Podemos não ligar a prémios, mas quando um livro é reconhecido com um Man Booker em 1981, e passados 12 anos, em 1993, na comemoração dos 25 anos do Booker, é escolhido como o "Booker of Bookers", e passados 27 anos, em 2008, na segunda comemoração especial dos Bookers, dedicada a festejar os 40 anos do prémio, volta a ser escolhido como "The Best of the Booker", teremos poucas razões para duvidar de que algo especial se apresenta nessa obra. E no entanto quando confrontamos estes dados com o nome do autor, Salman Rushdie, surpreende-se uma boa parte da audiência já que o nome é sobejamente conhecido, mas não por este livro, que foi apenas o seu segundo livro, mostrando mais uma vez como o efeito popular diz tão pouco sobre as obras. Aliás, essa falta de reconhecimento popular, também não se espelha na academia, onde "Os Filhos da Meia-Noite" é uma das obras mais estudadas nas universidades anglo-saxónicas. Dito tudo isto, fica de certo modo enquadrado o reconhecimento do livro, e permite-me avançar para a descrição da minha experiência com a obra que foi bastante impressiva.

Confesso que apesar da popularidade do autor, de que conhecia apenas a 'fatwa' ditada pelo seu livro "Os Versículos Satânicos" (1989) mas não tinha lido ainda nada, apanhou-me totalmente de surpresa. Já sabia tratar-se de realismo mágico, um género do qual nem sou particularmente fã, embora o género não dite a forma, sendo na forma que Rushdie mais impressiona, e no entanto quando olhamos para o pináculo do género, "Cem Anos de Solidão" (1967), é também aí a forma algo muito relevante, e "Os Filhos da Meia-Noite" segue e ombreia, colocando Salman Rushdie e Gabriel García Márquez, apesar de em continentes diferentes, no mesmo patamar.

Apesar de colocar Rushdie ao lado de Marquez, existe algo que os separa profundamente, é que Rushdie trabalha diretamente a partir da História, podendo quase dizer-se que o romance é histórico, já que as datas e os principais eventos e personagens da História da Índia são todos reais. Ou seja, o seu realismo mágico ganha um tom distinto, porque não entramos numa realidade completamente paralela, antes somos convidados a atravessar a realidade ao lado de personagens provindos, eles sim, de realidades paralelas. Ou seja, o livro procura retratar o surgimento da Índia enquanto país independente, e fá-lo através dos olhos de uma personagem dotada de capacidades dignas de um romance de ficção-científica (originadas no facto de ter nascido na meia-noite em que se iniciaria a independência da Índia, 15 de agosto de 1947), que vão servindo a comédia e sátira da sociedade indiana em todos os seus quadrantes, da religião à política, passando pelos militares e relação com os ingleses, assim como toda diferença entre classes (não faltam influências portuguesas nomeadamente em nomes de personagens).

Se tudo isto é muito interessante, aquilo que verdadeiramente me impactou nesta obra foi a sua forma escrita. Densa, pode-se dizer muito densa, e no entanto altamente acessível, o que é desde logo um feito. Esteja em modo descritivo, explicativo ou até dissertativo que por vezes assume rasgos de fluxo de consciência, Rushdie nunca se esquece do leitor, mantendo-o sempre dentro do ciclo do que vai sendo discutido (talvez menos no primeiro terço do texto, enquanto não entramos na lógica do autor), para o que recorre a pequenas redundâncias ou chamadas de atenção muito bem posicionadas, que não gera qualquer sensação de repetição mas antes funcionam como recompensa porque confirmam que estamos a entender o que nos está a ser contado.

A densidade torna o processo de leitura lento, com o texto a exigir muita atenção, já que cada parágrafo, cada linha, trazem sempre novos detalhes, o que obriga a uma leitura precisa, que impede o natural processo de leitura em blocos, capacidade que vamos desenvolvendo com a experiência de leitura que nos oferece competências que permitem antecipar o que sucede a cada palavra ou a cada conjunto de palavras, e por vezes até frases completas, bastando uma rápida sondagem da linha de texto para apreender o seu sentido. Rushdie consegue isto muito graças ao facto de não ter barreiras entre ficção e fantasia, o que lhe permite discorrer de modo, por vezes completamente alucinatório, explodindo em diversas perspectivas pequenos eventos, com descrições espaço-temporais ricas ao que junta personagens, que parecendo estereotipadas, são elas próprias também imensamente ricas, plenas de camadas contraditórias entre desejos e anseios.

