There is a point to me mentioning that, I swear. E.M. Forster's A Passage to India reads like something rich white people would read in the twenties...namely someone like Emily Gilmore, the old-money mother/grandmother of my beloved show. Granted, this may just be influenced by the fact that the plot and characters in this book revolve around rich British people, but I still hold this notion. F. Scott Fitzgerald would probably love it.
This one is only comme ci comme ça; it moves at an agreeable pace and the main characters are all good and likeable. Aziz is a bit of a pansy which gets annoying because his jealousies are a little bit like Harry's teenage angst phase in the J.K. Rowling series, but it's not so bad that it makes me want to stop reading or have any strong emotions.
If anything, it's a good look at friendship and the way relationships are altered by doubt. I don't think I liked anything in the entire book as much as I liked the end (the words, not the context in relation to the story or whatever political statement it may be trying to make), and I am going to go ahead and just copy them here to spoil it all for you. My apologies.
'"Why can't we be friends now?" said the other, holding him affectionately. "It's what I want. It's what you want."
But the horses didn't want it -- they swerved apart; the earth didn't want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single file; the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Guest House, that came into view as they issued from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn't want it, they said in their hundred voices, "No, not yet," and the sky said, "No, not there."'
Keep in mind those are two dudes so the weird sexual tension between two straight friends is something to look forward to if you do want to read this.
I got hired for a job today that will be taking me to Columbus, Ohio, and I feel that last bit echoing around in me a little bit like the "boum" in Mrs. Moore's head.
