The 

complete review's Review:

Girls for Sale

       Girls for Sale is a classic Telugu work. First performed in 1892, this is a
translation of the revised version of 1909 that, as translator Velcheru Narayana Rao
puts it, "has been celebrated as one of the greatest works of Telugu literature" and
"has received unparalleled attention for the past fifty years and has been uniformly
praised for the inimitable charm of its dialogue and for its great characters".
       As Rao notes in a note on 'Performing Kanyasulkam', the text is not particularly
well-suited for staging -- most obviously because of its too-great length (indeed, the
1909 version was apparently only first performed in 1924). But while not trimmed to
an easily stageable length, it is an otherwise successful theatric work -- and suitable
for reading- (rather than simply viewing-) enjoyment.
       Girls for Sale is a somewhat convoluted play, though that's more because of how
Apparao presents the material than the basic plot itself. Among the many things Girls
for Sale can be described as is a social drama, and one of its main subjects is the
(re-)marriage of widows. One main character, the somewhat Western-educated
smooth-talker Girisam is enamored of a young widow and does his best to counter
this:
deplorable custom in our society. A man can remarry again if a wife dies, but a woman can't remarry again after the
death of her husband, no matter how young and beautiful she might be. Is this unfair or what ?
       Set around the turn of the 19th century, the characters act in a society that is both
heavily influenced by the colonial English rulers (and their education-system) but also
very tradition-bound. The play is full of contrasts: Madhura-Vani is a central character
who is a "pleasure-woman", and there's quite a bit of risqué talk and action -- as well
as quite a bit of kissing (recall that kissing was long not permitted to be shown on-
screen in Indian movies ...) -- while the characters also worry about traditional mores,
including the acceptability of marrying widows and similar improprieties. And this is
a world where, as Rao explains in an afterword 'On Kinship and Friendship': "Telugu
people generally consider it improper to call an individual by his or her given name".
       The main plotline revolves around one Brahmin, Lubdha Avadhanlu, wanting to
marry the young daughter of another Brahmin. Because Lubdha Avadhanlu is already
old Venk'amma, the mother of the girl, is opposed to the match, as her other daughter
is already a (very young) widow, and she doesn't want the same fate to befall another
daughter. Venk'amma's brother, Karataka-sastri, comes up with a plan, procuring
another young bride to take the place of Venk'amma's daughter -- except that the bride
is no girl at all, but rather Karataka-sastri's young student, a boy who can still
convincingly play a girl. After the marriage the boy disappears, leading to a charge of
murder being brought against Lubdha Avadhanlu.
       Full of trickery, double-dealing, and disguises, several characters think they're
being very clever but, of course, wind up causing more confusion and complications.
Madhura-Vani, Girisam, and Karataka-sastri all entertainingly string others along --
but not all get what they want: as one character notes in the play's closing line: "Damn
it, the story has taken a wrong turn" -- though, of course, others have been buffeted by
the many previous wrong turns all along.
       Apparao is particularly strong in the different voices he gives these characters,
from those who get hoodwinked to the lazy students who learn nothing to the
seductive-manipulative Madhura-Vani. The role of English and the meeting and clash
of cultures is also constantly prominently on display -- obviously so in Girisam's
extensive use of English words and phrases (these and words from other foreign
languages are presented in the original but italicized in the translation). While an
English education is considered useful -- and certainly helps Girisam bluff his way
through many situations -- not everyone takes well to this foreign infiltration: as
Girisam recounts:
I had hardly begun the introduction when a couple of English words slipped past my tongue. Immediately your
father fell into a rage and yelled: "These dirty English words ! All Brahmin-hood is ruined with this bastard learning.
Morning prayers and chants to gods and goddesses have been lost long ago. Now you bark those profane words even
at mealtime as they were gods' tongue."
       The provocative social intent does not always blend well with the often broad
comedy, but Girls for Sale is fairly entertaining. The translation isn't so much
awkward as ultimately unsure in tone, but it's difficult material to deal with, neither
truly classical nor completely modern; the unfortunate choice of the English title
(which makes the play sound far more -- and differently -- sensational than it actually
is) already suggests how difficult the balance is to strike. When one character is
hungry but is shushed by another by the words: "You can pig out later" it simply
doesn't sound quite right; Rao makes some better choices elsewhere, but overall
there's too much of an uneasy mix between the too-contemporary casual and the very
traditional.
       The critical apparatus included in the book, from the notes to the various
afterwords, is helpful, though even more context would probably be useful for non-
Indian readers.
       Girls for Sale is both of literary and historical interest, though not the smoothest
of reads.