But there are some classic first-timer mistakes. Samarasan’s sentences run into paragraphs, making it really hard to keep track of the thought she started out with. Of course, seven out of ten times she gets it right. But when she fails, it detracts from her talent. She is a master craftswoman at drawing you into her world. The tendency towards being too wordy snaps that connection.
The book is also relentlessly sad. Every time a character is introduced, you know their story will end in misery. When Raju’s younger brother — poetically named Uncle Ballroom for his choice of profession — enters the plot, you know he won’t have a happy exit. In fact, right at the onset of the book, the tone is set when you are told that Chellam will kill herself within a year of leaving the Big House. The problem with this unrelenting despair is that the sadness becomes rather predictable. The joylessness is so overwhelming that it comes in the way of appreciating what is actually a stunning book. Not only is she a great new voice, Samarasan brings Malaysia on to the world map of literature. In the most lyrical, sensational manner.