So I thought it was only fitting to start the discussion of Midnight's Children at the stroke of(or roughly) midnight.

This is quite a dense story - the history of a family and country - although both the family and country should really be plural.

Like most discussions, I think we should assume spoilers in every post. So reader beware as you follow this discussion.

The book is an allegory, a tale, full of magical realism and little pieces are hidden and revealed, much like the famous perforated sheet metaphor that pervades the book.

Having been in India a few times myself, I can say that the book reminded me a lot of the place in which it is set - beauty, pain, hard, soft, dense.

What does everyone else think? I'm waiting to hear from 1,001 others - although not necessarily tonight :)

What was very flummoxing for me was all the Indian history. I felt very ignorant about it all. It was a bit like Hundred Years of Solitude was for me: I felt like I was missing something indefinable, something that I would get if I knew more about the history involved.

I loved the far out magic realism though. The bit in the jungle was pretty hallucinogenic.

Yes, I had the same problem and was unable to battle my way through it, though I tried on two separate occasions. I loved the writing and the family story, but the magic realism (which I'm usually drawn to) became disorienting for me just when I was most confused by the history and characters, and that's what made me unable to go beyond page 64. I wish he'd stuck with the family politics and not gone into the real politics. I plan to work through it one day, but do tell me it isn't necessary to know exactly who is who always or what is always going on.

That's interesting, because I didn't find my lack of knowledge about Indian history particularly took anything away from my reading; in fact I'm pretty sure it was this book that inspired me to choose the partition of India for a 4000-word essay I had to write. So I now know quite a bit more about it.

I think I've read it since writing that essay, but I don't remember that knowing the history made things any clearer. If anything, I found it more difficult to read the second time, though I absolutely adored it the first time.

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.

Choupette, that's an interesting comment. Actually, it's somewhat reassuring to know that knowing more about Indian history isn't really necessary to enjoy the book.

What was disorienting, and what I did like very much about the book, was how he kept constantly questioning his own narrative and his memory as a metaphor for propopanda and lies. (I guess that's one reason why I would wish that I knew more about India's history.) There's a whole section after he returns from the jungle when he's just scathing about the atrocities committed by the Pakistani troops and the government denials about its occurence.

Like Yulia and Ruth, I was not able to finish the book either. I read a little over a 100 pages before putting it down. I kept stopping and rereading a lot of paragraphs. It wasn't much about the Indian history, as the writing style. If I don't remember wrong the author changes points of views, and past and present, sometimes a couple of times in the same page.

I'm on page 306, and I will finish. This is a rich, rich book, and like all rich foods, I have to eat it in small batches. There's almost too much here to talk about it coherently.

I'm only on page 45, but am loving it so far, yes, it's as dense as a Beulah Ledner pound cake. The changing points of view don't bother me, it only adds layers. I can't wait to get farther into it.

I read this a couple of years ago and really loved it, but I wasn't up for a reread. It took me over a month to finish it the first time. Sherry, your rich food analogy is an apt one.

When I was reading this, I felt that it was the never-ending book, but I am happy to have read it. The things that irked me the most was all of the foreshadowing, as in "I can't mention "A" to you yet because he or she hasn't appeared in the story yet."

There are some passages that I want to mention, and here are a couple about memory. On p. 37, Saleem says, "...I spend my time at the great work of preserving. Memory, as well as fruit, is being saved from the corruption of clocks." The corruption of clocks strikes all of us. However, Saleem was only in his early 30's at the time that he began recounting his and his country's history.

Saleem also speaks of memory on p. 491, "Scraps of memory: this is not how a climax should be written. A climax should surge towards its Himalayan peak; but I am left with shreds, and must jerk towards my crisis like a puppet with broken strings......Most of what matters in our lives takes place in our absence; I must be guided by the memory of a once-glimpsed file with tell-tale initials; and by the other, remaining shards of the past, lingering in my ransacked memory-vaults like broken bottles on a beach...Like scraps of memory, sheets of newsprint used to bowl through the magicians' colony in the silent midnight wind." What a beautiful image of fading memories! It reminds me of what my father went through as he sank deeper into Alzheimer's.

