lostinimagination

Then???.he tells you everything.

But not to the readers apparently, the chapter ended just like that, and we never got that information. I guess I really am not a fan of intentional, in your face obscurity and dragging things out unnecessarily. Or what to me seemed like no character development or even realizing and repenting that you,Essun did the same thing to your daughter that you yourself hated had been done to you.

  Arundhati Roy said it was hard to write this book, and it was equally hard not to write it. Just as she felt compelled to write the book, I felt compelled to read it. I first heard of the book in one of her interviews. I was mesmerized by her language, the beauty and hope that seemed to flow with her sentences. A sentiment I carry with me after having read the book too, though the book was far from a joyful ride. But I came out of the book with a new appreciation of Arundhati Roy and her outlook on life: 

I have seen and written about such sorrow, such systemic deprivation, such unmitigated wickedness, such diverse iterations of hell, that I can only count myself among the most fortunate. I have thought of my own life as a footnote to things that really matter. Never tragic, often hilarious. 

- Arundhati Roy, Mother Mary Comes To Me

 and

The women of Mary Roy's Syrian Christian community could not inherit property because of the Travancore Christian Succession Act of 1916. As laid out in this act, Syrian Christian women could inherit property but would only be paid the lesser of one quarter of a son's inheritance or 5,000 rupees as what was referred to as sthreedhanam (transl. dowry). 

- Wikipedia page for Mary Roy

 The one I remember most clearly is when an older Syrian Christian woman, I think she was a doctor, or the wife of a doctor said, ‘Why are you trying to destroy our beautiful community? What will we do with all these rights you want us to have?' 

- Arundhati Roy, Mother Mary Comes To Me

 If I understood myself better, I'd understand a lot more about the world and certainly about my country, in which so many people seem to revere their prosecutors and appear grateful to be subjugated and told what to do, what to wear, what to eat, how to think. There is something knotty here, something puzzling about the human condition in all of this. 

- Arundhati Roy, Mother Mary Comes To Me

A little disclaimer: If you don't like much science, problem solving in your books, then maybe this book might be less enjoyable for you, and for people who love science in their fiction, it is well done in this book, it doesn't over shadow the prose, and is not the only driving element. The story is as much about hope, humanity, perseverance, curiosity, as about science being a way to view the world, rather than a collection of facts. A sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with.  The story starts with a guy waking up from what he deduces was most likely a coma, in a sterile room, with no idea of who he is, where he is, what happened. He only has two more people in beds like his, and a distinct Quarantine feel. From there he questions his own thoughts, to understand who he is, and try to discover why he is hurtling through space.  Pretty bleak situation right? I thought so too, but Andy Weir infuse the story with hope, and curiosity, not merely for the sake of solving a problem, but to understand the world and the beings around us. The Protagonist was quite relatable, and I admired how self-aware he was of his thoughts, and kept a sense of humor in face of Uncertainty. After spending roughly 500 pages in his head, I miss him, and I completely understand why his chosen profession suits him. The character development only made him and the story more endearing.  To summarize, an endearing and flawed protagonist, a story of immense scale, of humanity fighting for it's survival together and individually too, each in their own way. A clear recommendation from me. I feel compelled to say these are all of course my opinions and thoughts, and don't necessarily have to reflect your experience. After all 

Ideas change people they go to, and get changed by them. 

 Spoiler-free  It's been almost three weeks since I finished this book, and every time since then that I sat to write down something about it (which admittedly wasn't quite often), I would stare at the blank page, and feel unequipped to do the book justice yet. I didn't have the right words for it yet. Tomorrow I'll try again, I told myself, more times than I can count, was it procrastination? I am not sure. But here we are, I have finally managed to try to put my thoughts and feelings about this book into words (I want to say on paper but as you can see....) 

Let me start by trying to describe the book first, without giving away anything that might potentially hinder the reader experiencing the book in it's entirety. The book starts with Anax (Anaximander) going into ‘The Academy' to take part in an oral examination (I had pre-exam jitters!!) on a topic of her choice, to enter the said Academy. The Academy is said to be one of the most prestigious institutes in the Republic. Some people may bristle at how much the world is borrowed from Philosophical works, specifically Plato's Republic, but I was, am quite ignorant here, probably having lived under a rock most of my thinking life, and hence haven't read or heard much about Plato's Republic, a shortcoming on my part really, but it in no way hindered my understanding or enjoyment of the book, at least I think so, but then again to quote the book itself 

You think you're the end of it, but that's what thinking is best at: deceiving the thinker. 

Are you saying a society wracked by plague is preferable to one wracked by indifference? 

“I am not a machine. For what can a machine know of the smell of wet grass in the morning, or the sound of a crying baby? I am the feeling of the warm sun against my skin; I am the sensation of a cool wave breaking over me. I am the places I have never seen, yet imagine when my eyes are closed. I am the taste of another's breath, the color of her hair. “You mock me for the shortness of my life span, but it is this very fear of dying that breathes life into me. I am the thinker who thinks of thought. I am curiosity, I am reason, I am love and I am hatred. I am indifference. I am the son of a father, who in turn was a father's son. I am the reason my mother laughed and the reason my mother cried. I am wonder and I am wondrous. Yes, the world may push your buttons as it passes through your circuitry. But the world does not pass through me. It lingers. I am in it and it is in me. I am the means by which the universe has come to know itself. I am the thing no machine can ever make. I am meaning.” 

I've recently taken to going to the library and browsing the small English section to find random books instead of having recommendations from the internet (one could argue it isn't exactly random because a library would only stock classics, and currently ‘trending' books when English isn't the dominant language in the region). It was so I stumbled across this book.

The writing was beautiful, but I have to admit, as someone who hasn't read much poetry, I was stuck at trying to find rhyming schemes to the poems, or how one would narrate them, and failed spectacularly. 

The Prose however was incredibly beautiful and it was often I read sentences or whole paragraphs again because of how eloquently it presented an idea or situation. Take addiction for example. Or living as an immigrant (in this case in America), how you'll always be associated with how you look/or where you or your parents come from notwithstanding the fact that you were either raised here, or spent majority of your life here. 

If I died trying to kill a genocidal dictator tomorrow, the news wouldn???t say a leftist American made a measured and principled sacrifice for the good of his species. The news would say an Iranian terrorist attempted a state assassination.

I especially enjoyed the chapter with President Invective and Orkideh

I also think for me the ending of the book seems to be a practice (for the reader) in said uncertainty. Or maybe I am just stupid when it comes to heavy symbolism.