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The God of Small Things: A Novel Kindle Edition
“[The God of Small Things] offers such magic, mystery, and sadness that, literally, this reader turned the last page and decided to reread it. Immediately. It’s that haunting.”—USA Today
Compared favorably to the works of Faulkner and Dickens, Arundhati Roy’s modern classic is equal parts powerful family saga, forbidden love story, and piercing political drama. The seven-year-old twins Estha and Rahel see their world shaken irrevocably by the arrival of their beautiful young cousin, Sophie. It is an event that will lead to an illicit liaison and tragedies accidental and intentional, exposing “big things [that] lurk unsaid” in a country drifting dangerously toward unrest.
Lush, lyrical, and unnerving, The God of Small Things is an award-winning landmark that started for its author an esteemed career of fiction and political commentary that continues unabated.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherRandom House
- Publication dateDecember 8, 2008
- File size4100 KB
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Review
“[The God of Small Things] offers such magic, mystery, and sadness that, literally, this reader turned the last page and decided to reread it. Immediately. It’s that haunting.”—USA Today
“The quality of Ms. Roy’s narration is so extraordinary—at once so morally strenuous and so imaginatively supple—that the reader remains enthralled all the way through.”—The New York Times Book Review
“A novel of real ambition must invent its own language, and this one does.”—John Updike, The New Yorker
“Outstanding. A glowing first novel.”—Newsweek
“Splendid and stunning.”—The Washington Post Book World
From the Inside Flap
#1 CANADIAN BESTSELLER
#1 UK BESTSELLER
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK OF THE YEAR
The international publishing sensation of 1997 -- translated into 18 languages -- a magical, sophisticated tour de force now available in a stunning Vintage Canada edition.
The God of Small Things heralds a voice so powerful and original that it burns itself into the reader's memory. Set mainly in Kerala, India, in 1969, it is the story of Rahel and her twin brother Estha, who learn that their whole world can change in a single day, that love and life can be lost in a moment. Armed only with the invincible innocence of children, they seek to craft a childhood for themselves amid the wreckage that constitutes their family. Sweet and heartbreaking, ribald and profound, this is a novel to set beside those of Salman Rushdie and Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
PARADISE PICKLES & PRESERVES
May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun.
The nights are clear, but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation.
But by early June the southwest monsoon breaks and there are three months of wind and water with short spells of sharp, glittering sunshine that thrilled children snatch to play with. The countryside turns an immodest green. Boundaries blur as tapioca fences take root and bloom. Brick walls turn mossgreen. Pepper vines snake up electric poles. Wild creepers burst through latente banks and spill across the flooded roads. Boats ply in the bazaars. And small fish appear in the puddles that fill the PWD potholes on the highways.
“It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem. Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire. The old house on the hill wore its steep, gabled roof pulled over its ears like a low hat. The walls, streaked with moss, had grown soft, and bulged a little with dampness that seeped up from the ground. The wild, overgrown garden was full of the whisper and scurry of small lives. In the undergrowth a rat snake rubbed itself against a glistening stone. Hopeful yellow bullfrogs cruised the scummy pond for mates. A drenched mongoose flashed across the leaf strewn driveway.
The house itself looked empty. The doors and windows were locked. The front verandah bare. Unfurnished. But the skyblue Plymouth with chrome tailfins was still parked outside, and inside, Baby Kochamma was still alive.
She was Rahel’s baby grandaunt, her grandfather’s younger sister. Her name was really Navomi, Navomi Ipe, but everybody called her Baby. She became Baby Kochamma when she was old enough to be an aunt. Rahel hadn’t come to see her, though. Neither niece nor baby grandaunt labored under any illusions on that account. Rahel had come to see her brother, Estha. They were two-egg twins. “Dizygotic” doctors called them. Born from separate but simultaneously fertilized eggs. Estha—Esthappen—was the older by eighteen minutes.
“They never did look much like each other, Estha and Rahel, and even when they were thin-armed children, flat-chested, wormridden and Elvis Presley-puffed, there was none of the usual “Who is who?” and “Which is which?” from oversmiling relatives or the Syrian Orthodox bishops who frequently visited the Ayemenem House for donations.
The confusion lay in a deeper, more secret place.
In those early amorphous years when memory had only just begun, when life was full of Beginnings and no Ends, and Everything was Forever, Esthappen and Rahel thought of themselves together as Me, and separately, individually, as We or Us. As though they were a rare breed of Siamese twins, physically separate, but with joint identities.
Now, these years later, Rahel has a memory of waking up one night giggling at Estha’s funny dream.
She has other memories too that she has no right to have.
