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voodoocactus 's review for:
The Satanic Verses
by Salman Rushdie
My sister got me this as a high school graduation gift over two decades ago and it’s been with me through nine moves. I opened it once, read a couple pages and put it away. I honestly believe I was too young back then. This time, I was four chapters in when Salman Rushdie was stabbed and rushed into surgery. He’s been living under fatwa pretty much since this book was published and this isn’t the first attempt on his life. There’s a hefty bounty on his head, after all.
Look, I can see why I didn’t get very far with this the first time: Rushdie’s style is that of flowery magical realism with long, meandering sentences that make you feel like you’re out of breath. (I admit I read the Wiki summary on the book to give me some idea of what I was reading but I’m also pretty sure that listening to The Stories of Mahabharata helped me to get into the proper mood to read this.) And hovering above it all is an omniscient Narrator who comments on the events and the characters but stays elusive.
I found that I can’t read this at one go. The language is so dense and the style is a Lot, so I read it every now and then, a couple of chapters here, fifteen pages there. And let me tell you, I was glad I read the summary beforehand because that’s the only way I could understand what the fuck and why. Now, don’t get me wrong: I still don’t understand the massive hype around this because I just don’t get religious fundamentalism but I can see why certain factions went ballistic. But since I’m a white, Western woman, the story carries flavors I’ll never taste even if they were pointed to me.
All in all, I’m not sure what to say. This was a chore for sure but it’s also something that seems to have burrowed under my skin and it lives there now. I might stop and stare at the wall as I think back on some passage of the book or I get caught up in a Vibe. Or I find myself resonating strongly with ”--I don’t want you to say I’m as important as her, no, just a second-rank love will do for me, a side-dish amour--”. Oh, and I also like the terms ”Coca-colonization of the world” and ”helicopters urinating light.” There were many places where Rushdie's effortless wordplay caught my eye and I enjoyed it tremendously.
I liked the dream-sections about Mahound and Jahilia the most. The language was rich yet simple and didn’t try to go, well, overboard with everything. And I sure as hell enjoyed Rushdie’s critical views on religious texts and the blatant hypocrisy the religious institutions swim in.
But was this enjoyable? I honestly can’t say it was. Educational in many ways, yes, but it wasn’t a joy to read. Parts of it were but on too many occasions, I had to push myself to keep on reading. If not for the bingo challenge, there’s a high chance I would’ve just set it aside and then slowly let myself forget about it and years later wonder where that particular bookmark had gotten to—ahh, right, it’s there.
Look, I can see why I didn’t get very far with this the first time: Rushdie’s style is that of flowery magical realism with long, meandering sentences that make you feel like you’re out of breath. (I admit I read the Wiki summary on the book to give me some idea of what I was reading but I’m also pretty sure that listening to The Stories of Mahabharata helped me to get into the proper mood to read this.) And hovering above it all is an omniscient Narrator who comments on the events and the characters but stays elusive.
I found that I can’t read this at one go. The language is so dense and the style is a Lot, so I read it every now and then, a couple of chapters here, fifteen pages there. And let me tell you, I was glad I read the summary beforehand because that’s the only way I could understand what the fuck and why. Now, don’t get me wrong: I still don’t understand the massive hype around this because I just don’t get religious fundamentalism but I can see why certain factions went ballistic. But since I’m a white, Western woman, the story carries flavors I’ll never taste even if they were pointed to me.
All in all, I’m not sure what to say. This was a chore for sure but it’s also something that seems to have burrowed under my skin and it lives there now. I might stop and stare at the wall as I think back on some passage of the book or I get caught up in a Vibe. Or I find myself resonating strongly with ”--I don’t want you to say I’m as important as her, no, just a second-rank love will do for me, a side-dish amour--”. Oh, and I also like the terms ”Coca-colonization of the world” and ”helicopters urinating light.” There were many places where Rushdie's effortless wordplay caught my eye and I enjoyed it tremendously.
I liked the dream-sections about Mahound and Jahilia the most. The language was rich yet simple and didn’t try to go, well, overboard with everything. And I sure as hell enjoyed Rushdie’s critical views on religious texts and the blatant hypocrisy the religious institutions swim in.
But was this enjoyable? I honestly can’t say it was. Educational in many ways, yes, but it wasn’t a joy to read. Parts of it were but on too many occasions, I had to push myself to keep on reading. If not for the bingo challenge, there’s a high chance I would’ve just set it aside and then slowly let myself forget about it and years later wonder where that particular bookmark had gotten to—ahh, right, it’s there.