The God of Small Things: A Novel

༹ Free Download ῲ The God of Small Things: A Novel  ⚣ Book By Arundhati Roy ⚹ ༹ Free Download ῲ The God of Small Things: A Novel ⚣ Book By Arundhati Roy ⚹ Chapter 1 PARADISE PICKLES PRESERVES May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month The days are long and humid The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees Red bananas ripen Jackfruits burst Dissolute bluebottles hum vacuously in the fruity air Then they stun themselves against clear windowpanes and die, fatly baffled in the sun The nights are clear, but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation But by early June the southwest monsoon breaks and there are three months of wind and water with short spells of sharp, glittering sunshine that thrilled children snatch to play with The countryside turns an immodest green Boundaries blur as tapioca fences take root and bloom Brick walls turn mossgreen Pepper vines snake up electric poles Wild creepers burst through latente banks and spill across the flooded roads Boats ply in the bazaars And small fish appear in the puddles that fill the PWD potholes on the highways It was raining when Rahel came back to Ayemenem Slanting silver ropes slammed into loose earth, plowing it up like gunfire The old house on the hill wore its steep, gabled roof pulled over its ears like a low hat The walls, streaked with moss, had grown soft, and bulged a little with dampness that seeped up from the ground The wild, overgrown garden was full of the whisper and scurry of small lives In the undergrowth a rat snake rubbed itself against a glistening stone Hopeful yellow bullfrogs cruised the scummy pond for mates A drenched mongoose flashed across the leaf strewn driveway The house itself looked empty The doors and windows were locked The front verandah bare Unfurnished But the skyblue Plymouth with chrome tailfins was still parked outside, and inside, Baby Kochamma was still alive She was Rahels baby grandaunt, her grandfathers younger sister Her name was really Navomi, Navomi Ipe, but everybody called her Baby She became Baby Kochamma when she was old enough to be an aunt Rahel hadnt come to see her, though Neither niece nor baby grandaunt labored under any illusions on that account Rahel had come to see her brother, Estha They were two egg twins Dizygotic doctors called them Born from separate but simultaneously fertilized eggs EsthaEsthappenwas the older by eighteen minutes They never did look much like each other, Estha and Rahel, and even when they were thin armed children, flat chested, wormridden and Elvis Presley puffed, there was none of the usual Who is who and Which is which from oversmiling relatives or the Syrian Orthodox bishops who frequently visited the Ayemenem House for donations The confusion lay in a deeper, secret place In those early amorphous years when memory had only just begun, when life was full of Beginnings and no Ends, and Everything was Forever, Esthappen and Rahel thought of themselves together as Me, and separately, individually, as We or Us As though they were a rare breed of Siamese twins, physically separate, but with joint identities Now, these years later, Rahel has a memory of waking up one night giggling at Esthas funny dream She has other memories too that she has no right to have She remembers, for instance though she hadnt been there , what the Orangedrink Lemondrink Man did to Estha in Abhilash Talkies She remembers the taste of the tomato sandwichesEsthas sandwiches, that Estha ateon the Madras Mail to Madras And these are only the small things Anyway, now she thinks of Estha and Rahel as Them, because, separately, the two of them are no longer what They were or ever thought Theyd be Ever Their lives have a size and a shape now Estha has his and Rahel hers Edges, Borders, Boundaries, Brinks and Limits have appeared like a team of trolls on their separate horizons Short creatures with long shadows, patrolling the Blurry End Gentle half moons have gathered under their eyes and they are as old as Ammu was when she died Thirty one Not old Not young But a viable die able age They were nearly born on a bus, Estha and Rahel The car in which Bab, their father, was taking Ammu, their mother, to hospital in Shillong to have them, broke down on the winding tea estate road in Assam They abandoned the car and flagged down a crowded State Transport bus With the queer compassion of the very poor for the comparatively well off, or perhaps only because they saw how hugely pregnant Ammu was, seated passengers made room for the couple, and for the rest of the journey Estha and Rahels father had to hold their mothers stomach with them in it to prevent it from wobbling That was before they were divorced and Ammu came back to live in Kerala According to Estha, if theyd been born on the bus, theyd have got free bus rides for the rest of their lives It wasnt clear where hed got this information from, or how he knew these things, but for years the twins harbored a faint resentment against their parents for having diddled them out of a lifetime of free bus rides They also believed that if they were killed on a zebra crossing, the Government would pay for their funerals They had the definite impression that that was what zebra crossings were meant for Free funerals Of course, there were no zebra crossings to get killed on in Ayemenem, or, for that matter, even in Kottayam, which was the nearest town, but theyd seen some from the car window when they went to Cochin, which was a two hour drive away The Government never paid for Sophie Mols funeral because she wasnt killed on a zebra crossing She had hers in Ayemenem in the old church with the new paint She was Estha and Rahels cousin, their uncle Chackos daughter She was visiting from England Estha and Rahel were seven years old when she died Sophie Mol was almost nine She had a special child sized coffin Satin lined Brass handle shined She lay in it in her yellow Crimplene bell bottoms with her hair