Jane

Jane, I think I remember the foreshadowing annoyed me too, but reading The God of Small Things recently made me think a little more about it, as a similar technique is used. In that book, it really helped to give the events a sense of inevitability that really added to the effect of the book as a whole (see my review for a fuller explanation). I'm afraid I don't remember Midnight's Children quite well enough to know if a similar thing could be happening here (it's been a couple of years since I read it), but do you think that could be the case?

I'm not through yet, but the foreshadowing is having an interesting effect. Sometimes I feel as if I've heard about a person or an event, but I just can't put my finger on it. It keeps slipping away from me. Rushdie helped his readers (well, me, anyway) experience what he's writing about. This book would be a perfect candidate for an immediate reread, but I won't be able to do that. Once through is hard enough.

As soon as I saw that this book was going to be read for this Discussion I ordered it from my library. I still haven't read The Satanic Verses, but was curious to see what I think of Salman Rushdie.

I'm only on page 108 so far (there are never enough spare hours to read as much as I'd like), but am enjoying it immensely. I really enjoy foreshadowing - it makes me feel that the novelist really is talking directly to me because I have family who tell stories exactly like that. It adds an element of humour, even to sombre or very unpleasant parts of a tale.

I've read about the history of the partitioning of India, and I've read a few novels set in India both in that time and the present. Rushdie is superb at evoking the senses, and gives wonderful little portraits of characters who are peripheral to the story. This bit is an example:
.. he had shared a room with a painter whose paintings had grown larger and larger as he tried to get the whole of life into his art.(p.58 - 1995 hardcover).
I can sense the almost desperate frustration of that painter who has a vision but can't find the way to express it. Lovely.

I must continue reading this book.

I just finished 487 pages of Shadow of the Wind, read about the same number of pages in Fidali's Way, so am ready to tackle the 589 dense pages of Midnight's Children. I hope the treacle everyone mentioned won't stop me from getting through.

Choupette,

That is a good point about the foreshadowing giving a sense of inevitability. I think that is probably true of MIDNIGHT, but I still feel there was just too much. I kept thinking, "Get on with the story already!" I read THE GOD OF SMALL THINGS years ago and loved it, but I don't remember much about it. It is always good to make connections between two books like that.

Jane

I was really afraid I wouldn't like this book, because I disliked The Satanic Verses, but after about page 50 I found myself devouring it. I have to put it down when I get sleepy or I would never get to sleep! The flow makes it really interesting and I like the foreshadow because it gives you a look at the whole fabric of the story so while the events are still surprising, they don't seem to come out of nowhere.

Also I like how the family history and politics are concurrent with the nation's politics. I also don't know a lot about India's history, but I don't think that is important in the story. The way I'm seeing it is that this is a memory and people's memories get muddled with time. The narrator admits he gets the sequence of events wrong sometimes, just like most people, events can bleed together and get mixed up. So I don't think not knowing the history hurts one's understanding of the story at all. When you think about it, exact dates aren't as important as the overall memory of the out come.

I like your point about memory, Abigail. We tend to get really hung up on "what exactly happened", when what is more important is the way it is remembered.

I still haven't finished, but I'd like to talk about one of the occurring elements. That sheet with the hole cut out that was the only way Saleem's grandfather, the doctor, could examine the girl who would become his wife. Now I'm at the part where his sister the singer has a similar contraption to sing through. What a dizzying idea. Here is an institution who wants to "protect" their girls and women so much, that they allow speculation about them to be whipped up into a furor. It seems this "method" of "protection" serves a paradoxical purpose.

Aren't we reading this book through a sheet, too?-- where the hole moves around and we can see one element of the whole story, but we have to make the connections for ourselves? The author can let us look through this whole and that (and what power for an author to be able to do that), and how difficult to make sure we've seen the whole story. When we are given access to the whole in this way, it's hard to be able to make judgments about what's important, except that we have this ever-present narrator pointing out what's important. We have a hard time making our own choices, since the scene shifts and the emphasis changes when the narrator wants them too.

Of course, authors are always there, and readers always only read what they write, but I've never read a book where this whole process of hide and show and tell is so MUCH a part of the story.

I've still only on page 81, but even at that early stage, Rushdie is using the partial revelation system, when Mumtaz/Amina decides to grow to love her husband piece by piece, focus on one of his fragments at the time and learn to love it.

