Applause for Kevin Ansbro for “The Fish that Climbed a Tree” (And here is my review!)

From me this comes rarely and today it’s standing ovation for this ABSOLUTELY beautiful writer we have here named Kevin Ansbro! 

I must enunciate with pauses:




I have never been willed to do this but I couldn’t help myself so I did. I created a poem for this book and recited it into a recital video. (Please excuse the creases, Kevin, over the novel’s cover. This was the result of handling your novel so much!)

 People, this should let you understand to what degree the author has moved me through his book. Here’s the link—>

the full script of the poem is located here—>

Also a “Thank You” art I made for the book and the author (PS—Don’t marvel at my art but at the driving force behind it : ) )—

(I will add: In describing writing of this kind, I don’t exactly prefer the word “gifted” even though that IS the case here. Why? Because that seems to exclude the author’s thousands and thousands of minuscule hours of balancing a mind that is exuding with creative insights against phone calls, messages from people, family commitments, visitors, and other non-literary expectations and demands of the world. Hence, I erased the word even after using it! Adjectified with this word and you trivialise the sweat, the quiet merge of mind and constellations of inventions ( whose net products the entire book is impregnated with), the hard-earned moments of quiet, God-shared cheers of accomplishment with every finalised line, and the struggles to bifurcate into cosmic streams of words and images in the midst of mindless cacophonies, and mundanity of the world.

It is extreme labour and, the heights achieved by this chest of spotless contribution (for trust me, a book like this has the power to infiltrate your life with a non-humanly infatuation) is genuinely a —>work<— of art!)

In reading every page, I recognised an inseverable burst of wistful longings pour out of me, as if I had barely recognised what it is I had wanted out of life and was only discovering now, and with each such outpouring I was able to glean into the meticulousness with which the author fished every literary building block out of the impermanent, the space anybody spaces out into in rare moments of solitude or even more infrequently, at surrendered traffic-line halts, next to a groove of trees pregnant with its kids and the fruits of nature.

<b> A message for the author himself : </b>  “I have this thing—> Where people around the world collect materialistic things, eat scrumptious cuisines, rush for the latest Netflix movie, I prefer swinging with the pendulum of narrations that I have suddenly halted against, to come to recognise in quiet joy all the delirious fortune that await me next —the privilege of laying eyes on the beehive of permutations and combinations that danced past someone’s creative head around the same time he was making the “fatal mistake” (as unscathed papers or MS worksheets would say, not otherwise) of gently wielding a paper or curser against a stretch of imprintable whiteness. These halts and added stares were a continuous companion throughout my reading experience of your novel… outstanding was the writing! 

So, all this praise that you are being lauded with is really me gleefully expressing the glory of having found a jewel of literature!”

 <b> Message for the rest: </b>

Ever thought about doing ceramics with words? 

Place a word in the middle, then wreathe them with ‘phrasic’ clay, then work new entrants in circles around them, firing the completion in the kiln where the hungry forces of readers abound.

I don’t know what direction of this pottery the author took to craft each line but I don’t know any other way to say it, and that is this——>he fished out some of the finest and shall I say, most exotic clay every completed piece of pottery could stand to be grateful for when glancing at their ownselves. So, I think the clay admix is so profoundly irresistible that every finished piece (i.e. every line in the book) could RIGHT NOW be lost in self-admiration. (Not pridefully but in graciousness towards their creator, Kevin Ansbro)

Now to begin with the object being graced with so many noisy applauses:

This is a story that strangulates mundanity and quiet simply climbs the pinnacle of describing the heights of debauchery humans can reach;  the depths of nobility that some can embody, and which, if granted the right messengers in the journey of life, can be emulated by LITERALLY anybody; the need to understand how hatred stems into someone’s personality; ample reasons to discover mirth in the midst of suffering ( this is one of THE TOPMOST things you will learn from the author’s writing…. What a beautiful thing to teach depressed people in the world!!!), and a well-buttoned (borrowing a similar word from the book) composure in the faith that bad things DO ACTUALLY HAVE backfiring consequences—— these are in my opinion the prime subliminal takeaways your essence will be smeared with since the day number 1 aftermath of finishing “The Fish That Climbed the Tree.” 