"Procurava ela nesse tempo afastar da lembrança a aventura do hipódromo; mas não conseguia escapar à sensação de pecado que os cozinhados da mãe nela tinham desenvolvido; e não lhe era difícil ver nos calos uma espécie de castigo. Não só por em tempos ter penetrado no templo de Mahalaxmi, mas também pela impossibilidade de libertar o marido dos certificados alcoólicos cor-de-rosa; e pelos modos rudes e pouco femininos de Macaca de Cobre; e pelo nariz descomunal do filho. Quando hoje penso nela, tenho a impressão de que à volta da sua cabeça começou a gerar-se uma bruma de culpabilidade; a sua pele escura segregava uma névoa negra que lhe toldava o olhar." (p.150) pequeno excerto exemplificativo da escrita de Rushdie


"Os Filhos da Meia-Noite" merece todo o estudo que lhe tem sido dedicado. Parei várias vezes a leitura para enquanto levantava os olhos me deslumbrar interiormente com o virtuosismo de Rushdie, com a forma como conseguia entrosar tantos eventos, ideias e sentimentos em tão poucas linhas, e como isso nunca era precedido ou seguido de momentos mais lentos ou menos densos, como se Rushdie tivesse uma necessidade de contar e contar mais e mais, e fosse possuidor de um poço infinito de ações e desenvolvimentos para relatar todo o mundo que passava pela sua imaginação. De certo modo, e apesar da História da Índia me ser algo distante, sinto que Rushdie plasmou o pulsar indiano nesta particular forma, nomeadamente quando olhamos à imensidade do país, com mais de mil milhões de cidadãos e a sua infinitude de deuses, que acaba proporcionando dificuldades à gestão do país e claro algum sentimento de caos contínuo. Por tudo isto, e se acessível, não sendo uma obra fácil é uma experiência verdadeiramente singular.


Publicado no VI, como "A Índia de Salman Rushdie": https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com...

Sensational. Lively. Lovely. Yet-pretty-guessable at times.

The above words sum up what I think about Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children. The storyline is brilliantly correlated with India and its history as a nation. Time-and-again, the author points out all the possible correlations among the two, which makes the prose lengthy and repetitive. But is repetition a bad thing always? No sir, it is not. It can be deployed as a powerful tool to make your point, and that is exactly how the author has used it here in my opinion.

There are elements of history, which are combined with (un)related magical events occurring in the life of the protagonist. The result is a gripping, unputdownable story. My only concern is with the fact that the plot is not strong enough to keep the reader guessing at all times.

As mentioned, it is a long read. But at no moment did I feel like it was too much. No sir. I still want more of it.

Verdict: Highly recommended.

فرض کنید چند دونده با فاصله‌های زیاد از همدیگر در یک جاده‌ی طویل ایستاده‌اند. دونده‌ی اول گویی به دست دارد و باید بدود تا آنرا به دونده‌ی بعدی برساند و بعدی به بعدی و ....
در جهان نویسندگی و در دنیای رئالیسم جادویی گویا تقدیر این بوده که سلمان رشدی آخرین دونده باشد و گوی را از مارکز و کارپانتیه و ... بگیرد و آنرا به انتهای مسیر برساند. وقتی از خط پایان رد شد، تماشاچیان کل گروه رو تشویق میکنند و صدای هوراهایشان به گوش می‌رسد.
چنین اتفاقی افتاده است. با انتشار بچه‌های نیمه شب، بمبی در جهان ادبیات منفجر شد و آنهایی که گمان می‌بردند دیگر هیچ کتابی لذت خواندن صدسال تنهایی مارکز را برایشان به همراه نخواهد داشت، شب بیداری کشیدند و بچه‌های نیمه شب به دست روی صندلی‌ها و کاناپه‌هاشان از فرطِ خستگیِ خواندن، با صورتی کج و معوج در حالی که آب دهانشان از گوشه‌ی لبشان روان بود، به خواب می‌رفتند. اتفاقی که برای من هم افتاد.
بچه‌های نیمه شب، کتابی استخوان‌دار، پر مغز، فکر شده و جذاب بود. به گمان من شاید آخرین رئالیسم جادویی خوب قرن. البته مهدی سحابی عزیز به خوبی در مقدمه‌ی کتاب، متذکر شد که در قیاس بین مارکز و رشدی، رشدی کشش بیشتری به واقعیت و تاریخ دارد در حالی که اثر مارکز جادویی‌تر هست. بنابراین صدسال تنهایی مارکز همچنان جادویی‌ترین اثر رئالیستی ادبیات و صدر آثار رئالیسم جادویی است. ولی رشدی از جهانی حرف میزند که بیش از آمریکای لاتین، رازآلود و گره خورده با افسانه و اساطیر است ؛ هند.
داستان که شروع میشود، هند مستعمره را میبینیم که انگلیسی‌ها در آن جولان میدهند و بعدتر شاهد استقلال هند هستیم و در اواخر هند نفس بریده را میبینیم که پاکستان از آن جدا شده و بنگلادش و چه جنگ‌ها و خونریزی‌ها و چه فلاکت‌ها و کودتاها . چه داستان رنگارنگی از سرگذشت‌ها ، عشق‌ها و خیانت‌ها و چه تقدیر‌های غیرقابل تصوری و چه اتصالی بین بچه‌های نیمه شب و کشور زخمیشان.
هند ذاتا یک رئالیسم جادویی‌ است. کشور رمّالان ، جادوگران، مرتاض‌ها و مارگیران. بنابراین سطور رشدی به خوبی با کشورش هماهنگ است. بچه‌های نیمه شب داستانی پر از شخصیت دارد که هر یک سرگذشت‌های عجیب و غریبی دارند که در طی چند نسل روایت میشوند، هرچند که کلیت داستان، زندگینامه سلیم سینایی، فرزند ثانیه‌های اول نیمه شبی است که هند به استقلال میرسد و کتاب روایت سلیم سینایی و دیگر بچه‌هایی است که در آن نیمه شب متولد شدند و هر یک قدرتی جادویی دارند و سرنوشتشان به کشورشان دوخته شده. اثری است جذاب، تاریخی و گاها سیاسی که چه به لحاظ سرگرمی چه به لحاظ فکری شما را تغذیه خواهد کرد و بایستی در لیست خوانش هر کتاب خوانی باشد.

