Skip to main content

An Atlas of Impossible Longing by Anuradha Roy

An Atlas of Impossible Longing: A NovelAnuadha Roy 's book Atlas of Impossible Longing was published in 2008 by  Picador in India
by UK by Mac Lehose.  Her second novel"The Folded Earth" will be released in India by Hatchette Books
,then later in the United States by Free Press (which is an Imprint of Simon and Schuster)  Atlas oF Impossible Longing was shortlisted for the Crossword prize and Longlisted for Impac award..The only thing difficult writing a review for this book is that whatever other book reviews have said is pretty accurate and correct.Why restate the obvious? I thought the author's style of writing was brilliant, colorful and prose like.The story is about Bakul
a motherless girl who falls in love with Mukunda an orphan of a unknown caste.  Long before we get their
dilema  .   We first go to a small town  outside of Bengal where Bakul's grandparents live whick beomes the backdrop for everything, else.Kananbala , the grandmother is going insane  but noone, not even her husband,Amulya really understands why.   He is fairly succesful at running the factory ,that makes herbal potions and pills.  Evne though Kananbala can be pretty cruel it's impoosible for her not to be  a little crazy
being cut off from Calcutta and her family there. I don't want to give away too much I would highly recommend getting this book and I would  give it 5 out of 5 stars.(Thank you Free Press for giving me the chance to review this book and no I don't receive mony to do so.


Popular posts from this blog

Poem: In Texas Grass by Quincy Troupe

All along the rail
                                road tracks of texas
                               old train cars lay
                               rusted &overturned
                              like new african governments
                             long forgotten by the people
                              who built & rode them
                                till they couldn't run no more,
                              they remind me of old race horses
                             who've been put out to pasture
                            amongst the weeds
                            rain sleet &snow
                            till they die,rot away
                            like photos fading
                           in grandma's picture book,
                         of old black men in mississippi/texas
                         who sit on dilapidated porches,
                        that fall away
                       like dead man'…

The Speed of Belief by Tracy K Smith (poem)

I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives When your own sweet father died You woke before first light And ate half a plate of eggs and grits, And Drank a glass of milk. After  you'd left, I sat in your place And finished  the toast bits with jam And the cold eggs, the thick bacon Flanged in fat , savoring the taste. Then I slept, too young to know how narrow And grave the road before you seemed--- All the houses zipped tight , the night's Few clouds muddy as cold coffee. You stayed gone a week, and who were we Without your clean p…

My Arkansas by Maya Angelou

There is a deep brooding
                             in Arkansas
                            Old crimes like moss pend
                           from poplar trees.
                           The sullen earth
                           is much too
                          red for comfort.
                          Sunrise seems to hesitate
                           and in that second
                           lose its
                           incandescent aim,and
                          dusk no more shadows
                           than the noon.
                           The past is brighter yet.

                          Old hates and
                          ante-bellum lace,are rent
                          but not discarded.
                          Today is yet to come
                           in Arkansas.
                           it writhes. It writhes in awful brooding.