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A frenetic whoooosh of Caribbean miserablism narrated in melodious dialect with a cast of unfortunates straining against the rage of an abusive paterfamilias. Ladoo’s use of onomatopoeic language lends the novel a primal power as the unforgiving climate becomes an antagonist as evil as the drunken father. An unpleasant and enraging read at times, the novel depicts without comment the fatalism (and absurdity) of the Hindu practices and mysticism that seem to pull these characters further into lives of paranoia, fear, and torment, and those looking for a life-affirming slap on the chops against evil will need to look elsewhere. This is a depiction of unending pain that throbs, thwacks, and howls throughout the novel in a manner you simply won’t forget when the book ends. P.S. The UK Vintage Classics reprint has a tacky, parodically Caribbean illustration for its cover that is offensive not merely on a design level, but is painfully ill-suited to the tone of the book itself. Whoever signed off on this eyesore should be pelted with cabbages for at least two months.