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brotherhood

When Priya, a young woman with a promising future, is found dead in front of her dormitory building at NYU, everyone assumes it was suicide. But there are a few that fear differently. Niral Solanke, one of Priya’s childhood friends, is a down-on-his-luck type, just drifting through life after living a life filled with decadent appetites and really crummy choices (oh I ‘m sure some of us can identify … well .. minus that whole bit about sex parties and other such naughtiness … didn’t have too many “artistic friends”). His limited experience with the law leads to him being recruited the Brotherhood, a Hindu religious organization, to investigate the Priya’s death. Along the way he finds himself being drawn back to his Hindu roots, and not so-convenient crossings with an ex-flame (Lauren) turned artist/turned stripper/turned prostitute/turned artist (hmm, sounds like your average pop singer … yes, I did go there) and a quick talking, sleazoid named Vishal. Vishal is quite the wank. He’s seemingly made some good dosh and is living the good life (or so it seems)… and on occasion tends throw it in Niral’s face. Oh, did I mention that these two blokes were childhood friends also? But everything and everyone and anything aren’t what they seem, and even as you adjust your logic to keep up Brotherhood keeps you guessing all the way … to the nerve-wracking conclusion. A conclusion that is so abrupt that I found myself shaking my fist to the sky and demanding “why does cruel fate mocketh me?” as the author teased us with a glimpse of the second part of this trilogy. Yes, it is trilogy. The best way to describe Brotherhood is simply this: a Mickey Spillane novel with a Bombay (or is it Mumbai … bloody hell) flavour … set in New York City. Betrayal, religious hypocrisy, greed, and sexual nastiness … it is nice warm cuddly pulp fiction with a nice global marinade. The book contains a lot exotic jargon that is dispersed throughout the writing but is easily appreciated thanks to the glossary that is, thoughtfully, provided by the author. And yes, there is more to the Indian culture than “namaste”, curry and yoga. Feel free to indulge. It is also one of the few self-published books that I’ve read out there and I just happen to know the author. Great chap. Does a mean Garth Brooks and Tupac at karaoke (yes, I’m probably breaking our Karaoke Krew rule: whatever happens at karaoke STAYS at karaoke). Um … sorry, mates.

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