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explodinghead 's review for:
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
by Arundhati Roy
I read some of the reviews of THE MINISTRY OF UTMOST HAPPINESS before I plunged into it. I should specify that these were "reader reviews" as opposed to "critic reviews". It's one of those weird books that seems to divide critics and readers: the general audience did not seem thrilled with it ("too scattered", "no plot"), while critics seemed to adore it ("elegaic", beautifully written"). Given that I often side with the stuffy critics (also see Groff's FATES AND FURIES) in matters like these, I decided to give it a try.
I can see what Roy is doing here. I can appreciate it. However, it never lands in a way that it ultimately satisfying. I enjoyed the bell-curve structure of the novel, starting small, ballooning into an epic, and then gradually reducing itself to another small-scale story to end things. I liked that we start and end with the same characters. Hell, if it was just the first 100 and last 100 pages, I would probably really enjoy THE MINISTRY OF UTMOST HAPPINESS. However, that's not the case. The novel feels like it gets away from Roy in this middle section, and while I can trust that this sprawling feeling was her intent, it just doesn't work for me.
The language? Oh, the language is often excellent. Roy writes in a way that is vivid and magical. Where many of her contemporaries are cerebral, writing with all the self-consciousness that a mustachio'ed hipster in a Starbucks, Roy is soulful. The novel isn't an outright story of magical realism, but its prose reflects that it is. It's a good fit.
I can see what Roy is doing here. I can appreciate it. However, it never lands in a way that it ultimately satisfying. I enjoyed the bell-curve structure of the novel, starting small, ballooning into an epic, and then gradually reducing itself to another small-scale story to end things. I liked that we start and end with the same characters. Hell, if it was just the first 100 and last 100 pages, I would probably really enjoy THE MINISTRY OF UTMOST HAPPINESS. However, that's not the case. The novel feels like it gets away from Roy in this middle section, and while I can trust that this sprawling feeling was her intent, it just doesn't work for me.
The language? Oh, the language is often excellent. Roy writes in a way that is vivid and magical. Where many of her contemporaries are cerebral, writing with all the self-consciousness that a mustachio'ed hipster in a Starbucks, Roy is soulful. The novel isn't an outright story of magical realism, but its prose reflects that it is. It's a good fit.