The God of Small Things

Loved this book. Could not put it down. It was touching, emotional, powerful, author's attention to detail is simply amazing. The book has layers after layers, wrapped with enough twists and turns to keep you hooked.

Like most things written by Arundati Roy; The God of Small Things has a personal motive for her. It is really as denunciation of the times in which we live. Ms. Roy is a true activist and this book plays to that aspect of her life and her denunciation of the times we live in. In the book there are many examples of Ms. Roy's denunciation of our times and each one is significant in its own way and its own meaning. In The God of Small Things, Roy explores the ideas of the caste system, love and who should be loved and how much, along with many other issues of Indian society; these are the big things in society and the things that are most focussed on. But, the real direction of this book is seen in the small things, which is referred to as "the whisper and scurry of small lives" often ignored or overshadowed; like promises, secrets and our emotional lives. The caste system in this case is what over shadows them and crushes them into the corners of our lives, as silent as the dead.
A great example of Roy's denunciation of her times is: "She arrived on the Bombay-Cochin flight, hated, bellbottomed and Loved from the very beginning." She is referring to Sophie Mol; Chacko's half white English daughter. She is loved simply because she is white and she is from England, while Estha and Rahel are from India and are brown. Because of this they are on a lower level of the caste system then Sophie Mol. That is why she is hated. Roy tries to show just how far reaching the caste system is in the fact that it is enforced upon the children by adults. The caste system breaths its cold breath on the children throughout their lives, reminding them of their place; reminding them that their not wanted. Rachel and Estha naturally seem to have a more modern view of things and therefore hate Sophie Mol. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times for them, as they both carry a burden; one that they constantly remember throughout the book. This is a little bit of Roy's own denunciation of the times coming out in the characters of Rahel and Estha. For every new road the two of them go down there's always a new rut.
My favourite part of Ms. Roys writing is how she uses colourful imagery to pass on the message of the characters lives and to set the tone of the book. Every line has its own heartbeat, its own meaning. One of the best lines that really denounces our times and sets the stage is ""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, dust green trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst. Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air. Then they stun themselves against clear window panes and die, fatly baffled in the sun."" This piece is in my opinion an obvious denunciation of our times, in the idea that most things in our time exist in beauty only to be smacked, dead in an instant; stunned in a reality that is not so beautiful. Roy uses this piece to establish a beautiful not so black and white picture for the reader that ultimately is destroyed by things beyond its control. This is in relation to the caste system which in India is beyond the control of those at the bottom; represented in the character of Velutha. Velutha, often explained as being a very good looking man; beautiful, like the above quote; only to be beaten to death in the end because of the caste system. Another amazing quote that really establishes the above stated ideas is when Rahel imagines the ceiling-painter dying on the floor after falling from the church ceiling, "blood spilling from his skull like a secret." Later on in the book we see that this is Roy's for shadowing to the death of Velutha. Ultimately his death is allowed so as to protect the big thing of 'who should be loved and how much", an idea sprung from the caste system. The blood is the secret and it carries its message from heart to head to concrete floor; a denunciation of our times. Roy shows us that the people like Baby Kochama purposely prostitute the idea of the caste system for personal benefit. In the end Baby Kochama simply wanted to have the house all to herself.
Ultimately the caste system can only lead to the destruction of the most natural things in life such as love; this is why Roy denounces it so strongly in this book. As long as there is injustice in the world literature; fictive and non fictive will denounce it, as Arudhati Roy has the caste system, in the God of Small Things. A caste system is just a contorted form of beneficial discrimination which leads me to my final statements borrowed from a great man whom like Roy spoke out against inequalities. "We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools." -Martin Luther King Jr.

I can't believe how much this book disappointed me. When a novel brings up certain questions to be answered, I expect them to be answered in a timely manner throughout the book. Unfortunately, the author waits until the very end to offer a tepid, unsatisfying solution. The constant CAPS and never-ending description had me rolling my eyes and hoping Roy would just get to the point. The characters and their relation to others confused me to no end. The plot had potential but was delivered too poorly to be redeemed. I will be careful in picking prize winning books in the future.

