I love Salman Rushdie
I have just finished reading Salman Rushdie’s latest novel ‘Shalimar the Clown’, focused on Kashmir. I have come to understand and value his work more as I have lived in this area of the world because I can see, smell and hear the world he describes. There are times in my life when I wonder what is the need for artists, musicians and writers, I am impatient with what they produce. These are the times I am occupied with doing things in life, with the day to day of things. At these times I think more of science and practical matters and am dismissive of the arts. And then the times change and a time for deeper thought and feeling arrives. And it is at these times, now, that I understand the need for musicians and song writers, novelists and playwrights. It is among them that I find solace and communion, a description for my life that I could not find myself, and I ask for forgiveness for dismissing them previously because today I realise again my need for them and will not dismiss them so blithely again.
So here are some excerpts from ‘Shalimar the clown’ – the story writing and description of the human interior life delights and amazes me.
“In the old stories, love made possible a kind of spiritual contact between lovers long separated by necessity or chance. In the days before telecommunications, true love itself was enough.' P257
‘The love of Booyni and Shalimar the clown had been defended by the town of Pachigam, had been worth defending, as a symbol of the victory of the human over the inhuman, and the dreadful ending of that love made Pyarelal question, for the first time in his life, the idea that human beings were essentially good, that if men could be helped to strip away imperfections their ideal selves would stand revealed, shining in the light, for all to see…beginning to wonder if discord were not a more powerful principle than harmony.’ P238-239
‘Once upon a time Abdullah Noman would have roared his disbelief and the village would have gathered delightedly outside his house to listen to the quarrel, but Abdullah didn’t roar anymore, even though he knew she would prefer it if he did. He had retreated into himself, old age and disappointment had pushed him into a cold place and he didn’t know how to get out of it. He saw his wife looking at him sometimes, fixing him with an unhappy questioning stare that asked where did you go, what happened to the man I loved, and he wanted to shout out to her, I’m still in here, save me, I’m trapped inside myself, but there was a coating of ice around him and the words couldn’t get out.’ P280
‘“You can know a man for fifty years,” he said, “and still not know what he’s capable of.” Harbans shrugged in self-deprecation. “You never know the answer to the questions of life until you’re asked,” he said.’p284
‘”My wise and gentle friend,” she said, “never fear; we will take care of our own. The killing of Big Man Misri and Zoon’s suicide was bad enough, and we won’t let it happen again. You are too precious to lose.” Pyarelal shook his head. “It is out of our hands,” he said. “Our natures are no longer the critical factors in our fates. When the killers come, will it matter if we lived well or badly? Will the choices we made affect our destiny? Will they spare the kind and gentle among us and take only the selfish and dishonest? It would be absurd to think so. Massacres aren’t finicky. I may be precious or I may be valueless, but it doesn’t signify either way.” P295
“The need didn’t feel like excitement. It felt like pain…all at once the pain intensified, it clutched at her heart and squeezed hard, and she wondered in sudden terror whether she had come to Kashmir to be reborn, or to die.” P357
“Feeling was rising in her also, it was necessary to concede this, and though it had been her habit not to surrender to feeling, to control herself, she understood that this feeling was strong. Perhaps it would prove stronger than her ability to resist it. Perhaps not. She was a woman from far away who had defended her heart for a long time. She did not know if she could satisfy his needs, did not see how she could, was amazed that she was even thinking about satisfying them. This was not her purpose. She felt shocked, even betrayed, by her emotions. Olga Simeonovna had warned her about the essential sneaky nature of love. “It don’t approach from where you’re looking,” she had said. “It will creep up from behind your left ear and hit you on the head like a rock.” P360
“He wanted to declare himself but did not because he could see the shadow over her, the deepening fear to which she could not yet give a name. He yearned to comfort her but had no words. He longed to get down on his knees and beg for her heart but did not and cursed inwardly at the fate that filled him with inappropriate longings, but blessed it as he cursed it. He was a good man who knew how to love, he wanted to say but could not. He would worship her always and shape his life to her whims but this was no time to say so. This was no time for love. She was in agony and he could not be sure she would accept him even if she were not. She was a woman from far away.” P363
Thank you Salman
So here are some excerpts from ‘Shalimar the clown’ – the story writing and description of the human interior life delights and amazes me.
“In the old stories, love made possible a kind of spiritual contact between lovers long separated by necessity or chance. In the days before telecommunications, true love itself was enough.' P257
‘The love of Booyni and Shalimar the clown had been defended by the town of Pachigam, had been worth defending, as a symbol of the victory of the human over the inhuman, and the dreadful ending of that love made Pyarelal question, for the first time in his life, the idea that human beings were essentially good, that if men could be helped to strip away imperfections their ideal selves would stand revealed, shining in the light, for all to see…beginning to wonder if discord were not a more powerful principle than harmony.’ P238-239
‘Once upon a time Abdullah Noman would have roared his disbelief and the village would have gathered delightedly outside his house to listen to the quarrel, but Abdullah didn’t roar anymore, even though he knew she would prefer it if he did. He had retreated into himself, old age and disappointment had pushed him into a cold place and he didn’t know how to get out of it. He saw his wife looking at him sometimes, fixing him with an unhappy questioning stare that asked where did you go, what happened to the man I loved, and he wanted to shout out to her, I’m still in here, save me, I’m trapped inside myself, but there was a coating of ice around him and the words couldn’t get out.’ P280
‘“You can know a man for fifty years,” he said, “and still not know what he’s capable of.” Harbans shrugged in self-deprecation. “You never know the answer to the questions of life until you’re asked,” he said.’p284
‘”My wise and gentle friend,” she said, “never fear; we will take care of our own. The killing of Big Man Misri and Zoon’s suicide was bad enough, and we won’t let it happen again. You are too precious to lose.” Pyarelal shook his head. “It is out of our hands,” he said. “Our natures are no longer the critical factors in our fates. When the killers come, will it matter if we lived well or badly? Will the choices we made affect our destiny? Will they spare the kind and gentle among us and take only the selfish and dishonest? It would be absurd to think so. Massacres aren’t finicky. I may be precious or I may be valueless, but it doesn’t signify either way.” P295
“The need didn’t feel like excitement. It felt like pain…all at once the pain intensified, it clutched at her heart and squeezed hard, and she wondered in sudden terror whether she had come to Kashmir to be reborn, or to die.” P357
“Feeling was rising in her also, it was necessary to concede this, and though it had been her habit not to surrender to feeling, to control herself, she understood that this feeling was strong. Perhaps it would prove stronger than her ability to resist it. Perhaps not. She was a woman from far away who had defended her heart for a long time. She did not know if she could satisfy his needs, did not see how she could, was amazed that she was even thinking about satisfying them. This was not her purpose. She felt shocked, even betrayed, by her emotions. Olga Simeonovna had warned her about the essential sneaky nature of love. “It don’t approach from where you’re looking,” she had said. “It will creep up from behind your left ear and hit you on the head like a rock.” P360
“He wanted to declare himself but did not because he could see the shadow over her, the deepening fear to which she could not yet give a name. He yearned to comfort her but had no words. He longed to get down on his knees and beg for her heart but did not and cursed inwardly at the fate that filled him with inappropriate longings, but blessed it as he cursed it. He was a good man who knew how to love, he wanted to say but could not. He would worship her always and shape his life to her whims but this was no time to say so. This was no time for love. She was in agony and he could not be sure she would accept him even if she were not. She was a woman from far away.” P363
Thank you Salman
posted by Kate Bowen at 6:08 pm
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