The God of Small Things | Arundhati Roy

The God of Small Things | Arundhati Roy | Breathtaking First Novel

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The God of Small T...

	The God of Small Things Arundhati Roy, 1998 - 336 pages average customer review:based on 870 reviews view larger image
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highly recommended

The story of the tragic decline of an Indian family whose members suffer the terrible consequences of forbidden love, The God of Small Things is set in the state of Kerala, on the southernmost tip of India. Armed only with the invincible innocence of children, the twins Rahel and Esthappen fashion a childhood for themselves in the shade of the wreck that is their family -- their lonely, lovely mother, Ammu (who loves by night the man her children love by day), their blind grandmother, Mammachi (who plays Handel on her violin), their beloved uncle Chacko (Rhodes scholar, pickle baron, radical Marxist, bottom-pincher), their enemy, Baby Kochamma (ex-nun and incumbent grandaunt), and the ghost of an imperial entomologist's moth (with unusually dense dorsal tufts).

When their English cousin and her mother arrive on a Christmas visit, the twins learn that Things Can Change in a Day. That lives can twist into new, ugly shapes, even cease forever. The brilliantly plotted story uncoils with an agonizing sense of foreboding and inevitability. Yet nothing prepares you for what lies at the heart of it.

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Great used book

Was able to find a used copy claimed to be in like new condition. It was just as advertised. Enjoyed the book immensely

Breathtaking First Novel

I read this book as a literature student in college and it is still one of my favorite books of all time. Her words read like poetry. It literally took my breath away in its beauty and message. Highly recommended for those who enjoy reading about the effects of globalization on so-called Third World countries, as well as those who appreciate a good romantic novel in the magical realist tradition.

The Glimmer of An Immense Sea

Reading this novel is akin to being reborn- as a snake eases out of its present coil and strips down to a more essential skin, so too will this violated madonna of lyricism attune you to the fundamentals of what it is to be human. This book strips away the veneer of polite society and illumes the central questions of humanity: why do we hate, love who we love and live as we do? At the end of this pulsating, haunting and all-seeing unveiling, I asked myself the overarching question that is central to each of our daily existence: why do I breathe?

This book has been mischaracterized as magic realism in the notes below. While people are entitled to call it whatever they want, if you want to revert to widely accepted definitions of the style, it isn't, not at all. And therein lies its power: there is no supernatural realm, no genius ghost, no divine intervention. This is us. Really, this is what we are. How can we address that which we carry within ourselves, escaping even our utterest exhaled breath? No matter how deep the sugared sighs of humankind, there is something so appalling that lurks in the human psyche that generally goes unacknowledged, and most people live it on a daily basis. This is one of the few works that can even hope to awake the quixotic part of us, that laments what we are, and gives hope that the reader's empathy will incite something better. This book turns the staid precepts of our world upside down: violation becomes salvation and successfully brings us to the searing understanding where the sickening is natural and right, because time honoured social convention fosters the blinding nightmare.

Only three writers have severely affected my ability to see the page in my life. I cried for Estha and Rahel, for two people who no one could ever understand except each other. I cried because to my knowledge this is the best book ever written on the caste system, and what it says about every single one of us. This is not just a book about India. It is a vast commentary on humanity, and most of all on love- that over-invoked, roughly used, oft bedraggled, and disregarded commodity.

The God of Small Things runs fingers of of feeling over your spine with its rivers of lyricism. It is fresh, insightful and sparkling- one of the great books of our time. There is no other work like it out there. Read it and see.

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