“How could anything be the same? The red of blood lay over the market road in slick pools mingled with a yellow spread of… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
When I was growing up the publishing world seemed so far away. When my mother wrote a book, she would look up the address… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
“Year by year, his life wasn't amounting to anything at all...And yet, another part of him had expanded: his self-consciousness, his self-pity -- oh,… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
Why couldn't she be part of that family? rent a room in someone else's life. — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
In India, if you are from the elite, dogs are extremely important. The breed of the dog indicates your wealth, that you are westernized.… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
I don't think you can write according to a set of rules and laws; every writer is so different. — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
A man wasn't equal to an animal, not one particle of him. Human life was stinking corrupt, and meanwhile there were beautiful creatures who… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
“But the child shouldn't be blamed for the father's crime, she tried to reason with herself, then. But should the child therefore also enjoy… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
“Biju stepped out of the airport into the Calcutta night, warm, mammalian. His feet sank into dust winnowed to softness at his feet, ad… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
Writing, for me, means humility. It’s a process that involves fear and doubt, especially if you’re writing honestly. — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
“That very afternoon the police arrived at Cho Oyu in a line of toad-colored jeeps that appeared through the moving static of a small… — Kiran Desai Copy Share Image
