The Glass Palace is a historical novel by Amitav Ghosh which is an expedition King Thebaw () used to live in the glass palace with his family. Amitav Ghosh's The Glass Palace is concerned with the impact of the As Amitav Ghosh narrates the stories of the Burmese' reactions to these momentous. Editorial Reviews. From Publishers Weekly. Ghosh's epic novel of Burma and Malaya over a span of years is the kind of "sweep of history" that readers can .
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The Glass Palace: A Novel. Home · The Glass Palace: A Novel Author: Amitav Ghosh The Glass Rainbow: A Dave Robicheaux Novel · Read more. Ghosh, Amitav. The glass palace/Amitav Ghosh. p. cm. eISBN X v1. 0. 1. Burma—History—Fiction. 2. Mandalay (Burma)—Fiction. I. Title. PR NATIONAL BESTSELLER • NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW AND LOS ANGELES TIMES “A rich, .
How does the current political situation in Burma inform this novel? It was almost dark by the time he remembered why he'd been sent to the city. Reading Guide. What can it be? In the late 19th century there were many Indian women who went abroad to study, in much the same way that Uma did the first Indian woman doctor graduated from a British university in the s. Ba le? She was half-Indian and she ran a small food-stall; she might have some work for him.
It is often war that creates a collision between history and individual lives. In circumstances of war, as in such situations as revolution, mass evacuations, forced population movements and so on, nobody has the choice of stepping away from history. The 20th century visited many such calamities on Asia and The Glass Palace attempts to chronicle the impact that these events had on families and individuals. How does your background as an historian, journalist, and anthropologist inform your work?
Is this entirely a work of fiction?
For me, the value of the novel, as a form, is that it is able to incorporate elements of every aspect of life — history, natural history, rhetoric, politics, beliefs, religion, family, love, sexuality. As I see it the novel is a meta-form that transcends the boundaries that circumscribe other kinds of writing, rendering meaningless the usual workaday distinctions between historian, journalist, anthropologist etc. How does photography function in your work?
Why is photography such an appropriate symbol with which to discuss colonialism? My interest in photography goes back a long way. The part that it plays in The Glass Palace is probably attributable to the influence of the late Raghubir Singh who was a very dear friend. He opened my eyes to many of the less obvious aspects of photography.
In The Hindu , Meenakshi Mukherjee calls the novel "the most scathing critique of British colonialism I have ever come across in fiction. If this is true, then it would have to be said, surely, that colonialism has had a pretty easy ride. All rights reserved.
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Looking for More Great Reads? Download our Spring Fiction Sampler Now. Download Hi Res. LitFlash The eBooks you want at the lowest prices. Read it Forward Read it first. Pass it on! Stay in Touch Sign up. And because he was very dark it was hard to tell that his chin was as smooth as the palms of his hands, innocent of all but the faintest trace of fuzz.
It was chance alone that was responsible for Rajkumar's presence in Mandalay that November morning. His boat - the sampan on which he worked as a helper and errand-boy - had been found to need repairs after sailing up the Irrawaddy from the Bay of Bengal. The boatowner had taken fright on being told that the work might take as long as a month, possibly even longer. He couldn't afford to feed his crew that long, he'd decided: Rajkumar was told to walk to the city, a couple of miles inland.
At a bazaar, opposite the west wall of the fort, he was to ask for a woman called Ma Cho. She was half-Indian and she ran a small food-stall; she might have some work for him. And so it happened that at the age of eleven, walking into the city of Mandalay, Rajkumar saw, for the first time, a straight road.
By the sides of the road there were bamboo-walled shacks and palm-thatched shanties, pats of dung and piles of refuse. But the straight course of the road's journey was unsmudged by the clutter that flanked it: Its lines led the eye right through the city, past the bright red walls of the fort to the distant pagodas of Mandalay Hill, shining like a string of white bells upon the slope.
For his age, Rajkumar was well travelled. The boat he worked on was a coastal craft that generally kept to open waters, plying the long length of shore that joined Burma to Bengal. Rajkumar had been to Chittagong and Bassein and any number of towns and villages in between.
But in all his travels he had never come across thoroughfares like those in Mandalay. He was accustomed to lanes and alleys that curled endlessly around themselves so that you could never see beyond the next curve.
Here was something new: When the fort's full immensity revealed itself, Rajkumar came to a halt in the middle of the road. The citadel was a miracle to behold, with its mile-long walls and its immense moat. The crenellated ramparts were almost three storeys high, but of a soaring lightness, red in color, and topped by ornamented gateways with seven-tiered roofs. Long straight roads radiated outwards from the walls, forming a neat geometrical grid. So intriguing was the ordered pattern of these streets that Rajkumar wandered far afield, exploring.
It was almost dark by the time he remembered why he'd been sent to the city. He made his way back to the fort's western wall and asked for Ma Cho. She's half Indian. She was in her mid-thirties, more Burmese than Indian in appearance. She was busy frying vegetables, squinting at the smoking oil from the shelter of an upthrust arm.