in a ribbon and her Made in England go go bag that she loved Her face was pale and as wrinkled as a dhobis thumb from being in water for too long The congregation gathered around the coffin, and the yellow church swelled like a throat with the sound of sad singing The priests with curly beards swung pots of frankincense on chains and never smiled at babies the way they did on usual Sundays The long candles on the altar were bent The short ones werent An old lady masquerading as a distant relative whom nobody recognized, but who often surfaced next to bodies at funeralsa funeral junkie A latent necrophiliac put cologne on a wad of cotton wool and with a devout and gently challenging air, dabbed it on Sophie Mols forehead Sophie Mol smelled of cologne and coffin wood Margaret Kochamma, Sophie Mols English mother, wouldnt let Chacko, Sophie Mols biological father, put his arm around her to comfort her The family stood huddled together Margaret Kochamma, Chacko, Baby Kochamma, and next to her, her sister in law, MammachiEstha and Rahels and Sophie Mols grandmother Mammachi was almost blind and always wore dark glasses when she went out of the house Her tears trickled down from behind them and trembled along her jaw like raindrops on the edge of a roof She looked small and ill in her crisp off white sari Chacko was Mammachis only son Her own grief grieved her His devastated her Though Ammu, Estha and Rahel were allowed to attend the funeral, they were made to stand separately, not with the rest of the family Nobody would look at them It was hot in the church, and the white edges of the arum lilies crisped and curled A bee died in a coffin flower Ammus hands shook and her hymnbook with it Her skin was cold Estha stood close to her, barely awake, his aching eyes glittering like glass, his burning cheek against the bare skin of Ammus trembling, hymnbook holding arm Rahel, on the other hand, was wide awake, fiercely vigilant and brittle with exhaustion from her battle against Real Life She noticed that Sophie Mol was awake for her funeral She showed Rahel Two Things Thing One was the newly painted high dome of the yellow church that Rahel hadnt ever looked at from the inside It was painted blue like the sky, with drifting clouds and tiny whizzing jet planes with white trails that crisscrossed in the clouds Its true and must be said that it would have been easier to notice these things lying in a coffin looking up than standing in the pews, hemmed in by sad hips and hymnbooks Rahel thought of the someone who had taken the trouble to go up there with cans of paint, white for the clouds, blue for the sky, silver for the jets, and brushes, and thinner She imagined him up there, someone like Velutha, barebodied and shining, sitting on a plank, swinging from the scaffolding in the high dome of the church, painting silver jets in a blue church sky She thought of what would happen if the rope snapped She imagined him dropping like a dark star out of the sky that he had made Lying broken on the hot church floor, dark blood spilling from his skull like a secret By then Esthappen and Rahel had learned that the world had other ways of breaking men They were already familiar with the smell Sicksweet Like old roses on a breeze Thing Two that Sophie Mol showed Rahel was the bat baby During the funeral service, Rahel watched a small black bat climb up Baby Kochammas expensive funeral sari with gently clinging curled claws When it reached the place between her sari and her blouse, her roll of sadness, her bare midriff, Baby Kochamma screamed and hit the air with her hymnbook The singing stopped for a Whatisit Whathappened and for a Furrywhirring and a Sariflapping.Dazzling as subtle as it is powerful.Michiko Kakutani, The New York Times The God of Small Things offers such magic, mystery, and sadness that, literally, this reader turned the last page and decided to reread it Immediately Its that haunting USA Today The quality of Ms Roys narration is so extraordinaryat once so morally strenuous and so imaginatively supplethat the reader remains enthralled all the way through The New York Times Book Review A novel of real ambition must invent its own language, and this one does.John Updike, The New Yorker Outstanding A glowing first novel Newsweek Splendid and stunning The Washington Post Book World God Wikipedia In monotheistic thought, God is conceived of as the supreme being, creator deity, and principal object faith The concept God, described by theologians Shop Lulu Read indy books online at Lulu Publishers religion, fiction, textbooks, children s books, eBooks Shop today Existence existence a subject debate in philosophy religion popular culture A wide variety arguments for against can be Verhalen over Mensen en Op zoek naar God Persoonlijke verhalen getuigenissen van mensen Bekering, genezing, bevrijding, ontmoeting met wonderen meer Godchecker Your Guide To Gods World mythology from Godchecker legendary encyclopedia guide to gods, spirits, demons monsters Our unique Evidence Science Evidence provides answers skeptical doubts about resources an intellectually fulfilled Christian Does Exist Six Reasons Believe that is Written former atheist, this article gives you six clear reasons conclude exists No arm twisting Concise straightforward evidence answering THE OFFICIAL GOD FAQ Alain Omer Duranceau quite unlikely event were discover any omissions or inaccuracies on page, they may reported international headquarters Hundreds Proofs Existence proof god, god exists, gods existence, proofs proof, atheist humor, Arundhati Roy Arundhati malayalam , devanagari Shillong, novembre una scrittrice Buch von Indien FAZ Zwanzig Jahre nach dem Gott der kleinen Dinge erscheint ein neues Buch Das Ministerium des uersten Glcks The God of Small Things: A Novel

    • Format Kindle
    • 0812979656
    • The God of Small Things: A Novel
    • Arundhati Roy
    • Anglais
    • 07 November 2016
    • 352 pages

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