Rushdie refers to it as "under the spell of the perforated sheet of her own parents".
What a wonderful concept, both to fall in love with someone, and for a writer to carry through a novel.

Oh my, that's funny. The "fabric" of the story, where is the "hole in the sheet" today...I love it. Saleem is bursting to share his whole story this minute, but wants to protect it at the same time. It's really amusing.

Heard some points in a lecture yesterday that I've found really interesting to consider. Does Rushdie present a view of India that is tailored to the expectations of western readers? Is his hyperbolic (and highly entertaining) style a true representation of India? Some critics apparently say that thanks in large part to Rushdie, western publishers will not print any Indian literature that is not in this style or similar, because they are afraid it won't sell. These critics maintain that this is harmful to India as a whole, as it presents it as a package, tailored and commodified for western consumption. A form of Orientalism, in fact.

Does anyone have any opinion on this? Does anyone know India first-hand at all? I personally have no idea but wish I did. Love the comments about perforated sheets...

Now why did Rushdie have a price on his head? Was it for this book, implicitly questioning the need for perforated sheets, etc.?? Does anyone recall?

Rushdie had a price on his head because of the purported view which he gave of the Prophet in The Satanic Verses - the Wiki entry is the simplest and the link is here -

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Satanic...(novel)

I'd disagree about publishers and the Indian novel, at least in the UK - there have been any number of novels published - here is an example from another Wiki article on Indian writers -

'Among the later writers, the most notable is Salman Rushdie, born in India, now living in the United Kingdom. Rushdie with his famous work Midnight's Children (Booker Prize 1981, Booker of Bookers 1992, and Best of the Bookers 2008) ushered in a new trend of writing. He used a hybrid language – English generously peppered with Indian terms – to convey a theme that could be seen as representing the vast canvas of India. He is usually categorised under the magic realism mode of writing most famously associated with Gabriel García Márquez.
Salman Rushdie

Bharati Mukherjee, author of Jasmine (1989), has spent much of her career exploring issues involving immigration and identity with a particular focus upon the United States and Canada.

Vikram Seth, author of A Suitable Boy (1994) is a writer who uses a purer English and more realistic themes. Being a self-confessed fan of Jane Austen, his attention is on the story, its details and its twists and turns.

Shashi Tharoor, in his The Great Indian Novel (1989), follows a story-telling (though in a satirical) mode as in the Mahabharata drawing his ideas by going back and forth in time. His work as UN official living outside India has given him a vantage point that helps construct an objective Indianness.

Other authors include Vikram Chandra, Anita Desai, Kiran Desai, Arundhati Roy, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Raj Kamal Jha, Jhumpa Lahiri, Bharti Kirchner, Khushwant Singh, Amit Chaudhuri, Amitav Ghosh, Vikas Swarup, Rohinton Mistry, Kiran Nagarkar and C R Krishnan.'

Apart from Rushdie I can't think of any of those whom I would call part of the magic realism group - I say this, though, having read many but certainly not all of them.

Um, I believe it was for The Satanic Verses. I'd always heard that the fatwa was for the episode in the verses where one of Mohammed's visions is attributed to Satan. More recently, I read views where others have said that the real reason the Ayatollah issued it was because Rushdie mocked him in the book (he did). I think the real reason was because he was engaging in geopolitical posturing and jostling for stature as a leader of the Muslim world (he's not, btw, there's no equivalent of a pope in Islam).

Edit: I also think that it's unlikely that many of those screaming blue murder actually read the book. In all likelihood, most of them would only have heard of what the book contained--and more likely than not, what they would have heard would have been either distorted (I heard it from X who heard it from Y who ....) or just plain fabricated. Although there is much in the book that a devout believer would find offensive--episodes where prostitutes play act being Mohammed's wives and the insinuation that Mohammed was making up his prophecies and not really receiving them from on high.

Hi,

I just found this group yesterday (found goodreads just a few weeks ago) I also just happened to be reading Midnight's Children at the moment, so here is my 2-cents worth to add:

I read Midnight’s Children the first time many, many years ago. I forgot how rich the novel is, a plush tapestry of symbols, or, I didn’t know then when I was younger and less mature how to appreciate the book because I didn’t understand a lot of it. I probably thought, as some critics do, that its symbolism was over the top, and not meaningful to progress the story.