She remembers, for instance (though she hadn’t been there), what the Orangedrink Lemondrink Man did to Estha in Abhilash Talkies. She remembers the taste of the tomato sandwiches—Estha’s sandwiches, that Estha ate—on the Madras Mail to Madras.
And these are only the small things.
Anyway, now she thinks of Estha and Rahel as Them, because, separately, the two of them are no longer what They were or ever thought They’d be.
Ever.
Their lives have a size and a shape now. Estha has his and Rahel hers.
Edges, Borders, Boundaries, Brinks and Limits have appeared like a team of trolls on their separate horizons. Short creatures with long shadows, patrolling the Blurry End. Gentle half-moons have gathered under their eyes and they are as old as Ammu was when she died. Thirty-one.
Not old.
Not young.
But a viable die-able age.
They were nearly born on a bus, Estha and Rahel. The car in which Babà, their father, was taking Ammu, their mother, to hospital in Shillong to have them, broke down on the winding tea-estate road in Assam. They abandoned the car and flagged down a crowded State Transport bus. With the queer compassion of the very poor for the comparatively well off, or perhaps only because they saw how hugely pregnant Ammu was, seated passengers made room for the couple, and for the rest of the journey Estha and Rahel’s father had to hold their mother’s stomach (with them in it) to prevent it from wobbling. That was before they were divorced and Ammu came back to live in Kerala.
According to Estha, if they’d been born on the bus, they’d have got free bus rides for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t clear where he’d got this information from, or how he knew these things, but for years the twins harbored a faint resentment against their parents for having diddled them out of a lifetime of free bus rides.
They also believed that if they were killed on a zebra crossing, the Government would pay for their funerals. They had the definite impression that that was what zebra crossings were meant for. Free funerals. Of course, there were no zebra crossings to get killed on in Ayemenem, or, for that matter, even in Kottayam, which was the nearest town, but they’d seen some from the car window when they went to Cochin, which was a two-hour drive away.
The Government never paid for Sophie Mol’s funeral because she wasn’t killed on a zebra crossing. She had hers in Ayemenem in the old church with the new paint. She was Estha and Rahel’s cousin, their uncle Chacko’s daughter. She was visiting from England. Estha and Rahel were seven years old when she died. Sophie Mol was almost nine. She had a special child-sized coffin.
Satin lined.
Brass handle shined.
She lay in it in her yellow Crimplene bell-bottoms with her hair in a ribbon and her Made-in-England go-go bag that she loved. Her face was pale and as wrinkled as a dhobi’s thumb from being in water for too long. The congregation gathered around the coffin, and the yellow church swelled like a throat with the sound of sad singing. The priests with curly beards swung pots of frankincense on chains and never smiled at babies the way they did on usual Sundays.
The long candles on the altar were bent. The short ones weren’t.
An old lady masquerading as a distant relative (whom nobody recognized, but who often surfaced next to bodies at funerals—a funeral junkie? A latent necrophiliac?) put cologne on a wad of cotton wool and with a devout and gently challenging air, dabbed it on Sophie Mol’s forehead. Sophie Mol smelled of cologne and coffin-wood.
Margaret Kochamma, Sophie Mol’s English mother, wouldn’t let Chacko, Sophie Mol’s biological father, put his arm around her to comfort her.
The family stood huddled together. Margaret Kochamma, Chacko, Baby Kochamma, and next to her, her sister-in-law, Mammachi—Estha and Rahel’s (and Sophie Mol’s) grandmother. Mammachi was almost blind and always wore dark glasses when she went out of the house. Her tears trickled down from behind them and trembled along her jaw like raindrops on the edge of a roof.
She looked small and ill in her crisp off-white sari. Chacko was Mammachi’s only son. Her own grief grieved her. His devastated her.
Though Ammu, Estha and Rahel were allowed to attend the funeral, they were made to stand separately, not with the rest of the family. Nobody would look at them.
It was hot in the church, and the white edges of the arum lilies crisped and curled. A bee died in a coffin flower. Ammu’s hands shook and her hymnbook with it. Her skin was cold. Estha stood close to her, barely awake, his aching eyes glittering like glass, his burning cheek against the bare skin of Ammu’s trembling, hymnbook-holding arm.
Rahel, on the other hand, was wide awake, fiercely vigilant and brittle with exhaustion from her battle against Real Life.
She noticed that Sophie Mol was awake for her funeral. She showed Rahel Two Things.
Thing One was the newly painted high dome of the yellow church that Rahel hadn’t ever looked at from the inside. It was painted blue like the sky, with drifting clouds and tiny whizzing jet planes with white trails that crisscrossed in the clouds. It’s true (and must be said) that it would have been easier to notice these things lying in a coffin looking up than standing in the pews, hemmed in by sad hips and hymnbooks.
