إله الأشياء الصغيرة - أروندهاتي روي ..


هذه واحدة من تلك الروايات، الروايات التي تبدأ من النهاية...
من اللحظة الأولى تعرف ما حدث - أو أغلبه - ومن تلك اللحظة نستشعر الكوارث القادمة في كل صفحة ..
وكيف وصلنا إلى اللحظة الفارقة .
من البداية تسير الأحداث بشكلين متوازين عودة إلى الخلف، والحاضر .
وهكذا في النهاية تتجمع الأحداث؛ الماضي والحاضر وحتّى الماضي السحيق، وقصة كلّ شخصية وهكذا نعرف كلّ ما حدث ...
هذه رواية عن الهند ... الطبقات الإجتماعيّة، عن المنبوذين، وتوأم .
عن أوضاع المرأة، عن الدين، عن مجتمع صغير عزل نفسه .
عن ليلة ماطرة وقارب ونهر، عن حدث صغير وعادي يغير كلّ شيء .
عن كيرالا، عن الفقر والجنون والشيوعيين والشرطة .
هذه رواية مأساوية واستنثائية ...

pretentious: adjective
1. Attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc., than is actually possessed.
See also: The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

I know that literary and film critics tend to overuse the p-word, but I'm serious when I say that I've never felt more comfortable using it than when describing The God of Small Things. How the hell did this book win The Booker? How can anyone who understands and appreciates literature call this thing "beautifully written"? I mean, no offense to anyone who likes this book. I respect the opinions of my professors. But we're going to have to agree to disagree on this one.

I really wish that I had counted the number of similes in this book. I wouldn't be surprised if there were over 100. And keep in mind, I'm just talking about similes, the "like" and "as" metaphors. There are probably more than 100 metaphors in total. Some of them make sense, and they're lovely, and they made me happy.

Like these:
"As a child, she had learned very quickly to disregard the Father and Mother Bear stories she was given to read. In her version, Father Bear beat Mother Bear with brass vases."
"Twinkle was a word with crinkled, happy edges."

But the majority of them are more like these:
"Julie Andrews...with her voice like cold water and her breath like peppermint."
"A pale daymoon hung hugely in the sky... As full as the belly of a beer drinking man."

Howwwww does anyone read any of those sentences with a straight face?? I just don't understand... It crossed my mind that maybe I just prefer my prose to taste a little less poetic. Then I remembered that the least Ms. Roy could do if she wanted to write poetically would be to n  have her metaphors make sense.n You can argue that the beer drinking moon thing is awkward because it was thought of by a child, but how would a 7-year-old know that drinking beer makes you fat? And Julie Andrews's voice like cold water, not my style but I can live with it. But her breath like peppermint?? You can't smell her breath through a screen. I've never imagined what Julie Andrews's breath smelled like in The Sound of Music or in any other movie. And I am a big fan of hers.

The Sound of Music is a reoccurring motif in this book cuz Westernization in India and that ideal but unattainable family life and blah-di-blah. I didn't have a problem with that. But I did have a problem with the fact that they kept referring to Christopher Plummer's character as "Baron."



Of course, The Sound of Music is one of many motifs that gets shoved down your throat at every somewhat appropriate moment. And don't even get me started on the overuse of color symbolism. Like I am pretty sure Ms. Roy assigned a deeper meaning to every color in the rainbow in this book.

But it was over for me when this guy showed up:



Roy actually uses the lyrics to "Ruby Tuesday" to highlight how a character feels. And the song doesn't get reincorporated or anything like that. It just shows up, to like, reinforce that India is kinda British... I guess.

The plot itself is somewhat interesting: 7-year-old fraternal twins living in 1960s, caste-concious/Communist-influenced/British-influenced India witness the death of their cousin, and now they're messed up adults. We see the events of the story mostly through the children's perspectives, and I love me some child's perspective in adult fiction. (If I was stupid enough to write a thesis, I think that's what I'd write about.) But I hate the way the story is told. I get why it jumps around in time, but it jumps around too much. Roy should have given us the Present and the Past, but instead she gives us the Present and Pasts 1-30 (slight exaggeration). This is a good time to mention that Roy also likes to capitalize Words for no apparent reason.