I loved the book this go ‘round for its layered density and language. It’s often categorized in a group of other novels, usually by Latin writers, as magical realism. I think the complex allegory of MC is something else altogether; beyond definition that combines magic and reality, it’s more like a dream realism, if brilliant dreams had brilliant language (my dreams are often packed with symbols whose language I’m barely, or not, aware of.) For what it worth I’m calling it ‘applied cohesion in hegemony of dreams.’

When Saleem Sinai is a baby in his cradle the adults noticed that his eyelids seemed stuck, always open. His mother closed them with her fingers, then for months afterward she and another manually manipulated them open and shut:

"He'll learn, Madam," Mary comforted Amina, "He is a good obedient child and he will get the hang of it for sure." I learned: the first lesson of my life: nobody can face the world with his eyes open all the time.”

I also liked the technique of foreshadowing (four-five-sixth sense shadowing) because it kept me involved in the story, when otherwise I could drift away on the beauty of Rushdie’s sentence construction – left pondering this, that or the other thing; for instance, pondering optimism disease… interesting diagnosis.

Welcome to Goodreads and Constant Reader, Janet. I hope you join us in other discussions too. I really appreciated your point about Rushdie’s “magic realism”. It has bothered me for a while the constant comparison between Rushdie and Garcia Marquez, but I could not quite verbalize it the way you did. I realize that both could fit into this label - “magic realism” – but they sound so different in my years.

I read Midnight’s Children a few years ago and confess that although I thought it was marvellously written, I didn’t feel compelled to re-read for this discussion. Ruth’s post way back comparing it to “molasses” hit a cord with me.

I also wanted to comment on Choupette’s post and Ricki’s response to it. I agree with Ricki that the few books I did read about India by Indian writers do not seem to all fit the mould set by Rushdie, just the opposite when we are speaking in terms of their writing styles. But I do wonder if the thematic has become repetitive. The poverty and political turmoils of India seem to have been the only thing I ever read about India.

Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance, which is an extraordinary book, left me an emotional wreck, dwelling in the inevitability of his characters’ lives. Jumpha Lahiri has changed the focus to the immigrant experience, and Vihram Seth has written on topics completely disengaged from the his Indian roots. But the only book I can think about that I have read about the Indian experience which does not explore the poverty and political turmoil of the country is A Passage to India, written by an Englishman.

Of course, even A Passage to India, has the political environment of the time – in this case colonialism – as the background for the story. Yet, the characters’ experiences are the main theme. Maybe the difference I see between it and other more recent books as Midnight’s Children and A Fine Balance is just in the nuances of how the political and economic background interferes with the stories. Maybe it is inevitable, as the political aspects have become more and more gruesome, and that much more intrusive into people’s lives. But I do wonder if this is what the critics are really talking about when, as Choupette says: ...critics maintain that this is harmful to India as a whole, as it presents it as a package, tailored and commodified for western consumption. A form of Orientalism, in fact.

On page 77 of the book and am fascinated by the story of the grandfather's family, especially the women - his traditional wife whom he met in sections through a "perforated" sheet, his daughter Mumbai, and the narrator's Padma. The family story keeps me going though I also am interested in the references to Indian history = the gunning down of peaceful marchers in a show of resistance to British rule organized by Gandhi, the assassination of the leader of the anti-partition Muslim group. (I suppose these are based on historical facts?)

The reading is slow, there are so many words on each page, but so far, so good.

Harvee, you're right, the book is based on historical events. The gunning down of peaceful demonstrators was the Jallianwala Bagh massacre. It occurred in Amritsar in 1919 and was one of the direct causes of Gandhi's first non-cooperation (peaceful resistance) movement. I found Rushdie's depiction of it fascinating. As a historical novel, this book really adds dimension to events that can seem like a series of dry dates and facts. This incident and the one with the Mercurochrome was one of my favourites from the book.

KiwiKathleen wrote: "As soon as I saw that this book was going to be read for this Discussion I ordered it from my library. I still haven't read The Satanic Verses, but was curious to see what I think of Salman Rushdi..."

Sherry wrote: "I'm not through yet, but the foreshadowing is having an interesting effect. Sometimes I feel as if I've heard about a person or an event, but I just can't put my finger on it. It keeps slipping awa..."

