Mitternachtskinder (1981)

The first three quarters of this book are a joy. Immaginative, joyous, sparkling with wit and intelligence and above all telling a fantastic story. The characters spring from the pages and India is a character in itself. As we move to Pakistan and as Saleem, one of the Midnight's Children of the title, gets older things get darker and after a catastrophic event occurs in the last section the sparkle vanishes and I found this large section a struggle to get through-otherwise it would have been 5 stars. This is a novel that needs time and patience-time to accustom yourself to the original writing style and immerse sheer scope and wonder. I now understand why Mr Rushdie is so feted in the literary world. ( )

A masterpiece. Rushdie's prose is more like poetry, flowing, branching, playing with the role of author and reader, post-modern and fantastic. I loved, loved it. ( )

When I started the book, I almost immediately thought "Oh, it's Tristram Shandy in 20th-century India," and then I remembered what a labor Sterne's book had been to get through. Still, I read the first 100 or so pages of Midnight's Children with delight. Nearly 600 pages of it proved a bit much for me, though, and though I was glad to read more about the history, and though any given shorter stretch of the book was pleasant to read, the whole big thing was a bit of a labor for me. It's a good, important book, but the return on investment for me wasn't as big as I like for a book of this size. ( )

What a masterpiece! I don't understand everything and the narrator is very unreliable (interesting he keeps reminding us of this) but still, this is brilliant. Rushdie weaves the history of India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh into this tale of magical realism, which manages at the same time to explore loaded themes of greatness, identity, and ambition. Rushdie also writes in a way that makes you turn the pages; his writing is so whirlwind it just sucks you in. I love his titling of each chapter; the titling is succinct and perfectly describes the core of the chapter. Nevertheless, this is definitely not an easy read but it pays to persevere. ( )

Rushdie is the first of the Booker winners that I knew anything about before beginning this project. Nonetheless, I had a difficult, scratch that, complicated experience reading this book. So, since others have written far more intelligently about its plot and meaning, I’ll just tell you what it was like for me.

To be honest, I was reluctant to start “yet another” book about India. That’s why I wrote the blog post titled “Interlude”: pure procrastination.

The narrator, Saleem Sinai, has a putative audience of one, his companion Padma. He begins by introducing his grandparents, and several of the motifs that will recur and weave this loose tapestry together. Saleem himself is not even born until well past the hundred-page mark. And it took me over two hundred pages to get really interested in the book. The style is that of a sauntering saga, an unrushed meandering through several generations, and it drove me nuts -- until I decided to just lie back and let go. Since that didn’t happen until about page 300 of 500, I wasted a lot of time resisting this book.

It is repetitive, and verbose, and grandiose. Rushdie has a way of stringing together three words when one would do. Is he too lazy to choose? Or showing off his vocabulary? But, when I finally surrendered, the repetition-with-a-difference became lulling, like lying on a beach listening to waves: almost the same, but different each time, building imperceptibly to crescendos, then dying down again, weaving a texture of symbols and sounds. I was pulled along with the tide of the story, and learned a lot about India and Pakistan in the process.

I also learned that some books just can’t be rushed through. ( )