I was not surprised at all when my brother told me that my old high school's junior class had to read this book in English last year. The God of Small Things reads like someone sat down and decided to write a book that was specifically meant to torture IB students. It has all of the weird taboos of Love in the Time of Cholera plus the pompousness of Their Eyes Were Watching God. (Which I also had the pleasure of reading this semester.) Oh and when I say weird taboos I mean incest. Cuz if you write about incest, you're bound to win a Booker or a Pulitzer or something. Because incest is edgy and it must symbolize something deeper.

I can't wait to find out what my professor has to say about this book in lecture tomorrow...

This is probably one of the most weirdest books I have ever read. I tried reading this when I was 15 and DNF as I got lost amongst the confusing prose.

The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy, is a fantastic book. It takes place in a town in India called Ayemenem. It is about a family and how they deal with their day-to-day life. Rahel and Estha, the main characters, are twins who are always getting into trouble with their mom, Ammu. It tells about their life in India and how their government and society work. They own a Pickle factory, so Rahel and Estha's family is known as a "touchable" family. Since they are touchable, they are not allowed to talk to or do with the untouchables." You will later find out that this is a problem in the story. This story tells about how they grew up with the issues they had when they were little, like when one of the characters gets sexually abused, he has to deal with it his whole life, and it tells about his struggle. This book is a page-turner and is easy to read. However, it sometimes gets confusing because some of the chapters are flashbacks. I would recommend this book more to girls, but boys would enjoy it, too.

I cannot write a critical review of this book. It seems impossible. There's something about Indian writing that leaves me overwhelmed and unsettled. Writers such as Arundhati Roy herself do not just write words; they imprint those words deep within you so that you can hear their echoes resonate inside you every once in a while. These writers have a poetic tendency that always manages to creep in their prose. They create such a sad, melancholic, lyrical song out of it that you cannot help but succumb under it and feel what they want you to feel. They know what it's like to be Indian - it can be a sad, sad thing. And no one can capture that better than they can.

I loved this book. I'm certain I will love it more the next time I read it.

This is about the sad, poignant breakdown of an illustrious family in the 60’s in a place called Kerala, a state in India. It revolves around a woman called Ammu who has twins called Estha and Rahel and a lover called Velutha. She and her twins reside in an old house with her mother, Mamachi and her cunning aunt, Kochama. Her twins are not Velutha’s but of Baba’s. However, Ammu has left Baba because he is an alcoholic and tries to prostitute Ammu to his employer. Her mother and aunt are not in favor of her marrying her lover Velutha because he is an “untouchable.”

This novel won the 1997 Booker Prize and it was Roy’s first novel and she wrote this for a period of 4 years when she was 32-36 years old. She never had another book published and she is now 51 years old. An architect by profession, she, however, wrote essays and articles about her advocacies: anti-globalization movement, anti-neoimperialism and anti-global policies of the United States. Suffice it to say, that she may have only one bestseller and critically-acclaimed novel the whole of her life (unless she writes another one) but she is definitely not a flash-in-a-pan as she is a woman of substance. But still, just like Harper Lee with her To Kill a Mockingbird, my suspicious mind still asks this question: did Roy actually write this alone or was there somebody who helped her? In To Kill, Lee’s friend Capote said to have “helped” in writing that novel.

But this is none of my business. She said she wrote it and I liked it so who cares. Every new novelist needs all the help he or she can get.

Reading this book reminded me of the following:

Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels for the fragmented, episodic and shifting narration. I think the idea is to mimic human mind: when you remember a story that happened in your life, you don’t think of it from the beginning to the end. The human brain does not work that way. In fact, the way Roy presented the story is like an well-arranged song where each part has its own highlight that kept me hooked and glued until the last pages where each character seems to contribute to the rising crescendo: the betrayal of Velutha by Estha after the accidental drowning of Sophie Mol followed by Velutha’s death and peaking to its climax with the almost-obscene lovemaking of Ammu and Velutha (that gave me headache for lack of sleep when I woke up this morning).

