Genre Fiction
![SJ Sindu - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_sj_sindu.jpg)
Blue-Skinned Gods
From the award-winning author of Marriage of a Thousand Lies comes a brilliantly written, globe-spanning novel about identity, faith, family, and sexuality.
In Tamil Nadu, India, a boy is born with blue skin. His father sets up an ashram, and the family makes a living off of the pilgrims who seek the child's blessings and miracles, believing young Kalki to be the tenth human incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu. In Kalki's tenth year, he is confronted with three trials that will test his power and prove his divine status and, his father tells him, spread his fame worldwide. While he seems to pass them, Kalki begins to question his divinity.
Over the next decade, his family unravels, and every relationship he relied on-father, mother, aunt, uncle, cousin-starts falling apart. Traveling from India to the underground rock scene of New York City, Blue-Skinned Gods explores ethnic, gender, and sexual identities, and spans continents and faiths, in an expansive and heartfelt look at the need for belief in our globally interconnected world.
In Tamil Nadu, India, a boy is born with blue skin. His father sets up an ashram, and the family makes a living off of the pilgrims who seek the child's blessings and miracles, believing young Kalki to be the tenth human incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu. In Kalki's tenth year, he is confronted with three trials that will test his power and prove his divine status and, his father tells him, spread his fame worldwide. While he seems to pass them, Kalki begins to question his divinity.
Over the next decade, his family unravels, and every relationship he relied on-father, mother, aunt, uncle, cousin-starts falling apart. Traveling from India to the underground rock scene of New York City, Blue-Skinned Gods explores ethnic, gender, and sexual identities, and spans continents and faiths, in an expansive and heartfelt look at the need for belief in our globally interconnected world.
Editorial Reviews
A Winter 2023 Indie Next Reading Group Selection
A 2022 Great Group Reads Selection
Shortlisted for the 2022 Lammy Award in Bisexual Fiction
An Autostraddle Best Queer Book of the Year
An ABA Indie Next Pick for November 2021
An AudioFile Earphones Award Winner
Praise for Blue-Skinned Gods
"Kalki's life as a blue-skinned child deity at first seems rather romantic. Raised to believe he is the '10th incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu,' he heals the sick at his family's ashram in Tamil Nadu, India . . . It is impossible not to be hypnotized by the tenderness of these opening scenes. But relatively early in the novel Kalki, narrating in adulthood as a university lecturer in Toronto, breaks the illusion of his own divinity - and any illusion that his childhood had been blessed . . . In attending to the fine aftershocks of this loss and many others to come, Sindu masterfully renders how our environments bake into our skin."
-The New York Times
"Sindu's applied cultural knowledge and careful character-building makes each surprise believable without being predictable. Every oddity has an explanation, and societal issues left unaddressed in childhood come back around for an older, wiser Kalki to consider . . . On a linear timeline, Blue-Skinned Gods doesn't end at the end; the end is tucked somewhere near the beginning. Conflicts abound in the novel, but Sindu reveals which one held the most weight in the final sentence. Although the ending is climactic and jarring, it provides both resolve and clarity."
-Associated Press
"SJ Sindu has imagined a fascinating premise for her novel exploring identity, family, community and the tensions that arise among them . . . Here Sindu is at her inventive best, with wild juxtapositions of people and situations, from a post-punk band that takes in Kalki, to hipsters of various gender identities who try to seduce him, to new-age worshipers who refuse to believe he is not a healer, to gangsters who want to bring him back to the ashram. These witty episodes allow Kalki to try to define himself as well as to understand the world around him."
-The Star Tribune
"SJ Sindu has written another brilliant novel in...
A 2022 Great Group Reads Selection
Shortlisted for the 2022 Lammy Award in Bisexual Fiction
An Autostraddle Best Queer Book of the Year
An ABA Indie Next Pick for November 2021
An AudioFile Earphones Award Winner
Praise for Blue-Skinned Gods
"Kalki's life as a blue-skinned child deity at first seems rather romantic. Raised to believe he is the '10th incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu,' he heals the sick at his family's ashram in Tamil Nadu, India . . . It is impossible not to be hypnotized by the tenderness of these opening scenes. But relatively early in the novel Kalki, narrating in adulthood as a university lecturer in Toronto, breaks the illusion of his own divinity - and any illusion that his childhood had been blessed . . . In attending to the fine aftershocks of this loss and many others to come, Sindu masterfully renders how our environments bake into our skin."
