The God of Small Things

Rating:
Summary: What more could a reader want?
Review: Like [e-mail] I can not fathom the negative reviews. What CAN these people find good if they find the scintillating prose of Arundhati Roy bad? Have they heard her speak? She produces poetry even in a talk -back interview. I suspect the dismissive, "what's all the hype about?" style reviewers simply missed the point, and seek to sound cool by posting banal and worldweary messages. Dear would-be readers, so not be put off by these. Take a journey into Kerala ( or wherever) and back into childhood.Roy is not Rushdie, nor does she mean to be - she is not pretentious she is unique.

Rating:
Summary: Pretentious
Review: I am still trying to understand the reason for all the accolades the book has been receiving. This has been one of the most over-rated books I read in a long time. I read a great many books in my life time, and I can say with conviction that the crass nature of the prose was completely unneccessary. Nothing personal Ms. Roy, but this book looks like it is written by someone who lacks a moral compass. The central character, Rahel does not have a sense of correctness in her actions. The Western society claims that this books talks about the caste system in India, but that forms a small part of the whole story. You might as well read the last few pages in the book to get that story. The rest of the story is filled with two small children, pathetic uncles and aunts and an indifferent mom. There are then the episodes on abuse. I am sorry to see that the one Indian author who won the Booker prize in the recent times should win it for garbage like this.

Rating:
Summary: A book so good that you resent it for being The Real Thing
Review: The God of Small Things is a book so good that you almost resent it for being The Real Thing. As you are reading it, you realize with a startle that you are stumbling into the unexplored. I sensed something of the joy of discovery in reading this book. I have found myself going back and re-reading several sections of the book - to myself as well as to friends. And that is a fine testament to the wonder of this book. I recommend it strongly if only to test your own tolerance for the unfamiliar.

This is a book of considerable arrogance, but perhaps in the best sense of the word. There is arrogance in the temerity with which the book insists on breaking norms of prose, grammar even. In the way the book is structured (notice how the author grindingly halts in the middle of narratives that have gathered significant momentum for extended reflections on the most tangential topics). In the way the author so easily slips into the role of provocateur, defying the reader to be outraged. The language is militantly inventive (in an almost look-I-can-do-this sort of way). Occasionally, the narration is wrought with the thumping weight of poignancy in the telling of the simplest of incidents. This left me reeling, unwilling to grant praise. Then, about a thirds into the book I realized that perhaps the book seemed that way only by virtue of comparison. Who are we to judge; perhaps the final purpose of a novel is only verbal storytelling; and we should not be shocked, surprised even, if allegiance to grammar and worn patterns of construction are tossed aside. In this sense the book is similar to 'The Color Purple' (and is there a book with a higher payoff in reading pleasure ?). Finally it was the unimaginable precision with which the characters' thoughts were expressed that brought me crashing into acceptance - this IS the real thing. And look at the way that you come away having known the entire life stories of a multitude of characters by the time you finish this not too long book. Vividly imagined, intensely poetic, and filled with an understanding of the shiest of human quirks, this book is an answer to all those who lament the death of the novel. I cannot wait for Arundhati Roy to write her next book.

Rating:
Summary: Roy's prose syrup without pancakes
Review: It is one of those books that comes like a typhoon, plenty of warning from the literati--or at least the marketing departments of an increasingly amorphous literati--, talk of a huge advance from the publisher, and the general assortment of hyperbolic accolades that dance about when agents and publishers have what they think is a money maker. If one were to stop thinking and just be marketed to, the literary world would be a habitable place. This novel is all syrup, no pancake; it starts like the end of a bad opera, and the reader is left floundering around trying to get some sense of what is happening and what all the narrative excitement is about--the sentence fragments, gerunds, and a parade of misplaced and melodramatic metaphors. There is ample evidence of a poetic capability in the pen of this book's author, but therein lies the problem--should the prose poem, which often ends up coming off like ambitious romance (English Patient, The Horse Whisper) get this kind of reaction from the literati? Or is it, as Wallace Stevens said, and as I, and I'm sure others feel, that "sentiment is a failure to feel." It is difficult to criticize such a well received book without feeling as though you are somehow missing the point, that you are outside the flow of love that infuses the prose, that you are bitter or incapable of participation. In this instance, don't do that to yourself. Allow yourself to not like this book. There is nothing wrong with you. Maybe it is all just treble without base, pomp without ceremony, syrup without pancakes. Maybe it's all just too rich, too tinny, too sweet. Maybe it is an escape you should not want to take. Whatever the case, you are not alone if you thought this book was well below the impact predicted by the amorphous, storm watching literati and their marketing pit bulls.

Rating:
Summary: Let us reinvent the wheel and patent it!
Review: The book was upsetting for the crass commerialization of the issues that sell only too well! Interweaving of the issues with twin psyches was great; but the description of issues was crass if not totally vulgar! I have yet to see an author come up with a storyline that would suggest answers to the issues raised by this book: issues which have been raised only one too many times.

Rating:
Summary: A thoughtful, thought-provoking novel
Review: This book not only has beautiful prose and well-developed characters, but also a beauty and grace that many novels lack. The Indian landscape comes to life with Roy's descriptive prose, but what I found most impressive were the personal relationships within the book. The family, with all its complexities and quirks, really gets to the heart of what it means to love, and lose in this life. Most impressive are the passages written through the eyes of a child, not one detail is missed. This book transports you to a different place, where you can almost hear, smell, and see the sights of India.

Rating:
Summary: Roy tries too hard
Review: The book has some interesting character analyses esp of the children. But the overwhelming letdown was the prose and her style of writing. It is obvious she tries too hard to be different, which gets rather tiring. I had the feeling of being led round and round and ending up nowhere significant.

Rating:
Summary: Fresh, lovely,intellegent, graceful.
Review: The God of Small Things is one of the best books I've had the privelege of reading. Its writing reaches and retrieves---images, emotional impact---it renders a story freshly told and beautifully structured. What doesn't amaze me is the negative comments and comparisons to what? Male writers, of course. Ms. Roy has earned all "the hype" and all the prizes and attention this book has garnered and she has earned it on her own, in no one's shadow. Is that finally why all the sour grapes and comparisons to other fine writers? Is it that SHE has done something so well in a first book and the only way these "critics" can accept that fact is to claim her success occurs off the coat tails of male writers? Faulkner is Faulkner, Rushdie, Rushdie. Joyce, Joyce. I have to wonder if SHE had written before Faulkner had his first book, if HIS work would've been similarly compared to HERS. I think not, but I don't wonder why. The language in Roy's book illustrates the point well: she is writing a stunning and unique book to be considered for itself. It deserves at least that much consideration.

Rating:
Summary: Á guernica of prose.
Review: The story has to be painted in the canvas of your mind, to really enjoy the interwoven patterns of abstractions which children can conjure up and the prejudices of the adult society of India . If Picasso was to review the book, he would have compared it to his famous work Guernica.

Rating:
Summary: Mellow yet intriguing and invigorating
Review: The title conceptualises the mood of the novel where in the end,the small and seemingly insignificant things are ultimately responsible for the tragic events that follow.The twins are innocent victims of family guilt.The family is victim to upholding their class system.The class system is a victim to itself-and the only way outis the "Velutha" way.