After devouring Anathem in Italy, I arrived in Paris with nothing but a guidebook to read. My friend Valentine lent me Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss, having already read and loved it. The first chapter is poetry. If you trust me, find the book, read the first chapter, and don’t read the rest of this post.
Okay. For those of you who simply must know more, The Inheritance of Loss (winner of the Man Booker Prize 2006) follows a few stories: that of a young Indian man working under the table in New York. His father, left back in India, takes care of an Indian judge who doesn’t feel at home in England nor India. The Judge’s granddaughter who comes of age amidst civil unrest. The characters are human, each has major flaws, but you wish them the best despite this. Their wishes and dreams, regrets and sins are so unique, perfectly connected to their stories. You will fall in, and emerge, gasping, at the end.