Midnight's Children

The most courageous writer I have come across lately and my first venture into the genre of magic realism. I confess I had a different opinion of magical realism before I started reading this book. I had the opinion that magic realism would in general have a lot of similarities to fantasy fiction with an exception that the allusions made would be realistic and the exaggerations would just make the effects to the plot more pronounced. According to my findings, 'Midnight's Children' is considered to be one of defining works of magical realism and ergo I grossly miscalculated the parameters that define the genre in consideration.

Speaking of the book-

The first person narrative is playful, discombobulated, verbose, long-winded and teeming with distasteful opinions on Pakistan and the questionable Gandhi dynasty in the ever-scandalous history of Indian politics.
Speaking of the story the summary at the back is misleading to a certain extent, and the plot, it is medium-paced with lots of digressions which frustratingly increases as the story proceeds. The novel also impudently speaks of ribald concepts like incest, scandalous relationships, extra-marital affairs, conspiracies involving some of the most respected Indian politicians. It even goes as far as inducing evocative imagery into the minds of the readers.
I could go on and actually write a review consisting of all the complains I can muster but I would really like to write about the things that made me adore the book and gladly embrace it as one-of-my-favourites-of-all-time.
Interestingly, Salman Rushdie himself was born in the year 1947 but two months apart from the date of independence. He wrote this book reminiscing his childhood and turning the scenarios into events of exaggerating magnitudes that he made clear in the preface of this edition.
-His sister Sameen was actually called 'the brass monkey' as a girl.
-His childhood friends actually inspired the characters of Sonny, Eyeslice and Hairoil.
-Evie Burns was inspired by Beverly Burns.
and so on.
The allusions, duality and the symbolisms used in the story are quite enchanting. The statements made by Saleem Sinai are thought provoking although convoluted at times.
Here is an example taken directly from the book-
'Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me,of all I have been seen done,of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come.'
In retrospect I could write so little about the good things as compared to the bad things that I have listed in this review which leaves me conflicted but I guess that is the beauty and the enormity of the magic of the book that renders me unable to write about them and still love the book. This is magic realism.
To sum up, the beatitude of Salman Rushdie's writing, the enticing hullabaloo of events in the book, the melodrama of scenarios and the luxuriant flow of words in the book is simply rapturous and it 'maddens my heart with delight'.

This celebrated novel has been reviewed so many times already that mine will seem superfluous. So, these are simply some thoughts I had...

Rushdie's use of magical realism and humor soften what is actually a devastatingly sad story. Having Saleem tell his story to another person (Padma) makes it possible for Rushdie to occasionally remind his readers of what has come before without sounding redundant. The story also skips around in time, and involves many people. It's a family saga and historical novel which handles religion, politics, love, hate, envy, revenge,caste, food, poverty, fear, and hope. There are many fascinating tales contained within this novel.

Rushdie has an intriguing storytelling style, the way he weaves all of Saleem's past lives together into the entire tapestry of one man's life. In the beginning, when Saleem first starts to tell his stories to Padma, I assumed that he was an old man. However, Saleem is only thirty (30) years old. Obviously, he has seen more than most do in a long lifetime.

Midnight's Children is densely written, and I initially thought that it would be a tough read. Fortunately, I found it easy to get so absorbed that it no longer seemed that way at all.

I'm very glad I finally read this!

It doesn’t happen often, but from time to time after I finish a work of literature, I wonder, “What just happened?” In an effort to answer that question, my brain attempts to turn itself inside out to make sense of it all. This time that torture came from Rushdie’s Midnight Children. This novel is my first experience reading Rushdie’s work, so I am not sure if the writing style of this book is typical of the author, but I am not in any hurry to find out.

Being an English Literature student and an avid reader, I felt a certain expectation of myself to admire Rushdie and his work. After all, he is a very celebrated author, and his books appear on many “must read” lists compiled by authors I respect. After the first 250 pages of Midnight’s Children I felt self-conscious that I that I didn’t like the book, in fact, I was beginning to despise it.

I consider Midnight’s Children a triple dog dare from Rushdie to read his book to the very end. As with most dares, it was daunting to face, and to test my resolve, he made every attempt to make me put down the book for good. The fact that I see all dares through, from eating worms to kissing a friend’s younger brother, and that Midnight’s Children was a class assigned book, were the only motivations that I had not to. Within the more than six-hundred pages of text, there are about one hundred pages of straight forward biography written by the protagonist Saleem Sinai, and Rushdie makes you work very hard to find them hidden among the overwhelming quantity of details, a task I found tedious, frustrating and at times mind numbingly boring.

