Image Credit: theloudestlibrarian.tumblr.com
Well. Hello there. (Gives a sigh of relief at having dispensed with the awkward greeting.) I’m currently reading The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, which is not the sort of book you can read in one sitting, simply because it’s much too sad. So I’ve brought along a battered book of poems by Ogden Nash, as a potent antidote to the literary misery.
I’d never read anything by Ogden Nash before I found his book that morning in the library, but as time goes on, I find myself increasingly smitten. They’re nothing like anything I’ve ever read. I find myself echoing this sentiment often these days. That’s a bit of an exaggeration; this is only the second time.
I decided to read God of Small Things for the following reasons:
a) It’s a Famous Book, like The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, the kind you bump into everywhere, the kind people bring up in casual conversation and ask you what you thought of them.
b) It won a Booker Prize. I haven’t read the 2016 Booker Prize winner. It doesn’t look like the sort of thing I’d enjoy reading, and I shall bluntly admit that at the risk of sounding like a dunderhead, because I don’t have a reputation at stake.
I didn’t take the decision to read every Booker Prize or Nobel winning book. That’s not the the kind of thing I find fun, and it’s for fun that I read. However, Arundhati Roy’s quotes were popping up all over my Twitter feed during the elections, so I went ahead and picked up the book.
Stay tuned. More in this vein shall follow.