From an unforgettable new voice in Caribbean literature, a sweeping story of two families colliding in 1940s Trinidad--and a chilling mystery that shows how interconnected their lives truly are The ghost of Hema Saroop, an infant cremated by her mother, Shweta, after dying from a waterborne disease, leads a cast of immaterial characters. She is “a preta—a hungry ghost”, her spirit cursed with an insatiable appetite. She eats her mother so ferociously that Shweta never utters her daughter’s name again. But the baby still hungers for company, and brings other ghosts with her. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin. I really love how it took an uncommon aspect, video game design, and still made it into a compelling story. I think it’s something quite remarkable. When you gonna marry Lata?’ Tarak suddenly asked. Krishna swooped his arm up, nearly losing his balance. ‘ What?’ All the fish dispersed. Is because you was pointing with your hand,’ said Tarak, wiping some mud from his chin. ‘Point with your chin next time.’

Hungry Ghosts opens with four boys doing a blood pact that will make them brothers for the rest of their lives. Do they know what this pact means? How will it impact their individual lives? That is exactly what we find out in this book.Will this novel win prizes? Undoubtedly. In fact it is the first book I have read this year that I hope to see on the Booker Longlist. Eventually it becomes very clear that Hema is not the only ghost that haunts these people; there are many others with their own unfulfilled and unfulfillable appetites that ultimately lead them into despair. In the bigger scheme of things though, it's the ghosts of Trinidad's colonial past that are the most haunting of all. "Behold hell" indeed. scattered like half-buried bones across the plain, strewn from their colonial corpse. In their marrow, the ghosts of the indentured. And the offspring of those ghosts." We’re quite multicultural; the east Indian population (about half the country) is a mixture of Hindu and Christian, with some Muslims. There has been a lot of integration. There’s still some prejudice. For example, when Hindus die, they cremate [the bodies], but during Covid-19, cremations were stopped. Research [eventually] showed that cremation didn’t really spread the virus, but it was far into the pandemic before they allowed it again. So you had bodies piling up and people unable to complete their funeral customs. I’m not religious, but the household I grew up in was highly observant of Hinduism. The maternal side of my family is Hindu, my paternal side a mix of Presbyterian and Muslim. During the first year of marriage, she had deconstructed her entire self with the revered language of dead writers. Patched herself with ideas and metaphors until she wasn’t sure where her former self dies and this new self was born. Her mind its own Ship of Theseus”

Also a lot of cw to be wary of: ableism, colourism, racism, death (including graphic violence towards people and animals) domestic abuse, sexism, sexual assault and murder amongst any others I may have forgotten. In the end, I stopped looking up all the new words, which could not be found in the Kindle’s own dictionary and began to skim read. Which is no way to be reading.Hans stopped before a two-storey building with a wide blue awning, the front fitted with immaculate glass. On one of the panes was the name of the store fitted into a bold half-moon: SALLOUM’S BAZAAR. The store had opened only a week ago and was supposed to be the new cornerstone of imported goods.

The plot pivots on Dalton Changoor’s disappearance, which prompts Marlee to pay Hans extra to keep watch overnight – money Hans wants to buy his family a plot of land for a house in Bell. Shweta realises, too late, she never “exactly agreed” to Hans taking the post. There isn’t a dud moment or misplaced word. Hosein – a biology teacher who writes poems and stories by night – has a poet’s gift for similes (“the dawnlight appeared as a single painted fingernail hoisting itself over the mountain range, glowing hot and focused as a soldering iron”). But his writing is at its electric best when the weather is as stormy as his characters’ emotions. Tarak stood at the other end of the yard, two flour bags in hand. His feet also wrapped in flour bags, tied with twine above the ankles.

Kevin Jared Hosein

Krishna reached his hand into the water, his eyes closed in concentration. He tried to do as Tarak said – to release his hand from his own body. Tarak narrowed his eyes at Addy, another spasm in his shoulders. Krishna put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm the boy’s laboured breathing. He remembered what his father had once told him – that you cannot let your enemies know you’re angry. They’ll know what’s coming if you do that. that you must see hell, stare long into it, so you can know when others are going through it—or had gone through it. Opinion | The Collins word of the year shortlist shows we're more self-obsessed than ever 01 November, 2023 Caster Semenya’s The Race to Be Myself made me gasp 31 October, 2023 Fantasy books used to bore me - my kids changed my mind 30 October, 2023 Ultimately, this was a depressing and heavy read and I was disappointed that there weren’t many references to ghosts at all. I don’t think I really liked any of the characters? Apart from Rookmin.

Hosein takes the idyllic, fairytale world Americans believe T&T to be and gives us Pure, Honest, and Unadulterated truth. The truth is that not everything is like a magazine cover, with gorgeous tropical beaches. That is, until an unexpected job opportunity brings them away from their life of destitution. Hans works as a farmhand for Dalton Changoor, a mystery man who leads a life of luxury on a hill above Bell Village. When Dalton goes missing, his beautiful and equally mysterious wife Marlee asks Hans to move in with her to guard the mansion. This transgression of class boundaries sets the stage for Hosein’s rumination on intimacy and oppression in which the Saroops and the Changoors are ensnared in a story of betrayal, trauma, and longing. Visible in the distance was the church, a monolith so tall that it was visible from any walk. The rictus of Christ more like an adjudicating scowl than a pained grimace. The chorus of some Friday evening rehearsal warming the still air like birdsong. Suddenly, the sound of a bell. A lady in the store commented to a clerk, Hear that? Look like Miss Betsy finally pass on, God rest that old woman soul. Krishna wondered if the bell tolled for all souls – or only for the ones that’d been baptised.

Highly recommended. A stunningly powerful first novel, and an early contender for the 2023 Booker Prize. First? Aint matter who first,’ said Shane. ‘The only thing that matter is that it have three of we. And two of you.’ You damn good at this,’ said Krishna, impressed. ‘Go ahead, give it a try,’ said Tarak, still giddy. An astonishing novel – linguistically gorgeous, narratively propulsive and psychologically profound' BERNARDINE EVARISTO