Book Review: Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy

Maryum Tamoor reviews Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy (Penguin India, 2025), calling it a raw, riveting, relatable, and rewarding read to know the hand behind the pen.

Mother Mary Comes to Me reads like a benediction for the readers who missed the literary stride of Arundhati Roy, the writer who appeared to have disappeared, but is still there. This anthology is not merely a memoir, as it would be too small a word. It is Arundhati sharing her with us, unveiling the raw being, and leaving the reader with a poignant ache of asking why there are no pages to turn now. Until this publication landed on the bookshelves, we did not know that we wanted it, let alone that we needed it, until it was shown to us.

An anthology and compendium of recollections threads together her moments, weaving the texture of her times, including the castes, poverty, and society, contextualised with an ambivalent intimacy. It is a backdoor into the characters that we loved and lived with in The God of Small Things. It gives a peek into where Velutha came from, and Anjum, as close to Arundhati as her jugular vein. It is a ride into her story, her world, her origins, and her becoming. From her mother, Mrs Roy, the focal point of this book, her brother, and grandmother, to her ‘Nothing Man’ father, her uncle, and aunt. From the streets of Kottayam to the Nizamuddin Dargah, into the wilds of Naxalites to the dark cell of Delhi. From the safest places being morphed into dangerous, she carves out a place to call home, laying bare the child Susanna, the woman Arundhati, the unacted actor, and the writer.