Book: The God of Small Things

Author: Arundathi Roy
Publisher:

Imagine a scream. A scream a young girl screams. Imagine a distant observer watching that scream from its earliest beginnings to its ultimate consequences. . . . from the other end of a microscope as it were. He paints what he sees in all its volatile detail.

Someone comes along and describes that painting with complete frankness. This book is a description of the painting of that scream.
I read a few reviews before I went out and bought the book, and they typically concentrated on the authors control of imagery and the faultless structure in plot flow. This is true, the book is lyrical, impeccably defined, brilliantly detailed and I could not discern any technical errors, but this is the least of its strengths. Arundathi Roy uses colour, taste, emotion and the musical tones of the subcontinent to build a world that reflects the shadows from South Asia. You will find yourself reflected in the pauses, and your reflection will draw you into her world.

This is by no means a pleasant book. In fact, it is the most disturbing book I have ever read (a dubious distinction previously held by Durell`s "Alexandria Quartet"). There are pleasant moments, and even humorous passages but they serve to tell you what made it possible for young Rahel (the protagonist) to scream. It is a profound book, and each thought is presented like a discrete, exquisite gem for consideration on matte black velvet. Finally, though, it is a perturbing book. Expect to come out of it shaken, upset, and with a few offended sensibilities. I had to put the book down at times because of the intensity of the prose, and that is a first.

For all that, if you can buy, borrow, beg or steal a copy I suggest you do. It is probably also the best book I have ever read. "The God of Small Things" repays reading. Yes, it is a book that reads you while being read. Yes, as a friend said, if a great book ends on a pulsating question mark, this ends on a shuddering abyss, and Yes, it will get down into your gut and twist, but it is art in the truest sense. Much like Edvard Munch`s eponymous painting I found the book a deeply emotional experience. You are gripped by memories seen through a glass darkly. If the prose agitates, it is the pauses that educate, and silences that devastate.

One of the nicest things about the book is the evident control that Roy exercises over her creation. Time is just another string she plucks to show you the reverberations along the thread. Space can be as narrow as the perspective of a bluebottle and wide enough to encompass the deliberations of Gods. All with a quiet authority that never rings false.

If you read for entertainment you will be entertained. A horrific sort of entertainment, admittedly, a testament to how ghastly the results of everyday pettiness in any family can be, but done from a perspective you may not have seen before. If you read for illumination, there is much to learn from this book, and many new questions that it asks.

I know the more empirical among you are waiting for more detail and less enthusiasm, so here goes. The story is of a family, and particularly of the reminiscences of a young adult about the roles her family played in a series of events that occurred in her childhood. Nobody actually screams much. The tone is akin to saga, the language to poetry. The plot is non-linear, and uses multiple perspectives. Sub-plots are frequent, pertinent and consistent with the broader text adding depth to the story and believability to the characters. The philosophical mode begins as existentialist but subject to viewpoint ends in romantic humanism or Kantian empiricism depending upon whether you agree or disagree with the ending.

I admit to a voyage of rediscovery while reading. The subcontinent in all its glory and diversity was brought forth. Rather than the mud puddle of more recent memories this reminded me of the childhood wonderland of long ago: There is always a serpent in the garden, but you will recall the enthralling days when the chaotic jumble of sights, sounds and tastes, the rattling speed of words piled high and generous was marvellous and encompassing. This is the magic the book evokes.

[Those interested in Munch`s "The Scream" should click here.]

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