In the acknowledgments at the end of the book, Ms. Sreenivasan writes that And Laughter Fell from the Sky was inspired by The House of Mirth. While I didn't clue into that while I was reading the book, I can see what she meant now that I know. One of the reasons I love The House of Mirth is because it's about a time when society had very clear rules and expectations. And Laughter Fell from the Sky is set in present day but the parents in the Indian community in America also have clear rules and expectations for their children.

Rasika thinks she wants an arranged marriage but always seems to do something to mess it up before it can happen. Her motivation for wanting an arranged marriage was unclear to me. I think part of her wanted it to please her parents but I think also she thought it would be an easy way to ensure that she had a good-looking husband who makes a lot of money. She is more concerned with appearances than with substance.

It was hard for me to understand why Abhay was attracted to Rasika when she is pretty shallow and materialistic and he is almost the complete opposite. I think it was probably due to the fact that he thought he could save her from herself. I didn't care for Rasika very much but I did like Abhay so I wanted him to be happy. There are also some fun (and not so fun) secondary characters. Abhay's mother gets roped into a network marketing company that sounds suspiciously like Discovery Toys. That subplot was humorous.

Sometimes books about different cultures will either have explanations about the culture that sound text-book like and take the reader out of the story or no explanation at all, leaving the reader to wonder why characters are behaving in certain ways. The author of this book did a good job of weaving in explanations of the rules of Indian society into the story in a natural way that made them a part of the narrative.

And Laughter Fell From the Sky is a great modern day version of a Victorian romance novel. I'm looking forward to seeing what Ms. Sreenivasan comes out with next. ( )

Abhay sits on the grass in front of a bar, on the opening page of And Laughter Fell From the Sky.

The five-lane highway across from Kent State University is as hectic as the afternoon rush in Grand Central Station was, one hundred years ago, in Edith Wharton's A House of Mirth.

Selden is back from the country and is "refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart" there.

Abhay, too, has returned from a disappointing experiment in rural commune life in Ohio, when the "breathtakingly beautiful" Rasika crosses the street to talk to him.

There was "nothing remarkable about the way she walked" and "nothing new" about her but she was "radiant", "brilliant".

Edith Wharton's novel? Or Jyotsna Sreenivasan's debut? (Two from each, actually.)

It's easy to blur the lines, because Srennivasan's first novel was inspired by Edith Wharton's 1905 classic.

Could you say it's a trend? Perhaps Wharton has consistently inspired other writers throughout the years, but And Laughter Fell From the Sky is not the only current Wharton retelling.

Last year, Lev Raphael took The House of Mirth and revisioned it from the perspective of Jewish financier Simon Rosedale, in Rosedale in Love.

Claire McMillan's debut was also published last month, transforming Lily Bart into Ellie Hart, and doing away with those hundred years, in Gilded Age.

(What are the odds, that McMillan's novel is also set in Ohio, in Cleveland?)

And Francesca Segal takes The Age of Innocence and transplants it into a Jewish neighbourhood in London.

(If you love making reading lists, as I do, you'll have the makings of a good one here, along with Wharton's original texts.)

Jyotsna Sreenivasan's first novel transforms Lily and Selden into two young Indian-Americans: Rasika and Abhay.

One might expect that the contrast between life in the Gilded Age in early twentieth-century New York City and a contemporary Indian-American family in Ohio would be substantial.

But, in fact, the focus on marriage for the Lily Barts of the world is not that different from the experience that Rasika has, on her search for a suitable mate in the context of an arranged marriage.

"You cannot want to marry Abhay. And not just because of his caste, I can be open-minded if the boy is really special, but what has he done with himself? He has thrown away every opportunity."

Rasika's mother announces this early, when she has no real reason to think that Raskia would seriously entertain such a possibility. And, certainly, the dutiful daughter replies "I'm not interested in him, Amma".

But, in fact, there is more interest there than even she suspects herself. Though not the kind of interest that results in a page-turning read (this is a quiet novel, which concentrates on the inner workings of hearts and minds).

Rasika is focussed on action; she has established herself in a dependable and lucrative banking career and is now equally determined to succeed with an arranged marriage, following the traditional beliefs of her parents and family and horoscope.

She is optimistic that a perfect match will be found -- someone who shares her admiration for the finer things in life and a love of beauty, from physical features to fabrics to home decor -- and her parents are thrilled by their daughter's willingness to pursue a union of their choosing.

Abhay has been disappointed by the actions he has taken and is hesitant to pursue goals that he doesn't personally believe will yield any greater satisfaction. In turn, he has disappointed his parents, who wish he would study medicine, which his grades would have allowed, and settle into the kind of life they have imagined for him.

