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Amit Chaudhuri’s novels have always taken their time, lingering over seemingly mundane details, building up the world around the characters while gently delving into their lives. Friend of My Youth ...
On reading Amit Chaudhuri’s seventh novel, which is a prism that refracts writing into multitudes of possibilities, a novel by a novelist who believes he doesn’t write novels I meet Amit Chaudhuri at ...
The writer’s intriguing, uneven novel follows an academic as he meanders through the streets of the city and in and out of reality It sounds like a handsomely prestigious assignment. The year is 2005 ...
“ ‘It’s odd, just how many of the political poems are about things you find in the home — even in the kitchen. Matchsticks, burnt bread, boiled rice.’ ‘Rotten tooth!’ he said grandly.’” The interplay ...
It would be exaggerating and alarming to say contemporary Indian literature is in an ongoing crisis. The avid discussion and argument sprung up during Covid, boosted by the more military and bellicose ...
“It was evening, and I didn’t know the name of the road I was taken to.” Disorientation arrives in the very first line of “Sojourn” and percolates through this short, memorable book. Its narrative ...
Roula Khalaf, Editor of the FT, selects her favourite stories in this weekly newsletter. The unnamed narrator in Amit Chaudhuri’s ninth novel, Château Rouge, likes the sound of the Parisian locale ...
Near the end of Friend of My Youth, Amit Chaudhuri’s seventh novel, the narrator, who is also named Amit Chaudhuri, reflects on a book he is writing, which may well be the book we are reading. “The ...
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