It is seven years since The God of Small Things was published to rave reviews. It heralded the emergence of a very bright star, a great writer and lyricist, on the literary firmament. And it won the Booker Prize in 1997. Most deservedly so. It is still on the Penguin Books, India, best setter list in the number three place, even after all these years, right next to their most recently published best sellers. The paperback copies are still selling here in the USA. That happens very rarely because most best sellers die a slow death in two to three years, and unsold copies begin to gather dust on bookshelfs. More than two hundred synopses  of the novel have been written, and so I won't be writing one more. There is no need. What I wish to do, however, is to bring to the attention of the readers and lovers of good literature a few of the lyrical gems that have gushed from Arundhati's pen.

"Baby Kochamma was holding on to the back of the front seat with her arms. When the car moved, her arm fat swung like heavy washing in the wind. Now it hung down like a fleshy curtain, blocking Estha from Rahel."  "A pale moon hung hugely in the sky and went where they went. As big as the belly of a beer-drinking man." She describes clouds in the sky : "A Transparent spotted snake with a forked tongue floated across the sky. Then a transparent Roman soldier on a spotted horse."  "The gray sky curdled and the clouds resolved themselves into little lumps, like substandard mattress stuffing." These are the things I saw in the sky myself when I was growing up. The book is sprinkled throughout with original, brilliant, startling and perfect metaphors and similes, at regular and frequent intervals. Sometimes half a dozen or more at a stretch. Sometimes just a few. Marvelous. A stunning debut. Read it. And find your mind floating away to a distant,wondrous, startling, mesmerizing world. The world of Arundhati.
It is seven years since The God of Small Things was published to rave reviews. It heralded the emergence of a very bright star, a great writer and lyricist, on the literary firmament. And it won the Booker Prize in 1997. Most deservedly so. It is still on the Penguin Books, India, best setter list in the number three place, even after all these years, right next to their most recently published best sellers. The paperback copies are still selling here in the USA. That happens very rarely because most best sellers die a slow death in two to three years, and unsold copies begin to gather dust on bookshelfs. More than two hundred synopses  of the novel have been written, and so I won't be writing one more. There is no need. What I wish to do, however, is to bring to the attention of the readers and lovers of good literature a few of the lyrical gems that have gushed from Arundhati's pen. "Baby Kochamma was holding on to the back of the front seat with her arms. When the car moved, her arm fat swung like heavy washing in the wind. Now it hung down like a fleshy curtain, blocking Estha from Rahel. "  "A pale moon hung hugely in the sky and went where they went. As big as the belly of a beer-drinking man. " She describes clouds in the sky : "A Transparent spotted snake with a forked tongue floated across the sky. Then a transparent Roman soldier on a spotted horse. "  "The gray sky curdled and the clouds resolved themselves into little lumps, like substandard mattress stuffing. " These are the things I saw in the sky myself when I was growing up. The book is sprinkled throughout with original, brilliant, startling and perfect metaphors and similes, at regular and frequent intervals. Sometimes half a dozen or more at a stretch. Sometimes just a few. Marvelous. A stunning debut. Read it. And find your mind floating away to a distant,wondrous, startling, mesmerizing world. The world of Arundhati.