Rahel thought of the someone who had taken the trouble to go up there with cans of paint, white for the clouds, blue for the sky, silver for the jets, and brushes, and thinner. She imagined him up there, someone like Velutha, barebodied and shining, sitting on a plank, swinging from the scaffolding in the high dome of the church, painting silver jets in a blue church sky.
She thought of what would happen if the rope snapped. She imagined him dropping like a dark star out of the sky that he had made. Lying broken on the hot church floor, dark blood spilling from his skull like a secret.
By then Esthappen and Rahel had learned that the world had other ways of breaking men. They were already familiar with the smell. Sicksweet. Like old roses on a breeze.
Thing Two that Sophie Mol showed Rahel was the bat baby.
During the funeral service, Rahel watched a small black bat climb up Baby Kochamma’s expensive funeral sari with gently clinging curled claws. When it reached the place between her sari and her blouse, her roll of sadness, her bare midriff, Baby Kochamma screamed and hit the air with her hymnbook. The singing stopped for a “Whatisit? Whathappened?” and for a Furrywhirring and a Sariflapping.
Product details
- ASIN : B001NBEWN6
- Publisher : Random House; Reprint edition (December 8, 2008)
- Publication date : December 8, 2008
- Language : English
- File size : 4100 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print length : 338 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #36,305 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #3 in Indian Literature
- #131 in Education & Reference (Kindle Store)
- #285 in Contemporary Literary Fiction
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Arundhati Roy is the author of a number of books, including The God of Small Things, which won the Booker Prize in 1997 and has been translated into more than forty languages. She was born in 1959 in Shillong, India, and studied architecture in Delhi, where she now lives. She has also written several non-fiction books, including Field Notes on Democracy, Walking with the Comrades, Capitalism: A Ghost Story, The End of Imagination, and most recently Things That Can and Cannot Be Said, co-authored with John Cusack. Roy is the recipient of the 2002 Lannan Foundation Cultural Freedom Prize, the 2011 Norman Mailer Prize for Distinguished Writing, and the 2015 Ambedkar Sudar award.
Customer reviews
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Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers find the book engaging and well-written. They describe the story as intriguing and relatable. The language is described as captivating and informative. However, opinions differ on the writing quality, heartbreak, and character development. Some find the prose flowing and poetic, while others feel it's disjointed and confusing.
AI-generated from the text of customer reviews
Customers find the book easy to read with its poetic prose and vivid descriptions. They appreciate the compelling plot and the author's imaginative storytelling. The story is relatable to readers on a basic level, making it one of the best books they have had to read for class.
"...Because Roy’s Universe is raw and rough, a few times sweet, filled with her beautiful, sharp-edged opinions - that some may think prejudiced - but..." Read more
"...Velutha was the intelligent, skilled artisan, awarded a high position in the pickle factory by Mammachi...." Read more
"...And "in my book," it's also a world-class (as well as world-lit) winner, heartbreaking, haunting, and wise...." Read more
"...Like the monsoon rains that drench Kerala, this book will move you to tears. It is beautiful and well worth reading." Read more
Customers appreciate the story's quality. They find the main story told in tantalizing glimpses and teasing passages, laid out like a detective novel. The narrative structure, diction, and sense of place fit well. The characters are relatable, intriguing, and exciting. The plot is compelling and engaging, with wonderful moments described as no one else can. The book is described as a unique tale of childhood in India written in the lyrical prose of an artist.
"...Because what I care is that, in Roy’s work, there are magical, complex, centuries of old-untold relationships to be read about, learned and admired,..." Read more
"...The God of Small Things is an outstanding work of fiction, one that I think fully deserves its award and acclaim...." Read more
"...out the kernel of the story in broad strokes and the following chapters layer on detail - like peeling an onion in reverse...." Read more
"Complex and Poetic, insight into India's social and family structure. Beautifully written." Read more
Customers enjoy the book's language. They find the use of imagination and creativity captivating, with an ability to describe places well that they feel transported. The writing style is informative, insightful, and thought-provoking, with a powerful social commentary on caste systems. Readers appreciate the descriptive technique and how the book reads like a fable.
"...is one of psychology (of both personality and relationships) and social commentary...." Read more
"...to the reader's mind because of the beautiful prose and play with the English language...." Read more
"...The author has a very unique writing style that really creates the books own language...." Read more
"This is a brilliant book; heart breaking, but very insightful and thought provoking...." Read more
Customers have mixed reviews about the writing quality. Some find the prose flowing and poetic, with a skilled writer's use of language. They appreciate compelling dialogue that skillfully portrays innocence. However, others feel the story is disjointed, complicated, and written in vignette form starting from the end.