-The New York Times
"Sindu's applied cultural knowledge and careful character-building makes each surprise believable without being predictable. Every oddity has an explanation, and societal issues left unaddressed in childhood come back around for an older, wiser Kalki to consider . . . On a linear timeline, Blue-Skinned Gods doesn't end at the end; the end is tucked somewhere near the beginning. Conflicts abound in the novel, but Sindu reveals which one held the most weight in the final sentence. Although the ending is climactic and jarring, it provides both resolve and clarity."
-Associated Press
"SJ Sindu has imagined a fascinating premise for her novel exploring identity, family, community and the tensions that arise among them . . . Here Sindu is at her inventive best, with wild juxtapositions of people and situations, from a post-punk band that takes in Kalki, to hipsters of various gender identities who try to seduce him, to new-age worshipers who refuse to believe he is not a healer, to gangsters who want to bring him back to the ashram. These witty episodes allow Kalki to try to define himself as well as to understand the world around him."
-The Star Tribune
"SJ Sindu has written another brilliant novel in...
Readers Top Reviews
QAmidala29
Loved the beautiful phrases and wording. Sindu is a master of her art; communicating various traditions, holidays and passions from various peoples. She understands humans and recognizes everyone has faults. One of the best books I’ve read in a long time (and I read constantly year round).
Nicole M. Means
“Blue Skinned Gods” is a brilliant debut. There were times I felt like I had been kicked in the gut due to the sinister cruelties that underlie so many of Kalki’s relationships. While Kalki just wanted “so badly to be the boy who would save the world,” his “loved” ones wanted him to be the boy who would bring home the bacon. As a child he was the breadwinner for his family, and when he finally reunites with his long-lost cousin, Lakshman, he is so excited to be with the one person who made him feel human, but Lakshman is blinded by the money that exposing Kalki could mean for him. Despite being raised as a ‘god,’ Kalki was the one who really needed saving from the calculating people in his life. The level of manipulation is so extreme that when Kalki finally declares, “Why do you all keep using me?’’ the tears poured out of me. I am fascinated by world religions and SJ Sindu expertly weaves the nuances of Hinduism into the plot of “Blue Skinned Gods,” but she doesn’t sugar coat a thing. In fact, she exposes the discriminatory caste system that “condemns an entire set of people because of their imaginary spot on the ladder.” Sindu provides a safe space for the reader to question religious tenets through the eyes of Kalki. When he reflects on his Brahmin privilege, he admits he never really thought of caste “as someone on top of the heap,” but when he leaves the confines of his cloistered world, he begins to realize so many stories about his religion, his life, and the world were withheld from him. SJ Sindu’s “Blue Skinned Gods” is heartbreaking and there are several times that my ugly tears flowed uncontrollably. For example, Kalki finally stands up to his father and shouts, “Why did you do this to me? Why did you turn my life into a lie?” The impact of this scene represents more than just his father’s cruelty but also the accumulation of his “loved” ones who also lied and manipulated him. There are so many themes explored in “Blue Skinned Gods,” but I became so consumed “in the story” that I did give myself the opportunity to really contemplate the other themes explored. Hopefully, rereading from a fresh perspective will enable me to delve even further into the power of this novel. . (One factor that prevented me from giving this book a 5 star rating is that the author seemed to lose steam at the end of the novel. Granted, I did read an Advanced Reader’s Copy so, hopefully, the necessary edits and tweaks were made to raise this story to its full potential). (P.S. Methemoglobinemia (blue skin) is a real condition. Sindu addresses this genetic anomaly in her novel, so I googled the Fugate family in Kentucky—the first documented cases in the 1960s. However, I googled it and the only example I can find is of a man who literally resembles Papa Smurf. I have a hunch he uses the same skin dying techniques that were used to ensure Kalki’s brigh...
Sandra Castro-Nguyen
This is so much more than a coming of age story. It is a raw commentary on religious beliefs and family loyalty and cultures. It is brilliant!
