The God of Small Things changed my reading life. I picked it up about five years ago and it showed me how luscious prose can be.
To be fair, I'm especially drawn to and fascinated by images, culture and literature inspired by India. I can't deny the affinity I feel with India and everything it brings to my mind - karmic ties, wrapped sarees, tropical flora, color-saturated divinities and mystical transcendence.
Good luck leaving me alone with any text written about India; a compelling, urgent, insatiable need to read will strike in an attempt to feed my curiosity about all things Indian.
Arundhati Roy writes with softly, vividly with extraordinary compassion for the fragile composition of the human emotional palette. Reading The God of Small Things painted images in my mind and made me feel the pain of its characters with gentle aching just by reading words on a page. That's powerful. I was quite satisfied with the experience of reading it and it holds a special place in my literary heart. If Ihadn't been so in love with the book and so eager to share that I lent it to someone who never gave it back I would re-read it this minute.
Ok, confession: I can rarely go wrong with a Booker Prize winner. So I'm a cheat and a fraud because I generally don't give books a chance unless they've got some fancy recommendation backing them. Yes, it's snobbery - but for practical reasons. Excess time is a luxury item and I can't afford chancing it on books with an unlikely payoff. Life is too short to read 50 Shades of Grey. I rely on the opinion of experts and time to reveal the cream of the crop. Booker Prize winners (and often even titles on the shortlist) are as close as it gets to a sure thing.
So now you know, my taste in books is not as beautifully forgiving or broadly receptive as I would like you to believe. I like good books and I cannot lie - The God of Small Things tendrilled its way into my blog, heart and list of top 10 favorite books forever and ever.