The High Priestess Never Marries

by Sharanya Manivannan

A Sri Lankan mermaid laments the Arthurian Fisher King; a woman treks to a cliff in the Nilgiris with honey gatherers of the Irula tribe; a painter fears she will lose her sanity if she leaves her marriage and lose her art if she stays faithful within it; one woman marries her goddess; another, sitting in a bar, says to herself, ‘I like my fights dirty, my vodka neat and my romance anachronistic.’The women in this collection are choice makers, consequence facers, solitude seekers. They are lovers, vixens, wives to themselves. And their stories are just how that woman in the bar likes it – dirty, neat and sexy as smoke.

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, India, Anthologies, Indian Literature, Adult

296 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2016

Reviews

[Aditi · Rating 4 out of 5]

“I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.”

----Robert A. Heinlein


Sharanya Manivannan, an Indian author, pens a heart touching, extremely gratifying and thoroughly thought provoking book of short stories about love and marriage, Sharanya Manivannan where the author weaves stories, ranging from half a page length to almost 50 pages long, of independent women of today's century and also those who are not fearless to break free from the rules, all the while letting the readers to give wings to their hearts' desires over the values of the society.


Synopsis:

A Sri Lankan mermaid laments the Arthurian Fisher King; a woman treks to a cliff in the Nilgiris with honey gatherers of the Irula tribe; a painter fears she will lose her sanity if she leaves her marriage and lose her art if she stays faithful within it; one woman marries her goddess; another, sitting in a bar, says to herself, ‘I like my fights dirty, my vodka neat and my romance anachronistic.’The women in this collection are choice makers, consequence facers, solitude seekers. They are lovers, vixens, wives to themselves. And their stories are just how that woman in the bar likes it – dirty, neat and sexy as smoke.


Each and every story from this book has its own flavor, aura and flair and each story, no matter how long or short it is, will manage to pull the readers straight into its unpredictable depth of vastness, clarity and emotions. It wouldn't be correct to say that there are any favorite stories among the lot, as each and every story reflects a woman's freedom for sex, marriage and love, above all, the freedom to celebrate and enjoy womanhood despite the difficult norms set by our society. The author gives wings to moral freedom in a century and in a country dominated so much by the Western ideals. I was deeply moved by each and every story penned by the author, where the central character of the each story stands as the personification of today's women who are liberal minded yet held back by values and ethics.

There are 26 short stories in this collection where each denote the significance of love and no doubt its consequences but also sex, deepest desires of a woman's heart, lust, passion and marriage along with the dilemma of commitment to the things or men that love them. The women of these stories are flawed to their very core, impulsive in nature and wild to limitless extent and therefore projected as someone "neat, dirty and sexy".

The author's writing style is fervent and laced perfectly with deep, heart felt emotions thereby making it rhapsodic for the readers. The prose is lilting with a Tamilian flair that gives a passionate side to each and every tale from this book. The narrative reflects the local dialect, and the author bravely uses the Tamilian slang and sayings without explaining further for the national and international readers, but that gives a challenging outlook to the whole book, although this approach by the author left me slightly disappointed as I failed to decipher the meaning of many of such local phrases. (PS: I had to google such phrases!) The journey of each women flows freely like a brook boldly and bravely through the ups and downs.

The characters from this book are well developed with honesty and realism in their demeanor, hence the readers will be able to easily connect with those women. Moreover, the author projects such relatable situations from everyday life that a common woman of today's century endure is striking enough to strike an emotional chord of every young and mature Indian women. Yes, the characters are mature, bold and do not sh away from lusting for their wishes, they get angry easily and take whimsical decisions about life. Well it's wrong to say that those women are self-centered but they are strong, fearless and can face any challenge alone.

Also another notable thing about this amazing writer that I can't miss to mention at any cost is the author's unexceptional panache for penning vivid, tiny details of each and every scene that will come alive before the eyes of the readers. So while reading I felt like the scenes are unrolling right in front of me. The author's love for her culture, her city and her ethnicity is strongly evident from the way she has used all those in the backdrop of the stories.

Verdict: An enriching and highly satisfying tale of womanhood, sexual and moral freedom, love, marriage and its consequences.

Courtesy: Thanks to the author, Sharanya Manivannan, for giving me an opportunity to read and review her book.

[Deepika · Rating 5 out of 5]

All alone on a night like this — quite as confession and blackwidow blue. Oh what she would give, tonight or any night, for a lover’s mouth, for a lullaby, for a moon so low it could snag in the conspiracy of branches. And she sits there in the darkness and watches the silhouettes of trees against the city sky blanched with artificial effulgence, and admires the silver rings on her toes, and thinks of how a good reading can unbraid everything. She blows a smokey cloudkiss to the Venus flytrap in the corner and even the Venus flytrap doesn’t bite back.

