Note to Martha: I'm reading Rushdie again. I've just finished the first chapter, and I thought of your earlier comments on him.
I can't explain why I react to Rushdie the way I do. His writing doesn't have that every-word-is-perfectly-placed feeling to it as some that I've recommended here have, that sort of painterly quality, if that's a word.
What it has instead is the ability to pull you in until you're smiling and don't know why, and then you realize - every word here IS perfectly placed, but his writing never draws attention to itself.
Also, I really dislike foreshadowing. "Had I known then, dear reader, what I know now, I wouldn't have needed to read the damn book in the first place." The beginning of this novel is nothing BUT foreshadowing. And I don't care. Fine with me.
You also talked about reading American writers; I always find myself stopping to think with Rushdie, because he writes without an accent. It's very easy to forget that he's "not from around here."
But this is what I really wanted to tell you, Martha. I picked a 600-page novel off the shelf and didn't bother to see what it was about before I checked it out. By page 10 I paused to imagine a room with a bed, a small refrigerator full of snacks and cold drinks, a french press, an electric tea kettle - and a great big lock on the door. That room, and a few pounds of Rushdie novel.
Hmmm. I think I just figured out how I want to spend the first week of my retirement, if it ever gets here!
