WHAT MUST IT be like to be Arundhati Roy? People in power are accustomed to being loved and hated in equal measure. But what of authors? Aren’t they the ‘sensitive type’, rheumy-eyed, thin skinned and prone to bruising? Fifty-five-year-old Roy, it would seem, is quite unlike her tribe, and more similar, perhaps, to a rhinoceros beetle. In the last two decades, like the rhinoceros beetle (that is proportionally the strongest creature on Earth), she has never shied away from a fight, never scurried away from foes, and has only emerged the stronger for it. As a result, there are those who adore her and those who despise her, leaving few in between.
One can be sure that her second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness (Hamish Hamilton), which arrives after…