۱۴۰۰/۰۵/۰۸

The story told by Saleem Sinai, a boy switched at birth from wealthy Muslim parents to poor Hindus and his brother Shiva. Saleem has a cucumber nose and the ability to telepathically communicate with the other 1001 ‘Midnight’s Children’ - those born at the time of the creation of the Indian state in 1947. The story is split into 3 parts.

My wife recommended I start Rushdie with the ‘The Moors Last Sigh’ and she was right (as usual). ‘Midnight’s Children’ I found much more complex. Lots of characters with Rushdie’s continued lashings of Dickensian type grotesqueness. The language profound, rich and layered on with a trowel. And I was sad as I approached the end.

It gave a fascinating insight into how India and Pakistan were ripped from a single country and the sad consequences. It didn’t help that I broke my reading of the 463 pages with a blitz on reading Stephen Leather stories (of which there is no comparison). I have the ‘Satanic Verses’ in my stash but will wait a while to read.

Saleem Sinai is born at the stroke of midnight on August 15, 1947, the very moment of India’s independence. Greeted by fireworks displays, cheering crowds, and Prime Minister Nehru himself, Saleem grows up to learn the ominous consequences of this coincidence. His every act is mirrored and magnified in events that sway the course of national affairs; his health and well-being are inextricably bound to those of his nation; his life is inseparable, at times indistinguishable, from the history of his country. Perhaps most remarkable are the telepathic powers linking him with India’s 1,000 other "midnight’s children," all born in that initial hour and endowed with magical gifts.
Midnight's Children ~~  Salman Rushdie


Big Book Reads 2022
Chosen by Dani

WOW! What a ride this was. Truly an amazing read. With that being said, it is nearly impossible for me to review Midnight's Children. I don't know how to do justice to such a brilliant piece of literature.

Here goes ...

n   Midnight's Childrenn deserves all the praise it has received. It is powerful, spellbinding, and over forty years after it was first published, it's still wonderfully original. This is Salman Rushdie at his best. n   Midnight's Childrenn is at once an intricate and magical fairy tale, family memoir, history lesson and brutal political indictment. Every ingredient is perfectly blended to create a beautiful whole. It is that rarity ~~ a perfect novel.



I knew before reading page one of this novel I would fall in love with it. My friend, Srđan, hyped it as the greatest thing since the Big Mac. I'd previously read other works by Rushdie and loved them. So, I was already prejudiced toward this book. I make no apology for this.

Rushdie is best known for magical realism, but it's the history of India that struck me the most ~~ I had no idea how evil Indira Gandhi was.

Rushdie did not treat the former Prime Minister kindly in Midnight's Children ~~ and she was not happy about it. She sued him ~~ picking out a single sentence that her lawyers thought would be actionable in a British court. Rushdie and his publisher agreed to remove the sentence. Many years later, Rushdie, of course, shared the sentence that was removed.

n   Midnight's Childrenn is the great Indian novel. Fact and fiction are woven together so seamlessly, that together they create a perfect understanding and enjoyment of each.



