Midnight's Children: A Novel
by Salman Rushdie
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Book Reviews of Midnight's Children: A Novel
Book Review: Magic Realism in Salman Rushdie's Midnight Children
Summary: 4 Stars
In 1981, Salman Rushdie published Midnight Children, a novel that one can say belongs to the genre of magic realism. Though the genre has been totally dominated by Latin American writers --Garcia Marquez, Juan Rulfo, Isabel Allende, and Laura Esquivel-- the Indian author Rushdie holds his own.
Not only does he use magic realism --the fantastic, the magical, the strange-- as a useful technical tool, but he transcends it to portray the almost unreal and surreal dimensions of the Indian subcontinent. And much like the Latin American writers, he brings a magic and refreshing view of the effects of colonialism.
Though far from being a work immersed in social realism alone, Midnight Children, contains a great deal of parody and satire of India--but all done with artistry. Given to paradox and the absurd, it is hard at times to tell the serious from the comic. All in all we can say that humor prevails. And when we are in doubt we accept that the author means well and we read his humorous antics with goodwill--much as we do with Lawrence Sterne's Tristram Shandy.
For those who are language-oriented, the novel owns a treasure of hyperbole, similes, and metaphors: as when he refers to "pickles of history." Pickles, for those who like them and eat them, leave a sour taste in your mouth, just like some episodes of Indian history.
To present his own interpretation of reality, Rushdie tells us that "Sometimes legends make reality, and become more useful than the facts." And he goes on the insert a series of tales and legends within the novel. Saleem, the busy and tireless narrator, is an almost incredible character. No sooner has he told us a few verities than he quickly jabs at us with exaggerations; no sooner he treats a fact than he contradicts it; no sooner he falls asleep than we see him acting in real life; no sooner he awakes than we know he's dreaming. And if that wasn't enough, the witch Parvati changes Saleem into an invisible being for some time. Ah! What a fine writer can do with language!
When Saleem says:
"Midnight has many children; the offspring of Independence were not all human. Violence, corruption, poverty, generals, chaos, greed, and pepperpots.... I had to go into exile to learn that the children of midnight were more varied than I--even I--had dreamed." (333)
Three points catch my attention: the enumeration of abstractions is capped with one concrete noun--pepperpots. On the surface this is an innocuous juxtaposition, but on deeper scrutiny we can see that Saleem is appealing to our sense of taste and smell, for pepper can be pungent and explosive. Just as we chuckle at "pickles of history," we smile at Saleem's magical nose (or perhaps divine as in the elephant-headed god Ganesh): "Using my nose (because although it has lost the powers which enabled it, so recently, to make history), it has acquired other compensatory gifts...." Next, we can only imagine how psychotic the other children could be to outdo Saleem. And next, we are confronted with the problem of chaos.
As readers, we are forced to keep track of time; a task that is easier said than done. Time in the novel is circular, fragmented, mythical, and cyclical--never linear. I cannot help thinking that all this is deliberate to simulate the chaotic societies that form the Indian nation.
Much of what was prophesied of Saleem --a symbol for India-- has come to pass:
"Newspapers shall praise him, two mothers shall raise him.! Bicyclists love him, but crowds will shove him! Washing will hide him- voices will guide him! Friends mutilate him- blood will betray him! Spitoons will brain him- doctors will drain him- jungle will claim him - wizards reclaim him! Soldiers will try him- tyrants will fry him. He will have sons without having sons. He will be old before he is old... And he will die....before he is dead."
With one exception: India will never die, for very much like China, India is a thriving force and the economic heart and pulse of the planet. Not only is Salman Rushdie a true child of Scheherazade's, just like her he will also go on telling stories to go on living one more day.
The only writing guide I consult to write my articles is Mary Duffy's Toolbox for Writers, which amazon.com sells.
