I was sure I would hate this book. "A paralyzed veteran"? I'm not interested in war novels. "A vatican investigation"? Please, no DaVinci Code. I haven't been this wrong since I thought I would hate The Art of Fielding.

All of the characters were fascinating. I had no idea …more where the story was headed, which I love, and even after cottoning on, I didn't want it to stop.

One of the characters says that riddles don't want to be solved, but you can't help yourself trying. Miles strikes the perfect balance of giving us a glorious web of stories without spelling out what we should make of them. I really hope this gets made into a TV series! I'm still missing The Leftovers. (less)

Shoba Narayan approaches her new life in Bangalore with expansive curiosity and lively self-awareness. She’s game for anything and shares her enthusiasm with unpredictable results. When she takes her daughter to milk a cow, the “ten-year-old screams like she has been shot” …more when the cow defecates. When Narayan proudly tells her sophisticated neighbors that the milk in their coffee is from the cows across the street, her guests “sputter and spit out the contents of their mouths into their cups.”

There is pathos too: her blessing of a dying dog is so beautifully moving, I wrote it out to use in that sad and inevitable situation.

Narayan blends memoir and investigative reporting so adroitly you don’t realize you’re learning something until you hear yourself explaining to friends how the quality of milk is different from cow to cow.

Narayan neither romanticizes nor patronizes those she encounters. She embraces the Indian ethos of dualism: her friendship with the illiterate Sarala is both burden and privilege. Sarala needs Narayan’s help to buy a new cow; Narayan benefits spiritually and culturally from her time with Sarala. And we benefit most of all, immersing ourselves into lives so different from our own without leaving the comfort of our homes.

N.B. If you read this book, you will want a cow. (less)