Rushdie points out in the introduction that while n   Midnight's Childrenn is often viewed as fantasy in the West, in India it was received as a historical fiction. And in truth, it is of course both. There are elements of n   Midnight's Childrenn that are most certainly fantastic ~~ each of the 1001 children born on the stroke of midnight within the borders of the newly independent India are born with a supernatural power. But these magical gifts and the strange way in which every historical event in post-colonial India echoes an event in the narrator's life are treated as unremarkable things ~~ except by the narrator himself ~~ Saleem Sinai ~~ and the tone of the book, and the structure of its plot, is very much a literary historical novel, and not a fantasy.

Rushdie brilliantly personifies the country of India in a single citizen, and tells its history allegorically through the autobiographical account of Saleem Sinai. Rushdie shares with the reader, n  India is Saleem and Saleem is India.n



Saleem has taken narcissism to its extreme ~~ he is so self-absorbed that he believes events in his life precipitated events in India's history. As he recounts his life story, he pronounces judgement upon his past self ~~ whom he often refers to in the third person. This is Rushdie's way of generalizing the Indian collective consciousness at various key points during its history ~~ Saleem's judgements weren't a statement about Saleem, but a statement about how Indians felt about India ~~ how they saw themselves and their society, at that period in their history.

As a writer, Rushdie's prose and style are second to none. The English language is a tool he uses expertly to create atmosphere and tone. n   Midnight's Childrenn is packed full of one-sentence paragraphs consisting of semi-colon connected clauses. Like n   James Joycen before him, punctuation is optional to Rushdie; what's most import is a stream of consciousness pouring forth, unbroken.

I know many readers will reject n   Midnight's Childrenn and Rushdie on the grounds that it and he are too difficult to read. Their viewpoint is valid, but it represents the reader's unwillingness to surrender themselves to the experience. Such people prefer lighter fare, books that are easier to digest or utterly linear in narrative ~~ there's nothing wrong with that, but it is their loss.



In many ways, n   Midnight's Childrenn reminded me of Shakespeare's later plays ~~ the magical plays. The characters are both complicated three-dimensional beings while at the same time allegorical, stock characters. Amina Sinai, who changed her name from Mumtaz Aziz in order to have children, is the mother of Saleem, and thus the mother of India ~~ except we quickly learn that Saleem is a changeling, ~~ so what implications does this have for India? This uncertainty mirrors the deep-seated identity crisis that India must have undergone shortly after becoming its own country ~~ is it the byproduct of colonial Britain, or the creation of its own common people? Wisely, Rushdie never answers this question.



n   Midnight’s Childrenn is a wildly ambitious novel, huge in scope, a tome on identity, memory, nationalism, and family. In almost all instances it succeeds, and rightly deserves all the success it has received.

n   Midnight's Childrenn is simply a book that you will love. It's a reminder of just how great literature can be. Highly recommended.

"Please believe that I am falling apart.
I am not speaking metaphorically; nor is this the opening gambit of some melodramatic, riddling, grubby appeal for pity. I mean quite simply that I have begun to crack all over like an old jug - that my poor body, singular, unlovely, buffeted by too much history, subjected to drainage above and drainage below, mutilated by doors, brained by spittoons, has started coming apart at the seams. In short, I am literally disintegrating, slowly for the moment, although there are signs of acceleration. I ask you only to accept (as I have accepted) that I shall eventually crumble into (approximately) six hundred and thirty million particles of anonymous, and necessarily oblivious, dust. That is why I have resolved to confide in paper, before I forget. (We are a nation of forgetters.)"

Saleem Sinai chronicles the history of his life, beginning with his grandparents' childhoods and continuing through their marriage, his parents' lives, and his own childhood and adolescence. Because Sinai was born at the stroke of midnight on the day India became independent in 1947, the story of his life is also the story of India's transformation into an independent nation. Events in Sinai's life constantly intersect with and affect India's political struggles, and everything is influenced by his family's varied and complex history. It's a blend of One Hundred Years of Solitude and Middlesex, and if nothing else you will walk away from this book amazed at Rushdie's skill as a writer. Aside from the downright masterful way he makes every single event and character in the story connect and matter, the way he writes is just mindblowingly good.

In fact, there are only two things that prevent me from giving this the full five stars, and they are:

1. Saleem Sinai is such a dick. The events of his life directly coincide with (and occasionally affect) major historical events, and also he can read minds (more on that later). This is enough to convince him that he is the single greatest, most important human being ever to walk the earth, and nothing could be as impressive as he is. Think I'm exaggerating? Let him tell you himself:

"It is possible, even probable, that I am only the first historian to write the story of my undeniably exceptional life-and-times. Those who follow in my footsteps will, however, inevitably come to this present work, this source-book, this Hadith or Purana or Grundrisse, for guidance and inspiration."

Oh my god, get over yourself.

