Every once in a while, a book arrives that doesn’t just entertain or inform, but reaches into the quiet corners of your life and sits with you for a while. Mother Mary Comes to Me was that book for me. Roy’s prose is irresistible, and I didn’t want to leave the intimate, complicated world she creates. It reminded me of the pure joy of reading, the kind that gets buried when you spend too long in the realm of heavy non‑fiction.
This memoir is, at its heart, a portrait of Roy’s relationship with her mother, Mary: brilliant, erratic, fiercely independent, and often emotionally impenetrable. Mary was a single divorcee in an era and culture that punished such choices, and she founded a co‑ed school in Kerala that became both her triumph and her burden. Roy writes about her childhood as Mrs Roy’s daughter with a blend of humour, tenderness, and unflinching honesty. Later, she leaves home for college at a young age and doesn’t see her mother for seven years—a separation that echoes through the book in ways both painful and liberating.
The memoir moves fluidly between personal narrative, political commentary, and reflections on creativity. Some chapters feel lyrical and intimate; others read like sharp, clear-eyed journalism. I found myself drawn most to the personal sections, her descriptions of “city attitude” in Delhi, her visceral honesty about romantic relationships, her frankness about money, and her reflections on how she “hunted the language animal” to bring her multilingual world into words. But the political chapters, though heavier, taught me so much about India’s shifting landscape and the risks Roy has taken as an activist and public figure.
What worked beautifully for me was the way Mary looms over the entire book: not as a saint, not as a villain, but as a monumental, flawed, beloved human being. Roy captures the tension of loving someone who shaped you and hurt you, someone whose brilliance and trauma coexist on every page. The memoir becomes a study in generational resilience, in how we inherit wounds and strengths in equal measure.
Roy’s writing is, as always, exquisite. She has that rare ability to make non‑fiction feel like fiction, alive, textured, full of breath. At times, it felt like sitting across from her in her Delhi apartment, listening to her tell stories with that mix of wit, vulnerability, and fierce clarity she’s known for.
Who Might Enjoy It
Readers who love literary memoirs, complex mother–daughter narratives, and writing that blends the personal with the political will find so much to savour here. It’s especially resonant for anyone navigating complicated family dynamics or interested in the intersections of art, activism, and identity.
Finally…
Mother Mary Comes to Me is brutal, beautiful, tender, and deeply human. It’s a memoir that doesn’t shy away from pain, but also celebrates love, resilience, and the unruly, transformative nature of a life fully lived. I know I’ll return to it again.
With thanks to Penguin Random House SA.
