The book begins on a downbeat—as Sravan himself confirms, by critiquing the passage we have just read. Even this could be excused, if the real book was an improvement upon the fictitious one. But as Gour’s narrative progresses, it becomes clear that Sravan’s literary voice and Gour’s are identical except in detail of place and character.
With so much loaded against her unfortunate characters from the start, Gour proceeds to plait the strands of her plot into an ungainly braid. We’re told that life is as intricate as a book’s plot and so predictably, events in the "real" book are prefigured by events in the "fictitious" one. We’re reminded of it again by Sravan, his wife Pragya and his friend Buddhoo as they doggedly discuss prose, poetry and the writer’s life. Along the way, there’s an extramarital affair, an unloving father’s revelation, then his death, followed by a child’s crisis and another revelation.
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That Gour’s an intelligent writer keenly aware of literary devices is obvious—but this isn’t really an asset. Her self-consciousness only makes the flaws in her own writing lessexcusable.
