I have just now finished the last word of the english translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s magnificent novel Gora. It is a masterpiece in more than one sense and thoroughly indian in many another. It is not open and undogmatic like Dostoyevsky, nor is it pure psychological elegance like Proust and it certainly does not attempt to re-write and subvert all of western litterature like Joyce. It is rather a work of power, truth and spirit. If only i could have read it in Bengali! If only i had the real thing between my hands and at my fingertips, how much greater it would have yet been! But i must be content with its adulterated substance and only dream of the perfection of its true form. I will write further about the realtion of the individual to society, about the rôle of religion and about india; but for the time being i must digest what i have tasted and carefully study deserving.

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