the god of small things.

I forgot how long it takes to read a book. During dull and studious moments I fantasized and romanticized about novels, longingly looking at my bookshelf thinking of all the breezy fun narratives I would encounter once exams are done. But I forgot that breezy stories take a while to unwrap and most of them aren't so breezy. Breezy. (Is it just me, or does the word 'breezy' suddenly sound sluttish?) And most 'good' books are just sad books really. Someone always dies. And so my funsy-novel-devouring-holiday has turned into a bit of depressing break from real life.

It's a funny story about my copy of The God of Small Things... Friends came to stay for the weekend a month before I went to India at the beginning of this year, and as a thank-you-present my friend later posted a copy of The God of Small Things to me (excited for me to read it because I was going to the very place where the book is set.) It never arrived. I went to India without reading it. I returned. I had a birthday party where another friend... (I'm a popular gal. No. I'm not really. And I think it's because I'm ok with using the word 'gal')... another friend gave me a copy. The mailed copy still hadn't arrived. So I read the copy I got for my birthday.

In hindsight, that's not really a funny story. At all.

Anyway.

I really did enjoy reading this book. Aside from being surprised that I didn't finish it in one afternoon (and having my private, but properly smug thoughts of, "I'm going to read a-book-a-day!" appropriately crushed). Maybe that's another sign of a 'good' book. Generally sad, someone dies, and it takes at least 6 days to read. The God of Small Things fits all those things. Except it is also insanely beautifully written. I think this is because the author very clearly likes words. In the same way that some people like shoes, perfume, scarves, cars, puppies. There is a certain type of person that really likes words, as actual things, not necessarily for their purpose, just for their existence. How they look and sound. I think Arundhati Roy is one of them. And I like any person who likes words. She also happens to use them incredibly well and can mould them into a poignant and intelligent plot. Which is nice. It's nice when both of those things happen together.

Oh yes... almost forgot. Another thing that probably makes a book 'good'. (If I stop putting the word 'good' in quotation marks will you still know what I mean?)... The weather. This was yet another weather-filled book. Humid, soggy, damp. I would settle down barefoot to read it because it's a sweaty, outdoorsy type of book then wonder why I was freezing an hour later. Weather. It's relevant.

So, I'm tired. And I will conclude by simply stating that reading this book made me very happy, even though it was sickeningly sad. You gals should read it, too.

(I'm still getting the hang of writing down thoughtsaboutbooks again. Tried to make my blog prettier with backgrounds and stuff and couldn't figure it out. And the word 'gals' can refer to boys, too, right?)