Immersing yourself in an art form usually involves two opposing kinds of feelings. One is finding and falling into a groove, and almost for...
Immersing yourself in an art form usually involves two opposing kinds of feelings. One is finding and falling into a groove, and almost forgetting yourself in the process – like a log being carried by a river’s current. But it’s seldom that smooth a ride, often interrupted with moments that require active exertion. Sometimes the log is caught in the bends of the river, and must dislodge itself.
Many pages of The Earthspinner by Anuradha Roy brilliantly capture the joy and struggle of creative release. Sometimes the entire experience of reading the novel seemed to fittingly replicate the rhythm of the artist – the flowing and halting beats of creating something. It chronicles the lives of its characters in their peaceful, pulsing mundanity, interrupted occasionally by moments of upheaval.
I found myself lost in the lives of these characters, sometimes even waiting for something to occur. But then when it did, I found myself overwhelmed as I turned the pages, almost regretting what I had asked for.
Perhaps if I were to describe this ambitious book and its expanse of themes in a single word, I would choose “change”. But it is also about the other side of this coin. “I thought my clay did not want...
