راحل فکر کرد در میان چهار چیزی که در طبیعت بشری وجود دارند، شادمانی بی‌انتها از همه غم‌انگیزتر است.

My biggest problem with this book is how to rank it. I did not enjoy a good part of it. It is bleak, dispiriting and evokes a sense of impending disaster through much of the story. The reason I am in a quandary about my sense of this novel is that I was, simply stated, delighted by Roy's unique and wonderfully creative style of writing.

A brief synopsis of the plot will provide many examples of my ambivalence. This is the tale of a pair of near-genius, "two-egg" twin children and their eccentric and/or maladjusted family and neighbors in India. Roy informs the reader immediately that a young visiting cousin has died. Throughout the book there is some dark mystery associated with this.

Much of the narrative takes place around the river and in their rural town. Roy related it in a fashion which meandered like the river which flows through this story. At times the language is playful, whimsical and humorous. For example: the twins were amusingly, amazingly adept at transposing words and letters in their speech, causing much consternation with the adults. Frequently Roy has fashioned words of several items linked together or completely invented them. When one of the children misbehaved, there were warnings to STOPPIT - So SHE STOPPITED ! Like the character of this river as it courses along, there were periods of darkness and upheaval which she marked by frequent capitalization of the words, also stressing their importance.

The author has drawn an eloquent picture of the culture and the people in this area. Smells, sights and emotions were vividly portrayed. Although it is not difficult to discuss positive aspects of her writing, I would say that this was not an easy book to read. One must devote time and thought to analyzing the numerous examples of symbolism throughout. It definitely has been worth my effort. Although I have stated that this novel was dark and depressing, I will rate it 4 stars based on Roy's writing, but preferably 3.5.

"Nothing mattered much. Nothing much mattered. And the less it mattered, the less it mattered. It was never important enough. Because Worse Things had happened. In the country that she came from, poised forever between the terror of war and the horror of peace, Worse Things kept happening."

"Perhaps it's true that things can happen in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcomes of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house- the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture- must be ressurected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for."

"Ammu didn't pretend to be in love with him. She just weighed the odds and accepted."

"Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through the dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones- a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered."

" 'D'you know what happens when you hurt people?' Ammu said. "When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.'"

"And the Air was full of Thoughts and Things to Say. But at times like these, only the Small Things are ever said. The Big Things lurk unsaid inside."

"If you're happy in a dream, Ammu, does that count?"

"The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don't deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don't surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover's skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don't. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won't. In the Great Storis you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn't. And yet you want to know again."

"She thought of Chacko's laugh, and a smile stayed in her eyes for a long time."

"Had he known that he was about to enter a tunnel whose only egress was his own annihilation, would he have turned away?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Who can tell?"

"A cloudy kiss. A kiss that demanded a kiss-back."

It is hard for me to find the words to describe Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. This novel took me on an emotional rollercoaster ride which was excruciatingly wonderful yet wondrously traumatic. At various time I felt like this book deserved 5⭐️ or alternately 3⭐️! In the end I settled on a solid 4⭐️!

What I enjoyed most was Roy's relentlessly creative imagination which weaved this intricate, albeit deceptively simple narrative about the vicissitudes of a Christian family from Kerala, in southern India. She brings to life the rich, yet harsh complexity of Indian society, which is rooted in the age-old caste system in which some groups are deemed 'untouchable,' while at the same time struggling to embrace modernity and radical new ideas like communism. Roy succeeds in delivering an insightful social commentary (or arguably an indictment) of India by refusing to shy away from unflattering issues like poverty, classism and colorism that plague India to the present day. However, at the same time she vividly captures the beauty of ancient Indian culture which still infuses everyday life in the country.

The least enjoyable part of The God of Small Things, for me was the somewhat meandering middle part of the story. It felt at times like I was wading through the story and it was getting deeper and deeper without going towards any particular destination (at least not in a great hurry). In addition, I would warn potential readers of this book about a trigger for pedophilia. There was a bizarre cringeworthy encounter with an 'uncle' that nearly made me lose the thread of the narrative. Although, I must confess it probably is an 'honest' depiction of what happens occasionally in India even to this day, it was nevertheless very unsettling.

Overall, I would highly recommend this book to anyone, especially if you are open to being challenged and pushed a bit outside of your comfort zone. You will be rewarded for your perseverance. I found the ending of The God of Small Things absolutely mesmerizing and worth the wait!

This book haunts me. I read it decades ago and still find myself thinking about it from time to time. I must really look up other Roy books.

There is so much taboo and heartbreak going on in here. It is the only way the ending makes sense and is ok, even though it really is not ok. But how else could it have ended? Who else can understand them? Who else can comfort them? Who else? Let's hope generational trauma stops with them.