"...accepting a bit more of myself you this world, and read this real, poetic, sad, grand, too-small-to-be-contained Book...." Read more
"...The prosaic love scene between Ammu and Velutha were beautifully written. The brief violence in the book is powerfully written too...." Read more
"...into her characters and their situation, and while the writing is deceptively lovely and easy to read, The God of Small Things has a great deal of..." Read more
"...I struggle to read and understand poetry and the prose in this novel is very poetic. Obviously, many many people love and appreciate this book...." Read more
Customers have different opinions on the story. Some find it moving and poetically written, while others describe it as a sad and confusing tale.
"...the solution, and she gives the reader plenty of hints, respecting the reader's intelligence and gently guiding him or her to figure out the answer..." Read more
"...It’ll be always ten-to-two when Sorrow, Pain, Unrequited Love, Too Much Love, and Unbearable, yet Understandable, Truths of Life collapse from their..." Read more
"...The book's power comes from the contrasting of pity for lover's tragedy, the children's imaginative and playful delight in their world, and the evil..." Read more
"...with an innocence that makes its incoherence hilarious and heartwarming. They fill us with joy and dread...." Read more
Customers have different views on the character development. Some find it expressive and relatable, with an authentic juvenile voice and language. Others feel the characters are unlikeable and hard to keep straight.
"...act comes across as natural, appropriate, and even a positive thing for the characters involved...." Read more
"...Her main characters were underdeveloped and her main supporting characters were highly unlikeable...." Read more
"...Here, as in other scenes, is the remorseless eye of a great artist." Read more
"...things come together to form a sad but beautiful story that is so incredibly human that it is relatable to any reader on a simply fundamental level,..." Read more
Customers have differing views on the book's description. Some find it engaging and challenging, with plenty of hints. Others feel the story is disjointed and difficult to follow, with too many details that make it easy to guess the plot.
"...There are similes I found indefinable. I would reread a passage trying to get the gist of what the author conveyed..." Read more
"...with things both good and bad; it is all superabundance, superfluity and sometimes surfeit...." Read more
"...book is more about the process than the solution, and she gives the reader plenty of hints, respecting the reader's intelligence and gently guiding..." Read more
"...But I found it to be disjointed, overwritten, sometimes confusing, and such a ghastly tale that it made for a hard read, and in the end I don't..." Read more
Customers have different views on the pacing of the book. Some find it beautifully paced and moving, while others find it difficult to follow and slow.
"...Because Roy’s Universe is raw and rough, a few times sweet, filled with her beautiful, sharp-edged opinions - that some may think prejudiced -..." Read more
"...Masterful book. Something you want to read slowly and savor every word." Read more
"...the dense, descriptive language, while stunning, can sometimes slow down the pace, making the novel feel longer than it is." Read more
"...and pickle factory at which most of the action takes place are crisp and vivid in the extreme...." Read more
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Top reviews from the United States
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- Reviewed in the United States on May 22, 2014It's ten-to-two.
It's ten-to-two on Rahel's painted watch.
It’s ten-to-two on Rahel’s painted watch which lies under the revolved earth of The History House in the Heart of the Darkness.
It’ll be always ten-to-two on the stillness of Roy’s book as the derailed freight train of her story slams into our hearts.
It’ll be always ten-to-two when Sorrow, Pain, Unrequited Love, Too Much Love, and Unbearable, yet Understandable, Truths of Life collapse from their wagons and bury us all under them;
It’ll be always ten-to-two as the train’s sharp wheels scar our souls as deep as the ugly scars on Mammachi’s head, her blind soul carefully hidden by the gray hair and they will be there forever, for us to carry.
Ours will be beautiful scars.
Scars… Healed scars. Scars healed by Unbearable Forbidden Necessary Cleaning Love, which will always be able to follow the Music escaping from a tangerine radio as it floats in the Air.
The Still Air of Life.
The Air of Roy’s story is filled with the haunting Truths of Life, so heavy to carry, they need to be shared, breathed by the twins, Esthappen, the boy-man, and Rahel, the girl-woman, as One. They are so horrible to be spoken of, that Rahel’s eyes becomes empty, empty with everything and Estha stops speaking, speaking with all. Inside.
But the Truths of Life leak as Mammachi’s Pickles’ bottles have leaked, impossible to be tamed into perfection, silent as a mute shriek of grief, imperceptible as a light cutting deep into darkness.
As History evolves and revolves as the round World we live in, the skyblue old Plymouth, with its painted rack falling apart, thunders the careening story of Life and Death.
Life and Death. Love and Hate. Angels and Demons. Humans and Beasts. Happiness and Rules. The Big Things and The Small Things, which in a reversal of their inherent nature belonged to the Small light God, who sweeps clean his steps as he walks backward, and the Big powerful God (god?), who stomps into the House with his dirty, muddied boots.
