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Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of Normal Families by Arunima G.

  • Writer: Sameer Gudhate
    Sameer Gudhate
  • 3 days ago
  • 4 min read

Have you ever looked around at your neighbours, colleagues, even the seemingly exhausted parents at a school drop-off and wondered, “What if they’re not who they appear to be?” That was the bizarre but thrilling question swirling in my head while reading Normal Families by Arunima G.


This isn’t just another action-packed thriller. It’s a bold debut that sinks its teeth into your imagination and doesn’t let go. Arunima brings a fresh voice to the genre, one that isn't afraid to explore the psychological toll behind espionage and sacrifice. For a debut, she writes with the confidence of a seasoned storyteller, threading a complex plot with deeply emotional undercurrents.


At its core, Normal Families is a story about the masks we wear—but here, the masks are literal, and deadly. The book unravels the lives of trained assassins embedded into ordinary society: schoolkids, doctors, even the family next door. Behind this chaos is SEVA, a covert, government-backed organization that’s more haunting than heroic.


As a rogue element within SEVA launches Mission Bela—a terrifying sequence of state-shaking terror attacks—the lines between good and evil, personal and political, begin to blur. With characters pulled from the fringes of society—orphans, outcasts, prodigies—the story questions whether any cause is worth the cost of your humanity.


Arunima’s writing is poetic without being flowery. She balances sharp dialogue and lyrical introspection, and that contrast works so well for a novel that straddles violence and vulnerability. Her descriptions often feel cinematic—you can almost see the smoke-filled safehouses and hear the silence before a kill.


She has a way of pacing her words so the unease seeps in slowly—much like how real fear works. It’s not jump scares; it’s psychological dread.


Now this is where Normal Families really shines. We’re introduced to a chillingly memorable ensemble: a 13-year-old assassin who still hums lullabies, a doctor with a past wiped clean, a brilliant but emotionally-starved teen from the slums.


These aren’t just “cool spy characters.” They’re broken, layered, and oddly relatable. Their pain feels familiar—abandonment, longing for approval, the desire to belong. Arunima uses them to pose an uncomfortable question: Can people be good if they’re doing terrible things for the right reasons?


The story doesn’t rush, and that’s a good thing. It builds up like a smoldering fire before bursting into flames. Each chapter is like a mini puzzle piece, and by the time you reach the climax, you feel like you’ve assembled something much bigger than just a spy thriller.


There are sharp twists, betrayals that make your heart sink, and long silences where you're forced to just sit with the weight of it all. I appreciated that. Not everything needs to explode—sometimes the quiet moments are louder.


The biggest theme here? The cost of loyalty. What do you give up when you dedicate your life to a cause? Is it your name? Your love? Your soul?


The book is peppered with moral grey zones. SEVA doesn’t look like the usual “bad guys” or “good guys”—they’re complicated, like all real-world power structures. And through it all, Arunima keeps asking: What does “normal” even mean?


There were moments that made me genuinely pause—especially scenes involving the young assassin. Her inner thoughts, caught between childhood and cold-blooded orders, were deeply unsettling. I found myself grieving not for her death (she survives), but for the innocence she never got to live.


This isn’t just a “cool thriller.” It’s emotionally exhausting in the best way.


One of the biggest strengths of Normal Families lies in its immersive world-building—SEVA, the covert organization at the heart of the novel, feels frighteningly real, like it could exist just beneath the surface of our everyday lives. The characters, too, are beautifully complex; no one fits neatly into the categories of hero or villain, and that moral ambiguity adds a refreshing depth to the story. Arunima masterfully maintains psychological tension throughout, never relying on tired tropes or overused twists. Instead, she roots the suspense in internal conflict, emotional stakes, and the chilling plausibility of it all. Most impressively, the novel boldly challenges our assumptions about patriotism, duty, and redemption, pushing readers to ask: How much is too much to sacrifice for the so-called greater good?


If I had to nitpick the narration can feel a little slow at times. Some chapters linger too long, which might test the patience of readers who love a breakneck pace. The cover design, while mysterious, could’ve packed a bit more visual punch. With a story this powerful, the visuals should scream just as loud.


I didn’t expect to feel this much from a spy novel. But here I was, flipping pages at 2 AM, haunted by the thought of a child trained to kill and a mother forced to abandon her kid for “national duty.”


It made me think about how often we glorify sacrifice without questioning who’s actually making it. This book left a mark—and not just on my Kindle.



Normal Families is not your typical thriller. It’s gritty, intelligent, and disturbingly human. If you’re a fan of morally complex stories like Killing Eve or The Night Manager, this is right up your alley.


Arunima G. has given us a debut that refuses to be forgotten. I can’t wait to see what she writes next.




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