I found this book in a bookshop selling used books. There were 2 copies left on a big table, among other books. The name and the author were completely unknown to me but the first and the last sentence convinced me to buy it and I’ve never regretted. The pic of the book I got from the internet, as the book in itself is no longer in my possession.
If I were to make an analogy I would say this book is like a circle. It starts and ends in perfect symmetry. It is a mix of passion, desire, philosophy, mystery and love, seasoned with a pinch of politics and a peak into the Indian culture – a love story set in an exotic land, a house with a mysterious past and a secret that will tear through the almost perfect bohemian life of the two characters like a sharp knife.
The main character is a young Indian writer caught between two worlds, one filled with desire for his beautiful wife and the other with attempts at writing a book. As the story gradually unfolds it becomes a struggle to balance the two and in the end, it takes a heartbreaking decision to finally find the much needed inspiration and to discover that in order to create, he must sacrifice everything else.
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Your first comment I regarded as spam and promptly deleted it.
While your interest in my writing is kindly appreciated, forgive me if I don’t jump at the opportunity to buy a membership on a site I have no interest in. Jobs like that sound too good to be true, and they usually are.
Loved your review, Delia. I hope you got your book back – it is sad if our favourite book is no longer with us. I enjoyed reading Tejpal’s book. The first part was my favourite which shows the interactions between the writer and his wife. I loved the character of the wife.
That book is on another continent now, Vishy.
I didn’t know you read this one, too. The prose is incredibly beautiful and the relationship between the two protagonists was incredible. It’s good to hear you enjoyed it as well.
Oh, sorry to know that, Delia. Hope you can get it back one day. I still remember the list that the writer makes which contains instructions to himself in which the last line says ‘Writing is not life. Fizz is.’ And how his wife modifies the last sentence so that it reads ‘Writing is life. Fizz is Fizz.’ 🙂 That was one of my favourite lines from the book when I read it.
That’s beautiful, Vishy, I forgot how much I really loved the writing. Now I miss this book even more.