Book Review: A Total Piece of Horse Doo Doo
Summary: 1 Stars
This book is a heaping pile of garbage and here's why. It is extremely boring, and excruciatingly painful to read. Every teacher I've ever had in my creative writing workshop classes always emphasized two very specific things that a writer needs to keep in mind in order to write very good fiction. The first thing is that you need to grab the reader's attention right from the beginning of the story, and try to maintain this attention as best as possible. The second, is that the writing needs to be clear so that the story flows well. Salman Rushdie does neither of these two things. Folks, describing what someone's nose looks like as the introduction of a novel is not how you get someone's attention. In fact, its a pretty good way to ensure that people think you are retarded. Also, the novel jumps all over the place in terms of everything - the characters, the time, etc. The result is a reader that is inundated with places and names that he or she could remotely give a rat's ass about.
Second, the premise of the story, which is about a thousand children born on the stroke of midnight that possess supernatural powers, doesn't impress me at all. The premise doesn't impress me at all. Why? Because if Saleem had an ounce of common sense, and if he could really tap into other people's minds, then wouldn't it be extremely logical for him to become a professional poker player? Gambling in horse races is legal in India, as mentioned in the novel, so it is clear that it is a gambling-friendly country. Think about it. Creating a Midnight's Children's Conference is probably the last thing I would do if I were Saleem and I could read people's minds. And Saleem has the nerve to think that a bunch of idiotic 10 year olds, yimmering and yammering about what toys they want, have the ability to save a country? Please, screw that. I woulnd't care about India. India can go save itself because I would be too busy at the casino and buying Ferraris and mansions.
Third, now this is a bit nitpicky, but the name Salman Rushdie distracted me from the novel, of which I could only read about 4 pages at a time at most because it was horrendously boring. Salman should be the name of a delicious and tasty fish that I like to eat once or twice a month, not a prominent author. And Rushdie? This distracted me even more, because what is Rushdie supposed to mean? That he wants to rush to die? Or wants us to rush to die? It's a goofy name, and serious novels require authors with serious names, like Stephen King, or Tom Clancy, and not silly names like J.K. Rowling. You know what J.K. stands for? JUST KIDDING. Harry Potter and his friends gain magical powers to defeat the jackass that killed his parents, and finally, has a tea party, but JUST KIDDING. But Rowling has achieved a level of wealth and stardom that Rushdie can only dream of, and I'm willing to bet that when he had heard about Rowling's success, he instantly grew another grey hair. I looked up Rushdie's picture on the internet, but only saw a picture of a sad hobo.
Midnight's Children, is a form of verbal diarrhea in that Rushdie is simply stroking his own ego, and possibly himself right in front of our eyes, except only through the form of words. How many times is he going to repeat the motif of the smell of chutneys and sweetmeats and the smell of human waste in the air whenever Saleem goes out into public? Once, twice? Try possibly almost a hundred times. Books like these should be frowned upon, and the people that are giving this guy accolades and awards for this novel, need to put down their PCP pipes, and enter drug counseling and rehabilitation therapy, because these people are contributing to the slow death of literature as we know it. I think literature is like technology. It needs to evolve over time and newer versions of things should make previous ones obsolete so that we always have an influx of fresh new material. No car manufacturer today would put the engine of a Model T Ford into any car, it's just stupid. When the semester is over, and the exams and papers are all finished and submitted, I will celebrate with a small glass of champagne, and wait about 30 to 45 minutes. Then I would take Midnight's Children to my backyard, set it on the ground, and proceed to go to the bathroom on it. Midnight's Children, by Salman Rushdie, I give it a 1 star.
Book Review: Certainly NOT Harry Potter for readers!
Summary: 5 Stars
This review essentially deals with the author Salman Rushdie rather than this book, because after all Midnight's Children is the 'Booker of Bookers', what more can one add? - except to state that if you are preoccupied with 'magic' then you have spectacularly missed the point of this book. The allegorical nature of its construction, its metaphors and its historical dramas are what is important here; its allusions and not any apparent wizardry. As my title said, this most certainly is not Harry Potter for readers and I wish reviewers would stop wasting their words on that topic and instead re-read and re-examine the core themes, dramas and constructs of what is undoubtedly one of the greatest books ever written.