Detailing further….

I was thoroughly amazed as the warning of pain winked at me amidst a sea of epigrams (what brilliance of writing that is!). And this following line brought that forth (at page 12):

<b>  “Henry, for his part, arrived on this planet with the same look of bewilderment that would inhabit his podgy face for the rest of his life.” </b>

Moreover, I had forgotten at how quickly I was invested with not merely the writing but the story straight from the beginning, mystified at the cavernous detailings of every character. Look at these lines:

<b> It quietly saddened Florence that their son wasn’t disposed to return her affection; the boy was well intentioned but wore his standoffishness like clock. She nevertheless entertained the idea that this quirk might be reversed should he ever mature into a doting teenager. </b>

Notice every word. Just how much elementally accurate a stream of words the author had to harness, in alignment with his mindscape of images, in order to bring to life even the opposing traits of an individual and not letting them dwindle away with incomplete design, I wonder! 


They say that a minimum of 7 people in the world will look exactly like us. But if a wavelength were stretched across humans and literary artists, for every punctilious writer out there, there ought to be at least a few humans alive somewhere that match perfectly every speck of steadily building assembly of one or many imaginative humans as described in the writer’s creation. That I stumbled upon immediately at pages 14 and 15 where Kevin almost threatened to bring to life me and my father. 

The line describing me was Florence’s observations of her son—> “He conjugated verbs as easily as other children gathered swear words, and it was this precociousness that left him friendless with most boys his own age.” (Except, I am a girl)

The line describing my father was Florence’s observation of her husband—> “ Because he never listens and he only sees the good in people, even when they are amoral toe-rags.” 

Oh, just remembered another resemblance of father in a succeeding line where Ulysses (the father-figure here) says—> “……’toe-rag’ is not a description to be used willy-nilly.” (Dad always teaches me things as stated in these lines) ….so you see, I grew very attached to the story from the very beginning. 

While reading, several times I slipped into the umbra of admiration-paralysis but in the following lines I felt like the sweetest cherries being flung into my open mouth, each deliriously sweeter than the last, so quick in succession were the arrival of lock-and-key fitted imageries that quite simply revved up my real-life urge to live (daily) similarly enchanted, on a moment-to-moment-basis, as the author was making me feel through these moments and especially through the creative cadence of the following lines:

“While driving his battered Volvo estate to Henry’s school, Ulysses sang Nessun Dorma with great gusto, and also purposely out of tune, to the accompaniment of the stirring aria that emanated from the speakers. His son sat po-faced throughout comedic irony making as much sense to him as a piano does to a horse.”

At this point of my reading experience, a strange insight drummed to guide me in MY life. It said, ‘If I am here reading the mind of a person’s celestial embroidery of words such that they instantly became living images, I wonder how many staircases of stories must profilerate every single moment within persons who surround me at work daily, each of whom has a say in his slot, if only given an universal chance to be read or heard. Here the raw meticulousness of the author’s writing cracked open my contemplative proportions, and allowed me to extrapolate his star-class contemplative mind into the unnoticed wonders of the people that surround me daily—kind or unkind. I’m amazed that the profundity of creative intricacies of a novel could do that to me!”

Now the point I badly wanted to engrave in the Amazon and Goodreads’ sands of time—>

I thirst for novels that highlight wisdom so many people are starved of, having probably never been either taught or demonstrated with them anytime in their lives (sadly not even in their schools! Yes!) ….If that’s the case shouldn’t each such wisdom-starved individual be parcelled with the missed life-takeaway from within the pages of a novel they might have picked up to read for mere pleasure? For only then  does a book really grant you something that kindles your life steps higher than where you thought you would permanently be stuck. If for you, LIFE is the BIGGEST thing, wouldn’t you then additionally want that out of a book? 