I'm reading a lot of interesting comments of Midnight's Children, but I think that limiting a writer of Rusdie's abilities to a singular label might be doing him an injustice. He is, arguably, the best novelist working in the English language currently and may end up with the Nobel Prize one of these days in the near future. I've included a definition of "magical realism" because it's a term that, when applied to literature, usually refers to a Latin American writer. Of course, nothing is written in stone and writers from other cultures sometimes use techniques of that genre. Certainly, Midnight's Children, Satanic Verses, and The Ground Beneath Her Feet are all full of writing where myth intersects with reality. But, Rushdie's novels are layered with so many other influences as is his imagery, both figurative and literal, that it seems limiting to put his work into one category or another. As was mentioned, there are strong socio-political threads in his narratives as well as psychological issues regarding individual identity. Midnight's Children was written in 1980 and even though it won the Booker Prize, it is an early work. Great writers grow with time and experience in the knowledge of their craft and art. Satanic Verses was written in 1988 and is an almost impossible read for Americans with no knowledge of Muslim culture and mythology. It's kind of like watching wall paper paste dry. However, with his later books, especially The Moor's Last Sigh, The Ground Beneath Her Feet, and Shalimar the Clown, not only does his writing gain resonance, but he begins to bridge some gaps between several very different cultures, including the Eurocentric. I hope everyone will read many more books by Rushdie because I believe he's an important writer who will get more important as time goes on. As for themes of poverty and social upheaval in India, most story tellers write what they know most about. Anyway, thematically speaking, there are only seven or eight issues for narratives. It isn't what we write about, it's how we write about it that makes a story worth reading. Rushdie will probably always write about the culture he happens to be immersed in at the time because the differences between cultures interests him. I remember several years ago when he came to do a reading in Indianapolis at Butler Uniiversity. The first thing he wanted to do was ride around the Indy 500 track in a race car to see what it felt like, what the great attraction was. He did, and I have no doubt that one day we'll read some reflections on that trip.

The following is an adaptation from M.H. Abrams' A Glossary of Literary Terms, 6th ed. (Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt, Brace Jovanovich, 1993) as cited by Dr. Robert P. Fletcher of West Chester University.

The term magic realism, originally applied in the 1920s to a school of painters, is used to describe the prose fiction of Jorge Luis Borges in Argentina, as well as the work of writers such as Gabriel García Márquez in Colombia, Gunter Grass in Germany, and John Fowles in England. These writers interweave, in an ever-shifting pattern, a sharply etched realism in representing ordinary events and descriptive details together with fantastic and dreamlike elements, as well as with materials derived from myth and fairy tales. Robert Scholes has popularized metafiction as an overall term for the large and growing class of novels which depart drastically from the traditional categories either of realism or romance, and also the term fabulation for the current mode of free-wheeling narrative invention. These novels violate, in various ways, standard novelistic expectations by drastic -- and sometimes highly effective -- experiments with subject matter, form, style, temporal sequence, and fusions of the everyday, the fantastic, the mythical, and the nightmarish, in renderings that blur traditional distinctions between what is serious or trivial, horrible or ludicrous, tragic or comic.

Thank you all for welcoming me into this discussion of Midnight’s Children. It’s a funny coincidence that I, for no real reason, happen to choose to read the same book, and then happen upon a group discussing the book -- we all chose to read at the same time. I’m enjoying the comments here; no doubt, I’m lingering longer in thought because of them.

I found an excerpt of conversation with Salman Rushdie about Midnight’s Children online, in which he was asked about magical realism and his feelings about its (MC) being compared to ‘100 Years of Solitude.’ Of course, he says he was flattered because he admires the work of Gabo Marquez (as do I,) but didn’t see the connection, other than both novels have political content.

Further, when asked if he was thinking of any other writers at the time, he said Dickens (Sterne and Swift.) Dickens, he said, “uses a kind of background which is completely naturalistic, down to the tiniest detail. And on top of this completely naturalistic background he imposes surrealistic images – like the Circumlocution office, which is a civil service department designed to do nothing, or like many of the characters, who are much larger than life. Because they are so precisely rooted in a recognizable real world the fantasy works. […:] What I tried to do, not quite like Dickens […:] make sure the bedrock of the book was right.”

