The Satanic Verses (1988), novel of Indian-born British writer Salman Rushdie led Ruholla Khomeini, the ayatollah of Iran, to demand his execution and then forced him into hiding;
Synopsis
Set in a modern world filled with both mayhem and miracles, The Satanic Verses story begins with a bang: the terrorist bombing of a London-bound jet in midflight. Two Indian actors of opposing sensibilities fall to earth, transformed into living symbols of what is angelic and evil. This is just the initial act in a magnificent odyssey that seamlessly merges the actual with the imagined. A book whose importance is eclipsed only by its quality, The Satanic Verses is a key work of our times.
Richard says
Do you know the fable about the emperor and his clothes? Well, in my view, this is the literary version of Christian Anderson’s fable. Rave reviews based on a questionable piece of work.
The premise or plot of Satanic Verses is valid, especially for those who believe in reincarnation and the other world, the one of angels and spirits of any religion.
If you are not an adherent of reincarnation and the afterlife as being pearly gates and beyond, this book is tedious and boring at best. Repetitious repeating the same ideas, phrases, and plot lines every few pages without advancing the story much. Admittedly, Iranian theologians parsing this story with microscopic magnification might find aspects that are “blasphemous to Moslems,” but to a non-religious, it is all tantamount to making a mountain out of a molehill.
Page after page, the reader is taken to a lexicographic playground where Rushdie plays with his writing capabilities. He is practicing his craft, refining it, and testing the waters as to what works or what doesn’t in Satanic Verses. For any writer, it must be fascinating to watch a best-selling author practice his craft this way. He is trying different plot lines, morphing his characters in many ways, and testing many different phrases and storylines all in one place. It really is fascinating to see such depth and expertise unravelled before one’s eyes all in one place. But it doesn’t work for me.
I may be more pedestrian in my writing capability, certainly not even in the same realm as the regal Rushdie. Worse, I may not even have the intellectual capacity to appreciate his endeavours, though I feel it is more an emperor has no clothes than cerebral claims as being made by so many in the writing community.
The book is a boring compendium of a writer merely practicing his craft no matter how lofty the claims may be regarding the quality of the outcome. It is not a book I would recommend.
