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Good art gives us a sense of transcendence, an experience more than the sum of its parts. We become not just readers but initiates, like those participants in the ancient mystery religions that may well have given rise to the very first novels 2000 years ago.

Such was my initial reaction to the work of Anjana Basu, and remains so today. Her work has all the elements of the great nineteenth-century novels - engaging characters, irresistible plots - while at the same time demanding of the reader an appreciation that rises well above the level of today's contemporary fiction. To put it another way, she writes for adults in a world where the common denominator, even for those interested in "literary" books, makes more of a demand on academic theory than it does on mature literary appreciation. Ms. Basu's work appeals to a readership of initiates not theologians.

Someone wrote that a novel is the journey of a soul. It's more than that, of course - or less. It's also entertainment, perhaps primarily so. But real literature is marked for us by the sense that we are not the same person after we have experienced it as we were when we began the first page. By this standard, Anjana Basu's work qualifies as literature that not only deserves to be published and read but to be handed down to future generations.