Salman rushdie

I used to run into Salman Rushdie at London literary parties a couple of decades ago, before he became a US citizen in 2016 and largely made his life there afterwards. He was always charming and likable company, during the brief conversations that we had, and the worst that I would say of him is that he was all too aware of his own fame and reputation. Certainly, I was not the only one in a long line of admirers and acolytes wishing for a couple of moments with the great man, and Rushdie certainly paid rather more attention to the attractive women or girls than he did to the rather gauche young men who had read Midnight’s Children or The Satanic Verses.

I know that our readers have led varied and colorful lives, but I would suggest that few, if indeed any, of you have spent decades cowering under the daily terror of a fatwah imposed upon you by a totalitarian state because of a literary novel that you once wrote. I would also suggest that, when Salman Rushdie — for he had that dubious privilege — emerged from a lengthy, frightening and tedious period of hiding, he chose to immerse himself in the social life of both London and the United States to show that he was not afraid, and that the threats and grimacing of extremists did not mean that he was not entitled to lead his own version of his best life. He was right to do so.

In late summer 2022, at the Chautauqua Institute in upstate New York, the celebrated novelist Sir Salman Rushdie was stabbed many times as he was about to give a lecture, the subject of which, ironically, was keeping authors safe. The attack sent shockwaves throughout the literary establishment, and the world. It seemed as if civilization itself was under threat, as if our fundamental freedoms to create, associate and speak as we wish were defunct, reduced to the point of a knife. His new memoir, Knife, examines the attack and its implications for him, and for such freedoms generally.

In Salman Rushdie’s new memoir Knife, there is a powerful and moving moment — amid the many other powerful and moving moments — in which Rushdie visits his ailing friend Paul Auster at the latter’s house in Brooklyn and describes his sorrow at seeing him so reduced by illness. It may have been that the extent of the cancer that killed Auster had not been made public knowledge, although a statement was released about his condition, until Rushdie’s description of his encounter — and some might accuse him of indiscretion or indelicacy. Yet the news of Auster’s death, anticipated though it undoubtedly was, has meant that such questions recede almost immediately — and instead a consideration of his legacy as a writer, rather than an invalid, can begin.

Ah, welcome back. In our previous look at some of the major books of the year, I highlighted titles that went on to be acclaimed bestsellers and the most talked-about volumes of the past twelve months, as well — inevitably — as a few that failed to live up to the high expectations that we’d placed upon them. It is interesting that, just as Prince Harry’s Spare was indeed the most discussed book of last year, another hotly tipped memoir is undoubtedly the major release of 2024.

In an interview with Stern magazine at the end of July, Sir Salman Rushdie was asked about the current circumstances of his life. Given that this is a question that he has faced since 1989, Rushdie might have been expected to respond with boredom, even irritation — as, understandably, he has done in other public conversations, when the subject of the fatwa that he has been under for nearly three and a half decades has been raised by an inquisitive or prurient journalist — but he responded with reasonably good cheer. Describing his everyday existence as “very normal,” he even ventured a light-hearted remark, saying, “A fatwa is a serious thing. Luckily we didn’t have the internet back then. The Iranians had to send the fatwa to the mosques by fax.

The news coming from New York State that the author Salman Rushdie has been stabbed onstage is both frightening and grim. It is frightening because, without full details of how seriously injured Rushdie has been, it is tempting to fear the worst. Media reports initially suggested that Rushdie was well enough to walk off stage, but the news that he has been transported by air ambulance to a hospital after being stabbed in the neck suggests his injuries are severe. It is grim because any violence being done to a public figure is abhorrent, but in the case of Rushdie, it is almost inevitable that this particular incident has been occasioned by one of the most notorious cause celébrès that has ever been seen in the publishing world, namely the publication of The Satanic Verses in 1988.

On June 3, the New York Times published a very bad op-ed. By itself, this is not breaking news. The Times opinion page has long been a kind of stagnant water cooler for conventional center-left opinion, a hospice care ward for America’s remaining pleats-panted, open-collar Blairites. Sure, they’ll occasionally publish something interesting — an essay by the deputy leader of the Taliban, for example, or an admission by David Brooks that he once tried the ganja. But generally the Gray Lady’s opiners tend to be tucked in bed by nine, dreaming of the things globalization might accomplish the next day.This piece was not that. It was, first of all, written by a Republican, Sen.

‘Things that would have seemed utterly improbable now happen on a daily basis,’ Sir Salman Rushdie tells me. ‘The implausible has now become everyday.’ Isn’t this a problem for a writer whose books derive from the fantastical traditions of magic realism and science fiction, where crazy stuff happening is what sets them apart? ‘It is.’ The active threat to Rushdie’s life from radical Islam is two decades behind him. His novels have a way of dealing in sour, sometimes apocalyptic ironies. His latest, the Booker-shortlisted Quichotte, is set in what it describes as ‘the Age of Anything-Can-Happen’.