A Good Read for Literary Types

I admit, I checked out this book from the library because of the name: Joseph Anton. I have a doctor in Boston named Joseph Antin, no relation. How do I know? Because Joseph Anton is a pseudonym Salman Rushie, author of The Satanic Verses, used when he lived under the threat of death from radical Islamists for 9 years. Joseph Conrad and Anton Chekov combine to mask his identity.

Joseph Anton is Rushdie's memoir of the period. He's a superlative writer. I read The Satanic Verses and Midnight's Children years ago when I'd barely read any Indian writers. I preferred the latter to the former, although Verses was fascinating due to its satiric look at Islam and the life of the Prophet Muhammad. Anyone who thinks the book is impossible to read hasn't read much James Joyce.

The first 350 pages of this 600+ tome is a gripping look at what Rushdie and his family had to endure under the 9-year "fatwa."  By page 400 or so, the book becomes a tedious listing of the writers who supported him (and those who didn't). Talk about name-dropping! To me, it was interesting from a literary point of view, but I admit skimming through the rest of the memoir until the last 50 pages or so when he describes his post-fatwa life, including his reaction to the events of September 11, 2001.

Rushdie is an arrogant man who seems not to care whom he insults, including ex-wives. He writes in the 3rd person, which depersonalizes and distance his words. He switches to the first person when he writes letters, which are either in his defense or an attack on someone he hates. This man hates a lot of people--you don't want to get on his shit-list, although unless you're famous you don't have to worry. I wasn't interested in whose house he stayed at in the Hamptons and what famous people were at the parties he managed to attend despite the threat on his life. At least he's not a foodie. In my opinion, the book could have been reduced by by 250 pages but I believe the man has a right to have his say, even if he is long-winded, petty and extremely ego-centric.

If you haven't read Rushdie, read Midnight's Children instead.