"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."

-Probably Because I Have To

Thus opens Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things, a novel I didn't like the first few times I tried reading it.

(A question: must you finish a book even if you aren't enjoying it?)

Like its opening, the first pages of "The God of Small Things" are dense poetic description, the kind that often frighten off those of us interested in coherent plot. I worried this story would be all abstract prettiness with no purpose or concrete narrative line.

The opposite of course turns out to be true, in this intricately structured plot written by a woman who was trained and worked as an architect before winning the Booker for this her first book.

Roy's only novel to date (it's been over ten years; the writer now works on global political issues) is made like a puzzle. You, in fact, need the final pieces that Roy only provides near the book's end to see the big picture, to "get" the story. This at first can be frustrating. But if you make it through the dense opening pages - barely aware how effectively she has pulled you into the humid air of a South Indian town, through swampy smells and mango trees and insects you've barely heard of - you realize that like the director of a good movie, she is taking you on a narrative journey that is far more coherent, with each passing page, than you might at first expect.

"The God of Small Things" is an all-time favourite, because Roy is dealing with those subjects we usually cannot talk about. This for me is the purpose of good fiction. The exact opposite of polite conversation. The novel is anything but polite, or easy. It is difficult. The issues are difficult, and I'm being vague in the extreme to not ruin anything.

This story is painful. But its pain - the whole story - has a beauty - which the single paragraph from the novel I have quoted speaks to - a beauty of hidden realities that bruise our histories but also, hopefully, shine a light all the brighter on the reasons why we are alive.

Although it has an interesting plot, this book was extremely hard to follow. Not because Roy's vocabulary, but because it was written almost like a poem. Roy feels the needs to describe every situation and character with many metaphors and riddles. By the end of it, I struggled my way to finish just to see the conclusion, which was more than disturbing to say the least.

One word can describe this book: BORING!
Yes, Roy is an excellent writer. But when your writing has a plot that can't be followed because of all the similies and metaphores, what is the point? There were enough metaphores to drown in. That stuff usually goes over my head to begin with, but in this crazy abundance I got fed up very quickly.
I ended up just skimming through some pages, which means I didn't understand the ending at all. And I'm not too sad about it!

I can understand why this novel won the Booker Prize. Those books are usually very dry, but always well written. This one fits the mold.
However, the BBC list? Can't understand it!

Roy pulls her reader into the fascinating world of two young twins, Rahel and Estha, who struggle with issues of identity, love, and hierarchy within the family. With her beautiful imagery and vivid descriptions, Roy perfectly captures the complexity of her characters--the innocence and cleverness of the children, the passion swelling inside their mother's heart, and the very obvious sense of superiority felt by those around them. This story blends together the very best elements of a novel, for there are characters with whom we sympathize, pieces of a mystery we must piece together, and a touching element of tragedy. A great read!

If you're a big fan of Margaret Atwood, read this book. It has a similar feel about it. I'd almost say Roy is more Atwood than Atwood is.

Otherwise, don't bother. This book had the feel of one written expressly for the purpose of being assigned reading in a high school English class. It's almost as if the author set out with a list of pseudo- deep themes typically discussed in Modern and Popular literature 2A1 and worked from there, rather than starting out with any semblance of storyline or character development. Really, it's the poetic language that makes this book a particularly agonizing read- should it simply be cut out, though, the book would be about ten pages long. I appreciate Roy's goal of trying to reproduce the essence of a child's thoughts with this, but really, after a few pages, it becomes extremely painful, and all I could think about through the whole thing was when it was going to end. To top it off, the characters, what little was developed, were completely unlikeable (I was happy when a bunch of them died) and the storyline was ripe with cliche.