Beloved by Toni Morrison for the dark, poignant social or racial discrimination told beautifully through poetic and lyrical. The innocent playful words of the fraternal twins, Rahel and Estha are, for me, just a step further from that Morrison’s characters, Denver (the mother) , Sethe (the living daughter) and Beloved (the ghost daughter) singing together beautifully towards the end of this Morrison’s 1987 Pulitzer-winning novel.

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushie for the political tone of the novel particularly on Velutha’s involvement in communist movement and the historical bits and pieces of India incorporated in the story.

This book really seems to me like a excellent concoction of imported excellent ingredients. However, as it tastes strangely nice, it is still worth reading. Just content yourself as you cannot go back for a refill.

Small Perfection.

1969-93, Kerala, India. Rahel and Estha are two estranged early adult siblings, reunited again after decades apart. Rahel, vivacious, outspoken, and working hard abroad; Estha reclusive, near mute, and never far off home. As they fumblingly attempt to reconnect, flashbacks from the past come back and forth, revealing the history and tragedy of a once united family, that now is not.

This was one weird f*cked up book, and still one of the best I’ve ever read. The God of Small Things weaves the story of two generations, from parents Ammu and Pappachi, to their descendants, Rahel and Esthappen. A family’s history written in tiny glimpses of joy, and ill-fated events; scarred with terrible familiar and societal injustices, and fleeting moments of happiness, in a world prone to swiftly crush them. The story of Pappachi, Ammu, Velutha, Chako and Baby Kochamma taking a major role in the plot progression, and the unfolding chain of events.

To be honest after five years I hardly remember anything at all. It’s not the stuff is forgettable, I actually think it’s pretty memorable, in fact much of it's just atrocious and I wish I could forget it. The story is so f*cked up in so many ways, with heavy TW written all over the place. But tbh I couldn’t care less; what I absolutely LOVE about this book has nothing to do with the plot or its characters, but Arundhati Roy's style of writing. I just fell madly in love with it.

Reading this book was like watching an infinitely intricate spider web connecting every single little detail. Like Pappachi's Moth, and so many other seemingly trivial things. But ordinary things that kept repeating themselves again and again, in so many unique and different ways. Creating a world of new concepts out of thin air, exquisitely recrafting small tiny events, and weaving all of them together in this tragic little universe.

I must confess the idea of becoming a writer has appealed to me once or twice, although doubt it’ll ever happen, since I’m fully aware of my appalling absence of consistency and habit, not to mention maybe the skill lacking. But if I’m ever to become one, this is how I want to do it, or at last attempt to; because what Arundhati Roy did here, her style of writing, was for me divine perfection, and to nail it on her debut novel, beyond exceptional.

-----------------------------------------------
n  PERSONAL NOTEn:
[1997] [321p] [Fiction] [Historical] [Conditional Recommendable]  [Sophie <3]
-----------------------------------------------

Pequeña Perfección.

1969-93, Kerala, India. Rahel y Estha son dos hermanos jóvenes adultos distanciados, reunidos de nuevo luego de décadas separados. Rahel, vivaz, abierta, y trabajando duro afuera; Estha recluso, casi mudo, y nunca de su casa lejos. Mientas intentan lastimosamente reconectarse, flashes del pasado entran y salen, revelando la historia y tragedia de una familia alguna vez unida, que ahora ya no sea.

Este fue un jodidamente raro libro, y aun así uno de los mejores que jamás he leído. El Dios de las Pequeñas cosas teje una historia de dos generaciones, desde los padres Ammu y Pappachi, hasta sus descendientes, Rahel y Esthappen. La historia de una familia escrita en pequeños destellos de felicidad, y eventos desafortunados; cicatrizados con terribles injusticias, familiares y sociales, y fugaces momentos de alegría, en un mundo propenso a rápidamente destruirla. La historia de Pappachi, Ammu, Velutha, Chako y Baby Kochamma tomando un rol preponderante en la progresión de la trama, y en el desenlace de los eventos que desencadena.