If ever there was a book that could make a strong case for letting people be as they are and love who they want to love, it is this book. If ever there was a book that could make a strong case for keeping a watchful eye on our children and to teach them to speak up and speak out loudly and often, it is this book.

‘The God of Small Things’ is one of those novels I’ve mixed opinions about. To be honest, it was a little difficult to get through this book but in the end, it was really worth it! It revolves around the life of Ipe family living in the beautiful village of Ayemenem in Kerala. It begins when the twins Rahel and Estha are reunited in Ayemenem. The story switches back and forth between two different timelines beginning in 1993 and going all the way in the past when they were 7 years old.

Both of them are still haunted by an incident that happened long ago. The narrative then switches to the 1960s, when the twins were younger, where we learn about the things that led up to the tragic event that changed their lives in a major way. Through the switching narratives, we learn about the background of the Ipe family and things from their perspective. We also learn about the cultural and political climate of Kerala in the past.

First of all, I found the writing in this book absolutely enchanting and poignant in a very subtle way. I liked how the picturesque landscape of the village was described in minute details, even the minor details of objects were put in there, which was fascinating. The backstories of the people were told concisely which managed to capture the essence of the characters. The book has this kind of gloomy ambiance and a lot of foreshadowing is done which makes you want to keep on reading.

However, I had a bit of trouble following the events as the timelines just switch abruptly and the writing in the book feels too obscure sometimes. I mean I took my time reading the book, but there were many times I wanted to just give up. But I’m glad I didn’t do that as this is the kind of book that sticks with you for a long time. I think that’s the beauty of it, the language is so peculiar and heart-rending. The book talks about the loss of innocence and the ‘Love Laws’ that govern who should be loved, how and how much. The pain and the suffering of the people really broke my heart.

n  “…the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don’t deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don’t surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover’s skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don’t. In the way that although you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won’t. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn’t. And yet you want to know again. That is their mystery and their magic.”n

The book talks about the political climate of Kerala in the ’60s where there was a rise of communism and the caste system was already banned by the law. But socially, it was still prevalent as the oppressive system was somehow so embedded in people’s mind that it was impossible to get rid of the prejudice that people felt. The Untouchables were still unacceptable and expendable. This mentality made the innocent people born in a different cast into victims of their own fate. It’s sad to see that this is something that still exists in India, not in a major way but that mindset definitely isn’t gone socially. We also see the unfair treatment that the women received in society.

Towards the end of the book, an event takes place that can be called controversial. I don’t want to give too much away but I think the topic was handled very well. I was able to understand the situation and the misery of the people. Also, we see that no matter how messed up the Big Things are, the Small Things are the ones that really matter in the grand scheme of things, the things that keep you going; but maybe those Small Things can also eventually add up to create a huge impact over the lives of people. This book really made me feel the loss and grief that the characters felt.

All in all, it’s a great book that shows the ugly face of society. It has a really pretty cover and I’d love to re-read again after I forget the plot! I was amazed to know that this book was the author’s debut novel and she won an award for that. I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re a patient reader. Otherwise, it’s a fine book worth reading.

Read On Blog :)

As I stand just outside the compound with the untended garden - an uninvited, random visitor - the darkened Ayemenem House resembles a haunted mansion, belying the truth of the lives it once nurtured with maternal protectiveness in its cozy interiors. Derelict. Abandoned. Forgotten.
But I remember. I remember the lives lived, and the loves which were birthed by circumstances, loves which breathed for a while before perishing on the altar of conformity.
I remember Chacko and Sophie Mol. Ammu and Velutha. Rahel and Estha.

And, most of all, I remember You. You, the painter of this portrait of a family's downward spiral into oblivion. You, the creator of this life-sized painting of a city and a nation, and all of human civilization in turn.
I see You as an iconoclast, persistent in your demand for liberties we are too submissive to dream of acquiring. You ask for things so heedlessly, so powerfully. The right to love whom we want and how much we want. The right to be equal. The right not to be discriminated against. The right not to be left languishing in solitude, battling painful memories. The right not to lose, at any cost, one's faith in the goodness in human beings.
You are the rebel we never considered becoming. We do not have courage like yours you see.
(Your opinions aired on national television are so often misinterpreted. Deliberately. Craftily.)

The sun inside of You that refuses to be subdued by the drear of political machinations, by the evil lurking in the human heart, by the sham of 'development' perpetrated under the helpful charade of nonexistent liberty, equality, fraternity, by every one saying 'No no no, you ask for too much. The world cannot ever be a fair place.', sent a little light my way.
That light gives me hope. Your Small God gives me hope.

He augurs that the overlooked small, mundane cruelties will only snowball into a tragedy of life-altering proportions later on, a gigantic boulder hurtling down the slope of a mountain crushing everything in its path into an unrecognizable gory pulp of flesh and blood. Small God's wrath will eventually consume Big God's apathy and reduce it to mere cinders.
I hope your Small God is right.

