Books like Azadi, swelling with soul and spirit, can be read in a single breath. And if you happen to read it, bit by bit, musing over her choice of words and her literary coordinates that point you to this human-made “doomsday machine,” you’ll begin to view the world differently.
Arundhati Roy truly translates the untranslatable. Azadi, her book of essays, chalks up the discomforts and bearings of today’s world. Writing about the country’s caste, class, language, politics, and literary contours, Arundhati Roy has brought back the becoming and beingness of humanity only to plant it right in front of society’s inherently skeptical lens. Would it be better to say then that the horror of life is in the eyes of the beholder?
The book also cradles Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things and The Ministry of Utmost Happiness. The depths of both novels, their poetic and political orchestra. Azadi will spur you to read and stitch together a present that’s quieter, perhaps less ambiguous in the world of literature. The questions that throw light on unsettling answers. The answers that overshadow the questions that were never asked.
The result is a book that is humanizing and relentless. Arundhati Roy’s Azadi is not a calling card for action. Nor is it a staple that holds the country’s vocabulary together. Just like her novels, her essays are complete in that they are alive and intimate. They don’t feel detached or alien, even to a stoic, because you don’t just read her writing, you feel it like a confession.