I simultaneously pitied and despised Saleem. Like the other 1,000 children born at the stroke of midnight of India’s independence, Saleem has special powers, the telepathic ability to communicate with all of these children. Despite his gift, he is not particularly respected among the children for very long. His average life is also not spectacular. He is not handsome or physically co-coordinated. He is bullied by children and adults, often betrayed and physically mutilated, and so emotionally sensitive he seeks comfort by surrounding himself with dirty laundry. However, this same Saleem that my heart went out to was the one writing the story that was torturing me page after page after page.

Rushdie does provide the reader with a representative in the plot, Padma. She is the novel’s saving grace, the one person who is able to stop Saleem’s self important dialogue. She is frustrated with the slow moving pace of the narrative and gives voice to the like minded reader when she urges Saleem to write more concisely and get to the point faster. At first I found Padma’s sudden entries into the plot distracting, but after awhile I found myself peeking ahead in order to see when she would appear again to gauge exactly how much longer I had to continue reading before respite.

I confess I am very ignorant of the events surrounding the formation of Pakistan, the independence of India, and the decades of war and political maneuvering between them. I didn’t even make it through the entire movie “Gandhi”. At first I welcomed the history lesson Rushdie provides of those times. However, by the middle of Book II, I found the sheer volume of details confusing and obtuse, and was skimming over these parts. By the end of Book II, I was skipping them altogether. In the chapter “How Saleem Achieved Purity”, I felt vindicated of my behavior. Saleem’s description of the events that led to the demise of his family in the Indo-Pakistani war of 1965 starts with, “Which facts to present?” and continues with pages of questions and conjecture, “Did it happen this way or didn’t it?” The seemingly endless expansion on his proposed questions finally raised my own: “I don’t know exactly how it happened, I don’t care, and can you please get to the point?!”

Rushdie misses, or maybe ignores the perfect opportunity to end his story. With the final dispersal of Midnight’s Children after their captivity by the government, most of the loose ends are tied up, or the reader has learned enough essential plot elements to forgive Rushdie if he ended Saleem’s story this way. To me, I felt the last forty pages were Rushdie’s last challenge to me to complete his dare: would I or could I read through these superfluous pages of obvious revelations or would I finally quit. The sense of power and freedom I felt after reading the very last sentence was made sweeter by my accomplishment.

To be fair to Rushdie, objectively, his writing skills are incredible. His ability to tie Saleem’s life to history and his ability to overlap events, religions, and mysticism is something for some to aspire to. His overwhelming details created vivid images: beautiful Kashmirian landscapes, putrid slums and titillating, (almost) love scenes. His skills in these areas might be enough for some people to excuse the tedium of Midnight’s Children, but for me it didn’t. By the end of the novel, I didn’t even feel bad that I didn’t like Rushdie’s writing, or this novel.

I truly am sorry, Salman. It’s trite to say, I know, but it really wasn’t you, it was me. I take all the blame for not connecting, ignorant as I am about the Indian subcontinent’s history, culture, and customs. I’m sure your allegories were brilliant and your symbolism sublime, but it was in large part lost on me. At least I could appreciate your fine writing. You were very creative in the way you advanced the story, too — nonlinearly, and tied to actual events. Your device that allowed narrator Saleem to get inside people’s heads, and later to literally sniff out their emotions was clever as well. These abilities may have been the stuff of fantasy, but your insights into characters (and the abstractions about India they were meant to represent) were completely plausible. In the context of the story, we’re willing to suspend disbelief and buy into the omniscience of the first person account. In your skilled hands, it never seemed forced or hokey. Coming from me, that’s saying something. I don’t usually go for writers plying magic.

But in the end, I have to say, your work left me a little disappointed. It might have had something to do with its extensive acclaim; you know, Booker to beat all Bookers and all that. Such weight of expectations was always going to be hard to overcome. The bigger part of the problem, though, was trying to go it alone. Had I taken the guided tour instead, I’m guessing I’d have gotten more out of it. I noticed there’s a reader’s guide that does exactly that, so maybe someday I’ll take the time to plug the gaps in my appreciation.

Please note that I’m giving your book a very respectable 4 stars. I liked the language. Someone described it as “Babu” English which I took to mean stylized for effect. I also liked the epic story of Indian archetypes, and the pertinent, sometimes elliptical lessons in history. Still, we both were hoping I could give it a 5, I’m sure.