Roy leads us past glass of pickles and jellies of Paradise Pickles & Preserves, the factory; past The Sound of Music, the film; and past childhood, marriage, madness, pedophilia, poverty, violence, injustice and betrayal. And love, so much love.
With no mercy, she tows us past the lost, hidden beauties and still there horrors of India; past confused Indians, immersed in caste hierarchy and lost in the war between British Imperialism and Karl Marx Communism; forced Evangelism; past Elvis Presley, Oxford, Coca-Cola, American TV shows and London life; all preferred, favorites in spite of the unique, laid-to-waste-in-twenty-minutes Kathakali dance.
And she dresses us in saris of intolerance sewed carefully by single, married and widowed women and she gives us the painted masks of their unavailable, chauvinist kinsmen.
For us, she disrobes the once-one turned-lonely children and two couples of forbidden lovers - who had already been bared, robbed… Loved less… The four of them The Gods of Small Things.
And she makes us watch the Terror and the Love.
I read this in two seatings only because I had to get a couple of hours’ sleep. I was frozen in my armchair, fossilized in time by the unjustified justice of my few smiles and many tears; nerves uncapped, shaking, almost hiding, as I saw many of my thoughts being SHOUTED OUT LOUD at me, from me.
Will I read it again? Yes. Later. (Lay. Ter.)
Now, I need a moment. Of quiet emptiness.
To rage.
Et tu, English, Indians, Christians, Syrian Christians, Hindus, Pelaya, Pulaya, Paravan, Touchables and Untouchables, Lower Middle Upper Classes, No Classes, all-and-yet-never Comrades! Who saw and looked away!
Et tu, Sophie Mol! The unfortunate English child killed-killer of the simple happiness of Rahel's and Estha’s childhood, the two-egg twin that was only One.
Et tu, Pappachi, the Imperial Entomologist, domestic abuser, proud and full of cruel, ugly moths; Mammachi, the almost-blind beaten-wife and example of Christian beatitude; Vellya Paapen, the one with a mortgaged glass eye and the real blind one; Baby grand aunt Kochamma, the gullible girl turned bitter-sour, with her perfect Per-Nun-Ciation and unfair, hasty judgements and psychologic torture! Who played alone-along their parts, ignorantly not knowing life was no rehearsal!
Et tu, poor Rahel and Estha! Children so loved less, from the Beginning until the End, the only one, forever un-living-dead bearers’ of short sad lives and long alive deaths, who didn't know how to do otherwise.
Et tu, All-of-Us! Who are rehearsing the Play and making Black Holes in the Universe, while out-of-our-minds, we count our Keys, looking into the void-avoiding the smelly injustice being distributed!
What it worth it? The price to pay for a forbidden love?
Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.
I will need to read it again. Later.
Now, I need a moment. Of empty quietness.
To Praise.
To Love.
But no words of mine would do justice to Roy’s work of art, so leave me here, hurting and loving, stabbed in the back by my own hand with the Truths of my your our Life, accepting a bit more of myself you this world, and read this real, poetic, sad, grand, too-small-to-be-contained Book.
And the Kathakali dancers danced and their drummers drummed, to ask pardon of their Gods, as we also should do for the daily, unconscious murder of our Gods of Small Things.
While it’s ten-to-two.
Before it’s too late…
———————————————————————
In the light of my last review of another book, where I closed its ebook covers at 20% because of typos, missing commas, too-many-grand-long-forgotten words and foreign mottos written wrongly, loose-lost opinions about historical facts, and over-the-top “'pumpkin bums’ descriptions of nothing-happening-to-many-characters-that-had-nothing-to-do-with-any-one”, I think that to be fair to those who read my reviews, I owe an explanation to my 5 star rating for ‘The God of Small Things’.
Roy took me through the creation and death of an ornamental garden; made me sat in a church filled with ants, a baby bat and a dead child.
I traveled in a bluesky Plymouth on a road full of frog stains while she uses foreign words, many half-full sentences, repeated ideas and (over-the-top, some will say) analogies. I consulted the dictionary more than a couple of times, as English is not my mother language and she uses words I was not familiar with (Probably, I would have to consult the Portuguese dictionary too).
She made me wait, as a pregnant woman waits, as I read story upon story of many different characters, who seemed to have nothing to do with Rahel and Estha or anyone else, but were all linked somehow by society and social relationships.
Yes, this book could have been smaller, but it could have been bigger. But if it were different, then it wouldn’t be ‘The God of Small Things’.
I didn’t closed the book at 20% and I rated her work 5 stars.
Why?
Because.
Because there are books and books; authors and authors.
