A story about a couple that moves from India to America and raises a family, this book made me think a lot about my own parents. My parents moved to this country in 1959 to escape communism in eastern Europe. Like the family in the book, my family surrounded themselves with other families who had also come to America from the old country, and these strangers became our adopted aunts and uncles and cousins. Big parties were a common part of my childhood, parties in which my parents and their adoped community could eat their food, listen to their music, speak in their native tongue, and dance in their way. My parents, my mother especially, was constantly homesick for her parents and siblings and this community made life bearable and enjoyable for them. Like Gogol in the story, I was American while my parents were not. I resented their foriegn ways, and they were alarmed at my different accent and behavior. This book hit really close to home for me, it's a lovely and sad story and a very good read.