Salman Rushdie is to Literature, what George W. Bush was to American politics. Seldom has history witnessed individuals who possess such an ability to thoroughly polarize their respective audiences. Love or loathe, there can be nothing in between. For reference, my feet are firmly on the 'love' side of the divide.
In continuum, one thing I personally find fascinating about Rushdie is his ability to alienate people in equal numbers to those he utterly enthralls. As per the aforementioned correlation there are those that he utterly repulses and repels and that fascinates me. What is the reason for this? It is fair to say that, that which we are able to 'read' (and by read I mean in the Mortimer Aldler sense of the word), is a direct reflection of our own intellect or lack thereof, and I sincerely believe that this is one reason why Rushdie irritates so many people. He irritates people because most people are not that bright and are not really 'readers'; not actually literate per se. What I mean by that last comment is that people no longer seem able to concentrate on a book (or much else besides television), or to dig for deeper meaning; to read between the lines and to grasp allegory and metaphorical allusions. In today's world of get-rich-quick everyone wants to be Eric Clapton but no one wants to put in the hours, henceforth people buy 'Guitar Hero'. Life is not a game of 'Guitar Hero'.
It's interesting to draw parallels between Rushdie and another English author, Stephen Fry. Fry is also an intellectual heavyweight with a wonderfully sharp and agile brain and an extensive vocabulary. Unlike Rushdie, however, Fry is big and cuddly, has round edges and not sharp corners and I think that is one reason why the public take to him more easily. Besides which he is also flawed and slightly imperfect; he reaches out to us where Rushdie pulls away. To Fry's non-threatening modelling-clay persona Rushdie is perfect, unforgiving and cold, a statuesque individual carved from the hardest granite. One can't also help but feel that perhaps Rushdie's ethnicity rubs people up the wrong way, or is that just a cheap shot on my part and merely an easy way to find an answer to my question? One cannot help but wonder, though, if it isn't hard for those outside the liberal Literary establishment to accept a man of colour is more brilliant, better educated and ore mellifluous than they could ever hope to be. Again, that might just be smoke-and-mirrors, a cheap shot on my behalf, a quick-fix to a more complex quandary.
To return to my second paragraph, I personally adore the fact that I have to read Rushdie with a green highlighter in hand (green is my colour for unknown words). I adore the fact that Rushdie crushes my ego, and belittles my vocabulary. I love the fact he challenges me to become a better reader to widen my vocabulary. I love the fact that Cambridge-educated Rushdie has a higher intellect than I, because he is SUPPOSED to have. An author (like any artiste) should ideally not be an everyman, should not be a Stephen King or a Jeffery Archer. Authors of Literature should shoulder the responsibility of raising the bar and challenging our collective consciousness, and Rushdie relishes that opportunity and performs that rôle admirably, a perfect casting.
If you don't get the beauty and elegance of this book, then you simply have not understood it and I sincerely urge you re-read it, preferably with a green highlighter in hand!
Book Review: Rushdie's opus.
Summary: 5 Stars
One of the major burdens one faces when watching "Citizen Kane" in the 21st century is having to determine whether or not it is the greatest film of all time; similarly, reading Salman Rushdie's "Midnight's Children" carries with it the additional burdent of whether or not it is worthy of being perhaps the most praised novel of the last 40 years (winner not only of the 1981 Booker Prize, but both the 25th and 40th anniversary Booker Prizes). As with "Kane", it's a question best put out of mind, in my opinion; better to try and assess and appreciate the book on its own terms. This was the novel that made Rushdie famous (though not the one that got the hit put out on him by the Supreme Leader), and it is indeed well worth reading. Some spoilers follow.
