Measured, Spare
Measured, or "Step by step"
If Interpreter of Maladies were music, it would most definitely be Mozart –clear, structured and measured. Things happen only after careful exposition, like the movement of "A Temporary Matter."
Talk about methodical: first, before we even get to the blackouts, Lahiri slowly reveals—through Shukumar—what Shoba and Shukumar are presently like and, then, what happened to Shoba and Shukumar in the past. In fact, it takes practically 10 pages (out of 22 pages) before we actually get to the first blackout conversation between the two.
And then Lahiri painstakingly leads us through what happens during each of the five nights of blackouts Shoba and Shukumar spend together.
The final night takes the final three pages. That's three pages of buildup before both Shoba and Shukumar drop their respective bombs on each other (all of which happen on the last one and a half pages).
And then the last paragraph, which is so representative of what Lahiri does in every story:
Shukumar stood up and stacked his plate on top of hers. He carried the plates to the sink, but instead of running the tap he looked out the window. Outside the evening was still warm, and the Bradfords were walking arm in arm. As he watched the couple the room went dark, and he spun around. Shoba had turned the lights off. She came back to the table and sat down, and after a moment Shukumar joined her. They wept together, for the things they now knew. (ATM 104)
See how Lahiri shows us every little movement Shukumar makes? Any more detail and we'd be counting his breaths. Lahiri stretches the moment out so that, when we finally get to the last moment, it feels like a real ending. Nothing rushed, no take-backs or do-overs, nothing impulsive.
After reading one of Lahiri's stories, you know the decisions that are made at the end have been thought out thoroughly and are final.
Spare, or "Less is More"
You know how Boori Ma and Bibi Haldar are into babbling? Lahiri is the exact opposite.
If Lahiri doesn't need words to express something, you better believe she won't use them. Case in point, the scene when Mrs. Sen decides to take Eliot in the car.
Up until this point, Lahiri has done such a good job of showing us how Mrs. Sen hates driving (nothing's clearer, by the way, than the sentences: "I hate it. I hate driving" (MS 104)) that she really doesn't need to show us what happens once Mrs. Sen gets into the car with Eliot. So she doesn't.
Instead, she just describes what happens before the accident: "Eliot thought she was just practicing while they waited for Mr. Sen. But then she gave a signal and turned" (MS 126). (Hint: a sentence that begins with "but" probably isn't going to turn out well.)
Then she gives a paragraph break and tells us what happens afterward: "The accident occurred quickly" (MS 127). Four words only, because that's all we need to confirm our suspicions.
And less is definitely more in Lahiri's minimalist style. It in no way minimizes the reader's emotional reactions to the stories. If anything, it enhances it, because we end up filling in the blanks and supplying the emotion. Lahiri doesn't have to be all up in our face about the loss, betrayal, or emotional neglect our characters feel. We get it anyway.