Friday, 30 May 2014 10:40 pm
Book Review: The Satanic Verses
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deckardcanineMan, it took me more than two months to finish this. Even at 561 pages, that's pretty bad for me. I blame it partly on inconsistent interest and partly on difficult reading. Those who have known Salman Rushdie only from children's books should prepare for a severe departure: Not only does it include sex and swearing, but I haven't had this much trouble following along since 11th grade, when I had to read William Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom!. The poetic flair (read: unorthodox grammar and coinages) in almost every paragraph may help keep it interesting, but it also slowed me down and quickly lost any humorous appeal. I soon stopped bothering to look up words from Indian languages.
I suspect that TSV was really a novel of its place and time. Sure, most of its cultural references are still internationally well-known today, but the big events described within sound like they could have been inspired by a series of otherwise unrelated contemporary headlines. At least you might say that the opening event, an airliner destruction by terrorists, feels no less timely 13 years after 9/11 than 13 years before.
Unfortunately, the explosion is quickly followed by the background histories of its two peculiar survivors, actors Gibreel Farishta and Saladin Chamcha, the most obvious difference being that Gibreel has embraced his heritage while Saladin has rebelled and done his best to be utterly British. The story is never all that exciting for long, despite several seemingly fantastic events that may or may not have been hallucinated (kinda like how The Wizard of Oz could be a dream or not) -- perhaps some of each. I never did think much of the pretentiously named "magical realism"; I'd rather have full-blown fantasy or none at all.
Taken at face value, Gibreel becomes his namesake, the archangel whom we call Gabriel. It does not grant him the goodness of an angel, but he comes to decide it's best not to resist the perceived implications of his transmutation. His involuntary narration of the titular satanic verses to the prophet of Islam is indeed more insulting than some of the things we've known to incite violence -- provided, again, that it wasn't just a hallucination. If only Rushdie had made that possibility evident up front instead of more than halfway thru the book.
Poor Saladin has it no easier as he takes on a goatish demonic form. Few moments in his entire story come anywhere close to happy, and he finds himself tempted to live up to his appearance, especially in opposition to Gibreel, who hasn't done anything to merit that much animosity. Ironically, he seems a better, less harmful figure than Gibreel overall.
In truth, my difficulty in comprehension had less to do with what happened than why. I think that's why I decided to slog to the finish: I kept getting curious where Rushdie was going with such a strange mix of arcs and events. Even now, it's not spite of spoilers that keeps my summary short so much as uncertainty of which developments really matter. It'll be quite a while before I feel like giving the author another try on an adult novel.
Next up is a birthday present from last week, Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold, my introduction to the Vorkosigan series. I figure that a shortish sci-fi not known for controversy promises a breath of fresh air.
I suspect that TSV was really a novel of its place and time. Sure, most of its cultural references are still internationally well-known today, but the big events described within sound like they could have been inspired by a series of otherwise unrelated contemporary headlines. At least you might say that the opening event, an airliner destruction by terrorists, feels no less timely 13 years after 9/11 than 13 years before.
Unfortunately, the explosion is quickly followed by the background histories of its two peculiar survivors, actors Gibreel Farishta and Saladin Chamcha, the most obvious difference being that Gibreel has embraced his heritage while Saladin has rebelled and done his best to be utterly British. The story is never all that exciting for long, despite several seemingly fantastic events that may or may not have been hallucinated (kinda like how The Wizard of Oz could be a dream or not) -- perhaps some of each. I never did think much of the pretentiously named "magical realism"; I'd rather have full-blown fantasy or none at all.
Taken at face value, Gibreel becomes his namesake, the archangel whom we call Gabriel. It does not grant him the goodness of an angel, but he comes to decide it's best not to resist the perceived implications of his transmutation. His involuntary narration of the titular satanic verses to the prophet of Islam is indeed more insulting than some of the things we've known to incite violence -- provided, again, that it wasn't just a hallucination. If only Rushdie had made that possibility evident up front instead of more than halfway thru the book.
Poor Saladin has it no easier as he takes on a goatish demonic form. Few moments in his entire story come anywhere close to happy, and he finds himself tempted to live up to his appearance, especially in opposition to Gibreel, who hasn't done anything to merit that much animosity. Ironically, he seems a better, less harmful figure than Gibreel overall.
In truth, my difficulty in comprehension had less to do with what happened than why. I think that's why I decided to slog to the finish: I kept getting curious where Rushdie was going with such a strange mix of arcs and events. Even now, it's not spite of spoilers that keeps my summary short so much as uncertainty of which developments really matter. It'll be quite a while before I feel like giving the author another try on an adult novel.
Next up is a birthday present from last week, Barrayar by Lois McMaster Bujold, my introduction to the Vorkosigan series. I figure that a shortish sci-fi not known for controversy promises a breath of fresh air.