4.5 stars
“I was born in the city of Bombay . . . once upon a time. No, that won't do, there's no getting away from the date: I was born in Doctor Narlikar's Nursing Home on August 15th, 1947. And the time? . . . Oh, spell it out, spell it out: at the precise instant of India's arrival at independence, I tumbled forth into the world. There were gasps. And, outside the window, fireworks and crowds . . . I was left entirely without a say in the matter. I, Saleem Sinai, later variously called Snotnose, Stainface, Baldy, Sniffer, Buddha and even Piece-of-the-Moon, had become heavily embroiled in Fate—at the best of times a dangerous sort of involvement. And couldn't even wipe my own nose at the time. “

One of my reading threads is of “classics” that I have never read (and possibly shouldn’t!) and Rushdie’s 1981 work has been on my shelves for a while. It won the Booker prize and the Booker of Bookers. It charts the Partition of India and the end of British colonial rule through the eyes of Saleem Sinai born on the exact stroke of midnight as modern India and Pakistan were born. You can harvest a few of the important words applied to fiction when you analyse this one: postcolonial, postmodern, magic realist. It is set in the context of actual historical events, although it weaves a fictional path through them. The path starts before Partition as the reader follows Salem’s origins (as early as 1915). Over time the story ranges all over India and Pakistan. The title refers to a group of children born at or just around midnight who as a result have a sort of telepathy and particular powers.
It is a gripping ride as we follow Saleem and his family around the subcontinent:
“I have been a swallower of lives; and to know me, just the one of me, you’ll have to swallow a lot as well. Consumed multitudes are jostling and shoving inside me…”
Comparisons to Tristram Shandy are apt and have often been made. The plot is fabulous in the magical sense of the word and complex. There is also a multiplicity of characters which reminded me of Dickens as well, with an emphasis on the odd and unusual:
“..here, near the top, she sees dark light filtering down on to the heads of queuing cripples. ‘My number two cousin,’ Lifafa Das says, ‘is bone-setter.’ She climbs past men with broken arms, women with feet twisted backwards at impossible angles, past fallen window-cleaners and splintered bricklayers, a doctor’s daughter entering a world older than syringes and hospitals; until, at last, Lifafa Das says, ‘Here we are, Begum,’ and leads her through a room in which the bone-setter is fastening twigs and leaves to shattered limbs, wrapping cracked heads in palm-fronds, until his patients begin to resemble artificial trees, sprouting vegetation from their injuries ... and on the parapet, the silhouettes of large birds, whose bodies are as hooked and cruel as their beaks: vultures.
‘ ... But the birds? ...’
‘Nothing, Madam: only there is Parsee Tower of Silence just near here; and when there are no dead ones there, the vultures come. Now they are asleep; in the days, I think, they like to watch my cousins practising.”
The swapping at birth motif also adds to the whole, as does the importance of pickle. There are so many byways in the novel and the scope is immense. Inevitably it has spawned a whole academic analysis industry. The politicians certainly don’t come out of it well, especially the Ghandi family and there is a particular focus on the state of emergency. Feminist analysis has acknowledged Rushdie’s questioning of patriarchy, but then some of the women who take leading roles in family or nation (like Reverend Mother, Indira Ghandi, Padma) tend to fit into the roles vacated by men with little change in effect or function. You see there are so many avenues to follow if you want to look at it in depth.
It’s a great read and ride and worth the effort. There are flaws, but the whole is a great modern novel.

Salman Rushdie definitely enjoys beating about the bush! I come from a culture that's the same way so I wasn't too bothered by it, and quite enjoyed it, but I can see why some people may dislike his writing style. Not I! This is one of the best books I've read this year and makes its way onto my coveted "favourites" shelf.

The story transfixed me most of the way through, though my attention did start to waver towards the end. The way Rushdie intertwines Indian culture and history into a magical story is quite remarkable. The book definitely helps the reader understand the complexities of Indian society, especially regarding people of different religions and languages who are fighting for rights.

Rushdie used a lot of humour and wit in his story. He was also quite daring with his analysis of religion. I heard mention of a fatwa issued against Rushdie because of his views on Islam.

All in all, a great read and one I will read again!

Do not know what to say.......... I am speechless...unlike the main character of this book: Saleem.

What to compare this to? Not another book. Impossible! Perhaps it is best to compare this reading experience to a feeling, an image from my past:
A young boy listening in awe to his father (his greatest hero) telling one of his most wonderful stories at a campfire, hoping that the night and dad's story will never end.

Saleem's story and his narrative made me feel like that young boy again: an awestruck admirer. I didn't read this book... I was, like Padma, part of Saleem's audience. I listened...

A remarkable novel! A favourite.

The Satanic Verses is the book everyone's heard of, but this is truly a masterpiece of modern fiction. Read it, if you haven't.