Sunday, 31 December 2017

WE THAT ARE YOUNG by Preti Taneja

This book came with a great cover and glowing reviews.  A Dickensian story of contemporary India?  I am so in.  But unfortunately two hundred pages later I am so out.

It is extraordinarily slow moving - there is some party that goes on for about fifty pages, during most of which the main character is thirsty and for some reason keeps telling us about it.  I mean wow.  Even Proust can only sort of get away with that kind of pace.  Also the style was just gratingly annoying.  Read the below, and if you can't see why this is annoying WE CAN'T BE FRIENDS:
She is Gargi, the key is in her hand.  How good it will feel to put it in, turn it, open Bapuji's office door.  She will lock herself inside. Alone.  The silence . . . She will order the blooms for her father's Mughal desk herself. Swollen, pink-scaled Gingers, bright orange Birds of Paradise with thirsting beaks and spiked blue tongues that pierce the air.  
I felt bad about giving up, but life is short, and so is life's potential reading list.  One thing my blog has made me realize is that I typically only read about fifty books a year - so life time, I probably can only read about three thousand books total.  That makes me feel like panicking.  There is no way WE THAT ARE YOUNG is getting one of those slots.

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