Para ser honestos después de cinco años apenas si recuerdo en absoluto algo. No es que las cosas sean olvidables, de hecho creo que son bastante memorables, en verdad mucho de ello es horrible y desearía poder olvidarlo. La historia es jodida en varias formas, con poderosas alarmas en partes todas. Pero para ser sinceros eso no podría importarme menos; lo que absolutamente AMO de este libro no tienen nada que ver con la trama o sus personajes, sino más bien con la escritura de Arundhati Roy. Simplemente me enamoré perdidamente de ella.

Leer este libro fue como observar una infinitamente intrincada telaraña conectando cada pequeño detalle. Como la Polilla de Pappachi, y varias otras aparentemente triviales cosas. Pero ordinarias cosas que se repetían una y otra vez, en tantas diferentes y únicas formas. Creando un mundo de nuevos conceptos desde la nada, exquisitamente reformulando pequeños diminutos eventos, y tejiendo juntos todos ellos, en este trágico y pequeño universo.

Debo confesar que la idea de convertirme en autor me apeteció en alguna que otra ocasión, aunque dudo que alguna vez suceda, ya que soy plenamente consciente de mi vergonzosa ausencia de hábito y consistencia, sin mencionar la habilidad tal vez en carencia. Pero si alguna vez en uno me convierto, ésta es la forma en que quiero hacerlo, o al menos intentarlo; porque lo que Arundhati Roy logró aquí, su estilo de escritura, fue para mí perfección divina, y algo excepcional, el lograrlo con su novela primera.

-----------------------------------------------
n  NOTA PERSONALn:
[1997] [321p] [Ficción] [Histórica] [Recomendable Condicional]  [Sophie <3]
-----------------------------------------------

This book has literally no chill. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. По ідеї, це задумувалося як родинна сага зі складною структурою: є теперішній час, коли крона родинного дерева порідшала і змиршавіла - й від неї тягнуться корені у темне і прикре минуле. Ми знаємо, що в минулому сталося Щось Страшне (говориться таким тоном, як оте “something nasty in the woodshed”, їй-Богу). З періодичністю раз у кількадесят сторінок авторка показує нам щось страшне з минулого, і щойно ти вирішуєш, що це й було оте дефінітивне Щось Страшне, яке визначило всі біди по тому, як авторка знаходить щось іще страшніше. Десь після третьої ляльки в цій матрьошці жахів ця структура мені починає нагадувати скандал, коли тільки учасники розійшлися по різних кімнатах, щоб охолонути, як хтось вривається назад і волає “І ЩЕ ОДНЕ: ТИ МЕНІ ВСЕ ЖИТТЯ ЗІПСУВАЛА”. Кажу ж: no chill. Я ніжна квіточка, для мене це після якоїсь точки стомливо.
А поза тим текст обсесивно акуратно зроблений, я, звичайно, в захваті від усіх цих рефренів про “viable, die-able age” і, скажімо, банановий джем, нелегальний у своїй екзистенційній невизначеності, як і частина героїв: на родинній фабричці головних героїв бодяжать “banana jam (illegally) after the FPO (Food Products Organization) banned it because according to their specifications it was neither jam nor jelly. Too thin for jelly and too thick for jam. An ambiguous, unclassifiable consistency, they said” – це перегукується з одним із месіджів тексту про те, що люди намагаються знищити все те, що не можуть чітко класифікувати.
При цьому ясно, чому це – найпопулярніший індійський текст: він злий на людську природу, а не на колоніальну історію, що, певною мірою, розгрішує британського читача. “Серце пітьми” для людей часів Конрада – про заглиблення цивілізованої людини (чит.: представника західної цивілізації) у пітьму первісного людського буття (чит.: усі інші цивілізації). Для читачів, які причастилися постколоніальною критикою, “серце пітьми” – це про пітьму, яку собі дозволяє носій західної цивілізації, класифікувавши решту людства як нижчу від себе. У Рой “серце пітьми” – щось універсальніше, насильство “impelled by feelings that were primal yet paradoxically wholly impersonal. Feelings of contempt born of inchoate, unacknowledged fear—civilization’s fear of nature, men’s fear of women, power’s fear of powerlessness. Man’s subliminal urge to destroy what he could neither subdue nor deify. Men’s Needs”.
(При цьому interiority все одно перепадає виключно персонажам-британцям, бо колоніальна історія дарма не минається, порівн. як описано історію підліткової закоханості Baby Kochamma – і як історію підліткової закоханості Маргарет.)

