Book Review | ‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie

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book review, Deepa Mehta, India, Indian literature, magical realism, midnights children, salman rushdie

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“To understand just one life you have to swallow the world … do you wonder, then, that I was a heavy child?”

Like a weaver at his loom, Rushdie manages to gather in his hands the medusa-like threads of India’s unique oriental history. With this he doesn’t merely write a story, but rather proceeds to reconcile a heady clash of colours and ideas into a startling pattern that (despite the magical realism) seem to mimic the oftentimes absurd flow of life itself. Even though I would like to call this a novel about the ‘birth’ of Pakistan, it is also the story of India’s greatest loss. ‘Midnight’s Children’ is riddled with themes of abandonment, prejudice and unusual circumstances. It addresses the cultural abortion and geographical divorce of a nation in a most astonishing way. Within the midst of the civil war is Saleem, our narrator, who is quite literally beginning to crack under the weight of his extraordinary life.

You see, Saleem is not an ordinary mortal. He is a changeling and moreover one of the most prolific and talented members of the secret ‘Midnight’s Children’ society. Born on the stroke of midnight, on the very moment of Pakistan’s birth, Saleem was hailed by all as the golden child, the lucky one, the ‘little piece of moon’ that would grace the flag of his brand new motherland.

“I have been a swallower of lives; and to know me, just the one of me, you’ll have to swallow the lot as well.”

Therefore twinned twice as he is (once through religion, and again through the hour of his birth) Saleem begins a personal history that is far from personal and reveals how painfully he remains yoked to the same tempestuous fate as these two enemy nations. But as the story goes on, we learn of how other more ancient personal histories often return to seek their own terrible vengeance. For if Saleem knows one thing about this life that shouldn’t even BE his own, it is that blessings and curses, once uttered, carry on like an arrow obsessed until they find and meet their target. Anthing that stands in the way is pierced. And Saleem, this thief of fate and destiny with his dark twins and superhuman powers is the luckless crucible in which history chooses to shape its’ weird alchemy.

“Why, alone of all the more-than-five-hundred-million, should I have to bear the burden of history?”

It is extremely difficult to talk about ‘Midnight’s Children’ without going into detail. The story is so full of twists and turns that as a reviewer I feel scared to let anything slip. One thing I’d hate to do is spoil any of the plot developments that so delighted me when I read it. But there is one thing I can talk about. The very IDEA of the story that took Rushdie almost 10 years to get down on paper that is so ambitious that just thinking about it makes me dizzy. Where does one start telling the story of countries? And not only this, how does one go about ‘twinning’ a country with humans? There is also the task of harnessing a mind-boggling range of cross-cultural mythological and religious symbolism. The real question I would like to ask Rushdie is ‘where and when do you decide to not draw inspiration and call it enough?’

The writing of stories is a labyrinthine process, we can get lost in the intricacies of the art if we are not careful. Yet Rushdie has a very firm grip on his narrative, introducing this multi-faceted, many-headed Hydra a morsel at a time. In fact, he worked this frustration of ‘where to begin’ into the first chapters of the story, as we see Saleem bemoaning the how he must begin his personal history from his grandfather, as it is here that we find the real ‘roots’ to his birth.

“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’m gone which would not have happened if I had not come.”

Anyone with a liking of magical realism will love reading ‘Midnight’s Children’. The cast is full and varied. My favourite has to be the Brass Monkey, who Rushdie admitted was based on his own sister who was affectionately called so. As expected with Indian literature, the settings are handsomely portrayed and are vibrant with colour and movement. Although there are many characters that come and go, I found it easy to follow. This was my first book from Rushdie, and I found it pleasantly surprising. My advice to newcomers is do not be put off by the thickness of the book nor the hype surrounding its’ author. Give it a try and you will definitely like it.

View all my reviews

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Problems with Colloquialisms? Here’s the Solution… | Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

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colloquialism, Indian literature, midnights children, salman rushdie, translation

When I began reading Rushdie’s ‘Midnight’s Children’ back in November, I knew I was in for a bit of a culture shock and braced myself for the slew of foreign words that often pepper Eastern narratives. Personally, I don’t mind the odd foreign word that pops up every now and then. In fact it’s great to learn a few words in a different language and it adds colour and texture to the text. And anyway, if I don’t know the word I can usually suss it out through the context of the sentence.

Also reading Rushdie wasn’t as hard as I thought it might be, and the words he did throw out were all somewhat familiar (despite variations in spellings), but I only realised how inaccessible the book could be for an audience with no knowledge of basic Arabic. One fellow blogger in particular Adam (roofbeamreader) pointed this out to me. I have since looked on the internet for some kind of source (apart from free translation websites) and discovered a really cool glossary someone created specifically for ‘Midnight’s Children’.

Anyone wanting to read this book, but is concerned they might be alienated by the language will be able to look up the meanings from here. In fact, it might be a good idea to print it off and have it with you while you read.

Here are some of my favourite words from the book and their meanings:

Bombay-duck/bombil

A type of salt-water fish

Chapat

a slap. This is real Bombay slang

Funtoosh

Finished, disappear, excellent, etc..