Because I don’t care if another author has used a style before Roy used it. I don’t care if there is another author who does it better than she did it. What readers and reviewers sometimes don’t understand is that gifted authors are often gifted-avid-readers, with screaming souls begging to be set free; who drown in the works they have read and let them soak in and soothe their pains. These authors are allowed to use all the styles as their own, without being accused of stealing them, as I’ve seen a few reviewers raging about. And I tell you that as an avid reader with a newly-freed author’s soul, hoping to be one day as gifted as Roy.
Because what I care is that, in Roy’s work, there are magical, complex, centuries of old-untold relationships to be read about, learned and admired, in the middle of the marvel unseemly-going-nowhere descriptions of a ripple fruit bursting and an orange sun setting.
Because Roy’s Universe is raw and rough, a few times sweet, filled with her beautiful, sharp-edged opinions - that some may think prejudiced - but are historically based and lived. She tells us an Indian story that could have been a Brazilian story. My story. Your story.
Because what I care is that, without asking my permission, Roy took my soul and gave it back; Sadder for a moment, but more knowledgeable and fuller of passion.
Because this is not a book for everyone, but for those who live life on its full, and are grateful for the possibility that, even being of die-able age, they are still alive; for those who are interested in relationships and its octopus sucking tentacles; for those who are mindful of how cruel the world can be and yet are able to see the beauty of a sunset and a strict forbidden incest love told in poetical, not-rhymed words; for those who can stand up for others in need.
For those who love.
“Because Anything can Happen to Anyone.
It’s Best to be Prepared.”
Arundhati Roy, in The God of Small Things
———————————————————————
P.S. 1 - If in your ebook you stumble upon lost inverted commas, dizzy dashes and en-dashes, overlook them. They are just simple typos - perhaps there on purpose, who knows?
This book is like a child or a loved-lover, who should never be loved less, for his perchance carelessness, because it belongs to the Universe of Rippling Truths of Life.
- Reviewed in the United States on December 29, 2014The author goes back and forth from the past to the present. At first, I found this annoying. However, I begin to admire that the author had her own rules for writing this novel. There are instances where there is no standard punctuation. There are similes I found indefinable. I would reread a passage trying to get the gist of what the author conveyed
The main characters are the fraternal twins, Rahel, daughter and Esthappen (Estha), son, the children of Ammu, a divorcé, her lover, Velutha, a Paravan (untouchable).
The story begins with the funeral of Sophie Mol, cousin and playmate of the twins. Sophie Mol was the daughter of Ammu’s brother, Chacko and his former wife, Englishwoman, Margaret Kochamma.
Sophie and Margaret had recently arrived from England at the invitation of Chacko after the death of Margaret’s second husband.
Ammu and the twins are forbidden to sit with the family during the funeral service. The reason will be revealed later.
A disillusioned Ammu, married to an abusive alcoholic, returned to the family home in Ayemenem. Her father, John Ipe (Pappachi) does not believe her husband’s English boss requested he sleep with her. At home, she is expected to live out her days, in shame at divorcing her husband.
After his failed marriage and the death of their father, John, Chacko, a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford, returned home to manage his mother’s pickle business.
Home is where Chacko and Ammu’s blind mother, Shoshamma Ipe, known as Mammachi (grandmother) resides. Mammachi founded and owned the Paradise Pickles and Preserves factory.
Also living in the home are the twins’ deceitful, vindictive, unmarried, paternal great-aunt, Baby Kochamma. Throughout the novel, Baby Kochamma is devoted to self-interest. She is the catalyst who revealed life and death are in the power of the tongue.
Kochu Maria (little Maria), is the family cook.
This book gives a brief glimpse at the social mores of India concerning the “Untouchables.” Historically the country was divided among caste and color lines; an ancient system that rejected their fellow countrymen with discrimination, violence, persecution and social exclusion.
In the book, the family’s bias is expressed with profound intensity when it is discovered Ammu and the brilliant and likable Velutha are having an affair. Velutha was the intelligent, skilled artisan, awarded a high position in the pickle factory by Mammachi.
Even Velutha’s father, Vellya Paapen, was angry and horrified at his son “crossing the line.” Vellya felt indebted to Mammachi. She had purchased his artificial eye and treated his family well.
The author’s vivid description of Mammachi’s deep-seated anger toward the “messenger,” Vellya, Velutha’s father, with Velutha was profound.
Although blind, Mammachi’s vile denunciations and spittle hit their mark.
Mammachi’ showed tolerance for her son Chacko’s “men’s needs” when he sexually exploited the female factory workers. However, she expressed intolerance for Ammu’s tender love affair with Velutha.
Ammu was locked away in her room.
As I read this book, I discovered the childhood terror witnessed by Rahel and Estha had damaged them emotionally as adults. Estha refused to communicate.
