This work is a perfect example of lofty aspirations resulting in less than lofty measures. It is also a perfect example of my aesthetic judgments running away from me, making me both choose and purchase books due to a combination of whims and coincidences, and not really justifying the fruits of my labor. However, it is better to traverse less populated paths and discover a casual meander rather than a hoped for stirring escapade, than to be led on by another's bad faith and promise of revolution that actually peters out into nothing but the same old filth, just in a different variation of purple prose. As it stands, I still adore the various covers that adorn this book's editions, and the title is more cleverly evocative in both its first impression and final recovery than those of the majority of texts new and old. However, while Roy did not have the bad taste to namedrop a series of highfalutin literary types in the last few pages of her fiction, the ending interview proves this is a case of a feeding work not measuring up to the works it fed on. In spite of this, such an international scope of reading shows true international tastes beyond the borders of the same old pasty canon, so I can't help think that some marvel has yet to come from this authorship yet.
Yes, I was drawn to this book because of the coincidence of surname of Arundhati Roy. Yes, I was also drawn by the Girl-With-the-Dragon-Tattoo vibes I got from the description. Yes, I was also drawn by such superficialities as the cover, the title, and other less than trustworthy aesthetic baggage. It would have been grand had all this worked in the work's favor, but alas, I was chasing something that resembled past loves but didn't continue in any of their footsteps. On a less tangentially dependent note, I couldn't rid myself of the feeling of being stretched thinly over too many characters and too much distance and too much time over 250 pages, to the point that the line between character driven drama and theoretical meditation collapsed and left a half baked muddle of both. That, and the sensationalism was rather much, as while I recognize that the issues require exposure, I'm wary of the same topics being coupled with the same demographics being the only ones to receive first prize award exposure. I wouldn't mind reading more of Roy, has her taste in literature is admirable to say the least, but there's a vast distance between evaluating the writing and creating said writing. I can, though, say the same about myself, so I'll have to wait till the next A. Roy (of either type) crosses my path.
By the time I post this, I'll have been to the book sale I am so looking forward to this weekend. I may or may not have found more Roy, in addition, ideally, to the fruits of a Black History Month feature. It's not the most rewarding feeling in the world to have medium expectations, but considering how much odious nonsense crosses my path despite preemptive culling of my shelves, this middle of the road narrative is almost welcome in its lack of commitment. On the long term, though, complacency is neither comfortable nor healthy, so I hope that, whatever I find tomorrow, it will either be an unforeseen pleasure, a valuable experience, or both. It's the chance I take on any book.