Rakshasa

goblin, demon, evil spirit

Shiv-lingam

Shiva is one of the gods in the Hindu trinity (Brahma-Vishnu-Shiva), in the divine division of labor Shiva is sometimes the destroyer, sometimes the creator. A Shiv-lingam is black rock representing Shiva’s penis, worshiped as the source of his creativity.

 

Wallah

is almost like the word “smith” as used in English last-names. It can sometimes be appended to one’s last name to reflect the hereditary profession, in common parlance it simply means “one who is engaged in”.

Midnight’s Children Read-Along | Part Two Discussions…

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Indian literature, midnights children, readalong, salman rushdie

I have finally arrived at Part 2 of the read-along discussions and can’t wait to write up my views on what I have experienced so far. As you may be aware, the read along has actually ended, but I will continue to post the next two discussion points as and when I come to them. If you are interested in this read-along and other people’s views about the book, then you can find this hosted over at Bibliojunkie by JoV.

Without much ado, I will go onto the questions.

Question 1: What did Methwold represent? Why did he specify that nothing be changed in his houses?

Methwold and his estate didn’t strike me as important at first, but it was only when he finally left the Sinai family and the country altogether, that I realised how crucial he was as a character. In the story, Rushdie makes a big to-do about how Methwold’s great-great grandfather was the pioneer of modern Bombay, and how he had a hand in making it the bustling city that it is now. This puts a lot of emphasis on the notion of ‘hereditary origins’ at a time when India is slowly changing hands and returning back to its’ native people. This also goes nicely with highlighting Saleem’s extensive back story. When Saleem recalls the rapidly changing geography of the region and the colonial influences that suffused throughout Bombay; it made me think about how history sometimes leaves marks in places that are often impossible to get rid of. And sure enough Rushdie went further with this notion by downsizing it to Methwold and his estate.

The estate is an almost chess-sized version of the ‘real’ battle between the Indian population and it’s invaders. The natives are represented by the Sinai’s and the other families who come to live on the estate. The British colonists are embodied by a single man; Methwold (apt because he quite literally inherits the role!), and the estate comes to symbolise an India that has been split up, isolated into ‘pockets’ of foreignness and given an identity and history alien to itself (major parallel here with Saleem, as he was switched at birth and therefore lead a life that was theoretically not his own.) The game of conqueror and conquered is played out through 
psychological methods. Methwold’s odd request that nothing be changed in the houses is his way of getting his new tenants to get used to the British way of life. The cocktail hour remains as one of the lasting effects of this psychological warfare of a colonist determined to inoculate the ways of Britannia, even when he is in the last steps of the so-called ‘handover’ of power.

In Saleem’s case, Methwold has two separate meanings. Firstly, he is undeniably his biological father. Secondly, he is also a mirror that refracts and reflects what Methwold is doing to the Sinai’s back onto Methwold himself. As Methwold (colonist and conqueror) leaves behind the last bitter seeds of his revenge as he attempts to bastardise the cultural beliefs and traditions of the native population; Methwold leaves behind a son who is quite literally a bastard (unbeknownst to him) which grows up in the intense atmosphere of Indian customs. Rushdie adds a touch of poetic justice to the whole situation, as he ironically depicts Methwold’s line continuing in the form of Saleem, but without a trace of the English heritage that runs through his veins. For me, this reminds me of the symbol of the Ouroboros; the snake that bites its own tail. Methwold is snake-like as he feeds his unassuming venom into the future inhabitants of the estate. But it is his own son who destroys what is most dear to him; a sense of Britishness. Saleem, with all his knowledge of the past and his ability to see into other people’s minds embraces his ‘cuckoo-child’ existence. Taken from his real parents and planted into the arms of another, Saleem accepts his adoptive Kashmiri relatives with complete ease and in turn bites the tail of Methwold as an act of divine revenge.

Therefore, the estate is almost certainly a battle ground for ethnic identity,  a scaled-down version of the games played on India and her people.  

Question 2: At the very heart of Midnight’s Children is an act of deception: Mary Pereira switches the birth-tags of the infants Saleem and Shiva. The ancestors of whom Saleem tells us at length are not his biological relations; and yet he continues to speak of them as his forebears. What effect does this have on you, the reader? How easy is it to absorb such a paradox?

The paradox for me came as a bit of a shock. Switching babies at birth is quite an old literary device and regardless of how many times I’ve heard it being used in stories; this time it did give me quite a jolt! In fact I went back and read the page two times to make sure I understood what was going on but it’s quite a powerful twist to the tale. I suppose what Rushdie is telling us through the character of Saleem is that it is not our blood that dictates our future or indeed our ethnicity. The ‘nurture’ part of our upbringing, whether it be with our biological parents or not, plays a big part in how we identify ourselves. Saleem being a ‘midnight’s child’ has powers that enable him to look into the past through other people’s memories. He talks of how events outside him, even before his conception, heralded his coming. He seems to believe that he is the ‘fated’ child of the Sinai’s, which promotes a much stronger sense of belonging.

End of questions! Wow, it has been a real roller-coaster ride for me reading this book. I have learned so much and it just keeps getting better and weirder. Can’t wait for part three discussions. I wonder what’ll happen next!

