This book intricately weaves together the tapestry of real-life and fantasy, casting dolls as embodiments of women and vice versa. Threading storylines that flirt with the absurd—a narrative akin to a child's puppetry. Rooted in the irony of contemporary values and a weariness with life. But it also explores the profound theme of love, recognizing its healing energy and boundless power. Moreover, it delves into the intricate terrain of purpose, celebrating the human ability to pursue it unwaveringly until the last breath.

While reading the first chapters of this book, I felt like highlighting every line. The sentences were so nicely constructed and the turn of phrases made each line delightful. I thought the whole book would be like this, but it wasn't.
This is not my first Rushdie and ever since I read "Shalimar the Clown" (my first book by Rushdie) which was amazing, I hoped that I would find at least one of his books as good as this one. So far, I haven't. Not even "Midnight Children" was at the height of my expectations (It was a very good book, but at some points also very annoying).
Fury starts like a masterpiece and turns into a total crap. I try to finish all the books I start as I truly think there must be something good in them, something that I would enjoy, and I also got through all this book, but it was quite an effort to be attentive until the end. If it weren't for the beginning which was quite striking, I wouldn't give this book 2 stars.

Dit was mijn eerste Bookcrossingboek ooit die door iemand anders was geregistreerd. 7 jaar en 3 maanden lang keek ik enorm tegen dit boek op, mede door de slechte reviews op onder andere GR en de vrij intimiderende eerste pagina. Maar lezen zou ik hem. Nu heb ik eindelijk de moed gevonden en wat bleek? Door mijn slechte verwachtingen, viel dit boek opeens enorm mee. De wat politiekere stukjes etc. vond ik vrij ingewikkeld, maar de verhalende delen vond ik best interessant en dat maakte dit boek goed leesbaar. Zo leesbaar dat ik dit boek over een aantal jaren nog eens wil gaan lezen. Maar dit exemplaar gaat eindelijk weer het bookcrosscircuit in!

Tot op heden is Salman Rushdie (1947) de enige niet-Nederlandstalige schrijver geweest die op uitnodiging van Stichting Collectieve Propaganda van het Nederlandse Boek (CPNB) een boekenweekgeschenk schreef. Destijds was er kritiek op de keuze: afgezien van een paar lafhartige verwijzingen naar het Rijksmuseum en een voetbalwedstrijd van het Nederlands elftal (6-1 winst), die doen vermoeden dat CPNB ternauwernood nog aan een subsidievoorwaarde dacht, zie ik de meerwaarde van Woede (originele titel: Fury) voor de Nederlandse literatuur inderdaad niet in.

Het boek overtuigde me sowieso niet. Rushdie is werkelijk een groot schrijver, waarvan hij hier en daar akte geeft, maar in Woede neemt hij teveel hooi op de vork. Het verhaal gaat over de Brits-Indische Malik Solanka, een ‘ideeënhistoricus in ruste en heetgebakerd poppenmaker’ die in New York een celibatair en solitair bestaan leidt. Woede is in zekere zin een tijdbeeld van het prille begin van het millennium, nog vóór de aanslagen van 9/11, waarin het internet, reclame en merchandising in opkomst zijn. Rushdie zou Rushdie echter niet zijn als hij zijn kennis niet op het verhaal zou botvieren, dat inderdaad bol staat van de culturele referenties: van academische nostalgie tot riooljournalistiek, van thriller tot sciencefiction, van India tot de Griekse Oudheid, samengevoegd in verhaallijnen over poppen, moorden, oude mannen met huidhonger en natuurlijk woede.

n  Hoe had hij zich ooit kunnen verbeelden dat hij helemaal vanzelf gered zou worden door deze geldgekke burcht, dit Gotham City waarin Jokers en Penguins de beest uithingen zonder een Batman (of zelfs een Robin) om hun plannetjes te dwarsbomen, dit Metropolis van kryptoniet waarin geen Superman een voet durfde te zetten, waar overvloed werd aangezien voor rijkdom, en het genot van bezit voor geluk, waar mensen zulke gepolijste levens leidden dat de grote, grove waarheden van het rauwe bestaan waren weggepoetst en gladgewreven, en waarin de zielen van de mensen al zo lang zo ver uiteen waren gedreven dat ze nog maar nauwelijks wisten hoe ze elkaar konden raken; deze stad met zijn legendarische elektriciteit, waarmee de elektrische hekken werden gevoed die waren opgericht tussen mannen en mannen, en ook tussen mannen en vrouwen? Rome ging niet ten onder omdat de legers verzwakt waren maar omdat de Romeinen vergaten wat het betekende Romein te zijn.n

Het niveau van het boek schommelt; soms deed het me denken aan n  Midnight's Childrenn of n  Quichotn, soms echter ook aan het werk van schrijvers van een lager niveau, getuige ook een aantal weinig geïnspireerde citaten:

n  De matige zomer was van de ene op de andere dag verdwenen, als een geflopte Broadway-show.n

n  Hij had een moeder nodig, geen waterleidingbedrijf zoals op het Monopoly-bord.n

Voorlopig heb ik mijn dosis Rushdie wel weer even gehad.

I'm so glad this book is over. I found it to be predominantly painful reading that degenerated even further near the end. I'd be happy to read another Rushdie in time though, and I have a feeling I'll regret starting with this one.

