In a purely practical sense it would probably be correct to say that it all began when Sophie Mol came to Ayemenem. Perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house—the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture—must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for.
Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstituted. Imbued with new meaning. Suddenly they become the bleached bones of a story.
I love this quote, just as I’m beginning to fall in love with the rest of The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy. Although I’m having a hard time acclimating myself to the terms, names and places (most of which are Indian), Roy’s language has swallowed me whole. I can tell: this is going to be a special book.