Minxie – A Bold Experiment in Form and Feminist Thought
When Araathu R shared a heartfelt Thank You post in response to the B'day wishes, it prompted me to finally read Minxie. This is perhaps the first English novel I have read, and for that I must thank him.
Minxie has been presented as an erotic drama told in an episodic format. Each episode begins with a Sanskrit verse, offering liberal reflections on women and the elixir of life. What stands out is Araathu’s daring experimentation with form. The novel mixes meta-fiction, non-linear storytelling, and even references to ideas from quantum physics—suggesting that the observer shapes reality.
The story opens with an explicit scene that shocks both the reader and Sindhu, one of the key characters. It reminded me of the film Unknown Country, where peripheral characters momentarily take center stage before the story returns to the main plot. Araathu himself introduces the story directly, even spoiling certain elements, but does so with conviction. Despite this, I initially struggled to see the common thread between the three central characters—Sindhu, Veena, and Vanji. It felt like being told upfront, much like in SJ Suryah’s Kushi, that the story is about how two characters will unite, while the journey still remains unclear.
These preludes encouraged me to imagine different possibilities for the characters. At first, I thought the novel might thematically echo My Old Ass, where a girl meets her older self, or Kadha Innuvare, where one character appears across different timelines under different names. But Araathu overturns these assumptions and breaks all pre-existing notions.
He gets deeply into the headspace of his characters, describing them vividly enough for us to feel their discomfort, joy, or trauma. I was reminded of a scene in Khufiya where Charu Ravi registers her discomfort during intimacy, both to herself and the camera. That similarity shows how powerful Araathu’s narrative voice can be.
The author is also self-reflective, frequently addressing readers about the hypocrisies of storytelling itself and how the universe “writes” its own narratives. These meta-fictional elements, though not new, work here to give readers clarity on why the story unfolds the way it does. It’s also a smart move—Araathu guides readers to perceive the core idea behind his story without losing focus. After all, an author’s perspective is what we buy into, and he delivers it seamlessly.
After the opening shock, Araathu heightens tension with a jump-scare moment where Sindhu is assaulted in her father’s absence. The aftermath is revealing: her father vows never to drink again. This reminded me of Poovizhi Vaasalile, where Jeeva makes a similar vow after a near-tragedy. Such moments shape Sindhu into a tougher, less naïve character later on.
Veena’s chapters, by contrast, are light and relatable—capturing the adventures of a newcomer adjusting to a new town and making friends. But Vanji’s world fascinated me most. Her postmodern sensibilities, boldness, and refusal to tolerate nonsense make her arc compelling. Araathu uses her storyline to touch on stalking, the absurdity of book launches, incest, sapiosexuality, individualism, stoicism, and nihilism. He even employs recurring motifs, such as repeating the first scene later in the book.
Amidst the narrative thrills, Araathu keeps both inner and external conflicts alive. Vanji’s arc grows almost larger than life, entering quasi-political territory, until she gracefully exits her ties with Siddarth and his circle—affirming her self-sufficiency.
Even the intimate details—BDSM, squirting, intellectual seduction—are not just written for shock or allure. Araathu uses them to explore psychological play and power dynamics, showing how seduction can be both intellectual and emotional.
This is where the feminist core of Minxie comes through. The novel celebrates self-sufficiency while exposing how the sanctification of women’s bodies has long been manipulated by men for vested interests.
The book also contains striking lines that linger, many of which I found myself quoting. Araathu clearly has a deep ear for Sanskrit and an eye for Indian classical dance—elements he weaves into the narrative until they almost create a cult-like aura, even sparking a fetishized fascination for dancers.
Overall, Minxie is bold, experimental, and thought-provoking. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it and wish Araathu success with this work. This is the second of his work I have read after Nalliravin Nadanangal, and in the footnote he even explains the conversations between Sindhu, Veena, and Vanji—connections I never anticipated.