This somehow became the author's most celebrated novel, though dozens of novels later were far, far better. It is one of the first Western novels to deal with The Matter of India, though; perhaps the first. And it retells a true tale, witnessed by the author. It was the author's first novel, and it was a huge success, thus giving birth to a career with many successes and a veritable fortune, created from a literary genius gone into overdrive. (Which is to say: he came to overproduce.) ( )

This was Crawford's first novel, and a big hit. It also received good reviews and, by the end of the century, was listed on a number of Best 100 Novels list . . . despite the fact that Crawford's skill as a novelist increased as he continued his career. For literary quality and sheer joy, I recommend quite a few other Crawford works over this one: A Tale of a Lonely Parish, Khaled, the Saracinesca trilogy, and even Marzio's Crucifix are obviously superior. But this book has some historical interest, being one of the first novels to take on India as a subject.

The works was turned into a film I believe more than once, but I've not seen the Hollywood version . . . and indeed almost dread any Hollywood treatment.

The novel was based on personal experience of the author while working as a journalist in India. His final scene seems risible, now; at the time it must have struck readers as quite profound and moving. Spirituality does not always keep its nobility as time wears on; our jaded civilization and my (perhaps corrupted) mind do not allow me to read the ending without a guffaw. Up to that point, however, the book was entertaining and informative. ( )