The year is 1969. In the state of Kerala, on the southernmost tip of India, a skyblue Plymouth with chrome tailfins is stranded on the highway amid a Marxist workers' demonstration. Inside the car sit two-egg twins Rahel and Esthappen, and so begins their tale. . . .
Armed only with the invincible innocence of children, they 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, Sophie Mol, and her mother, Margaret Kochamma, arrive on a Christmas visit, Esthappen and Rahel …
The year is 1969. In the state of Kerala, on the southernmost tip of India, a skyblue Plymouth with chrome tailfins is stranded on the highway amid a Marxist workers' demonstration. Inside the car sit two-egg twins Rahel and Esthappen, and so begins their tale. . . .
Armed only with the invincible innocence of children, they 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, Sophie Mol, and her mother, Margaret Kochamma, arrive on a Christmas visit, Esthappen and Rahel learn that Things Can Change in a Day. That lives can twist into new, ugly shapes, even cease forever, beside their river "graygreen." With fish in it. With the sky and trees in it. And at night, the broken yellow moon in it.
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.
The God of Small Things takes on the Big Themes--Love. Madness. Hope. Infinite Joy. Here is a writer who dares to break the rules. To dislocate received rhythms and create the language she requires, a language that is at once classical and unprecedented. Arundhati Roy has given us a book that is anchored to anguish, but fueled by wit and magic.
--front flap
A portrait of a family in 1960s India, elegantly observed; the blurb says 'lyrical' and that's probably the best descriptor for Roy's style. But I found the increasing use of mid-sentence capitalization to highlight the Important Things toward the end a bit offputting, particularly when combined with a host of other choices such as phonetic spellings. Nearly a 4/5
A portrait of a family in 1960s India, elegantly observed; the blurb says 'lyrical' and that's probably the best descriptor for Roy's style. But I found the increasing use of mid-sentence capitalization to highlight the Important Things toward the end a bit offputting, particularly when combined with a host of other choices such as phonetic spellings. Nearly a 4/5
This book had been on my lists for ages, before I even knew who was Arundhati Roy, and I was surprised that it took me a while to like it. There was something holding me back a little. It's a slow drama, like a train crash in slow motion, often foreshadowed through the labyrinthine construction between the present and different times in the past. Eventually, it started to make sense and the incredible writing gripped me.
This book had been on my lists for ages, before I even knew who was Arundhati Roy, and I was surprised that it took me a while to like it. There was something holding me back a little. It's a slow drama, like a train crash in slow motion, often foreshadowed through the labyrinthine construction between the present and different times in the past. Eventually, it started to make sense and the incredible writing gripped me.
Magnifique livre, très émouvant et incroyablement bien écrit. Ce premier livre de l'auteur, si je me rappelle bien mes lectures à son sujet, fit sensation dans le monde de la littérature anglaise. Il est de fait étudié au Bac français (option littérature anglaise) 2024-2025. Le style est de réalisme magique, vu depuis les yeux de deux enfants, faux-jumeaux, qui ont développés une vision très particulière du monde, certainement par protection. Bien qu'il traite de sujets parfois sur, ce style justement permet d'éviter de se retrouver le cœur trop broyé para leurs tribulations.
Magnifique livre, très émouvant et incroyablement bien écrit. Ce premier livre de l'auteur, si je me rappelle bien mes lectures à son sujet, fit sensation dans le monde de la littérature anglaise. Il est de fait étudié au Bac français (option littérature anglaise) 2024-2025. Le style est de réalisme magique, vu depuis les yeux de deux enfants, faux-jumeaux, qui ont développés une vision très particulière du monde, certainement par protection. Bien qu'il traite de sujets parfois sur, ce style justement permet d'éviter de se retrouver le cœur trop broyé para leurs tribulations.
Review of 'The God of Small Things' on 'Storygraph'
No rating
I cannot say I liked this book. It's great, but it's also awful, and I feel like it will take a while to wash it off of me. It describes ugly things as if they were beautiful and beautiful things as if they were ugly.
Also, I think it hit closer to home than I would have liked and much closer than it should have.
I cannot possibly rate this book.
I cannot say I liked this book. It's great, but it's also awful, and I feel like it will take a while to wash it off of me. It describes ugly things as if they were beautiful and beautiful things as if they were ugly.
Also, I think it hit closer to home than I would have liked and much closer than it should have.
Review of 'The God of Small Things' on 'Goodreads'
5 stars
A pair of actors trapped in a recondite play with no hint of plot or narrative. Stumbling through their parts, nursing someone else's sorrow. Grieving someone else's grief.
Unable, somehow, to change plays. Or purchase, for a fee, some cheap brand of exorcism from a counselor with a fancy degree, who would sit them down and say, in one of many ways: "You're not the Sinners. You're the Sinned Against. You were only children. You had no control. You are the victims, not the perpetrators."
Rahel and Esthappen are siblings, Rahel a little girl, Estha her brother. They are bright, imaginative children. They are two-egg twins, but sometimes they are Mrs. Eapen and Mrs. Rajagopalan, or Ambassador E. Pelvis (with a puff) and Ambassador S. Insect. A boy in his beige and pointy shoes and his Elvis puff, a little fairy in her airport frock with matching bloomers. A …
A pair of actors trapped in a recondite play with no hint of plot or narrative. Stumbling through their parts, nursing someone else's sorrow. Grieving someone else's grief.
Unable, somehow, to change plays. Or purchase, for a fee, some cheap brand of exorcism from a counselor with a fancy degree, who would sit them down and say, in one of many ways: "You're not the Sinners. You're the Sinned Against. You were only children. You had no control. You are the victims, not the perpetrators."
Rahel and Esthappen are siblings, Rahel a little girl, Estha her brother. They are bright, imaginative children. They are two-egg twins, but sometimes they are Mrs. Eapen and Mrs. Rajagopalan, or Ambassador E. Pelvis (with a puff) and Ambassador S. Insect. A boy in his beige and pointy shoes and his Elvis puff, a little fairy in her airport frock with matching bloomers. A puff and a fountain in a love-in-Tokyo (which I believe is a long name for those little black rubber bands with two beads on the end that lots of us used to make pony tails, back in the 70's)(But I digress).
There are two very different tragedies in this story that come together and ruin the happy lives of Rahel, Esthappen, and Ammu, their mother, and a special man named Velutha. The adult world, with its infinite bigotry and violence, blames and punishes them all. Ammu, a divorcee who has returned with her children to her family's village, is already not very welcome, but then she has a secret affair with Velutha, who is from a lower caste. They break The Love Laws, which define who is to be loved, how, and how much, and they pay the highest price. Rahel and Estha are not spared the trauma, especially Estha; in another stroke of random unfairness, he experiences and witnesses more that Rahel does, and is made to feel very much to blame.
Arundhati Roy tells this story in a way that reminds me of water circling round a drain before rushing downward; the narrative moves back and forth in time and tells everyone's stories before the reader is given the details of the inevitable ending. It did take me some time to really get involved with the story, since the names, family relationships, and time-shifting style took some getting used to. In the end, though, I was awed by the writing and the story, and would highly recommend it to anyone.
The God of Small Things, By Arundhati Roy, copyright 1997, HarperCollins. 321 pgs. Winner of The Booker Prize, 1997
