This is one of those books where I enjoyed the writing far more than I enjoyed the story. There were passages that were so well written, so lovely, and so astute. At the same time I found myself feeling like this book would have been called Much Ado About Nothing if the title hadn't been already taken. This book would have been revolutionary when Forester wrote it, but now it mostly paints an unappealing portrait of the sensibilities of the times. Most of the characters are completely unlikeable in large part because of their deep racism, (both the English and Indians alike) which is pretty much the point of the book. The misunderstandings of culture and communication are the basis for most of the conflict. All in all this book reaffirmed two things for me: I quite enjoy Forster's writing, but I also dislike British colonial fiction.