R.a.P. in Maryland
A wonderful book! From start to finish, it brings you right into the story. You're immediately drawn into watching the life of a boy unfurl into adulthood, where he learns things he wishes he could unlearn.
Rob S
I didn't know exactly what to expect from this story -- I came here having enjoyed SJ Sindu's first book, Marriage of a Thousand Lies. From the first page, I was floored by the prose in this book. If you want to experience a new world, the world of Kalki, who has to wrestle with growing up as a child god, starting at an ashram in India and ending at post-punk shows in New York, this book is for you. One of the most enjoyable parts of the book was when Kalki, who grows up in India, moves to New York City -- I felt like I was living the experience of finding New York anew. The experience of being both famous and alone in a huge city, of meeting people who all expect something from you. I also think that Kalki's narrative voice and his arc in the book gives incredible perception into the human experience, into what it's like to be manipulated, into what it's like to deprogram from the lies we're so often told growing up. What's amazing about Kalki's story, for me, is that it felt so incredibly unique as to be something I could never dream of experiencing (until I read the book), while at the same time I felt like his struggles were so incredibly and devastatingly human. And I'll end where I picked up: every sentence in this book drips with image and beauty, and I devoured it like a delicious plum. I highly recommend this to any reader.
Short Excerpt Teaser
1
The driver slammed the brakes, whipping my head forward and back. A chorus of honks crescendoed in the muggy New Delhi night.
A few cars ahead, in the middle of an intersection, an auto rickshaw lay on its side, its three wheels still spinning, the metal poles of its sides cracked in half. Tire tracks swirled into a small blue car with its front end smashed. Glass littered the road, glittering pinpricks of light.
People surged around us. My father, Ayya, opened the door of the taxi, and we pushed our way into the crowd.
Ayya weaved to the front. I walked in his wake.
An older woman was sprawled on the ground next to the auto, thrown out as it tipped over. The auto driver was on his back near her. His eyes stared right up at the sky. Red slashes glistened over their bodies.
People shouted in Hindi to call the police, call the ambulance. The woman was still breathing. Two men tried to lift her.
"Stop," Ayya said. He raised his voice and yelled, "Stop! You could make her injuries worse if you move her." He pushed his way into the clearing. I followed out of instinct, as if we had a string tied between us. "I'm a doctor," he said. "Let me look."
The men put her limbs back down. Ayya crouched over the woman. He opened her eyes and checked her pulse.
"She's losing a lot of blood," he said. "She needs help, or she won't last."
"Look," someone said. "Kalki Sami can heal her." A man pointed in my direction. I wondered if he'd been at my prayer meeting earlier, or if I'd healed him before.
A hundred eyes turned toward me.
"Yes, Kalki Sami," another man said. "You can heal her."
I walked toward the injured woman and knelt near Ayya. Up close, the overpowering smell of iron and urine. So much blood. Cavernous slashes in their bodies.
I put my shaking hands over the woman's head, where a pool of blood grew on the asphalt. I chanted over and over, my lips quivering with the words. Om Sri Ram Om Sri Ram Om Sri Ram. Some of the crowd prayed with me. I closed my eyes against the lights. I chanted and chanted. Om Sri Ram. Om Sri Ram.
2
Twelve years earlier, a girl named Roopa arrived at our ashram in Tamil Nadu, India, dying from a sickness only I could cure. This, my father told me, would be my first miracle.
It was the eve of my birthday, an important transition. I was the tenth human incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, and I was turning ten years old.
Like every Friday, the villagers filtered in with rice and lentils, fresh milk from their cows, spinach, moringa, and bitter gourd from their gardens. They put these gifts in front of me as I sat on the only pillow in the room and took their seats on the bedsheets we'd laid over the cement floor. My father, Ayya, sat to my left, and my cousin Lakshman to my right. We faced the open green door that led to the veranda.
The village kids played outside. As a birthday treat, Ayya had promised to let us play with them after the prayer session, if Lakshman and I were well-behaved and lucky. My mother had wanted to have an eggless cake made to celebrate with the villagers, but Ayya thought it too Western and decadent.