He is puzzled by Rasika's willingness to adopt such a traditional view of marriage and openly challenges her intentions and contradictions.

The third-person narrative alternates between the perspectives of each young person, their differences as compelling as their similarities.

For the most part, this works well, and keeps the pacing of the story steady, although occasionally an observation that might better suit one character appears in the other character's segment.

(For instance, Abhay observes Rasika tilting "her lips inward, as if to check the status of her lipstick", but it's hard to believe that Abhay, with only a younger sister and very limited relationship experience, would have recognized this detail in Restika's repertoire of perfection.)

Sometimes, there is the sense that something has been overexplained. Rasika hesitates to tell Abhay that she wants to impress people with her taste, beauty and elegance, because saying it out loud "would make it sound too crass". And, when it's stated that a character is speaking mostly in Tamil with the occasional English word, one might not require the explanation that "this was the way they spoke", and could simply accept the observation that a particular word (e.g. old-fashioned, top management) was spoken in English, as a way of emphasizing the qualities and situations that are not readily translatable.

However, this additional commentary might be appreciated by readers who are not familiar with the works of writers like Anita Rau Badami, Jhumpa Lahiri, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Tishani Doshi, Farzana Doctor and Bharati Mukherjee.

The sort of reader who wants to be friends with the characters in a book? Not likely to find a cozy spot in Jyotsna Sreenivasan's debut.

But the kind of reader who admires parallel imaginings? Who finds relationships of all sorts fascinating? Who has admired Edith Wharton's works despite (or because of) the fact that her heroines are irritating and lifelike?

That reader will quite likely find a solid match to be made with And Laughter Fell From the Sky.

(This response was originally posted here, on Buried In Print.) ( )

Jyotsna Sreenivasan's And Laughter Fell From The Sky, a modern story paying homage to Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, was a worthwhile read -- one that started slow but gradually picked up pace until I was hanging on by fraying fingernails.

Rasika is Sreenivasan's stand-out character: a woman torn between two very different worlds. There's her traditional side, her very Indian side -- the one in which she does as her parents ask. Obsessed with the fineries of life, Rasika knows her good job and social standing are crucial to maintaining her image. But spin around and see the rebellious, hiding-a-smirk-behind-her-hand Rasika: the one that understands her family's viewpoints but doesn't agree. That side that sneaks around behind their backs, shimmying out of her skirt when they're not looking. The Rasika that wants to do only as she wishes.

I could relate to that, honestly. Not in a tawdry way -- just in the way that we all wear different hats, so to speak, and represent different things to different people. While outsiders might views arranged marriages with a skeptical eye, Rasika is very respectful of her parents' wishes -- and knows this arrangement would make them happy. Though Abhay is a charming guy, a nice kid, it can't go anywhere. Besides, they're not equals . . . not even in America. The die has been cast.

Or has is it?

So much of And Laughter Fell From The Sky centers on tension. Sexual, romantic, familial, job-related . . . obligation and love and obsession are all cast into one flavorful stew, and Sreenivasan's thought-provoking novel is the main dish. Beyond the "getting to know you" exposition in the beginning, the novel's pace is brisk and reflective. I felt the plot could veer in any number of different directions, which kept the experience fresh for me. And I really felt I'd climbed inside the heads of Rasika and Abhay, muttering under my breath when they were acting stupid.

Because they just did sometimes. Act stupid, that is. I was often frustrated by the pair and wondered why they couldn't just work things out, though Sreenivasan did an admirable job of explaining cultural conventions and the perspectives influencing their decisions. So even though I wanted them to just fix things, I understood why it was far more complicated than that. And I liked that there were no easy answers.

Fans of contemporary fiction, second-generation stories and glimpses of modern families will find plenty to ponder in And Laughter Fell From The Sky. Though the story occasionally raised my blood pressure, I found it realistic -- and you know, I just really liked it. It worked for me. ( )

This is a novel of two Indian families who immigrate to American. The families follow the same traditions of their heritage and culture. The story focuses on the relationship of an American-born adult child from each family.

Rasika is beautiful, smart, and the pride of her parents. Abhay is also intelligent, but rebellious to not only his parents, but society in general. He feels no responsibility or ties with his parent’s traditions.

Rasika agrees to an arranged marriage but then meets Abhay. This changes everything for Rasika, as they begin a secret love affair. As their relationship grows, so does Rasika’s self-esteem and confidence.

This is a book that offers a clear glimpse into a closed culture, arranged marriages and forbidden love. It is also about two people who meet in the real world and connect in a genuine way. In spite of the odds against them, fair or not, they try to make it work.

This makes for an interesting read, from someone with knowledge of this heritage and its customs. ( )