Alice Munro has the gift of weaving short stories with a very long life. Much later the skeleton of a story might surface up and you might find yourself becoming completely silent, trying to flesh it out. You’ll move backwards in your mind… Trying to piece a story together. Posing

The cover is theirs and the flowers are mine… It is human nature to find beauty and relief where none seem to exist. This book has more heft of sorrow than its size might indicate… Weighing like a ton of bricks in your hands or lap. As one labours through

The cover broadcasts its beauty But, The book doesn’t yell… It whispers soft stories… Some soothing… Some sordid… Some hopeful some hopeless… All intertwined like the aerial roots of a massive family tree. We begin to empathise with the characters. Willing a better life for them, less hardship, more money,

A well-thumbed book curls at the edges… This book has been my constant companion till I turned the last page, hence the attempt to control its errant cover. This amazing book is based on the real life story of olympian Louis Zamperini, his childhood (a part that I enjoyed immensely),

This book is unreadable. From the first page on, when details of the tragic accident are revealed, they cling to the psyche like treacle poured on hair. Every page turned, is done with a weight of sorrow…every sentence read, is done with darkness in the heart. I had overestimated my

Take all the colors of the flowers on the cover and weave them together into a brilliant tapestry of words… Drape it on yourself and let it insulate you from the inside and outside world…till the chill wears off… As one goes deeper into the story of this novel set

What is melancholy If not the sound Of a heart breaking In despair And loneliness? This slow-paced book takes its own time building the lump in your throat. If you really let it, it can get under your skin and send a chill of an unknown emotion coursing through …

I resisted reading this book initially. When I finally laid my hands on it, I devoured it in two days. I cannot explain my feelings. My initial reluctance arose (unfairly) from scepticism and my subsequent reading, from the simple and honest way in which it is written. The book is

Give me a book that has a story weaving around art and nature and you have my unswerving attention ! Once again, it was this cover of watercolour tablets spilling their paint that attracted me to this book. The fact that it is written by Anuradha Roy just added to