I just finished reading White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga, 2009’s Man Booker Prize winner.

This narrative, chronicled over seven nights, tells the mesmerizing story of how Balram Halwai, a former Indian servent from one of the lowest castes, came to be a success in life.   This novel is thoroughly depressing; the description of modern India and the abject poverty that permeates its culture cannot be overlooked or glossed over, however, a continuous stream of dark comedy also runs through the text, providing an excellent foil to the descriptions of destitution, political corruption, and economic injustice.

I thought this was an excellent book- especially for a debut novel.  Obviously, I wasn’t the only one since it won the Booker Prize.   In so many ways, this book defies description.  Rarely have I read a book that angered me, entertained me, depressed me, fixated me, and also made me thankful to be born where running water is the rule and not an exception.

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