This is one of those 'I am talking directly to you, dear reader, as we sit here communing about something unrelated' guys. I am about 101% certain there is a literary term for that, and if I knew what it was I'd use it. But I don't, and well-looky here! I think you know exactly what I'm getting at. Shocker. Wait - I'll make a term up for you - direct-ism-alisation-alist. Say that out loud 5 times!I can't help but feel I've read this before, but as I've discussed elsewhere, that's the whole point of this blog. I digress.
Brown guy from formerly-wealthy-but-now-in-decline, post-Rajish family goes to Princeton to learn the money making business. Falls in love with loaded white girl suffering from the wealthiest of ailments - poor mental health and literary aspirations - when suddenly(!) a large building explodes in the sky. You know where this is going, don't you?
It's a book about 'other' and 'love' and 'honour' and 'shit like that'. It will not change your life, but it will stave off spirit-crushing bordem if you should find yourself in a position where that's possible and this happens to be within arm's reach.
Posts