Sometimes, I want stories to be closer to me. I want the characters to drive on the roads I take. I want them to speak my tongue. I want them to know my gods and goddesses. I want them to lose themselves in the ocean where I seek solace.

Sharanya Manivannan’s The High Priestess Never Marries is close to my bosom for the said reasons.

I read the book this February. As I finished every short story and postcard fiction, I kept asking myself, “Between prose and poetry, where does this writing lie?” I released the question religiously, only to realise that it was an exercise in futility.

Because the stories were just there.

Feral. Timid. Pregnant. Empty. Loud. Silent. Intimidating. Comforting.

The stories were just there.

If Haruki Murakami’s heroes kept making spaghetti in his books, Sharanya Manivannan’s characters were fond of bitter gourd. More specifically, bitter gourd tossed with jaggery.

Dark, bitter, and yet sweet. Quite like her stories.

Bitter gourd that tastes of love and all its consequences. It is my simplest, most sincere dish: my heart on a platter.

‘This is an epiphany,’ she grins, her nose running, her back resting against the spice cabinet. I watch her for a few moments before reaching to serve myself.

With her clean hand, she grabs mine. ‘Thank you!’

‘Anytime, my love.’ I squeeze her hand, drop the spoon I reached for, and decided to wait. What a pleasure it is to give.

Sometimes a meal is a psalm. Sometimes it is a code, a consolation, a sense of an unbroken coast in a season of ravages. Always, it is an offering. Always, it is an embrace.

The other motifs created the feminine, divine, resplendent atmosphere too. Toe rings. Mangoes. Neem trees. The colour red. Celestial beings. And of course… sea, sand, soil, and shores. There were myriad omens which made me feel feverish.

I love Sharanya Manivannan’s women. They did not demand my sympathy. They did not offer condescension either. They were beautifully vulnerable, incredibly human. They related their stories in a tone that was free of apologies. Their voices were laden with regrets, melancholy, and pain. But there was no pretense.

I love her women more because those are the ones who can listen to my story without judging me. Those are the ones who can say, “You fucked up? It’s fine. Let’s clear the mess together.” Those are the women who won’t ask me to stay strong. Those are the ones who would say, “Weep. Weep. Weep. It’s okay to be broken.” Those are the ones who understand the need to feel belonged, the need to love, and the need to be loved and cherished.

Those are the women who know what it is like to be a woman.

I wanted to unleash my love on two women particularly — Sarala Kali and Antara. (Oh! The names! There was a man called Mazhai.) Both the women taught me something that I have been meditating for a long while — allowing myself to feel.

I am tired of hearing phrases like, ‘You have always been brave. Continue to be brave.’ Or a patronising one like, ‘Snap out of that depression.’ Or a reduction like, ‘What you are feeling is a mere disappointment.’ So when I met Sarala Kali and Antara, I naturally warmed up to them more for they didn’t wage war against their emotions. They walked into the eye of the storms. They swayed to the tunes of gusty winds. They destroyed themselves. They re-birthed themselves. And when the cyclone had crossed, they were brave and authentic in the way they embraced their sentiments. How can I not love them!

It’s been a long while since I finished the book. But I can’t capture one word as such and pin it down to explain how I feel about it. There is a lump in my throat. I want to hug somebody and cry for a little while. I want to take deep breaths. I want to reread some stories from the book. I am giving myself to the quicksand of thoughts. I am throwing a courageous glance at the bright clarity that has surfaced. I feel everything. I feel nothing. I am melancholic. I am content.

Maybe, I am one of them. Maybe, we all are…

[Sukanya Venkatraghavan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Two things will happen to you when you begin reading this book.
The impulse to meditate on each story like it is a psalm. To swim into its mysterious waters slowly and let the prose engulf you.
Or
You will want to fall upon it like a starved Rakshasi and devour all of it in one single mouthful, each story pulsating with unidentified flavours and familiar feelings.
Either ways you will be done.
These stories, the women in these stories are wildness and strange seasons, they are loneliness and the unbearable crowding of thoughts, the summing up of calm and wild all at once, of mess and muse, of love and the longing for it. These women are whole and halved by their choices, their very being, their lives, loves and Madras madness carved into individual exquisite stories that will consume you.
Absolutely recommended.

[Ajay · Rating 3 out of 5]

Assured writing, evocative imagery, and enigmatic protagonists notwithstanding, this collection does suffer from too much of a muchness and is best consumed in small doses.