A book as forced as this makes one actually appreciate how comparatively little pain The Handmaid's Tale inflicted upon the reader.

What a disappointingly overrated read.

While this book won awards and did receive great critical acclaim, I was not impressed with this book in the least. I found the characters unlikeable and the story difficult to follow and boring. I was very disappointed with this book as I've enjoyed many other books written about India and it's culture.

Arundhati Roy's novel is a work that is brilliantly saturated with style and elegance and sophistication. The characters leap off the pages themselves, and the world is rich in detail. I highly reccomend this novel to everyone who loves literature.

The images conjured up by this book stick in your mind like peanut butter, even if you don't want them to. I felt let down by the ending of this book, yet I still find scenes described in it popping up in my mind again and again. I didn't really even like the story, but I couldn't stop reading. It is a book with an iron grip and so beautifully written that once you start you can't stop.

This book was a constant page turner!! I was astonished by the authors ability to mix Indian and English culture. Her ability to get into the mind of a troubled,sensitive child is amazing. I will be recommending this book to all by friends.

I cannot agree more with Rob from Saskatoon. The writing is long-winded; the poetic touch, forced. No new insights. Falsely hyped by all the 5-star ratings.

It took me a while to get used to Roy's style of writing, but I did become fascinated by the book. It is one book that I will want to read again. The language is poetic, even magical. The story is told in an interesting way; you know something terrible is going to happen, and you are led to that, carefully and with many colorful descriptions of relevant events. The characters are portrayed very well, especially those of the twins, who's lives take such a turn in the matter of a day.

What a strange and wonderful book this is! It is written in a style that is disarming at first, yet captivates the heart. The characters are believable and yet have a haze of mystique about them all that is the stuff of legends.

Roy narrates a story that is packed with sadness and tragedy. The love between a brother and sister that is broken by so much pain is aching in its intensity and power. As the story of abuse unfolds in its frank and shocking way, one can only sit back and scream at the inhumanity of those who harm little children.

There is no question that the narrative style of Roy's writing is difficult at first, but it has a rhythm, a cadence that you have to slide into and become part of. Then the story becomes a part of you.

What A wonderful book, and so nicely written. The writing showed great skill as the author actually played with the words, the way they sound, their meaning... This books also gave me a glimpse of Indian society, with its sexual taboos,the tough and complicated relationship between men and women, as well as between society and women, but also about the caste system and its taboos! All those taboos and unspoken truths shaped the relations of the characters that led to the tragedy.

A beautiful, lyrical language created for just this book. Roy has this avid reader reaching for pen & paper to scribble down profound simplicities that could only come from a child of Ammu's. Experiences first had through young eyes of twins Rahel & Estha are relived and woven through forboding hints of some ominous conclusion. You will reread certain passages again and again. First for content, then for impression and again for the art that can be evoked with words. I have not finished it yet (3/4 through) but know already I will do so again. A singular style not often encountered in literature of any era. Brilliant. You will marvel at the weight of such simple words strung together like a millstone necklace around hearts of fallen angels. Startlingly written.

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.

Like a luminous series of Tableaux Vivants the scenes unfold and offer a glimpse into a world that is familiar and yet somehow unknown. I can't remember when I was so moved by a book; I read it twice in a row and, afterwards, couldn't find anything that seemed worthy of reading. The language is amazing: original, vivid, intensely coloured, multi-faceted.
This book will not, if you allow yourself to truly enter it, permit you to leave unchanged.

what an awfully tiresome book. what is there here that hasn't been said, much less tritely, an awful number of times before; it is made that much more maudlin by the cloying manner with which all and sundry behave with each other. there was nary a non-hackneyed character from plucky protaganist through the inarticulate mysteries of twin-hood and the justifiably philandering mother.
i cannot dis-recommend this book enough. about india, read vikram seth; about families, anita desai (or wallace stegner); funky prose, rushdie, maybe (or back to joyce?).