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A review by premxs
The Atlas of Reds and Blues by Devi S. Laskar
3.0
2.5 stars
I really wanted to like this book more than I did. Laskar's poetry is a clear and shining influence here, and the imagery of the book worked well for me, conveying a sense of the fragmented life she remembers - deliberately or otherwise. The experimental vignette-based form of the novel itself worked well in parts - however, for too much of the book, it felt like the narrative was constrained by the form, rather than liberated by it. The chapters didn't really have a rhythm between them, and the character sketches aren't compelling. The narrator, the Mother, has clearly faced much prejudice and bigotry, and it's a constantly unnerving presence throughout the book, but it also gets grating beyond a point, reeled off one after the other without any real perspective brought to the reader by the repetitive incidents of racism and sexism. I understand the point the author is trying to make about the pervasiveness of these (micro)aggressions, but I'm unsure the novel is an appropriate medium for it. It doesn't help that the other 'characters' in the book - neither her family, or the antagonists so to speak (racist neighbours, cops, relatives) - don't get filled in any way outside the narrow sight and voice of the author. I wish there was a better vessel for Laskar's words - because many of them are starkly beautiful - but this isn't it. Disappointed.
I really wanted to like this book more than I did. Laskar's poetry is a clear and shining influence here, and the imagery of the book worked well for me, conveying a sense of the fragmented life she remembers - deliberately or otherwise. The experimental vignette-based form of the novel itself worked well in parts - however, for too much of the book, it felt like the narrative was constrained by the form, rather than liberated by it. The chapters didn't really have a rhythm between them, and the character sketches aren't compelling. The narrator, the Mother, has clearly faced much prejudice and bigotry, and it's a constantly unnerving presence throughout the book, but it also gets grating beyond a point, reeled off one after the other without any real perspective brought to the reader by the repetitive incidents of racism and sexism. I understand the point the author is trying to make about the pervasiveness of these (micro)aggressions, but I'm unsure the novel is an appropriate medium for it. It doesn't help that the other 'characters' in the book - neither her family, or the antagonists so to speak (racist neighbours, cops, relatives) - don't get filled in any way outside the narrow sight and voice of the author. I wish there was a better vessel for Laskar's words - because many of them are starkly beautiful - but this isn't it. Disappointed.