One of the village kids had brought a cricket bat for the first time, and he showed it to the others, beaming as they touched it, demonstrating how to hit the ball. I'd asked my parents for a cricket bat for my birthday. I imagined holding it, showing it off to the boys when they came for next week's prayer meeting.
Ayya nudged me with his elbow and I snapped back to attention, ashamed I'd let myself be distracted. Now was not the time for cricket fantasies. Now was the time to focus and prove myself in whatever test would be demanded of me that night.
Lakshman jiggled his legs up and down, watching the kids too. He was my first cousin, a year younger but almost as big and much braver. He had the round face and big eyes that painters always gave Hindu gods. All I had was blue skin.
The Sri Kalki Purana, the Hindu text that proph...
The driver slammed the brakes, whipping my head forward and back. A chorus of honks crescendoed in the muggy New Delhi night.
A few cars ahead, in the middle of an intersection, an auto rickshaw lay on its side, its three wheels still spinning, the metal poles of its sides cracked in half. Tire tracks swirled into a small blue car with its front end smashed. Glass littered the road, glittering pinpricks of light.
People surged around us. My father, Ayya, opened the door of the taxi, and we pushed our way into the crowd.
Ayya weaved to the front. I walked in his wake.
An older woman was sprawled on the ground next to the auto, thrown out as it tipped over. The auto driver was on his back near her. His eyes stared right up at the sky. Red slashes glistened over their bodies.
People shouted in Hindi to call the police, call the ambulance. The woman was still breathing. Two men tried to lift her.
"Stop," Ayya said. He raised his voice and yelled, "Stop! You could make her injuries worse if you move her." He pushed his way into the clearing. I followed out of instinct, as if we had a string tied between us. "I'm a doctor," he said. "Let me look."
The men put her limbs back down. Ayya crouched over the woman. He opened her eyes and checked her pulse.
"She's losing a lot of blood," he said. "She needs help, or she won't last."
"Look," someone said. "Kalki Sami can heal her." A man pointed in my direction. I wondered if he'd been at my prayer meeting earlier, or if I'd healed him before.
A hundred eyes turned toward me.
"Yes, Kalki Sami," another man said. "You can heal her."
I walked toward the injured woman and knelt near Ayya. Up close, the overpowering smell of iron and urine. So much blood. Cavernous slashes in their bodies.
I put my shaking hands over the woman's head, where a pool of blood grew on the asphalt. I chanted over and over, my lips quivering with the words. Om Sri Ram Om Sri Ram Om Sri Ram. Some of the crowd prayed with me. I closed my eyes against the lights. I chanted and chanted. Om Sri Ram. Om Sri Ram.
2
Twelve years earlier, a girl named Roopa arrived at our ashram in Tamil Nadu, India, dying from a sickness only I could cure. This, my father told me, would be my first miracle.
It was the eve of my birthday, an important transition. I was the tenth human incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, and I was turning ten years old.
Like every Friday, the villagers filtered in with rice and lentils, fresh milk from their cows, spinach, moringa, and bitter gourd from their gardens. They put these gifts in front of me as I sat on the only pillow in the room and took their seats on the bedsheets we'd laid over the cement floor. My father, Ayya, sat to my left, and my cousin Lakshman to my right. We faced the open green door that led to the veranda.
The village kids played outside. As a birthday treat, Ayya had promised to let us play with them after the prayer session, if Lakshman and I were well-behaved and lucky. My mother had wanted to have an eggless cake made to celebrate with the villagers, but Ayya thought it too Western and decadent.
One of the village kids had brought a cricket bat for the first time, and he showed it to the others, beaming as they touched it, demonstrating how to hit the ball. I'd asked my parents for a cricket bat for my birthday. I imagined holding it, showing it off to the boys when they came for next week's prayer meeting.
Ayya nudged me with his elbow and I snapped back to attention, ashamed I'd let myself be distracted. Now was not the time for cricket fantasies. Now was the time to focus and prove myself in whatever test would be demanded of me that night.
Lakshman jiggled his legs up and down, watching the kids too. He was my first cousin, a year younger but almost as big and much braver. He had the round face and big eyes that painters always gave Hindu gods. All I had was blue skin.
The Sri Kalki Purana, the Hindu text that proph...
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