Rushdie’s interpretation, to me, given that it’s probably twenty years old, sounds a lot like that that Jim inserted into the discussion about magical realism from “A Glossary of Literary Terms.”

In the end, maybe, the interpretation of the term magical realism is personal, or cultural, and that’s why in the west, where most of us don’t know eastern history well, see the fantasy large in the allegorical story; and Indians, on the other hand, and as a group I’m told, receive it more as political history… just a thought.

I'm only at the beginning of the book, but I think the fantasy aspect is less striking than the political and social content.

Janet wrote: "Hi,

I just found this group yesterday (found goodreads just a few weeks ago) I also just happened to be reading Midnight's Children at the moment, so here is my 2-cents worth to add:

I read M..."

KiwiKathleen wrote: "I like your point about memory, Abigail. We tend to get really hung up on "what exactly happened", when what is more important is the way it is remembered."

I am new to this group, but am impressed with the complexity of the story in this book. I keep thinking, "Why is he telling me this?" only to find how important it is to the story.

I think life is like that, too. I can't be me without all of the tangents and incidentals that made each moment important.

I am not finished with this book, but I LOVE it!

Whew! I finished this. I feel like Jane does; this was the never-ending book, but I am so very glad I read it. There are so many deep, all-encompassing, thematic and symbolic things we can talk about....but I want to ask one very prosaic question. Did anyone unravel why Mary Pereira switched the babies at birth? I know it was "for love," but still I can't quite figure it out.

The baby she gave to Amina and Ahmed (our narrator, Saleem) was the child of Vanita and Mr Methwold. It's 20 or so pages before the birth - Methwold had Vanita and her husband Wee Willie Winkie singing for him, and sent Winkine off to buy him some pills from the chemist... (I haven't got much further than the Methwold chapter, so it's still fresh in my memory!)

Wasn't it due to malice, or the desire to cause mischief or something? I don't really remember... it's been years.

Oh yes - I just looked back because I realised I'd missed out something there and got it wrong ...
Mary Pereira swapped the babies out of love for Joseph D'Costa, the man she loved but who had turned into a revolutionary who hated the rich.

"... she changed name-tags on the two huge infants, giving the poor baby a life of privilege and condemning the rich-born child to accordions and poverty. . . .'Love me, Joseph!' was in Mary Pereira's mind, and then it was done."

I still don't understand how changing babies would show love for Joseph. Maybe if Joseph had been the father of one of them, but he wasn't. (Was he?) What was Joseph's connection to people. I can't remember. I remember his ghost (or what Mary thought was his ghost) crops up.

She changed the babies to play with concepts of entitlement and destiny, because she believed this would please Joseph. Also, as a nod to Mark Twain.

Theresa

I'm digressing to the Satanic Verses for a bit - I've just finished listening to a podcase from the BBC Radio 4 Choices - 13th Feb. It's available from the ipod site and can be listened to on your computer - talks about the events surrounding the book burning and fatwah on Rushdie, including excerpts of historical and current interviews with various people associated with the events. Anyway, if anyone is interested - it's good.

I find it interesting that Borges, my all-time favourite author, is put in the magic realism bag with Rushdie. Borges is far more erudite in his references to the cultures of the world (as possibly befits the librarian he was) whilst Rushdie's references relate to the cultures he knows and has known. I'll try to get back to the story in specifics in one of my next posts.

Sherry,

I agree with what Theresa said about the switch. Joseph was anti-upper class and he was critical of Mary's life even though she wasn't upper class. She switched the babies so that the poor baby would have a better life than the rich baby and all to please Joseph. I think I have heard another story about Mary and Joseph and a baby!

Jane

Well that makes perfect sense! I had lost something--probably that Joseph was anti-rich. Thanks for the help. It was really hard to keep the fathers straight. How convoluted it all was, but wildly imaginative. I find it interesting that when I first started reading it, I compared it to rich food, and in the end Saleem is a chutney maker and talks about the chutnification of the world.

This question of why Mary switched the babies is a good one to discuss, and basic to launching the story. I like the posts since the question was asked that I’ve read (putting together Mary, Joseph and Mark Twain is great. Please explain Mark Twain’s connection to me further if you feel like it and have the time.)