Sinai's direct audience is his girlfriend Padma, who is listening to the story as Sinai writes it and appears periodically to give her opinions on what's happening. Sinai treats her like dirt - he makes fun of her name, shakes his head at how adorably stupid she is, and is generally such a condescending ass that I kept waiting for Padma to slap him in the face. The best part: whenever Padma listens to Sinai's story, she literally kneels at his feet while he sits and reads to her. No wonder the guy has a Messiah complex.

It's okay to have a story with an unlikeable hero, but I honestly believe that Rushdie isn't aware of what a colossal douchebag his protagonist is. I think in Rushdie's mind, Sinai is a perfectly good person and is totally justified in his lofty opinion of himself. This is unfortunate.

2. Do you ever read a book and see the beginnings of another story within it, something that the author never explores as much as you'd like them to, or even a completely different direction you wish they'd taken? That was my experience with Midnight's Children.

The title comes from the fact that Sinai wasn't the only kid born in India at midnight on independence day - there were actually several hundred children born within that minute, and they all have magical powers or mutations of some kind. The ones born at the top of the minute have the strongest powers, and the ones born in the last few seconds of the minute just have weird mutations. There are two kids born on the very first second of midnight: Sinai, and a boy named Shiva. Sinai can read minds, as I said, but he can also communicate telepathically with all the other Midnight's Children, and they can use him as a conduit to talk telepathically to each other. So Sinai and Shiva, as the leaders of the Midnight's Children, organize the group and hold telepathic conferences, trying to decide what to do with their vast array of powers. While Sinai wants to use the group's abilities to do good, Shiva is violent and cruel, and uses his powers for evil. They're constantly battling against each other, and meanwhile the other four hundred Midnight's Children all have their own ideas about how to use their powers. (one kid, a time-traveler, warns them that everything will end horribly)

I know Salman Rushdie is a respected author who is taken very very seriously in the literary world, but I'm going to be honest: Midnight's Children would have made one hell of a comic book. Hundreds of child superheroes and wizards, led by two very different leaders who are constantly at odds with each other, and in an added twist were switched at birth? A narrator who thinks of himself as the good guy but is actually just as selfish as his evil alter ego, Shiva? Tell me how that wouldn't be awesome.

Sigh, here goes another book for the “It’s not you, it’s me” shelf…

I can see why those who love this book love it as hard as they do: the prose is very beautiful, some passages conjure up the most amazing, whimsical and delightful images, there is a perfect blend of comedy, tragedy and weirdness in Saleem’s narrative, and his characters are quite memorable. But I turned the last page wondering if I had missed something. I checked to make sure my edition wasn’t a misprint missing a few pages containing a crucial detail, but no. It’s just me. Not quite getting it.

The non-linear narrative of “Midnight’s Children” is notoriously messy and it takes almost half the book for the story (as it were) to really get going; not things that usually frustrate me, but there was a certain self-awareness and pretentiousness to this book’s structure that made the post-modern tricks irritating. I got the feeling that Rushdie thinks people who can’t keep up with his literary sleights-of-hand are idiots, that unless you have a deep knowledge of the setting of this story, you can only appreciate the book up to a point because a whole layer of the story hinges on your understanding of context…

I loved the central idea: children born at the same moment as their country is a wonderful way to talk about how a nation grows, makes mistakes, develops, etc. But we only really know a handful of the titular children, and they essentially live their life off the page for most of the book, and besides Shiva and Parvati, they are barely developed… I wanted to like this book, but I felt much more frustrated than transported; the book’s dithyrambic reputation had led me to expect something quite different from what I experienced, and I never really know who is to blame in a situation like this: the book, the hype around it or my incapacity to get it.

In fact, looking back at my old reviews of magical realism books, I am starting to think the genre simply doesn’t really do it for me. But don’t let my bummed out review discourage you, I am clearly in the minority in my opinion!

(If you are interested in historical fiction about India, Rohinton Mistry's amazing "A Fine Balance" is gorgeous and devastating - with zero magic-post-modernist whatevers... https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...)

Through this wise child’s eyes we see an epic story told; an epic encompassing an unencompassable place, the Subcontinent of Asia, the Jewel of the Crown of the British Empire, India, now Pakistan, India and Bangladesh, from the moment of its release from hundreds of years of European perversion, oppression, theft, and probably most damaging, purposeful division. The latter, a technique used in all fractious colonies, divide and conquer. We see this momentous release as Saleem, a magical everychild born just then, too, at midnight on 15 August 1947, shares growth with his new nation.

