Our Esteemed Literary Critics

In The Hindu, Adite De writes a belated and extremely strange review of Lavanya Sankaran's The Red Carpet:

"The Red Carpet brings to the fore a talent still in waiting. A skilled raconteur whose instincts are sharply honed. A keen-eyed observer of a city in transit. A quick fire interpreter of recognisable stereotypes from the Bangalore yellow pages....But is that enough? Not quite. Where's the consummate mastery of an O. Henry, the raw sensitivity of a Mahasweta Devi, the essential humaneness of a Maupassant, the impressionistic everydayness of a Jhumpa Lahiri, the startling, amoral twists of a Roald Dahl?"

See, that's the problem with our writers. Not enough impressionistic everydayness. Not to mention amoral twists.