I hadn’t thought about it deeply, but I’m sort of aware that switching babies at birth is like a classic Bollywood technique for melodrama.

Another symbolic association entered my mind concerning the politics of India after Independence. I know that Nehru was sympathetic to USSR and communism. And I know that India has struggled between socialism and capitalism up to and until this century, exploding with success only now in the Information Age. Could any of that be in Rushdie’s thinking too, meaning Mary's wanting to please Joseph by reassigning the babies' social positions.

Janet, re Mark Twain I just meant that he used a similar plot device in Pudd'nhead Wilson:

"At the beginning of Pudd'nhead Wilson a young slave woman, fearing for her infant's son's life, exchanges her light-skinned child with her master's. From this rather simple premise Mark Twain fashioned one of his most entertaining, funny, yet biting novels. On its surface, Pudd'nhead Wilson possesses all the elements of an engrossing nineteenth-century mystery: reversed identities, a horrible crime, an eccentric detective, a suspenseful courtroom drama, and a surprising, unusual solution. Yet it is not a mystery novel. Seething with the undercurrents of antebellum southern culture, the book is a savage indictment in which the real criminal is society, and racial prejudice and slavery are the crimes. Written in 1894, Pudd'nhead Wilson glistens with characteristic Twain humor, suspense, and pointed irony: a gem among the author's later works."

Out of loyalty to the English language, I must voice an objection to the use of "glistens" in the plot summary above; not that I object to the sentiment expressed, but that is just a godawful inappropriate word usage.

Theresa

I love this book. I just started yesterday and am already past page 200. I just sit and am glad I understand the pcharming parts I understand, and just wade through (quickly the parts that I don't - not letting myself be intimidated by something out of my experience. It's like falling in love with Shakespeare for the first time - You don't understand everything, but if you relax into it, you get the drama and the tension, and more becomes clearer every time.

If I just read enough till my brain quits working, my subconscious or right brain, give me the understanding of the rest when I am asleep, or just tired and pacing. I feel like I light goes off above my head, that "Eureka" effect that is so wonderful to experience.

Sometimes if I don't take leterature too seriously, it makes it eaxier for clarity of understanding.

I think I am will wil always stay "Ellie My Clampitt metts the Sakespeare company.) Akllowing myself to feel secure in my ignorace and childlikeness of exploration helps me to let the other difficult things to get planted and to grow. God, this sounds awfully mushy when I see it in print, but it still doesn't change my opeion on it all.

Yoby, I'm impressed! Getting through 200 pages in a day in any manner is amazing. I was slow as snails.

Sherry wrote: "Yoby, I'm impressed! Getting through 200 pages in a day in any manner is amazing. I was slow as snails."Hah! I don't think so. I see most of you juggling so many books that I feel like I am a horse that needs to be let out to pasture I plod so slowly. I'm only reading during my coffee breaks, I just make them longer than usual. But thanks for being impressed. That does help. When I guilt myself or shame myself at not keeping up, my whole brain locks down. When I don't feel like I Have to Get It, or come away from the discussions sounding brilliant, then I don't scare myself off. But I am glad it is wquickly in someone's eyes.

Yoby, I only read for myself. If I can come up with something interesting to add to the conversation, that's a bonus. Don't worry about sounding brilliant. Riding on the Rushdie wave, letting the words and images glide over you, taking in what goes in, and not worrying about the rest, is the best way to read this, I think. I'm really glad you are enjoying it.

A question for you all. I thought his use of exaggerated body parts, ears, nose (what else was there), was a very interesting idea. It was so blatant symbolically, that it made the whole book seem a bit playful. But I think, on the whole, he was dead serious. What do you all make of this?

Yoby, you're reading Rushdie like I read Faulkner, just relaxing and letting yourself slosh along with the words. I enjoyed reading Faulkner that way. I don't know why I couldn't do it with Rushdie.

Yoby wrote: "I love this book. ... If I just read enough till my brain quits working, my subconscious or right brain, give me the understanding of the rest when I am asleep, or just tired and pacing. I feel like I light goes off above my head, that "Eureka" effect that is so wonderful to experience. "

Two thumbs way up! I love the way you describe how you approach the novel. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.

And never never never feel that you have to apologise for how you read and what you read.