If you say “Yes” as I am sure most will, Kevin has reserved all these blessings for you in his book:

So the second lesson (second to the “toe-rag” message) that has been stated here is—>

In correcting his son’s misplaced thoughts of a human war, Ullysses states this:

<b> “No, Son. There’s nothing cool about war. In fact I’d urge you to remember that the two most powerful warriors in earthly existence are love and understanding.” </b>


I can honestly state by a clear mile that at thousands of places I genuinely felt my mind shiver in admiration whose inaudible drone (inaudible mind it!) had already abandoned the initial ‘Oh-My-Goodness!-This-is-completely-out-of-the-world-good-language’ exclaims and scores of mouth-clamping reactions, and forehead slapping and instead fanned out in multiple directions to converge back and stereophonically boomerang against me, then form a circular eddy wrapping me around so I could fathom quite calmly then that I had acquired my first taste of Stockholm syndrome, except these weren’t ‘abusers’ but ‘bullets of ingenuous wonder’ I was being happily ‘ambushed with.’ 

And this heightened in these lines: 

<b> Pascal, though, was by far the scariest looking of the two. The absence of his top lip meant that the cage of his long teeth eclipsed most of his other features, hanging from exposed gums like a necklace of metatarsals. Vitiligo added to his minacious appearance, pink islands floating on a black ocean of skin, and he possessed a powerful frame that was at odds with his bat-like head.” </b>



I want you to make explicit note of the author’s sensibility towards people’s feelings filtering through these lines (which also is something you cannot miss when you speak with him):

(This was when Henry rummages through the belongings of his father who had just passed away by means you will need to find out 😉 )

Notice that it has transcended open wordings of grief and yet quietly takes you deep down Henry’s invisibly grieving heart:

The lines are:

<b> For the next hour, he padded about the fringes of the room in his pyjamas seeking comfort from anything that had once belonged to his father, inhaling the smell of cardigans, mothballed wardrobes, rugby shirts and fusty shoeboxes. </b>

🙂 That’s just wow! (This applause didn’t snowball, Kevin, it’s a standalone observation I kept going back to throughout my reading! It even made me aware of what each and everyone of us is going to face someday, watching people we love one by one take their leave. I felt it that deep and found a strange beauty in the cherish that follows with life’s impermanence!)

Much like life’s varied range of emotions, laughter wasn’t denied a chance at all and much like the author’s usual effervescent, often fun-filled ways of communicating many chunks of the writing granted me ample abundance of laughter-moments, much of when I held myself back from, as a lot of them straddled the margins of graver matters. Eventually though I failed at one that happened to stack against the departed pages of the quiet, painful mourning of the departed Ulysses and Florence. This rapid switch in emotions from butterflies in my heart to chuckles even made me go (in the lone joy of my quiet reading time) something like this—“Ah! What the hell, life goes on!” Well, the lines I’m referring to are:

<b> “All the animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others,” he (stated by Mr. Panmure) bleated, quoting Orwell, his cleverness impressing nobody but himself. </b>

Next observation—->

Again….I found myself in another of the lines as depicted here, 

“Henry heard her spit words that he couldn’t readily find in his pocket dictionary, so he surreptitiously wrote them down for further investigation.”


Constance’s caution for Henry—> “Be careful not to recite poetry in the presence of your contemporaries, Henry, as they’re hardly likely to share your enthusiasm.” (I recalled my mind cautioning my gleeful enthusiasm, many times in the past, for the same reasons as being suggested to Henry, our joie de vivre for poetry lifeless to our contemporaries)

This served to connect me evermore deeper with Henry.

Digging deeper into the creation of Henry, past all his similarities that were twinned with mine, I noticed with eyes wide open just how steadily he was filed into completion from an initially unforthcoming individual, metamorphosed soon into one of muted shock, then solitary-bereavement (both this and the previous adjective you sort of grasp intuitively through the author’s clever writing), followed by the continuum of unthrilled onward journey into life, the discovery of his hands’ soulmates—-the pen and the paper, his slow and steady captivation towards a sprightly girl (Amber), the thawing of his innocent diffidence so he could wholesomely welcome all of her as a part of him, and his abrupt tranquility in the midst of sheer terror!)