As children, the twins were very close and had their own way of communicating. They even read backwards.
Chacko, the weak-willed, indolent son, manipulated by Baby Kochamma’s promptings, ejected his sister, Ammu, from their home.
Baby Kochamma is the “keeper of honor,” the traditionalist, and advocate of the caste system. Because of her deceit, she has her own reasons for wanting Ammu ousted and the children gone. I will not give the reasons away, but she strikes fear in the children’s hearts.
I believe the small things are Velutha and Ammu’s love. He loved her children and they him.
Ammu and Velutha were two kindred spirits. Theirs was a love affair that maybe even today would be unthinkable and not permitted in Indian society. But 40 years ago, they could have no future, so they made no plans. They lived for each night together.
Although during the late sixties and early seventies, this was considered a patriarchal society, the women are strong characters.
Mammachi was an accomplished violinist, later in life she was founder and owner of Paradise Pickles and Preserves, much to the annoyance of a violently abusive husband.
I admired Ammu’s resilience. She defended herself against her husband, Baba’s, physical abuse, refused to sleep with his English boss and ultimately divorced him. I admired that she ignored the caste system and found love with Velutha.
Velutha had an important role. Much of the conflict involved him, but in some instances he appeared almost invisible to me. I saw him as tender and loving with Ammu. A socialist, a man who desired change in his country.
The prosaic love scene between Ammu and Velutha were beautifully written. The brief violence in the book is powerfully written too. I felt queasy reading it.
I would have enjoyed more on the ill-fated lovers, Ammu and Velutha.
Although the caste system and discrimination has been outlawed, I think Arundhati Roy’s book reveals what is still prevalent today, cruel and often inhumane treatment of India’s “Untouchables.”
I think the author conveyed how deeply embedded the caste system is. How it destroys and demeans human lives and stereotypes them.
Toward the end, Ammu’s outcome was sorely missed.
The relationship that developed between the twins was perplexing.
Imagery and symbolisms are common throughout the book. This novel would stimulate avid conversation in a book club.
Top reviews from other countries
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Nora DelgadilloReviewed in Mexico on January 6, 2022
5.0 out of 5 stars Todo un reto de 5 estrellas.
El caos en palabras. Conocer más sobre la vida en la India, su sistema de castas, su caos y su belleza. Todo aquel que se jacte de ser un gran lector, que ame los retos y la belleza de la narrativa debe conocer esta historia. Todo gira al rededor de la muerte de una niña. Por medio de saltos en el tiempo, de descripciones poéticas y complejas como la vida misma, conocemos la historia de una familia que se salta todas las normas de la cultura al amar. Sígueme en instagram para más recomendaciones literarias. @Nora_d_tinta_y_papel
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Natália PachecoReviewed in Brazil on November 22, 2021
5.0 out of 5 stars Obra maravilhosa
Roy trabalha tópicos importantíssimos de forma muito sensível e delicada. Apesar de a intercalação dos episódios poder causar alguma confusão, a escrita é muito fluida. Recomendo muito!
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AnilouReviewed in France on January 21, 2025
5.0 out of 5 stars Une histoire à lire et à relire
Un style très particulier, une façon de voir les choses comme à travers des yeux d'enfants. Très bien observé. Pas très facile au début d'entrer dans l'histoire car le livre ne suit pas là chronologie, les noms des protagonistes nous sont étrangers et on a du mal à repérer les liens familiaux. Par la suite les choses s'éclaircissent, les non-dits deviennent plus evidents. On apprend des choses sur le Kerala (leurs coutumes, la politique, les rapports entre "touchables" et intouchables, la gestion de cette zone) qui nous font réviser le souvenir qu on en avait si on a eu la chance de le visiter. On comprend comme une remarque mal comprise d'une mère a ses enfants peut changer une vie et même plusieurs.
- PowerbooostReviewed in India on June 21, 2024
5.0 out of 5 stars A Rare and Gripping Masterpiece - Excellent Quality and Fast Delivery
Arundhati Roy's "The God of Small Things" is a literary masterpiece that is as rare as it is gripping. From the moment I picked up this book, I was captivated by Roy's intricate storytelling and the profound depth of her characters. It's no wonder this novel won the Booker Prize, and my journey through the works of Indian Booker Prize winners feels especially rewarding with this gem in my collection.
Book Quality:
The quality of this book is outstanding. It arrived in perfect condition, with a sturdy cover and crisp, clean pages. The print is clear and easy to read, making for a comfortable reading experience. Additionally, the book came with a transparency scanner to check its authenticity, giving me peace of mind that I had received an original copy. This attention to detail in ensuring the authenticity of the book is much appreciated.
