![]() The heartwrenching ending had me involuntarily wondering what kind of person would want to write a bleak tale like that - and then I understood Mistry's message through the book, that this is fiction, but not made-up this is a novel, but larger-than-life this is yesterday, persisting into today and reaching out its long clammy fingers into tomorrow. ![]() There are moments of tragicomedy, of overjoyed glimpses of the sun on a very grey day, but it's not a happy story, and it makes no pretensions to being one. I am hesitant to formally review it because it's one of those few books that can't be confined within the bounds of a critique or summary, and one that is so magnificent and moving that the idea of reviewing it makes me feel insolent already! So I'll just note what I feel about the book, and the kind of effect it's had on me. I stayed up all night to finish this book, because the climax is simply unputdownable. ![]()
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