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Silver Spring’s Manil Suri built his literary career on a trilogy of novels about modern India. They’re thematically united, but tonally distinct: His 2001 debut, The Death of Vishnu, is interior and somber; 2008’s The Age of Shiva is an epic about life after partition that’s fueled by eroticism. And this year’s The City of Devi is a deliberately rambunctious, almost goofball book, following one woman’s effort to locate her missing husband amid an approaching apocalypse. False idols, Bollywood soundtracks, and hot gay sex abound. Authors who’ve launched their careers in the New Yorker rarely allow themselves this much fun.