We all know the power of a good book. Sometimes we don't just know
it, we feel it in our cells. Such is the case with Arundhati Roy's
novel, The God of Small Things. I cannot even think about this book
without welling up. Not that that's my "good book" litmus test.
Rather, it is a testament to the sweeping beauty of this woman's
writing.
So much is named that is heretofore unnamable. So much is cast
away in a violence that seems variously gentle and breathtakingly
painful. And so much happens in One Moment. Deciphering WHICH
moment, is, like lived lives, not so easy to acertain.
Roy uses words like the process of memory, returning to several
salient events as if in a dream. Unlike memory, however, there is
no obsessive neurosis to fule the return. It is simple necessity
that makes this story need telling and re-telling.
Rahel and Esthappen are two-egg twins who share a single soul. The
book follows a few short days in their early lives and later, their
adult lives. With a language that is startlingly simple and poetic,
Roy spins a tale of these twins and their complex family.
In the end, it is a book about class structure, love, loss and
consequence. And those moment which change lifetimes. I look
forward to reading more by this gifted writer.