Thanks I am very happy that the author incorporated such a plethora of facts from around the world, taking 100% liberty with this writing pen. So, I was really enjoying learning about things I would probably never have known were these rare jewels not embedded into the knead of the prose. They are so good that I kept breaking into the smile upon stumbling against each. Examples (these are only 1% of the lot):

1.     The first is the following line, 

“Drawn by the same geomagnetic forces that guide salmon to their birthplace, Florence stepped from an ocean of phantasmal darkness into a hallway of iridescent light.”

I grew very curious about the first part of the line and googled up and found this——>

Salmon come back to the stream where they were ‘born’ because they ‘know’ it is a good place to spawn; they won’t waste time looking for a stream with good habitat and other salmon. Scientists believe that salmon navigate by using the earth’s magnetic field like a compass.

Wow! O_o This helped return me back to the lushness of exploring the world I always had within me but which was dulled by the crazy demands of daily life. So, genuinely thank you Kevin, for reviving that!

2.     Reading the phrase “shiver me timbers,” again my explorative child-self was granted a chance to squeal with joy for when I Googled it, I found the following meaning and that filled me with the delight we all have as a child when looking at anything around.

Its Google meaning is—> an exclamation in the form of a mock oath, usually attributed to the speech of pirates in works of fiction. 

3.     Richard Wagner – Ride Of The Valkyries

Played the video in YouTube and it yanked me straight into the page it was lain across….actually more, I felt myself locking my ears with index fingers to dim out the supposedly raucous singing of the amateur vocalist from the book. (Find out! Find out! ; ) Just recalling that portion of the book makes me excited)

4.     Reading about Mishka Yaponchik——  Mishka_Yaponchik

The line mentioned by Kevin here is to describe the making of the personality of one of the forerunners of thuggery in this novel—Yuri ( outstanding character development must say!) It is as follows:

“He aligned himself with an older boy, sixteen-year-old Boris Timko, who encouraged him to educate himself and who also spoke admiringly of Mishka Yaponchik, alias ‘Mishka the Japanese’, a legendary Odessan gangster who emulated the disciplined way in which the Japense <i> yakuza  </i> went about their business. 

This part of my novel research was a boisterous odyssey for me. Reading up about Mishka’s activities intrigued me (‘shoe box of explosives’ you will find, if you check as well;) ). Reading up about the yakuzas and their existing horrifying numbers in the world was a slap against the peaceful corner of the world I was stationed in. Not to deviate away from the beauty of Kevin’s creation, I was deeply lost as a traveller in his book learning about the world, pictures, people, places, crime, marvelling upon return to reading-reality at the number of places the author had to quietly walk through, the countless events that he had to make his immediate reality so they could be baked out as THIS (for us) through the final common pathway of his hand. 

(I was hugely intrigued that the author went as far as using and repeating one of the aphorisims used by this mafia leader. So deep! And it fitted so well wherever it was used!) 

These little facts may be known to many of you but for my scarce and ever-increasing knowledge of English, and the world this was like a pearl I had accidentally found on the earth. So through these, the book helped many many times in bringing me back to my, humble primordial, ingenuous self. This is one of the most priceless gifts the book has to offer and if you don’t find it while reading, I am afraid to say that your cup must be so full with ‘stuff’ from the world that it first needs emptying and become tabula rasa so you can literally glean at the creative power of the universe speaking through this author. (When everything is creation, and the Milky Way and its history has the power to marvel us, what really keeps us from noting that it is the very same creative force at play here?!)