The high concept in "Midnight's Children" is that, in the first hour of Indian independence in 1947, 1001 children are born with special abilities (some of them fantastical, some only mildly weird and not especially useful) - the Midnight's Children, as one of them, our protagonist Saleem Sinai, calls them. Saleem, whose ability is telepathy, is one of the most powerful, and the one who locates the others. But this is not the story you might think it was just from looking at the premise, which is one of the issues some people take with the book. The children are pretty far in the background, for the most part, one or two exceptions aside; indeed, you could rewrite this novel to remove the fantasy aspects and I don't think you would change anything fundamental about it. This is perhaps a bit disappointing on one level - when the government at the end comes down hard on the Children, fearing them as potential rival 'gods', it comes across particularly strangely since they've been around for 30 years and haven't really done anything of overt significance. But then, given that Rushdie is making a bitter attack on the policies of the government during the Emergency, perhaps that is meant to heighten the pointless barbarity of it.
Rather than being about the children as a group, this is really the story of one Indian family over the course of three generations, and how the tumultous history of India in the years from the 1910s to the 1970s affects them. Our narrator Saleem begins with the story of his grandparents, moving to his parents, and only gradually do we arrive at the moment of his own birth, and his life story. As Rushdie himself notes in the foreword included in this anniversary edition, most of the figures in his family are based to some extent on people in his life (though not too much; the author notes he was annoyed that his real father was unnecessarily (in his view) offended by the fictional Ahmed Sinai). Rushdie's writing style is quite marvelously musical prose, with numerous interseting stylistic points, and he creates a very interesting narrator/narrative interacton - there's plenty of metatext and unreliable narrative employed (my personal favourite being when one chapter concludes with the unglamorous death of the main antagonist, only for the narrator to confess in the next chapter that he has no idea what happened to the villain, and is only vainly hoping that he died). I'm not normally a fan of magical realism (the works of Garcia Marquez never particularly impressed me), but Rushdie makes it work.
Though perhaps not the story one might expect, I would recommend it.
Book Review: A Magic Carpet Ride of Indian History
Summary: 5 Stars
Just finished reading this book and wrote this to my children.
.. finally, finished reading 'Midnight's Children'. Am totally dumbfounded at how great this book is. Being more familiar with Indian History (and having lived through it), I am amazed at Rushdie's powers of imagination to merge real events with a magic carpet ride to make his point; many people like me lived through these historic events and were kind of oblivious to them....
I am amazed at how well he touches upon the culture, social habits, religion. ........
I don't want to elaborate on the contents, because it is important for one to read this book without any preconceived notions. If you are a MATURE reader(am not talking about age) , you will not regret it.
This is a heavy weight book; you will need to constantly ponder on what you read. People familiar with Indian History, social habits, religions will be able to grasp it easier than others.
***** DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK
***** DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK
***** DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK
***** DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK
a few ramblings from me:
......
Being more familiar with the Indian History (and having lived through it), I am amazed at Rushdie's powers of imagination to merge real events with a magic carpet ride to make his point; many people like me (even though I can excuse myself partly because I was in the U.S. at that time) took Indira's Emergency declaration lightly and some even felt good about it, looking at the temporary results (trains running on time; a hiatus on bribery, government officials actually doing work....); Nehru (Indira's father) was one of the leaders of the freedom movement. The irony ..
It is a well known fact that Sanjay Gandhi (Indira's son) led the mass forced sterilization of mostly poor people. There was very little opposition; many even welcomed it (why should the poor have so many children, when they cannot afford them). Add the religious angle to it (Hindus vs Moslems)...
.. yes everyone knows that Morarji drank his own urine. Maybe, that's why he lived to a ripe old age..
.. how wonderful to have so many mothers and fathers.
.. my son who is NOT my son, but is the real grandson of my father ....
.. and Padma, the dung lotus ....
everyone will form their own impressions of the book. The metaphors, symbolism and irony cannot be missed. For me, the sprinkling of all the familiar things (Kolynos toothpaste., pan, spittoons,chutneys, pickles..) provided the relief in the form of nostalgia. Personally, I don't think of this as a political book, more of a glimpse of how times change with a twist of irony. Hey, life goes on....