Simmons takes the standard literary model and subverts it into a narrative that works precisely because we can see a highly cultured but often weak and often dim 'one-of-us' be out-manouevred and out-classed by a cunning underclass of consummate brutality. It is a novel about crime and criminality as much as it a novel of horror - and the horror is visceral because it is real, the filth, the mortuary, the decay of the human body, the disease, the fear of the dark, of monsters ... and the last chapters will shred you if you know anything of love. There is even a skilled irony as the 'hero' notes the difference between his position and would happen in a movie about his position.

Not to say that this was a bad read. Simmons descriptions of Calcutta were believable and startling and all too easy to picture considering their nature. It's almost as though Simmons wrote about the city so well that the rest of the story paled in comparision. So maybe I am being unfair, judging one part of the book against the other and penalizing Simmons when not warranted. His hero, Bobby Luczak, is a coward who behaves stupidly and illogically; he's an effete literary type who one would think would treat his mathematician wife with some respect, but who repeatedly hides things from her and deserts her without reason. He claims to have a terrible temper, yet he's impotent in a crisis.La novela narra la historia de Robert qué es contratado para ir a la ciudad de Calcuta en busca de un famoso poeta indio, viaje que realiza junto a su esposa y recién nacida hija, y en el que también descubrirá una serie de macabros sucesos en torno al culto a la diosa kali que cambiarán su vida y la de su familia para siempre. It's not "scary" as in "boo" but it is horrific in it's stark depiction of the horror lurking in the human soul. Oh, it also grated on me that all the chapters have an epigram taken from an Indian writer except the one chapter that lets in a note of hope and therefore has to return to the light of western civilization with a quote from W.B. Yeats.

I found the claustrophobic, filthy and sinister atmosphere of Calcutta, well described. I could almost smell the city while reading. I felt the city’s humidity and the frenzy of all the unfortunate and fortunate people living there. We're going," I said. "The reservations have been made. We've had our shots. The only question now is whether you want to see Das's stuff if it is Das and if I can secure publication rights. What do you say, Abe?" All through the first half or thereabouts, I gritted my teeth and cursed. I didn't think I would enjoy the rest of the journey. Had I given up partway through, I would have come to goodreads years later (I read this book in 2007 or so) and probably given it two stars.According to the Indian dialect you do not call a person Jayaprakesh. You call him Jayaprakash or Jayaprakas but not Jayaprakesh ! Simmons is an author among authors, and if you have never read him this is a good place to start. Song of Kali may not dazzle, but it will pique your interest and get you ready for his more daunting books (of which there are many). The book could not be written now. The South Asia of that period of hopelessness has been replaced by a vibrant, expansive India (though let us see what the recession brings) and the despair has shifted to a declining West. The book is filled with a vision of the teeming filthy hordes of Calcutta that would be regarded as insulting, almost racist today. In that sense, this book is oddly much closer to the imperial adventure tales of the thuggees of the Raj than it is to our 'modern' world only 25 years on. Song of Kali" was a very interesting book. Set in the late 1970s Calcutta, it is a horror story centered around the Hindu goddess Kali.

Abe was in his cluttered office, alone, working on the autumn issue of Voices. The windows were open, but the air in the room was as stale and moist as the dead cigar that Abe was chewing on. "Don't go to Calcutta, Bobby," Abe said again. "Let someone else do it." Dan's first published story appeared on Feb. 15, 1982, the day his daughter, Jane Kathryn, was born. He's always attributed that coincidence to "helping in keeping things in perspective when it comes to the relative importance of writing and life." What makes this an interesting story is that, even after reading it, I am not sure if the events were supernatural or a culmination of events that made it seem so. The rather nebulous ending didn't really do it for me.We're, my expectations high going in? After bloody winning such a prestigious award with your debut book? Just who do you think you are Mr Simmons, that's outrageous. The answer was yes! Sometimes there is only pain. And acquiescence to pain. And, perhaps, defiance at the world which demands such pain." Very little actually happens in this story, though it is filled from end to end with repeated descriptions of the rampant squalor of Calcutta. Bobby decides this is because the people are evil. Makes it easier, I suppose, for him to feel nothing for them. He dreams of it disappearing in nuclear fire. For him, it's a pleasant dream.

No obstante, en el tercer acto todo decae. A través de la lectura el autor parecía llevarnos hacia un desenlace de tintes sobrenaturales (lovecraftianos) a lo grande, para finalmente entregarnos algo totalmente opuesto a ello, algo que no resultaría tan malo si es que el libro hubiera terminado en ese punto, nonobstante, Simmons se alarga, entregandonos un montón de capítulos reflexivos y autocompasivos del protagonista culpandose por lo sucedido. Abe had a point. Not many people had heard of Robert C. Luczak in 1977, despite the fact that Winter Spirits had received half a column of review in the Times. Still, I hoped that what people—especially the few hundred people who counted— had heard was promising. " Harper's thought of me because of that piece I did in Voices last year," I said. "You know, the one on Bengali poetry. You said I spent too much time on Rabindranath Tagore."Kolkata is a city of contradictions. One side of the road would show magnificent high rises while the other has shanties and hastily put together human habitations. You travel through roads where garbage is piled high and refuse floats through large bodies of water. Turn a bend in the road and you see a tree lined pavement, well cared for houses and apartments and the road will lead you to some of the swankiest shopping malls in town. There is a mix of the old and the new, the beautiful and the repulsive & the eye catching and the forgettable. Kolkata in short thus is a replica of any other large city in the world. Dan Simmons though paints a grim portrait of this town and calls it in so many words a nest of many evils.