You speak the esoteric language of children, whose inner worlds are but their own, beyond the reach of the sharpened claws of the Love Laws - worlds which are free and infinite, where fables, dreams and terrifying realities churn into a nonsensical lovely mass, worlds not tethered to earthly considerations. The two-egg twins' interlinked worlds, which stubbornly rejected the continued tyranny of the cycle of injustices perpetuated outside, were the same.
Their combined muteness throbbed with the dull ache of longing, loss and irreparable damage. Their collective passivity stood out as a blistering denouncement of humanity always coming second to zealously preserved blind prejudices. And You spoke through Rahel and Estha's silence which rung much louder than a giant church bell chiming away nearby.

We stew in our own insecurities and the irrelevance of small personal outrages, unable to take a step forward, helpless captives in the iron grip of the status quo of the world. While You, Ms Roy, take up your pen and fearlessly hail The God of Human Dignity, Empathy and Love - The God of Small Things.

So in this space, I thank that God for the Arundhati Roys of the world.

It's interesting that Roy said in an interview that she'd never read Rushdie when compared to him. In retrospect that makes sense. I'd been struggling with "The Moors Last Sigh" when a friend from India gave me this book. I didn't pick it up for a few months and then fell into it, doing little else for days while I read it. At first I found that hard to believe, because she plays with language in ways that I thought Rushdie did, but later I could see that the way he works language is radically different than how she did -- and I think I read a critique somewhere offering evidence of that that I can't remember now.

This was a gorgeous book. I wept for a long time after reading it. I find it interesting that Roy said she doubted she would write another novel. She's a fascinating person, dedicated to the sorts of thinking about the world that I only give lip service to. She's amazing. Still, I'd love a second book, but I don't think she will. She's moved on to something different.

This was a beautiful book; both contentwise and languagewise. I do admit that it's very hard to get into because of its messy storyline and its very poetic and at times absurd writing style, but once you do you can't help but appreciate its beauty.
I picked up this book because it's part of BBC's Top 100 Books List that I'm currently trying to complete, and I'm very happy I did so. This book is set in India, and so it taught me about a different culture and a different way of living. It's about the twins Rahel and Estha who have been split at some point in life, and this story is basically a puzzle that gradually gives you the pieces to put the puzzle together. Eventually, you find out what happened to them and why their lives turned out the way they did.
I was a bit deceived by the fact that very little of this book takes place in America. I was under the impression that it was going to be about these two worlds. Furthermore, I do think that the highly poetical language became overwhelming at several points and kind of overshadowed the story, which I was not a fan of. But having finished the book now, I really liked it and I'm very happy that I picked it up.

A sobering account of the consequences of bitterness, impulsive decisions, and “careless words.” As complicated and fractured as the family we follow, we see snapshots of lives filled with abuse, disappointment, and escapism. We see the loss of innocence, and the desperate want to turn back time, to have a semblance of the simpler times, when life held the magic of ignorance and youth. Insightful and wistful, this was an impactful modern classic fit for any reading bucket list.

Un roman de stare, de atmosferă, pe care l-am finalizat zâmbind trist-și nu pentru că aș fi experimentat o întâlnire nefericită, ci pentru că am finalizat lectura lui.

”El îşi împături frica într-un trandafir perfect. I-l întinse în căuşul palmei. Ea îl luă şi şi-l puse în păr.”

”Rahel nu i-a scris niciodată. Sunt lucruri pe care nu le poţi face – cum ar fi să-i scrii unei părţi din tine însuţi. Picioarelor tale sau părului. Sau inimii.”

”Ammu spuse că fiinţele umane erau făpturi ale obişnuinţei şi că era uluitor cu ce fel de lucruri se puteau obişnui.”

”…secretul Marilor Poveşti este acela că nu au secrete. Marile Poveşti sunt acelea pe care le-ai auzit şi vrei să le auzi din nou. Cele în care poţi intra în orice punct şi pe care le poţi locui confortabil.”

”La urma urmei, este atât de uşor să destrami o poveste. Să întrerupi un şir de gânduri. Să distrugi o frântură de vis purtat de colo colo cu grijă ca un obiect de porţelan.
Să o laşi să existe, să călătoreşti împreună cu ea, aşa cum făcuse Velutha, este lucrul cel mai greu de făcut.”

I remember this book creating quite a stir when it was first published. Arundhati Roy was widely acclaimed. Then it won the Booker Prize.It made its author a global star.

So,it was with a great deal of anticipation that I opened it.It disappointed me.

There is no doubt that the prose is lush and gorgeous. But there has to be a good story as well and that is what this book lacks.

It is very convoluted.It's pretty dark and depressing.It constantly shifts back and forth in time.It bored me.

It's too bad that Arundhati's Roy's storytelling skills do not quite match up to her linguistic mastery.

I remember this book for the hype,not for the content.