Mohit Parikh > Recent Status Updates

"Oh, now, life, life! I lifted up my hands and called upon eternal truth, not with words, but with tears; ecstasy, immeasurable ecstasy flooded my soul. Oh, I at that moment resolved to spread the tidings, and resolved it, of course, for my whole life. I go to spread the tidings, I want to spread the tidings — of what? Of the truth, for I have seen it, have seen it with my own eyes, have seen it in all its glory."

Rough Sketches of rustic life that leave strong impressions. The prose, though, is not well refined.

Just finished reading a chapter titles "Performance" where stage performances of convicts on the eve of Christmas are described. The best that I have read in last 6 months.

Gem of a book! Heart. Compassion. And what astute observations! Dostoyevsky, I love you.

Dostoyevsky: perfect russian recipe to get over a dolorous hangover

The greatest murder scene I have ever read, followed by an end that matches, even surpasses the novel's beginning. How bland and crass everything I will ever read will appear!

I sat at the typewriter and wrote about it, poured it out the way it should have happened, hammered it out with such violence that the portable typewriter kept moving away from me and across the table. On paper I stalked her like a tiger and beat her to the earth and overpowered her with my invincible strength. It ended with her creeping after me, in the sand, tears streaming from her eyes, beseeching me...

Easy to read, hard to rate.

The most captivating front cover!

"There it lay, ready for instant service on the person or persons, loaded and fully cocked with the side lock in safety position, thus precluding any accidental discharge. We must remember that a pistol is the Freudian symbol of the Ur-father's central forelimb."

Interesting, but one has to be either too curious about evolutionary biology, or too skeptical, or just too young

Three predictable chapters, indulgent descriptions, and a narrator that I will judge as western. Crace promises, doesn't deliver.

This got to be the best of Pamuk's.

Surprisingly good. Writing has precision, craft.

In each of my novels somebody "rummages in their purse" for something because I was too lazy and thoughtless and unawake to separate "purse" from its old, persistent friend "rummage". To rummage through a purse is to sleepwalk through a sentence - a small enough betrayal of self, but a betrayal all the same. To speak personally, the very reason I write is so that I might not sleepwalk through my entire life. Z Smith

Won't end the book before spending a good two hours anticipating the climax.

I am Liking Pamuk the conjurer, not so much Pamuk the writer

Dreamy.

The coldness, the distance, the aloofness... gets on your nerves; I couldn't transit from one story to another without feeling shocked and gloomy; but overdone. You stat to see the devices the author is using to create that impact. The weather is much too similar in all the stories.