I think I am pretty bad when writing about writers (call it an inferiority complex: Can I write about one, who has published a book?) and I end up making a hash of it. I read Hari Kunzru’s Transmission a few weeks ago, and was amazed by his flow of words and ideas. Some of the lines from the book were striking — “If you find someone walking on the roads in America, they are either of the three: jogging, foreigner or mentally ill”
But I was let down by the ending. Yes, it built up well and went the way one thought it would, but even with my above mentioned inferiority complex, I have to say that the ending was sort of patched up. An ending like that works great for short stories, I guess. Like those in the works of Roald Dahl or M Night or Phil Dick.
PS: Shashtibrata was 29 when he wrote ‘My God Died Young’, and I was 24 when I read it. And I was shocked to find that he wrote it that young. Brata didn’t write anything meaningful after that (just like I predicted about Arundati Roy), underlining the axiom “You can write one book. Your own story”. Kunzru is only 35, but more importantly it is his second book. That’s nice to know.
I am 33, I cant even write beyond this box 🙁