I’ve always loved reading. But ever since I graduated from college, I always tend to a start a book then not finish it. What’s worse is that I tend to buy books and not read them at all.
Except for Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things.
It tells of the tragedy of a Kerala family brought about by society’s caste system and Love Laws (That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.)
"The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you are alive, and die only when you are dead. To love, to be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of the life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget."
It took me almost a week to read it. But for the first time, in a long time, I finished reading a book. It’s not exactly the story that pulled me but the way the story was written. I’m not that good with words so I really can’t describe how different and effective her story telling skills are. Maybe you just ought to read the book to understand what I have a hard time explaining.
Or read the following excerpts:
"Perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house---the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture---must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for. Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstitutred. Imbued with new meaning. Suddenly they become the bleached bones of a story."
"When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less."
It was already 2:00 am and I knew that I had to put down the book. But the last chapter was just too…passionate - the unforbidden love, the words used, the way the sentences were constructed – all of which just leave you mesmerized and alive at 2:00 am in the morning. It’s like the chapter alone can be a masterpiece.
"Being with him made her feel as though her soul had escaped from the narrow confines of her island country into the vast, extravagant spaces of his. He made her feel as though the world belonged to them- as though it lay before them like an opened frog on a dissecting table, begging to be examined."
"The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke."
"He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair."
Next read: Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts
Except for Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things.
It tells of the tragedy of a Kerala family brought about by society’s caste system and Love Laws (That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much.)
"The only dream worth having is to dream that you will live while you are alive, and die only when you are dead. To love, to be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and vulgar disparity of the life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget."
It took me almost a week to read it. But for the first time, in a long time, I finished reading a book. It’s not exactly the story that pulled me but the way the story was written. I’m not that good with words so I really can’t describe how different and effective her story telling skills are. Maybe you just ought to read the book to understand what I have a hard time explaining.
Or read the following excerpts:
"Perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house---the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture---must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for. Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstitutred. Imbued with new meaning. Suddenly they become the bleached bones of a story."
"When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less."
It was already 2:00 am and I knew that I had to put down the book. But the last chapter was just too…passionate - the unforbidden love, the words used, the way the sentences were constructed – all of which just leave you mesmerized and alive at 2:00 am in the morning. It’s like the chapter alone can be a masterpiece.
"Being with him made her feel as though her soul had escaped from the narrow confines of her island country into the vast, extravagant spaces of his. He made her feel as though the world belonged to them- as though it lay before them like an opened frog on a dissecting table, begging to be examined."
"The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke."
"He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair."
Next read: Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts
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