[Resh (The Book Satchel) · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a collection of 26 stories of love, desire and consequence. The women in High Priestess Never Marries are those who choose their lives for themselves. There are stories of lonely women, wives, widows, unfaithful partners, artists and goddesses. There are stories that throw questions at the institution of marriage. There is a clever spiritual interplay of the supernatural (or sometimes sacred symbolisms) that lend a beautiful hue to some stories.

Sharanya’s writing shows a deep understanding of local beliefs and folk tales woven into the main narrative. I loved the lyrical language with hints of surrealism. There are colloquial Tamil phrases in many stories. So a person who doesn't know the language might have a little difficulty in understanding those lines. However you will get the bigger picture.

Read the full review on - http://www.thebooksatchel.com/high-pr...

Much thanks to the author and Harper Collins India for a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.

[Dhanya Narayanan · Rating 2 out of 5]

How I got hold of this book:

I came across a blog titled ‘Three Strong Women’ which was about three women writers who dominated the reading life of the author in last 6 months. (https://iamagreedyreader.wordpress.co...).

One of them was KR Meera, who happened to be my all time favourite writer in Malayalam, whose words, imagination and thoughts have never failed to leave me in awe and adoration. Since Sharanya Manivannan was placed on par with my favourite author, I thought I should get to know her writing. Sharanya Manivannan writes poetry in English and this book is her first collection of stories.

What is this book about?

This is supposed to be a ‘short story’ collection. A short story, by definition, can have words ranging from 1000 to 20,000. So most of the 26 stories in this collection about women who live on their own terms, do qualify to be classified as ‘short stories’ though some of them are too short and some of them are too long.

What are the positive aspects of this book?

The writer has used words directly from Tamil, the local language spoken in Chennai interspersed with English without taking any effort to clarify the meaning of those words or putting them down in italics. By this undertaking, poverty of English language compared to vernacular language is exposed.
Some of the imageries used are lucid and poetic( Sharanya is essentially a poet)
All the stories have women as central characters. I appreciate women who write about women.
What are the drawbacks of this book?

At the outset, let me be clear that I am neither a writer nor a trained reviewer. All I know is to read and feel what is written.

Sadly, I could not appreciate the craft of story telling in any of the story in this collection. The ‘stories’ are narrated in first person. Many a times, my mind strayed away and I had to forcefully make myself come back to the story. They all simulated solitary, narcissistic elocution by different women. I am sure the author of the blog, Three Strong women, has not had the fortune of reading short stories in Malayalam where the art of story telling is at its pinnacle.
Some of the words used are complicated and instead of becoming an evidence of the author’s command on English language, they kill the joy of reading. Those words don’t serve any special purpose and feel like stones amidst tasty food.
The women in most of the stories are considered ‘liberated’ because of the sexual choices they make. I don’t believe that sexual liberation alone will lead to improvement in womens’ affair. That alone cannot be considered as a yardstick for measuring women empowerment. After reading about even stronger and more real women in stories and real life, I could not admire( leave aside admiration), nor could empathise with a single woman in any of those stories.
Explicit description of sex in many stories did more harm to those stories than good. A good short story has to be really short and subtle. The words have to be weaved in the right proportion and direction so as to make an impact.
I really doubt whether the author believes in anything that she has written. Because the moment an artist believes in his/her own art, the outcome will never fail to touch human hearts.
One of my very close companion said something very relevant and important, about beauty being an essential component of art. Beauty in lines, strokes, words or actions make every art form divine. Sharanya’s stories lack beauty as far as I understand.
To be short, I did not like what I read.
I am not sure whether my sky high expectation about the writer curbed my ability to enjoy the stories and may be I should get hold of her poetry to appreciate her talent.

[Preeti · Rating 2 out of 5]

I struggled with this book for a couple of months. I usually read in long stints but in this case, I lost interest far too soon and far too often. The language was at times beautiful, other times, quite strange and forced.

Giving up on it. Might pick it up later.

[Tanuj Solanki · Rating 4 out of 5]

In Sharanya Manivanan’s debut collection of short stories, The High Priestess Never Marries, the female protagonists sometimes cry spontaneously. The malady is imperceptible on the surface, but ever present. Sample this from a story titled Conchology: “One afternoon, I burst into tears in the Tuileries, unable to believe that in so vanquished a life I had brought myself this armistice of beauty.” Or this from Corvus: “We sat on the shore and he let me cry, holding my hand as I did.” Or from Nine Postcards from the Pondicherry Border: “I put my hands on her [goddess’s] feet and my head on her hands and wept in a way I cannot put into words.” In the titular story, the protagonist doesn’t cry but expresses a longing for it: “A part of me wishes I could still burst into tears at will, overflow with arsonist passion, say all the things I would say if I hadn’t already come such a long way, such a long, long way.”