There is a lot of beautiful writing in this novel, but the rambling fashion in which this story is told makes it difficult to keep the characters and their timelines straight���we jump back and forth in time for no reason that I can see.

The inequality between the genders isn’t just about the fact it takes place in India. It’s also a testament to the era in history in which part of the story is told. For example, Ammu’s parents think education is wasted on a girl, so she marries the first man she meets after only knowing him a few days. After they’re married and she gives birth to fraternal twins, she realizes just how much of alcoholic he is. Too much of a drunkard to hold down a job and support a family.

The fact that a male, Estha, likes to cook and clean up after himself and serve himself seconds rather than getting a female to do work for him is frowned upon. Women who aspire to anything with themselves beyond taking care of children and husbands were frowned upon, but it wasn’t all that different here in America in 1969. For reasons I can’t fathom, we’re STILL not paid the same as men for equivalent work.

This is a unique and intriguing novel.

My uncle, who is an avid reader, recommended this book to me. It's one of his favorite books, especially for the beauty of the language. I, being an amateur reader, really had great expectations from this book. However, it fell short by some way.

Things that I liked:

- Wonderful language which, despite being a tad flowery sometimes, is quite lucid
- Deep characterization with back stories for all characters
- Wonderful descriptions of environment, ambiance, etc. throughout the book
- Description of Chacko's love story (short yet extremely well written)
- Masterful way of keeping the mystery of Sophie Mol's death and Ammu's back story till the end (revealing only bits and pieces in between). However, the end was quite predictable (the drowning part in the river while crossing the river). I thought something interesting might have happened which resulted in that happening.

Things that I hated:

- Despicable, disturbing, sudden, nauseating appearances of sensual scenes which are quite unnecessary (e.g. Orange drink Lemon drink incident, ugh!, and Rahel and Estha having sex in the final chapter, very difficult to digest)

- Unnecessary descriptions of Kathakali dancers, TV episodes which characters are watching, bathroom habits of people, different insects, birds in the surroundings (one or two is fine but not 5-10 in a single paragraph)

- The innumerable time shifts. Can't understand whether the characters are still young or old. Extremely confusing.

- Excessive capitalization of words without any purpose. Too many broken sentences and self-constructed words.

- The main plot (love between Ammu and Velutha) is not described till the last few pages (which somewhat redeem the book). However, the nauseating sexual parts present in that part are difficult to digest again. To be fair, even Chetan Bhagat and other Indian authors don't describe sensual scenes in so explicit detail. Despite that, they're criticized of inserting too many such scenes. I'm in support of them in this thing.

- The reason why Ammu decided to take such a huge risk of persisting with the lust affair with Velutha is still unknown. All characters are so irritating (Ammu, Rahel, Estha, Sophie Mol, everybody) that you don't feel for them, even for Ammu.

- Forced attempt at humor. Some sarcastic elements were good, though.

- Estha, he lived in a cara-van (Dum-dum). This (Popeye the sailor inspired) sentence when placed at sensitive portions where you somehow feel a trifle of pity for him is dreadfully irritating. Why would you forcibly put comedy in an emotional scene; it really dilutes the experience. The something shaped holes in the universe style is also repeated too much. Throughout the book it seems like Arundhati Roy is hell bent of impressing the readers with her language skills rather than indulging them in the story.

- There are some more things which I can't remember.

