midnight’s children
salman rushdie
the mother of all novels about India’s birth pangs and growing pains? this book is an explosion of wondrous sights and pungent smells, tapping into and deconstructing the myths and history of the country.
yet for all its breadth, it also feels like an intimate portrayal because of the device rushdie has concocted – a group of magical midnight’s children, born in the hour of india’s independence, to mirror the nation’s development.
the focus of the sprawling story is further sharpened by another device – the re-telling of history by one saleem sinai, born on the stroke of midnight itself, to his devoted audience of one (and the reader.) with the benefit of hindsight,the smallest event has the portentousness of history and the heavy shadow of fate lurks everywhere. this is simultaneously undercut by the triviality of these happenings.
there is much to savour in the playfulness and inventiveness of his writing and the dazzling array of fascinating characters and plot developments. despite the sheer number of elements, rushdie does a dextrous job of juggling them with a fluidity that belies the complexity of the task.