The Grey Pen Goings

Navigation through a World that's Wild at Heart and Weird on Top.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

The God of Small Things

My father told me I should only bring two books with me to the Czech Republic: books are bulky, uneconomic for packing, and you'll only use them for short periods of time, like extended literary prostitutes.

I heeded his advice. I only brought nine books. And feeling a little out of sorts this weekend, unable to delve into the explosive obtuseness of Gravity's Rainbow just yet, I busted out my ace in the hole. For the fourth time I read The God of Small Things.

Arundhati Roy's novel is one of those rare stories that gives you more and more each time you search through it, since its first reading is so...well, new. The language of The God of Small Things is like no other book's, incredibly unique and poetic. I know some people might find it overwrought or a little cutesy at times, but each time I go back I'm blown away by Roy's dynamic choices with words and structure.

This is Roy's only work of fiction and in my head I equate it with John Hartford's first album, where the talent is brimming but he's more outwardly ironic, not overcharged but at least noticeable. I feel that about The God of Small Things as well.

I quake with rage at the third to last chapter every time. I'm full of deep, "What's wrong with the world?" sighs. And I see the beauty in the small things. That's why Roy's book gets an unprecedented 11 on the Avimaan Recommendation Scale ( Interviewer: But Avi, why don't you just make ten the best and have The God of Small Things score a ten? Avimaan Syam: [pause, blank look and snapping chewing gum] This recommendation scale goes to eleven.)





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