We see the all-too-well learned lessons, of the British Public School. Divide! Hierarch! (pretend it was a verb: in my imagination I see an undisturbed place, arrival of the British: “Line up! How? By betters! Betters, sir? Okay, then lightest skin at the front darkest at the back!”) Now fight to the death. See? You need us to take care of you, look at the mess you’ve made.

Rushdie, by having Saleem’s life’s transitions take us through a variety of economic circumstances from very wealthy Bombay to Delhi slums and life in between; life as a member, sort of, of the army and as a prisoner. And we, through Saleem’s eyes, and remarkable nose, travel widely, allowing him to make beautiful and terrible comparisons. India / Pakistan, Hindu / Muslim and throw in a bit of the cast system, and misogyny - voila!

Time. Like siblings, Saleem tells us, Pakistan set their clocks 30 minutes ahead of India’s.

My first trip to India, arriving spring 1975 just before Indira’s imposition of “the Emergency” when she basically attempted (and in many ways succeeded) in becoming another Aurangzeb the merciless, a despot, a dictator. To Saleem’s nose - which could smell emotions, danger, truth: “it smelled like burning oily rags”. I was working in a leper hospital in Tamil Nadu. Not paying any attention to politics at all. Meanwhile, Indira is ending, violently, Saleem's "dreams of purpose".

But, time!! I was amazed that a country of (at that date) about 800,000,000 could function with no watches! When does this train come? Sometimes Thursday.

In Saleem’s story several clock towers do not function, and in a chapter called Tick, Tock:
“...time, in my experience has been as variable and inconsistent as Bombay’s electric power supply. Just telephone the speaking clock if you don’t believe me...it’s usually a few hours wrong...no people whose word for “yesterday” is the same as their word for “tomorrow” can be said to have a firm grip on the time.”

There is so much in this book; it’s a book about everything: the irremediable marks of family, memory, feminism/misogyny, religion, spirituality, bigotry, the poisonous (and absurd) legacy of colonialism, beauty, things stolen and things given, love, all written with humor, insight, myth, sarcasm, gentility, layers and layers of magical realism - so any review, perforce, is a peek through a pinhole at this masterpiece.

But two bits looking at Pakistan (where Saleem lives while an adolescent) and India, his childhood home, and later his adult home, and their dominant religions. Well I just have to....

Page 389: Saleem is describing Pakistan
”...a country where the truth is what it is instructed to be, reality quite literally ceases to exist, so that everything becomes possible except what we are told is the case; and maybe this was the difference between my Indian childhood and my Pakistani adolescence - -that in the first place I was beset by an infinity of alternative realities, while in the second I was adrift, disoriented, amid an equally infinite number of falsenesses, unrealities and lies.”

Pakistan, “The Pure” is only 70 years old, and might it have been so different if Jinnah hadn’t died when it was just one year old?

Page 405: Saleem is describing the 1965 war between Pakistan and India (from the Pakistani news). He reads that the citizens of Lahore (Old women! Little boys!) fought to the death against the Indians - they all died - but they saved the city. Pondering the truth, he has an insight as to why the Muslim side might fight harder than the Hindu side:
“Martyrs..! Heroes! Bound for the perfumed garden! Where the men would be given four beauteous houris, untouched by man or djinn; and the women, four equally virile males! Which of your Lord’s blessings would you deny? What a thing this holy war is, in one supreme sacrifice men atone for all their evils! No wonder Lahore was defended; what did the Indians have to look forward to? Only re-incarnation -- as cockroaches, maybe or scorpions, or green medicine-wallahs --- there’s really no comparison.”

This is an Absolutely Must Read. A jewel. And you get to learn new words like goonda, funtoosh, and (my favorite) rutputty.

Reading Rushdie's Midnight's Children is like listening to someone else's long-winded, rambling re-telling of a dream they had. And like all people who describe their dreams -- especially those who do so long past the point where their listeners can believably fake interest or patience -- Rushdie is inherently selfish in the way he chose to write this book. Midnight's Children is one of those novels that are reader-neutral or even reader-antagonistic -- they seem to have been written for the sole purpose of letting a writer wallow in their own history, their own problems, their own pet concerns, desires, and childhood hangups. Books like this are not mirrors of the world, or even mirrors of the author, but mirrors of how the author wants to be seen by the world.

There are patches of writing in this book that startle, amuse, and tantalize the reader, but the story is not as interesting as the narrator or the author seem to think it is; in fact, the narrator's constant references to the depth/difficulty/complex interconnectedness of his story all rang false to me. The narrator constantly tried to impress the reader with the gravity, absurdity, necessity, etc. of the story he was telling: there were lots of annoying, melodramatic asides to the reader along the lines of "O, this!" "O, that" "If only--" "But I must wait to get to that later!", which only served to distract from a story that should have just been left to stand on its own.