The typical Manivannan protagonist is acutely perceptive, melancholic, and sexually hungry. Any one of these qualities may be used to explain the other two, and Manivannan does these variations to differentiate her protagonists. But there is an unavoidable sense of repetition, which turns out to be pleasurable, and which leaves us with women who—despite differing circumstances and different stories—seem as if they know each other.

Much of what is innate in Manivannan’s women is inextricably linked to their relationships, mostly with men. Men don’t define them, but men often play a crucial role in helping them arrive at their definitions (or their crises). Manivannan’s achievement is in presenting a flavor of feminism whose subversive power isn’t apparent at first. Her women don’t blame the men for their ‘vanquished life’. And they don’t think of all men in their lives as landmarks. Some men are merely rites of passage, part of a discovery process which always happens outside their influence. In the intensely erotic Afternoon Sex, for example, the main woman is a painter married to an older man, a writer. And she is in a sexual arrangement with an ex. The expected emotions aren’t there at all: no fear, no guilt. Instead, what we have is a near-spiritual meditation on life choices, a meditation that is the end in itself. It is not surprising that the story ends with a scene of coitus—again, coitus as passage, not end.

Perhaps the arsonist passion that these heroines endure is borne simply out of being conscious of their rabid freedom. Of knowing that their choices determine their lives; and that even if they ruin some of it, there might be beauty to find. Perhaps Manivannan’s women cry not because of the aftermath of love, but due to an existential crisis that has value in itself. They have agency stronger than most women in literature. That they don’t know how to wield it perfectly is the beginning.

[S · Rating 3 out of 5]

It's a collection of 26 short stories. The main theme is melancholic longing. Most of the stories revolve around women lamenting for the love they've lost. The writing is beautiful and there are so many quotable lines but even then, there was still a confusion in my mind about what the story was. A couple of stories were too short to even try to understand what happened. I didn't like the beginning stories at all and I was going to be give up on it and it was only when I read randomly and read the later stories that I actually liked them. The stories didn't focus on anything except longing and sadness and love. I only had a problem with it because I couldn't understand what was going on. And after a while, I just couldn't continue because it got repetitive and I didn't want to read it. The writing is amazing and poetic and you understand what the author is trying to convey but the story-telling aspect didn't work. I haven't read her poetry work but I'm guessing it might be better than this. There are also a lot of South Indian references which I didn't understand but they didn't bother me. My favorites were The High Priestess Never Marries, Sky Clad, Afternoon Sex and Sweet. I would recommend this to people who love reading poetic prose. 

[Parvati Mohan · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book is not meant for everyone. It certainly didn't sit very well with me. I wondered if that's because I really wanted to like it and was disappointed due to the high expectations, as is often the case. But I know that's not entirely true.

The author has a proclivity for using big words that sit rather awkwardly in the sentences in which she places them. And there's a tendency to randomly drop references to Frida Kahlo and Raymond Carver. I don't want to use the word 'pretentious' but it did feel like Manivannan tried a little too hard to make the stories fit this image of smoky mysteriousness.

That said, there are epiphanic moments that made me feel connected to the story for the duration of that sentence, only to be replaced by a mild rolling of the eyes at the big words and name dropping that would follow.

[Shweta Markandeya · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Sweet as the sins that were worth the fall, bitter as deceived goodness. Bitter gourd tastes of love and consequences. It is my simplest, most sincere dish. My heart on a platter.” These lines changed my perception of karela forever, and I never eat karela.

Sharanya Manivannan is immensely talented. And her debut book of short stories is a treat; in her own words – “stylish as cinema, sexy as smoke, unforgettable as trauma.” Her talent borders on the mercurial, as do the stories. Sometimes as long as a novella, sometimes barely a page. Partly self indulgent, partly arcane, a few of them leave you confused. And most have a smattering of erotica.

Manivannan is an author firmly entrenched in the soil; nature serves her well as a recurring character in her stories. She threads the sensual with the practical, weaves culture, mythology – Tamil, Greek, Nordic and what not, the metaphysical, the geography of Chennai and beyond – all the way from the Eastern coast of Sri Lanka to the rain soaked hills of Mega Malai. Her language is luscious – rich, poetic and filled with words so obscure that even the dictionary doesn’t have them. The stories are mainly of longing, of loves long lost, forbidden, unrequited though not unconsummated. Of women in love, women in loss but never women in cages. The book is a paen to the sea, you can almost taste the salt in every word and every breath. It is also a song of erotica, omnipresent as salt in the sea; sensual, strong, so unconventional – be prepared to be blown.

