No doubt witty, enlightening, and for sure an outlook on contemporary India as per Adiga’s writing, but it all ends up to be just tremendously depressing. I am not fond of comparing his debut novel to any of his recent works as any book deserves to be a standalone when reviewed, but where The White Tiger succeeds in giving the reader a sense of satisfaction as the ‘underdog’ finally gains a sense of control and autonomy, Selection Day fails, and is instead an experience akin to seeing a malnourished puppy getting kicked on the street. 

 

Outlining the story of Manju, a teenager navigating societal expectations, a sexuality crisis, a cricket-obsessed tiger dad, and a gained simultaneous annoyance and attraction to a guy on his cricket team, the expected compassion and nuance attributed to such a heart-wrenching set of circumstances is simply not there. Adiga’s hard-hitting and gritty prose is ever-present indeed, and yet in the unsympathetic manipulation of the narrative it is as if nothing ever goes right for Manju--which is not really a bad thing, but the thesis of this book slowly devolves into something ambiguous as it takes a turn into repressed Achillean suffering. 

The time-skip at the end gives me a feeling reminiscent of an uncle retelling that one moment in secondary school that jumpstarted his identity crisis after he had one too many.

 

Realistic? Sure. Enjoyable? Debatable. Beautifully written, but bleak. Also, misogyny.