I'm not necessarily the type of reader who wants concrete, literal, plot-driven stories, but I'm also not the type of reader who has infinite patience for postmodern, self-inflated authors who either have a degree in literature and waste no time bludgeoning you with that fact, or don't have a degree in literature and waste no time in showing you just how good they are despite it all.

And, lastly, above and beyond the annoying narrator, the rambling story that went on for about 200 too many pages, and the author's disrespect (or at least disregard) for the reader, the last and crushing blow I can deliver to this book is that it was boring. The narrator – who, by the way, is a fairly flat character despite having over 500 pages to develop himself -- went to great pains to convince us otherwise, with constant reminders of how "epic" and "interconnected" his life was and how it resonated with the history of modern India, but in my opinion, a truly interesting story wouldn't need an obsequious narrator to constantly remind us how interesting it was.

I realize I'm in a minority in my dislike of this book; after all, it won the Booker Prize and is widely regarded to be one of the most important novels in English-language literature. I also realize I haven't said anything about what the book is actually about (in a nutshell: a coming-of-age story with a heavy dollop of magical realism and self-pity, with doses of Indian life scattered throughout) -- but all I felt when turning the last page of this book was relief.

DNF Tried listening and reading Maybe it was a mood thing, and I'll try again someday?

Reading this I felt as if I were wading through molasses. True, there were moments when I stopped to taste the sweetness of the language, the deliciousness of the phrasing. But each time I returned to the task of making forward progress, the molasses was stickier and the progress was slower, until at last I came to a standstill. Last seen, the book was disappearing down the chute to its home in the library, the lovely silk ribbon marker only about 75 pages in.

রিভিউ লিখতে এসে দেখি বন্ধুতালিকার সবাই হয় এই বইটাকে টু-রিড করে রেখেছেন নয়তো পড়ে স্টার রেটিং দিয়ে চলে গেছেন, কেউই পাঠ প্রতিক্রিয়া লেখেননি। হুট করে তাই মনে হলো বাংলায়ই লিখি, আমার মতো আরো কারো যদি উপকার হয়। বইটা আসলে অনেকবার শুরু করেছি, এত নামকরা একটা বই না পড়লে কুলীন পাঠক সমাজে মুখ দেখানো যায় না। তা এই বইতে দাঁত বসানো অনেকটাই কঠিন, কেননা লেখার স্টাইলটা খুব একটা কমন নয়। রুশদির ইংরেজি শব্দ বাছাই প্রক্রিয়াটা এমনই যে সব বুঝে পড়তে গেলে ডিকশনারি নিয়ে বসতে হবে। তার উপরে রয়েছে আনইউজুয়ালি লম্বা বাক্য। এমন পৃষ্ঠাও রয়েছে যেখানে ঠাসা বুনটের অক্ষরে বাক্য আছে মোটে দুইটি। এসবের কারণে পড়াটা বেশ মনোযোগ দাবী করে ভাষাগত দিক থেকেই। তার উপর উপরি হিসেবে রয়েছে বিষয়গত ব্যাপার। ম্যাজিক রিয়েলিজম ঘরানার এই বইটি তাই সবার জন্য নয় বলেই আমার বিশ্বাস।

গল্পের প্রোটাগনিস্ট সালীম সিনাই যার জন্ম হয় ১৯৪৭ সালের ১৫ই আগস্ট, ঠিক মধ্যরাতে, যখন ভারত পা রাখলো উপনিবেশ যুগ থেকে স্বাধীন রাষ্ট্র হিসেবে পথচলায়। শুধু সালীমই নয়, সেদিন মধ্যরাত বা এর আশেপাশে জন্ম নিলো আরো এক হাজার একজন শিশু, যাদের প্রত্যেকেরই রয়েছে কিছু অবিশ্বাস্য ক্ষমতা। সালীম মানুষের চিন্তা পড়তে পারতো, যার কারণে সে বেশ কম বয়সেই বাকি মধ্যরাতের শিশুদের সাথে যোগাযোগ স্থাপন করে গড়ে তোলে মিডনাইটস চিলড্রেন কনফারেন্স। সালীমের ধারণা ছিল, মধ্যরাতের এই শিশুদের এই অতিপ্রাকৃত ক্ষমতা দেয়াই হয়েছে ভারতকে গড়ে তোলার জন্য, প্রতিশ্রুত সুদিন এনে দেয়ার জন্য। এই লক্ষ্যে সে মধ্যরাতের শিশুদেরকে একত্রিত করার চেষ্টা চালিয়ে যায়।