Chapter 13—> I learnt something very interesting about the author’s adeptness in writing—I wonder if there is term available in time to describe this but I will term it as the “shadow-effect.” There is a character called Sebastian in this novel. He happens to be a bully. In a certain chapter he appears at the doorstep of the one he once bullied. Here, I will leave you to find out what happened but for my interests in the review, I will describe what I understood about the author from that chapter—just by describing the expressions of the ones around, the areas of the room walked, the shifts of specific humans inside, and the few exchanges between everyone, the author was able to quite secretly (secretly, mind it!) point me in the direction of the quiet unravelling of a somewhat meeker persona from out of the same old bully (at least temporarily). But it isn’t openly described, it’s in the shadows of every other word used by the author! But even in the midst of this, the author didn’t for once fail to keep me from laughter. So while his original style is on, something deeper happens within your imagination. 

This slithering quality of unfolding of the story was for me so beautiful that it reminded me of the truth—the best things in life are so hidden that they often cannot be described. 

I love Henry again at the way he corrected Sebastian’s grammatical error for I myself keep correcting my own friends’ and family’s grammatical errors all day long, if English is used. This Grammar-Naziness between Henry and me needs a hi-5, honestly!

I have to quote a part that’s sooo good I feel like I am running out of descriptive words now. Here it is:

“ This induced Sebastian to sigh irritably. “Now see, there you go again, Henry, with your snide comments. I shall of course pay you back threefold but, through no fault of my own, I find myself financially insoluble——“

“Insolvent” <i> (this was the correction Henry provided) </i>

“Oh, Insolvent then! Do be quiet. Anyways, my idiot father is sure to…….”  <i> (Stated by Sebastian) </i>

<—————made me laugh again. I do this all the time—correcting people’s grammar (whenever English is used) in the middle of serious talks or otherwise!


You know sometimes in life you come across people who are so easily irritable that you fall for them XD

I felt that way about one character named Constance. I kept re-reading her spoken words on Sebastian and they cracked me up so much I genuinely felt my family would come rushing in, wondering if I were lodged within my senses!

Next observation—-> 

There is something I want every reader to make note of in the novel and that is:

At many places in the story lessons are being taught—lessons about life. In addition to the ones that I have written above, I learnt these (to state a few):

1.     To quote —->  <i>  In a calm voice that wasn’t quite her own, she said, </i> <b> “Be a blessing to someone today, Henry.” </b>

My thoughts–Most of the people in the world are going through challenges they have no clue how to deal with. A word of comfort lent forth honestly is sometimes the only deciding factor between a person’s life or death situation, or a haul out of the abyss nobody might be granting them. This small unexpected lesson-entry made me acutely aware of the fact that the author deliberately wanted it there (and not for creative purposes only)…something he wants the world to learn because he himself embodies it. Rare!  I was so moved by this line that I walked over to the lady who comes to work at our house and revved up my understanding of her (which I will keep doing from now on) and even passed her a word of comfort when I saw her spacing out in the middle of work. She refuses to breach all her personal issues, so I just randomly told her, “Whatever it is that is bothering you, won’t last. Nothing lasts. Give it a month or two and the thing will have changed.” And slowly and steadily she started smiling. 

Imagine the degree of effect the author’s work had on me! This goes to show the kind of person the author is as well! 

2.     Henry is a sage in my opinion—the way he looks at the world, sees the light in every human, even the ones who are brutal. He is a sage. W-H-A-T a character! I can’t forget this person. After Atticus from Harper Lee’s creation this is another person I will try embodying everyday of my life. 

To describe the thugs Pascal and Yuri—

Regarding how the author crafted their wrongdoings—this is how I will describe it. Firstly keep in mind that the author’s inherent style is largely one that’s linguistically playful squaring alongside the lock-and-key-fitted (choosing the exact language universally agreed upon) strategising of each member of the lines. Only when you have kept that in mind will you fathom the careful step-by-step calculations Kevin took to experiment with and roll the same playful attitude into the scenes of sheer debauchery, as I have described below:

In a scene where a girl gets first kidnapped and then manhandled, at a certain point, I exchanged a speechless cry with the inaudible narration. This was when I sat busy cherishing idioms and large phrases like “hulking silhouette,” and “vitiligo giving his skin the mottled hue of a lobster,” and took several seconds longer to grasp amidst the flight of my indivisible attention that in reaching the conclusion of the succeeding paragraphs the author, had, without notice, cleverly dismantled me meanwhile, returning me back, then hardening my original hold of morality which I had lost sight of, but then figured, was all along free to rise wherever vehemently needed, but was only temporarily blinded by the merciless glee of the narrative and its derivatives, ie. the thugs—the “succeeding paragraphs” I am referring to here speak of the sodomization of the girl and then the dumping of her traumatised body for disposal.

So, so much forethought and planning went into the making of this! Wow! Just wow!

To repeat…. 

I have absolutely no clue how the author crafted someone so so so much like me as I saw in Henry. I cannot forget a creation like this ever! It’s so miraculous I kept thinking about it all day!

I felt the novel change into a fairy at a certain point taking me to that place in the world where, I knew profoundly that, I longed to be in but was separated from by miles and miles of rugged terrain— a Dr. Who’s Tardis-styled bookstore in London. In returning back to London (in 2018) following the first trip in my 6th grade, after I had somewhat finished “establishing” myself in the world, I had discovered my mind go bezerk with creative ideas in the heart of the city. I recall sitting at Hyde park and writing poems after poems on maple trees, flowers, squirrels, those elegant swans, then crafting short stories inside the closet at night (to avoid letting scribble-sounds reach mom and dad’s ears) and in the process I had discovered that I had found myself in the paradise the creator had in mind for me when he designed me. Why my creativity soared miles up in the air upon return to this very city, is beyond me but I am certain that something in the enchanting ambience, the turrets and spires, the maples, the abstract twinkle of Elizabethian studs at the corner of one’s eyes, the many bookstores with their bell-guarded doors and the loving attitude of people by and large, all served to float me into this river of pure creation.

 Hence, when I read the part where the author speaks about Henry’s incline towards the paperbacks and antiquarians inside the Dr. Who’s Tardis in this little shop in London, and the accompanied use of spellbinding creative phrases like “accordion of paperbacks” I was back there, strummed in a heap of maples and blue-painted shops! What a book! I genuinely feel like it’s a miracle that I am reading this! It’s taking me to places I had submitted to lone corners of my memories and forgotten to dust clean and replenish with their original colours.  

I was over the moon having stumbled upon so beautiful a lesson as the one I am about to state next. It actually brought out tears of joy that something like this was incorporated into a book. 

(I wish schools taught us stuff this this. I never learnt things like these years back and only learnt them through thousands of mistakes and then I found this gem of a novel teaching us what I had missed in my growing years! Speaks gallons about the person the author is):

When Henry serendipitously meets with his literary icon, Mr. O’ Connor post an accomodation-contract they had agreed upon (where Mr. O’ Connor, his true identity unbeknown to Henry meanwhile, being that of the landlord), and stumbles upon the truth of who he is, he recollects  that he was living in the home of the one he admired upon the literary pedestal. Mr O’Connor upon learning that Henry was becoming a great writer, feels proud and delighted hearing about it, and then states this:

“And, if one day you achieve great literary success, my boy, don’t ever allow your self-esteem to get the better of you. Remember <i> this </i>, that wherever you climb you will be followed by a dog called ‘ego.’”

Never, I repeat never have I ever come by any book or movie or whatever stress upon the importance of humility alongside the pursuit of success. You see now why this author deserves standing ovation! He does and more! 

(I never knew Nietzsche, Kevin but began reading his quotes online upon reading this part) Wow! I am so lucky I learnt this at 30. I am so lucky I am learning all this wisdom so early in life (if not earlier!) Yay! : ) 

next….. (I am so excited to type the next part of the review)

I genuinely feel the book is 100% serendipitous for me and this I realised, amidst a quake of synchronicities that arrowed my way. First while Henry is so like me, I also noted that Henry had developed a liking for someone peerless in literature as Fergus whom he follows in Goodreads. Turns out I (resemblant with Henry) have such a dear friend in Goodreads myself who is almost like my grandpa-figure and has taught me so much about life 🙂 and is a matchless distinction  with the pen, and his name too happens to be Fergus 😉 He also taught me, much like the author himself, such important life lessons.

