Still, there is no arguing with the force of Roy's writing. She has crafted a strange, fecund and poignant work that draws the reader into the spiritual heart of the steamy southern Indian state of Kerala, where she was raised as a child. The countryside turns an immodest green. Boundaries blur as tapioca fences take root and bloom. Brick walls turn mossgreen.
Pepper vines snake up electric poles.
Wild creepers burst through laterite banks and spill across the flooded roads. Boats ply in the bazaars. And small fish appear in the puddles that fill the potholes on the highways. This prose style so excited her British agent, David Godwin, that, apparently on the strength of one reading of the manuscript, he hopped on a plane to India to speak to her. He felt strongly enough about Small Things' potential that he was able to auction it among no fewer than eight British publishing houses.