Okay, so let’s get this out of the way up front before anyone accuses me of, uh, something or other: I’ve known Damyanti for a while now. At least in the way of Internet folk knowing other Internet folk. But, other than that bar fight in Myanmar, we’ve never met face-to-face.
So, there. Haters can accuse me of playing favorites all they want but all I’m going to them is, “Neener, neener, you’re right.”
Anyway, usually I reserve these book reviews for folks who could use the boost, but Damyanti is well beyond that point. But, I’m going to leave a review for a couple of reasons: I kinda know her and this book rocks. So, TL:DR, just go buy the book. It’s a cracking good read set in a place that might as well be an alien planet to most Westerners. But, Mumbai is real.
One of the best things about The Blue Monsoon is the city itself becomes a major character and helps to drive the narrative. It breathes and stinks and lurks in dark alleys ready to gut you for your soaking wet shoes. In some ways, the city is kind of like Albuquerque if we got more than a few inches of rain a year. It’s as fully-featured a character as the rest of them. Think about the neon-soaked noir of Blade Runner where the glitz and glamour of the rich are always just around the corner mocking you for living in squalor and you’ll get a feel for the Mumbai Biswas has shown us. Now, I don’t know much about India – it’s never been on my travel bucket list – but I do know Westerners either view as a quirky place where everyone dances all the time or a place where gang rape is considered a quality pastime. Maybe you could get a little spiritual awakening to go with your hot-as-lava curry. Like most views Westerners hold of the world – Americans, especially – those views range from distorted to flat-out bullshit. India is a big country, it’s been around a long time, and its got its own set of issues that usually don’t involve dance-offs in the streets. I’ve been to a lot of countries and the sad fact of the world is humans are basically all the same. So, put aside what you think you know and dive into a world where people may have different names and eat different food, but have a lot of the same problems as everywhere else.
Because, ultimately, that’s what a good crime story should be about: The problems. Sure, it’s sexy AF to watch people rip off casinos and disappear into the night, but that’s just fantasy. Crime stories, real ones, aren’t elegant. They’re brutal, ugly things that, just like Biswas’s Mumbai, will slit your throat and steal your shoes.
The Blue Monsoon is a crime story in that vein. It deals with the kind of rugged violence that you really only get good old fashioned oppression. It shines a light on the Caste System and the crushing poverty that comes from that kind of system. It looks at gender roles and inequality and all the bad things people can find to do to each other in the names of revenge or justice or whatever we decide to call cutting people up and leaving them on temple steps. Any name we can attach to the atrocities that helps us sleep at night, I guess.
Is it any easy book to read? Not really. Should you read it? Absolutely. Like I said at the beginning, it’s a great story and the city is just as much a character as noble Arnav, iron-willed Tara, or dedicated Sita. This is a richly detailed tapestry woven from words. You could hang this sucker on your wall if you didn’t mind it dripping on your floor and, frankly, it’s probably best to not think too hard about what’s dripping off it and pooling on your tile. Equal parts mystery and twisted travel guide, The Blue Monsoon is an unpredictable thriller brought to life by a rare talent.
Plus, I think it’s sale right now, so go get it.
A ritual murder at a Mumbai temple exposes the city’s dark secrets and ravages the personal life of a detective in this sequel to The Blue Bar.
Amid incessant rains pounding down on Mumbai, Senior Inspector Arnav Singh Rajput is called to a shocking crime scene. A male body is found dismembered on the steps of a Kaali temple. Drawn into his flesh are symbols of a tantra cult. The desecration of a body at a Hindu place of worship puts the city on edge and divides Arnav’s priorities: stopping a fanatic from killing again and caring for his wife who’s struggling through a challenging pregnancy.
Then video footage of the murder is uploaded onto the account of a Bollywood social media influencer, triggering twists in the investigation Arnav didn’t see coming. Caste systems at war. A priest under suspicion. And an anonymous threat that puts his wife’s welfare at risk. When more bodies are found, the savagery of the city begins to surface—and Arnav fears that no one is safe from a bigger storm brewing.
Eric Lahti 