“ مليك سولانكا " بروفيسور جامعي متزوج ولديه برنامج شهير يعرض على شاشات التلفزيون، يقوم المزودين باستغلال البرامج استغلال تجارى فج لا يرقى لرضا البروفيسور، يطلق زوجته التي انجب منها طفلا ويرحل على نيويورك والحنق يزرع فؤاده، يهرب من غضب صغير لغضب اكبر.
حبكة بسيطة لكن اسلوب الكاتب غير بسيط بالمرة.

3.5 stars. An imaginative, humorous, sometimes absurdist, thought provoking, eventful novel about Dr Solanka, a 55 year old Indian man, married with wife and a three year old son, living in England. One evening he has a rage that causes him to stand with a knife over the sleeping bodies of his wife and son, to scream out in public, and anger blackouts, which cause him to question his sanity. He is angry with the human condition and the world in general. Suddenly he takes a flight to New York, leaving his wife and son, with no thought of returning to them.

In New York Dr. Solanka becomes a successful creator of his mythical little Brain doll, and then hi tech chronicles of the Puppet Kings. Both creations are successfully marketed.

There are three murders of young women that Dr. Solanka worries about. Could he, in his fury, have been involved in their murders? Dr. Solanka meets and falls in love with Neela, a beautiful, stunning young independent woman.

A novel rich in linguistic skill and wordplay that Rushdie fans should find an entertaining reading experience.

This book was first published in 2001.

"Животът е истински бяс, помисли си той. Сексуален, Едипов, политически, магичен, жесток бяс – той ни въздига до най-високите върхове и ни захвърля в най-черните пропасти. Тази фурия поражда творчеството, вдъхновението, оригиналността, страстта, но също насилието, болката, чистата разруха без капка страх, нанасянето и посрещането на удари, от които никога не се възстановяваме. Фуриите ни преследват, Шива танцува яростния си танц, с който едновременно разрушава и създава света… Ето това представляваме, ето това прикрива нашата цивилизованост – страховития звяр вътре в нас, величавото, трансцендентно, саморазрушително и волно божествено творящо начало. Ние се въздигаме взаимно до висините на блаженството. Разкъсваме се един друг къс по къс.”

„Ярост“ е екстатичен роман, поредно доказателство за разказваческия дар на Салман Рудши. Погнат от своята демонична кипяща ярост, милионерът Малик Соланка – индиец от Бомбай, образован в Кеймбридж, университетски преподавател и майстор на кукли – се опитва да предпази своите близки от самия себе си и търси път за бягство. От Лондон в Америка. От семейството към безопасната самота. От необозримо огромния свят към обозримата миниатюра. В епоха на безпрецедентно изобилие, в кулминацията на американското богатство и могъщество, проф Соланка попада сред взривната енергия на още по-унищожителна и повсеместна ярост и е принуден да опознае болезнено себе си и другите.

..jedan od autora koje sam, zbog "razvikanosti", planski izbjegavao..do sada. Kad shvatis da u " Bijesu" Rushdie u biti priča i svoj život, od početnog stava "aj da vidim više čemu tolika strka..", dođeš do " vidi ti to!?..mogao bih i ostale romane pročitat.." :)

Malik Solanka is a middle-aged Indian man living in London. He finds himself overwhelmed by an uncontrollable fury and decides to leave his wife and son and move to New York City because he's terrified he'll hurt them. He gained wealth and fame earlier in life when he created a doll called "Little Brain" that became a sensation and quickly spiraled out of his control. Once in NYC he meets two other women he becomes involved with and begins to pursue a new creative venture.

I didn't have any attachment to Solanka and struggled to stay interested in the book. I really enjoyed Rushdie's writing though. He goes back and forth between social commentary and inner struggle. The story didn't work for me, but it has made me decide I definitely need to try some of his other well-known books. Any suggestions?

"Life is fury, he thought, fury: sexual, oedipal, political, magical, brutal. It drives us to our finest heights and coarsest depths. Out of fury comes creation, inspiration, originality, passion, but also violence, pain, pure unafraid destruction, the giving and receiving of blows from which we never recover."

I really hated this book. I've read Midnight's Children in the past and remember liking it (though it was in middle school so perhaps I should re-read) but I could not get behind this book. I understand that the appeal of Rushdie is his controversial topics, with him saying "What is freedom of expression? Without the freedom to offend, it ceases to exist." And I get that. But personally, I cannot understand what a person is supposed to gain from a book about an aging man-child who throws tantrums and is a sexual predator. His weird relationship with Mila is described as a father/daughter dynamic, and not two sentences later they're almost having sex. The descriptions of women in general feel like Murakami in the worst possible way. The main character is supposed to be this tortured anti-hero but he’s just a creep with anger issues.

"I know that when people pull apart, they usually employ misunderstanding as a weapon, deliberately getting hold of the stick's wrong end, impaling themselves on its point in order to prove the perfidy of the other."

With each day that passes, the world matches this novel more accurately. The fury of the word is mirrored in the fury of the world. Read it, all of you out there who surprisedly find yourselves increasingly, undyingly furious at what happens around you, in this poor world of plenty!

Who else could possibly describe the complexity of primal anger? That must be the topic that was created only for Salman Rushdie, his custom-made story, assembled and ready to put on paper by a global rage unseen and unheard of before. His to find words for. The most frightening part is the publication date. Were we really that far gone already in 2001, on the day before 9/11?

Read this novel now, it is getting better and better, the clearer it becomes that Rushdie was right (sadly!).

Shared fury is fury well channelled.