The title story is extravagant, though taut and sexy, and totally badass. The protagonist teams up with her old flame, the Lucky Bastard, posing a respectable Tam couple (married, of course) to help a Swede friend to keep his rented flat. The story meanders and goes nowhere, but in eleven pages, Manivannan creates 3-D characters, enough drama and the dialogues that keep you enticed and chuckling. And ah, the longing! Smashing!

“Conchology” introduces us to Sarala Kali, the lamenter, the one who sings opparis as the narrator deals with her own grief of a lost love. In “Corvus”, Manivannan brings to life a simple man, a good man, a man betrayed and yet, loving. “Take the weather with you” has an unexpected twist. “Sky clad” veers towards indulgent, but such luscious prose. It talks of endings and alternate narrations to cling on to. One line reads, “…the space after a laugh is exactly the size of a kiss.”

“Nine postcards from the Pondicherry border’ takes us to a house, a house where the narrator’s soul stays, to which she is forever tied, “tethering us so that no matter where we journey beyond that point, we are only orbiting.” A house that “sits between two worlds : the Tamil village and the international commune…(though) it is of now world at all but its own.” Dealing with the loss of her love, she seeks out and heals herself in the forest. In “Ancestress”, the narrator marries the avadhuta, the goddess whose wedding is sabotaged so that she could take on her pre-ordained role of the demon killer. It’s a story that disturbs, a story that asks – Why does it have to be one or the other? Love or glory? Why can’t she have it all? The question and the words haunt.

The three stories that really mesmerized me were the ones that are also the longest. “Afternoon Sex” talks of a woman balancing her time between her husband, whom she loves dearly, a love that’s sweet and mellow, and her lover, a love she can’t create without, a love that even after years is intoxicating. “Two kinds of love then: simplistic and fatalistic.” Precarious. Amoral. And yet, essential. The narrator rues, “Men have always been granted multiplicity. But when women do it, it becomes duplicity.” No, this is not a simple tale, this is not a simple book. This is taking the threshold limit and throwing it into a black hole. The world will never be the same again.

In “Sweetness, Wildness, Greed”, Manivannan transports us to the lush hills of Niligiris – Megha Malai or the Cloud Mountais, in search of fresh, wild honey. In pilgrimage, in penance for saving her, for helping her reclaim her life, to reclaim “sweetness, wildness and greed.” In thanksgiving for finding love, a love that reciprocated. The descriptions of the forests, the honey gathering are so lush, and the emotions so deep and beautiful; the story leaves with a (happy) tear in your eye and a heavy weight in your heart.

But the story that left me stunned was “Cyclone Crossing”. A gentile urban couple turned farmers extend shelter to a family friend and the wife’s, the narrator’s, ex-lover during a nasty storm. As the cyclone gathers force, tension between the uneasy triad escalates, aided by the older lover’s baiting and the narrator’s inner turmoil. In a span of a few pages, Mannivanan brings to life three well-etched characters. She has the reader hanging on every word as the storms brew – outside, in the house and inside the narrator’s heart. She creates situations, writes dialogues worthy of a good thriller. The effect is cinematic, 70 mm and in Dolby sound. The aftermath had me reeling for days. Mannivanan’s story telling is genius, her craft perfected.

I loved the stories – such a fresh take, immense talent and execution. I’m waiting for her next set of prose. Till then, who knows – maybe I just might eat that karele ki subzi with relish.

[Aishwariya Laxmi · Rating 5 out of 5]

The book is about everything and about nothing. Although it is a collection of short stories, each story feels like a poem, an ode to love. She uses the language of love and myth so well that they seem to glide on the page and find a place in your heart, even if you don't understand some of it. You want to read it for its lyrical quality. One word to describe the book is - sublime!

[Tanya · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wasn't sure what to expect when I picked this book up off a table piled high with Sri Lankan books. Every single story evoked in me some deeply buried memory or thought, I felt an affinity with each woman's story. Living now in Colombo, I could translate so clearly the imagery of South India to Sri Lanka.

I wanted so much to consume the book as quickly as I could, I felt an urgent need to know each story. But I simply couldn't, this is a book you need to read slowly and savour. After each chapter, I felt the need to take a rest, if only to simply recover from the emotional responses I had to each woman.

Each chapter describes a woman's plight - individual and yet part of the same whole. Possibly a reflection of the author in each woman? Perhaps a reflection of ourselves? Indian women are generally portrayed as timid, sexless. Manivannan has written her heroines as unapologetically sexual beings, she has inadvertently created a feminist manifesto for the Indian woman.

