Thanks to Arundhati Roy for her evident years of compassionate living and for weaving her experiences into this novel. As I read, the sense of India often visited me as I went about my day, a flash of brilliant colour, of endless narratives playing out at the corners of my eyes, of parrots, bicycles, silk, death. However, a word of apology and advice: don't try to read this book in small bits, in bed, during Christmas holidays, after drinking wine. There are many, many characters, names, walk-ons, stories told without apparent relevance to the plot. The time-line is complex. Fourteen years pass in a single, easily-missed sentence. I was often lost. The book could have been clarified. But is this the editor's error, or mine? Is the book's feeling of being a muddle exactly what Roy intended, and insisted upon? Well-worth reading. I learned a great deal about many things, both minute and vast.