This is my first book by Arundhati Roy… and I have to say, I was speechless. I remember staying up late into the night devouring it, falling completely in love – not all at once, but slowly and surely.
The book both begins and ends with her mother’s death at the age of 89, bringing the memoir full circle. In between, Roy tells the story of how she became the writer, activist, and woman she is shaped partly by circumstance, but largely by her complex and often dreadful relationship with her mother.
Now, let’s talk about Mary Roy. An icon.
After being thrown out of her family home, she arrived in Kottayam and began her own school in a space that once hosted Rotary Club meetings. She transformed that humble beginning into a thriving, respected institution.
Despite her domineering presence, I found myself admiring and deeply respecting Mary Roy for being the trailblazer during the time women were expected to be accept things their fate in silence. No complaints or demands.
She was an intimidating feminist and an inspiring educator who transformed countless lives of people in Kerala. How you ask? When forcefully evicted from her own father’s house, she took matters in her own hands and challenged the law in the supreme court. She won. As a result, Syrian Christian women were granted equal inheritance rights under the Indian Succession Act of 1925. That victory alone cements her legacy.
But now, let’s talk about Mary Roy — the mother.
We are conditioned to believe that mothers are warm, safe havens. This book bluntly dismantles that stereotype. Roy refers to her not as “mother,” but as “Mrs. Roy.” That choice alone reveals the emotional distance between them.
As the memoir progresses, we see Roy intentionally build both physical and emotional distance from her mother’s overpowering presence. The separation feels necessary even inevitable.
Before reading this book, I wasn’t fully aware of Roy’s political activism, and I found myself deeply impressed by her fearlessness and her willingness to call a spade a spade. There is a raw honesty in this memoir that took me by surprise. Despite the delicate and deeply personal subject matter, Roy tells her mother’s story without nastiness or bitterness. There is no finger-pointing, no victim narrative but neither is there any varnishing of facts. keeps Her tone is mostly neutral, focusing not on complaining or whining about her lot in life but on the life lessons gained from being her mother’s daughter.
I remember telling a friend while reading this that there is a remarkable level of stoicism and maturity in the way this book handles the subject of toxic parenting.
I also felt profound empathy for Mary Roy. Her marriage to an alcoholic “nothing man” as she refers her ex husband, her admission that she had not wanted children, and the immense pressures she faced, the book does not excuse her shortcomings, but it gives us a context as to why she was an emotionally unavailable mother. It offers a sobering portrayal of what forced motherhood can look like. We cannot expect softness and warmth from someone living a life they never chose.
The memoir spans Roy’s entire life. From her childhood in Ooty with her mother and brother, to the dizzying heights of being catapulted to global fame with The God of Small Things, to the humiliations of being shamed in court and serving a one-day prison sentence for simply speaking her mind.
The writing is lush and immersive. At times, I felt as though I were right beside her — a little girl in Ooty, and later, a woman saying her final goodbye to her mother.
So buckle up. This memoir will take you on an emotional rollercoaster and it will linger with you long after you’ve turned the last page.
Rating: 5/5.
xo
Yachna
P.S. 9 timeless lessons from The Little Prince, and what’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever read?