[Archana · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sharanya writes prose like poetry. Her short stories give a composite glimpse of intense women - strong and vulnerable at the same time. Her heroines live their life fully in each moment, with ecstacy and regret, both experienced in their fullness.
This book is definitely not for the faint hearted or for someone looking to flip through pages.
I generally don't like authors who make me go back and cover with a dictionary. I find it pompous!
In this case, I would have to agree with the author. No other word could have captured the feel like the lesser known or richer ones she chose. It is not pomp but a level of complexity that you would wish upon mundane lives.

[Priya · Rating 2 out of 5]

Couldn't read through the 3rd story (the one about Sarala Kali). I loved the first story but then it all went downhill. There are some passages that I plainly did not understand at all - I know the writing is supposed to be poetry-like or whatever, and trust me, I've read some really good ones with such lyrical prose, but this one was just too bizarre and I felt it had no context in most places. Or maybe I just missed the whole point.

So, yeah. Maybe another day.

[Shonel Teke · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had never heard of Sharanya Manivannan before, yet here I was intrigued by the promise on the back cover of her first novel: The High Priestess Never Marries.

And in no surprising way, the book is nothing like I have ever read before. It isn’t a collection of myths, legends or short stories. Instead here is a range of essays, meanderings of the heart, music from the torn soul, cries of sexual promiscuities and moans from the heartbroken widowed mind, written in poetic prose. There’s a difference in her language that uses lush, rich words to describe the simplest emotion, picture or thought. Not only does she amaze you with some unabashedly harsh admissions, but she takes your breath away in a language fit for the gods and goddesses whom she refers to.

In this amazing book that should be the highlight of any English Literature course, Sharanya Manivannan doesn’t just write, she illustrates, she paints, she stands back and she admires her canvas, adding a dash of colour or darkness to transform it into a surreal depiction of the human soul and all its crevices. Her protagonists range from heartbroken women who are seeking love or retribution (or is it both?), to the cheating woman who is torn between a cuckolded husband and an uncommitted lover who can never stay away. Her women are not shades of white or black or even grey—they are golden like the goddesses we are meant to be, ebony like the wickedest wretchedness of the soul, crimson like the sexual beings from which pours forth the earth, azure like the freedom of the clouds, and pristine like the nature we are one with.

Do not be in a hurry to read this. Take a deep breath and plunge into it knowing that you will need time to revel in the fluidity of the poetry, the glory of the language, the absurdity of the storylines and the beauty that is Sharanya Manivannan.

[EJ · Rating 5 out of 5]

'The High Priestess Never Marries' is poetic, persistent, profound. A confluence of women - the women who my pith has grown into, and the women who have evaded my becoming them.

Every sentence, a string of beautiful, beautiful words.
Every story, a picture of acrylic on parchment.

A dictionary of the Sea. And the Sky. And everything in between.

Thank you Sharanya, for making me want to paint again.

[Aayushi · Rating 2 out of 5]

Stories of love, of loss and longing... all spun around lives of different women, how they dealt with their pain and anxiety. Few stories are straight to the heart, some of them not. I felt at some places, author has tried to use big words unnecessarily, but then, that can be just me. I respect the thoughts behind writing and being able to weave such stories, which are truly Indian by nature and in all their essence. Some parts flow more like poetry rather than story..and make a space in your heart, unknowingly.

[Shariq Latif · Rating 3 out of 5]

She is telling a tale because she trusts you. She trusts you because she believes, you would understand her emotions she didn't say.
The author has written words, and left it to the reader of what kind of a connection one can make.

Certainly, love is not a product to bound a person from performing in other areas of life. One shouldn't just love and not seek the pain to grow in life.

Love is a product to transform you, strengthen you, build you to become independent and free yourself from all the compulsions.

This book makes women understand how important it is to know what you need when they are growing up. There are stories of betrayal, hurt, and how to recover from a heartbreak. The stories are written in a poetic realm. The language is rich and becomes a headache to catch the flow. But, as I said they are written in a poetic way so it also gets a bit friendly to read and dedicate attention for a certain period, but then again you are lost in a canvas.

There are various distractions I sorted out reading the stories. One is; in modest societies, extra-marital and pre-marital relationships are never acceptable, but the way it is shown in the book is quite disturbing. The women showed, they are decision makers and know what is best for them. So, from this angle I am in two thoughts.

This book empowers women to show valiant approach after betrayals, loss and separation, but also teaches how to involve themselves in another romantic relationship and then another, and the chain goes on? I rebuked those conceptions.

The consequences in stories were of some happy moments, in some of the greivances and in some a mournful ending.

