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#arundhati roy
quotefeeling · a day ago
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The moment I saw her, a part of me walked out of my body and wrapped itself around her. And there it still remains.
Arundhati Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
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liriostigre · 4 months ago
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Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
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metamorphesque · 10 days ago
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― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
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quotemadness · 10 days ago
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If you’re happy in a dream, does that count?
Arundhati Roy
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doriantomybasil · 3 months ago
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Books i wish i could read for the first time again
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
The Secret History by Donna Tartt
Six of Crows & Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller
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thoughtkick · 2 months ago
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The moment I saw her, a part of me walked out of my body and wrapped itself around her. And there it still remains.
Arundhati Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
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jaaneymann · 4 months ago
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from a Guardian article by Arundhati Roy about the covid crisis in India titled ‘We are witnessing a crime against humanity’. it’s a free read and it’s also an excellent good read for anyone who wants to understand the magnitude of the issue and how deeprooted it is because it isn’t just the virus it’s a number of things that’s wrong with the entire system of government. the leading party is at fault and it has been for multiple years now for more crimes and human rights violations than it’s even possible to imagine. so please take 5 mins out of your day and read it, i promise you it’s worthwhile. 
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soracities · a year ago
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Kim Addonizio, ‘For You’  |  Margaret Atwood, ‘Hesitations Outside the Door’  | Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things  |  Mazzy Star, ‘Fade Into You’  |  Margaret Atwood, ‘Pre-Amphibian’  |  Adonis, ‘Transformations of the Lover’  | Leonard Cohen & Sharon Robinson, ‘Boogie Street’
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theburialofstrawberries · 6 months ago
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At a book reading in Kolkata, about a week after my first novel, The God of Small Things, was published, a member of the audience stood up and asked, in a tone that was distinctly hostile: “Has any writer ever written a masterpiece in an alien language? In a language other than his mother tongue?” I hadn’t claimed to have written a masterpiece (nor to be a “he”), but nevertheless I understood his anger toward a me, a writer who lived in India, wrote in English, and who had attracted an absurd amount of attention. My answer to his question made him even angrier.
“Nabokov,” I said. And he stormed out of the hall.
(...)
Only a few weeks after the mother tongue/masterpiece incident, I was on a live radio show in London. The other guest was an English historian who, in reply to a question from the interviewer, composed a paean to British imperialism. “Even you,” he said, turning to me imperiously, “the very fact that you write in English is a tribute to the British Empire.” Not being used to radio shows at the time, I stayed quiet for a while, as a well-behaved, recently civilized savage should. But then I sort of lost it, and said some extremely hurtful things. The historian was upset, and after the show told me that he had meant what he said as a compliment, because he loved my book. I asked him if he also felt that jazz, the blues, and all African-American writing and poetry were actually a tribute to slavery. And if all of Latin American literature was a tribute to Spanish and Portuguese colonialism.
Notwithstanding my anger, on both occasions my responses were defensive reactions, not adequate answers. Because those incidents touched on a range of incendiary questions—colonialism, nationalism, authenticity, elitism, nativism, caste, and cultural identity—all jarring pressure points on the nervous system of any writer worth her salt. However, to reify language in the way both men had renders language speechless. When that happens, as it usually does in debates like these, what has actually been written ceases to matter. That was what I found so hard to countenance. And yet I know—I knew—that language is that most private and yet most public of things. The challenges thrown at me were fair and square. And obviously, since I’m still talking about them, I’m still thinking about them.
This is a really funny and sprawling but precisely-written essay where Roy works through her feelings on all the incendiary questions she poses above. It's That Time of the Month Again and I've been feeling oh you know just the usual (anguish, guilt, shame, confusion, denial, resistance, defeat) about being from a former colony and writing & thinking in english, consuming white english media, participating online in a largely white english setting. If you've ever felt that way, I think reading this will ease your heart and make you feel less alone...and even if you haven't, this is maybe my favourite Roy essay ever, so you should read it
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harrypotterhousequotes · 2 months ago
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RAVENCLAW: "There's no division on my bookshelf between fiction and nonfiction. As far as I'm concerned, fiction is about the truth." –Arundhati Roy
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liriostigre · 4 months ago
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Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
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quotemadness · 29 days ago
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In a while he reached across the table and took her hand in his. He could not have known that he was trying to comfort a building that had been struck by lightning.
Arundhati Roy
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solarpunks · 4 months ago
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What lies ahead? Reimagining the world. Only that.
Arundhati Roy
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heavenlyyshecomes · 11 days ago
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I have often caught myself wondering—if I were to be incarcerated or driven underground, would it liberate my writing? Would what I write become simpler, more lyrical perhaps, and less negotiated? It’s possible. But right now, as we struggle to keep the windows open, I believe our liberation lies in the negotiation. Hope lies in texts that can accommodate and keep alive our intricacy, our complexity, and our density against the onslaught of the terrifying, sweeping simplifications of fascism. As they barrel toward us, speeding down their straight, smooth highway, we greet them with our beehive, our maze. We keep our complicated world, with all its seams exposed, alive in our writing.
— Arundhati Roy, The Graveyard Talks Back: Fiction in the Time of Fake News, from Azadi: Freedom, Fascism, Fiction
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bauliya · 19 days ago
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Sanskrit began to replace Persian. But Sanskrit was the language of ritual and scripture, the language of priests and holy men. Its vocabulary was not exactly forged on the anvil of everyday human experience. It was not the language of mortal love, or toil, or weariness, or yearning. It was not the language of song or poetry of ordinary people. That would have been Awadhi, Maithili, Braj Bhasha, Bhojpuri, or one of a myriad other dialects. Rarely if ever has there been an example in history of an effort to deplete language rather than enrich it. It was like wanting to replace an ocean with an aquarium.
(AZADI, arundhati roy)
do you ever read something and have your entire life make sense?
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