Between Klein and Greenspan, I polished off another
Forster within a week. It was a short read - but a most delicious one indeed. I borrowed it from Sar after I saw it sitting on her shelf when I went over for a second Diwali dinner.
A Passage to India was my first Forster book. I don't remember now where I first heard of the book or of Forster as an author but when I found Passage to India in the thrift store for 50 cents, I thought 'why not?'.
A Passage to India was delectable. Forster has this uncanny ability to understand the human psyche and translate the very essence of being into words. His books are always short reads but his choice of words so exquisite - he conveys volumes of nuances and secrets within secrets with but a few choice words. Owing to a shared history of colonialism, many times throughout reading APassage to India I come across a passage that so describes exactly how I feel or have felt but have always encountered trouble when trying to relay my sentiments. The genius that is Forster lies in his ability to truly grasp the meaning to be both a British colonial figure and an Indian and to explicitly reveal the delicate game in which both are intertwined without being coarse or vulgar.
While I profess to having more in common with A Passage to India then to
Maurice, Forster's account of a man's desires, wantings, impulses, repulses, and all that makes one human is incredibly touching. It reads like an open book - like an old friend recounting deep, dark secrets meant for your ears only. Most importantly, one finds oneself in a position of non-judgment. Despite Maurice's "erroneous" tendencies, one cannot help but feel his very pain or ecstacy; one finds oneself rooting for him, searching for ways in which his desires can be met and his happiness fulfilled.
Forster has a way of creating an intimate bond between reader and character, much like God himself.