[Janani · Rating 5 out of 5]

I will be back for a longer review when I've digested this one a bit more. But suffice to say that I found so much of myself here, and so much that was alien to me. The tension between those and the author's skills made this one of the most vivid reads for me, personally, this year.

[Tia Raina · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of those books that takes you so long to read because you never want to finish it. I love these women, I know these women, I am these women. Now, I will end up reading everything else written by the author.

[Michelle D’costa · Rating 3 out of 5]

I had heard of Manivannan first from her column ‘The Venus flytrap’ in The New Indian Express. When I got to know that she has a collection of short stories out and its title was ‘The High Priestess Never Marries’, I instantly wanted to buy it because as a woman I have always thought, ‘Is a girl only born to just get married one day?’ Luckily this story of hers is published online in ‘Out of Print’. It is one of my favourites from the collection.

There is a mystic feel to the book. Sharanya weaves mythology, celestial bodies, superstitions, rituals, love, longing, desire into powerful stories. The women in her stories live. Their life is palpable from their romantic relationships. They make choices. They have desires. They dream. They admire nature. They are poetic. The language Sharanya uses is rich with metaphor. I admit I have never heard or read some of the words she uses.

Some lines from the book can be framed, picking a few here:

‘You always want what you don’t want, don’t you? Not even what you can’t have or shouldn’t want, but simply do not want. Every single time.’
-Greed and the Gandhi quartet

‘Emotional geography collects like plaque: a little carelessness and it’s there before you know it.’
-Corvus

‘there was one man who seemed to discover the eloquence of kissing the hand, because the way he then took mine and did the same suggested unfamiliarity, wonder, the simplicity of imitation. I would later grieve thinking about the other women he would confer the same upon, this tenderness I had given him. As though anything in any of us is truly new, unclaimed.’
-Corvus

I was delighted to find out that ‘Corvus’, one of the stories in the collection was previously published at Jaggery, the journal I work for now (fiction).

This book is truly feminist in a sense that the characters own themselves. Even their weaknesses. There is a feeling of transit in the stories. We are all in transit, borrowing, imbibing and shedding habits from people we meet in life. The bold prose can come across as shocking because of the ‘moral’ lessons imbibed in us girls and in that sense this book is liberating. A woman is not supposed to desire and even if she does, not to be verbal about it. This reminds me of a line from the movie ‘Cracks’. Miss G says ‘The most important thing in life is desire.’

The women in this collection of stories are human. Thank you for this wonderful book Sharanya. These women can create a revolution and the men privileged to be a part of their lives.

[Nethra Ram · Rating 1 out of 5]

I don't get a single word in this book. Ok, perhaps that's exaggeration but I just don't know if it's prose or poetry or what the author wants to convey. I liked the local lingo used throughout but I certainly did not connect with this book. That's that.

[Apoorva Saini · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've tried to write a review for this book quite a few times since I first read it in 2018, but still haven't been able to capture quite accurately what all and how much this one has meant to me. It's now simply the book I gift to people, all the time.

[Anu · Rating 3 out of 5]

I actually bought this book a couple of years ago but only got to reading it recently. I initially bought it cause the description and title seemed interesting. I was also excited to read the works of a female Indian writer since I've read so few works by them.

There are a few things I did like about this book: the vivid imagery, the beautiful analogies and descriptions, the parallels drawn between the short stories and mythology etc. The introductory part was so intriguing I love everything it conveyed and the way it was worded. It might be one of my favourite pieces of writing by itself. I love how it ties the whole book up together. I also liked that some parts really resonated with me as a tamil woman myself, like the mention of certain cultural things / phrases/ words etc regarding tamil and tamil culture. I also felt like some of the stories / characters were connected to each other in the book and that was interesting. I'd probably be able to map out the connections if I sat with it again (if I ever do). Like some chapters / stories seem to be prequels / sequels of some others or maybe they're all independent and it just seems that way because of the recurring themes.

What I didn't enjoy however were that these were very elemental things so the stories overall were either strong from start to finish or kind of slow paced. I genuinely thoroughly enjoyed only a couple of stories in this compilation. There is too much of monotony in the book cause of similar and recurring themes in her stories. It gets difficult to distinguish one from the other at times. In hindsight I feel like I'd be able to recall only one or two of them fully cause only those many left a lasting impression. Some stories are essentially about the same things. I know that's it's a book about love but I wish other facets regarding it had been explored more rather than just abandonment and abandoning and infidelity and nostalgia. Some stories seemed redundant. Also what makes this less enjoyable than it could have been is the unnecessary use of certain complicated words, things that could have easily been conveyed through simpler words or ones used more colloquially. It just unnecessarily complicates the reading process. Mostly a lot of them don't add anything other than inconvenience to the reading experience.

