but as a universal dialogue.

When Context Becomes the Conversation

One of the most profound lessons I learned was the power of context—not just in interpreting literature but in shaping how we think about the world. In India, the emphasis was always on rooting a story within its cultural and historical setting. Context was the starting point, not an afterthought. In Edinburgh, I discovered a different approach: literature as an open field where each reader’s context added a new layer of meaning.

For instance, analyzing the works of Virginia Woolf in a Scottish classroom involved exploring her exploration of time, memory, and self. While her modernist approach was a significant departure from the postcolonial and realist literature I studied in India, it offered an entirely new way of understanding the human condition. Woolf’s fragmented narrative in To the Lighthouse encouraged me to think not only about how time affects individuals but how time, as a construct, shapes cultural storytelling.

This new approach taught me to look for the spaces between what is said and what is implied. It taught me that a narrative doesn’t exist solely for the reader within its culture; it exists in a space that readers can cross and claim as their own, regardless of where they come from. At the University of Edinburgh, I learned to approach texts with the understanding that they have the power to challenge, provoke, and comfort people from different backgrounds—sometimes all at once.

Bridging the Local and the Global

The most compelling part of studying literature across two countries was witnessing the interplay between the local and the global. Literature is often described as the mirror of a culture, yet it’s also a window through which we can view a different world. The duality of this function became clear to me as I read texts that were both culturally specific and universally relatable.

Indian literature taught me to appreciate the richness of specific cultural narratives—stories that can only be fully understood with an understanding of their sociopolitical and historical context. But, the texts I studied during my postgraduate degree taught me that these narratives can also transcend borders. For example, while Beloved was firmly rooted in Black American history, its themes of grief, memory, and survival resonated with readers worldwide. Reading it again in Scotland, I was struck by how the novel’s examination of trauma could echo the collective memory of colonial oppression and displacement, themes familiar in postcolonial literature from any part of the world.

This realization pushed me to think about the fluidity of storytelling. While literature can serve as an intimate portrait of a particular society, it can also function as a universal commentary on shared human experiences. The stories I read began to feel less like isolated narratives and more like chapters in a global conversation about identity, loss, and resilience.

The Personal and the Universal: Lessons for Readers and Writers

Studying literature across two countries changed not only how I read but also how I approached my own writing. I became more aware of the layers of meaning I could weave into my work—how a specific cultural detail could be both a nod to its origins and a universal touchpoint for readers from different backgrounds.

This perspective is something that any writer or reader can benefit from: understanding that our interpretations are not the sole version of the truth. They are informed by the lens we bring to the text, which is shaped by our culture, experiences, and values. In this way, literature becomes a space where multiple truths coexist, creating a richer, more complex picture of the world.

I started asking myself questions I hadn’t before: Who is my audience? How can I infuse my writing with both specificity and universality? These questions are crucial for anyone looking to create work that resonates with diverse readers. It’s about finding the balance between personal experience and shared humanity, between cultural specificity and universal themes.

The Universal Power of Literature

Ultimately, studying literature in two countries revealed a simple but profound truth: stories are mirrors and windows. They reflect the worlds they come from, but they also offer us glimpses into lives beyond our own. Literature has the unique ability to bridge cultural divides and build empathy. In an increasingly interconnected world, this kind of cross-cultural exploration is vital—not just for understanding literature but for understanding people.

To read across cultures is to remind ourselves that while our histories may differ, our humanity binds us. The stories we read teach us that we are both unique and part of a shared human experience. And perhaps that’s what literature does best—it lets us hold both at once. But as we engage with these stories, we must be cautious not to lose the cultural essence that makes them powerful. True understanding comes not from diluting the story to make it palatable for a global audience but from holding its specific truths close and respecting its context.