In an old quarter of Lahore, an anonymous American is waylaid by Changez, a solicitous Pakistani who holds him — and the reader — captive with an involving monologue of cultural disenchantment and political dissent. We hear how Changez excels at Princeton, is anointed by a firm specialising in lucrative corporate acquisitions and makes his own cautious bid for the heart of Erica, a beautiful but hopelessly haunted writer.

The fall of the twin towers on 9/11, however, gives rise to a dark epiphany: “I smiled. Yes, despicable as it may sound, my initial reaction was to be remarkably pleased.” By steady increments, the immigrant dream, along with Changez’s romantic hopes, turns to dust. Bigotry and suspicions fuel his paranoia and alienation, and as he gravitates away from the trappings of the West, he finds himself questioning the injustices perpetrated by America abroad.

Hamid is far too savvy a writer to carpet-bomb us with a reductive polemic on the sins of the superpower, and instead picks off his ideological targets with the accuracy of a sniper. Sharply registered, too, is the way Changez’s mixture of blandishments and indignation generates crackling tensions between himself and his American companion and creates edgy ambiguities. Is the quiet American a ripe candidate for an orange boiler suit? Or is he “on a mission” to find Changez, “a Kurtz waiting for his Marlow”? Hamid’s novel poses more questions than it answers, and smacks of a certain theatrical artifice, but the book nevertheless prods the intellect, quickens the pulse and captures the imagination.

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