Timely Delivery:
I was incredibly impressed with the delivery speed. I received the book within just 4 hours of placing my order. This prompt service is commendable and added to my overall satisfaction with the purchase. Knowing I could start reading this highly anticipated novel almost immediately was a delightful surprise.
Story and Writing:
Set in the lush landscape of Kerala, India, the novel delicately weaves together the lives of its characters with a narrative that oscillates between the past and the present. Roy’s prose is both lyrical and precise, painting vivid pictures of the socio-political landscape while delving deep into the emotional and psychological realms of the protagonists. The story of Estha and Rahel, the tragic events of their childhood, and the enduring effects on their lives are depicted with a poignancy that is both heartbreaking and beautiful.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths lies in its attention to the “small things” – the seemingly insignificant moments and details that cumulatively shape the lives of the characters. Roy’s ability to highlight these nuances makes the narrative incredibly rich and textured. Her exploration of themes such as forbidden love, family secrets, and societal norms is handled with such finesse that it leaves a lasting impression.
The structure of the novel, with its non-linear timeline and shifts in perspective, might be challenging for some readers, but it is precisely this complexity that makes the book so engaging. Each chapter adds a new layer to the story, gradually revealing the full picture in a way that is both satisfying and thought-provoking.
In conclusion, "The God of Small Things" is a book that demands to be read and re-read, each time offering new insights and emotions. It is a rare work of fiction that combines a compelling narrative with exquisite writing. If you are on a journey to explore works by Indian Booker Prize winners, this novel is an absolute must-read. Arundhati Roy has crafted a masterpiece in the truest sense, and it’s a book that will stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page. Highly recommended!
Overall Experience:
My overall experience with this purchase has been excellent. From the superb quality of the book to the incredibly fast delivery, I couldn't be happier. This level of service and product quality makes me confident in continuing my literary journey with similar purchases in the future.
Powerbooost
Reviewed in India on June 21, 2024
Book Quality:
The quality of this book is outstanding. It arrived in perfect condition, with a sturdy cover and crisp, clean pages. The print is clear and easy to read, making for a comfortable reading experience. Additionally, the book came with a transparency scanner to check its authenticity, giving me peace of mind that I had received an original copy. This attention to detail in ensuring the authenticity of the book is much appreciated.
Timely Delivery:
I was incredibly impressed with the delivery speed. I received the book within just 4 hours of placing my order. This prompt service is commendable and added to my overall satisfaction with the purchase. Knowing I could start reading this highly anticipated novel almost immediately was a delightful surprise.
Story and Writing:
Set in the lush landscape of Kerala, India, the novel delicately weaves together the lives of its characters with a narrative that oscillates between the past and the present. Roy’s prose is both lyrical and precise, painting vivid pictures of the socio-political landscape while delving deep into the emotional and psychological realms of the protagonists. The story of Estha and Rahel, the tragic events of their childhood, and the enduring effects on their lives are depicted with a poignancy that is both heartbreaking and beautiful.
One of the novel’s greatest strengths lies in its attention to the “small things” – the seemingly insignificant moments and details that cumulatively shape the lives of the characters. Roy’s ability to highlight these nuances makes the narrative incredibly rich and textured. Her exploration of themes such as forbidden love, family secrets, and societal norms is handled with such finesse that it leaves a lasting impression.
The structure of the novel, with its non-linear timeline and shifts in perspective, might be challenging for some readers, but it is precisely this complexity that makes the book so engaging. Each chapter adds a new layer to the story, gradually revealing the full picture in a way that is both satisfying and thought-provoking.
In conclusion, "The God of Small Things" is a book that demands to be read and re-read, each time offering new insights and emotions. It is a rare work of fiction that combines a compelling narrative with exquisite writing. If you are on a journey to explore works by Indian Booker Prize winners, this novel is an absolute must-read. Arundhati Roy has crafted a masterpiece in the truest sense, and it’s a book that will stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page. Highly recommended!
Overall Experience:
My overall experience with this purchase has been excellent. From the superb quality of the book to the incredibly fast delivery, I couldn't be happier. This level of service and product quality makes me confident in continuing my literary journey with similar purchases in the future.
Images in this review - Oliver PageReviewed in Italy on August 1, 2022
5.0 out of 5 stars Unique
I wasn’t expecting such an extraordinary piece of writing. A novel that invents its world through a unique use of language that echoes and sings through the whole book, creating a flow of imagery, atmosphere and characters unlike anything I have ever read. What’s more the narrative voice is at once entertaining, irreverent, moving, vulgar, vivid and utterly involving. As with many great novels the crescendo of events and emotions comes through traveling through a book that builds in layers rather than chronological events, so that by the end you not only know what happened but have experienced it in the complexity of destiny lived out in the context of culture, family, society and the individual choices of human beings. Absolutely recommended.