Frightening right?

Next chapter speaks about Fergus wanting to introduce the budding literary mastermind, Henry to a regular cocktail get-together of three friends. This was seriously weird because my friend, Fergus had introduced me to a Goodreads’ book-club once raving about my passion and crazy proclivity for literature!!! Also, not to give away too much of the novel, I will just say that someone here states that he had lost the motivation to write books because someone he knew had run away with the entire completed manuscript once, the dash being an unchangeable one (details for you to discover!). Turns out this is one of the most guttural of fears I have ever had in my own life, and reading it shivered me with the same old and I could literally fathom the pain of the person’s loss (this kind of loss is just like losing a loved one, believe me)!

The serendipities don’t end there—the next page I was introduced to someone called Vishnu—an Indian. I recalled that only a week  prior to that I had been writing “Vishnu” for a creative writing-something! (Not because I habitually chose that name, but because I had chosen for the first time ever!) 

There are many more serendipities that attacked me till the end of the book! 

Bottomline—At this part of the novel, however, I felt like I was in a dream! No less! I thought about this serendipity for hours wondering what the hell was happening! Was I looking into a mirror reflection of some part of myself! 

You see why I can’t forget this book!

Next observation….

I urge every reader to pay explicit attention to what Kevin writes, to use a dictionary, Google, Youtube to look up, wherever necessary, to what he is offering everywhere in the book.  I’m serious! 

Why, because if you don’t, you will be missing out on the tiny interlacements of deep forethinking, imageries, and creative gameplans that are kaleidoscopically arranged everywhere which, if pursued as I have, you will find have been waiting quietly to flirt with you in ways you never thought possible, so your jaw drops open and you gaze up into the emptiness of your room cancelling your further gush forwards into the novel temporarily while you stay wedged within the vines of the permanently expelled outpourings of Kevin’s mind. Examples of this prismatic designing include (this is just 0.1% of the lot! Mind it!):

1) Flotsam of ambrosial dreams  (Google and find the meanings) 

2) Drunken revellers gambolled from one pub to the next in a city that remained UNCOWED by the DUAL THREAT of terrorism and CIRRHOSIS ( highlighted words’ admiration-alarm mooted your way ; ) ) 

I doubt anybody will believe this but I muttered (more like whispered) “Thank you” many many times while reading the book! For no reason really, mostly because I was so happy reading it! 

I have dedicated a song for the beauty of this novel:


(The entire piece matches the carpet of imageries the novel now, having been finished, has blurred itself to! Finish it and come and play this piece in recollection and you might just sync with my mind as it is now : ) )

You cannot, I repeat you cannot skim past this book because that would be like going to your friend’s home to collect her kids for the movie, where upon reaching you lay blank glances upon each child, then leave empty-handed.  There are a zillion different beehives of pure genius that deserve humble, undivided attention. 

Never forget, once you are done with the novel, the hardwork and toil of the author that went in to take you across such an unforgettable experience!) 

A book like this is A-class service to mankind! Remember, art is service.

This book will stay with me 🙂 for good! I didn’t see only crime, I saw infinity (the creative realm is intangible and hence infinite) taking unbridled shape through the mind and hands of a humble soul! The novel helped me grow as a person, and a writer. It helped me become light as feather with the rolls of amusement, and helped me discover a priceless gem—— to laugh in the midst of suffering! This I derived through not just the story but the writing itself!

: )

In the end I’ll sign off saying, “This review is only a miniature (yes!) regard for the perpetuity of bewitching blessings this novel is tirelessly waiting to offer to YOU. ”

This Post Has One Comment

  1. Tharindu

    Amazing! Keep up the good work

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