Kam
Okay so: not half-bad a read, but I only got really invested midway through the book, when the earlier, more juvenile tone of the narrative gave way to something more mature. I know that it makes sense for Kaikeyi to “sound” younger and less mature in the first half, when she is quite literally a child (or a teenager, at least), but I was worried that the tone wouldn’t shift at all. Thankfully, it did, and just in time too, given that the book began dealing with some of the weightier themes just as the narrative turned to Kaikeyi’s adulthood.
Kaikeyi is intriguing too, both as a narrator and as a character in her own right. She’s flawed in her own way, and she doesn’t always do the right thing, but her determination to improve the lot of women is endearing. Watching her master the Binding Place and using her connections to people to tip the scales in her favor is interesting - not least because it’s a rather questionable ability when one thinks about it. Even Kaikeyi seems to understand the questionable nature of her power when she decides not to use it on her children.
Another element I found interesting was Kaikeyi’s belief that the gods were not going to help her, and that it was up to her to bring about change. This runs up against how the gods (when they do show up) tell her that she has an inescapable destiny: something that Kaikeyi herself rejects in favor of doing what she thinks is right. This does NOT work out well for her, or for the people she holds closest to her, but the fact that she stood up against the gods themselves is fascinating, and says a lot about how individuals CAN enact change even when everything else stands against them.
This also applies to how Kaikeyi stands up against systemic misogyny. When a belief is woven into the fabric of an entire culture, it can feel as if one is challenging the gods themselves when one stands up against them. But just the act of standing up against such beliefs is important, because doing so erodes that belief and makes space for other ideas, other possibilities. The tangible effects might not arrive in time to change one’s life, but it might arrive in time to change the lives of other people, or the next generations - which is what happened with Kaikeyi and the commoners of Ayodhya.
It is this idea - that change can be brought about even in the face of deep systemic challenges -that really stands out to me, especially given what the world is like right now. Even at the height of her power, Kaikeyi’s actions don’t change her fate, or the fates of those around her. But she DOES manage to change the fate of the women of Ayodhya, the commoners whose suffering was different from, but in some ways similar to, hers. It’s a great reminder that even small steps towards progressivism are better than nothing at all.
Many readers have compared this novel to Madeline Miller’s Circe, and I can definitely see the similarities: maligned female characters given voices of their own in which to tell their story, which reframes the more widely-known tale (the Odyssey, the Ramayana), and exposes the underlying misogyny of the original text. Ever since Miller’s Circe came out there have been many authors who’ve tried to capture the same feel, but not many have managed to do so. This novel, though, gets very close, while also maintaining its own identity.
Overall, this was a lovely read, and certainly appealing even to readers who have not yet read the Ramayana or its many versions and iterations in other cultures. While it doesn’t break any new ground in terms of themes, the portrayal of characters, especially the female characters, is quite well done, and Kaikeyi’s narrative voice makes for very fine reading once one is past the novel’s first third.
Originally posted at kamreadsandrecs.tumblr.com.
Okay so: not half-bad a read, but I only got really invested midway through the book, when the earlier, more juvenile tone of the narrative gave way to something more mature. I know that it makes sense for Kaikeyi to “sound” younger and less mature in the first half, when she is quite literally a child (or a teenager, at least), but I was worried that the tone wouldn’t shift at all. Thankfully, it did, and just in time too, given that the book began dealing with some of the weightier themes just as the narrative turned to Kaikeyi’s adulthood.
Kaikeyi is intriguing too, both as a narrator and as a character in her own right. She’s flawed in her own way, and she doesn’t always do the right thing, but her determination to improve the lot of women is endearing. Watching her master the Binding Place and using her connections to people to tip the scales in her favor is interesting - not least because it’s a rather questionable ability when one thinks about it. Even Kaikeyi seems to understand the questionable nature of her power when she decides not to use it on her children.
Another element I found interesting was Kaikeyi’s belief that the gods were not going to help her, and that it was up to her to bring about change. This runs up against how the gods (when they do show up) tell her that she has an inescapable destiny: something that Kaikeyi herself rejects in favor of doing what she thinks is right. This does NOT work out well for her, or for the people she holds closest to her, but the fact that she stood up against the gods themselves is fascinating, and says a lot about how individuals CAN enact change even when everything else stands against them.
This also applies to how Kaikeyi stands up against systemic misogyny. When a belief is woven into the fabric of an entire culture, it can feel as if one is challenging the gods themselves when one stands up against them. But just the act of standing up against such beliefs is important, because doing so erodes that belief and makes space for other ideas, other possibilities. The tangible effects might not arrive in time to change one’s life, but it might arrive in time to change the lives of other people, or the next generations - which is what happened with Kaikeyi and the commoners of Ayodhya.
It is this idea - that change can be brought about even in the face of deep systemic challenges -that really stands out to me, especially given what the world is like right now. Even at the height of her power, Kaikeyi’s actions don’t change her fate, or the fates of those around her. But she DOES manage to change the fate of the women of Ayodhya, the commoners whose suffering was different from, but in some ways similar to, hers. It’s a great reminder that even small steps towards progressivism are better than nothing at all.
Many readers have compared this novel to Madeline Miller’s Circe, and I can definitely see the similarities: maligned female characters given voices of their own in which to tell their story, which reframes the more widely-known tale (the Odyssey, the Ramayana), and exposes the underlying misogyny of the original text. Ever since Miller’s Circe came out there have been many authors who’ve tried to capture the same feel, but not many have managed to do so. This novel, though, gets very close, while also maintaining its own identity.
Overall, this was a lovely read, and certainly appealing even to readers who have not yet read the Ramayana or its many versions and iterations in other cultures. While it doesn’t break any new ground in terms of themes, the portrayal of characters, especially the female characters, is quite well done, and Kaikeyi’s narrative voice makes for very fine reading once one is past the novel’s first third.
Originally posted at kamreadsandrecs.tumblr.com.