Ultimately, I really didn't enjoy reading the novel. Some parts were brilliant, but the overall effect was unsatisfactory.

I'm just a debut, struggling author (and an amateur reader); it really doesn't make a difference but it's 2.75 stars for the Booker Prize winner from my side. Sorry.

She hatched several wretched little plans.

And one of them was a book.

Arundhati Roy's novel is a traumatized child's fever dream. The child is Rahel, a twin, born of a father who drinks and is consequently left by a mother who wishes she wasn't. Raised for a precious few years alongside her brother, the children are wrenched apart for bad reasons and life ends without ending.

Ammu loved her children (of course), but their wide-eyed vulnerability and their willingness to love people who didn't really love them exasperated her and sometimes made her want to hurt them - just as an education, a protection.

As with so many traumatized children, when Rahel tells her story its focus is forever on someone else. Her twin, her mother, her aunt, the factory men, anyone's mind she can climb inside to escape the truth in her own. Rahel comes and goes to this childhood, back and forth through several stages of her life, and it is due entirely to Roy's diligence that the narrative manages to hang together at all. Still, readers will warn you this is a harsh and disjointed thing; deceptive in its apparent cohesion. We can never be safe here, as Rahel is not safe and cannot therefore provide such a thing. And so there is a shocking amount of torment, numerous messy unmet needs, several scenes that dip into the abhorrent, and a hopelessness skipping at the margins that can prove difficult to bear.

He trembled his own body like a man with malaria. Mammachi ordered him to stop it but he couldn't, because you can't order fear around.

And we come to the point of picking up the book. It's those elusive truths Rahel spends so much time trying to approach in the safe way she cannot find. They appear in lines scattered about the text, scattered to stories not her own and events she regales from her periphery, and they are powerful, and precise, and a thousand times wiser than anyone might have a right to expect - which is the worth of trauma in literature; its existential clarity.

It was a composure born of extreme provocation. It stemmed from a lucidity that lies beyond rage.

A nightmare of a thing, this novel...and plenty of reason to attend to it.

سلام من هرچی از این کتاب بگم کم گفتم:)
خلاصه ای از کتاب:
کتاب درباره ی یک خانواده ی هندی در سال 1969 توضیح میده.
راوی کتاب خوده نویسنده ست، نویسنده توی فصل های اول کتاب مارو با شهر آیمنم توی هند آشنا میکنه، و هر فصل سرگذشت افراد خانواده ی توی داستان رو بهمون میگه. از دو قلوهای توی داستان (راحل و استاپن) بگیر تا پدرشون که نقش کمی توی زندگیشون داشت، درباره ی دختردایی انگلیسی بورشون، حتی پدربزرگشون. کسی که وقتی مادر دوقولوها با کسی که ارزش خانوادگیشون پایین تر بود ازدواج کرد اون رو از خونه طرد کرد.

توی این کتاب خیلی با هند آشنا می‌شیم. جامعه ی هند، مردم هند. طبقه های مردم هند. نجس ها و غیر نجس ها.
حتی خانواده های هندی. که مرد خانواده به پیشرفت همسرش حسادت می‌کنه.
مرد سالاری توی هند بی‌داد میکنه. مثل همینجا! شاید از اینجا بدتر. البته توی زمان خیلی دور

من اول فکر میکردم این داستان درباره ی دوقولهاست. راحل و استاپن، دوقلوهای از هم جدانشدنی. که جدا میشن. جدایی دردناک
ولی نه، این کتاب درباره ی عشق بود. عشقی ممنوع که بین خطوط کتاب گم شد، بین فصل ها و سرفصل های عجیب و غریب کتاب گم شد و فقط پنج صفحه از کتاب رو دربرگرفت. حس کردم نویسنده هم از توضیح این عشق میترسید

این کتاب دقت بالایی برای خوندن لازم داره. چون توی فصل های کتاب نویسنده توضیحات درباره ی شخصیت هارو جابه‌جا میکنه تا توجهتون رو به دست بیاره.
صددرصد پیشنهاد میشه❤