কিন্তু, সালীম যা বুঝতে পারেনি, তা হল, রাষ্ট্র হিসেবে ভারতের পথচলায় তার বা অন্যান্য মধ্যরাতের শিশুদের ভূমিকা নিয়ন্ত্রকের নয়, বরং দর্শক এবং লিপিকরের। ক্রমান্বয়ে ভারতের ইতিহাসের প্রথম ক্ষণে জন্ম নেয়া এই শিশুদের জীবন গাঢ়ভাবে প্রভাবিত এবং পরিবর্তিতহয় ভারতের রাজনৈতিক পরিস্থিতির সাথে। এমনকি ভারত জড়িত থাকায় ১৯৬৫ সালের ইন্দো-পাক যুদ্ধ এবং ১৯৭১ সালে বাংলাদেশের স্বাধীনতা যুদ্ধ সালীমের জীবনে খুব গুরুত্বপূর্ণ বাঁকবদল হিসেবে কাজ করে। মোটামুটি এই হল স্পয়লারবিহীন কাহিনীসংক্ষেপ।

কেন এই বইটি এত রিমার্কেবল এবং ভুয়সী প্রশংসা পেয়ে থাকে সে বিষয়ে আমার ক্ষুদ্র অবজারভেশন- পড়তে পড়তে আমার মনে হয়েছে সালীম চরিত্রের মধ্যে দিয়ে রুশদি আসলে পুরো ভারত দেশটিকে তুলে ধরেছেন। একটি দেশকে একটি মানুষ হিসেবে কল্পনা করা এবং তা সফলভাবে পোর্ট্রে করাটা চাট্টিখানি কথা নয়। সালীম আশাবাদী, সম্ভাবনাময়, ইগোসেন্ট্রিক। দেশের সাথে তার এবং অন্যান্য মধ্যরাতের শিশুদের জীবন শুরু হয়, কিন্তু ভারত যখনই দেশ হিসেবে জরুরি অবস্থার মধ্যে পড়েছে কিংবা পোস্ট কলোনিয়াল চ্যালেঞ্জগুলো নিয়ে হিমশিম খেয়েছে, একই সময়ে আমরা সালীমকেও বেশ স্ট্রাগল করতে দেখি, মোটামুটি একই কারণে। মধ্যরাতের এই শিশুরা শিশু দেশ ভারতের মতোই- তাদের ধর্ম, কালচার, অর্থনৈতিক অবস্থা, বসবাসের স্থান এতই বিচিত্র যে তাদেরকে এক দেশের মানুষ বলে ভাবা কঠিন। সবকিছুই ভিন্ন, শুধু জন্মের সময় এবং নিজেদের অতিপ্রাকৃত ক্ষমতা দিয়ে তারা একে অপরের সাথে যুক্ত। যেন রুশদি এই মধ্যরাতের শিশুদের মাধ্যমে প্রশ্ন করছেন, ইউনিফাইড ইন্ডিয়া আসলেই এক্সিস্ট করে কিনা। আধুনিকতা আর ট্র্যাডিশনের মধ্যকার যুদ্ধে ভারত (আরো বিস্তৃতভাবে বলতে গেলে পুরো ভারতীয় উপমহাদেশ) হিমশিম খাচ্ছে আজো, সেই দ্বন্দ্বটাই যেন প্রতিমুহূর্তে ফুটে উঠেছে বইটিতে।

পাঠপ্রতিক্রিয়া হিসেবে বেশ লম্বা হয়ে যাচ্ছে। এই বইটি পড়ে কার কেমন লাগবে সেই বিষয়ে আমার অভিমত লিখে শেষ করি। বইটি অপরিণত পাঠকের জন্য নয়। না, এই বইতে তেমন এক্সপ্লিসিট কিছু নেই, কিন্তু বইটি পড়তে এবং পড়ে বুঝতে যে মানসিক সক্ষমতা প্রয়োজন, তা সবার থাকে না। আমি নিজেও আসলে কতটা বুঝেছি তাতে আমার সন্দেহ আছে। তার উপর আছে ভাষাগত চ্যালেঞ্জ। এইসবকিছু কাটিয়ে কেউ যদি বইটা আসলেই পড়ে ফেলেন, তাহলে মনে হয় না একটুও হতাশ হবেন। কিন্তু ধৈর্য রাখতেই হবে।

প্রায় মাসখানেকের বেশি সময় ধরে পড়া বইটি আমাকে যত ভাবনার উপকরণ দিয়ে গেল তাতে নিঃসন্দেহে ৫ তারা দিয়েদেয়া চলে। আবার যখন পরে পড়ব কখনো বইটি, তখন মত বদলালে বদলে যেতেও পারে, তবে পরবর্তী পাঠে আরো ভালোভাবে বুঝবো বলে আশা রাখি।