I don’t really know how to express how much I loved this book.

The author, Gregory David Roberts, tells his own epic tale of life on the run after breaking out of prison in Australia where he was convicted of armed robbery while under the influence of drugs.  The story begins with his successful escape from his homeland and his arrival, with the help of a fake passport, in Bombay India. He becomes involved with the Indian mafia, lives and works in a slum, falls in love, gains more money than he can spend, goes to war, and gains (and loses) many dynamic relationships along the way; All the while concealing his true identity and history to even his closest friends.

This book is long, yet I mourned when it ended. Roberts has, for me, the best writing style I’ve yet come across. He balances the razor’s edge between deliciously detailed scenes and exciting, well-paced action. The story never grows stale. It moves at a satisfying pace, driving the action forward, injected with beautiful reflection throughout.

I truly mourned when the story ended. I thought of the characters for days afterward, not yet ready for our goodbyes. To my delight, I discovered Shantaram is expecting siblings! A trilogy is planned, with Shantaram to be the middle book!

Roberts is writing the sequel now, and will write the prequel afterwards! To add to my delight, Roberts stated on his blog, “The movie version of Shantaram, purchased by Johnny Depp, Graham King and Warner Brothers, is still very much on track.”  YES!

I’ll leave you with a few of my favorite quotes from the book.

“I was a fugitive. I was a wanted man, a hunted man, with a price on my head. And I was still one step ahead of them. I was free. Every day, when you’re on the run, is the whole of your life. Every free minute is a short story with a happy ending.”

“My heart moved through deep and silent water. No-one, and nothing, could really hurt me. No-one, and nothing, could make me very happy. I was tough, which is probably the saddest thing you can say about a man.”

“The cloak of the past is cut from patches of feeling, and sewn with rubus threads. Most of the time, the best we can do is wrap it around ourselves for comfort or drag it behind us as we struggle to go on. But everything has its cause and its meaning. Every life, every love, every action and feeling and thought has its reason and significance: it’s beginning, and the part it plays in the end. Sometimes, we do see. Sometimes, we see the past so clearly, and read the legend of its parts with such acuity, that every stitch of time reveals its purpose, and a kind of message is enfolded in it. Nothing in any life, no matter how well of poorly lived, is wiser than failure or clearer than sorrow. And in the tiny, precious wisdom that they give to us, even those dread and hated enemies, suffering and failure, have their reason and their right to be.”

“We walked slowly. I looked up often at the sky, so heavy with stars that the black new of night was bulging, overflowing with its glittering haul.”

“After a time, I begun to see how deep the well of her loving was, and how much of her happiness and confidence depended on drawing that love into the light, and sharing it. And love was beautiful in her. It was a clear sky she gave us with those eyes, and a summer morning with her smile.”

“She would have done anything for him. Some women are like that. Some loves are like that. Most loves are like that, from what I can see. Your heart starts to feel like an overcrowded lifeboat. You through your pride out to keep it afloat, and your self-respect and your independence. After a while you start throwing people out – your friends, everyone you used to know. And it’s still not enough. The lifeboat is still sinking, and you know it’s going to take you down with it. I’ve seen it happen to a lot of girls here. I think that’s why I’m sick of love.”

“You can’t kill love. You can’t even kill it with hate. You can kill in-love, and loving, and loveliness. You can kill them all, or numb them into dense, leaden regret, but you can’t kill love itself. Love is the passionate search for truth other than your own; and once you feel it, honestly, and completely, love is forever.”

That line, “Love is the passionate search for truth other than your own”, is the most beautiful description of love I think I’ve ever heard.

Read this book.