They pull the strings of our hearts immediately and urge us to read along and love the characters. Kite Runner is an example of this case - where an alien country is made familiar to us, by the thread of human emotion that runs through it. It is the sort of book one learns to love in its first page and treasure it through its final pages.
Not "The God of Small Things". In TGOST, the laws of love have been set, deciding who would love this book. And how. And how much.
Exactly how I love this book ( if I love it at all) and how much I love it, is a question I find very difficult to answer even a week after I finish it. I picked up the book with a jaundiced eye, knowing very well that Indian Authors religiously go that extra mile to prove their mastery over the English language. And consciously aware of this effort, they then try to return to their roots, lavishly sprinkling their writing with Italicized Indian words, (the jhola that Ramu Postman carries, or the alluring dupatta that Savita bhabhi uses to adorns her cleavage revealing choli).
As a result, Indian writing is often sporadic. A case in point is Siddharth Dhavant's "Last Song of Dusk". The book starts off with a verbally packed first three pages, and then settles comfortably into regular speech for the next hundred pages. Again book 2 ( which is a few years later), begins with some powerfully packed pages, before it too settles into more comfortable language. This demonstrates quite clearly to the searching eye of a break after part 1, when Siddharth would have rubbed his hands gleefully and decided he is ready to start part 2. And the enthusiasm shows for a few pages.
"The God of Small Things", begins similarly. It opens to a panaromic view of Ayemenem in Kerala, sprinkled with sights, sounds and smells - about black crows gorging on bright mangoes, ripening of red bananas, bursting of jackfruits and "dissolute blue bottles humming vacuously in the fruity air". Very clearly, Arundhati Roy draws attention to her style and makes a point that she might be Indian, but her english, just like Kerala is hot, humid poetry. And into this poetry walks one half of our duel protagonists "Rahel". She returns to Ayemenem searching her long lost twin brother Estha who had been "returned" when they were only seven years old. Why he was returned is a story we learn through the rest of the book, where Small Things (duly capitalized in the eyes of our duel twin seven year olds) eventually lead to Big (and sad) Things.
And like Arundhati Roy, the characters in TGOST, are caught up with their identities of establishing their intellect, be it Oxford educated Chacko uncle, who talks in his Read aloud voice, when he explains to the twins that an Anglophile is a person "well disposed to the English Language", or Grand Aunt Baby Kochama, who takes joy in Spandex wearing wrestlers (Mr. Perfect and Hulk Hogan) crack each other's skulls on television. Or the Elvis Puff shirt Estha is made to wear as the twins are dragged along to pick up Uncle Chacko's English wife (Ex-wife Chacko, she admonishes him), and his Half English-Half Indian daughter Sophie Mol.
But where Arundhati Roy excels (as compared to most Indian authors), is that she is consistently and spectacularly enthusiastic, moving deftly between her thoughts and those of her character's, sometimes even interspersing the thoughts of seven year old twins with her own authorial third person narration - which is to say, by irony. An excellent example of that is the Australian Miss Mitten who gives the twins a baby book, "Adventures of Susie Squirrel", which they read out to her backwards, just because they find the forward version too boring. A disappointed Miss Mitten complains to their grand Aunt, getting them impositions of "I will not write Backwards" to be written forwards. Arundhati Roys makes a an almost comical observation about Miss Mitten being killed soon after by a Van reversing "Backwards."
Also, unlike other Indian authors, Arundhati Roy does not dwell into Indianization of words and ideas just to bring the Indian touch. Instead she fiercly defends the Indianness that exists in a country that has been touched, corrupted and changed irreversably by the Western world, and yet still largely poor. An example is the lemon soda with thick blue marble stoppers to keep the fizz in, (an indian innovation, if any ever is) which sits close to a red icebox which says rather sadly (in her own words), "Things go better with Coca-cola."
There is poetry in what Arundhati Roy writes, even though she often writes about unpoetic things, about Communism, about the caste system, about Pickle factories, men's needs and naked beggars sitting on milestones their dangling penises pointing out that it is Cochin and it is 23 Kms away. And the reason why there is poetry is because the images are often seen in the eyes of the seven year old twins, who often played small games without adult supervision.
Who's mother sometimes asked them to Stoppit. And they Stoppited.