Midnight’s Children Read-Along | Part One Discussions…

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Indian literature, magical realism, midnights children, readalong, salman rushdie

I know I’m a bit late jumping on the bandwagon, but I heard about this read-along and couldn’t help joining in. If you are interested, you can find this hosted over at Bibliojunkie by JoV. I’ve been dying to read one of Rushdie’s books for the longest time, but his reputation as a brainy, intelligent type did kind of put me off. I was afraid I might not completely understand his writing! But surprise, surprise, I have been really enjoying this one. It’s been a while since I’ve read any magical realism and I find I haven’t gotten lost in it yet. But a little less about me and more about the read-along, and an overview of the book itself.

How The Readalong Works: The read-along is split into three parts or ‘weeks’. Part one covers ‘Book 1’ of the novel, which is roughly from pages 1-150. Each week we get a set of questions about the section we’ve read. Each member posts their thoughts on their blogs to share with other reader. That’s it! Very simple. But because I was late getting the book I will be posting my responses as and when I finish the sections in my own time.

Synopsis of ‘Midnight’s Children’: Saleem Sinai, the protagonist and narrator of this extraordinary story, is not an ordinary person. His birth (the exact moment of India’s liberation, as it happens) caused something of a warp in time, making him one of the 1001 children to be linked inextricably to world history. Imagine if the ‘Book of Life’ had been expelled from heaven and landed on earth in 1001 fragments, each fragment to have suffused itself in a child being born at that exact moment. That’s what it would be like: an elite collective of ‘midnight’s children’ who are connected to each other and to the fate of the world. 

This is Saleem’s destiny; to carry within him the burden of India’s painful re-birth. However these children of fate do not live long, and at thirty-something Saleem is already seeing signs that history, is literally, pulling him apart. Therefore exhausted and spent, Saleem’s only desire now is to write down the endless lives and worlds that have come and gone inside him any way he can. What ensues is a convoluted narrative of multiple stories that break off and resume their course elsewhere, and memories that capture the essence and nuance of people, places and events in India’s history.

1. Saleem describes himself as ‘handcuffed to history’. What do you think that this means, and do you think that this is true of him?

In the story Saleem has a very distinct reason to call himself ‘handcuffed’ to history. As the synopsis says, he is one of the many children who are magically connected. But I think Rushdie has created Saleem’s unique destiny as a way of saying that all people are handcuffed to their own personal histories, whether they be familial, cultural, religious or otherwise. I am reminded of Shakespeare’s “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players.”  When we are born, we enter part of an ongoing story or ‘play’ that other actors or people are taking part in. I’m not a fan of the notion that we live a preordained life, but I can’t help thinking some things might be set. For instance our family history is something we can’t change. This is evident when Saleem chooses to write about his life. In order to do it properly, he decides to go back as far as his great-grandfather to begin his own personal history, as if to say that he already existed in some form or other in his ancestors.

The notion of being linked to the history of a country is far more potent. We don’t think about it very much, but all our lives pretty much depend on the decisions made by the countries we live in, or those more powerful ones surrounding us. The India under British rule that is portrayed in Book 1 draws many parallels with today’s Afghanistan and Iraq. I do not know for certain yet, but I anticipate Rushdie might link the other 1001 children to countries that have been split in two through the ‘divide and conquer’ strategy of Imperialist forces like China – Hong Kong, North – South Korea, Northern Ireland – The Republic of Ireland and Inner -Outer Mongolia. Even if this isn’t the case, it certainly makes it a very interesting concept.   

2. Unlike many novels, Midnight’s Children is not written using a linear narrative. Why do you think that Rushdie uses this technique, and do you think that it is successful?

The concept of ‘Midnight’s Children’ is quite unique and complex. There are many characters and historical events that collide together to form a colourful confusion. And it is only natural that this confusion be represented by a non-linear narrative. Rushdie notes that it took him many years to write the story, and I think the broken storyline is an effective way for Rushdie to evoke the nature of time, the way it passes outside us and within us and how we capture time in memories that are, in effect, incomplete and flawed in themselves. We may make memories through sight, sound or even scent (noses are very important in Saleem’s story… he has amazing olfactory senses that warn him when he is in trouble!), so the fabric and cadence of these memories may change.

I think it’s also Rushdie’s way of saying stories do not have to be told in a linear way. We don’t think in a linear way, so why should stories go in a straight line? When we encounter Saleem, he is writing an autobiography after all, and our lives are full of alleyways and multiple roads that we may have travelled at any one time. Our life history may even contain dead-ends and booby-traps. Instead of going the way of ‘stream of consciousness’ which would have rendered this novel completely unreadable, I think Rushdie chose a more ‘friendly’ version, and made his story fragments bigger and therefore more coherent for his readers. Instead of having three separate memories flowing into one another in a single sentence a la Woolf or Joyce, memories are divided distinctly into paragraphs so we at least know the next one will be a jump to somewhere else. Part of the alienation of SoC is the fact that the story switches without indication. Rushdie has taken great care to make sure this doesn’t happen too often with his readers.

These are some of the questions put to us for the readalong. If you’ve read the book, what would be your response to them?