I can't say it was disappointing, though it didn't meet the expectations that the introduction had set, it still had it's highlights. I was pleasantly surprised by this compilation of short stories. It was a bit slow paced and a drag at times but it was something different and bold with strong characters who take charge of their lives. I really admired that.  3.5 stars from me.

[Literary]

She rose from the ashes of her ravaged conscience with numerous scraps of love and it's consequences stitched into each other, forming an endless chain of blood-red hibiscus soaked in morning dew. The high priestess rose from the Psalms of abandoned princesses bringing, tightly clutched to her bosom, an epoch of echoing retelling of her own battle scars. She brought news of a new dawn cacooned in silken desires ready to crack open bearing newborn wings, to take flight.

Sharanya Manivannan brought along, with her mystifying storytelling,memories, thousands of memories, of women in love. A magical forest worth of mettlesome stories - told, untold, forgotten, denied, unheard of, and unfinished. She fearlessly jotted down centuries of secrets, stuck so long like a lump in those thirsty throats of women waiting to heard, their love and lust mingled within, the overpowering burning of passion erupting inside like feisty volcanoes.

She painted the High Priestess in the colour of warm blood, pouring in cups full of earth. With mouth-watering flavours of South India, it's ocean waves, fresh honeycombs and wilderness and temples and ever-lingering incense.

The High Priestess is a shapeshifter, a proud word bender, a kaleidoscopic image formed out of all those short stories together. She is the oracle of passion and desire, of lust and hunger, of love and compassion, of sacrifice and selfishness, of one's most intimate craving. She appears like a denouement, picking at a reader's most personal secret, forcing acceptance, forcing one to locate and relocate all those thrown away, locked away pieces of unprejudiced humanness, of overflowing femininity, of self-discovery.

[Siddhartha · Rating 4 out of 5]

I failed to choose a single quote. I failed, even to choose a single chapter. I read a chapter, unabridged emotions splattered across pages, and tell myself this is the one I will remember, this is the one story I will mention when I mention the book. Then I read the next. The cycle goes on.

This book is such a condensed form of feelings and emotions of being in love, of being loved, of being rejected, of being neglected and what not. As the title suggests the book has been written in the voices of women. Women who broke the pseudo codes placed by the unknown. I cannot even try to explain all that is there in this book. Bold, honest and filled with an enormous amount of details. The details are not just limited to the scenery or the moments of romance, the localities, even the dishes and drinks. I might try one of the bitter guard recipes mentioned in the book.

There are a lot of words that might make you grab your dictionary. That at times kills the flow of reading and this happened with me more than I would have liked it.

[Keerthi · Rating 4 out of 5]

The writing is lyrical and simply flows - there's no question about her skill. The stories are like the people in it: somewhat impenetrable, and we pick up and drop them somewhere in the middle, without a clear Beginning or knowing the End. Some lines just stick with you.

The Tamil seemed a little off and the metaphors contrived/exoticised to me. (Reminds me of another author's dilemma on whether or not to make her characters eat mangoes, for it's a desi novel cliché, but people in the tropics also do eat mangoes. Do you switch the 'authentic' mangoes with apples? Should you make your Tamil men wear lungis?) Although I'm sure I wouldn't have noticed if it had been in a language I don't speak. I also couldn't relate to much of the sheer intensity of the passions described, but that is a personal flaw and takes nothing from the book. What do I know about love.

[Divya · Rating 4 out of 5]

Though Kindle marked this as a 3.5 hour read, I finished it over a span of 3.5 days (probably more). Sharanya's highly rated work of fiction is engrossing, shocking and best savoured bit by bit. Like somebody here in the reviews has mentioned, some of the stories were tough to comprehend on account of the linguistic references made and the language used (her prose is poetic, to put it simply). This is one book that left me with way too many notes in my Kindle. I'll end the review with one of my favorites among them

'This is how you live, with the knowledge of all you could not keep. You take all the love you intended for only one thing and you spread it out, wherever it can give succour (having so much, you need not take more). You let it thrive. And you live. I tell you - you'll live.'

[Jinal Trivedi · Rating 2 out of 5]

I am a prose over poem kind of person. Simple over embellished.
And this book was not in my comfort zone at all. Out of the 26 short stories, I could understand half and liked even lesser.
The embellishments in forms of big words (some of which my Kindle couldn't find and I had to Google) felt very forced.
Another thing that I felt was the reason I couldn't connect to half the stuff was that it has Tamil words or phrases which inconveniently had no translations, heck they weren't even italicised so I had no way of knowing what I was reading.

The few stories that liked were beautiful, good picturization, heavy emotions. But all in all, didn't enjoy the book much.