At the crux of the story is a tragedy. We are made aware of this in the very beginning of the tale, and we see its sense through through the eyes of characters who have witnessed, lived, died (not young, not old, but at viable-diable ages), been returned and themselves re-returned. As we move through the book, we catch the characters in the midst of their miseries, in different points of their lives. Often, the characters know more about their tragedy than we do, and sometimes we know more about what awaits them than they do. In the end, we know the Small Things which lead to the Big Things, and in this omniscient secret we share with the author (and which the characters do not know) lies the Godliness of the Book.
The God of Small Things is not a book for everybody. I do not love it entirely, because it is a book of language - not of plot. As a consequence, some of the plot twists appear a little contrived. The love story between Ammu and the untouchable Vellutha, for instance, happens too abruptly. There is no gradual progression of events that could lead a loving mother into the arms of the man who could spell disaster for everyone. This lack of motivation for a crucial act in the story, causes one to wonder if the author is not merely being manipulative to bring on the tragedy we have all been promised.
Also, the act of incest between the twins, seems too trivial, if not perverted. We have come to believe the bond the twins share (they think of both as "I "and each individually as "us") something wonderful and unique, to the extent that one wakes up giggling at the other's funny dream. Such kinship finally culminating into a sexual act seems like an attempt by Arundhati Roy to go for cheap sensationalism. There is something wrong here - the beauty of Roy's characters have been sacrificed by her conjuring up of a sexual act that does not bequest them. Perhaps, this sensationalism is Roy's way of dealing for all practical purposes, with a hopelessly practical world. But for the idealistic reader, this sensationalism (manipulation?) does the exact opposite of tugging at his heart - it makes his dispassionate, and diminishes some of the divinity that otherwise made this book beautiful.
It is a compromise she should not have made.
Nevertheless, it is still a book that cannot be ignored. There were parts of the book that I was compelled to read. And read again. There were parts of the book, that overflowed with symbolism (the Tale of Mahabharatha told by Kathakali dancers who perform stoned because tourism has shortened and commercialized their danceform). There were parts of the book that appealed to the depth in me and spoke a truth which I could relate to.
And as I reached the last few pages of the book, I realized that the end of the story was not the end of the events. Nor was it the beginning.
The book ended at a point in which the laws of love were laid down. Of who to love. And how. And how much. The story ends with a promise, that one character makes to another. And yet, we feel a sense of loss because we share an omniscient secret with the author. We know the promise will never be kept. We have read the Small Things. We have read the Big Things. We know how the story ends.
And in this anguish, lies the beauty of the book.
5 comments:
I think you beautifully captured the book and what it can mean to someone. Personally i loved the book. This is one book that one needs to look beyond the story lines. She brings out what she wants to say so beautifully. Poignant at places.
And there were places where she made me reminiscene about things that you do when you were a kid.
I loved the book! Its a keeper :)
Let me begin by saying that this is a great review. Even though I like the book probably much more than you do, you know exactly why. And probably also by 'how much'.
Wow... truely I was amazed!
Neat review. Had an profound view of the book =)
I admire Arundhati Roy. Th God of Small Things was a masterpiece, in and out. Yes, it is definitely a book of language (a language of its own sort which- without it- wouldn't have done justice to the book.) And of plot? Not so much (like you said), unless you take into account the events that took place. But it's not uncommon so lets leave it at that. What I really liked is the language though. OMG, I have never encountered another writer with such prose and distinction at it. It meets a bit of Salman Rushdie's magic (using the description of a character to give it a name) for eg. LemonDrink OrangeDrink Man, but this goes out and beyond. And it is a wonder how she doesn't overdo it. I read an interview of Roy where the interviewer asked her about her prose (Bar Nowl). She said, studying architect had lead to a construction of words that match emotions. (Or something lyk that xD) Argh the language is inexpressible!
I really loved this book. It still stands as my favourite book. All time fav.
My Comment about this is not going to be any different than what you've already received! Yes absolutely- brilliant-well written blog/ review. I love the was you have de-layred past of the book, compare it with others & gone beyond the meaning of printed text.
I read a few pages of book and could not take it any further... but guess will give it one more shot and dive it... Keep writing.
You ve really dwelt deep into the book. Niece piece of review. Agree with you on it totally! Some times I think the book (like all other Booker prizes?) has been overrated. I had to force myself to read the book at parts because it got unbearably "humid". But most of the book was admirable. I thought she ruined the relationship between the reader and the characters of Rahel and Estha with the incest bit! But at the end of it all, it leaves you wondering about the designs of life. I want to read the book again now after your review:)
Post a Comment