Agnese Martinuzzi Martinuzzi itibaren Middridge, County Durham DL5 7JG, İngiltere
agree with many of the longer, more thoughtful reviews already written--the book is an amazing, intricate, delightful, frustrating, boring, brilliant monster. is it odd that part of what i liked best was just a tour through modern indian history and geography? a thought on politics and magical realism: some people find sweeping mystical/allegorical language best for describing the bizarre yet quotidian stuff of cultural and political life. ie, real life is not to be believed, and yet it is true, and so authors like Rushdie and Garcia Marquez frame the known-and-strange with the more-fabulous, giving us a sense that reality/history bloom with even-more-unbelievable details and majesty. i myself, while finding "reality" no small amount of strange, prefer books that work out this strangeness through character interiority, intricate plotting, and the-large-writ-small. i am a fan of magical realisms that proscribe rather than magnify protagonists, as in The Time Traveller's Wife or even the Harry Potter books, and political changes as manifest between complex people, as in Middlemarch and The Handmaid's Tale and The House of Mirth, and fate/destiny asked as questions not proclaimed (Cloud Atlas and many others). etc. is there something to the fact that most of those authors are women? the attention on interiority and relationship? i don't want to oversimplify. Rushdie is in love with the cinema (and writes amazingly about it elsewhere) and his books for me have the flat, oversaturated, shiny, wide-eyed breathlessness of big-budget film. they are deeper (and longer) than i'm giving him credit here. still i'd love for someone to reveal himself, for a human contact.